Newsletter 7
July 3, 2005
Today I got my UAE driver’s license. It wasn’t as easy as it sounds even though they will, upon presentation of necessary documents, give a holder of a US driver’s license a UAE license without requiring testing. The adventure started at about 8:30 or 9:00 AM when Brian, the new library hire from the USA, told me that F., one of the library employees, had offered to take him to get his driver’s license and asked if Id like to come along. Of course I said yes! First, we had to be sure we each had all the necessary documents: original driver’s license from the states, photocopy of driver’s license, passport w/resident visa, copy of passport, copy of visa, “To Whom It May Concern” letter (without salary information) from UAEU, 4 color photos, translation of driver’s license into Arabic, and a “blood type” certificate! We had all but the last two. Those we needed to get.
Having most of those in hand, we headed out in F’s car. She drove us all the way out to Al Jahli near my flat then turned west and went forever, it seemed, until we got to the transportation department. Once inside, we – actually F – asked at a guard desk where we needed to go and were directed to another building with a long flight of stairs leading up to its door.
In there, we were directed to the right counter where we were helped by a young woman who – lo and behold – turned out to be a friend of F. We showed our ID’s, turned over a photo each and were given back an official form with our photo attached and an official stamp on it. This we were to take with us to a hospital for a blood-type test and then return with it to this building for an eye test. We then drove all the way back into the town center to find a translation service that would translate our driver’s licenses into Arabic. We tried two before the third said they could help. The translations could be done right away but the person who had to sign the translations wouldn’t be in the office for another half hour! We showed our passports as ID and left our US driver’s licenses there for translation and headed out for the hospital for our blood type tests.
At the Al Ain Hospital, we had to park a long way from the main building because the main parking lot was full and then walk to it in the blazing sun. Inside, F inquired at the first set of service windows where we needed to go and was directed to the rear of the building, down a long, wide hallway crowded with people – veiled black-robed Emirati women, women from other countries clad in colorful saris and matching head coverings, men in long white dishdashas (robes) with white or red/white checked head coverings, white skull caps or wrapped cloth turbans, men wearing beige or light green or light blue long loose shirts with matching loose legged long pants, plus a few people – including Brian and me – in western style clothes. F was wearing an abaya – long black robe – and a shayla, a scarf covering her neck and hair - but no veil.
We were directed variously as we went by assorted people to one room after another without finding the right place, then outside to an open walkway between two buildings to an open doorway where two signs in Arabic and English were posted, an official one reading “Men’s blood lab” and a computer generated one, “Driver’s license blood tests are now in Main Lab.” Foiled again! We had to exit the walkway, go down a railed ramp, double back on a sidewalk between the railed ramp and some shrubbery, cross a driveway and go up a flight of wide steps into another building.
Inside, F inquired at the reception station the way to the lab. A man said, “Seda, yimeen, yasaar, yasaar.” (Straight, right, left, left.) We took off but Fatima had to keep asking directions because there turned out to be many more turns than that! Finally we entered a room where a sign proclaimed, “Driver’s license blood tests”! Inside was a waiting area with a few comfy easy chairs, some unused looking medical-type equipment in one corner, a doorway kitty-corner to it with large letters over the open wide doorway proclaiming, “BLOOD DONORS.”
Near the door we entered, and to our left was a booth, glass-enclosed halfway up. Behind it sat a man who was assisting someone. No one else was in the room! The man in the booth asked us to sit and a minute or so later the other person left and he called me to be waited on (ladies first in this country!). I produced the form from the transportation department. He checked it then gestured for my right hand. I’d already told F and Brian that I couldn’t watch when my blood was being drawn, so they were giving me a hard time as I turned myself completely away from the scene of action. I felt a slight prick on my 4th finger and the worst was over.
Then the man poised my finger over a small white plastic board that looked like a kitchen cutting board. There were already on it what looked like 1-1/2” circles of spread out blood, three circles to a row. He squeezed my finger and a drop of blood plopped in line below the previous row, in the first position. This was repeated twice more, forming another row but with tiny dark red dots. Brain was next and his blood drops were placed neatly in a row below mine.
We were instructed to sit down but I wanted to see what he was going to do with the blood drops. He picked up a small bottle with a dropper, opened it and squeezed one blue drop of liquid onto the first blood drop in the row, then from another bottle a yellow drop onto the second, and then a clear drop onto the third. When he started on Brian’s row, he ordered us again to sit down so we did. I guess the chemicals he added caused the blood to separate in some way that he could interpret. Then he wrote on our papers, signed them and called us over to get them. Mine said “A+” (my GPA! No, not really; it was my blood type). Brian’s said the same thing. We’d previously each said that that was our blood type. Brian then said, “Now we have it confirmed in two countries, so it must be true!”
When we finally made our way back out of the building, F decided not to go back through the first building and instead headed toward the back of it. I couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t going to the front, which was where the car was parked – albeit at a distance - but later figured out that since she knew that the parking lot curved and that the car was parked somewhere after the curve began, she must have thought we’d run into the correct part of the parking lot if we continued going straight.. We passed the back of the building and kept going, going, going past buildings, trees, even a tiny “Hospital Grocery” and across sand but always going straight, not to our left, where I was sure the car was. Finally we came to a place where a large canvas canopy was set up under some trees. Three women, wearing black abayas, head scarfs and burgas (metal partial-face masks) sat amid piles of clear-wrapped fabric sets for making ethnic clothing. If I hadn’t been so hot and thirsty from the beating sun, I might have shopped.
F asked them, I guess – it was in Arabic – where the parking lot was. They spoke and gestured toward our left, where I thought the car was, then no, to the right – through a long patch of sand with small date palms in various places beside a wall higher than our heads. We ended up taking that route. Eventually the wall ended, as did the sand, and we were indeed in a parking lot, but where F’s car was. Just then one of the ubiquitous white taxis with gold bumpers that miraculously seem to track down anyone on foot came off the road heading directly for us. F rushed toward it, motioned Brian and me inside and told the driver – I guess – to find her car. We took off along the deserted parking lot in the direction of the main hospital building until we came, after about one minute, to a place where a few cars were parked , including hers! We piled out and F paid the driver (either 2 dh – the minimum – or 2.5) and we gratefully headed toward her car. She kept apologizing and we kept assuring her it was no problem. Thus was the blood type test accomplished!
Then she drove us back to the town center to the translation office, where the translations were ready. Brian and I forked over 40 DH ($10) each for the service. The man tried pronouncing Brian’s name and did okay so Brian asked him to say my last name – he didn’t even try! F laughed over the man’s assumption that Brian and I were married (Brian is probably in his thirties, happily married with four children! I’m old enough to be his mother).
Finally we were prepared to return to the transportation department so F drove there – about a 15-20 minute drive – well it seemed like it, it was probably about 10 but the temperature had risen to 40 degrees Celsius (over 100 Fahrenheit) and the trip probably just seemed longer. Once there, we went to the eye check place. It’s in the same building where F’s friend works but to the right immediately upon entering the front door. There were two lines of chairs leading to the door on which were two signs in English and Arabic, “”Eye Test” and “Ladies first.” At least 10 men and one woman, a westerner, were sitting there waiting. We sat down at the far end of the row just as one man stood and went into the exam room. F leapt to her feet, charged down the row of chairs and went into the room after him, then peeked out and motioned, I thought, to me to come in so I did. When Brian didn’t enter, too, she poked her head out the door and motioned for him, too.
Inside, I handed my blood exam form (which had spaces on it for eye exam results, too) to a man seated at a desk while F and Brian sat in chairs in a line against one wall. He motioned me to a chair not far away and said something in Arabic. F said, in English, “Yes, they both wear glasses.” Then he motioned me to cover one eye (while wearing the glasses) and he pointed to an E symbol on the eye chart. Not knowing what response he expected, I used the middle three fingers of my right hand to show the direction of the E – just as I had been taught in elementary school before I could read. F and Brian snickered. The man, viewed from the corner of my eye, seemed startled but remained stoic.
Then the man motioned me to cover my other eye and pointed to another E; I used the three fingers again to point the direction. Then he indicated we were through! Brian was next and I think he had to identify two for each eye. The man filled in and signed our papers and turned them over to us. F went to the door and signaled the other western woman to come in next, which she did, thanking F.
Finally we went back to where we had started, to F’s friend behind the counter at the beginning/ending place. There, I (ladies first!) then Brian in turn, turned over all our documents, got back our passports and US driver’s licenses and paid 200 dh each ($50), and were told to sit and wait for our names to be called for photo taking for the drivers licenses – this in spite of already having turned over 4 photos each of ourselves!
A number of men were also waiting, seated in chairs. We three sat down on chairs against a wall facing the counter. Brian told me that during my eye test, from where he sat, he thought I’d gotten one of my E’s wrong. Then he said that the other western woman had told the examiner she couldn’t see out of one eye and had been told, “For you it doesn’t matter.” And then the man had signed her form, passing her.
Soon my name was called and F led me to an area to the far right of the counter where curtains covered an entrance. I went inside. There was a high stool in front of a blue screen. Across from the stool was a counter behind which was a handsome young man in a uniform seated in front of a camera pointing toward the blue screen. I sat on the stool and he motioned for me to take off my glasses and then said in heavily accented English, “Look at the camera.” I looked toward where I knew the camera was, but it was blurry without my glasses. Then he said, “Done.” There had been no flash, so I said that and he just smiled a gorgeous smile. Then I thanked him, “Shukren,” and left.
I went back to Brian and F to wait – quite a while – for Brian to be called, lowly male that he is. Soon my driver’s license was ready and when I went to get it from F’s friend, she asked me, “That man says your pictures are beautiful. He wants to know where you got them. He wants some.” (I somehow knew he wasn’t referring to beautiful me, but to the quality of the photos!) She indicated the handsome young man who’d taken my picture, so he knew very well where I’d had my driver’s license picture taken! So I confirmed – you mean the ones I gave you?” “Yes.” I said, “In America.” Then to him I said, “Amrika” which is the Arabic pronunciation of America. Then, “Sorry!” He nodded to show understanding and I returned to my chair to wait. We waited quite a while and then it was Brian’s turn for a picture and after that – not too long – his driver’s license was ready. Brian got it and we headed out, got in the car and F drove us back to the library.
It was about 12:20 PM – it had taken the entire morning! But I now have a UAEU driver’s license good for 10 years – with my first name on it misspelled the same way it’s misspelled on my UAEU ID card and UAEU Medical ID card – Patrcia – no I before the C. But that’s better than the hospital’s spelling: Batrisha! I’ve also lost my middle initial since I’ve been here (they seem not to be used here and also my passport doesn’t include it). I’m afraid that when I go back to the states or use my US credit cards I’ll forget to include it in my signature and trouble will ensue!
Yesterday, July 2 – I went to HR to confront Ahmed about not having received my pay this weekend. He was shocked because he said he’d done everything needful with the paperwork. He called Finance to check and learned they hadn’t received my contracted signed by Dr. Fletcher until the 29th so it had missed their 22nd deadline. They assured him – and then he, me - that it would be in my checking account “after Sunday.” I said, “You mean if I check on Monday it will be in my account?” He said, “Yes, or you can come cut my throat!” I said, “OK, if it’s not there, I’ll bring a big knife.” He laughed, thinking that was a very witty comment.
While there I also went to Housing and talked to the assistant (not administrative assistant) about a few more things that needed to be done in my flat. He had me write them on a form, sign and date it and specify a time for it to be done. I chose Sunday after 5 (Sunday being a work day, not a holy day, here), not expecting it to happen. He said they’d contact the manager and arrange it.
So I came home directly from work today arriving just before 5, starving, so I fixed dinner and ate it, wondering how long I’d have to wait before I knew whether they’d come or not. At 5:50 my doorbell rang and there stood “Omar S” and the precise handyman. They came, they saw what needed to be done and did most of it, promising to return tomorrow at the same time to finish up. The handyman is going to take care of the gaps under my front door and side bedroom patio door. “Omar” will clean the flap on my kitchen fan.
After they left, I first washed my green blanket. I had finally figured out that the new, unwashed blanket was the cause of the green fuzz that is all over my bedroom and master bathroom floors and then waited until 7:20, when it was starting to get dark and had cooled off a bit, and walked to Mega Mart to shop for groceries. Mega Mart has three floors, the top one has a Chinese food take out, a café and an Internet Café – patronized by males. The main floor is a small but adequate grocery store. The basement is a mini-department store. I walked there, bought groceries and carried them home going the “back way” between buildings in the dark.
I feel perfectly safe here at all times, anywhere, whether walking, shopping (which goes on here until at least 10 PM) or riding in taxis. There are severe penalties for males, including taxi drivers, all of whom are male and expats, who bother or harass females. I’m not sure what would happen to an Emirati male, but an expat male would be deported. Not just lose their job, not just have the police smile, nod and walk away, not just have their hands slapped by the court. Deported and forbidden reentry to the country. In fact, being a woman here has many advantages. Males politely move out of the way when a woman comes along, they never stand close to a woman anywhere including in an elevator, or even at work when discussing or looking over a woman’s shoulder at a computer screen/book/whatever. They are very respectful.
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