The first stage in addressing the context of the city is the experience of living and working in that environment. In this working experience most of the city is limited to what is viewed through the car window as security concerns prevent any real direct interaction.
From the dark heat of the guesthouse that is typical of what is called architecture being treated as a style picked out of a catalogue. The guesthouse on the outside resembles the high-end villas that are being built on projects across the Arabian Peninsula, from Dubai to Saudi Arabia. Here we have a large rendered building with no insulation in the roof or walls, large areas of glass which is ironic because nobody believes in opening the curtains, probably due to the fact that the windows are single glazed and as a result the interior gets very hot. Wall mounted air conditioning units labour to keep the environment cool, electric lights labour to provide adequate lighting that is if the power stays on. Every day there are what in the UK are referred to as power cuts that have probably not occurred since the 1970s. Here the locals refer to it as load-shedding implying that there is excess power being dumped which is clearly not the case.
Stepping out into the heat of the day some 40+ degrees into a gated walled forecourt and into the cool of a Toyota Corolla, the exact same as I used to be run off the road in when driving in Saudi Arabia. The drive to the office takes many routes, often varied for security reasons although each route appears to be the same in that the car is passing high walls, gates patrolled by armed guards, beyond the walls villas, all large all the same basic shell dressed up in architectural styling, fake Venetian, next to fake modern, surrounded by trees. The street is lined with electricity poles with cables strung between them above the trees. The narrow streets form something of a maze, each one the same tree-lined, punctuated with low shrubs in front of the ever present high wall, uniformed guard and rifle, some sit outside, while others hideaway behind locked gates.
There are no landmarks to define the end of the road it is the same throughout this planned community that is anything but a community as there is no interaction except between security guards and house staff. There’re many mosques that look identical as the car picks its way through the green maze, or is it that we are passing the same one on numerous occasions who can tell? Workers slowly cycle along the road on a bicycle that is synonymous with the subcontinent, usually black with a single gear and rod brakes and the name that originated in England during the first half of the 20th century. Passing the cyclist with a pair of shears clipped onto the standard rack, with the rider constantly talking on a mobile phone, probably talking to their family members doing exactly the same in Bahrain.
The gap between the walls and gates reveals what can only be described as anarchy in slow motion, the traffic, nobody gives way, everybody honks the horn, and the pushing and shoving exhibited on foot at the airport, is motorised by all manner of vehicles. Cars predominantly small boxlike vehicles made by Suzuki named ‘Mehran’. Toyota ‘Tonka’ trucks, Tuk-Tuks much like those experienced in Sri Lanka and Thailand, except the passenger compartment is closed. Then there is the unregistered version that seems to be adapted from a motorcycle. The front end is still a motorcycle with the driver on the saddle and using the handlebar in the same way. Behind him (because there are no female riders) is a bench facing forward with enough space for three men, that invariably becomes five. The bench supported on the rear axle is double sided with the women relegated to facing backwards, again enough space for three, quite often with children sitting on their laps, A single ‘Chingchee’ can have 10 to 15 people riding on it at any one time.
Having crossed the traffic with vehicles stopping at what seems like millimetres from the window, the feeling of claustrophobia is unavoidable. On the journey through DHA (Defence Housing Authority) seems that everywhere has a military connection. Villas Hidden behind high walls, locked gates, trees and electric poles. It is time to join the traffic once again and the overall air of impatience and self-importance of every single road user: Beep! Beep! Lurch forward. Screech to a halt. The road is 4 lanes wide, that is 2 in either direction but with the number of motorcycles it could easily be 6. Motorcycles, all identical with the red fuel tank bearing the name Honda. Being ridden by so many people quite often at the same time. From the married couple with wife riding sidesaddle always facing the pavement side Younger ones, with their arm around their husband, some just holding onto the seat. Then there is the young family where the mum is holding a baby in her arms, the older child sandwiched between the mum and dad with the middle child, probably aged two sitting on the fuel tank with an expression of sheer joy on the face because they are riding in front. Crash helmets are mandatory so in some cases they are worn, but only by the rider and not his family, in some cases the rider is wearing a helmet on his elbow???
