I will eat sheep under peer pressure…

It’s a long story as to why I was strolling next to the Arabian Sea with a four year old that didn’t belong to me and the why really isn’t relevant to my tale, but that’s where I was. Megan and I were walking along, hopelessly lost and trying to locate some sort of Arabian fun park on a Friday night. For those unfamiliar with Arabic culture, Friday is a holy day that appears to culminate in evening family time. Most of these families take to the parks around Abu Dhabi with giant picnics and by night fall the ground is covered in trash (mysteriously by morning it’s as though it never happened). I digress; Megan and I meandered through the park aimlessly wandering, expecting at any moment to stumble upon a camel adventureland, when I accidentally made eye contact with one of the picnicking families. Having no idea of cultural etiquette and only having a 4 year old to ask for advice, I smiled and complimented her delicious looking spread. Something may have been lost in translation and I inadvertently invited Megan and myself for dinner.

I politely tried at least three times to decline their gracious invitation to have two strange foreigners join them for dinner, but they would not accept. Here is one of those culture clash moments – my Canadian upbringing has taught me that it is rude to invite yourself to dine with strangers. Clearly their upbringing, which it turns out was Syrian, has taught them that if a stranger smiles at you, no matter how bizarre the surrounding circumstances are, you must force them to sit down and stuff them with food. I watched as my new friends prepared me a heaping plate - with their hands. The food it turned out was delicious, sheep and rice, and bottomless as well. (If there was any doubt as to the origin of the meat, one could just glance at the carcass of the sheep that was serving as the centerpiece of our picnic.)

As with most traditional family dinners, awkward conversation ensued. The biggest concern of my dinner hosts was the location of my husband. It felt as though the fake wedding ring on my finger was burning as I lied and told them of how fake husband was tied up at the office. And then I just couldn’t stop; I kept going on and on about how Henry, a brilliant petrol engineer, was working long hours to complete an emergency project. We were new to the area and “our daughter” Megan was just dying to see some camels (Yes in reality it was me that was dying to see the camels). While I spun stories about my fabulous marriage (7 years already) with my hostess, my plate was consistently being topped up with food. This went on for over 25 min as I kept trying to politely decline the food and extricate myself from the delicate web of lies that I had told, by this point even the 4 year old was looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

Eventually my greenish tinge must have been a give away and I was finally permitted to leave, after meeting all the relatives and posing for some photos - and after dessert…of course.

(note – we did eventually locate Heritage Park and had the chance to meet some camels!)