The Al Ain Oasis (I)

A number of commentators have asked how I met the strange and motley crew I have, in fact, met. I tried, in an earlier post, to explain. But perhaps, for the UAE, I should begin at the beginning.

My first position in the UAE was in Al Ain, where, for the first two months, we were told we could not obtain a driver’s license nor rent a car. We were all assigned ‘buddies’ on whom we could call for chauffeur service. We were all warned to stay in the Western compounds, to use our ‘buddies’ to get to and from work, and to only shop in Western-oriented supermarkets, preferably escorted by our ‘buddies.’ Only my ‘buddy,’ while willing, seemed reluctant to act as my chauffeur, and I didn’t want to impose. So, instead of using my ‘buddy,’ I tried to use the taxis.

Most of the drivers only spoke Urdu, though a few spoke Arabic. None spoke English. I had directions to my place of work written down for me (in Arabic), but that didn’t work. If I could take the direct route, the cost was about €1, but one taxi gave me the ‘scenic tour’ and charged €10.

Eventually, I learned how to direct the taxis in pidgin (a mixture of Urdu and Arabic) to and from my workplace. Then I found the shared taxis. One took me north/south from my flat to the latitude of my place of employment, and the second took me east/west to the longitude of my employer. All for less than €0.40. As a result, I met lots of people no other Westerners would ever meet, people who think all Westerners keep more than €1,000,000 in petty cash.

When I told my co-workers what I was doing, they were horrified, and told me about Andrew. Andrew had gone out by himself regularly. Eventually, he had the temerity to go inside the Al Ain Oasis. The cleanest version was that he had narrowly escaped being murdered. The most common version was that he had nearly lost his honour, in other words, that he had almost been gang raped inside the Oasis. The stories were widely believed, though completely false. But at first I believed them.

Long before arriving in Al Ain, I had seen Oases. They all consisted of a small pond, about 10 meters in diameter, surrounded by a few palm trees, a few camels, and a few tents. If one looks carefully, one might see Rudolf Valentino, or hear Bing Crosby crooning to Dorothy Lamour. Like the wide-spread story of Andrew, these Hollywood images were completely false.

The Al Ain Oasis is about 100 hectares, or about one kilometre square. It is surrounded by a high wall, with a fort at one end and a palace/fort at the other (both are now museums). The Rulers of Al Ain have jealously guarded the water, and sold it to passing caravans. For the last 5,000 years.

Inside the Oasis are, mostly, date palms, but also mangos, bananas, and grass for forage. There are a couple of small troughs for watering livestock, but most of the water is kept underground until needed for irrigating the crops. The water is not local, but transported from distant springs through an underground falaj system. The water is cycled on a strict system based on the sun and stars, so each farmer gets his allotment, no more, no less.

I was terrified of the Oasis, but fascinated. I went to a café on the edge and ordered tea. Nothing happened. I was approached by no one except the waiter, and charged the price in the menu. The café had lots of TVs, but all were tuned to Arabic channels, so, when I’d finished my tea, I went home. But the pathway leading from the café into the Oasis was intriguing, and I was tempted.

Eventually, one weekend, I ventured a short way into the Oasis, and then ran out. The next weekend, I ventured a bit further before retreating at a dead run, and the next weekend further still. Finally, I emerged, unscathed, on the other side of the Oasis. I had crossed the entire Oasis, alone. And no one had tried to assault me, or bother me in any way.