High in the Dhofar Mountains (a poem about the khareef)

Some years ago I received an email after someone had come across my website on Dhofar (that website is no more). He had evidently enjoyed the couple of poems I had written on Dhofar, but he was disappointed that there weren’t any on the khareef (monsoon). I immediately got to work and wrote the following poem, sending the inquirer a copy. It wasn’t long before we met. He was none other than Dr Salim Bakhit Tabook, a very interesting local character, who wrote his PhD thesis on Dhofari tribal practices and folklore (Exeter University).

Here then is my poem…

High in the mountains – no sound…

Except for chirping sparrows, and clacking crickets,

Until the cadence of distant voices

Drifts towards me through the mist -

It lifts and, lo, a beautiful panorama unfolds:

Rolling green hills, trees and rocks growing through.

And across the next valley I spy the voices –

Picnickers perched on top of a little hill

No doubt thinking that they too were all alone…

High in the misty mountains.

As I sit and ponder the peaceful scene

‘Midst gently falling rain and friendly flies

I first hear the buzz then feel the nuzzling

Of a very hungry mosquito,

And, a few of its relatives!

Quickly I spray hands, feet and neck

With a liberal coating of anti-insect spray.

It does the trick

And I continue enjoying the pastoral setting…

High in the Dhofar mountains.

Clouds again descend

And cover the nearby hills,

And my face, with their wet kiss.

I sink into a reverie

And dream of friends and loved ones in distant places…

Only the shishing of passing vehicles on the damp road,

The gentle lowing of contented jebali cows heading home,

And the far off laughter of happy excursioners,

Tell me that I’m…

High in the green Dhofari mountains.

The peace and tranquillity of the rural scene

Soon settle the small worries of the day,

Clearing my thoughts

And reminding me of the One who made it all.

Just then a new sound enters the audio spectrum –

The distant cry of a muezzin in a mountain mosque

Calls the faithful to prayer

And I too bow my head…

High in the lush green Dhofar mountains.

© Ross Hayden, Salalah, Oman.  Khareef 2000.

Baobabs in Dhofar

One of my favourite places in Dhofar to retreat to is Wadi Hinna. Half way up the mountainside you come to a spring – Ain Hashair.   The waters of this spring – and the annual khareef – have kept a stand of 30 or 40 baobab trees (Adansonia digitata) alive for perhaps 1000 years. This particular species of tree originates in Africa, but it is found in Dhofar in only two particular locations – here in Wadi Hinna (40 km east of Salalah) and near Dhalkut (150 km west of Salalah) not far from the Yemen border.

© Ross Hayden. Huge baobab tree during khareef

Among the scattered stand of baobab trees in this valley there is one specimen that is particularly memorable. It is possibly the largest baobab in the region with a girth of 20 metres! I love to sit at its feet, or carefully clamber up its slippery armour-clad trunk to perch in a fork of its gigantic branches.

© Ross Hayden. Camel standing beneath huge baobab tree.

I found it difficult to take a photograph which shows its massive size, until one day an obliging camel posed under its spreading limbs.

Ain Sahalnoot (Dhofar, Oman)

© Ross Hayden. Boys swimming in Ain Sahalnoot

This photograph was taken in August at the end of the khareef season when the weather is cool and the vegetation is lush and green. Local boys take advantage of the cool waters of Ain Sahalnoot to enjoy themselves. The waters of the spring are channelled to farms and gardens 6 km away in Salalah.

Though the fig tree does not blossom… (Dhofar, Oman)

© Ross Hayden. Though the fig tree does not blossom...

A man in his mid-thirties came to one of my photo exhibitions in Salalah, Oman. He said he knew this tree well. I asked him to explain. He said that as a boy of 8 in the early 1980s he used to look after his father’s cows in the area. At that time this tree was alive and provided him with shade.

“What kind of tree is it?”, I asked.

He replied, “A fig tree.”

This photo encourages me in my belief that if we put our trust in the right place then times of shortage will be followed by times of plenty.