This surreal life....

We sit in a bar listening to a group murder several rock tunes. The group on stage consists of five half dressed girls and three guys. The lead boy singer and a couple of the girls sport dreads. The lead singer throws his around in true rock star fashion as he murders song after song and massacres several rap tunes just for good measure. At one point a girl performs a song by Evernescence that makes my colleague double check his glasses in case they have cracked such is the screeching she produces. Behind me a man sits sipping a pint of beer whilst chatting to his mate who is sucking on a fag. When the band takes a break (whoopee) we are then bombarded with gospel music over the speakers. One particular singer has a lot of love for Jesus and is not afraid to let the world know. Three vacant girls with vacant eyes and matching smiles sit at the bar nursing diet cokes and swaying to the music.

No this is not a night out in London or Lagos. My colleague and I on a day trip to Bahrain which for you that are not clued in on these matters is a Muslim country. I notice that the man behind me who is dressed in the full jalabia has his beads wrapped around his wrist and keeps glancing at his watch. I wonder if he is keeping an eye out for the call to prayer. Or the wife.

I learn later that come the weekend the place is really jumping as the Saudis pile in from across the border. In Saudi there are no bars, no drinking, no girls with vacant eyes and vacant smiles. No half naked singers or singers pouring out their love for Jesus. But this is available 45 minutes across the bridge. In Bahrain. The trick is to get there and back half sober. If one were to cause or be in an accident and be accosted by the law well things get pretty hairy. So the guys pace themselves and leave before the tipping point. Or spend the night. For some strange reason I feel at peace and as if a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. The world is not a perfect place and we are not perfect people. Live your life to the best you can and be prepared to give your side of the story when the questioning begins.

At the airport in Bahrain we are surrounded by a sea of black widows. No they are not all widows as some of them have their husbands, and children, in tow. But to my mind they are dressed as such. In a shop in the duty free area there is a woman dressed from top to toe in black. She is selling these outfits. It is a strange sight to see a retail clothes outlet where everything is black. The only differentiator being the decorative beading on the sleeves or around the ankles. Otherwise black. I imagine the amount of time that Iyawo could save if only she adopted this way of dressing. No more hours waiting by the front door while she decides what to wear. Black again tonight darling? Lovely. No, no. The one with the red beading is fine. It matches my eyes.

Around the concourse at Dubai airport there are a large number of Indians and Pakistanis on both sides of the divide. There are just as many arriving as are departing. These are the worker ants for the numerous building sites in Dubai. Everywhere you turn there is a crane putting up another skyscraper. My colleague informs me that Dubai is now the proud home to 35% of the world's building cranes. It is hard to miss them. Skyscraper after skyscraper. Crane after crane. New block after new block. All trying to outdo themselves. Dubai should be the 8th wonder of the world. It has the world's tallest building. The only 7 star hotel. The only mall in the world with a ski slope. It is building an underwater hotel. It has built a replica of the world out of man made islands in the ocean. People have bought these islands. It is now building "The Universe" out in the ocean.

Around the hotel there are huge skyscraper apartments. Underneath are retail outlets. The usual suspects. Fast food, clothes etc. In these blocks at night you are lucky if you can count more than a dozen apartments with lights on. Out of maybe two hundred flats. You see there are no inhabitants. Most of them lie empty. They were bought as investments. The rent is unbelievable. Five thousand dollars per month for a three bed flat. The place is a ghost town. Yet still they build. Apparently the oil will run out in 10 years. And they are afraid that they will be forgotten. They do not want to be forgotten. So they do things to make sure they are not forgotten. Like recreating another Las Vegas in another desert.

I walk down to the beach behind the hotel to clear my head. It is practically deserted. Most locals have skipped the country. Outside temperature is hovering around 49 degrees. Who can blame them? The only people on the beach are a few Indians crouching in the sand and staring into the far distance. I wonder if they dream of home and the families left behind. They are not allowed to bring their families with them here until they earn above a certain amount monthly. Which the greater majority of them never do. Also a few elderly tourists. They look German. I notice towels on the deckchairs (sorry I could not resist).

After staring out to sea myself for some time I turn around and get the very strange feeling that I am on a film set. Like those sets they create in Hollywood for films like King Kong where everything is out of proportion. I feel like one of those plastic action heroes. Staring me in the face are rows of huge empty skyscrapers. All trying to outdo each other. They are immaculate. They are silent. They are surreal.