Both were equally weather-beaten – the gently bobbing abra (a small wooden boat) and its ‘captain’, a wiry man with a straggly beard and deep-set eyes lying in a nest of wrinkles. I waved out at him as I started assembling my camera paraphernalia on a concrete jetty. He acknowledged my presence with a nod, while continuing to sip kadak chai from a Styrofoam cup with an unhurried air. A bunch of squawking seagulls flew around playing a frantic game of tag, swooping up and down in dizzying circles. A stiff breeze started blowing and I felt the stress of a hard week gently slipping down my shoulders. I thought to myself. I should come here more often.
I was roaming around the Dubai Creek waterfront. Guidebooks would use the word 'atmospheric' to describe it. When the Greeks stopped here during one of their many ‘let’s-see-the-world’ expeditions, they called the creek, River Zara. In those ancient days, the creek apparently extended all the way to Al Ain, located more than 130 km away. Nowadays, it flows for about 16 km before ending in the Ras Al Khor wetlands. It was around this creek where today’s iconic Dubai had its humble beginnings as a port with a natural harbor. The inhabitants kept themselves occupied with fishing, pearl farming and dhow building. Before it developed into a major trading port.
Lingah in Iran was a big port. But port authorities over there took the momentous decision of increasing
custom dues there. A decision that certainly didn’t do their retirement funds any good. Because in a masterstroke, Dubai, introduced several trade-friendly services and facilities. And merchants started gravitating towards Dubai. Pearl farming was big in the 1920s and along with it several secondary industries grew making Dubai an important port of call. Traders from Far East Asia, Iran, India, Pakistan and East Africa sailed across seas, calm and treacherous, in their rickety pastel-hued dhows to trade with merchants in Bur Dubai and Deira, the two districts flanking the creek.
Even today, if you walk through the various spice, textile and souks (markets) on the waterfront, you can still get a whiff of the Dubai of
yesteryears. I was fascinated by a Chinese trader negotiating terms and conditions in Arabic with a Moroccan merchant. A fact that was pointed out by Behnam, the ‘captain’, who has finished his tea and started to take an active interest in what my camera can do. He has been a sailor as long as he can remember. He started out in a dhow. Once, pirates off the coast of Aden hijacked their dhow. And he had to spend an agonizing 36 hours on an open deck without food or water till the ransom demands were met. He promised himself never to set foot on a dhow ever again. But a sailor is never comfortable on terra firma. Behnam now operates as a tourist guide of sorts. He takes passengers on 1-hour cruises along the creek. Unlike the other abras, which crisscross the creek, ferrying residents between Deira and Bur Dubai (for the princely sum of 1 dirham). Behnam’s father came from Iran sometime during the 1930s as a young man. He has never been to Iran. But has studied a bit in an Iranian school in Bur Dubai. He remembers the creek being dredged up in the 50s so that bigger ships could enter it.
Behnam snagged a young couple eager to have an authentic abra experience. He guided the couple
onto his boat, waved out to me and disappeared amongst gaily-lit dhows languidly floating up and down the creek. The seagulls lost their boisterous air and settled down for the evening on the wooden eaves of the buildings lining the creek. I got myself a kadak chai from the same place that Behnam ordered. And slipped through the time portal called Dubai Creek to a life more simple, yet fascinating
