Conflict isn’t new to me but this was different
What was meant to be a straightforward business trip to Dubai became one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I arrived, completed my meetings, and settled into what should have been a quiet weekend. I had always looked forward to and enjoyed my trips to Dubai. But, on Saturday, February 28th, when the first reports emerged of US forces striking Iran, I sensed immediately that if this wasn’t contained, it could spiral into something far larger.
Within days, the entire GCC (Saudi Arabia, Qatar,Kuwait, Oman, Bahrain, the UAE included), was under attack. It was unprecedented, and I found myself in the middle of it. Staying alone in a hotel in the Gold District, I felt a kind of uncertainty I hadn’t known before. I kept asking myself: Am I in a safe area? Should I move? What is the right decision? When the first missile attack alarm sounded at 11.30 p.m. and the first of alarms personalised to each mobile was received, the reality of the situation hit me. I rushed down from the sixth floor along with other guests, all unsure and looking for direction. The hotel staff remained calm – almost too calm – and simply told us everything was under control and if there was anything serious authorities would inform us.
That calmness was comforting on one hand, but unsettling on the other. It made me realise how much the country relied on systems, processes, and trust in their air defence capabilities, which as it turned out were truly impressive.
A few Indian guests and I stayed in the reception until nearly 2.30 a.m., reluctant to return to our rooms. These alarms with siren type sound coming direct to your phone depending on your GPS were rather frightening I must say. It was different from hearing a fire alarm in an apartment which I am very used to in England.
At that moment, a strange thought crossed my mind: I grew up in Sri Lanka during turbulent times—why did this feel way different? And then it dawned on me. What I had known back home were ground level conventional and visible incidents. This was something else entirely—silent threats in the sky, high-tech weaponry, ballistic missiles, drones. You don’t see them, you don’t hear them coming, and that invisibility creates a different kind of fear and uncertainty. You go to sleep with a strange feeling, your brain already in overtime mode. Most days it was difficult to get proper sleep, although I felt calm. It was like too much caffeine in your blood.
Over the next two to three days, a few friends realised I was stuck in a hotel room in Dubai; some of them were in the same situation. We formed our own small survival plan: backpack with essentials, medical supplies, water, torch and passports kept on us at all times. When in Sri Lanka we always had logical safety plans in mind, these were handy. I checked the fire exits twice, just to be sure all doors opened! These small actions gave me a sense of control in a situation where very little was actually in my control. Our hotel car park wasn’t in the basement, it was on the 3rd floor. The ground floor was the Gold Souk metro. I thought if needed I would run here, if I had time to run. Mind you, no bunkers in this country either.
I also noticed something interesting: unlike Sri Lanka or the UK, where news breaks every hour, Dubai maintained a very calm and effective communication style. One major press briefing for the entire week, and a single daily news update at 6.30 p.m. No panic, no drama – just quiet confidence in their systems. And to their credit, the air defence performance was absolutely remarkable, neutralising almost all incoming threats.
That’s a very impressive stat, I thought, for a battle up in the skies.By Monday, the situation escalated further. Fires broke out, debris fell, and even Dubai Airport sustained minor damage. I tried desperately to reach Qatar Airways, but after dozens of calls and unanswered emails, it became clear I was on my own.
It was a moment of helplessness, but also clarity: sometimes you simply have to rely on yourself. No one was there. The mobile phone was a life line! I badly felt the inability to communicate on WhatsApp calls, though voice texts and texts worked. I had to always have my UK mobile running and a Dubai sim.
One business colleague suggested I should move up north. I discussed it with my sons and came to the conclusion that since my area was so far quiet, why move? My intuition told me not to move. That was a good decision – as the next day a few missiles fell quite close to the hotel I was thinking of moving to in the north. I was relieved I trusted my faith and instinct.Meanwhile, my family and friends abroad were far more anxious than the people in Dubai. On the ground, life continued – quieter, yes, but without panic. Still, the pressure from home to find a way out kept building.
With airports closed and no repatriation flights, my options were limited. That night around 11.30 p.m. I heard a loud thud followed by another two or three. Since there was a construction site next to our hotel I thought a crane had fallen. I looked out from my room window but the crane was intact. The next morning at breakfast I learned it was the adjoining Bur Dubai side US embassy 5-10 minutes from the hotel which was hit, though little damage was done.
Relief finally came when the Sri Lankan Embassy contacted me to say a special SriLankan Airlines flight would take citizens home. At the airport, the atmosphere was calm and orderly, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding in the region. Finally it wasn’t Qatar Airways from whom I had ticketed but Sri Lankan Airlines that brought me relief and brought me home.
Looking back, the experience taught me something profound about myself. I have always seen myself as a calm guy under pressure, shaped by years of navigating crises in Sri Lanka. But this was a different kind of test—one that challenged not just my instincts, but my understanding of fear, preparedness, and resilience and above all, trust in God!
It reminded me that even with decades of experience, new situations can still shake you, teach you, still force you to adapt. And in that sense, it became more than a frightening week – it became a moment of personal clarity and reflection.
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