Taxi Driver, the Moon, Urdu

Setting out on a perfectly balmy Dubai night, we climbed into the back seat of a taxi and asked for the Boardwalk at the Dubai Creek Golf and Yacht Club. We were meeting friends for a drink on a terrace to soak in the last days of paradise before Dubai turns into a furnace. Usually we sit in silence or exchange a few pleasantries with the driver. Not this time. We got his whole life story.

From his accent, I could tell that he was from somewhere in the vicinity of the sub-continent, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t Indian. He confirmed this: Pakistani. But he’s lived for 22 years in Our Glittering City, a.k.a. Oz, a.k.a. Dubai. Came as a salesman, ended up a cab driver. I asked him if he liked Dubai (knowing the answer already).

“I will tell you, my life is destroyed. This city destroyed my life. 22 years ago, things were different…”

For those of you who don’t know, the UAE has only been a country for 37 years. Before the discovery of oil, it was mostly a barren desert, inhabited mainly by bedouins and pearl divers. Dubai was a port town due to its prime location on the edge of the Persian Gulf and Arabian Sea. But it’s only recent history that has brought vast amounts of wealth to the emirate.

“22 years ago, the emiratis were different. They sat with us along the road and played cards. They shared meals with us. We were all the same then.”

But all that changed when wealth hit the country suddenly. All at once the emirati people became privileged beyond their wildest dreams. Now they are comfortably sitting atop a very defined hierarchy. They receive free health care; they can receive free education through a PhD; they are guaranteed jobs; they are favored in disputes. And so… they shut themselves off from everyone. It is very common for an expat to never meet an emirati or speak to an emirati for the entire duration of their contracts (our situation is different, because the school is almost entirely emirati). They have become virtually untouchable.

“They are cruel. They beat on Pakistanis and Indians and they say bad things to us.”

As I mentioned in a previous note, racism is encouraged in this country, because it keeps the “wheels of progress” turning. The Burj Dubai, the tallest building in the world, has gone up at a rate of a floor a day during its fastest growth spurts. How do they do it? By hiring from destitute countries on false pretenses; making contractual promises to people who can’t read; and then, upon arrival, essentially holding them prisoner. Their passports are taken and they are forced to pay back the visa fee, an amount that equals thousands of dollars. In their countries, they are promised double the wages that they actually receive, and then discover the painful truth on arrival. They work for less than a dollar an hour, 12 hours a day, six days a week. They can’t escape, because they can’t pay back the visa fee. These are the men who are building this country.

“Why are they building all this?” He gestured to the grand high-rises along Sheikh Zayed Road. “Who is it for? They bring the Europeans and Americans here, but when this is finished, they will tell them to go. And why are they building this?” He gestured to the metro. “Who is it for? The rich people will not ride it, and the poor people can not afford it.”

I agreed that it seemed rather silly, particularly if it’s meant to help with the traffic problem, seeing as it doesn’t even go to Sharjah.

“Yes! It doesn’t go to Sharjah. This is just for a show. Everything… just for a show.”

We emphatically agreed with that. He went on to confirm what has been said about human rights violations; everything we’ve heard, he himself confirmed. About the worker’s conditions; about the false promises; about the visa.

“Why do I stay here? I will never be citizen. I have been here for 22 years. I am 66 years old. But I cannot go back to Pakistan. And I have not seen my wife in many years.”

He told us that he was only with her for two years before coming to Dubai, and they have been apart since.

“In 24 years married, only 2 years together. This is not a life.” He was silent for a minute. We were driving over the Maktoum Bridge, the city lights sparkling in the water. Matt pointed out the moon over the water, that it looked full. The taxi driver smiled into the rearview mirror.

“This moon is how I see my wife. I look at the moon, she looks at the moon, so it comes back to me and she looks at me. And I see her too." Pause. "I will sing you a song.”

Then he quietly sang in a beautiful lilting voice, the words of some unknown language curling out like tendrils of smoke. I asked what language it was.

“Urdu. My original language. I will tell you what it means. ‘Your eyes are beautiful like the sun. When they open, it is like the sun rising. When they close, it is like the sun setting.’ You see, there is no life without wife.”

I was trying to choke back tears. I asked him when he would see her again.

“Next year, I hope my son will come and help me with work. Then we hope to bring my wife and the rest of the family. Then I will love Dubai.”

We were pulling up to our destination, curving down a palm-lined road. I was feeling guilty for going somewhere so fancy, somewhere he could never go himself. I told him that I hoped his family would be able to come next year, and that his life would be better here.

“Insha’allah,” he said. “And God bless you, too.”