The Middle Eastern oasis has been attracting my fellow Brits in droves. I went to see what the fuss is all about.
I have been coming to the UAE for almost two decades, so I am no stranger to these shores. But in the last couple of years, my LinkedIn has been flooded with a flurry of updates of my digital mates announcing they are leaving the UK for Dubai. A few weeks later, I then get another round of updates from them with pictures to prove their winning move made the rest of us losers, doom scrolling through LinkedIn in cold and grey London and feeling a pang of resentment as they smile into the camera in their linen short-sleeved tops bathed in sunlight with the backdrop of gleaming new builds.
My good friends Arun Sudhaman and Amith Prabhu, India’s PR dynamic duo famed for their PRAXIS conferences across India, decided to launch their inaugural PRAXIS MENA in Abu Dhabi, and being the good friend that I am who also happens to be vitamin D deficient in sun-starved London, I decided to pop along to moderate a couple of sessions on stage, all in the pursuit of my own ‘thought leadership’ LinkedIn post looking poised on stage with the hope that my clients will value my strategic advice and my Gen Z colleagues will listen to me when I beg them to update the account trackers.
Under the judgy gaze of my cockapoo Dante, I left home for Heathrow. I still fly British Airways when I can, out of a misplaced patriotism. It is not even British; it’s owned by IAG, registered in Spain. After all, it is the ‘world’s favourite airline’ - for masochists. I feel I am in an abusive relationship with the airline, with the culling of any residual benefit with the latest update on their points system leaving me downgraded into bronze for eternity. The loss of status impacted me more than perimenopause. One day when I learn to love myself, I will fly Qatar Airways or Emirates.
Landing in your destination airport makes my competitive nature kick in. Stand up impatiently, I want to get off the plane first, sprint to passport control and through security to claim my prize at the baggage belt. Abu Dhabi airport felt different. It wasn’t an airport; it was an experience. For once, the PR prose that we invent to make stakeholders roll their eyes in disdain for the reality gap actually was fitting. The new airport was beautiful, airy and immaculate. I glided through with ease with little friction thanks to automation and not having to grin like a Cheshire Cat and feel needlessly guilty when faced with surly passport control. An airport designed for Millennials and Gen Z: minimal human interaction and zero social anxiety. I actually felt a pang of sadness to leave the airport to find my Uber. I haven’t felt this safe and serene since I was in my mother’s womb.
The first thing you notice about the UAE is how the locals extol the virtues of living there. I sat in my Uber and had a good chat with the driver who had left Kashmir in Pakistan to live in the UAE. He waxed lyrical about the UAE. For a moment I thought the drivers may be paid influencers as part of a clever PR campaign by the Ministry of Tourism. He lived in Dubai initially but had moved to Abu Dhabi as there was less traffic and valued the serenity.
I looked around and felt a bit of envy. The roads were clean and well maintained. I could not get over how manicured and perfect it all looked.
Dubai according to him was for the young and restless and Abu Dhabi was for families. With an hour’s drive between the Emirates, I imagine you can have them both. As he drove me to my hotel, he pointed out the incredible buildings and spoke excitedly of the new building under construction. He felt pride in his new home and had no desire to ever leave this Gulf wonderland. I looked around and felt a bit of envy. The roads were clean and well maintained. I could not get over how manicured and perfect it all looked. I thought of my beloved city London and wondered how people must have flocked to London back in the Victorian era and marvelled at the growth and optimism. London still does attract the world, but it hits differently. People attracted to growth, optimism and spectacle find their way to these shores where the leadership makes the impossible possible. Could this country be the ultimate KPI for a PR campaign? The highest buildings, the first ski slope in a mall, restaurants enveloped by aquariums; it is a dream come true for architects whose designs considered far out for most conservative developers get the green light and PRs who get to tell tales of the ‘new’ and the ‘first ever’.
My hotel was at the Saadiyat island, the cultural island with museums popping up like buses in the streets of London. Hotels of course are the stuff of legend, gleaming and palatial. Swanning through the marble corridors made me feel like Farzana Al Baduel. All the best restaurants around the world have opened their outposts here. The next day I headed to the PR conference. PRs in the room had moved from India, Australia, UK, United States and across the Arab world. They all felt they won the lottery, working in the region and witnessing the dramatic transformation. They felt privileged to tell the stories. I felt like I was being left behind. Should I leave London and move? What about the hot summers here? They shrugged their shoulders and are quite content with the air conditioning. What about the lack of elections? Many told me they don’t miss the drama and negative campaigning associated with elections and the benefit of having leadership with a vision longer than an election cycle. What about the ethics of cheap labour? They retorted if it was so bad, they wouldn’t be here. UAE offers them a better alternative than their home countries.
I went to an old friend’s home for dinner. She had a UAE flag outside her home and spent most of the evening telling me how grateful she was to have left London and loves her lifestyle in Abu Dhabi. As a woman and a mother of a teen girl, she can finally exhale and feel safe. Another old friend who has moved here a few years ago told me as a British Pakistani Muslim, he never felt at home in the UK or Pakistan and for the first time in his life, he felt a sense of belonging in UAE.
I feel like I belong in London, the city where I was born, where I met my husband, had my daughter and most importantly where my dog Dante resides. Should I leave the UK as the Islamophobia and racism become the twin drivers of certain politicians as they gear up towards the next election? My Italian husband would appreciate the beaches, my teenage daughter would be in heaven in the shopping malls. For PR work it is a growth market as UK government policy has driven many of the entrepreneurs and investors out of the country. But ultimately, my world centres around my dog. Dante would not be happy here. I didn’t see a single squirrel.
