Dubai Diaspora

“She isn’t really from here though.”

This is what I had said to my husband in the departures lounge of Dubai’s international airport. I emphasized the word “from” in a way I felt my made my point irrefutable.

Dan had frustratingly not accepted this truism for the statement of fact it clearly was. This tendency to obstinately refute that which I considered irrefutable was a consistent trait of his. Dan lives quite relentlessly in reality.

Even more irritatingly he can often support his position with a series of, on the surface, reasonable statements.

In this case they were:

1.     She was born here

2.     Up until today she has never left here

3.     Where else is she from?

Point’s one or two I had to just allow because there was no way to dispute them. Point three was really the crux of the matter and I’ll admit it’s a difficult one to answer except to say that “she really isn’t from here though.” Where that means she is from is less clear.

The “she” in question being Agatha, our six-month-old daughter. She’s our first child but both Dan and I are teachers, so we feel more qualified than most new parents when we say that Agatha is clearly a unique gem of a child and obviously very, very intelligent. That is our entirely unbiased professional opinion anyway.

Dan is English, while I am Irish. How we make it work I don’t know but we manage.

Growing up I never had any cause to think of my Irishness, it wasn’t something I was insecure in, nor something I was proud of. It existed in the same space as being human, being a girl, having two brothers and sister. It was a biographical detail I shared with all around me. In some ways being Irish only became apparent to me when I moved abroad.

Dan had a different experience, growing up in London, his dad’s side was from Bermuda while his mom’s were from Poland originally. His friends had similarly eclectic backgrounds in a city that in many ways thought of itself as a singular entity not necessarily bound by Englishness or Britishness.

Dan had always worn his identities loosely, to him it was second nature to be all these things and none of these things at the same time. He would say he was English if pressed but it never sat totally right with him, he was a Londoner first and foremost.

It was strange to think about Agatha growing up possibly even more untethered, Dubai didn’t have the same living entity vibe that London had, and it was hard to imagine her feeling the same affinity for it as Dan felt for his hometown. Would she simply be a citizen of the world? I’d heard that said before but never by someone who wasn’t either being ironic or permanently stoned and living off their parents.

The flight home went as well as could be hoped for with an infant in tow. I’m always flying “home” but whenever I land the word home morphs to refer to wherever I’ve just left. It’s an elusive concept to catch.

Boarding a long-haul flight with a baby in your arms can be a humbling experience, you’d be more welcome if you were ringing a leper bell.

Agatha fussed and threatened a meltdown briefly but in the end her heart wasn’t in it, and she fell blessedly asleep.

A woman across the aisle from us had neglected to bring headphones, instead she endeavored to watch a movie using a method whereby she watched several seconds before holding the phone speaker, which was operating at full volume to overcome the noise of the aircraft, to her ear before quickly looking back to the screen.

She didn’t seem in the slight bit bothered by how audible her entertainment was and how irritating it was to her fellow passengers. How blissful it must be to go through the world completely oblivious to those around you.

After twenty minutes I’d had enough and decided to take the strongest response I felt was available to me. My eyes searched around the cabin until I caught the look of a women in the row behind the head phoneless villain, she was older than me and sat with her arms folded.

Holding eye contact I flicked my eyes towards the nuisance, before glancing up in a way I felt inferred, “can you believe this inconsiderate behavior? What is wrong with some people?” In response the older woman pursed her lips in a knowing way and rolled her eyes, clearly conveying, “Yes, you are correct and clearly a more civilized person than this aural assailant.”

Feeling validated alleviated a great deal of my rage and I relaxed, there was nothing more to be done.

Once we exited the airport in Dublin, I felt the relief of having helpers on hand. The village they say it takes to raise a baby was here and I could kick back, at least a little bit. Of course, for Dan it was different, he got on with my family well, but we’d never lived here together, he always met my family in these intense concentrated bursts. It meant, despite us being married several years and now with a baby, he was still in perpetual be at your best with your in-law’s mode. It is undoubtedly exhausting for him.

The Sunday after we arrived my parents had a barbeque at the house, it was the height of summer, but it was still Ireland, and the weather could not be trusted. We were lucky and while it was a bit breezy the sun shone and most importantly it was mercifully dry.

While I sat back and caught up with cousins I hadn’t seen in years, Agatha was handed around the whole party. She was the main attraction, and she was bounced and coddled the whole day, seemingly very comfortable being the center of attention.

Later, with the sun lower in the sky there was the slightest chill in the air and Agatha seemed briefly agitated. My aunt, a fluent interpreter of baby signals recognized what was needed at a glance. Swooping in with a blanket she swaddled Agatha up.

“You’re used to the desert heat, aren’t you?” she cooed to a now contented baby.

Looking to me she gestured to the green garden around her, half covered in shade now. With a soft smile she said, “she isn’t really from here.”