SNAFU

This story could happen anywhere. It could happen in Japan, Singapore or India. It could happen in Egypt, the United States or Brazil. Today it just happened to have happened here, in Viet Nam.

If you have lived in a country where labor is cheap, and things are taken care of for you, then you know very well that if you have someone come to fix something in your home, you're more often than not going to have to do some cleaning after they leave. Usually the cleaning is minimal - some mopping of the floor, some sweeping, or some air freshening. In most cases, the repair to your home that you'll have to do once the repairmen leave is minimal - in most cases. This is not one of those cases.

I do not even want to look in the direction of our second bathroom. Just thinking about it disgusts me. The putridness which lies within is difficult to describe because I can't bring myself to fully examine the situation. I am leaving most of it up to Mike. He will clean it enough for us to be able to ignore it for the remainder of the weekend, and then the maids will come on Monday, and I will disinfect it, to be sure, before we actually use our sweet yellow and green bathroom again. But let me begin from the beginning.

The doorbell rang, and we assumed it was our nanny interview. It was, however, instead two men bringing by our newly tailored cushion covers for the sofa. Yipee!!! Mike supervised as the men went about the business of changing the cushions, for they couldn't quite figure it out themselves. At some point, Mike noticed that the zipper from one of the cushions had (already) come apart, and he showed it to one of the men. The man said something to Mike, and Mike led him down the hallway. I immediately got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. I heard the bathroom door close and Mike returned.

We heard water - lots of it. We could not help but wonder at the sounds coming from that room. First came not the sound of someone using the restroom, but the sound of the sprayer. If you have lived in the Middle East or in Asia, you know all about the sprayer. Using the sprayer is fine, it, however is not generally the first thing one does when s/he enters the restroom. There was some hacking, some blowing, and lots of spraying. My mind began to wander. The sounds continued.

I remember last summer, when the movers came to pack us out from Dubai. After the boxes were full, one of them repeatedly asked me for the "CR". I had no idea what the "CR" was nor what he was asking for. Eventually he said "comfort room" and I understood. I sent him to our second bathroom, forgetting about the maid's bathroom and the half bath. He neither closed the door nor washed his hands - the former, I always assumed was common courtesy and the latter just made me grateful the boxes were already packed. These were minor offenses however, and could be overlooked.

As Mike and I sat there, we listened to the noises coming from our comfort room. I knew that the sprayer was not being pointed at the toilet, nor was it being held in one direction. It sounded as if it were spewing water everywhere. Then came the intermittent hacking, and ?nose blowing? We were unsure, but it sounded disgusting.

Is he showering in there? And if so, where? There's no shower. In the middle of the room? Is that the toilet sprayer or the shower head - the one for the bathtub that's not really a bathtub? What about the bathroom rugs - they must be soaked. Maybe he was kind enough to move them. Is it because tomorrow is National Day and he wants to shower in order to be prepared to party tonight? This is probably not the time or the place. Isn't he supposed to be working?

The toilet flushed in the middle of my thoughts. The hacking, the sprayer, the toilet flushing. There was a lot of activity going on in there.

In many houses in Viet Nam, the bathrooms contain wet rooms, not the bathrooms North Americans think of in their homes. In a wet room, similar to some European water closets, there is no separation between the shower stall and the remainder of the room, there just happens to be a shower head in the corner. This is what I was thinking. This man is using our bathroom as a wet room - but it's not a wet room.

"I gotta remember," Mike began, "there's a bathroom in the lobby." I merely nodded. Good observation.

Then we heard the water from the sink - full blast. Mike and I tried to suppress our laughs and tried not to imagine what we would find once he was done. All I could think about was the amount of cleaning and disinfecting I'd done when we'd moved in, preparing for our new family, and how while we do have maids who come, they do more straightening and maintaining than disinfecting. In my ninth month of pregnancy, this was not a chore I was looking forward to - potentially. I still had hope that a large-scale cleaning this weekend could be avoided.

The man came out of the restroom and began working again. His feet looked clean, and the bottom of his pants were damp, but he looked fairly dry otherwise. I was hopeful. Maybe he was just washing his feet - over the toilet. Perhaps he was Malaysian or Indonesian and was performing ablutions for the call to prayer - perfectly acceptable.

The doorbell rang again. This was our nanny interview. We sat down and began talking and I momentarily forgot about the bathroom episode.

After our nanny interview left, I walked down the hallway. I decided to peak into bathroom as I walked by. I didn't even need to turn the light on. Water, water everywhere...from the wall of the bathroom up to the door. The toilet seat was up and not in its cleanest condition. Mike came along and turned on the light. There were chunks on the floor.

"Eeewwwwwww".

He picked up the wash cloth he'd used for shaving - it was chunky as well. I walked away. I didn't want to see anymore.

"Do you think he was throwing up in here?" Mike asked. "There are chunks in here...and the hacking..."

"I don't even want to think about it," was all I could say. Our sweet little bathroom, the one in which we'll bathe our little newborn once s/he arrives, the one where I occasionally soak by candlelight in our our pseudo-bathtub, had been violated - while we were home.

Of course we cannot fathom why the boy would do such a thing. Out of ignorance - maybe he didn't realize someone else's loo was not the place to spray water everywhere (perhaps showering)? Out of malice? - maybe he was tired of reupholstering other people's furniture and decided to get back at Western wankers in his own way. Out of pure selfishness? - perhaps he really was going to get his party on and this was his only opportunity to shower. When one is young and ready to party, he may get desperate in that situation. But thoughts of books like The Help and The White Tiger kept drifting into my mind.

As we began the process of figuring out how to clean up the mess, we could not suppress our simultaneous curiosity, amusement, and disgust. We love living in overseas, but we did not like this.

Breathing in Ho Chi Minh City

I am thirty-two, married and pregnant. I began the Global Muse when I was twenty-nine, single and embarking on the adventures of living overseas. Then, I was moving to Dubai, in the United Arab Emirates. Now, I am sitting in a hotel room after arriving in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) three days ago.

Three years ago today I was concerned about packing enough cosmetics, condoms, and clothing. Today, I am worried about cleaning a new apartment and finding everything we need prior to the arrival of our new family member - in about eight weeks.

Traversing Dubai nearly three years ago I was accompanied by either a busload of new teachers (my current husband included) or a few other single ladies from my building. Now, it's just Mike and I, and the imminent Baby Om.

There are sidewalks here in Ho Chi Minh City. When I first arrived in Dubai, I walked through dirt sand lots and very likely arrived at the shopping center looking like an over-heated hobo, with the sales people looking at me as if I couldn't possibly have the money to pay for that suede couch or dining room table, and then returned hesitant to walk into my own home for fear of permanently blemishing the beautifully tiled floors. In Viet Nam, people walk and bike and those are two major means of transportation. In Dubai, perhaps you could walk in a certain neighborhood, but not between them and certainly not as a major method of transportation - it's hardly an option.

There are stark contrasts not only in our family situation, but in these two cities in which we did live and are living - and it's a good thing. We live in a real neighborhood here. In Dubai, the idea of a neighborhood meant more a location and less an area where people resided and carried out the act of living - together. In our neighborhood, the managers of the restaurant speak with you as you finish your dinner. There are restaurants that have teacher discounts and host happy hours. We run into people we know, walking or biking along the street or in the grocery store. There are taxi drivers who remember where we work when we slide into their cool, air conditioned - or warm, stuffy - automobiles. There are trees - lots of them - and fresh, local fruit everywhere. There is more than one area where you can feel the "real"culture of the country - it doesn't exist only in the museum or down near the creek. It is here and pervasive and real. There is much more to explore here than shopping malls and we're looking forward to it.

So, here we are now in our "real overseas" location. Mike and I moved to Dubai at the same time, three years ago. I knew I wouldn't stay there longer than three years - I didn't mean to go to Dubai. Mike knew he wouldn't be there too long - he didn't mean to go to Dubai either. He, my curious Canadian, left his South American life of six years, and I left my North American life of, well, forever, and we met in the Middle East. But as much as our lives in Dubai were transitional, our life here in Viet Nam is more permanent - although equally ephemeral. It's a different kind of adventure than the one I embarked on three years ago, but equally, if not more, exciting.

Defending Dubai

"Being human is itself difficult, and therefore all kinds of settlements (except dream cities) have problems." - Jane Jacobs

Dubai is not an easy place to live, nor is it an easy place to defend. But at this time, it warrants such. "The Soulless City", the "city without a soul," gets a big, bad rep because of a small number of people. The country, the United Arab Emirates, and those who here who live here, are marred verbally and in spirit due to the excesses of the exceptionally rich. The Burj Khalifa - the tallest building in the world. The Burj al Arab - one of only three seven-star hotels in the world. Dubai Mall - the largest shopping mall in the world. A ski slope in the Mall of the Emirates. The second largest carbon footprint in the world.

Excess. Soulless. These are the words people think of when they think of Dubai, and since November a third word is conjured up about our pretty little city. Debt. That word has also induced many-a-smug smile from those abroad as they look down upon the golden child of the Middle East. It is the way adolescent girls feel when the prom queen gets a zit - right on the tip of her nose. Funny that the rest of the world - with the exception of the emerging economies - which has been mired in the sinking sand of the global recession for over one year, finds the similar misery of its global counterpart a laughing matter, when a downturn this deeps is laughable to no one. Except, of course, those who predicted it. And those of us who predicted the end of the plastic party did so based not on the past but because of human behavior. So it should have been no surprise that too Dubai would experience what every other city and nation has that prospered due to high-risk investments, real estate speculation, and an increasingly intertwined financial system. Humans live here too.

And this is why Dubai cannot fail.

Since the fateful week in November when the American media announced and embellished our dirty little secret, outsiders have been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I must admit, I was one of them. But I have been waiting for over a year. I first held my breath in September 2009 when the United States recession went global. But traffic continued and nobody left. Then January rolled around and traffic was noticeably lighter, but abandoned we were not. In February The New York Times published the ill-fated article highlighting our ghost towns and the number of dirty, dirty cars abandoned at the airport. We talked and whispered and waited. The worst that happened was a chilling effect, for the Dubai media faced a hideous fine if they told us anymore about what we already knew. But, the city kept moving and we kept our students - for awhile anyway. Once student withdrawals began for the end of the year, we sucked in our breath - thinking this was finally it. The parents will leave for the summer with their kids and they won't return. The worst is now. But it wasn't. We got a message stating that the number of withdrawals was not actually more than usual. We expected it to be - but it wasn't. Yes, people left. But there was no mass exodus. There was no carnal transformation into salt and none of the buildings turned into sand. Summer happened and Ramadan happened and there was no massive influx of new residents as there was last year, but the drama ends there. This is a good thing because humans live here too.

And these humans are the reason Dubai cannot fail. It is not because of the Burj al Arab or the Burj Khalifa. It is not because of the ski slope or the shopping festival. It is not because of Atlantis, the Palm, or the World. It is because of the humans who live here and work here that our city must not only survive, but thrive, and it does and it will.

While it is infinitely more fun to wile away the hours fantasizing that everyone in Dubai has been to Tiger Woods' golf course, the tennis finals, and Atlantis for a few frivolous nights, that is simply not the case. Yes, this is the 21st century playground of the rich. But just as in any city anywhere, the classes are not singular and the city could not function with only one. There are numbers and numbers of bodies (and minds) here without whom the city may fail to function. The secrets about Dubai may be far more tantalizing, but the truth a little less so. The truth about Dubai is that people are here work. There are more working people in Dubai than not, and aside from the locals (approximately 10 - 20% of the population as of 2009) most people are here working. It is true that some wives do not work and some children do not work, but for the most part, the rest of us residents are here to work. From the bottom of the socio-economic pyramid to the top, the majority of the people in Dubai work and we would like to keep it that way - so would the governments in the Gulf.

The American Dream has gone global. The American Dream exists now in Dubai. The idea, as coined by James Truslow in his 1931 book, of "that dream of a land in which life should be better and richer and fuller for everyone, with opportunity for each according to ability or achievement" has been exported, just as America has been exporting its products and culture for years. It is time the rest of the world accept that instead of begrudging it. After all, it is an idea and it is an idea that becomes more feasible with the flattening of the world - changing the shape of the globe just as Columbus did over 500 years ago. As a woman whose ancestors dealt with the upheaval of the landing of the Nina, Pinta, and the Santa Maria, and whose ancestors have been dealing with it ever since, the idea that I left the New World to achieve the dream of the same name when I could not claim it there, speaks volumes to the need for Dubai and every place like it. I am not alone.

I will be the first to admit that Dubai is far from perfect. If one has any sense of social justice, here, she must pretend she does not. We know that this place we call home, if only for awhile, is not for us to come to forever. The smell of injustice hangs in the air with the sewage. We know there is a pecking order entrenched in the labor system. We know that "guest worker" sounds a lot like indentured servitude if you say it too slowly. We know that if you are reading this, you probably have no idea what crowded means, unless you remember from your past life. We also know that the Gulf is deep and wide and has plenty of secrets.

We also know that the Gulf workers, have bigger houses back home, than their cohort who stayed. We also know that there are young ladies being educated in the Philippines for the price their mothers pay for missing them. We also know that freedom is relative and so is the meaning of rich. We are here to work, not to judge.

Dubai is the major trade center of the Middle East. That is not going to change any time soon. For that reason, it will not fail. But there is something more important here than goods and services and investments. Human beings live here too. It is for this reason that Dubai cannot fail.