Let’s be honest. Al Dhafra is a man’s world.
“Anna,” said my friend, “do you go to these things alone?”
“If I waited for a man to do everything, I’d never do anything,” I said.
I couldn’t wait for a man to escort me at Al Dhafra. I went alone.
That is to say, I arrived alone. A camel festival is not a place for solitude. People are compelled by tradition and grace to be generous and hospitable at their camps.
When teenage boys are not in the stands screeching for their favourite camel, they are racing modified cars down Millions Road. At the same time, there is a certain decorum of hospitality and women are treated as guests.
The good news is, even though no women (except maybe Fatima Al Hameli) are seen in the grandstands or on Millions Road, there are still a lot of families who camp at the tack market. Some travel alone, others with families, or male and female helpers.
Men cruise in the market during the day to buy camel belly dancing belts and necklaces. At night it’s tightly monitored by police, who set up a roadblock at 10pm to stop cars from entering. Between 10pm and 11pm they do a patrol to ensure all is peaceful.
The police are no-nonsense. One night I was grilled and almost refused entry because they mistook me for a man.
If you are woman on your own, the market is a safe place to stay. It’s located on the right side of the Al Dhafra road, beside the Ministry of Interior village just before the road forks.
Nightfall does not bring the peaceful serenity of the open desert. My neighbours played camel songs late into the night and curious children from the tent next door lingered outside my tent, but disappeared the moment I emerged.
The one morning when I lingered late and ate breakfast outside my tent there were several stares from working men hawking phone cards, and shouts from early shoppers driving past.
On the second morning, I shared some gingerbread cookies with the children next door.
On the third morning, a boy gave me a can of Sprite for breakfast. A group of brave girls came to ask my name and where my baby was. Because, being an old woman, they thought I had children somewhere for them to play with.
“No baby,” I said. “Just me.”
On my first night a group of women out for a late-night stroll shook my hands and welcomed me to the market. After inviting me to tea, they inquired where I planned to sleep. We were standing in front of my tent.
“Here,” I said.
“You have a tent here?” asked the elderly woman.
“This is it,” I said pointing to the small blue tent.
She looked a little shocked. Nylon tents are considered flimsy and, well, not really a proper tent at all. Campers here go big or go home. Tents are build of canvas and built to last.
Women who make and sell tack live a nomadic life but always look good. I saw more than one woman wearing velvet gowns and gold jewellery at sunrise.
I suspect I did not meet my adult neighbours because they would have felt obligated to share their food. People must offer hospitality, even if they have little to share. With this in mind, it is polite to decline the first offer of food to give people a gracious way out. If they want you to come, they will insist. Tea is a different story. Never, ever refuse tea.
There are large camps in the surrounding deserts where camel owners host friends, families and fans. Women do not traditionally sit in the men’s area but as a tourist you will likely be considered gender neutral and welcomed to stay.
I find elders to be extremely welcoming and respectful. It is only younger men, around 40 years old, who cite ever tradition as a barrier. For the most part, people want to share their culture regardless of gender. (If you’re a woman, that is. Men, forget it, you are never going into the women’s section. Ever.)
In the stands, tourists are taken to the gilded chairs of the VIP section and toured around judging pens but there is more fun to be had in the public stands on the far right if you don’t mind a crowd of raucous boys. It’s a little bit of mayhem and a lot of spontaneous singing and dancing.
In the UAE men usually keep a wide berth. At Dhafra, there are crowds. Men will bump into you. There are some curious stares but that is as far as it goes. A few boys and young men put their hands on my shoulder or reached out to touch my camera.
Young men who speak English, often overseas students who are home for the winter break, approach tourists to offer help. In my experience, this is quite genuine.
I would advise women against any temptation to join the dancing. Men, grab your camel stick and go for it.
There are no designated women’s washrooms on site. Women can use the men’s washrooms and men will keep guard so that you have the cabin to yourself. Women may be more comfortable at the hotel facilities two minutes up the road.
Modest dress and a few words of Arabic go a long way.
Everyone will have a different experience. Al humdullilah, my experiences at Al Dhafra have been nothing but positive. People take it upon themselves as a pride of honour to make sure guests, male or female, are comfortable and happy.
