We Didn't Get the Memo

Uggggggh. Today we had our first uncomfortable encounter with Dubai.

It started out innocently enough. The kids wanted to go to the beach and, seeing as there is no school (EVER) and that a gorgeous beach is just five minutes away, we (agonizingly, tediously) got the kids packed up and loaded into the car. The fact that today is the second day of the Muslim holiday Eid didn't factor into our planning at all (aside from the fact that our driver was off work for a second day and so--the horror!--Daddy had to drive the car himself).

We snagged a great parking spot and, after what seemed like 45 minutes of extracting our selves and our gear from the car, we began ambling across the street to the sand. But our feet had not even touched the first (powdery, dreamlike) grain before we noticed a dramatic change in the landscape. Gone was the sparsely populated beach from which unobstructed, breathtaking views were available from every angle; now, the beach was teeming with people, practically crowding each other right up to the street.

And ALL of the beachgoers were MEN. My eyes scanned frantically for a woman but I could find none.

Furthermore-- and this is simply an objective observation-- we were the only Caucasian people there.

A bunch of guys were listening to music blaring from a parked car and loitering along the guardrails that we would have to pass in order to make our way down to the beach, and instantly I think all of us adults experienced a bristling of the hairs on the backs of our necks.  Upon our approach, there was no denying that we were being intensely stared at by the men. As if we were about to enter a space in which we were not welcome.

Regardless, I grabbed the kids' hands and cheerfully trotted on past the men. I refused to succumb to the tightening I was feeling in my stomach; after all, I assured myself, this is just a crowded beach... the fact that the people at the beach are of a different gender and a different race than myself is no reason to pass any judgment... to do so would be ignorant and unfair.

And so I released Sushi and Screamer onto the sand, and they bounded off towards the water like the puppies they are.

Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the fact that they were Little Girls, Frolicking, in Bathing Suits.

Not because the bathing suits or the frolicking was risque or inappropriate or suggestive in any way, but because dozens of men's eyes were immediately locked onto the children in what struck me as a leering, ogling, icky way.

PopPop's guard flew up, and he suggested that we get out of there.  But I, still wanting to give the beachgoers the benefit of the doubt and not wanting it to ever be suggested that we were harboring race-based preconceptions, brushed off his warning and escorted the unknowing children into the water.  (It should be noted that I was still fully dressed in shorts and a t-shirt at this point and was, in fact, carrying Baby on my chest in the Bjorn.)

I was doing a fair enough job of focusing on the kids and ignoring what felt like hundreds of male eyes upon us when a small group of three men approached us.  One of them, shirtless and probably about 25 years old, held out a camera and gestured to me and the kids and the water.  My first thought was that he wanted me to take his picture.  I held my hands out for the camera, but he shook his head and gestured towards us again.  My next thought was that he assumed we were tourists, and was offering to take a group picture of us.  And so I smiled sweetly, and said, "No, thanks, I have plenty of pictures at home" (a line for which my family would heavily ridicule me later).  It was only when he saddled up right next to me and handed the camera to one of his cohorts that it dawned on me: he didn't want to take a picture FOR us, he wanted to take a picture WITH us.  

As in, I had refused to allow him to take a picture of the girls romping in the ocean, but he was willing to settle for a picture of the baby around my neck.

All at once, it seemed like we were more than outsiders: we were novelty items on display.  I felt threatened by the way we were being objectified, and I wanted to shield my daughters from the scrutiny.  With a curt, "Ok, girls, the water is too cold [editorial note: thank goodness it actually was] and the beach is too crowded today," I ushered the girls out of the water.  Bless their hearts, they chose that moment to actually obey my instructions as opposed to at least one of them pitching their usual fit, which only would have attracted more attention (if that was possible).

As we all scurried towards the car, Daddy said, "I think this is about the children.  I remember seeing something about a fascination with children here."  Realizing that, in fact, no one had been lining up to take photos with PopPop or Daddy, I vowed to research the issue when we got home, hoping earnestly that we were wrong about the throngs of men and that their interest in the children was more curiosity-driven than sexual.

The kids were still covered in sand, so on our way home we stopped off at the clubhouse to let them jump in the pool and rinse off (go figure that we hadn't taken the time at the beach).  There we bumped into the mother of one of Sushi's friends from school.  When we relayed our recent experience, she casually explained, "Oh, right, well we never go to the public beach on Fridays or holidays.  Far too many construction workers."  Hmmm.  Seems we had to learn that lesson the hard way.

For what it's worth, this is the passage that Daddy was thinking of, from one of his "Explorer" residence guides: 

"One thing to take note of here is how people may approach you when you are out with your child-- strangers may want to come over and say hello, or even ask you if they can take a photo of your child.  While this kind of behavior might raise the alarm bells in western countries, here it is far from sinister and simply reflects the great love that there is for children in the region.  However, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, of course you have the right to politely refuse any unwanted contact or photography."

This all sounds good, but I'm still not entirely convinced that what we experienced today was completely innocuous.  I feel that I have been the subject of today's stare before-- it was the kind of gaze upon you that you get when you walk alone past a construction site (ooh, look at all the bad press that construction workers are getting in this post!)-- and it never felt like a benign, full-of-appreciation type of look to me.  Then again, maybe some of the men at the beach today were like a community of Middle Eastern Michael Jacksons: all bearers of a "great love for children," albeit a kinda misplaced, creepy one?

Either way, we have learned our lesson.  Purely in the interest of being extra cautious with the children, on Fridays and holidays from this day forward, we are, officially, Pool People.