Having lived abroad most of my life, the Emirati traditional garments have never been regular items in my wardrobe. Trousers, shirts and shoes rather than the kanduras (robe), ghutras (head scarf) and na'als (sandals) were my everyday wear since I was a child. Having had almost no exposure to Emirati dress, it was as foreign to me as to any newly arriving visitor. But although getting accustomed to the traditional UAE dress has been anything but smooth in the past, I have now embraced it fully. Although a seemingly cosmetic change, the acceptance of Emirati garb has allowed me to take a significant step toward reconnecting with my culture.
My first memorable encounter with the kandura occurred during a brief return to the UAE from England as a teenager.
My father, naturally wanting me to assimilate into the Emirati culture, encouraged me to wear our national dress on a regular basis. Not being accustomed to wearing something so different from my usual clothes, I adamantly refused. Calling a truce, we eventually settled on my wearing a kandura only on formal occasions. However, each time I was obliged to wear this unfamiliar garb, I could not feel comfortable; I felt as if I was representing an alternative person who had little to do with me. To me, the kandura was more than just a change of clothes; it represented a lifestyle I was completely unfamiliar with.
Returning to the Emirates recently, at a less rebellious stage of my life, I was able to look at the kandura more objectively. Initially, I began to adopt the wear as a means to reconnect to my Emirati-dress-wearing family. The lack of comfort I experienced initially was noticeable, and I resorted back to western dress at the first opportunity. But as my homecoming lengthened, I began feeling more comfortable in the garment and kept it on longer. Feeling more at ease, I started venturing out in it - and it was at this time when the differences in wearing the kandura were most apparent.
The most immediate of these was the comfort it provided in the local climate. Perfectly designed for the Arabian Gulf weather, the traditional dress brought much relief from the desert conditions. Reflecting the strong sun and allowing maximum air flow, the cooling kandura was a refreshing relief from the comparatively suffocating trousers and shirt.
Another major difference was the way I was treated. I was instantly given respect that is absent to me in western clothes. Where people had inconsiderately attempted to cut in line in front of me, they were now keeping their respectful distances. Security guards who had previously asked me where I was headed or what my business was there did not think twice about hurriedly letting me through. Salespeople, previously indifferent to my existence, were now laying on customer service thick and heavy.
Dressing as a local did have a few drawbacks. Many expatriates, for example, apparently unfamiliar in interacting with Emiratis, would hardly make eye contact - let alone be willing to engage in conversation. Dressed as an Emirati, I was less approachable to many and this was no more evident than with the action of a certain classmate of mine. This particular student, who for two months of classes had never looked my way, struck up a conversation with me the first time I wore western clothes in class. From our conversation, it was apparent the pupil had no clue I was the very same Emirati he had chosen to ignore.
In addition, unfixed prices would soar as high as local summer temperatures whenever I queried about a particular item in my whites. In a social experiment I liked to conduct, I frequently returned, dressed as an expatriate, to ask about the same article, and without question, the prices would miraculously plummet.
More importantly, the kandura has provided me an all-important primary connection to my country and fellow Emiratis. In a country where citizens make up no more than 12 per cent of the population, it is important to have, at the very least, a recognisable external defining trait. This characteristic helps to keep and strengthen the bonds of Emirati society. Furthermore, it gives an estranged Emirati, such as me, the first steps on the path of self-Emiratisation.
The kandura, ghutra and na'al, in a short time, have become as much a part of me as shirts, trousers and shoes have always been. Having aided me in joining my people's culture, they are now permanent residents in my wardrobe and live in harmony, rather than in conflict, alongside my western dress
Thamer Al Subaihi is a reporter at The National and a returning Emirati who grew up largely in the US
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