The Atlantis Hotel in Dubai is bursting. It is similar to the tower of Babel. It is a United Nations (which I do not think is united at all). There is white, mixed with black and yellow. A rainbow of guests, and I am one of them, to take part in the Arab Media Forum 2010, and the distribution of prizes to the press. Yesterday, I wrote about the opening, the closing and the sessions in between. I also mentioned issues of print, audio-visual media and the new press. Today, I will continue with private gossip gatherings in between the sessions, and a private discussion that will become public after it is published in this column. I will begin with myself. I was able, thanks to smarts, guile and strategic skills that I have gained, to gather around me, at the hotel café, eight of the loveliest female participants, and sat among them as if I were Harun al-Rashid. And, chilling the heart of a friend and torching the heart of an enemy, none other than Zahi Wehbi headed our way, like an angry cloud, causing the beauties to immediately turn their attention to him, and ask to be photographed with him. Zahi is a dear friend, but there are limits to friendship. I suggested to him a little later that he leave, take a hike, and get going, which he did. I returned to my seat, only to find Dr. Ahmad Zewail heading for us, as well, and once again, the lovelies gathered around him for a commemorative photo with the Nobel Prize-winning scientist. I contented myself with a cup of coffee, saying, “if you are not lucky, it is no use.” Nonetheless, I will not complain, because I would get in deep trouble in Dubai, if I had been judged for my deeds. In fact, I arrived in Dubai and the London newspapers were running, day after day, the story of a British men and a British woman who were hugging or kissing in Dubai, and were sentenced to two months in prison. Many Arabs of the north hug and kiss, just like me, although a minority do not. Whenever I hugged a colleague or a female friend, or kiss them on the cheeks, I would think about risking two months in prison with hard labor. Hugging one of them would be worth a year in prison, while hugging the other would be similar to a good deed in remembrance of the people I lost. In any case, the important thing is not to be caught by the cameras of the team of Dhahi Khalfan Tamim, as the Mossad terrorists did. I have hugged and kissed enough to get me a life sentence. When I stood in a group with Sheikh Mohammed bin Rashid, and Dhahi's team over to the side, I decided that they were secretly filming me, so I smiled at the candid camera as I remembered my daughter born abroad. The passport control officer at the Amman airport told her to “leave a thumbprint,” and she had not heard the expression before. She saw a camera in front of her and smiled at it, as she fixed her hair, before the officer continued to say, “thumbprint, thumbprint.” I will give a complete thumb's up to the Dubai Police Force, and wish it success with all people except myself, and especially with my colleagues who took part in the celebration. When I see some of them, I can only have doubts. My colleague Othman al-Umair is an old friend who would just vanish a moment after I would see him, just like he did during the prizes awards in Dubai,. Where would he go? Where would our colleague Jameel Theyabi take him? Would other colleagues hide in their rooms, to make me believe that they are having some romantic rendezvous? I ask, because I noticed, after I edited Asharq Alawsat, that the publications of the Saudi Company for Research and Marketing included a number of famous single people, like Othman al-Umair, Abdel-Rahman al-Rashed and Matar al-Ahmadi, the editor in chief of Laha magazine, Mohammed al-Harethi, and others. I know that they are not monks and I protest that they remain happy, instead of joining the list of tortured souls on earth, namely married people like me. In Dubai, our colleague Amr Adib was also with us. If he were a Lebanese, we would have called him a troublemaker, in our local dialect; if he cannot find a reason to fight, he can still cause trouble to himself or to me. In Riyadh, on the sidelines of the Janadiriya Festival, Amr interviewed me and my friend George Qordahi for his famous program on Orbit. All of the people wanted to have their pictures taken with George or Amr. At the least, in Riyadh, they were taking the men away from me, and I say congratulations to them, and may God let them be accompanied only by men, but not in Dubai… As the reader can tell, I began by talking about myself before going on to my colleagues, and now here is something that everyone wants, namely Arab television presenters. With the spread of satellite television, I would see a strikingly beautiful presenter, but I would say, with sour grapes, that she is only half-beautiful, because we only see her from the waist up. If she were to stand, she would resemble a pear or a Perrier bottle. I now see these presenters on a regular basis, and some of them are as elegant as supermodels, while educated, smart, professional and polished by competition. If one of us stands before one of these presenters, in all their splendor, and asks her about the possibility of war with Iran, or the possibility of forming an Iraqi government in our lifetime, while looking into her eyes, he would definitely forget his name. [email protected]
