First of all, a brief recap.
Jenn and I planned to go to Dubai for four days to attend her friends wedding, and see what all the hubbub is about regarding this strange, storied city.
The wedding was a great time in a beautiful waterfront setting looking on to the many wild buildings of downtown Dubai. After the reception, we took a taxi to our hotel, stopped on the way at a gas station ATM to take out some money to pay for the cab. The ATM ate my bank card, and not long after that I found myself on the wrong side of a prison door, with Jenn on the other.
And now...
Let Us Pray
I’m Jolted
awake from a painful slumber on the concrete.
It was “pre-dawn”, time for “Fajr” – the first of five daily prayers for
the Muslims. The others being “Dhuhr” at noon, “Asr” in the afternoon, “Maghrib”
at sunset, and “Isha” in the evening. I
was told to move because people would be facing where I lay. This was in the direction of the city of
“Mecca”, home to the Kaaba – Islam’s most holy site. It would be an insult if I continued sleeping
where I was until they finished. So I
waited. And waited... and waited...
I could tell that I was over-tired, I was becoming agitated and
impatient and all I was waiting for was to lie back down on an uncomfortable
slab of concrete with my blazer as a pillow.
Maybe I was tired, or maybe I just wanted to fall asleep and wake up
back home and out of this nightmare. The
prayer itself probably lasted only 10 minutes, but there were many who
continued to pray after the session.
When it was down to just a handful I moved to return to my slab of
concrete, and was (quietly) berated by one of the individuals who had finished
praying. I wasn’t able to go anywhere
until all of them were finished. He was on
watch to make sure I didn’t make a move back to my spot.
I sourly
thought to myself that these guys should maybe find one more time per day to
prey - because it is certainly not working
for them.
Six
am. Breakfast.
I couldn’t
quite identify what was being passed around.
One could only assume it was “food”.
Then again, I do always say “never assume”. On that note I skipped “breakfast”. Besides, this gave me a brief opportunity to
find a blanket and try to get a bit more rest.
In the
first room – call it a foyer – the one beside the bathroom, were some free
blankets. I stole one from one of the
guys who left it to get breakfast. It
turned out to be a guy’s blanket who I met the day before. He was from Nairobi - in on larceny
charges. He had been detained about a
week earlier. Not his first rodeo. He had been caught stealing in a few
different countries and after some jail time would be deported. He knew this, happened to a friend of
his. But he was already determined to
return to Dubai as soon as he could. Apparently
it’s easy to drive across the border in any number of places. When your country is in a desert, it’s
surrounded by desert. This makes for
many potential unguarded crossing areas.
He was determined to come back to Dubai because according to him, it is
the easiest place to steal credit cards.
And get away with using them.
Sure he got caught, but that’s because he got sloppy. He went to a big box store and bought $8,000
worth of merchandise with a stolen credit card.
A few weeks later he went again and charged another $10K with the same
card. He didn’t get caught that
time. He thought if he waited another
month he could go in a third time for another hit. He honestly didn’t think anyone would
recognize him or think something was amiss.
But someone did. I’m surprised he
got away with it the first, and especially the second time. He looked early 20s and not sharply
dressed. Probably wearing what he was
wearing when he was arrested. His third hit he had over $20,000 of merchandise
from the store. One of the clerks
recognized him while he was being rung in – a few stereos, two big screen TV’s,
stereo equipment, computers, you know, the usual for a 20something kid to be
buying for the third time in just over a month. Well someone recognized him, thought
something was fishy and a half hour later he was in handcuffs. The moral of the story - don’t go back to the
same place. He’s gonna be smarter next
time. He assured me.
But now he
was passively angry that I stole his blanket.
I didn’t give it back and just pretended to be asleep. I had a private laugh about the irony of the
situation. I hope he did too.
Back on
the other side of the bars some hours later, Jenn continued her polite hassling
of the local authorities.
One police
officer was helpful. Perhaps appreciating her now calm demeanor and recognizing
that the situation may be a bit overblown, agreed to follow up and see if he
could track down my file. If he could intercept it before it got to the
prosecutor, there was a chance I could leave the station in exchange for my
passport while the file was processed. Her persistence paid off. The file
hadn’t actually left the station as she had been originally told. I was released on bail shortly thereafter. My passport remained at the station as to
ensure my not fleeing the country while I waited for a court date. But at that
moment all I cared about, all we cared about, was getting the hell out of there.
Freedom...?
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| Women's jogging suit for sale |
The
blazing desert sun went unnoticed as we quietly hurried out of the police
station – aptly named “Bar Dubai” to find the nearest cab. Local customs would frown upon any public
display of affection, hugging, a kiss.
We knew this from experience.
When we had earlier been in the large empty waiting room together,
before I was locked up, we were sitting together. Words hadn’t been exchanged
for a while, tears filled Jenn’s eyes.
My hand rested gently on her lower back.
Suddenly two police officers barged in yelling at us to stop what we
were doing. They were watching us on the
camera and were quite upset with our behavior.
I looked back at them dumbfounded.
What could we possibly stop doing?
Stop quietly sitting in this big empty room? They pointed at Jenn’s
torso which confused me even more – Jenn had to brush my hand off her back as
she realized they were offended by any physical contact whatsoever. So when I finally
walked out of Bar Dubai, we engaged in none of the appropriate celebratory
“Thanks for bailing me out of jail” interactions one would expect. I suppose it
makes sense. A culture where not that
long ago a woman could not even display her face in public (and often still
don’t/can’t) isn’t one to condone public displays of affection.
Back at
the hotel, time for a wash. Jenn assured
me of the necessity of my bathing as soon as possible when we were in the cab –
I smelled and felt rotten. The shower
felt like my fist in weeks. Shortly
after refreshing and getting some food in the belly, we had to come up with a
plan to get my passport back and get the hell out of dodge. Unfortunately it was the holy day of rest (like
Sunday back home) for the Arabs and most businesses and all government offices
were closed. A friend had found a
website called “Detained in Dubai” (If you’re interested in more reasons not to
visit Dubai, read some of the ridiculous cases they’ve dealt with). The stories were not inspiring. People getting stuck in jail for seemly minor
or meaningless infractions. Others who
were in limbo as I was, with their passport at the police station while they
waited months to hear back from the prosecutor, or unexpectedly landed themselves
back in jail. There were links to
fundraising sites to help pay for these poor folks’ growing legal fees, and to
help them support themselves while they waited for their case to be processed
and the return of their passports. Most
had lost their jobs back home and had run out of savings (Dubai is not a cheap
city to live in, and not easy to pick up casual work while waiting for a court
date).
A visit to
the Canadian Embassy was a journey within the city which spanned two days, with
little assistance or resolution. A visit to a lawyer did not shed any positive
light on the situation reiterating that I would likely have to wait there until
my trial – several months later. He
offered legal services to see my case through and sought over $10,000 to start,
but did not instill any confidence that this would even speed up or help my
plight. The only real advice I received
was to not go back to the Police
Station (obviously), and that I could get updates on the status of my case over
the phone by obtaining my case number, or “Belak #” as it is known as. I phoned
the Bar Dubai police to request my Belak #. After being put on hold and passed through a
few different departments, I was told they would not be able to give me my
Belak number over the phone, but instead had to go back to the station and ask
them face-to-face.
Sounds
suspicious...These are the same police who said I could leave after 5 more
minutes of questioning and then locked me up instead. The last place I wanted to go was to Bar
Dubai. Why not give the information over the phone? Why could no one else go in my place to ask my
file number? It had to be me and it had
to be in person. Just come back to the
station for 5 minutes – it’ll be okay, you can trust us...
It’s a Trap!
It was
time to start considering alternatives.
Ok
– what are the other options? There are unguarded
countries bordering The United Arab Emirates that my kleptomaniac friend from inside
Bar Dubai mentioned earlier. Let’s see
our options:
Saudi-Arabia
Features: High Terrorist threats, no
photography allowed in public, no speaking to women, and generally frowns upon anyone
in public not dressed in local attire.
Oh also they generally don’t allow tourist visas from what I understand.
We’re off to a good start. They do,
however have a Canadian Embassy.
Qatar Features:
Somewhat less restrictive than above, but no embassy.
and
last on the “by land” list...
Oman....Oh man.
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| Some of the many boats that sail to Iran |
All
of those options by land sound like potentially worse places to be than a
shitty jail in Dubai, especially considering the potential of getting caught
going across borders without a passport, or worse, breaking down in the desert
in 50 degree weather and hundreds of miles from help or water. Okay, I’m right
on the ocean here in Dubai...what’s my best bet by boat? I could
commandeer a vessel and set sail for the nearest country by water and claim
refugee status.....in Iran?? Shit. These options are just not sounding too good.
Time to suck it up and prepare to return to the Bar Dubai Police Department.
Jenn
helped me prepare for a long stint in jail while we waited for the prosecutor
to make a decision:
Big
parting meal, lots of water - Check
T-shirt
and tank-top underneath dress shirt – Check
Shorts
underneath dress pants – Check
Sandals
in backpack – check
3
pairs of boxers on – check
Cash
in various pockets, and hidden throughout ensemble – Check
All
the important telephone numbers I might need written on a piece of paper hidden
in an inside pocket – Check
We arrived
back at Bar Dubai on Wednesday morning and I braced for a short, or long, stint
back in jail. I was trembling. Having read the horror stories online, and
already been tricked behind bars once, it was hard to focus on “best-case
scenarios”. The familiar faces were not as reassuring as in most scenarios in
life. We first skipped the initial long
line at reception, only to be yelled to come back and sign in as we passed
through security. Luckily the officer at the front desk was the one assisting
Jenn previously, and we were allowed back into the dragon’s lair and sat in the
all-to familiar questioning area. Thirty minutes later, we were escorted down
the hall and told to come back the following morning at 9.
The next
morning we repeated the entire checklist and anxiety process again. After
waiting another half hour, we were escorted down the same long hall again. Jenn
was by now very familiar with this hall having spent an unfortunate amount of
time in it over the past few days. We were moving in the direction of the steel
bars and my heart rate increased. Were
we just going to keep walking? Was it
absolutely stupid to return to Bar Dubai?
Luckily we
were shoved into a file room and told to sit down. Observing the police files, myself for the
first time, Jenn for the second, various pictures of pop-culture icons &
doodles could be seen on the filling drawers. Their filing system it would seem
was based on cartoon characters. There
was the drawer with a drawing of a drunk behind a wheel, another with Beavis
& Butthead fighting. My file was obtained from the “bandit
with blindfold & money
bag running out of bank” drawer. Much
Arabic was spoken between officers as I was eventually allowed to approach the
desk. The ranking officer asked if I had
$600 cash. Luckily Jenn had the
foresight to insist we take a large amount of money with us...20 minutes later
I had signed several documents in Arabic - which yes, you should never do, but
my options were dwindling, and a translator can take several days or weeks to
appear – I was released! Passport in hand, no charges laid, and no further
questioning!!!
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| Dubai Police Force: the epitome of professionalism |
Victory!
There was
no information given as to what happened or what the $600 fine was for, but it
appeared obvious that the bank had visited the supposed site of “vandalism” and
felt there was no need in further prosecution.
No charges were laid, no statements, no more questions. I was free to
leave!
We quickly
raced to another taxi – I had never truly understood the concept of freedom
before that moment. Things could have
gone much, much worse. A heavy sigh of
relief was released and we were happy to arrive back at the hotel shortly
thereafter.
We
celebrated immediately after at an afternoon waterslide park, a short boat tour, drinks at “Burj
Al Arab” (the famous bar on the water), and a short late night visit to the newlywed’s
apartment to recap the events since we parted at the wedding. At 3am we were on
our way to the airport and returned back to “normalcy” in Congo.
Goodbye
Dubai...forever
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Not mentioned in the story, but here is the worlds tallest building.
And in the lower right there is actually a Tim Horton's! |
