Copyright - Dominique Lummus
Sooner or later we will all experience being a host. It is one of life's certainties. For expatriates, unfortunately, this certainty is repeated several times over. And over. And over.
If you look in the dictionary, the meanings of host are listed as a) one who entertains and b) organism harbouring a parasite. Most guests make you feel like a) but , let's be honest, most of us have occasionally felt like a b) .
During the cooler nine months of the year, we are all potential hosts. Any one of several dozen friends or relatives can telephone and announce their imminent arrival. Sometimes they stay for two weeks, sometimes for four. Sometimes they even overlap with other visitors, turning their stay, and your home life, into a giant game of Twister and Sardines combined.
When someone comes to dinner, it's easy to clear whole counter tops with the sweep of an arm into a drawer, but house guests access all areas; so you either spring clean or break a window at the last moment and claim you've been burgled.
Guests always get the best bed linen and towels while your en-suite bathrooms is festooned with your teenagers' discarded Mickey Mouse beach towels and tie-dye effect ones you created when you last turned your hair a shade of 'Autumn Chestnut'.
You fill the fridge with exotic food, hoping the guests will think this typical of your weekly shopping, until your youngest child asks loudly what all the 'funny food' is called.
On the calendar you scribble plans which include taking your visitors on an abrah, even though the only time you ever do go on an abrah is within a week or so of first arriving here - after that you never go on one again, unless of course, you have visitors! Among friends the suggestions for week-end activities usually include the beach or Hatta Pools, but no one every pipes up, "Geeh guys, let's take an abrah to Deira instead!" Abrah crossings are one of those things best done only once; like singing karaoke in a crowded bar when un-sober or camping anywhere where it rains!
At least visitors see the novelty in things that have become common place to you. When they ask you to stop the car, suddenly, to take a photo, you look around expecting some breathtaking scene or stunning sunset…then watch them as they photograph a goat, or each other next to a 'camel crossing' road sign.
They swim in the sea in freezing January and sunbathe in February, they buy little stuffed camels, mosque shaped alarm clocks, brass Aladdin lamps and whole dish-dasha outfits for the next Round Table fancy dress party.
They talk to your children about radiators, train journeys, forests, pigs, the postman and their milkman. They check banknotes on both sides before paying for things and are amused by the Arabic writing on soft drink cans.
They walk 'miles' to the beach and the supermarket and are surprised when the chocolate bars they bought for your kids have melted en route. They laugh at the cold water tap being warm and make exaggerated groaning noises when heaving themselves up into your four-wheel drive. "This car's so high I'll need oxygen back here," they quip.
Best of all, bless them, they make you feel that little bit closer to home. So what I said about parasites…I take it all back! They're welcome any time!