Arabia. The dunes tail away a day’s journey by camel to the north of Shisr and the oasis is, to many desert nomads, the most wonderful place on earth. To the few urban Omanis or Europeans who reach it, Shisr is a fly-blown outpost on the edge of nowhere.
The remains of an old fort, fashioned from stone andmud, guard a well at the base of a cliff. In the shade of the low rock face that abuts the water, Sheikh Amr and his son Bakhait listened to three Bait Sha’asha’ nomads, the true desert bedouin,
bedu-ar-ruhhal
, who wished to purchase rice in exchange for camels.
To the south the dust trail of a vehicle was visible, stirred by the dry blast of the
shimaal
. Soon a Land Cruiser appeared beneath the scrawny palm trees of Shisr and a short man in a khaki shirt and checked
wizaar
(a skirtlike wraparound garment) approached. While the man was still a silhouette Amr logged him as a Qara
jebali
from his hairstyle. Then he recognized the man and felt both pleased and uneasy.
After the traditional greetings and much gossip of little consequence, Amr and his son took leave of the nomads and followed the newcomer to his vehicle. “What is your news, Baaqi? Why should you come to Shisr where you have no business with man or God?”
Baaqi was kin and the closest of friends to Amr. “They have convened a conference of the tribe in two days’ time. Your cousin Hamoud is behind it. He has stirred up the others against you, using your failure to fulfill the
thaa’r
as a sign of your disgrace. Those are his words.”
“But why a tribal conference this year? It is not due for sixteen months. If Hamoud wishes to depose me, he will have to wait. The tribe will be on the move now. Spring is over and everyone will need to move the herds to the summer grazing.”
When the PFLO attempted to force Marxism and atheism on to the
jebalis
in the early 1970s, it was the older folk who bore the brunt of the killings and torture. They proved steadfast in their devotion to Islam and forced a retrenchment of the hard-core communist
adoo
(enemy), including the likes of Hamoud. By 1975 the coercion had ceased but the older folk faced a new threat to their traditional ways. The Omani Sultan wished tobreak up the more tribal, regressive customs and to encourage trade and progress. However, many conservatives, seeing that the
adoo
were no longer all-powerful, began to exhort a return to the
thaa’r
. Thus encouraged, revenge murderers set to work and by early 1975 a great many feuds had been pursued to their ends.
Baaqi placed his arm, sinewed by a life of physical effort and a subsistence diet, on his friend’s shoulders. “Hamoud has argued his case with the elders. Soon, he says, the war will be over. The government are daily strengthening their hold on the mountains. Soon
jebali
life will change forever.
Insh’ Allah
. There will be great new opportunities and the tribe must have a strong, respected leader to take advantage of such times. He says you are weak and your disgrace is a blemish on our tribal name. By the
sharia
, he maintains, you should be exiled because you have failed to avenge your own blood not once but three times.”
Baaqi held a forefinger to alternate nostrils and cleared his nose into the dirt.
“He has suggested the conference take advantage of the cattle drives by convening in the great cave at Qum. Enough of the families have already agreed.” He paused, looking skyward, as a Hawker Hunter of the sultan’s Air Force, one of a squadron donated by Jordan, streaked overhead. “Amr, my friend, you must go to the conference. Indeed you must chair the meeting as though nothing was in the wind. Then seize the initiative … promise that you will avenge the death of your sons.”
Baaqi saw the hesitancy in Amr’s eyes, the lack of set to his shoulders and the aimless movements of his hands. He sighed.
“For many months now you are a different man to the Amr bin Issa I helped elect as our sheikh. Your heart is
The remains of an old fort, fashioned from stone andmud, guard a well at the base of a cliff. In the shade of the low rock face that abuts the water, Sheikh Amr and his son Bakhait listened to three Bait Sha’asha’ nomads, the true desert bedouin,
bedu-ar-ruhhal
, who wished to purchase rice in exchange for camels.
To the south the dust trail of a vehicle was visible, stirred by the dry blast of the
shimaal
. Soon a Land Cruiser appeared beneath the scrawny palm trees of Shisr and a short man in a khaki shirt and checked
wizaar
(a skirtlike wraparound garment) approached. While the man was still a silhouette Amr logged him as a Qara
jebali
from his hairstyle. Then he recognized the man and felt both pleased and uneasy.
After the traditional greetings and much gossip of little consequence, Amr and his son took leave of the nomads and followed the newcomer to his vehicle. “What is your news, Baaqi? Why should you come to Shisr where you have no business with man or God?”
Baaqi was kin and the closest of friends to Amr. “They have convened a conference of the tribe in two days’ time. Your cousin Hamoud is behind it. He has stirred up the others against you, using your failure to fulfill the
thaa’r
as a sign of your disgrace. Those are his words.”
“But why a tribal conference this year? It is not due for sixteen months. If Hamoud wishes to depose me, he will have to wait. The tribe will be on the move now. Spring is over and everyone will need to move the herds to the summer grazing.”
When the PFLO attempted to force Marxism and atheism on to the
jebalis
in the early 1970s, it was the older folk who bore the brunt of the killings and torture. They proved steadfast in their devotion to Islam and forced a retrenchment of the hard-core communist
adoo
(enemy), including the likes of Hamoud. By 1975 the coercion had ceased but the older folk faced a new threat to their traditional ways. The Omani Sultan wished tobreak up the more tribal, regressive customs and to encourage trade and progress. However, many conservatives, seeing that the
adoo
were no longer all-powerful, began to exhort a return to the
thaa’r
. Thus encouraged, revenge murderers set to work and by early 1975 a great many feuds had been pursued to their ends.
Baaqi placed his arm, sinewed by a life of physical effort and a subsistence diet, on his friend’s shoulders. “Hamoud has argued his case with the elders. Soon, he says, the war will be over. The government are daily strengthening their hold on the mountains. Soon
jebali
life will change forever.
Insh’ Allah
. There will be great new opportunities and the tribe must have a strong, respected leader to take advantage of such times. He says you are weak and your disgrace is a blemish on our tribal name. By the
sharia
, he maintains, you should be exiled because you have failed to avenge your own blood not once but three times.”
Baaqi held a forefinger to alternate nostrils and cleared his nose into the dirt.
“He has suggested the conference take advantage of the cattle drives by convening in the great cave at Qum. Enough of the families have already agreed.” He paused, looking skyward, as a Hawker Hunter of the sultan’s Air Force, one of a squadron donated by Jordan, streaked overhead. “Amr, my friend, you must go to the conference. Indeed you must chair the meeting as though nothing was in the wind. Then seize the initiative … promise that you will avenge the death of your sons.”
Baaqi saw the hesitancy in Amr’s eyes, the lack of set to his shoulders and the aimless movements of his hands. He sighed.
“For many months now you are a different man to the Amr bin Issa I helped elect as our sheikh. Your heart is
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