Memoirs of an Omani gentleman

March 30, 2012

Saud bin Ahmed Al Busaidi’s book Memoirs of an Omani gentleman from Zanzibar, to be launched this week, is expected to be an immediate bestseller not just because of its historical value, but for the gripping firsthand account of the 1964 revolution of Zanzibar. “I hope my book will enlighten the readers on how astonishingly resilient the people are even after unexpected misfortunes in life,” the 98-year-old author closely connected to Zanzibar royalty tells Salim Joseph

We were led upstairs to a large room where we found the revolutionary leaders sitting together, backs straight, chests puffed out with the raw thrill of freshly gained power. With strange solemnity, they ordered us to raise our hands…we did not know what our captors would do next. In my inner mind, I feared we were going to be shot.

But they did not. ‘Field Marshall’ John Okello’s men spared him to witness fully the dark days of the Zanzibar revolution. He was spared so that he could flee his homeland in great pain and be in exile for seven long years. He was spared so that decades later, he could narrate the gripping tale with ‘the charm of a true Omani storyteller’ to the young ones, with a sincere wish that ‘they shall inherit a world of greater peace and understanding’.

For the last two years he had been busy recalling those days, in order to put his memoirs in black and white and to share, with not just the people of East Africa and Oman but with all around the world, his life that taught him how astonishingly resilient the humans are. And it’s ready for sharing; Memoirs of an Omani gentleman from Zanzibar, the book by Saud bin Ahmed Al Busaidi, which will hit the stands on Tuesday.

A book that was inevitable

“Grandpa…why don’t you write it down. You passed through many intriguing stages of life, and we all would like to know your experience during those periods,” Roya, his granddaughter had been persuading him for long. Memories were remaining vivid and he thought the best way was ‘to tell the stories to someone who could record all the details and put them together into the stream of my life’.

They found the right person in Jane Jaffer, who interviewed him at length, researched the historical background, recorded his stories and assembled them into a chronicle. Dr. Patricia Groves, a family friend and writer with her fine art of editing added to the excitement and flow he wanted to have in the book. Published by Al Roya Press and Publishing House, the book also got endorsed by the Historical Society of Oman.

“I cannot say the book will have any great impact,” says a modest Saud Al Busaidi, who will turn 98 the coming September. “But readers will see how unexpected things can happen in life, how violent incidents can change our lives. Zanzibar was a place where people didn’t expect any revolution or hostility, but it did happen. It’s also an experience on how one could rebuild his life from ruins,” he points out.

Besides, the book gains significance owing to author’s close connection to Zanzibar royalty. Brother-in-law to Sultan Khalifa bin Haroub al Busaidi, the longest ruling Sultan of Zanzibar (191-1960), he had rose through the ranks to become a district commissioner and was a key figure in protocol attending to heads of state and royalty.

‘Beginning of the end’

Befitting a gripping tale with a dramatic beginning, the very first line in the book drops the reader right in Stone Town on that ill-omened day of January 12, 1964. The rebel forces led by Okello took control and arrested all the civil servants including the author, who was then 50 years old.

“We were rounded up and put in prison. You can imagine the situation. We were all worried and didn’t know what would happen, whether we are going to be shot, hanged or to remain in prison for long years,” Saud Al Busaidi told Hi recalling those days.

Okello’s men didn’t kill him, but he was to remain in prison for three months and luckily there was no torturing. The killings, rather an ethnic cleansing had begun and again fortunately Saud had his family, wife and three children away in Cairo, Egypt.

“We were released by president Abeid Karume himself, who came to prison with an entourage. The prisoners were told to stand in line and he selected people to form a new line. We didn’t now whether it was good or bad to get a place in the new line. Later we realized the selected ones were going to be released and I too was in the new line,” he said.

But that was not the end of the story. He was arrested again, released the next day and he knew it was no longer safe to remain in the country. People were getting killed and houses got burned. Many ran away to hide in the bushes and perished there itself without food and water. Saud, though his passport got confiscated by the immigration authorities, managed to flee to Mombasa, Kenya, then to Cairo, Egypt, followed by a seven-year exile in Libya.

The revolution, he says, was unnecessary and most unfortunate. “Nyerere, the president of Tanganyika wanted Zanzibar to become a part of his country and he was waiting for the British to leave. So he conspired with Karume and started causing trouble. It was a lengthy affair, inciting people against Arabs saying that they were slave traders, thus instilling racism.”

But, “those of us who loved Zanzibar did not lose it forever,’’ he says in the preface. And he has dedicated the book to his granddaughter wishing her and her generation a world of greater peace and understanding.

Unaffected story-telling

His most formative experience, as the book says, was undoubtedly the 1964 revolution, which shattered the life of a 50-year-old man, married, with a family of three children and settled in a good career. The book that narrates the drama of revolution flashes back to the early links between Oman and East Africa.

Story of Zanzibar unfolds through the adventures of his grandfather Sayyid Hammad bin Ahmed Al Busaidi who traveled from Barka to reach the peaceful shores of Zanzibar in the 1880’s, the author’s idyllic childhood days and youth among the royalty, his education, government scholarship that allowed him to study Public Administration at the University of Oxford and career which began in the neighbouring country of Tanganyika. At the mid-point, the reader will reach the revolution again and the story is carried further forward through the unsettled years until the ascension of His Majesty Sultan Qaboos bin Said to the throne.

“I was born at a time when there was no official registration of births and deaths. But the details had been written on a piece of paper and kept in the family’s heirloom copy of Holy Qu’ran. Though it vanished eventually, my maternal grandmother was certain that I was born on September 15, 1914,” Saud said.

Now he is almost 98 years old and still in good health with a vivid memory. What’s the secret, you ask. “It’s moderation…in everything what I have done in my life. Besides I was a sportsman, playing football, cricket, tennis and horse-back riding,” he says.

Saud bin Ahmed Al Busaidi 

Saud bin Ahmed lived the first half of his life in Zanzibar, where his grandfather Sayyid Hammad bin Ahmed Al Busaidi, a prominent member from the ruling Al Busaidi clan  had settled in the 1880’s. Sayyid Hammad adorned the elevated post of chief courtier to HH Sultan Khalifa bin Haroub. In the late 1930’s, the ruler Sayyid Khalifa married Saud’s sister Sayyida Nunuu

• Born in Zanzibar on September 15, 1914
• Spent his childhood and youth among Zanzibar royalty
• Studied Public Administration at University of Oxford
• Began career as an assistant wali in Tanganyika
• Married at the age of 36 and was blessed with three children
• Rose through the ranks and became district commissioner in Zanzibar
• Imprisoned during the Zanzibar revolution
• Fled the country and escaped to Kenya and lived in exile in Libya for seven long years
• Came to Muscat in 1972 and took up a job under Ministry of Foreign Affairs
• Later on moved to Ministry of Interior
• Now leads a retired life at his home in Al Fahoud street in Qurum

The book

Memoirs of an Omani Gentleman from Zanzibar

By Saud Bin Ahmed Al Busaidi with Jane Jaffer

Edited by Dr. Patricia Groves

Published by Al Roya Press & Publishing House

Launch: Bait Al Zubair at 7.30 pm on April 3.

Agony of Amerat

Friday, June 11, 2010

Reconstruction and mopping up of Phet-damaged roads are under
way at Al Amerat and the streets will soon be back to their pre-rains best, but people in this low-lying wilayat stress what they need is a permanent solution. Salim Joseph spends a sleepless night at Amerat when cyclone Phet made the landfall last Friday

WHEN dark clouds hover over the horizon the people of Al Amerat are struck by a morbid fear of the unknown. Even a drizzle that lasts just a few minutes is enough to flood the roads and cut off the wilayat from the rest of the Sultanate for days. Category-1 cyclone Phet did not wreak on this wilayat as much damage as Gonu of 2007 did, but comparisons and conclusions fail to wipe away the reality, which is a mixture of pain, agony and utter helplessness, being felt by the people here in the wake of Phet.

As Phet made the landfall and unleashed heavy rains in the northeastern parts of the Sultanate last Friday, familiar scenes of disgust and desperation returned to haunt Amerat. People who went out of the wilayat were unable to get back home and those who found themselves at Amerat were trapped because the exit points were under raging water or simply vanished with the winds and the gushing water.

 Stranded girl
“Oh dad…it’s all water, how can we reach the other side? I want to go home,” we overhear a little girl with a most worried face tugging at her father’s sleeves. The man who just stepped out of his car with his daughter doesn’t know what to say and simply stare at the overflowing wadi that has blocked the road to his village, hardly two kilometres away. It’s still raining and he realises he will have to find a safe place for his daughter, gets back to his car and turns around. Home has to wait…may be for one night or two, he doesn’t know.

The foolish step he took just a few hours back was to take his daughter out for a drive to enjoy the drizzle that began in the morning. Now stranded at the other side of a wadi after a flash flood he is worried about what those at home would be thinking now. With the communication lines down, he can’t even make a call to tell them that they are safe. The initial excitement of enjoying a rain had turned into panic when the torrential rains and strong winds wreaked havoc on properties and roads. Now left with his little daughter to face the stormy night in a saloon car on the roadside, sheer helplessness has struck him like a bolt from the blue.

In fact, there were many in their cars, turning around and around,
desperately looking for a way out of a small stretch of the main Wadi Adai-Amerat road, to reach their houses. But there can be no way out, in a place that boasts of nearly 60 wadis. As the winds grow stronger and rains gather momentum, they can only remain in the car and leave everything to fate.

Recovering from yet another onslaught of heavy rains, residents of
Amerat are a bit less miserable and discontented this time as there was no major toll on life and property. But many are furious over how a small rain could hit normalcy in the wilayats of Amerat, Quriyat or many other neighbouring areas.

“Can’t we have a permanent solution? Can’t we have new roads which could withstand a light rain?” asked Said Al Mahrouqi, a private sector employee who has to travel daily from Amerat to Ruwi, where he works. “Now residents know what to expect and they dare not venture out, even in their 4WDs. That has reduced considerably the number of casualties,” said Sameh Al Habsim a college student.

But that applies only to people with proper houses on safe locations. As the darkness thickens and the wind shatters the makeshift cabins, we see people running for cover. After remaining fully drenched the whole day, all wet and no place to cook food and no shops to buy even a snack, these hapless souls can find no safe place to spend a stormy night. They may not belong to the 40,000 plus living in various villages and townships including Al Amerat, Al Hajer, Jahlout, Wadi Al Meeh, Wadi Al Sireen and Nahda. Now, only survival instincts can help.

And a clear sky the next morning cannot bring smile on the faces of the people in this mountainous wilayat under the Muscat Governorate. It will take another day or two or more to restore normalcy. Gushing water and falling rocks have completely destroyed the roads at several points. The main road to Muscat remains broken at Fairoos and Wadi Adai. There’s no power, no telephone network, nothing.

“We still remain cut off from the rest of the world and it’s definitely not very comfortable to remain so,” added a few residents who had gathered at Fairoos to know the progress of the road restoration works. “Definitely not before noon. May be by evening…Inshah Allah,” says a cop assigned to stop vehicles at the Al Amerat roundabout. And the stranded residents and travellers wait patiently, vowing repeatedly they would be more careful not to be out on the roads next time.

Sameh Al Habsi
Waljat College student residing at Amerat
"Though the intensity of rains was a bit less this time compared to cyclone Gonu that hit us three years ago, we still got cut off from
the rest of the country. However, thanks to the early warnings and precautionary steps initiated by the authorities people refrained
from venturing out, and it helped reduce the causalities in a big way."

Issa Ibrahim Al Balushi
Employee with a construction company at Fairoos
"Whether heavy or moderate rains, the end result seems to be the same. Even light showers are causing problems for people
in places like Amerat. Reconstructing the damaged roads would mean only a temporary restoration of the traffic. What we need is a
permanent solution… perhaps the new road will bring in some relief."

Khalid Al Shaibani
Employee with OIFC in Ruwi and resident of Shabia, Amerat
"When it rains at Amerat, we have to expect the most unexpected things. It was just drizzling and all was normal in the morning
(Friday) and when I went to visit my friends in Ruwi, I never thought I would get stuck on my return. I had to spend an entire night in the car away from my house."

Bee happy

FRIDAY, June 19, 2009

The beekeepers are braving seasonal changes due to global warming and air pollution as well as fighting predators to keep the centuries-old sweet tradition buzzing. Salim Joseph takes a weekend break at Wadi Bani Awf to meet the Aufis — and their beloved nahels and abutuwaiqs

The Lord taught the Bee to build its cells in hills, in trees, and in men’s habitats; then to eat of all the produce and find with the skill the precious paths of its Lord: there issues from within their bodies a drink of varying colours, wherein is healing for men; verily this is a sign for those who give thought

– The Holy Quran

AND the Lord chose some men to protect them from the predators,
preserve them for the mankind forever and sustain the purity that
could again and again rekindle in men the love for nature. Verily, the Aufis know their mission, an endless one, which has to deliberately remain oblivious to the modern ways of life. For them, beekeeping is something more than wringing out honey from the hives. It’s upholding the tradition, living in the very lap of nature
and…it’s life itself.

The power of nature, in fact, is felt at the very moment we enter Wadi Bani Awf off the road to Rustaq from Barka. Nestling beneath the towering hills of Western Hajar mountains, this gorge cannot but have its name after the Aufis, one among the tribes who keep bees in the wilayat of Rustaq in Al Batinah region, where beekeeping in the fertile wadis remains a major occupation.

We move in a 4WD on the rough road winding through awesome rock formations and cross many streams that showed signs of plentiful underneath even in the hot summer months. pass a string of villages on both sides of the looking so cool and inviting. But we are headed for the ‘honeyman’ and will stop only at Al Jafr.

And, round another bend after a small climbdown to bypass a narrow stream of big boulders and undergrowth, the honeyman, along with his family of eight sons, four daughters and more than 150 queen bees and their congregation, welcomes us.

Sustaining tradition & purity
“My father handed over this to me when he died and, when I die, I will hand over this to my children. I may perish, but not the honeybees, not the tradition…” the low but vibrant voice of
Nasser Khalfan Salim Al Aufi is to haunt us for days. The honeyman is an embodiment of pure loyalty and commitment to an occupation practised since ancient times in Oman and an aura of
determination brightens up his visage.

The man is around 75 years of age, maybe, as he or his sons cannot say for sure. But he has been into beekeeping since he was a small kid. "It is just our father’s and his two brothers’ family here, running this farm. He is the chief and we all support him,” says Humaid Al Aufi , one of Nasser’s sons. Humaid, though a life science teacher in a school in the wilayat, has not turned indifferent or strayed away from the family occupation.

“I am more than enthusiastic to carry forward the tradition. And this is also our livelihood and a profitable activity,” Humaid says as he leads us through the shed stacked with horizontal drums ‘tubls’ (hollowed out trunk of date palms) on either side of open walkways. “In the early days we had to transport honey to markets in the wilayat to auction it off. But now people, including tourists,
come here to buy,” he says and stops by a tubl (hive) to show us the small cavity at the lower side through which bees fly in and out. We immediately sense the bustle around – tens of thousands of bees have their sleeves rolled up working for more than 150 queens.

Nahels and abutuwaiqs
Nasser, who tends to the bees twice a day without fail, joins us and makes a small fire on the ground to burn some brushwood. Shrouded by the smoke from the burning twigs he pokes his knife through tubl to remove the rock piece, with which the drum is kept sealed. There’s a gush of bees and we back out quickly. “No. No need to worry. Here the bees rarely sting you,” Humaid says.

“And meet our nahels, the larger bees we have here in Oman, which sip nectar from the flowering trees around,” he smiles. They have around 10 to 12 honeycombs in a single drum and the bees
will spread out to nearby trees once the family size swells and when a single drum cannot hold more. But the nests on the trees are retrieved soon to be placed in clean drums. Nasser carefully removes the bees from a honeycomb and holds it for us for a closer examination.

The bees found in Oman belong to the Apis millifera and Apis florae species. Humaid ushers us out of the shed and wants
us to climb the steep slate hill nearby. And there almost 30 metres up the hill we come across a crevice which homes the wilder species – the abutuwaiqs, the bees in the jabals. The bees are
smaller in size and the honey has more medicinal value. “This is more rustic, natural and sweet and people prefer this,” Humaid explains. The Aufis have around a dozen of such beehives in the area, which earn them substantial money.

The honey is ‘asli’ (original), the Aufis are bent on sustaining the purity and it comes at a price. “A bottle of nahel honey weighing around 1kg will cost you RO40, while that of abutuwaiq will cost RO45 to RO50,” Humaid says. With bees feeding on the flowers of
samr, sidr and ghaaf trees besides date palms, prickly pear and papaya trees, the Aufis get a regular income through three harvesting seasons. “The bees here depend mainly on sidr from September to December, while they have a variety of flowers to nourish on from January to March. The honey harvested in these seasons will have a whitish colour, while we get ‘red honey’ in summer (from April to July),”  Humaid elaborates.

Fighting pollution and bee predators
The Sultanate produced nearly 100 tonnes of honey in 2004 against the 60,000kg in 2002, the statistics reveal. But has the production come down? The Aufis, who are oblivious of the official figures know one thing: There are fewer flowers and fewer honeybees. “We use to get 60-70 bottles of honey each in all the three seasons. Now we get just 5-10 bottles in the sidr season and 35-40 bottles in the mixed season,” Humaid says.

The yield in the summer season, however, has not been affected.
They had been fighting for centuries the bee predators, which include insects like red hornets and dragonflies and migratory
birds from the species of flycatchers and bee-eaters. The government, which has vowed to promote and sustain the occupation, has been providing them specific aromatic bands that will keep the ‘strange red insects’ away from bees.

The production, however, has come down and the major reason could be the air pollution, Humaid points out. Use of pesticides for date palms, usually sprinkled from helicopters above, has made an adverse impact on other trees, including the sidrs and samrs.
“There’s definitely a lot of changes in the climate either due to global warming or due to air pollution. The seasonal changes have badly affected the production of honey,” he asserts.

Khamis Khalfan Al Aufi , Nasser’s brother, has carefully removed a honeycomb from a tubl for us to experience the rustic taste of nahel honey. It’s so sweet, but much more sweet is the hospitality of the Aufis, we thought.

Embrace of the empty space

Friday, December 10, 2010

Desert, they say, is a place where one has to shed cowardice, weaknesses, pride, ego…to emerge stronger and to become a quick decision maker. Salim Joseph joins an expedition across the Sharqiyah Sands to encounter the unknown and to find out why many people are addicted to desert trips

“Hey, I am stuck. Winch me out. Maybe you could bring two winches…” the crackly voice through the walkie-talkie doesn’t cause panic but triggers a flutter of laughter. “There he is, stuck again…All guys with winches proceed to car number 13 and please somebody get behind his wheel…” (More laughter).

It’s a place where problems energize people and goad them into action. Nothing is kept for tomorrow. There’s no tomorrow. Fix it now, to move on. And while they move, they leave nobody behind. It’s real brotherhood, nothing less, nothing more.

That’s what they all have become after venturing into the desert, pushing hard on their 4WDs through the soft sands and towering dunes, getting stuck, pulling out, getting stuck again and even breaking the car bumpers and radiators — better human beings, a lot more patient and helpful to the fellow beings.

They go repeatedly to learn more about their chances of survival in a land that would fill, at the very glance, awe and fear in every single soul, to confront problems that could transform their mundane existence into worthy lives. Desert is a place where they purge their cowardice, weaknesses, egos, impertinence…to come out fresh and strong and to be quick decision makers!

“Yes. The desert has changed us all and now there’s no stopping us from going out there regularly,” say all in unison, numbering around 75 in about 50 cars who took part in the two-day regular desert crossing organised by The Guide Oman last weekend. Entering the Sharqiyah Sands at Al Reeka, off Bidiya, the expedition involved traversing the challenging powdery sands and high dunes, two-night camping at Wadi Muraeer and Ramlat Dabdub before exiting between Juweira beach and Ghate off the Arabian Sea.

“I always wanted to challenge myself, to prove that we can do whatever we want to do,” says Mohammed Essa Al Zedjali, the group leader, who began organising regular crossings in 2002. And these expeditions taught him about team spirit, risk management, the need for communication skills and about trust one should have in others. “The desert instilled in me those values. People now tell me that I am a quick decision maker. I learnt it from here.”

He knew that just camping at the existing desert camps in Bidiya or
climbing up and coming down just a few dunes nearby wouldn’t suffice to comprehend the unknown. He wanted to go to places where no one had gone before. “Then somebody suggested that the desert could be crossed through a route that no one has tried ever. That was exactly the thing I was looking for,” he recalls.

Hardly aware of the extreme challenges and huge requirements, the very first crossing was a great learning experience for him. And every expedition taught him more, and the number of people accompanying him began to swell gradually. “The trips into the desert have taught us a lot. We can never underestimate the desert... we have to respect it, we have to come prepared for any eventuality.” says Mohammed.


Hi asked many others who have been figuring repeatedly in these adventure trips into the desert what the desert meant to them. And here’s what they said:

Mohammed Essa Al Zedjali
The team leader
“When you are totally stressed or when you want to forget your worries, this is the place to let loose. Many people prefer to go to Dubai, hotels or resorts to freshen up. But when you are in such places, the problems will still haunt you. Here we have new problems, new faces to deal with and immediate issues to be fixed. If you cannot fix it, you cannot move on. The new situation will push all your existing worries to the rear. And when you are back to your house or workplace, you will find yourself totally energised.”

Haji Shaban Al Balushi
World bodybuilding champion
“When I came here first I saw it was very difficult. It was totally different from going to beaches or places like that. But there’s a lot to see, a lot to experience, crossing the desert is something I have started liking. And this trip gives me a great break to gear myself up before my final preparations for the Asian Beach Games.”

Mey Leong
Nurse
“It’s the colour of the desert, which changes as the day progresses that amazes me. When you wake up in the morning, you see it covered by the mist, and you see a solitary Omani praying in the middle of the desert, with nobody around but just the sand dunes. I have been here around 15 times during the three years of my stay in
Oman, and I still get stuck in the sands. But I am always eager to get back here and bring my friends as well.”

Mohsin Al Raisi
Former deputy CEO of Omantel
“Desert has been a constant attraction for me since I started venturing into its vastness with Mohammed, may be seven years ago. It’s a virgin land, quiet, peaceful and not spoiled or affected by the urbane life. It teaches people to be patient and to be helpful. The crossing of the desert involves many important things including
proper planning, team building and risk management. I always advise newcomers not to panic. If you get stuck, come out of the car, see the terrain and make a proper plan to get on. There’s nothing out there that we cannot solve.”

Mamdooh Al Zedjali
Coach of Haji Shaban
“After entering the desert, I came to know that it’s this that makes our country unique. With the pollution-free atmosphere and fresh air, the desert beckons us all who reside in cities and we do come again and again to get freshened up. This time, we are here to give Haji a good two-day break before the Asian Beach Games.”

Hamed Abdullah Suleiman Al Hamdi
Singer and oudh player (blind)
“Though I cannot see, I can feel the desert and I have felt its power for the last 3-4 years. I don’t know exactly how many times I have been here, may be 20 times, but people say I sing and play my instrument better in the desert.”

Badr Moosa Ali Al Azri
Admin. manager, Zubair Automotive Group
“Initially I had rejected the very idea of going to the desert as I couldn’t think of staying in an empty place. But, coming here, I saw that it’s never empty and with great guys around, I started enjoying the desert. Now we hit the sands every month once or twice and we make new friends. The friendship is stronger here as we help each

other.”

Muneer Al Maimani
Senior HR Service advisor, Zubair Automotive Group
“Desert is a part of our life and, as an Omani, I too want to enjoy my country, my desert. It’s always fun for me out here and it makes me a better man. Coming to the desert for the last eight years, it has taught me how to survive without electricity and other comforts of city life. There’s ample freedom here and we have some new

experience every day.”

Samuel William Mayston
Structural engineer in Edinburgh, Scotland
“I love the desert for its beauty, the vast stretch of sand dunes. I
get up in the middle of the night and I see stars from horizon to
horizon gazing down at me. It’s very beautiful. And driving
through the sands has changed me a lot. The sense of achievement
you get when you get to the top of a sand dune is huge. Sometimes,
you almost get to the top but slide backwards down and have to take a second run to make it. Such achievements make you stronger
and determined to succeed in all situations.”

Ghalib Al Hosni
kitchen operations manager, The Guide Oman
“The desert has become my life and I am with Mohammed’s group for the last five years. Practically here every month, sometimes twice a month, the desert has made me a better person, my abilities, capabilities, everything got polished. I have been able to bring confidence into my team, the kitchen crew. I encourage them to
drive, to move around and to have confidence in themselves to handle difficult situations.”

Ahmed Ali Al Awfi
Dy. CEO, OMIFCO
“Once you are here, you get addicted. You would want to do it over and over again. My first venture into the desert was in 1997 and I have crossed the Sharqiyah Sands more than 12 times since. The desert has awaken the adventurer in me, made me a lot more relaxed and enabled me to do things differently. In your sleep, you could really wash away all the thoughts and worries and when you wake up in the morning, you feel you are willing to do more in life and enjoy.”

Cave of good hope

Friday, May 27, 2011

In a remote cavern at Wadi Al Hijri, off Tanuf, lives an old couple, cut away from civilisation. How long have they been living the life of a troglodyte in this ravine with steep banks trekked rarely even by adventure enthusiasts? Fifteen years, or twenty? They have lost count…

Great things are done when men and mountains
meet. This is not done by jostling in the street

- William Blake

Musabah has no clue who William Blake is, neither has he read nor heard about such verses from the era of Romanticism. The 80-year-old, however, knows he is the mountain itself… merged into one single entity decades ago…and never to be separated until the final call comes from the power above.

What great things has he done in his life, or what’s the greatness in being a recluse, remaining far away from the hustle and bustle of city life or even from the comforts of a possible rural subsistence? The greatness, in fact, lies in his decision not to cut the bond, the umbilical cord with the mountainous village, his birthplace, when every other single soul in the neighbourhood left for greener pastures looking for luxuries in life.

And with him stayed back his wife Nasra, much younger but devoted to her husband, turning his humble abode, a cave on the steep banks of Wadi Al Hijri, a sweet home. Years have passed since then…15 or 20? Musabah has lost count.

Old man of Dmeissa

It was January 30, 2009, when Dr Khalid Abdul Malak, a trekker and abseil enthusiast residing in Muscat, was exploring Wadi Quashah and Wadi Hijri, the branches of Wadi Tanuf, bouldering and trekking the tough terrain. He had with him his wife and son and a friend and they were on their way to Masirat Al Jawamid a small abandoned village with lush terraces.

A long walk from the bifurcation into Wadi Al Hijri, inaccessible on vehicles, they had passed abandoned villages, ruins, graveyards and ancient sites that spoke of a once-rich rural life. “I left my family on the side of a large pool, swam across and walked for another half
an hour exploring and taking photographs…and there he was calling out to me from a mountain top…warning me that it’s dangerous to climb the rocks. He had binoculars hanging around his
neck,” Dr Khalid recalls.

That was him, Musabah, the old man of Dmeissa, the village that got saved from joining the scores of abandoned ones on the neighbouring terrains including Al Hob, thanks to him. “We were among the few hikers they see once in a while every year and Musabah was more than happy to invite us to his place. He had about 200 goats, some chickens and a dog,” Khalid says.

Another two visits, one in August the same year and the next a couple of weeks ago, Musabah and 57-year-old Nasra were found hale and hearty with least intention of leaving their home.

The bond unbroken
Born in Dmeissa, Musabah had married Nasra after the death of his first wife of whom he had no children. Their only daughter got married and moved with others in the village to Tanuf while the couple preferred to stay back. Life, perhaps, had been so rich and colourful those days, may be five decades ago, as one can read from the eyes of Musabah. With cultivation, poultry and even cows, Dmeissa would have been full of verve and vivacity like any other old settlements on the banks of wadis.

With crystal-clear water in the wadi throughout the year, survival hadn’t been tough, says Musabah. Interestingly, police and army personnel pass by once in two or three weeks provisions. “This is our home and we are satisfied with our life, the routine…it’s always a nice feeling. We cannot break our bond with Dmeissa,
our village,” he says.

For any normal person, it may take a two-and-a-half hour difficult trek through the boulders to reach them. Then, through a binocular Musabah would be curiously watching you approaching and the very minute you step into his jurisdiction, he would invite you for a cup of kahwa and dates.

His home consists of a bedroom inside a cavern, built of rocks and plastered with mud and with an improvised and removable door made of branches tied together. A storeroom is nearby and lanterns and water cans lie hanging on twigs erected at the cave opening.

They are indeed a happy couple and seeing them would change anyone’s perception towards life, Khalid says. Always eager to invite the few visitors who stumble upon them once or twice a year, they are the embodiment of the Sultanate’s famed hospitality, he asserts.

Confronting the ancient wisdom that glows on Musabah’s visage, one may suddenly realise: It’s a great thing not to break our bonds with mother earth, our perpetual home.