I want to continue the housing conversation from last week, but the draft I started working on today is wandering, even more than usual, and I feel like I need more time with it. That said, if you have housing takes, perspectives, or recommended readings, please feel free to share them and we’ll circle back to that topic next week.

Today, I want to talk a bit about last evening. Here in the Gulf our school is located next to NYU Abu Dhabi. Like any major university, they host arts events that we from time to time (but not often enough) attend. Saturday night the Arts Center opened their twelfth season of live performances. It featured The Dirty Dozen Brass Band (see their Tiny Desk performance below) and Fanfaraï, a ten piece French-Algerian band that plays North African jazz. The show felt like a big deal for the entire community because during the war the campus was closed and its staff and students evacuated. So, for months our end of Saadiyat Island felt like a ghost town. 

The last year has been our weirdest and arguably hardest since moving abroad, even more so than the pandemic. In 2020, it felt like the whole world was going through it. Folks back home were experiencing the same things we were: remote learning, rapid & PCR tests, trying to chase down vaccines, and the loss of loved ones. We commiserated during movie nights and in group chats. The war has been… different. Yes, the whole world is dealing with higher energy costs and shipping is disrupted, but when I was home it hit me how much the US war is deep background for most people. Really the only time it came up this summer was when I was asked about drones and missiles and that was kinda the last thing I wanted to talk about.

Between the war and visiting family in June and July, I spent something like twelve weeks living out of a backpack or suitcase from April to August. The phrase  “walking through a haze” is overused. I’d say it’s been more akin to a hangover.

During the Fanfaraï set it hit me that, save for an 8am IMAX showing of The Odyssey with twenty other sickos, this was my first real event or performance in the city since the war began. I really don’t think I’ve fully processed what we went through but that’s for a therapy session one day, not the newsletter.

The show itself was incredible, a reminder that jazz is like hockey and horseracing, best experienced live. One of my favorite parts was watching the crowd. The people there for the New Orleans Brass seemed unsure what to think at first about the opening act, Fanfaraï. The crowd seemed shy despite being encouraged by the gregarious saxophone player. However, by the closing number, people had let loose dancing, clapping and carrying on in the aisles. 

Speaking of the clapping, the show was a good reminder about how rhythm and beats vary between cultures. After clapping on the ones and threes with Fanfaraï, people seemed to be  struggling for a bit to find their footing on the twos and fours, when the Dirty Dozen Brass Band hit the stage. But the crowd found their groove after two or so songs, before all clapping hell broke loose during the encore.

At the show, I saw nearly a dozen colleagues and a former student who is in his last year of Engineering school at NYU. The event was sold out and because of the pair of performers, there was an eclectic crowd: locals in kandoras and abayas jamming to the beat, Francophone Arabs dancing in the aisles, jazz heads from the four corners of the earth swaying and clapping. I guess the city has seemed back to “normal,” since we returned in August but last night was the first time that I felt like I had my groove back.

When we moved to Abu Dhabi, it was to try something different for two years. The US in 2018 had me feeling like I wanted to see other people. That was nearly eight years ago. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here, but last night was a reminder of why we’ve stayed so long.

(If you’re reading this in Abu Dhabi check out the NYUAD events calendar; they have stellar performances coming to Saadiyat).