An old American song begins with the words, “What is America to me?” Frank Sinatra sings about the different people who make up America – the grocer and the butcher, people of all races, the new and old immigrants – and the places that make America home: the corner news-stand, the pavement, the church, the school and the clubhouse.
As I think about our country and what makes it home to me, I also think of the diversity of people with different nationalities who enriched my childhood in Dubai, and the Emiratis who make me proud to come from this land.
The Iranian grocer was an important part of my youth – my young aunts and uncles and I would get together after school and call him up. Sometimes we wanted the spicy chips from Al Ain, which we’d wash down with salty laban. On other days we’d ask for chocolate – Kit Kats, perhaps? Our neighbourhood grocer would deliver without fail.
The butcher wasn’t very important to me, but the Lebanese baker was. More specifically, Al Reef Al Lubnani. Thank goodness they opened up a second location in Jumeira after we moved from Al Jafiliya. To this day, there is no food that I crave as much as I crave those mana’eesh.
I miss the newspapers we used to buy on the way to school or back home from school. It was a special delight to take out the right amount of dirhams and stretch our arms out of the car window towards the newspaper salesman. There was something deliciously exciting about getting the day’s news in those crinkly papers.
The street that I lived on was not paved when we built our house. There was not much near us, but we could always count on the nearby Spinneys for entertainment on dull days. There we would ask the salespeople about new books and watch the British students behave very differently from the way we Emiratis behaved.
To this day, our neighbours often send us a portion of whatever they are cooking, and we do the same. When a family loses a loved one, there would be signs all around the area saying “funeral” in Arabic and pointing in the right direction. This is a place where people comfort each other whenever comfort is needed, and where people celebrate each others’ joy whenever there is joy to be celebrated.
The house I lived in, where my parents still live, smells like bukhoor and dihin oud. Our table always boasts a plate of local dates, and our rice is often laced with saffron. Our hands are often decorated with henna, and our clothes are always starched.
May this bounty never end, may this harmony last, may our rulers continue to be blessed with wisdom, and may our people continue to be generous.
Shatha Almutawa is an Emirati living in Washington, DC
