Sheikhs, Lies and Real Estate: The Untold Story of Dubai (5 page)

‘It’s a beautiful sunset, don’t you think?’ I
asked, as I casually leaned towards her. There was no reaction. Not even a
look. Taking the hint, I sheepishly went back to my drink.

‘Where are you from?’

It seemed she had heard me after all. I looked
up to notice her scanning me from head to toe, as if to assess whether our
conversation had any long-term potential.

‘I’m from London.’

‘You are born in London?’

‘Yes, I am.’

A vague smile. ‘You don’t look like you are
from London. You like Arab.’

‘Yes, I hear that a lot.’

‘What you do in Dubai?’

‘I’m banker.’

Again a smile. ‘Very good. And where do you
stay?’

‘I’m actually staying here in the Emirates
Towers right now.’ 

She now turned around to face me. ‘You look
very young,’ she said, lighting a cigarette that she pulled out from her gold
Gucci handbag.

‘Thanks, I’ll take that as a compliment.’ I was
sure she was younger than me, but I got the impression she was comparing me
with other men she knew. ‘So what’s your name?’

‘Irina.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Irina. I’m Adam.’ I
shook her perfectly manicured hand. And where are you from?’

‘From Russia.’ Bingo.

‘You’re a long way from home.’

‘You are further from home,’ she replied
confidently. 

‘Yes, I guess I am.’

Her cross-examination of me wasn’t over yet. ‘So
you make a lot of money?’

It was an odd question and I was a little taken
aback by her directness. ‘Erm, I guess my salary is okay.’

‘And do you have plans tonight?’

This conversation was now moving a bit too fast
for comfort. I hesitated for a moment but before I could answer, we were
interrupted by the imposing presence of a large Emirati man in traditional
dress towering over us. He was tall with broad shoulders, and was holding praying
beads in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

‘
Habibi
, I would like you to join me and
my friends for dinner tonight,’ he said to Irina in a deep, uncompromising tone.
My presence seemed utterly insignificant to him, as if I wasn’t even there. I
caught her staring intensely at his gold Rolex watch before she whispered
something back to him, and they left together for the corner of the room where
what looked like a negotiation ensued. I guarded her bag like a gentleman until
she returned, hoping we could resume our banter.

‘I have to go,’ she said nervously as she
returned and hurriedly prepared to leave, while the Emirati man waited impatiently
by the elevator. ‘My friend is waiting.’ She seemed a different woman to the
confident seductress I had been speaking with moments before.

‘Yes, sure. But is he really a friend of yours?
It looked like you just met him.’

She ignored my question. ‘Where is your phone?’
she demanded.

‘Pardon?’

‘Give me your phone!’ I did as I was told.
After typing something in, she tossed it on the table, rushed over to the
elevator and was gone. I sat scratching my head and nursing my bruised ego,
trying to piece together what had just happened. But a glance at my phone made
it all somewhat clearer:

You’re cute. Call me anytime you are lonely.
050 747 8855. Irina xx

The events fell into place and I guess I
couldn’t blame her for choosing the better offer. I took comfort in the message,
which proved who she would rather have had a drink with, and with a smile I
decided to order one last cocktail before calling it a night.

‘
Yaani
, is anybody taking this seat, my
friend?’ said a voice from behind me just as I prepared to leave. I turned
around and saw a good looking young man dressed in a smart blazer and trendy
jeans. He had a trimmed goatee and his hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail.

‘No, feel free,’ I replied politely. ‘I was
about to leave anyway.’

‘Thanks!’ He sat down beside me. ‘What are you
smoking there, buddy?’

‘It was a Monte Cristo number five,’ I said as
I extinguished the stub in the glass ashtray at the bar.

‘Very nice!
Yaani
, a true connoisseur’s
cigar. You know they say they roll these on the thighs of virgins. But they
don’t tell you if she’s a hot virgin.
Yaani
, she could be butt ugly for
all I know. Maybe that is why she is a virgin!’ I gathered
Yaani
was the
Arabic equivalent to ‘like,’ and was obviously a staple of his vocabulary.

‘Very true,’ I laughed.

‘I’m Hani, by the way,’ he said, extending his
hand.

‘Adam. Nice to meet you.’

‘Am I, erm, disturbing you?’

‘Well, I was just about to call it a night,’ I
replied, trying not to appear rude.

‘Ah, I’m sorry, my friend. Don’t let me keep
you. Good evening.’

As he turned his attention towards his drink,
for some reason I hesitated. There was something strangely endearing about this
chap that made me want to find out more about him, so I decided to stick around
a little longer. ‘Actually, it’s okay, I’m not in any real rush.’

 He looked pleased. ‘Great! Take a seat! Let’s
get you another drink.’

‘So do you work in Dubai, Hani?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, I work as a journalist for a Lebanese TV
channel in the Media City. I am Lebanese, if you didn’t notice already. But I
can’t tell where you’re from, though. You sound British but...’

‘I
am
British.’

‘Cool!
Yaani
, I thought maybe you were
an Arab, but your accent gave it away. You know you look like an Arab?’

‘Yes, I have heard that.’

‘And what do you do here in Dubai?’

‘I work for an investment bank.’

‘Wow, great. Good for you! That’s where the
money is, my friend.
Yaani
, have you been in Dubai long?’

‘Just a couple of days.’

‘Wow, that’s all? Welcome to Dubai!’ he said,
and raised his glass. I toasted his back and smiled. Hani’s warm personality
was endearing and I felt as if I had known him for years.

He took a long swig of his drink and slammed
the empty glass on the bar. ‘
Yalla
, so do you want to party tonight?’

‘Tonight?’

‘Yeah!’

On any other night I would have jumped at the
invitation, but tonight my fatigue had got the better of me. ‘I really
appreciate the offer, Hani, but I’m very tired. Besides, it’s a week night and
I have work in the morning.’

‘
Yalla
, come on! Everybody is working
tomorrow! One thing you have to learn is that in Dubai every night is like a
weekend. You work hard and play harder. You’re new to this city. Let me show
you around!’

‘I really would love to but...’

‘Come on, man! Let me show you the real Dubai!’

‘Listen Hani, I don’t know if...’

‘One night only! We won’t make it a late one’.
He wasn’t yielding. ‘
Yaani
, I promise it will be the night of your life!’

I paused and sighed, ‘Okay, but do you promise
I will get home at a reasonable time?’

‘Of course, bro! Just leave it to me.’

We left the bar and jumped into his black Ford
4x4 parked at the hotel entrance. As we pulled away, the sounds of Lebanese pop
music blasted out of his expensive sound system and the heavy bass caused a
shudder in the soft leather seats.

‘Nice ride, Hani,’ I said, genuinely impressed.

‘Thanks, buddy. She’s my pride and joy, this
baby. You gotta have a big car here in Dubai, otherwise people won’t respect
you on the road. There are some pretty crazy drivers here.’

I suddenly remembered my near-death experience
the day before and how lucky I was to be alive.

‘So, tell me, do you like
shisha
?’ asked
Hani.

‘Yeah, I love
shisha
!’

‘Great! Let’s start with some
shisha
.
And I promise you never had
shisha
like you will have tonight.’

The memories came flooding back. I had smoked
shisha
regularly as a teenager with my friends in London’s famous Arab district on Edgware
Road, where we would sit for hours playing cards and puffing away into the
night. Also known as the hookah or hubbly-bubbly,
shisha
was a
traditional Arabic glass pipe of flavoured tobacco and water smoked through a
hose. Its origins dated back to the royal courts of the Mogul Emperors, but it
was enjoying a modern revival across the Arab world, and Dubai was the
undisputed Mecca of
shisha
smoking. Socialising in Dubai often revolved
around getting together with friends at one of the hundreds of restaurants or
cafés to chat, eat and smoke.
Shisha
transcended boundaries of class,
ethnicity and wealth as people from all walks of life regularly indulged in
what had become the nation’s favourite pastime.

Our first stop was the Shu Lounge on the
Jumeirah Beach Road, which Hani described as the ‘Rolls-Royce of
shisha
cafés’. It was one of the city’s most fashionable spots for Dubai’s young and
affluent crowd to be seen at. As we pulled up, Hani handed his car keys to the
valet attendant at the entrance and we entered through an arch into a large
outdoor pavilion directly overlooking the busy road. Inside, dozens of young
locals were scattered around large tables and VIP enclosures. The decor was
chic and minimalist, with clear plastic tables, gaudy chandeliers and Andy
Warhol-inspired pop art. The waiters wore black Japanese-style kimonos and
straw slippers, and on the walls hung fifty-inch flat-screen televisions
showing the latest Arabic pop videos from Lebanon and Egypt. There was a
constant flow of Ferraris, Lamborghinis and Aston Martins pulling up at the
entrance and out of each super-car emerged yet more sexy young girls and tanned
macho men, drenched in designer labels, dark sunglasses and gleaming jewels.

Hani spotted his friends waving at us from a
table near the back of the courtyard and we walked over to join them.

‘Hey, guys! I have a new friend with me. This
is Adam. He’s just arrived, so let’s show him how we rock it in Dubai!’

He went around the table and introduced me to
the group one by one. There was a Lebanese photographer called Marwan, a
Moroccan web designer called Sami and two Palestinian sisters called Selma and
Nawal, both of whom worked as real estate agents. We ordered a range of
shisha
flavours including mint, strawberry and apple and a few plates of delicious
Lebanese
mezze
to share between us. The
shisha
and food arrived shortly
after, and as Hani had promised it was the smoothest I had ever had.

‘So how do you guys like living in Dubai?’ I
asked the group.

Sami replied enthusiastically. ‘You know, Dubai
for me has everything. It has great shopping, nice restaurants and a vibrant
nightlife. It is safe and I am free here. As a young Arab, what more could I
want?’

‘I agree completely,’ added Nawal. ‘In my
country, Palestine, I had no job and no future. Dubai has given me real career
prospects. I can really be somebody here.’

‘Yes, Dubai offers us hope,’ added Marwan. ‘I
no longer have to go and chase the American dream like so many of my friends
have. I can be successful here in my own region, where I know the culture and
speak the language. I don’t have to socialise in a pub or a bar, instead I can
smoke a
shisha
with friends like we are doing now. This is what Dubai
offers us.’

While the Western media continued to portray
the Middle East as a region of instability, repression and fear, it was clear
that Dubai offered something that had never existed before for these young
Arabs: a sense of hope. In a region traditionally ravaged by war and
frustration, Dubai represented job prospects to the unemployed, a voice to the
disenfranchised and freedom to the repressed. In this city the young could
reinvent and express themselves as they wanted and families could live without
the fear of a repressive regime. To these Arabs the Emirate stood for more than
somewhere to make a quick buck; it offered them a real future.

I got on effortlessly with Hani’s friends as we
sat chatting for over two hours about everything from movies and music to
history and politics. I was astonished by how much we had in common and the
lack of any cultural barriers between us. We shared stories of our childhoods
and our aspirations for the future as we laughed, cried and laughed some more.
My new friends personified young Arabia perfectly: a fun-loving, intellectual
and ambitious generation who would lead the region boldly into the bright
future, and I felt somewhat proud to be so close to this cultural renaissance.
I was content to sit there and chat away for the rest of the evening, but I
could see Hani was getting restless.

‘So, guys, are we just going to sit here all
night? I don’t know about you, but I want to party!
Yalla
, let’s go!’

We settled the bill and all squeezed into
Hani’s truck for our next exciting destination, which Hani simply referred to
as the 360. Nestled in the luxurious wave-like Jumeirah Beach Resort, 360 was a
popular nightspot for the city’s trendy youth to party into the hot desert
night. Located at the end of a manmade pier extending two hundred metres into
the ocean, the bar offered stunning panoramic views of the marina and the
endless waters of the Persian Gulf. Most nights of the week, Dubai’s affluent
social elite would dress in their finest beach attire and head to 360 to enjoy
the majestic sunset in all its glory.

We arrived at the hotel at around eleven and
jumped into a golf-buggy shuttle to make our way to the end of the pier. The
flashing neon lights of the bar could be seen for miles and the music
penetrated the air as far as the boats in the marina and along the adjacent
beach. As we strolled up to the entrance, the hypnotic bass line of progressive
house music and the rapturous screams of the revellers inside were enticing.