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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
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.
© Ross Hayden. Camel standing beneath huge baobab tree.
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
I found it difficult to take a photograph which shows its massive size, until one day an obliging camel posed under its spreading limbs. 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.
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.
