I returned from a short holiday spent outside the United Arab Emirates. When I entered the house everyone was asleep except my mother, who could not sleep until I arrived and she was reassured of my safety. I had anticipated that, and wished I could have arrived earlier so as not to disturb her sleep — but that is the nature of flight schedules and aviation rules. No matter. What I wanted to say is that I arrived hungry, for two reasons: first, I do not like to eat late on a plane; and second, more importantly, I sleep for most of the flight. I began searching here and there — the kitchen, the living room, up and down. The house was filled with those fragrances I adore, the scent of mango and fresh dates, and the moment I opened the refrigerator enormous quantities of both greeted me.
This is the unofficial official announcement of summer for Emiratis: that homes fill with fresh dates, that the palm trees ripen their fruit, and that interest in every other fruit fades or retreats. Dates and homba — local mango — and, a little later, almonds become the three-fruit trinity that Emiratis await each season. At this point I recall vividly how our grandmothers used to receive the first date harvest when we were children. My grandmother would take a date, kiss it, press it to her eyes, then kiss it again, saying: