Why live in the Middle East?

I’ve been asked what brought me back here. The answer might surprise you...

Hello everyone, it’s such a pleasure to be back in your inbox! A couple of weeks ago, I asked you all what you’d like to know about my move to the UAE – and today, I’m answering one of the most asked questions. It’ll be my last free newsletter this month, so if it piques your curiosity, why not become a paid subscriber? You’ll receive all my regular writing, plus my new missives from the Middle East and my ever-popular weekly news summary – and you’ll be helping keep this newsletter alive too…

Have you ever sat in a pleather-seated taxi in 44-degree heat as the aircon packed in? I have, and let me tell you this – the resulting fear of running out of clean, cycling short-style pants is now very real. Whoever said this city was all fur coat and no knickers clearly had a thigh gap wider than the Grand Canyon, because it definitely isn’t an option for the rest of us…

Anyway, that overshare aside, it’s so lovely to be back in your inbox, albeit from a hellishly humid state of chaos.

A couple of weeks ago as I was packing up, I asked you to share your questions about my big move – and boy did they roll in, across this feed, my inbox and my Insta with equal enthusiasm.

Some of your queries – about work, about schools, about the logistics of emigration – have been very easy to answer. Others, about life here, need lengthier consideration. But there’s one, much-asked question I’ve found harder to answer than I expected: “Why did you want to move back?”

Ostensibly, the answer is that we had great job opportunities – though in truth, we’re 12 days in now and the logistics are so horrendous, some hours I almost wish we hadn’t accepted them! I’d forgotten how many burning hoops you have to jump through to get settled here, how many pieces of paper – and exorbitant deposits – need to change hands, how unfathomable some of the steps seem. I’d even blocked out the terror of leaving my passport behind in a government office as part of the visa process.

But with every confusing transaction, hair-raising taxi ride and mile of red tape, I’m also reminded of the real appeal of this place, the actual reason I’ve missed Dubai so much I had to return: its kindness.

On Friday, as Arthur and I ran from pillar to post, he received no less than 18 high fives from total strangers – and I lost count of the number of people who smiled, waved or delivered a gleeful “welcome to Dubai” as we made our way around the city.

In every furniture shop we visited, the staff fell over themselves to chat to him. At lunch, our waiter did comedy mimes across the café, then pretended to deliver A’s sandwich to the wrong table, creating huge hilarity. At the Metro station, the woman behind the counter pledged to create a new diamond class carriage just for ‘King Arthur’, while numerous fellow passengers waved and pulled silly faces at him as he excitedly pointed out every skyscraper and school bus we passed.

At eight years old, moving halfway across the world should, by rights, be a daunting experience. Yet here, every mundane task comes with a surprising side-helping of joy and laughter. “Everyone in Dubai is so nice and funny,” he observed, grinning, as we stood in a queue, waving back at yet another person eager to ensure the city’s smallest residents feel welcome wherever they go, regardless of language or origin.

These random acts of kindness might sound small, but they play into a bigger picture, an atmosphere that flies in the face of Western stereotypes of this region. It would be easy to believe, having experienced this city only through TV ‘documentaries’ and so-called reality shows such as the hideous Dubai Hustle, that this place is glitteringly vacuous, full of money-obsessed influencers, over-filled faces and eye-wateringly tight bandage dresses. In truth, these portrayals offer no more accurate or rounded a depiction of life in the UAE than Made in Chelsea does of modern Britain.

Today’s UAE is a country of intriguing contradictions, where old traditions brush peaceably up against new, cutting edge expectations. It is a place that wears its tolerance as a badge of honour, and the rate of progress is dizzying, even as it walks the tightrope of regional norms on paper.

Is it perfect? Nope. Nowhere is. But at a time when so much of the world seems to be regressing, the power of its positive direction can’t be sniffed at. At the new family centre being built in the capital, Abu Dhabi, for example, the region’s first synagogue will share a campus with a mosque, a church and an education centre – a monumental step forward reflected in the presence of a new and growing Jewish community. These arrivals, like us, join an already diverse population made up primarily of immigrants, the inevitable cultural clashes and language mix-ups muddled through with amicable confusion and no small helping of humour.

Where that international make-up once led to a feeling of transience, today, long-term visas are increasingly accessible, while a new ‘unemployment insurance’ scheme will protect the incomes of workers of all nationalities for a nominal fee – a sort of benefits system for a low-tax economy, designed to make the city a more secure home for all. After five years in an increasingly intolerant Britain that views immigrants and benefits recipients alike with a deplorable level of disdain, it’s a hugely intriguing initiative to watch unfold.

What’s more, this huge metropolis comes with another inarguable bonus that might surprise many – safety. Here, I can happily move around alone at any time of the day or night, and I don’t panic if I lose sight of my child. I rarely look over my shoulder, and my anxiety runs at a lower ebb as a result. We get all the convenience and excitement of living in a big city, but none of the corresponding fear. “Just pop in and grab it whenever,” my friends shrug, as they arrange to lend me household objects to tide us over until our shipping arrives. “The door’s not locked.”

And then there’s the really huge positive, and a major reason for us coming here – Arthur’s groundbreaking new eco-school, which we visited for the first time this week to try on uniforms and fill out (more) paperwork. Every inch of the school experience, from the curriculum to the clothing, has been created to showcase the power of kindness. Even the school clothing, made in the world’s first carbon-neutral garment factory in Kenya, comes on a one-for-one basis, with every item we buy matched for a child in a developing economy, where access to uniform has been proven to cut absenteeism dramatically.

While our new school follows the English curriculum, its pupils currently hail from 32 different countries and, alongside Arabic and English, at Arthur’s age they can choose a third language from a range of options that run the gamut from Mandarin to British Sign Language (BSL). High-tech science, IT and technology labs sit alongside a meditation garden, a kitchen garden where the fruit and veggies for school lunches are grown, and six additional classroom biodomes, where the kids study ecology while surrounded by greenery. Education is experiential, not desk-based, and curiosity, kindness and community are fostered through every class. In a world of seemingly ever-increasing selfishness and hopelessness, even the school’s motto – “Enough for everyone, forever” – makes me want to weep tears of gratitude.

Is climate sustainability an ambitious concept to capture in a school motto? Yes, without a doubt. But in the shadow of the world’s tallest building, surrounded by a global citizenship that seemingly always has time for a smile, everything seems possible – including raising a generation of kids who understand the importance of collective responsibility.

Optimism, progress and the kindness of strangers. That’s what brought me back. And it’s so good to be home.

Does this chime with your idea of Dubai? Have you ever considered life in this region to be an option? Do you have other preconceptions you’d like to cover in future missives? I’d love to hear your thoughts…