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
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