SHONA SIBARY: I was at bottomless brunch when a jet roared overhead. It was the start of a week of fear – of Iran’s missiles, for my daughters and dogs at home, and piling on weight without my fat jabs… I was under siege in Dubai (without my Mounjaro!)
Shona Sibary’s Weekend of Terror in Dubai
Every three years, I make the journey to the UAE to reunite with my husband, Keith, 58, who resides in an Emirate just north of Dubai. Over nine years, this 4,000-mile separation has been a fixture of life, driven by his role as an energy consultant in the region. I’ve always looked forward to these trips as a reprieve from the chaos of raising four children in Sussex. But this last week has shattered that routine.
A Brunch Turned Nightmare
Last week, the conflict in the region escalated, turning my tranquil retreat into chaos. As Iranian drones roared overhead, my tan took a backseat to the fear of falling debris. The attack on the UAE began with a sound so loud it disrupted the calm of our terrace, offering a panoramic view of the Persian Gulf. ‘What the hell was that?’ a man beside us asked. Phones were grabbed, drinks hastily set down. ‘Trump has attacked Iran,’ another said.
‘Under no circumstances is anyone to call me unless there’s an absolute emergency,’ I typed, half-heartedly dousing oysters in Tabasco. ‘I don’t want anything to ruin my brunch.’
Just minutes later, the attack was confirmed. The UAE’s Ministry of Interior swiftly acted to ease the panic, assuring visitors that air defenses are among the world’s best and that the incident was a result of interception, not an attack. Yet, the war zone’s grip tightened further when Dubai airport was hit by a drone. All flights home were canceled, including mine scheduled for tomorrow. Now, stranded in this Middle East war zone, I’m caught between panic and the urge to head to the beach, ultimately choosing the former.
The Hilton’s Unusual Offer
Ras Al-Khaimah’s Hilton hotel, a short distance from Keith’s apartment, hosts a weekly brunch that’s become a family tradition. For around £50, guests can indulge in a buffet of oysters, lobster, beef tenderloin, and seabass. The menu also includes three hours of alcohol, from negronis to bubbly, making it a lavish escape. But this time, the event felt anything but relaxing.
A family belief suggests that calamities strike whenever I’m away. On one occasion, it was my eldest Flo, then 19, shunting a car. Another time, one of the dogs vanished without a trace. This week, the fear was real. My daughter Annie, 25, a paramedic student managing overnight shifts, had agreed to hold the fort—alongside Dolly, 16, who couldn’t leave for exams. Monty, 23, worked in London, while Flo, 27, was nearby with our granddaughter, Hallie, two.
The Fairmont Hotel on the Palm in Dubai—part of the iconic man-made archipelago—was struck by debris from an intercepted drone, sparking a fire. Even the thought of a direct hit by Iranian forces kept guests on edge. My own brunch, once a celebration of indulgence, now felt like a fleeting memory against the backdrop of war.
There’s nothing quite like the thud of a hangover when you’re experiencing it to a background of falling missiles. Most of the day was spent indoors, tracking news and social media updates, trying to gauge the extent of the danger. My usual escape had become a forced imprisonment, with every moment tinged by the possibility of tragedy.
