Abu Dhabi, Central Area. February 25, 2010. 4:56pm

Walking behind Madinat Zayed mall, a major shopping center in Abu Dhabi’s central area, I struggle to find a space that would offer some sense of urban life. Yet I am unable to do so. All I can see is an endless expanse of parking, empty sidewalks, non-descript shop fronts, the occasional pedestrian hurrying as if being in the street is a chore that needs to be taken care of quickly. I move along, aimlessly drifting, taking pictures of phone booths plastered with advertisements for bed spaces and other items written in Urdu and Hindi. A sign by the telecommunications company promises harsh punishment for any defilement of the booth. A man sitting on the ground, in front of him a blanket, selling knickknacks for weary residents. The only sign of life, in a dreary environment. I stand in front of a display window; an advertisement with the faces and bodies of glamorous people dominates; their backdrop is a medieval castle. I hold my camera, aiming to capture the movement of people as they pass next to this utopian image.

As I leave this space I move further along towards Electra Street, a name referring to an old cinema or electric shops, depending on whom you ask. In rapidly urbanizing cities places have no names, they keep changing, like the buildings that are being torn down. The sound of jack-hammers and wrecking balls define their soundscape, evoking a mysterious desire for constant reinvention.

A bus stop appears on the other side. I see a gathering of people, not necessarily waiting for the bus. Crossing the street a large empty lot is packed with South-Asians. The focal point is an old decrepit building which contains at ground level restaurants, a typing shop, mobile phone stores. A sign of life concentrated around an ancient structure. I spend some time in this space — a terrain vague as urbanists would call it; an abandoned site taken over by laborers, defying the imposed order of a rational city.

After a while I venture further inside the block. I arrive at another space, dominated by a sub-power station; kids are playing cricket; some gatherings; pedestrians walk by — the official city is remote and absent; but there is life here. From a distance I glimpse a crowd. I move closer and through an alleyway, encountering the place that I have been searching for all day. A main gathering spot for the city’s low-income migrant community. They are all there, in this square inside a block, and they are all centered around a magnificent tree. The tree is in the middle of the space, and seemingly everything takes place in and around the spatial zones which it has created.

At the borders of this square are restaurants with outdoor seating areas, all occupied. Many hold plastic teacups while standing chatting to their friends. The first real signs of an urban setting filled with life. Transience characterizes life in a city such as Abu Dhabi; the temporality is palpable, one can almost feel it. The tree seems to defy this, standing proudly with its roots extending deep into the earth. It is the very image of stability and permanence. Perhaps this is why it has become a central attraction point. For migrants whose very life revolves around constant movement, the tree becomes a symbol, a sign of assurance. Even for me, my aimless wanderings, real and metaphorical, seem to have been vindicated. In a place dominated by anonymous buildings, boring spaces and parking lots, the tree offers some level of comfort. A realization that even in a city which seems to have turned its back on its inhabitants, there is a place where you can feel some sense of belonging and attachment.