ISTABSIR: AL SATWA

ISTABSIR is a photo column that runs weekly in The National. The title is derived from an Arabic verb which means to attentively reflect on and contemplate with respectful consideration. Unlike most photo columns The National runs a photo essay per column. Each Sunday, the series receives an entire page (w/o ads) in the news section of our publication.


*You can view more images from this ongoing essay at my website. 

AL SATWA: IN A CHANGED WORLD

IMAGES & TEXT BY: RICH-JOSEPH FACUN

Reflections about the current status of Dubai’s historic community “Al Satwa,” can be found scribed on the walls of alleyways and abandoned villas. Silent messages spray painted in graffiti along textured sand toned walls elicit a running commentary. One anonymous voice summarizes what many residents may in fact already be feeling as towering developments encroach into their backyards, "Satwa is in a changed world."  

Empty lots and skeletal remains of old villas weave throughout the streets of Satwa intertwining with meticulously manicured homes creating a stark contrast of one another. A constant visual reminder of both the past and future for those who still reside within this prime real estate property slated to be razed. Despite the undeniable demise of the community “to let” signs remain abundant. In Satwa multiple fliers posted on the spaces of both local grocery store bulletin boards and street posts create a collage of names and numbers. 

Despite the fact that many new arrivals to Satwa are simply seeking affordable accommodations the story is not the same for other community members. Many of these residents are from a long lineage of families that stretch back for decades. Satwa's residents include Emiratis from the Bloushi tribe who have been there for many decades, Iranians who have been in the Emirates for over 60 years, and migrant workers mostly from South Asia.

Eventually, this area of several square kilometers between Sheikh Zayed Road and Satwa Road will be cleared of all old houses making way for “Jumeirah Garden City.”  In the meantime the charming quiet nature of Al Satwa will remain a present reminder of Dubai’s yesteryears where life was rooted in a sublime simplicity.  When asked what he will do if his home is razed, Obeid Jamil Mabrouk, a resident of Al Satwa for 37 years, said "No matter if they break it down we'll still be here." 

ISTABSIR: FAITH & THE FISH

ISTABSIR is a photo column that runs weekly in The National. The title is derived from an Arabic verb which means to attentively reflect on and contemplate with respectful consideration. Unlike most photo columns The National runs a photo essay per column. Each Sunday, the series receives an entire page (w/o ads) in the news section of our publication. 

FAITH AND THE FISH

IMAGES & TEXT BY: RICH-JOSEPH FACUN

At this moment just before the sun rises and midnight black turns morning blue, sandaled men shuffle among haggling fishermen, lobbying to sell their catch at the Deira Fish Market.

A metal blade taps out an eerie rhythm, carving flesh and bones into marketable mounds of meat.

In one recent catch, there are barely signs of movement nor a struggle for life and no sense of a finite end – just a calm pattern of contracting gills. Creatures so fresh from the ocean, they continue exhaling and inhaling oxygen even after it has stopped supporting life.

Through the ages, fish has fed man on multiple levels – not just his stomach but also his spirit. The fish has religious significance in Hindu, Buddhist, and Christian traditions. In the Orient, where fish are often depicted in the form of a carp, they are regarded as sacred due to their grace, size, and lifespan.

Christians have used the ichthys to identify themselves and the Bengalis regarded the fish as a symbol of fertility. The golden fish of Buddhism represents the state of fearless suspension in samsara – meaning the birth, death, and rebirth of one’s life cycle.

In Deira, the symbols associated with fish are on the scales that weight them and the dirhams that buy them. 

Across the Emirates, fish continue to provide both nourishment and financial prosperity, remaining a source of life for generations.

ISTABSIR: TAXI TALES

ISTABSIR is a photo column that runs weekly in The National. The title is derived from an Arabic verb which means to attentively reflect on and contemplate with respectful consideration. Unlike most photo columns The National runs a photo essay per column. Each Sunday, the series receives an entire page (w/o ads) in the news section of our publication.

TAXI TALES

Images & Text: Rich-Joseph Facun

An orderly line of taxis fashion themselves along the road in front of Safeer Mall in Ajman. A Pakistani man in his early thirties, second in the row of cabs, leans causally against his vehicle awaiting his next fare. Sahibzada Ahmad Mehmood, is day dreaming of days not too long ago when he owned and operated a frozen food packaging plant in Pakistan. After a bomb exploded his business was left in a rubble. Mehmood recalls, “In Pakistan, I was a big man, and now I don’t feel like a big man.” 

Fast forward over a year later. Today he is peddling the streets, fare after fare, striving to meet his daily quota. Like many expatriates, he is working to support his wife and three children who remain in their homeland. 

A brief ride through the city, with Mehmood as my guide, unraveled two tales. One of man defining a new way of life and the other of the simple scenic areas throughout Ajman.  

In the Rashedya district orange compact cars, used as training vehicles for potential taxi drivers, dot the landscape. This is where Mehmood spent several months before becoming a certified cab driver. Near the GMC Hospital & Research Center new construction tucked into nooks and crannies pimple the landscape. Quietly, Mehmoods voice drifts over his shoulder and into the backseat. This is a very nice area, he assuringly stated, but the health care at the hospital is out of his price range. He must go elsewhere if he needs a doctor. 

The ride continues. At the corniche a picture perfect sky complete with puffy fairy-tale clouds complements the saturated azure water and yellow lifeguard stand. 

Mehmood gathers his thoughts and talks about having to take care in who he picks up along the beach on the weekends. Quite often some younger people don’t pay their fare. Afterwards, his voice pauses, then faintly begins again “I’m not greedy, I’m just a man who wants a respectable job.”