September comes round and the new school year looms large – where did those ten weeks of the summer go? Staying in the Middle East for the summer was definitely not the nightmare that so many had said it would be – although I have since discovered that those who said that we’d ‘go mad’ have never actually spent the hot months here! The start of the new term is so different from last year.
The photograph I take of the Tribe outside the school says it all – they are smiling, arms draped around each other, full of confidence and so very obviously happy. A year ago they looked as though I was about to throw them into the lion’s den. They’ve grown up. I have too.
With the start of school, I vow to be rather better prepared and run our Sunday to Thursday school lives with military precision. Packed lunch boxes (how I miss school lunches) will be filled the day before and the Tribe’s suppers will be lovingly prepared in advance so as to avoid the mayhem of late suppers leading to late bedtimes resulting in frazzled mother and exhausted children. The Tribe have an array of sports squads between them and this year we also have the swim squad thrown into the mix as our middle daughter successfully trialled to make it into the A swim team. I’m not sure if this is a blessing or a curse – we need several extra hours in the day and days in the week.
As the littlest is dragged around in and out of the car, I decide to brave the beach for our morning walk. Having been away from the beach for almost three months, it feels good to return to the quiet, peaceful, empty space. The sea is calm and I put the littlest down on the sand expecting her to run, skip and hop down to the shore, sharing my delight in our return. But no, she is almost terrified! I end up carrying her the length of the beach and back – she finds the whole experience too ‘new’. Her memory of sun kissed days spent on the beach is obviously dimmed.
A couple of days later however, she could not be more different and happily runs alongside me, her bare feet on the sand. We walk around into the next small bay where the only other people are on a local fishing boat pulling up the nets. The littlest decides she needs to cool off and happily wades into the sea (still clothed in her romper suit). I notice the fisherman waving at me and gesticulating to something in the boat. As I look more carefully I realise that they are
crabs that he’s pointing at. Within five minutes the boat has been brought ashore and I am given five live blue crabs in a plastic bag! My fisherman has nut brown skin and is wearing a white t shirt with a Yamaha logo and a white sarong over what look to be quite contemporary, long, navy swim shorts. A slightly dirty white baseball cap covers his grey hair, shading his face from the, by now, hot sun. He speaks no English. I speak nothing but English, but through
smiles, nods and a bit of hand waving, he knows that I am delighted with my ‘gift’ from the sea. Before the boat leaves we are given some ice cold water. The littlest waves and shouts “bye bye” as they continue to pull in the nets and we begin our return walk.
On the way home I think about the delicious meal of fresh crab that I will prepare for Father of the Tribe – perhaps with a glass of perfectly chilled Kiwi
Sauvignon Blanc. However, by the time we get home four of the crabs are a little bit too still. I believe that this means that they are dead. I look ‘how to tell if a crab is dead/still alive’ on the Internet but despite various attempts of pulling claws, opening their mouths etc, etc, they remain motionless. Apparently cooking a dead crab is a big no, no – they become pretty toxic. I end up cooking just the one crab that is definitely alive and becomes quite frisky just before I drop it into the boiling water. I shudder slightly as I do it. The crab turns a pinky beige almost immediately. Job done.
Having killed the crab I feel that I should find out about it. In the supermarket where I shop I always see piles of blue crabs at the fish counter – I have never bought any. They are not actually blue – their body is a brown colour, their underside is white. It is their claws that are a deep sapphire blue. Their scientific name is Callinectes Sapidus meaning savory beautiful swimmer. An apt name, as their sweet and tender meat is highly prized and apparently they are excellent swimmers! They play an important part in managing populations of animals that they prey on but are also one of the most heavily harvested creatures in the world. I should now admit that having cooked the crab and put it in a basin of cold water in the fridge I am caught up in the busyness of family life and completely forget about it until Father of the Tribe finds it lurking at the back of the fridge at the weekend. It is quadruple wrapped in plastic bags and put in the bin. I am appalled at the fact that it wasn’t eaten and vow to buy blue crabs from the supermarket – unless I find a generous fisherman again.
To end this month’s offering, I thought that I would give you an update on the participants in the Big Jumeirah Sea Turtle Race that began on 29th June at the beginning of the summer. Storm, the 100kg loggerhead, is in the lead having clocked up an amazing 2,879km and is in the deep waters of the Arabian Gulf. In second place is Kruneloni, the 35kg loggerhead, with 2,081 km covered so far and is just off the coast of Iraq. JuZaSu, the 15kg hawksbill, has travelled 1,340km and having spent time in Iranian waters is now back in UAE waters. Next is Torpedo, an 18kg hawksbill, who has travelled 975km and is just off Dubai as is Bob, a 60kg green, who has travelled 926km. There has not been a signal from Lepi, the 25kg green, since the 9th September, but there could be a number of reasons for this including the tag falling off. As the waters of the Gulf cool there should be more activity from all the turtles. I can confirm that the sea is definitely cooling down as, at the end of the month we are once again swimming in the sea. The summer is almost over!
Mother of the Tribe
