I didn’t have a job yet but I had WiFi, hope and a CV I edited so many times it started to feel like fiction.

My visa was only for three months. A quiet countdown that followed me everywhere. Every morning I woke up, I didn’t just think about what I would do, I thought about how much time I had left to figure it out.

So I applied everywhere.

Online, in person, on company websites, job portals- even roles I wasn’t fully qualified for. At some point, it stopped being about the perfect job and became about any job that would say yes.

Every day, I stepped into Dubai looking like I had somewhere important to be. Well dressed, confident, moving with purpose.

But the truth? I was just moving between interviews, metro stations, and rejection emails.

Coming from Eldoret, I wasn’t prepared for a city like this. A place where even bus stops have air conditioning. Where buildings shine like they’re competing with each other. Where everything and everyone looks expensive.

Even the pigeons looked like they had direction.

Interviews became part of my routine.

I would sit across from someone speaking fast, confident English sometimes mixed with accents I had never heard before. I understood maybe 60% of what was said. The rest, I covered with nods, smiles and confidence I didn’t actually feel.

“Do you have UAE experience?”

That question followed me everywhere.

It didn’t matter what I had done before. Without UAE experience, it felt like I was starting from zero.

And every time I answered, I could hear it in my own voice I wasn’t just explaining my experience, I was trying to prove I deserved a chance. I met HR managers from everywhere, India, Lebanon, the Philippines, the UK etc. Some were kind, some were impatient, some looked at my CV like it was a puzzle missing pieces.

One interview still stays with me.

The interviewer asked me a question I didn’t fully understand.

I paused for a second.

Then I smiled and answered something completely different.

She smiled back.

We both acted like it made sense.

That was Dubai. Confidence first, clarity later.

But confidence has limits.

Because the truth is, there were moments I didn’t feel confident at all.

Sometimes it felt like I was just kali wali. Like I was a tourist walking into offices, pretending I belonged in spaces that weren’t ready for me yet.

That feeling can wear you down.

You start comparing yourself to people who seem more prepared, more experienced, more settled. You start questioning your decisions. You wonder if you came too early, or if you’re just not enough.

And then, one day, I stopped searching.

Not because I gave up but because I needed to breathe.

Instead of chasing interviews, I started exploring the city I had been too stressed to even see. I walked through places without thinking about rejection emails. I let myself exist in Dubai without trying to prove anything.

For the first time, I experienced the city without pressure.Then at night, I would go back to my tiny, expensive bedspace a reminder that this wasn’t a vacation and the clock was still ticking.

But something had shifted.

That break didn’t delay me it reset me.

Because job hunting in a new country isn’t just about qualifications.

It’s about resilience.

It’s about showing up even when you’re unsure.

It’s about standing in rooms where you don’t understand everything and still believing you belong there.

I didn’t have it all figured out.

But I wasn’t the same person who arrived either.

And that was a start.

Shared living — humble beginnings.

When Dreams Meet Reality
When I first imagined moving to the UAE, I pictured something soft and cinematic. A cozy room, a window with a view, maybe a tiny plant on the bedside table, you know, the kind of accommodation Pinterest lies about.

Reality said, “My friend, come here. Let me show you something.” (habibi welcome to….)

I landed straight into a bedspace. Not a room, not a studio, bedspace-the kind of place where privacy is a rumor and personal space is a luxury. Ten people, one small room, bunk beds stacked like a boarding school that had lost funding.

For a moment, I thought I had accidentally traveled back to my high school dormitory. Same bunk beds, same chaos, same “who stole my towel” energy.

My expectations? Not met. Not even close. But this was the life I had to discover, the life no one tells you about when you’re packing your dreams in a suitcase.

Living With Ten Strangers: A Comedy Series
Every day in that bedspace felt like a new episode of a show I didn’t audition for.

There was:
The Snorer — who slept like he was fighting demons in his dreams.
The Chef — who cooked at 2 a.m. because “that’s when inspiration hits.”
The Phone Caller — who shouted on video calls like the person was in another galaxy.
The Perfume Sprayer — who believed deodorant was a personality.

And then there was me, quietly asking myself, “Is this the soft life I ordered?”

Reality check: Nope. This is comedy gold.

Different Nationalities, One Room, Zero Understanding
Living in the UAE means living with the whole world in one room.

We had someone who didn’t speak English. Someone who didn’t speak Hindi. Someone who didn’t speak Arabic. And someone who didn’t speak silence. Hey Kabayans too

Communication was mostly hand gestures, facial expressions and Google Translate that sometimes betrayed us. One day, I asked someone, “Can you pass me the charger?” Google Translate told him, “Give me your life.” He looked at me like I was starting a cult.

Cultural differences? Let me tell you, I learned quickly. Some people eat rice for breakfast, some eat curry for dinner, some eat noodles at 3 a.m and some eat your food without asking.

It was chaotic. Confusing. Educational.

Tip: Always hide your snacks.

What That Bedspace Taught Me
It taught me how to survive with ten personalities in one room. How to sleep through noise that could wake ancestors. How to share space, food and sometimes even chargers. How to laugh at situations that would otherwise make you cry. How to appreciate privacy like it’s gold.

Most importantly, it taught me that the immigrant journey is not always pretty but it’s full of stories that shape you.

I didn’t get the room I envisioned. I got something better: a story I will tell for the rest of my life.

Lesson learned: Soft beds are optional. Laughter and resilience are mandatory.

Golden heat, endless sand, and a story unfolding.

Golden heat, endless sand and a story unfolding.

I arrived in the UAE in summer. Not normal summer. UAE summer. The kind that hits you in the face the moment the airport doors open and makes you question every life decision you’ve ever made. Back home, summer meant sunshine and mangoes. Here, summer meant air that felt hot, angry and personal.

The airport was massive. I’m not exaggerating. I walked and walked, dragging my suitcase like it owed me money. Everything was shiny, fast and serious. People moved with purpose. No one was lost except me. New faces everywhere, different languages, different clothes, different confidence levels. I smiled too much, nodded at nothing and tried to look like I knew where I was going.

Culture shock started immediately. Escalators that never slept. Toilets cleaner than some kitchens I knew. Security that looked calm but terrifying. And the air conditioning. Freezing inside, boiling outside. My body was confused, my brain was buffering.

By the time I finally reached arrivals, sweaty and proud that I had not cried yet, I told myself, “You have made it. Life is about to change.” I didn’t know how right and how wrong I was at the same time.

Home in its purest form — a glimpse of the Kenya I grew up in.

Growing up in a quiet village on the outskirts of Eldoret, my world was simple. Red soil, green fields, cows that refused to cooperate and neighbors who knew your entire life story before you even lived it. Nairobi felt like another planet. A place of tall buildings, fast walkers and people who spoke English like they were in a TV commercial. Me? I was just a village girl with big dreams and a stubborn spirit my grandmother lovingly called kichwa ngumu.( Swahili Phrase)

But deep inside, I always felt there was more waiting for me beyond the maize farms and dusty footpaths. So when the chance came to travel abroad, I grabbed it with both hands, even though I had never boarded a plane, never used an escalator, and honestly did not fully understand how airports worked. Standing there with my small suitcase and oversized hopes, I whispered bismillah, praying I would not embarrass myself before even leaving Kenya.

The moment I stepped into the airport, everything felt unreal. The bright lights, the loud announcements, the travelers who looked like they had been flying since birth. I held my passport like it was a newborn baby. And when the plane finally took off, I clutched the armrest with the strength of a woman determined not to scream. Somewhere between fear and excitement, I felt a spark. A quiet voice saying, “This is your beginning.”

Little did I know, the real adventure was waiting thousands of miles away in the Gulf, in UAE.

If you think boarding the plane was dramatic, wait until you hear what happened next!