Fake Lights, True Stories

Dubai is often branded as artificial and frivolous. With its flashing lights, eccentric architecture, fast pace, and hard-core consumerism it is perceived by most (especially Europeans) as a façade beyond which one can discover little of significance. Yet, when scratching this glittering veneer, there are authentic stories to be found, full of hope and despair, success and fatigue, joy and disappointment. It takes a bit of effort and a conscious eye to uncover them; their presence though resonates with our humanity and brings a much-needed meaning to the modernity of the city. Such was my recent experience in the Global Village where, this time, I collected more stories than products, and I understood how the news’ headlines turn into individual narratives and humble tales worth acknowledging and remembering.

Over my years in the Gulf, the Global Village – a festival full of lights, food, and music – turned into a personal point of solace. Visiting it at least once during the winter months became a yearly ritual that, in its repetition and familiarity, brought joy and gravity in an often-unsettling life. Located a few kilometres outside the centre of Dubai, this concept of an open-air fair with large pavilions named after various countries, offered access to region-specific products at competitive prices while surrounded by a convivial ambience – a true joie de vivre.

The low entrance fee attracts people from all social classes, even the ones that cannot be seen in other, similarly popular projects in Dubai. It used to be – and still is – one of the few places where one can encounter so many locals, apparently flooding from the rural areas of the country, women with their faces covered in the traditional burqas, and whole families in a mass excursion – definitely not the Dubai-Mall-kind of people. This, by itself, adds a flair of authenticity in the sparkling entertainment park and turns the visit into a cultural expedition.

The entrance gate today. The colours change from blue and green to red and orange.

The original entrance gate was – I remember – rather modest, compared to the present, fairy-tale domes that lure the visitors with their alternating colours. The central artery – once just a boulevard – is adorned today on both sides by copies of famous landmarks – an Eiffel Tour, a Big Ben chiming the time, a Burj Khalifa, and others – before opening to the circular area on the periphery of which the country pavilions are erected. There used to be a small artificial creek with abras (the traditional small boats), but this was replaced this year with a floating, Asian-food market. A fun park, countless food kiosks selling Karak tea, Turkish ice cream or fried potatoes in a skewer, restaurants representing all kinds of cuisines, huge electronic billboards with dazzling colours, musical attractions, and the invitations right and left of the different merchants, nudging the passersby to, at least, try their products complete the picture of this giant fair.

The Big Ben, Pisa Tower, and Colosseum

The pavilions of Russia and Japan

The pavilions of Yemen and Iran: huge and glamorous, they offer an interesting statement, given today’s political agendas in the region.

The floating, Asian-food market in the canal.

My routine route would invariably take me through the Yemeni pavilion (for honey and spices), the Jordanian (for spiced labneh, olives, and pickles), the Lebanese (for soaps and cosmetics), the Iranian (for nuts and saffron), the Omani (for frankincense and bakhour, that is, Arabic incense), and the Turkish for ice cream. Once this standard tour was completed, I would stroll through the Syrian pavilion to admire the traditional furniture covered in mother-of-pearl, the Afghani to check the carpets, the Vietnamese for the ornaments, and the Saudi for dates. And, no trip to the Global Village would be complete without passing by the Emirati luqaimat station, where women, sitting on the ground, fry the doughnuts of the region, pouring on top generous portions of rub (date honey).

Spices from Turkey

Spices in the Yemeni pavilion.

Entertainment in the Jordanian pavilion

Arabic incenses

Jars of my favourite spiced labneh, usually found in the Jordanian, the Palestinian, the Syrian, and the Lebanese pavilions. The most hospitable, offering the most, free samples were usually the Jordanians.

Roasted, green olives: a new delicacy, worth trying.

Dates from Saudi Arabia

And the inevitable luquaimat ladies.

Years passed by, and the number of participating countries increased – as did the renting costs for the merchants. The structures became fancier and more elaborate, the restaurants multiplied, while the selling prices swelled – despite any bargaining – to non-competitive levels, and the variety of the products deteriorated significantly. One can easily spend 1,000 dirhams (more than 200 Euros) on a visit even when cautious, and a family with children (who get bewitched by the diversity, the music, and the colours) is doomed to spend much more. As the prices and the index of the regional economy moved towards opposite directions, the people became more prudent in their spending, and today one can locate families carrying snacks from home to enjoy an impromptu picnic by the canal, keeping the cost of the visit to more manageable levels. This, in turn, made the merchants desperate, their anxiety evident in their eyes, their body language, and their bargaining attempts that occasionally sound like a cry for help.

In the Palestinian pavilion (a rare treat this year as it is usually co-hosted with Jordan), a young woman from Nablus persuaded me to purchase a few soaps, though I was not planning to buy any. The Nablus soaps are famous for their purity and quality – much like the Lebanese ones from Tripoli, I dare say. Despite my affinity for natural soaps, I was determined to resist the temptation, as my recent trips to Lebanon had already provided me with a plentiful supply. But the woman swore to God that her soaps offered unparalleled value, her voice felt as if about to crack, and her eyes cast pleading requests, so in the end, I succumbed, for the emotional pressure – which seemed genuine and not a marketing trick – was too strong to bear.

Nablus soaps

In the Jordanian pavilion, a young merchant handed me a small glass of pomegranate juice, urging me to try it. I had just arrived in the Village and was not keen to fill up with liquids, but he insisted “come on, take it, it is for free,” and, somehow, I was unable to refuse. Admittedly, the taste was cool and refreshing, so I was about to order a cup to share with my friend when I raised my head and noticed the exhaustion on the guy’s face. His eyes were filled with fatigue and despair, showing he was a broken man trying to make it through. Indeed, thanks to my Arabic-speaking friend, we learnt that he was a Syrian, illegally stuck in the UAE for over three years, unable to get a residence visa due to the political challenges of the region and his nationality. The fines had accumulated to almost 100,000 dirhams – an amount he would never be able to pay – and he was cornered with no apparent escape route until the government recently decided to waive all fines from such illegal residents, offering them the choice to either safely leave the country or get a residence visa and work in the UAE. He was now trying to make a living, the poor guy selling only some juice, 15 dirhams a cup.

Our Syrian friend next to his pomegranate-juice tank.

On another alley of the Jordanian pavilion, though, there was the success story of a Palestinian-origin company manufacturing traditional Arabic sweets. The young man – the owner – at the counter shared that his family was originally from Jaffa but had been living for so many years in the UAE that he, himself, was born and raised there. For the past 26 years, his mum had been making sweets in their home in Fujairah, gaining a reputation for her desserts and a loyal clientele. The young generation soon took over, applying the business principles on the initial project, branding it – the name now is “Dates & Wheat” – and developing new distribution channels including an application. For those having a sweet tooth like I, it is worth noting that the pastries were divine with their aromatic crust crumbling in the mouth: maybe some of the best I have ever tasted.

Free, pastry samples and coffee at the “Dates & Wheat” stall.

A variety of pastries

The Khaliji pavilions (from the countries of the Gulf) have blossomed in size, though not necessarily in the variety of products. All of them are dominated by stalls selling bakhour and perfumes, manned – as an interesting marketing technique – by the most handsome young Khaliji men I have had the chance to encounter throughout my stay in the area. Smiling, sophisticated, well-spoken and sweet-tongued, they all reached out with elegance and subtle flirting flair, making the interaction irresistible and fun. I found it very hard to escape from the well-woven net cast by a few of them, and I kept on moving to avoid even getting our gazes crossed, for I would be lured to another round of unnecessary discussions and negotiations.

One of the most enjoyable experiences though is at the Yemeni pavilion and the honey stalls. The men there are not as well groomed or cultured as the other Khaliji merchants – instead, they appear to have a more rural background – however, they are full of laughter and jokes, and the lines of large vases of honey become an inevitable stop. The Yemeni honey is legendary – something that, admittedly, I did not know before travelling to the Gulf. It comes at a surprisingly large variety, including honey that is white as snow, or others that are labelled according to their healing properties. The most famous kinds though come from sidar and samra, while there are also the so-called “royal” kinds of honey that are sold at the astounding prices of 1,500 dirhams (around 360 Euros today) or even 3,000 dirhams (more than 700 Euros) per kilo. I approached the stall with a smile but, also, with the determined statement that, coming from Greece, I already have access to excellent honey at much better prices, so I am only window-shopping. The guy smiled and swiftly put in front of me a package labelled as “camel urine” – apparently a remedy for hair loss – and he proudly stated: “You may have honey, but I am sure you do not have this!” We cracked laughing, and that was enough: I was hooked and could not get away without buying something. Now, how I ended up purchasing a quarter of a kilo of the 1,500 dirhams royal honey, paying an amount much higher than what I would typically pay for a full kilo, is still a mystery to me. The taste was undeniably exquisite though, and I do not regret it: the bargaining and the whole experience were so enjoyable that it was worth the cost. After all, these guys drive for three days all the way from Yemen today, going through the safer paths that only the locals know, trying to maintain a normal life in the middle of inexplicable frenzy and a war that is raging on their land without their consent.

My very persuasive Yemeni friend

The stall with the Yemeni honey jars (the Anhar honey company)

The unusual, white honey.

The camel urine remedy which I kindly declined.

It seems that, over the years, the Global Village deviated from its initial purpose, becoming today an expensive, open-air mall. However, it maintains the joyful ambience, the intercultural interaction, and the bargaining fun, so visiting is still entertaining and fulfilling. Above all, the project acts as a reminder of the bonds that keep us together, the similarities we share, and the humanity that is frequently lost in the impersonal, lustrous façade of the modern districts of a city. It is this combination – and antithesis – of the individual story against the background of the global village in which we all live that weaves the patterns of our society, helping us understand and embrace the singularity of the path that unfolds ahead.

Photo credits: © Konstantina Sakellariou

A big “thank you” to my friend, Suzanne, who helped me with the translations between English and Arabic and, thus, made it possible for me to hear many of the stories that, otherwise, would go unheard.

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