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.
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
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.
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