My Filipino nanny (and my neighbors’ nanny) are told by security that they are not allowed to swim with the children in our neighborhood pool. They are not doing laps, but playing with young children — making sure they’re safe in the water. This denial of privileges happened before at one of the resorts where I stood horrified processing the male Filipino say “The guests will complain.” (What if she was a white nanny?) But today I wasn’t present to stand up for her. I simply listen to her story as we wash dishes, and empathize the best I can from my ‘Canadian Madam’ status.
On a Catamaran trip filled with expats dancing to a live DJ a fellow passenger recognizes me from the gallery. “I really liked your paintings, especially when you spoke of the meaning behind Suspension. I am surprised he remembers me, but happy to have touched someone with my work. After a 4 hour cruise, he tells me he is Emirati. I realize he is a very very kind, patient Emirati — respectfully answering my cultural questions. “I can tell you’re holding back” he says.
He is Iranian-Emirati. And like having a Canadian passport or a Filipino one, it matters here. The deeply ingrained class system fascinates a middle class Calgary-girl like me. What passport you hold internationally affects your pay and benefits dramatically. Critical thinking skills and interpersonal skills are highly valued in western culture, (but can that be measured by a passport?) Because of our egalitarian system we can question decisions from superiors without them ‘losing face’. (Even in Canada professionals have to requalify in our education system as we do not accept a degree from anywhere.) Within the Arab culture however, where your family came from, are additional criteria to what passport you hold.
My children, nanny and I go to visit my good friends’ pool for a playdate. I let my nanny know she can swim there, it will be Ok! She is dejected, reluctant but I insist, “Bring your bathing suit,” I smile “incase you feel like it.” We continue yesterday’s conversation and talk about rights at the poolside chairs. Perhaps the difference in Canada is there are so many public venues? Everything in Dubai is ‘private’, ‘club’, ‘membership’ – even the beaches. But we are interrupted by the children. “Mom, there’s a rat in the pool.”
With big black intelligent eyes, it is a cute rat if I do say so. (I am used to the huge muskrats in Canada, and this one looks more like a mouse with an extraordinary very long tail.) He is swimming along, happily cooling off in confident strokes.
I really hate rats, but I try calm the group of children (in the tone of voice that probably annoys people without children) discussing how it’s probably frightened, and scared of us.
“It’s probably a very nice rat, but if it’s scared it may bite you, not meaning too, and it may have a disease.” I say calmly. He swims to the overflow and tries to crawl out, but we are all waiting there, watching it, so he goes back for another swim. The 40something man in speedos stops doing his laps and watches the rat with us. I offer him the colorful sand toy bucket, “Here,” I smile, “help him out.” He looks at me incredulously, “What if he bites me?” and walks away.
The rat swims to the overflow perpendicular to us. As we all run over to the rat again, I tell the group of children, just stand back a bit, and let him have some space. I lower the bucket thinking this intelligent rat will calmly sit in the bucket like a hot air balloon ride, while I gently place him in the garden.
Quietly, we all watch him climb up into the bucket, and then dart out of the bucket, right by my 6-year-old’s feet. Everyone screaming, my son jumps up and down and steps on the squealing rat. “Ooh the poor rat!” cries an 8-year-old girl as we watch him hobble over to the garden.
My nanny is explaining the situation to her neighbor friend on the phone. We laugh as the neighbor nanny jokes, “Awww! How come they let the rat in the pool, but not us?”