Taxes and Thyme

Yes, we don’t pay tax in the UAE, but there are taxes – not monetary, but taxes we pay.  Our taxes are very often preceded by the words “bukra insh’Allah”  - tomorrow, God willing - which does not really mean tomorrow, but can mean sometime, hopefully in this future – God willing.  Tinus had to have his chest x-rays redone.  Why?  Shrug of shoulders – the ‘paperwork’ which I mentioned starts with this; a medical where firstly Tinus and later me - not sure about kids - have to be tested for Aids, TB and Hepatitis B - because we’re form Africa, my dear. 

Once this is done, his company will apply for a residency visa for him, and then only can we start the paperwork for the move – currently waiting in Cape Town harbour.  The removal company mailed me today saying they need me to tell them today - before lunchtime, when  we would like our move to be shipped – I thought about replying “bukra insh’Allah.”   

We are not sure if we can just exchange our driver licenses.  We do not know if the children can be placed in schools here … Nobody knows; this is where “insh’Allah is used - God willing, which actually mean ‘maybe’ or ‘we really don’t know.’  Endless queues, shoulder shrugs and “insh’Allah”s in our future.  We live in a country, which is not ours.  We cannot just have our friends come over for a weekend, we have to sponsor them.  One is very aware of the fact that you are – not even a guest, merely part of the workforce, you feel like you should use the servants’ entrance. 

But then why are we here, why do we endure the taxes?  Behind me stretch the endless desert from which this city, Dubai - tribute to mankind – sprang.  The warm evening air carries the sound of the prayer call:  “Allah o akbar!”  God is great, (and although I don’t know the Arabic) – followed in one of the calls by ‘we are all brothers.’ The timeless desert which born these wonderful people intrigues me as much as the people themselves.  I love the way the warm nights fold around you.  I endure the warm (read hot as hell – in summer time) days because of the thyme - “zatr” in Arabic.  The smell of thyme waft through all the old streets, you find it in food in chocolate and in tea, and in one of my memories;

When I taught here many years ago one of my young students came to me during break and asked me “Miss, you want sandwich?”  On my “yes, thank you” he eagerly ran to the tuck shop and came back carrying something that looked like a pita bread filled with camel food - dried thyme.  I dutifully crunched my way though international, language and religious barriers, sitting next to the son of a king on a swing.

So we will get Tinus’ medical results, bukra insh’Allah, and then insh’Allah, see the owner of the villa we hope to make our home while we are here.  And for the next few years we will swim in the warm ocean and drink lovely freshly squeezed fruit juices, make interesting friends from this and other countries, eat night naan and spend days and nights in the open desert, explore wadis, discover cool oasis and walk the narrow alley ways of the souks - and everywhere we will smell the bitter sweet smell of thyme.