2nd of December Street

The street received its current name in 2011, for the fortieth anniversary of the National Day of the United Arab Emirates. The date in the name recalls the day the state was formed. And the road chosen for it wasn't random: it stretches from the World Trade Centre district to Jumeirah Beach Road and the Union House—the place linked to the birth of the federation.

But city habits change slower than street signs. Many Dubai residents still call this street Al Dhiyafah. In that old name, you can hear the Arabic word for 'hospitality,' and it fits the life here remarkably well. Al Dhiyafah wasn't a grand boulevard or a showcase of luxury; it was a street where people met over food, looked for work, rented housing, sewed clothes, and learned news about each other.

The history of the surrounding quarters largely began with identical houses. In 1966, Sheikh Rashid ordered the construction of villas in Satwa for Emirati families. Low-rise buildings, simple facades, a courtyard, and a wall along the street—new Dubai was then growing not with towers, but with these neat rows of residences.

A few decades passed. The first owners moved to more spacious homes, and the former villas began to be rented out to newcomers. One family living room might become a workshop, another a fabric shop, a third housing for several workers. Thus, architecture designed for one way of life adapted to a completely different one.

These changes are still readable in the old buildings. Small shops stand almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Cheap perfumes, bright fabrics, ready-made clothing, and household items share the window displays. Signs in Tagalog remind us of the large Filipino community. Behind the glass, a tailor leans over his machine, and in the evening, lights turn on between the workshops for snack bars.

One of the most famous establishments here is Ravi Restaurant. It had been operating on this street since 1976. In early Dubai, it was a simple place for Indian and Pakistani construction workers: inexpensive food, metal cutlery, quick lunches after heavy shifts. One waiter later explained the entire history of the restaurant with one short phrase: at first, only workers came here, and then everyone started coming.

It is in that 'everyone' that the character of Al Dhiyafah lay. At neighboring tables could be people whose paths rarely crossed elsewhere. Some built houses and roads, others worked in offices, thirdly arrived for a short time and knew Dubai only through hotels and beaches. Here, differences became less noticeable because hot dishes were placed on the same tablecloths, and queues moved at the same speed for everyone.

Not far away, Abdul Feisal ran the Lebanese cafe 'Al Mallah' for twenty years. He greeted reporters in a host-like manner—hand on the shoulder—and almost shouted that Dhiyafah is number one street in Dubai. In his view, it was here that the best shawarma, best falafel, and freshest juices were prepared.

In such praise, there was less competition than pride from a man who considered the street his large home. In the evenings, English people, Arabs, Indians, Americans, and Lebanese sat down at cafes. Languages mixed above the tables, along with the smell of roasted meat, sweetness of fruit drinks, and noise of passing cars. Dubai's multinationalism arose here without solemn speeches—simply because everyone wanted to have dinner.

Even football in the yard spoke its own mixed language. Matches took place directly on the sand. The referee ran barefoot in a coffee-colored kandura, shouting corner and penalty kick names in English. Seventeen-year-old Emirati Alwan Abdullah recalled that they gathered every evening and could accept anyone into the game. True, friendliness didn't cancel out excitement: matches were often very serious.

Just a few meters from the sandy field, the street continued. Under car horns walked elders with canes, office workers, tourists; motorcyclists squeezed between cars. The boundary between the yard and the big city almost disappeared. The ball remained next to the flow of people, and anyone who was an unknown stranger here in the morning could become a player for one evening.

Later, the street acquired another language—huge images on walls. In 2016, work began here for the 'Dubai Street Museum' project. The name sounded almost literal: instead of museum halls—facades; instead of frames—whole buildings; instead of even lighting—sun, dust, and light from car headlights.

Emirati artist Ashwaq Abdullah took as a basis the famous photograph by Noura Ali Rashid, which captured Sheikh Zayed and Sheikh Rashid. She didn't just enlarge the photo but created her own painterly version. This was the largest work of her life. For ten days, the artist worked outdoors, where wind interfered with paint, heat was exhausting, and changing light constantly forced re-evaluating colors.

French artist Kan Di-Em-Vi covered another wall with circular patterns inspired by traditional woven baskets. Previously, his largest mural reached eight meters in length and four in height, but the facade here proved significantly larger. First, a grid of stencil dots appeared on the wall, then—drawing from spray cans. Work started around eight in the morning and sometimes continued until one at night.

Nearby emerged a falcon by Chinese artist Hua Tunan, a boat with an elderly rower by Russian artist Yulia Volchkova, children by French master Seth, and calligraphy by Tunisian Inkman. Authors came from different countries but spoke about things understandable precisely here: about the sea, craft, family, memory, Arabic script, and old Dubai.

Thus, a street that grew from rows of identical villas itself became like a large collective painting. It was created not only by artists. It contains the work of builders, patience of tailors, heat of snack bars, evening football, and voices of people for whom temporary housing gradually became home.

The new name linked the road to the official history of the country. The old remained in everyday memory. Therefore, this street seems to have two names and two intonations. December 2nd speaks of the state and a common date. Al Dhiyafah—of hospitality, neighborhood, and the habit of welcoming all kinds of people. And the street itself holds both meanings at once.