Jail Part III (of III) - Let us Pray

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...?

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.

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!!!

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

Not mentioned in the story, but here is the worlds tallest building.
And in the lower right there is actually a Tim Horton's!