We, the four of us, the happy family,
are marching through the Mall of the Emirates, two abreast by two, Roman centurion style.
The mall is large beyond belief, massive on a monumental scale, a city all by itself, and we need a system to get through to the famous indoor ski hill here in the mall.
Why the ski hill? Because it was on the Amazing Race TV show and the boys want to see it and collect an 'I was here' photo.
As for me, I don't want to get lost, so I stay in line, marching. I don't care if I only get a cursory glance as we march by the tantilizing shop windows; there will be another time. I'm glad to be with my family. We are a tribe.
The Emiratis are tribal. They do everything together with nuclear and extended family...that's the tribe and it's very, very important. They travel through the mall in tribes too. Flocks of black abaya clad women, most likely sisters and cousins, flutter through the mall together. Men in white dishdashas , probably brothers, socialize as they stroll the indoor sidewalks.
We four are all wearing long pants, with long sleeves, appropriately attired for Westerners in a Muslim culture where everyone is covered to the gills. I've got layers, my bosom is camouflaged as instructed in the Koran, there's no revealing shape left to attract unwanted glances. Sometimes, I wear a scarf wrapped around my neck as a sort of an acknowledgement of the hijab, wearing it but not, as a little sign of respect to say I know where I am.
There seems to be a lot of westerners around us who don't know where they are...hmmm.
We continue marching towards the Ski Dubai hill.
I hear a pair of dishdasha clad men walking behind us.
"Nice family", one says to the other.
Are they talking about us?
They are talking about us!!
I squeal inwardly with delight.
It's made my day.
Naw, it's made my decade!
