More than half of Canada’s population was born elsewhere, so it’s likely that many of the people closest to us don’t share our childhood cartoons, culture, or language.
My husband and I spent the first half of February paying homage to our homes. He grew up in Abu Dhabi, the wealthiest emirate in the UAE. I grew up in Karachi, Pakistan’s biggest city, just two hours away by plane.
Even though we live nearly identical lives in Toronto now, I often think about how differently we were raised. His childhood was rooted in routine—he was dropped off at the same school for 12 years by his stay-at-home mom, surrounded by a tight-knit circle of childhood friends who were more like brothers. I can’t name a single person I went to first grade with. My upbringing was defined by movement—living in a joint family, then with a single parent, and switching schools at least five times before university.
Abu Dhabi is quiet, clean, and one of the safest cities in the world. Karachi is chaotic, bursting with life, where carrying a second cheap phone as a backup is just common sense. And yet, despite all the contrasts, we found each other thousands of miles away in Toronto.
We landed in Dubai after a 12-hour flight and spent a few days with his cousins. Even after a decade together, there are still family members I haven’t met—another relative, another story, another piece of my husband’s past that adds to the mosaic of who he is.
I curled up with their cat Simba, savoured his tant’s incredible Egyptian cooking, and felt an odd sense of second-hand nostalgia. He’d told me so many stories about this place, about them. Sitting there, I almost felt like I was watching his memories play out in real time, catching glimpses of his past from the sidelines. This was where he spent nearly every weekend for the first 18 years of his life.
We walked along the marina, reconnected with friends, and checked off some bucket-list spots like Global Village.
It wasn’t my first time in Dubai. I visited family here on an extended layover 16 years ago, and I didn’t like it. Everything felt artificial, the heat was unbearable, and it was impossible to ignore that many people who looked like me were brought here as labourers and treated poorly. I carried a lot of that going back but tried my hardest to keep an open mind.
We headed to Abu Dhabi next. We met more uncles and cousins, many of whom had lived and worked in the UAE for decades. A lot have already migrated to Canada because foreigners can never become citizens in the UAE. In most cases, no job means no right to stay, no matter how long you’ve called it home.
Mousa took me to see his childhood—the old family apartment, the mosque that had now been renamed where he and his dad went for Friday prayers, and his school, which was now flattened.
We also visited the largest mosque in the country and wandered through Madinat Zayed, the city’s famous gold market, where I picked up some cute earrings.
Most of his friends, like him, have scattered across the world for work and studies, but many were back in town for a wedding later that week. I finally put faces to the names and voices I’d only heard through his Discord chats.
There’s always so much to do and see in new places, but I love that Mousa always prioritizes people—especially friends and family. I’ve grown tired of scrolling through photos of lonely monuments on my phone. People, the ones who matter, always leave a deeper impression. They’re what make a trip memorable.
Next stop: my family in Pakistan, who I hadn’t seen in seven years. More on that in the next post.
Zahra Travels 
sharp! Sources Suggest [Potential Agreement] on [Trade Relations] 2025 smart
LikeLike