It all started with a present and the decision to stand in someone else’s shoes: to be able not only to accept, but to understand, to share and to learn. How hard would it be to stand in another culture’s shoes? What would be the implications of doing so? I didn’t know, nor had I thought about these matters, by the time the decision was taken. But it certainly has been a journey that, I believe, has and will continue to change my perception towards the world's cultures. It has so far developed in me a profound admiration for the Emirati one.

The day I was told by freshman Abdulla Al Mutawa I could pass unnoticed as an Emirati if I shaved as one, I told myself: why not give it a shot? That same night, as I came back from the barber shop, I found the kandura that had been tailored for me some weeks ago lying over my bed. “Darwish left something in the room for you,” said my roommate. I was really waiting for this moment to arrive.

The next morning, by the time I had gotten from the 10th floor to the dining hall, I had been greeted already three times, not with a good morning, but with a salaam alaikum. It would take some more days to start understanding and appreciating the differences between these two greetings, but by that time the only thing I could think was: It is really working.

Without taking into account the strange looks people gave me — after realizing it was just me wearing a kandura — one of the reactions I was most surprised about was that of the Emirati sophomores, juniors and seniors. Many of them stared at me, puzzled, for extended periods of time as if they were questioning themselves.

What sophomore Angelica Cvetovic told me was enlightening:

She said, “[One student] asked me: do you know this Emirati freshman guy? I told him: I don’t know any Emirati freshman. And he told me: You should know him. I mean he talks Spanish perfectly and you know everyone that does. I just cannot believe I don’t know who he is. I know all the Emiratis in here. After he left, I realized he was talking about you and I couldn’t stop laughing.”

I was told later that every Emirati in the university knew each other very well and that someone new wouldn’t pass unnoticed. I knew them before, but it took this experience for me to realize how close a community they were. I began to realize I wouldn’t understand most of the things they assumed I already knew. As I wore my kandura to their eyes I was no longer a Colombian but an Emirati. That is, until they talked to me and eventually realized I was not.

I recalled that by the time I had arrived to the UAE, the Philippine lady from Dubai’s airport arrival service that guided me through immigration had told me: [Arabic] really is a beautiful language, hard to learn as any other is. The difference lies in how willing you are to actively commit to its learning. Nevertheless, as I walked out in the streets, actively committing to the language grew to be a distant, unachievable dream.

Although I hardly tried, people would reply back in English most of the time. I remembered that the first days I wore a kandura inside Sama Tower, people actually greeted me in Arabic. I decided to do so as I walked out in the streets. I can say my language learning experience has changed since then. Wearing the kandura does more than give you the chance to actively practice Arabic. I’ve never seen so much willingness and love to share with someone that wants to learn and that’s what I received as I walked out in the streets.

It is even better when they realize, either because of your funny Arabic accent or because you tell them, that you’re not from here. But they see you’re trying hard; that you’re playing and juggling with the minimal vocabulary you have to hold a conversation. They start greeting you with a salaam alaikum, they show you their land as if you were someone from the inside although you’re not. As it happened in Oman, you might find someone that values the fact that you’re trying hard enough to take you and your friend around a beautiful country.

At one point I was not aware of the implications of wearing a kandura. Now I’m starting to construct that knowledge, based on what I’ve experienced, what I’ve read and what I’ve been told. The fact is that when I walk out in the streets, people expect me to behave in a way: that of an Emirati. It is challenging. Below the white robes I wear I’m still a Colombian and will behave as one.

I started realizing this as one day while I was talking to freshman Dubai Abulhoul. She told me:

“We were sitting with Ahlam downstairs and we didn’t recognize your face and we were wondering: Who is this Emirati guy that is hugging and kissing all these girls in such a manner when greeting them? Then we saw you and we were: Ahh, it’s just Gabriel!”

As I stepped on the bus, every passenger stared at me in anger and said many things I couldn’t understand.

I realized that the understanding of social norms, customs and traditions they had grown up with and had learned as they grew was something I did not fully know. Nevertheless, I was assumed to know the customs as I looked like one of them. It would take a great effort on my behalf, to be aware of the reactions I raise as I act and learn from these to be able to truly embrace and not just experience. That’s what I believe cultural learning is about, not looking at things from the outside but rather looking at them standing from within. Having this outsider perspective while learning has led me to appreciate the differences and start admiring them.

Here are examples from some conversations I’ve had, and others I’ve been told about:

After SILA conference had ended, an Emirati approaches me: “So. I’ve heard you’re actually not Emirati …”

During the Sheikh Mohammed Scholars Fifth anniversary:

“So where are you from?”

“Colombia”

“Ahh, and which side of your family is Emirati? Your mother’s side or your father’s one?”

During my trip to Oman:

“So you’re Colombian, you barely speak Arabic and you’re not Muslim. Why are you wearing a Kandura?”

Buying a Khanjar in Oman:

“Ok, I’ll give you that price. Anything for my Emirati brother.”

At that time I realized how expensively he was actually charging me for the khanjar.

“So where is your friend from? Yemen? He has a funny Arabic accent.”

While chatting with a faculty member in DTC:

Faculty member: “Your Spanish is really, really good. Where did you learn it?”