April 12, 2025 to April 16, 2025
Days D1-4: Reconnections, New Connections
After landing at the airport and reactivating my SIM card, I made a beeline for Alison’s place. She used to run an Airbnb out of her flat but had since shut it down. There was something about license issues, taxes, and one guest from hell who overstayed, underpaid, and treated her like a personal maid. Daily laundry requests, endless demands. She was a freeloading nightmare. Alison didn’t deserve any of it. She’s in remarkably good shape for someone in her mid-60s: sharp, warm-hearted, and endlessly generous. The kind of person you don’t forget.
She let me stay in the same room I had last year during my first visit in the brutal summer heat. This time, the context was heavier and I was grateful. The room gave me a sense of continuity, like I was coming full circle.
The moment I dropped my bag, I crashed. The emotional and physical exhaustion of the past few weeks finally hit like a wave. No nightlife. No adventures. Just deep sleep and gratitude. It was a Saturday night in one of the flashiest cities in the world — and all I wanted was silence.
The next day, I did something I hadn’t done in a long time: I went to church.
Last time I visited this same church, I’d struck up conversations with a few African women and stayed in touch afterward. But picking up chicks was never the goal. I genuinely wanted to be there: to listen, to reflect, to learn. I’ve always had respect for all faiths, and sometimes there’s a message in the room that speaks beyond doctrine.
That said, something about these kinds of churches always gets under my skin. They all share the flaw: they talk only to the people they already know. Everyone stays huddled in their own little cliques, maybe from small groups, maybe from volunteering together, or maybe they just came as friends. Nobody really steps outside their bubble. If you’re a traveler, forget it. You’re invisible. You have to really make the effort to read the room and start the conversation. Otherwise, no one’s coming to you.
Once they find out you’re transient, they lose interest. You’re not worth their energy. You’re not a prospective member. You won’t serve in a ministry. So what’s the point, right? That kind of cold-shoulder approach could easily push away someone who’s genuinely seeking answers. Who wants to enter a space like that and feel judged for simply being alone?
Sure, I could’ve gone to the newcomers’ table or the “connect” center, where they don’t know if you’ve been once or a dozen times. But those places always come with the unspoken pressure of commitment. They want you to join, to stay and belong. If you’re a drifter, a seeker, a skeptic or a church-hopper, they subtly frown upon it.
So yeah, I went. I tried to be open. And ironically, it was the same pattern: the only real conversations I had were with women who were open and curious. Go figure.
It was right outside the building where I ran into Judy from Kenya. We'd gotten along pretty well the last time I was in Dubai, or so I thought. But this time, she wasn’t exactly happy to see me. She gave me a kind of half-joking, half-serious scolding: “You obviously planned this trip in advance. You booked flights and you couldn’t even let me know you were coming?”
I shot back with a shrug, “So you don’t want to see me then? Fine. Well, it’s still nice to see you though.” She laughed, but the air was thick with tension. That kind of laugh where it’s clear someone’s masking irritation. Judy was never really my type. A little too controlling for my taste. She had a young son and the last time we met, she dragged me along on a shopping trip and expected me to foot the bill. I saw the signs then. Still, I didn’t expect the guilt trip now.
But this reunion came with a complication — because Judy was unknowingly standing in the way of someone I did want to see: Betty, a soft-spoken, magnetic woman from Gabon who happened to be inside the building. Maybe it’s true what they say that women have a sixth sense. Judy could tell I wasn’t there to see her. She could feel me pulling away. It was subtle, but instinctive. So, I found a polite way to bow out, said my goodbyes, and slipped inside to find Betty.
Finding Betty inside the church proved impossible, like looking for a needle in a haystack. She texted me her general location, but the place was absolutely slammed. I wasn’t about to try. I figured I'll just slide off to the side somewhere quiet and take in the message on my own terms.
Later, though, we caught each other outside. Just like before, Betty looked stunning. Same warm smile, same graceful presence. Without missing a beat, she offered to grab me a coffee. She even added the cream and sugar herself, just like last time. Small gesture, but it said a lot.
We had a great catchup. No rush, no awkwardness. I suggested we grab a proper meal somewhere and she lit up. “The Dubai Marina has tons of places for that,” she said, and she knew the exact way to get there: a free shuttle bus, then a mix of metro and tram rides. I still had my metro card from last trip — perfect.
We ended up at a spot with fantastic food and even better conversation. Of course I paid. “The man pays,” she said with a smile. Fair enough. It felt like a real date, easy and natural. Afterward, she helped me navigate my way back to Business Bay, and I walked the rest of the way to Alison’s place.
Before parting, we made plans to meet the next day. I invited her to try a free class at Orange Theory, one of the best group fitness gyms out there. It was the same gym that had been giving me that extra burst of energy lately, and I still had four class credits left to burn. The great sleep and killer workout earlier that day made everything - church, date, connection - feel electric.
The next day started strong. I hit another different strength workout and powered through it. Nothing like sweating it out early to lock in the day. After that, I took some time to update my journal and refine my trading system. One thing was becoming obvious fast: Dubai was perfect for trading. Time zones here were a dream. I could trade Asia in the morning, Europe in the early afternoon, and the US markets in the evening. No more 3 a.m. zombie trades. The fact that the US market opened at 5:30 p.m. local time? Game-changer. I had energy, clarity, and a routine that finally worked.
Later, I grabbed a quick nap and then made my way to Business Bay station to meet Betty. We had planned it out with plenty of buffer time, or so I thought. One thing I hadn’t accounted for? Betty’s definition of punctuality. She didn’t just run late, she was nearly 90 minutes late. That threw the entire plan off.
The moment she arrived, we rushed over in a taxi. She apologized again and again, genuinely flustered. But by the time we made it to Orange Theory, it was too late for her onboarding. First-timers need a coach walkthrough, and there was no way to squeeze her in. The coach was kind and understanding, even apologizing for both of us. Still, Betty stuck around. She took tons of videos of me during the workout, watching wide-eyed as I pushed through every interval, sweat flying. She couldn’t believe how hard the class was — or how hard I went. But that’s the thing with group fitness. It hits different. You’re not getting that kind of intensity by yourself in some oversized gym with headphones and ego lifters. No way.
After the workout, we grabbed a bite to eat. It was getting late, and Betty’s place was quite a trek from Business Bay. She didn’t say it outright, but she was clearly hinting she wanted to drop by my place. I saw it coming. Luckily, I’d already asked Alison earlier if it’d be okay. She just laughed and said, “Have fun,” in that easygoing way of hers. I reassured her Betty wouldn’t be staying overnight. Truthfully, I didn’t have the energy for that kind of night. So it all went according to plan. Betty came back with me, and let’s just say, wow. A great connection, some real chemistry. Afterward, I helped her get into an Uber and saw her off.
The next day I don't know how I found the energy for it but I did a 12 minute run for distance challenge at Orange Theory again.
Not surprisingly, Betty wanted to return the favor and invited me over to her place for some home cooked food the next day. After crushing the 12-minute run-for-distance challenge that morning, I headed out to meet her at Union Station.
True to form, she was an hour late. And to top it off, she picked the wrong location to grab a taxi. While we were standing around trying to sort things out, who should appear but the front desk girl from Orange Theory. She was just as shocked to see us as I was to see her. With a raised eyebrow, she turned to Betty and said, “I was expecting you to come to those classes but you never showed up!” I had to stifle a laugh.
Eventually, we made it to Betty’s place, and she cooked up an incredible meal — absolutely to die for. After dinner, she surprised me with a foot massage, and, well, one thing led to another. As she said with a smile, “In my culture in Africa, we treat the men well.”
No arguments here.
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