Sunset at Salalah

Sunset at Salalah

Steady, strong winds

Hot off the desert

Whipping across the sandy beach.

Sea birds hugging the surface of the water

Near the shore.

Waves breaking

Spray flying back out to sea.

 

 

Two dishdashas walk past

One black, the other white

Both hitched up and hems tied at the waist

Exposing dark-coloured and white wizars.

They stop some 50 metres off

And start to turn back

I wave, one waves back

They continue on their return journey.

 

 

A container ship far out to sea crawls along the horizon

Heading towards Port Salalah

Newly-opened and 20 miles due west.

 

 

A 4WD speeds along the graded road behind me

Churning up clouds of dust

Quickly dissipated by the hot wind off the distant desert.

 

 

An open fishing boat powers by

Just beyond the breakers,

Rapidly U-turns

Then zooms off to where it came from

Its occupants obviously enjoying the exhilarating ride.

 

 

Two white Arabian steeds

Softly gallop by near the shallow water.

Their riders slowly take them about

Then head directly towards the low-angled sun’s rays

The peaks of their riding caps

Pulled down low to reduce the glare

Their horses now walking after the hard ride there.

 

 

Two more 4WDs speedily approach from opposite directions,

Swiftly scattering seabirds on the sandy shore,

Then slowly and safely pass next to the ambling horsemen.

 

 

At my back among the metre high sandhills

A crested lark walks, pecks, flutters, stops,

Waits for its mate; then they fly off together

Into the now low, yellow-orbed sun.

 

 

Shadows on the mini-dunes further dapple the seaboard’s surface

The white sands softening to a yellowish hue

Highlighting the tough stubbly sandhill plants.

 

 

To the north the jebel takes on a pinky shade

Contrasting sharply with the long belt of brilliant green

Of the lush palms on the Royal Farm

And the nearer sands.

 

 

On the darkening blue waters, now calmer

Several more fishing boats head westward and homeward

Towards the golden orb now poised just above the horizon.

The wind seems to relax as it sees the departing sun.

 

 

A large flock of seabirds cluster closely together on the sands

Soon joined by others come to share news of the day.

 

 

The burning ball sinks softly down

And disappears behind massive Mughsayl.

A fiery red glow in the west,

A pink blush over Jebel Samhan in the east

Are all that are left of its retreat.

 

 

Guiding lights come on at Port Salalah

As the container ship nears its next staging post

On the long journey from the Far East to Europe and East Coast America -

Maybe I can join its crew

And ‘fly off’ into the sunset

Like this poem which has winged its way to you!

© P. R. Hayden, Salalah 1998

A Tale of Two Tails

Cave painting depicting camels and other animals (Wadi Darbat)

Off to the caves we go, we go
Not a care in the world do we have, we have
Following a map to the caves, oh
Oh, following a map to the caves!

These are the caves with camels, with camels
Drawn all over their walls, their walls
Figures on camels and camels and figures
Drawn all over the walls.

Walking thru the grass, the grass
Occasionally swishing it with m’ cane, m’ cane
Deep in talk talk talk
With Ibrahim following behind.

Wadi Darbat during khareef (monsoon)

Looking straight ahead
Not focussing on anything in particular
Suddenly see the end of a long black thing
Crossing my path just in front of my foot.

Look to what is in front of it -
See an equally black much longer
Connected bit
With a black head attached!

I stop and back up in alarm.
It stops and rears up in alarm,
Then proceeds on its way
Heading for the nearest bushes.

A little later, walking back
From the caves to the car
Again thru longish grass
Again thru longish grass.

Think we should head
For the well-worn cow-track
- safer than walking thru the grass
Start to think of snakes again!

Then… “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH”,
Scream I to Ibrahim.
He thinks I am teasing about snakes
But NO WAY! NOT! IT’S FOR REAL!!!!!!!!!

There in front is a bronzy-black, threatening head
Hood spread wide,
Head swaying from side to side
Ready to strike something, someone, ME — dead!!!!!!!

My scream wakes me up.
I hover in indecision for a moment.
Will my movement cause it to strike?
We have to get out of here ASAP or else!!!

It’s much more heavily armed than me
I only have a light walking cane
Speed and experience are on its side
In-built speakers blare, “GET OUT OF HERE!!!”

Extremely hastily I run backwards
My eyes still staring
Straight in front of me
At the waving snake.

I know it’s time
For me to leave the scene
- voluntarily
Not taken from it in a body-bag!

Wadi Darbat through vine-wrapped forest

At a safe distance I stop
I must get a photo this time
Whipping out my camera
Gingerly I race after the retreating cobra.

But all too quickly it vanishes
Into the thicker grass
I’m too scared (wise?)
To follow any further.

So, exhilarated and cautioned
By our exciting experiences
We very quickly find
The well-beaten cow-track, cow-track.

Then slowly we wander
Our way back to the car
Every few minutes telling each other
Some new facet of feelings and fears

On the snaky experiences
Punctuated by bismillahs,
Salamaats and other protective
Or thankful utterances!

Talk too of throwing a party
Killing a cow or two
To show our thankfulness
For being spared to live another day or two? or three?

Pass a few men drinking tea
Alongside their pickup
Under the shade of a tree
And recount our story to them, to them

“Why didn’t you kill it?”,
One big brave-looking fellow asks.
“It’s head was as big as yours!”,
Ibrahim replies.

His brave heart falters
His big mouth wavers
With an at-the-ready reply
Then snaps shut! Khlas!

Heading for home by car
Others also have the chance
To hear of our little adventure:
Again, more salamaats are freely dispensed.

Finally I drop off Ibrahim
Safely at his home
Then safely deliver myself home
Al-hamdulilah salamaat! Salamaat!

P. R. Hayden, Salalah © 1998

Gifts for the King

© Ross Hayden. Frankincense Burner

The men from the East see the star halting

Over the place where the Christ Child lies.

Their long journey seemingly at an end;

His just beginning.

They present their costly gifts

To the Child King.

“Look  at me!” Gold boldly proclaims,

“I am indeed a gift fit for a King”.

Frankincense speaks…

Ross Hayden © 2001 Salalah, Sultanate of Oman

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.