Powerless Wadi Qarran BW Exclusive Dec 1 2009

Hamed bin Salem bin Mohammed Al Huseini, 23, sits hunched forward on the wheel of a Land Rover and peers outside the front window. There is a virtual drop on the left (and right), and if the car topples down, it means sure death on the murderous rocks below; there is a slippery, semi-vertical short incline on this treacherous mountain path that the car is trying to ascend, and Hamed’s passengers, are clutching on to the sides of the vehicle for dear life, muttering the little prayers that they knew.
The inside of the Land Rover is silent, save for the irritating beep of Hamed’s seatbelt- not-on sign ringing. But, other signs seem to be less ominous: An eagle – not a vulture – majestically glides above and the sunlight rippling outside is almost dazzling. Of course, murders have happened in broad daylight and we know that if the vehicle slips, lose control, we would all become part of statistics.

But Hamed has a nose that is strong and pointed. People with such noses are said to be determined. And he was determined to put us out of our misery; to get us off that slippery path and on to a solid track. And soon, we were off the hook, on to the Selma plateau, which houses a small village, close to the Majlis Al Jinn, the world’s second largest cave chamber.

***
We still had a bit of an uphill ride to do before we reach our destination: Wadi Qar’ran, a village that is cut off from all civilization; where some of its residents still live in half homes, half caves; where at night, there is not even a candlelight to keep away the darkness and where nothing, save for the wind, stirs.

***

On that scorched top, through a heat-hazed road, a tiny village seems to rise from the ground, like a mirage. Hamed parks the car, but warns our trigger-happy lensman from taking pictures of the ladies without their permission. Before he could finish, two ladies scurry for cover, shouting at us for pointing our lenses at them; even the kids, clad in colourful clothes, duck from camera sight. We better take it slow and easy, we told ourselves as we scanned the village, set in stone houses, or in caves in the wadi.

***
Why do people live in the mountains?
Why do they live far away from civilisation; from electricity; from water; from creature comforts; from modern life, from the luxuries that abound …?
Why, except for freedom. And for the simple, uncomplicated dwellers of Wadi Qar’ran, it is freedom.
It is the sky, the sun, the mountains, the rocks, the wind, the little caves that also serve as their homes and their dreams and their hopes, and their passion, which is as vast and as simple as their lives.
But, for the people living in this quaint little village, this Spartan existence is not just deliberate. It has happened that way and they have been living in this manner since ages, right from the time when the first ones of their clan began their lives here, many generations past.

“Our village has seen at least six generations of grandfathers,” Salem bin Saif bin Said Al Mukhaimi, 70, tells Black & White, as he presses the seed out of a delicious date, bought from Ibra.

Do we like their village, he asks us? We mutely nod our heads in unison. All of us were seated on the ground in the open savouring hot kahwa and dates, a bit overwhelmed by their simplicity and overflowing hospitality. The sun was out, but it was still cool. “It is cold and in the night, it gets colder,” Salem Al Mukhaimi says.
In winter (December/January) the wadi waters freeze, cutting off their one source of water.
“But, we are okay,” says Salem, stroking his white, flowing beard and smiling directly at us, and other villagers sitting with us, also gleefully smiles as though Salem had cracked a joke.

***

Today, this village of nearly 100 members, which houses 30 small homes and around 16 caves, looks like an idyllic settlement, but the crinkled smiles and the free and the happy- go-lucky demeanour of the villagers belie the harsh conditions that they actually live in.

It is alright that there are no trappings of modernity, but the fact remains that even the bare necessities of life are missing in Wadi Qar’ran and the irony is that they were just some 50-60kms away from the city. Perhaps it is the smallness of their bare existence that has given them such large hearts, and perhaps their content nature. For, despite the ravages of nature; despite the scarceness of their lives, they were quite happy. But, how, we asked.

Salem smiles at us at the youngsters around him as he recites some lines from a ‘bird poem’.

Happy was the bird
That lived on dried natural seeds

Happy, chirpy, fluffy and healthy
It winged over the land
Singing songs of happiness

Let us capture it and give it fruits, rice grains,
The best of food, thought man
It will be happier…

So he captured it, put it in a dainty silver cage
Gave it juicy fruits, expensive seeds…

But to his dismay, he realised
The bird was losing weight, was becoming thin, sad, and was dying…



“We are like the bird in the jungle, free and happy,” Salem said, as an answer to the unasked query: why are they living this Spartan existence, when, some hours away, they could live like anyone of us city dwellers?

“Earlier, our only source of income was by selling coal. We would burn the trees and take the coal down to Ibra, selling small sacks of coal for 500 baizas to a rial each. We used to travel on donkeys (mostly) and camels. It was a tough life then; we did not have any money to purchase anything. But, our needs were very small.”

The daily rigours of existence are applicable even now, but today, requirements are creeping in. The younger generations are going to schools, located some distance away and thus, the absence of light at night has some of the kids hankering for power. “Early to bed, early to rise, but sometimes, the kids feel that they need power in the night,” Salem noted. They have traditional lanterns and since 2007, generous sponsors have enabled them to get six generators. Thanks to the ministry of social development, some commodities and medicines are airlifted to this remote village. But, was this enough? Didn’t the folks feel like climbing down to civilisation?

“Wadi Qar’ran is my home, my identity and I am happy here,” says Hamed Al Huseini, who had just an hour back safely driven the B&W team uphill.
Hamed was born in Ibra, finished his schooling in Samail, but his family has been living at Wadi Qar’ran for generations.
As a contract driver for the ministry of education, he is one of the drivers who ferries the children from home to school in Sammaiyah and back.

He, like Sulaiyem bin Said bin Sulaiyem Al Husaini, drives the 40-odd children to the only school in Sammaiyah, around 45 kms away. “I drive around 90kms every school day (except for Thursday and Friday),” says Sulaiyem Al Husaini, who had driven up the hill with more than a dozen children in his school bus. “We start around 5am everyday and reach the school by around 7am,” he said as the kids got down from the bus and trotted off to their homes, some refusing to be photographed.

Meanwhile, Hamed tells us how he sometimes does trips to Majlis Al Jinn. Hamed wanted to be a police officer, but he never got around to realising that dream. Still, he has no regrets.

What happens when it rains, we ask him. “Oh, then the wadi is flooded and we have waters swirling in our homes. Yes, winter is tough and when it rains, it is tougher as the water washes everything away, the rocks tumble down, we have a hard time cleaning the debris and the rocks,” Hamed admits. But nothing would take him away from the village, he says passionately.



***


Rashid Amr Al Hamdali, an Omantel employee, hammered the back portion of an Omantel public booth onto the outside wall of a government-built mosque, an action that would go unnoticed if it was done anywhere in the world.

But, on top of the remote mountain village of Wadi Qar’ran, the action takes great significance. It is the first public booth of this quaint little village that not many in Oman have access to.

And for the people of Wadi Qar’ran, the first public booth means easier access to the world.

The phone, like the single bulb and the fan inside the mosque, is powered by solar panels (again donated by well wishers).

“These villagers are very strong and brave. It is a harsh, hard life that they lead, but they are survivors. I had a hard climb – from Tiwi -- and would not recommend the faint hearted to follow my path. I think we all should jointly pool in our efforts to make a difference to their lives.
“Six months back, these villagers had requested for a public booth, and we have obliged,” Rashid Hamdali said. “If they make more requests, perhaps, they would get what they are looking for.”

***
Salem’s wish list:

The villagers have a wish list:
They want:
Power
Water
Mobile connectivity
Proper roads…

By Adarsh Madhavan, Priya Arunkumar, Najib Al Balushi
copyright© Black and White magazine

BW exclusive Nov 15 2009: Qantab fishing tale

‘Mike Tyson’. But the genial giant that stood like a rock on a motorboat that took us off the beach area of one of Muscat’s fishing villages, recently, only resembled him.
Otherwise, his serene demeanour and the polite words he shared with us were like pearl drops, which he occasionally let loose along with the sea spray that hit us as we headed straight into the sea.
A spotless white seagull was leading us, and often, our motorboat threatened to overtake it and head on its own.
The three of us, inexperienced boat people, hung on for dear life as the motorboat scudded on the semi-rough sea surface.
‘Tyson ‘(nee Dharwish Mohammed Mughaini) and his sea accomplice, a young Omani boy, were taking us on a simple trip down the usual tourist sea lane, which covered Qantab, Bhandar Khiran and other coves, past the Shangri-La hotel and towards some fishing cages that were sunk some 30 metres deep to trap the fish in it.
But, we (the Black & White team) were not planning to discover the wonders of the ocean below, nor were we keen to dive down to fetch the cages, for tucked in many parts of the beach of the Qantab fishing village, from where we got on this boat, was a story that was worthier than the wonders below.

* ** ** *

Now, the history that is in the making on the beachside of the traditional Qantab fishing village, which features the ‘Jewel of Muscat’, a ninth century sewn-plank ship, is a tale that has been told by many.

But, the history that has been in play on the sands of the centuries old shore of this quaint fishing village, which hosts many Omani tribes including Al Wahibis, Al Qasmis, Al Rahbis, Al Mughainy’s, Al Hasanis, Al A’hsanis (Al’Ahsanis), Al Hadis, has hitherto been untold.
Time now to unveil this simple story of the fishermen whose stirring passion for fishing has been undimmed by the modernity that has swept Oman.

For Muscat residents, Qantab cannot be classified as an interior area (even Seeb, which is some 40-odd kms is not said to be in the interior). Yet, the sweep of modernity has hardly touched this area, not in terms of the physical structures, but in the minds and hearts of the fishermen living here, young or old.

The unusual factor of the men of this village is that whether they happen to be the village chieftain, the senior government official, or, the government employed Omani youth or the young kids playing on the beach – all, without exaggeration share an unusual love for the sea. Unusual, because it is beyond comprehension for those who have fallen to the temptations of modernity and have moved away from the traditions and culture of Oman.

The average Omani kid or youth may have a passion for Omani football, especially since the Omani football team are the reigning kings in the region after their Gulf Cup victory. But, nothing – nothing – can stir the firm love of the fisherfolk for the sea and all the creatures within it.

The Qantab fishermen are in love with the sea, with their boats, the uncountable fish that fill the sea before their homes and the sun, the sand and well, their khawas…

It is this tale of love that has to be told and to be recorded in posterity, but the Omani fishermen’s love for fishing has to be experienced to be believed. The truth is that nothing sways them away from the sea. Fast cars, swank homes, fat salaries, influential jobs, the unbelievable temptations of modernity simply strike this Gibraltar-like-resolve of these fishermen and fall back. Fishing is one of the foremost traditional livelihoods of these fishermen, and they have kept it that way even today. It is not ‘timepass’, nor, is it a luxurious pursuit like game fishing. For many in Qantab fishing village, a day without fishing was an empty one.

And the beauty is that the numbers of the fishermen in this little bay are growing. “Five years ago, we had around 40 to 50 fishermen, today, there are more than 100 and it is growing. Every man of this village, regardless of his other profession is a fisherman at heart,” Sheikh Said Zahar bin Saud Al’Ashani, the sheikh of Qantab fishing village tells Black & White, squatting himself comfortably on the sands.
The sheikh is on his boat at the crack of dawn and after fishing, and a little afternoon siesta, he heads back to the beach where he confers with other senior fishermen in his favourite corner on the beach.

Language is a barrier, but his face reveals a hundred fishing tales, which he might have regaled to the young and old fishermen there. In Arabic, he tried to describe to our Omani lensman the unmitigated passion for fishing that the whole of the menfolk of this village had. “Fishing is a passion; it is our first profession, our job, our lives – our everything!” Sheikh Said Al’Ashani tells us.

“Let them hold big job positions outside this village, but when they come back to the village, they are on the boat, along with the others, fishing, or when they are back on the beach, helping pull the boat back into the shore, helping with the net…fishing is in our heart and no one can take it away.
“Today’s younger generation goes to school, get employed, but neither modernity, nor development has wooed them away from the shore of Qantab.”

We ask him when he began fishing and he looks at the sea, then to couple of six or seven year olds playing on the beach. He points to them: “Around that age. Maybe younger. I don’t remember. It must have been some 50 to 60 years back.” We don’t ask his age, but let him continue.

He stares again at the sea as he reminisces of an age past: “We had strong wooden boats then and there were fishes galore; we used to catch them by hooks and homespun nets. We also used cages made of palm tree leaves for trapping the fishes.”

In the early days, fishing was down to traditional methods. There were no contraptions to help direct their boats in the sea. But, they had the stars shining in the night and the dark hues of the mountains in the backdrop, tools they used to navigate their boats to the sea and back. A traditional method that they adopt even today. One of the fishermen who took us by boat to the sea guided us to some sunken traps with the help of the mountains in the distance.

“We used to go at the crack of dawn and we would remain there in the sea, waiting for a big catch. Sometimes, it took us three to four days to return. But, times have definitely changed,” he said, looking at our recorders, the camera, our mobile phones.

Did they ever fear the sea? Sheikh Said looked at us quizzically as our photographer struggled to put forward the query again. Fear? What was that? “Why would we fear the sea,” he asked us. “We never had any fear in going to the deep sea areas. The sea is our haven, our protector.”

But, some elements of modernity have washed into this shore, and everyone has welcomed that. Today, they have imported nets from Japan, modern winches to drag the boats in etc. “Now we use iron cages instead of palm tree ones, which are thrown down for two to three days and then pulled up.
“We have modern motorboats, big freezers to store the fishes that are caught, navigation tools like GPS, safety gadgets, umbrellas etc.
Moreover, the gear used, the accessories and even the methods of fishing have improved over the years. This has also helped more youngsters getting in to the trade,” Sheikh Said said.

Fishing, without a doubt, is a family tradition too here. The village chieftain’s six children are into fishing. And that is the reigning trend here. “Fishing has fed us and our families for years now and I believe the trade will not die. We get good help from the authorities too. In many ways, we are blessed!”

On the first day, we were taken on a boat to get a feel of the sea by Saleh Mohammed Suleiman, who works in Salalah. He had come back to Qantab during his leave and the first thing he did upon landing there: fishing. “A day without fishing is an empty one,” this darkly handsome young man tells us. He doesn’t recall the day he went fishing for the first time. But, he knows that the moment he opened his eyes, he had been seeing the sea, the fish, the boats and the men going fishing.
“Fishing is not a time pass for us. It is our livelihood. Yes, times have changed, I am employed full time in another sector, but we still need to make that little extra to run our families.”
Sometimes, they make a little more than an extra, he says noting how some catches could haul in bushels of money (around RO300-350). “Other days, it can be just RO50 and under.
“But we are happy. Fishing is our trade and it is very fulfilling. It is a full time profession. The sea is everything for us. For tourists and visitors, the sea could be intriguing and fun, but for us it is our homes.”

What after fishing? Did they engage in other pursuits, football, or any other games? “Those who are in the beachside have no other pursuits. Fishing is our leisure pursuit, our hobby too. What is football? Fishing is my life!” Saleh Mohammed said. Fishing was also a binding factor as it kept him and youngsters like him close to their families. “Ours is a small fishing village and our families are all connected by this trade. My wife is happy that I don’t hit the town spots. She feels more reassured when I am at sea.”

One of the key examples of the employed youth at the village who still come back to fishing is that of
Dharwish Mohammed Mughaini. He is a coastguard employee. But, given a choice, he will get back to the village and engage in fishing. “Yes, fishing, anytime,” he says when asked what he would do if he was given a job choice. “I love to fish. My brother and I started at a very young age; but, I don’t remember the year.
“The sea has been my school of learning. The motor boats are expensive, but, it is very useful. Even though many youngsters are opting for fishing, the sea has plenty to offer us all. We don’t fear that there will be a dearth of fishes. The nature will provide for us all. We used to go with the elders at 7pm and return back early morning 4am with our catch. That is our routine. I think even if I had become a doctor, I would go fishing…”

By Adarsh Madhavan, Priya Arunkumar, Najib Al Balushi
copyright © Black and White

BW Exclusive Nov 1 2009: Robot Jockeys in camel race

No more human jockeys
A camel race in Sohar has, for the first time, featured robots at the reins. History was created when robot jockeys – instead of human ones -- were introduced on the backs of the camels at the seventh annual local camel race (2009 to 2010) at the Sohar race track, recently.
A thingamajig on her back is smacking and spurring young Saraba onto the finish line. She surges ahead, her neck stretching forward and head rocking, froth flying high in the air and on her as she successfully pounds past the line before anyone else.
At the same time, Saraba’s owner in a dusty Land Cruiser wildly pulls up just after her, on the parallel track. Others follow, raising mighty dust. More camels clomp behind with the same contraption whirring and smacking on their backs like disabled miniature windmills gone cuckoo.
Even when they cross the finish line, the device tied to their back is seen whipping itself to frenzy (or was it desperation?). This was seen mostly on those camels that seem to have somehow fallen behind the others in the race; a sort of last ditch effort in the hope that the four-legged contestant would pip past the others at the finish line. It is not about the money alone, but winning any race brings along certain pride. For Omanis who have been literally brought up on a camel’s back, a camel race is a natural passion, if not at times, compulsive.
And for those Omanis whose first-ever sight has been a camel, races and such competitions as this seventh annual local camel race (2009 to 2010) in the wilayat of Sohar (camel race track), Batinah region, is part of a culture, which despite the infusion of technology and the sweep of modernity, still evokes a fervour that is more encompassing than the dust raised on the track.
But, there is something in the air this time. The race just run is no ordinary one. For you realise with a start that these camels have run the race sans jockey, at least a human one that is. As of September 30, Oman has taken that step to introduce a fresh dose of safety into the races: the thingamajig on the back is no ordinary contraption -- it is a RO500 (approximately) worth remote-controlled robot that has replaced the young Omani jockey. This is the first time that a robot jockey is being introduced into an official camel race in Oman: A step, which Oman is perhaps late in taking (when compared to the region), but better late than ever, the camel race enthusiasts gathered at the camel race festival organised by the Royal Court Affairs, represented by the Royal Cavalry, aver in unison.
But, amidst this hoopla on safety, the dust, raised by the camels and the many 4WDs, curl into a question mark: is something missing? Safety is the name of the game, but has the thrill gone out of the race? Are the long-honed skills of the young Omani jockeys going to be wasted?

Naif bin Hamood bin Hamad Al Mammari, deputy wali of Sohar, who is unable to take his eyes off the track, raises the same query and answers it himself: “Yes, such a thought does occur. Will the skills of our trained young Omani jockeys go waste? We have thought about it and the answer is, no, camel racing is in our blood. So, if not on the race track, the young jockeys will still race…it is our culture.”

Robot jockeys are new to Oman, but not to the region, which has introduced them nearly five years ago, facing criticism that small children, some as young as four, were being brought from poor Asian countries to race the camels. Introduction of robot jockeys in the region is seen as a panacea for what was seen as one of camel racing’s most objectionable practices. Racing camel owners in many Gulf countries traditionally used children as jockeys, some quite young, a practice that was condemned by human rights groups.
“The UAE and Qatar have been using robot jockeys since the last five years or so. Oman is the last one (to use them), I guess. Officially, we are introducing the robots at the Sohar racetrack. This is a step to bring about safety through technology and we feel it is time we safeguarded young jockeys and reduce the risks involved. A seven or 12kms race is physically draining and stressful for a young jockey.
Moreover, we care for the camels and we need to maintain lighter weights on their backs. With the robot jockeys, the risk of the young jockeys falling off the camels backs can be eliminated… They (the camels) race at a speed of approximately 50 to 60kms per hour, sometimes, even faster! So, we don’t want to lose our young ones on the tracks.
“The Omani Camel Race Federation and members of the camels committee in the wilayat are all aware of this move and they have welcomed the change. Government authorities, Royal Court Camel Affairs, and the Omani Camel Race Federation are funding and supporting this venture,” the deputy wali of Sohar said.

Sayyid Hilal bin Badr Al Busaidi, wali of Sohar, the chief guest at the race, made public that Oman had recognised and approved the use of robots at the reins of the camels. He said that the introduction of machine-mounted camels on the race track was the first step in safeguarding the ancient heritage of camel racing through modern technology. “Technology plays a vital role in all fields today. The introduction of robot Jockeys in our ancient heritage of camel racing is a safety requisite and a progress of the new and modern technological advance.
“Camel racing and the passion behind these races depict the love of camels of Omanis and the robot jockeys will be a lot safer and easier to race, especially for participating successfully in long distance camel racing like His Majesty’s Cup.”
“The robot jockeys are good and safe; deaths can be avoided on the race track,” opined Sheikh Hamad Nasser, a referee of four plus years, who was a referee at the Sohar camel race. “A human jockey brings in that traditional aspect, but with the new robots, life is going to swing to an entirely new safe mode.” He recalled some racetrack deaths in and around 1998. “I welcome this joint move of the Royal Court Camel Affairs, Oman Camel Race Federation and other related authorities.”

“I have been part of the federation and camel racing for nearly a decade now and I feel positive about this introduction,” adds Falah Al Mammari, a board member of the Omani Camel Race Federation.
“We need to safeguard our younger generation as well our resources. When the jockey is a young Omani boy, he needs to be trained, and paid a pretty high fee. If the camel he rides on wins, he has to be again paid a handsome amount. Since there are a lot of risks involved, the young jockey’s father needs to be paid an amount too.
This makes camel racing an expensive affair. With robot jockeys, many Omanis and camel owners can participate in an affordable and cost-effective manner. I don’t think our heritage will be lost; we are just playing it safe…”

Hamad Khamis Abdullah Al Omrani, a former jockey and currently a referee at the race, explained why camel racing, despite the admix of technology and tradition, would still ride steadily into the past: “The first thing that I saw when I was born was a camel. Camel racing is in my blood. It is not a passing passion; it is our heritage and culture. It is Omani. My father rode camels, my grandfather and my great grandfather also… so did my sisters.

“I was trained by my father to be a jockey at a very young age; now, my sons have been trained too… it is a way of life. Camel racing is our life. There is passion, involvement and contentment in it. The introduction of robot jockeys will not take anything away from the thrill of camel racing; instead, it will instill in a brand new safety aspect; it will make it lighter for the camel, as the robots are only around 1 to 2 kgs.
The robots will not stop our youth from racing a camel. Maybe not in a race like this…but, they will still race.”

Adarsh Madhavan, Priya Arunkumar and Najib Al Balushi