On Board The Buses In The City Of Gold

                          from SHAMLAL PURI recently in Dubai

FORGET the multi-million dollar villas of Dubai. Forget the affluent dollar-laden residents who travel in this cosmopolitan city in the back seats of their air-conditioned chauffeur-driven Lexus, Toyotas, Bentleys and cars of various other makes that cost a packet. Spare a thought for Dubai's strugglers who have a tough fight ahead of them six days of the week.

     I had a taste of Dubai's public transport upon my arrival from London. I commuted from the Bur Dubai suburb to the Media City, a distance of around 20 kilometers twice a day. Total travel time: 90 to 150 minutes each way, depending on the traffic.

       On my first day I was on a fact-finding tour of the Al Gubaiba bus station, and saw a conundrum of buses headed for all directions. I managed to ask a few by-standers the bus that would take me to the Media City. I was directed to either a number 8 or 8A, both of which headed for the same direction but terminated at two different points.

     My heart sank when I saw a queue of nearly 50 people waiting to board a single bus.   I stood in the 48th position and saw no hope in hell of boarding a bus any sooner. The sun was beating on my head as I sweated profusely as if someone had forgotten to turn the tap off in my body. The temperature was nearly 40 degrees Celsius. The ones in the front had been waiting for over an hour.

     I studied the queue – a majority of them were foreigners, mainly Indians, Pakistanis, Filipinos, Africans and a few Arabs. They were mainly office staff who had no access to company transport. Here, they were desperately waiting for the public transport company's bus.

     "Spare a thought for this man who has just arrived here from the arctic weather of Britain. Last week I was in the UK city of Leicester in the middle of the arctic weather and a cold drizzle and I was shivering!" I thought to myself, hoping somebody could do a favour of pushing this newly-arrived sweat-soaked ‘eskimo' in the front of the queue.

     Everyone was lost in their own thoughts until they caught sight of 8A entering the bus station. It had arrived from the Deira suburb, its starting point, outside the Gold Souk, the place you can buy abundance of gold if you have any spare money. Slowly everyone shuffled up to attention waiting in great anticipation for the bus to let out the passengers first.

     It was difficult to gauge from where I stood how many vacant seats were there. The bus had darkened windows and was completely plastered outside with advertisements. If ever you want a blitz of publicity and advertising, look towards the public transport buses here. They are a window to the world. Everyone can watch your consumer advertisements as the bus meanders along the busy streets of this busy city. You will have spent your ad budget wisely.

     The driver than had to make a speedy calculation of how many of us from the queue of 50 would gain entry. To my surprise, the men simply waited in anticipation as the doors opened. I then realized courtesy in this country demands that ladies be allowed to board the bus first. I had no issues with that as ladies deserve the courtesy of being the first to be served by the driver. There is limited seating capacity for ladies and that was quickly filled up with some women having to step down as there were no seats in the Ladies Section. Only six women boarded.

     Suddenly there was jostling among men. The guys, who had so far behaved in a gentlemanly fashion, suddenly were like raving lunatics let loose. I had no hope of getting this bus, so I stood calmly. I had made sure I had taken my blood pressure pills before leaving my hotel! I had to keep my jangled nerves calm. Here, one false move and you make the wrong type of headlines as you are put back on the plane to London even before the return portion of your air ticket has expired – a deported man. When I left London for my assignment in Dubai, I had promised myself not to put a wrong foot anywhere.

      Only 15 men got their chance to board the bus. The rest of us had to stand back in the queue. The security guard at the bus station made sure of this. By now I was in 29th in the queue.

     Behind me, the queue was continuing to grow.

     Then after 25 minutes of agonizing wait a number 8 arrived. That would do nicely for me, I said to myself.

    Again the same thing happened, five women boarded and 11 men drew the lucky straw. I was still left waiting in the queue – now in the 13th position. Meanwhile the queue was getting longer at the back and there were a total of 25 newcomers at the tail-end.

     By now I was really and truly getting worked up.  Here in Dubai, we are all workaholics.  I was running late for an appointment.  The bus company had no intention of putting an extra bus in service to relieve the long queue here as any good management-conscious bus inspector would have done in London.

     I had been at the bus stop for over 90 minutes and the sweat still flowed profusely. I was sure had it not been for the smell of the sweat I would not have had to wash my shirt because by now it was soaking wet.

     The third bus number 8A arrived about 20 minutes later. The driver had no inkling where the queue started. He parked bang in the middle. Loudly, I expressed my surprise at this. Somebody behind me answered my question "These drivers are Mumbai trained! They know no rules whatsoever!"

    Ladies first. Then it was time for a free-for-all. I remembered my days at University and how we used to grab a bus while it was moving, heave ourselves up by supporting the handle bar at the entrance as the bus drove off with our one leg dangling precariously in between.

       Now, it was not a question of struggling to get a seat in the bus, it was a question of getting a bus!

       It was time to move into action. Everyone was jostling to get on to the bus. The South Indian gentleman who had earlier given me a friendly smile in the queue was no longer friendly:  he shoved me hard from the back as I desperately struggled to grab the shoulder of the man in front of me.

     "Excuse me please! Do I look invisible to you!" I yelled at another man trying to push me out of his way as if I did not exist.

      A Filipino lady who had boarded the bus, found no place in the Ladies section, was forced by the driver to step down. This is when I saw her truly aggressive nature. As she struggled to get out of the melee, her elbow pushed deep and hard into my stomach. I squealed in pain and yelled at her "Ouch madam! Are you trying to murder me? It's only a bus and you don't even own it!!"

     Ladies? I thought they are docile human beings. My foot! This one was equal match to any man's stamina at this bus station.

     In the confusion someone at the back gave me an almighty push to the front and hey presto! I landed on the bus! This was no favour but only a frustrated commuter's attempt to get me out of the way. I seemed to have failed miserably the endurance test of waiting for a bus in Dubai. I was steadily turning aggressive - who wouldn't after such a long wait?

     The cool air conditioning inside was heavenly. A young gentlemanly Pakistani, seeing my age, got up to give me his seat. I was grateful to him – even in Dubai, they have respect for grey-haired men like me who have been through many Christmases.

     I sat next to a middle-aged Indian, a media type, probably headed for the Media City, and complained to him that this had been a killer experience. He looked calmly at me, smiled and holding his prayer beads with due dignity, said: "I've been doing this for the past five years!" I wanted to ask him if he had been taking his blood pressure pills regularly before stepping on to the bus, but then that was none of my business!   - Shamlal Puri

                                 

 

 

About the Author

Shamlal Puri is a veteran British journalist, broadcaster, author and press photographer. He has worked with the media in Europe Africa, Asia and the Middle East. He lived in Dubai for a few years. His latest novel ‘Dubai Dreams: The Rough Road to Riches' ISBN - Hardback 978-0-9552627-2-2, Softcover - 978-0- 9552627-3-9 has been released around the world in 2010. He is widely traveled in a journalistic career spanning 30 years. His work has been published in more than 250 magazines, newspapers and journals around the world. He is also the author of Axis of Evil: Blood Money and That's Life; Michael Matatu at Large (based on his columns in Drum and its sister magazines.) He is founder of Newslink Africa, a pioneering news service for that continent. He has visited most countries in Africa, the Middle East, the Far East, Europe and the Americas.