Transferred to Dubai: Numbers, Nuance, and a New Life

When I stepped off the plane in Dubai with a single carry-on and a folder of HR documents, a cool January breeze surprised me at the jet bridge. Everyone told me Dubai was all heat and glare, but winter greeted me with soft air, foggy mornings, and a city glittering with year-end fireworks echoing into a new rhythm. I’d come on an intra-company transfer to lead finance for our Gulf operations—steady title, bigger responsibility, new country. I felt both ready and strangely small.

The Paper Trail: From Entry Permit to Emirates ID

My company’s PRO (public relations officer) set the tone early: move fast, bring originals. The corporate transfer meant I’d be sponsored on an employment residence visa, but it still unfolded step by step.

First came the entry permit; then the medical fitness test (bloodwork and a brisk chest X-ray), my Emirates ID biometrics, and e-visa issuance. The physical residency sticker in the passport is history—your Emirates ID and a downloadable copy of your residence are what airlines and landlords want to see. In theory, that sequence takes two to three weeks; in practice mine ran just over four because my degree needed attestations and I had to rebook the medical after a surprise cold. Pro tip: carry multiple passport photos, attested diplomas, and be ready to sign documents in English and Arabic. WhatsApp is practically an official channel here—expect voice notes from HR at 7:30 a.m.

For those moving families, plan dependent visas early. You’ll need your tenancy contract (Ejari registration), salary letters, and marriage/birth certificates, properly attested. The first time my wife and I walked into the Emirates ID center together, we had that classic immigrant couple energy—half amused, half anxious, holding a document folder that weighed as much as a newborn.

The Apartment Hunt: Cheques, Chiller, and the View That Sold Us

Real estate moves quickly in Dubai. We toured apartments in Business Bay and Dubai Marina during those golden winter afternoons when the sun makes the water look like liquid glass. Prices vary widely and can swing by building and view more than neighborhood. Budget realistically: one-bedroom apartments in central areas often run into six figures in AED per year, and family-friendly villas can quadruple that. Agents typically charge around 5% of annual rent, deposits are usually 5–10% depending on furnished status, and landlords still love fewer cheques—one or two gets you better negotiation than four. It’s a different rhythm from Cairo, where monthly rent is standard; here, your year sits in a handful of cheques.

Expect add-ons: Ejari registration, DEWA deposits, and sometimes a “chiller” cooling provider deposit if air-conditioning is on a separate network. I learned quickly to ask whether cooling is included—nothing like receiving a first-month bill you didn’t forecast.

We settled in a quiet tower at the edge of Downtown, overlooking a strip of water and, if you tilt just right, a sliver of the Burj Khalifa. On our first night, we stood barefoot on the balcony while the call to prayer carried through the cool air. The city felt familiar and foreign at once.

Business Culture: Speed, Politeness, and the WhatsApp Boardroom

The biggest shock wasn’t the skyline; it was the speed. Dubai’s business culture is impatient and polite. People return messages quickly, deals move fast, and ambiguity is expensive. Titles matter but so does warmth. A meeting can begin with dates and Arabic coffee and segue into a spreadsheet teardown without missing a beat.

As a finance director, I thought in quarterly cycles; Dubai thinks in quarterly sprints. My first board meeting at DIFC (Dubai International Financial Centre) took place in a glass room that could have been anywhere in the world—until the server quietly placed tiny cups of cardamom coffee in front of each of us. I learned to be direct, bring the data, and still make room for the human touch. “Inshallah” isn’t a delay tactic here—it’s a framing for intention, and then you deliver.

Hierarchy is respected, but information flows on WhatsApp at all hours, and voice notes are normal. Another adjustment: since 2022, the official workweek is Monday to Friday, with many teams still keeping a slightly shorter Friday for prayers. In winter, evenings fill with client dinners outdoors—by 8 p.m., patio heaters glow and conversations go longer.

Taxes and the Money Side

Let’s talk numbers, since that’s my comfort zone. The headline you hear is true: there’s no personal income tax on your salary in the UAE. It changes the way you plan and save. But there’s still a cost of living to respect—VAT at 5% on most purchases, municipality fees embedded in your utility bills (think housing fee tied to your rent), and school fees if you have kids that can rival small university bills.

Corporate tax has arrived for companies, and that shapes the way we structure entities and intercompany transactions—but at the individual level, salary in Dubai remains untaxed. I increased my monthly savings target and set up an automatic transfer on payday, because temptation exists everywhere: from chef’s tables to gleaming SUVs. Remember that financial discipline doesn’t move with you; you move it with you.

The Luxury and the Everyday

Yes, Dubai can be dazzling. The first time a teammate suggested Friday brunch, I thought he meant eggs and coffee. Brunch here can be a three-hour opera of sushi, grills, and desserts you promise not to finish. There are rooftop pools and private beach days, winter yacht rides around the Palm where the sea is surprisingly chilly, and desert resorts where the dunes turn pink at sunset.

And yet, the everyday is what won me over. Winter is outdoor season. I jog early along the Canal when the fog lifts slowly, ride a rental scooter to a late meeting, and buy takeaway shawarma from a family place near Satwa that tastes like Cairo. Dubai Shopping Festival lights up January with promotions and fireworks, but it’s the small moments—hot karak tea shared on the curb, a foggy drive where tail lights float like red planets—that made me feel present here.

Public transport is efficient: the Metro is clean and straightforward, and the Nol card becomes part of your routine. Taxis are plentiful. If you drive, know that Salik tolls add up and that winter brings sudden patches of thick fog on Sheikh Zayed Road—leave earlier than you think, and don’t be the hero who speeds through it. Petrol is cheaper than many places, but fines are not; check your RTA app weekly.

Healthcare and Staying Well

Dubai requires health insurance, and your employer’s plan determines your network and copays. Our plan is generous but still taught me the art of “in network.” The good news is that care is quick—clinics run extended hours, and you can book online for everything from dentistry to physio. I got my flu shot in mid-December at a community hospital in Oud Metha, and two weeks later when a stubborn cough wouldn’t leave, I walked into a clinic at 9 p.m. and was out by 9:40 with meds.

Save your Emirates ID; clinics scan it at every visit. If you take chronic medication, bring a supply for your first months and check that your prescriptions are allowed here. Dubai is strict about controlled substances—even cough syrups can be regulated.

Finding Community: Circles That Overlap

I arrived worrying that I’d be swallowed by the city’s gloss, but the social fabric is surprisingly accessible. My first real friend came from a pickup football game at Kite Beach in the cool dusk of a Wednesday. I joined an Arabic conversation group at a café in Al Quoz—our teacher refuses English after the first 10 minutes—and a finance breakfast at DIFC where we traded notes on audits, exchange rate impact back home, and where to buy the best ful.

WhatsApp groups are the pulse of expat life—someone’s always organizing a desert camp in Lahbab, a Global Village night, or a volunteer day. If you’re new, say yes to everything within reason for a month. The city rewards early momentum.

As an Egyptian, I found a ready-made comfort: old-school koshary, the occasional mahraganat track at a beach barbecue, and the way “ahlan” slips easily into conversations with Lebanese, Jordanian, and Emirati colleagues alike. Still, the most important step was to avoid staying only with my people—Dubai is more fun when your dinner table sounds like the United Nations.

The Emotional Curve

The first few weeks were a tug-of-war between competence at work and confusion outside it. I knew how to present a forecast, but I didn’t know how to set up chiller billing. I could steer a budget meeting, but I couldn’t figure out why the car wash guys arrived at our parking lot at midnight. (Answer: because it’s cooler, and they’re efficient.)

There were softer moments of doubt too. One Friday in December, after a lavish brunch, I returned to an empty apartment and felt loneliness grip my throat. I called my parents in Cairo—two hours behind in winter—and heard the familiar clutter of our family kitchen. I remembered that any move, no matter how strategic, costs you a version of yourself. That night I walked to the waterfront, watched kids ride scooters in hoodies, and promised to build something real here.

Practical Advice I Wish Someone Had Told Me

• Visa and onboarding: Keep cloud copies of everything—education attestations, e-visa, Emirates ID scans. Appointments fill quickly in winter; book medicals and biometrics the moment your HR sends the link.
• Housing: Ask about chiller, parking, and snag lists before you sign. Push for more cheques if your cash flow prefers it; or fewer if you want the best rent. Register Ejari as soon as you agree—without it, dependent visas and utilities stall.
• Banking: Open your account early; some banks require the Emirates ID, others accept the e-visa. International transfers can be cheaper via exchange houses than banks; compare rates.
• Transport: If your home license isn’t exchangeable, budget for driving lessons and a road test. In winter fog, patience beats punctuality.
• Healthcare: Confirm what your plan covers and which hospital groups are in network. Save money by using telehealth consults for minor issues.
• Work culture: Be on time, be warm, know your numbers. Follow up meetings with a concise WhatsApp summary—it’s appreciated.
• Lifestyle: Enjoy the luxury without letting it define your month. The city offers just as many free delights: sunrise at Kite Beach, Al Qudra cycling track in crisp air, old Dubai creek ferries for a few dirhams.
• Community: Join two professional groups and one hobby group in your first 30 days. You’ll meet colleagues, friends, and the person who knows a guy who fixes everything.

Closing Reflections

Three months in, I still look up when the planes arc over the Marina and still pause at the first taste of Arabic coffee in a meeting. I’ve learned that Dubai’s reputation for gloss hides a more interesting truth: it’s a city designed for movement—of people, ideas, capital—and if you steady yourself, it’s an incredible place to grow.

Winter has eased my landing: outdoor meetings where numbers feel lighter in the cool air, weekend mornings that invite long walks, evenings when the skyline shivers with light. I came here for an intra-company role and a better balance sheet. I’m staying for the balance I didn’t expect—between ambition and community, efficiency and generosity, the known and the not-yet-known.

If you’re considering a transfer here, come with your spreadsheets and your soft shoes. Expect excellence, ask questions, and allow yourself to be new. Shake hands, say “salaam,” drink the coffee, and keep your promises. The city will meet you more than halfway.

Best wishes from Dubai,