We're about to hear a lot about the benefits of walking through The National's #startwalking campaign. Advocates ascribe to it everything from increased clarity of thought to a lowered prospect of dementia, but I can add one more: if not for walking, I probably never would have found an Emirati encampment in the midst of suburban Abu Dhabi.
The path to this discovery began when I landed in Abu Dhabi in 2008 and, as with most new arrivals, the distinctly different culture of the UAE meant I failed to see the nuances that underpin both Emirati and expatriate communities here.
My standard theory when travelling is that the fastest way to get the pulse of an unfamiliar city is simply to wander around on foot. So in Abu Dhabi, I started walking home from my office in the mid-island Al Ittihad district to my flat near Khalidiya Mall, a distance of about 6km.
Each evening, I’d try to find a different variation of the plethora of side streets and alleyways that separate the villas, mosques, schools and shops within each of the major blocks.
I already knew before I arrived that the capital was often decried as a pedestrian-unfriendly city but I didn’t find that to be the case. Each evening’s journey was a fascinating experience that expedited my understanding of the strata of society in the UAE. Some evenings, I’d go through modern areas with mammoth mansions. Other times, I would go through older suburbs with far more modest homes and see the neighbourhood children playing football with screaming enthusiasm in the cul de sacs.
One of the zones with the most lavish homes was off Delma Street near the junction of Al Karama Street. As is often the case around the world, the more lavish the home, the higher the fence and more insulated it is from the outside world. For me, there was little to hint at what occurred inside these homes.
In between these mammoth homes, there were still a few empty plots, most of which featured the island’s ubiquitous beige-hued sand and served to demonstrate that nothing other than the most drought-tolerant weeds grow in Abu Dhabi without some form of irrigation.
But one of these vacant plots, next to what seemed to be the biggest mansion of all, stood out because instead of beige sand, there was the distinctive red sand as found in the Empty Quarter. As I approached from a back alleyway, I could see a traditional goat-hair tent pitched in the middle of the plot.
The open side of the tent faced the street and there were half a dozen kandura-clad Emirati men chatting and drinking cups of gahwa. In a response that I now know to be distinctly Emirati, they beckoned me to join them.
It turned out this tent was set up by the family that owned the enormous mansion alongside but the father of the family preferred the simplicity of a goat-hair tent and the feel of sand under his feet to the air-conditioned comforts of his modern home.
He was clearly of the vintage who remembered life before oil, explaining how he had had to leave Abu Dhabi in search of work overseas. Once there was work available to draw him back, he had built what at the time must have been a substantial home.
One evening, he explained, Sheikh Zayed came to see him and joked that his house was too small so he built the lavish mansion there now.
But he preferred his tent majlis. As we chatted, he and his sons welcomed a steady procession of visitors who dropped in to chat and catch up on events. I thanked him for his hospitality and left.
Over the years, I’ve dropped in again on the tent majlis from time to time. In the warmer months, they air-condition the tent and in winter they light a fire out the front. The warmth of the welcome always remained unaltered.
Would I have had this encounter if I hadn’t taken to the streets and walked the back alleys? It’s unlikely. There would be no reason to stop or to feel I’d be welcomed if I’d driven past the tent. But on foot, I’d travelled at a pace that fostered such an interaction.
jhenzell@thenational.ae
