I’m sure I was not alone in feeling my heart jump out of my chest as a security warning rang out on my phone just past midnight early on Sunday morning.
Like many others around the UAE, I was just nodding off from a day that I won't forget in a hurry when the government warning lit up my phone. While I was home by myself, wondering what happens next, I wasn’t alone at all.
My day started by waking up to a breaking news alert from The National: Israel and the US have struck Iran. My heart sank. I can’t say I was completely shocked after weeks of listening to the foreign desk in the newsroom discuss developments, but I don’t think I wanted to believe it.
During my morning gym session, my mind played over what this could all mean and the civilian lives that had already been lost. As I met a friend for late lunch on Palm Jumeirah a few hours later, after a frantic phone call to my mum back home in the UK, I tried to put it out of my mind for a few hours.
That’s when I started hearing explosion sounds all around. My friend and I tried to press on with our long-overdue catch-up, but I could feel each boom reverberate through me. We said our goodbyes at 4pm and headed home.
In the 10 seconds between getting out of the taxi and walking into my apartment building, a missile was intercepted over my head – although at the time I didn't know that was what I was hearing. It was so loud, my heart raced.
Once inside, I called my dad. He acknowledged my panic and reassured me. “It's normal to be scared, especially the first time,’ while telling me to keep calm yet be cautious, offering advice for ways I could be and feel safer at home.
The next few hours were spent calling and texting friends and colleagues alike: How are you? Should I come over? Stay in touch. Love you. My phone's on ringer, call me any time.
Eventually, after checking in hourly, I started to fall asleep. But as soon as the phone alarm warning sounded, telling people to shelter in place, my eyes shot open.
I instantly got a “You OK?” message from one of my oldest friends from the UK, who's also living in the UAE now. Pregnant, with her husband and son around her, she still wanted to know how I was.
My best friend from Dubai instantly texted, too: “Did you get the alarm? Are you OK?”
Another, who I call my sister, said: “Hayley, I’m so scared.” We spoke on the phone until I could feel her calm down, and then again 20 minutes later before trying to drift off.
Once I processed the alarm warnings, logically, I felt safe. The warning was to protect us and the sounds were the UAE air defence system doing its job – and brilliantly. Worrying rarely helps. It’s perhaps why, during such situations, my friends tend to call me. Like my dad, I do my best to keep calm and be practical yet prepared.
But my body felt panicked. The sheer shock had me shaking at times, making it impossible to switch my mind into sleep mode. So I called my rock – my dad – again. “This is normal, it’s just adrenalin. Get up and do some weights or movement to shake it out, you’ll soon go back to sleep.” I did. And he was right.
In the coming days, calmness and resilience prevailed, but it was still a time of many emotions. A collective pride in the UAE for keeping its people safe. Community pride for those who stepped up to assist those in need. Professional pride in my colleagues, who were working tirelessly to cover development, and many of whom were also fasting.
But there is also an overwhelming sense of sorrow. For many people in the world, safety is not their norm. This is barely even a fraction of what some of our neighbours have experienced in present times and throughout years of history. Too many lives have already been taken. I can only hope and pray for more peaceful days ahead – for everyone.
And then there’s love. During any uncertainty, it’s always important to remember, appreciate, cherish and spread more of it. For me, it's those people you call on in a time of panic or crisis who really become your family away from home.
