Witch on the Rocks

There we were, camping along the coast in the rocky bays north of Mirbat. It’s a great fishing area, apparently, although we had a red tide and therefore no luck. We were three at first, one Omani and two Americans, and passed a leisurely afternoon into the evening, sitting around, preparing some food, smoking the sheesha, cutting up our bait fish for dinner. Omanis don’t eat small fish, sneered our Omani friend, and even though he didn’t take bite one, he made us swear to not tell anyone we had the bait sardines for dinner. They are large for sardines, about 7-9 inches. About 10 pm 3 more people and a little dog arrived in the village about 20 km away, but in a small car, so Our Omani friend went to pick them up in the 4 wheel drive, leaving Justin and I at the fire. Since he would be gone about an hour he insisted on leaving us the gun. Of course we didn’t want it. Didn’t need it. Although both good shots, we are from cities in the Northeast, we are peace loving and refined, and neither of us could conceive we would need or use this weapon. We would just sit at the fire, what could happen?

Fortunately nothing did, then.

They came back and we ate, and sat, and had a nice evening, going to sleep around 2 am I guess. The dog is a puppy and still pretty wild. She is not easily controlled and was rummaging about in the darkness, pestering the preternaturally large and fearless cats who roamed the perimeter of our little camp, and barking a challenge at every feline she saw.

From somewhere in my dream a strange and horrid noise grabbed me and brought me out immediately. Our Omani friend was already grabbing at the flashlight and scanning the rocks. We could see the little dog laying absolutely rock-still on the ground near a couple of sleeping people, trying to be invisible. The noise was a terrifying angry screeching, like a woman being tortured from the depths of hell. Then we saw it. Perched on the rocks, about 15 feet off the ground, unbelievably, was a huge, canine looking creature, all bristles and hackles standing on end and screaming malevolently at us. It’s a Hyena! whispered our Omani friend. Look at the back going down! But aren’t wild animals supposed to leave you alone if you leave them alone? This thing was angry, obviously, and could turn aggressive at any second. With one leap it would have been upon the still sleeping (!) Mohammed. Perhaps it was the dog in our midst. The light did nothing to scare it away. It just glared and us and screamed louder, eyes flashing in the light. With one leap our Omani friend jumped up and ran behind the landcruiser and raced up the rocks straight at the hyena! I kept the light on it and the thing didn’t budge. When he was almost up to it I heard the bang and saw the flash of the gun, and only then did the hyena turn and lope off. He didn’t shoot it, just shot up in the air, but the hyena believed it I guess.

Well, hell. I have discovered that it was a striped hyena. They are generally pretty small, as hyenas go, but another friend said that one this size is certainly a witch. It looked absolutely gigantic, with all those raised hackles. I told this story endlessly, my last week in Salalah, and everyone I told was in agreement: this was a witch, or a jinn. We don’t need any convincing. Even Justin, who didn’t believe in Jinns, is convinced now. Now I have to wonder who sent it? And why? Who was it meant for and who was it threatening? And I don’t even want to know if it wore earrings.

Yeah we don’t like guns. Right. Being torn to pieces and crushed in a hyena’s jaws is better? Imagine the last sound you hear is that horrible scream--surely you'd wind up in hell by some cosmic burp. Please. Justin and I made plans to visit the arms market next morning.

If that whatever-it-was had shown up while our Omani friend was off in the truck Justin and I would have been either out in the ocean or on the rocks in the middle of it, no question! But then we imagined that such a thing could probably race across the water after us. We are still scaring each other with what ifs.


We went on another little outing, to the beaches recently opened at Fizayah. This is a drop down the mountain from the road to Yemen and it is spectacular. Kilometre after kilometer of perfect beaches, with rocks, and sand, and aggressive angry crabs (one actually chased me down the beach after I had the temerity to take its photo) and another lovely frankincense grove. This grove is unusual in that the trees grow right out the rock without even a pretense of soil. I will be back to photograph more of them in the next harvest. At the end of one of the pistes we found a beach, just about as isolated as you can get and still be somewhat accessible by car. We climbed over a small but intimidating rocky hill to get there, leaving the car back at the bluff. It’s like having your own paradise, like the South Pacific. But nowhere in the world does it get better than Oman. Seriously.

I drove to Muscat today; somehow the drive back is easier, even if quite a slog. My last few days in Oman. Muscat is a sweet and nice little city and as usual I have to decompress from Salalah. My driving skills have suffered. Salalah drivers are initially terrifying, but it becomes easier as you get used to it, and you adapt by driving the same way.

So what was accomplished? I really can’t say. I went to set up a distillery. It hasn’t happened but not for lack of trying. Concrete steps? I can’t say here either. It’s a pretty fluid and slow drip, this procedure. Everything rests on my associate at this point. I’ve sent most of the oil I made back to Enfleurage. I’ve got an apartment. I have a sponsor. I have Luban. Learned a little Arabic. Learned about genies and animals. Learned about Land Cruisers and fishing. Learned a lot about distilling frankincense. Met a lot of people. Made a few friends. Had a few dramas. Didn’t fall in love.

It’s not as far along as I was hoping, and so could be considered anti-climactic in that sense, but I’ve carved my niche, however clumsily, and it will be here for me when I return, Inshallah, for another go, soon enough. A single American woman setting up an unusual business in a Gulf Country…..perhaps I should give myself a little slack. I did okay.

N.B. many Omanis don't want their names used for anything, even just the first name, so I'll be saying "Omani friend" when this is the case.

Yellow Dog

I was walking alone along the beach the other morning. No one else anywhere around. Only seagulls in the distance. I felt something, and looked behind my left shoulder, just a glance. There, right next to me, walking, at heel, was a golden yellow wadi dog. His eyes were golden slits, like cats eyes and he was so thin! I stopped in shock. One rarely sees dogs here, they slink about at night and creep about. They certainly don’t seek out humans. It’s impossible that this could happen.

Are you my guardian angel? I asked him but he just looked at me and panted. I had no food to give him; I felt ashamed. Then I thought perhaps he was ill, and not in his right mind, to come so close and I wondered if he’d attack me. But he stood with me there at the water’s edge, panting. I began to walk again and he walked with me, or hopped, rather, because his right rear leg was drawn up. We stopped again. I just didn’t, couldn’t compute this……
A wave came licking at my feet and he darted out of the way, and then, spell broken, loped ahead along the beach and disappeared.

Who was it? What did it mean? It was near the same place where the sea creatures swam in last week. Dogs can mean loyalty, steadfastness, faithfulness. I wish I could remember what I was thinking when he appeared. But I will take it to mean that I am on the right course, that all will be well, that everything will fall into place, that my associate or partner or whatever he is will make things happen…Faith.

Things are moving though, finally. My partner and I have changed our taxonomy—he is not going to be my partner after all. But he will be my sponsor. Ok, just as good for me. But he appeared, and we discussed, and all seems well. Months ago he cautioned me to keep this Luban under wraps. Don’t tell anyone anything, no one should know anything about it until we are all set up. But in the absence of information I reverted to my normal behavior and now everyone in Salalah is talking about the Luban. But now we are moving so he sea creatures were consuling patience. And the golden dog? Well, I have to listen to him; canine behavior like that is just unknown here. My words to live by then, are patience, loyalty, steadfastness, and faith.

I went to Sumahram Mountain the other day, an impossible place. I went with a couple of guys who were planning to hike but I didn’t so while they crept down the mountain I stayed on top, looking at the rocks and crazy bottle roses. I’m just glad I didn’t have to spend the night there! For the ground is alive with creatures, set into stone. God only knows what happens when darkness comes. But I am content not knowing. The rock formations are similar to those along the road to Yemen, the Mountains of the Moon (as these mountains were thought to be so high they were as close to the moon as it was possible to get.) That landscape is alive with forms and figures and this is the same at Sumahram.

Cultural challenges continue to startle me, it’s a time travel here. Despite mobile phones this is old Arabia, and there are plenty of great things about it. As a foreign woman I inhabit my own place and can sit with men, and do all the fun things they do, which may not sound thrilling if you crave nightclubs and city living but we have plenty of conversation, sitting together every night for hours smoking shishas, camping, fishing, drinking tea, having a fire on the beach, discussing politics. For me it’s nearly perfect, despite the occasional weirdness and drama. I swim in the ocean daily. Actually, I just go bob about and enjoy the cool salty water. But today there were so many fish that they freaked me out a bit, kept crashing into me, or taking a nibble at my legs. They were all apparently toothless, but still nerve-wracking. Big fish too, usually a foot long. They are constantly flopping out of the water. There are even occasional schools of flying fish!

The Luban distillation continues; I am learning in increments. But the oil is becoming sweeter and richer, more delightful. My only complaint is that I can’t do more than I do. I hope we have a distillery set up within the foreseeable future, and then we can accept visitors, and have something nice and Omani here in Dhofar.

Usually it’s newness that inspires me to write. Action, hilarity, ridiculous circumstances. I don’t write much when I’m in New York or California, and now not so much in Salalah. There is only so much to write about Luban distilling. And while I once thought I’d research this or that, it’s not going to happen here. Three nights in a row I have fallen asleep at my sheesha. I’m like a little kid and no matter how tired I fight to stay awake. It’s only when I start seeing double and triple that I grudgingly acknowledge that my evening is finite. But I keep falling asleep as someone is actually in the middle of a sentence. They always notice of course. So embarrassing.

Earrings on the Hyena

There comes a time when things shift and that time is now, again. Maybe it was getting on the plane back from Muscat and knowing people all over it. Suddenly I was one of those irritating people on the Oman Air flight blocking the aisle, yakking it up row by row as I heave myself down the aisle with all my crap. Maybe it’s no longer being invited to come have a shisha with my favourite people, it’s being told that this is where we sit, and you can always come, you are always welcome. So it’s up to me. Maybe it was being told by my two closest people that I attract a lot of attention in my thobe……I guess it’s no longer cute, and I should dress in my Thai clothes instead. Maybe it’s the continual insistence that I marry an Omani. Someone I sat with, who didn’t want to be married, and had to get married, and is now separated, and complained and complained about it, turned on me and insisted that I be the next victim! I said you sound like your mother, and he laughed and kept it up. I think everyone here would feel a lot more comfortable if I would just do it, and they are all willing to help.

I have been told that the Luban groves are dangerous, because of animals, because of Jinn, and now, because of Somalis. My friend Jihad (yes, his real name) went to my favorite grove at night to meet some Somali guy named Ismail. He phoned him, and they couldn’t figure out where each other were, so he closed the phone and shouted “ISMAIL” into the darkness and a hundred Somalis came out of the caves. I went the other day, in the daytime, and the area was teeming with livestock—goats and camels. Two Pakistani goatherds had a few hundred animals and I walked in the same direction, down the wadi, diagonally crossing through the goats as I went. As I came to the first big bend, I saw that I was now the goat leader and where I went, they went, bleating. I can bleat as good as they, but the Pakistanis spoke the local ovine language quite well and managed to tear their attention from me and got them moving further up the wadi.

I saw no other animals. The wolves and leopards live in the mountains and the hyenas live everywhere. Hyenas scare me. I have never even heard anyone claim that they don’t attack unless provoked. I think they do. I remember in Keyes, Mali, there are waterfalls 6 kilometres from the city center, and the road is very bad so if you don’t have access to 4 x 4 you can walk but you are well cautioned to be back in town before dark as the area is infested with hyenas and they regularly attack humans, They have the taste, I guess. Here in Oman I don’t think there are too many people killed by hyenas but they do go after goats so they are often shot. Apparently it’s not entirely unknown to find the hyena wearing earrings. People say it’s the work of the witches in Taqa but whether they turn people into hyenas or somehow manage to put earrings on them in some form of enchantment, I don’t know. I asked Salim if this was true, tried to describe a hyena. No, he said, this does not happen. I was relieved. It’s another animal, he says, the Dabba. That’s Arabic for hyena.

I am making oil every day and there is a lot to learn. I had a few questions for the people who made my stills, and they quoted my own information from my website back to me. And the information is useless since I was at a different kind of Luban distillation entirely. You know you’re on you own when a google search gives you back your own information.

My partner is still out in the stratosphere. He gives me some assurances and then disappears. So nothing has been accomplished yet. I’ve been here two months almost. I’ve said it before: it isn’t easy. I have come up with plan B. And plan C. But I still like plan A. But this is not the easiest country to set up a business in. And the language! I am steadfastly plucking away and doing ok I guess, but it’s hilariously difficult.

I had the absolute pleasure of being serenaded by sea creatures the other morning. Dolphins they were, and I was alone on the beach. I could see them cavorting, bellies shining in the sun and had been feeling a bit morose, what to do, this is taking so long, etc, how much patience do I need, etc, and these creatures came to me, inside the surf line, and I went out to my knees to see them—there were plenty, and so close! I felt that they were telling me to be patient, to stay with it, that all would be well. O creatures!

I went to the desert with someone I barely know—we had sat together the night before and I said I wanted to go and the next day he called and said he had a landcruiser and was I interested. Of course!!! Off we went to the dunes of the Empty Quarter. We made a small camp and as soon as the sun receded the wind came. I guess it does that every night, has to wipe the day away and it takes about three hours. We couldn’t even see for the sand so we packed it all up and found another place away from the big dunes, and camped there. He brought firewood from Salalah. There is Jebali family who live near to me, here in the gardens, who sell a particularly fine fragrant wood from the mountains. I don’t know the name but if you make food with this wood it will be especially nice. I think I needed to sleep outside—have been craving it for ages and I lay by the fire, watching the stars, while he continuously stoked the fire, secured the perimeter, and fixed and arranged every detail. I sunk in and out of sleep, to be awakened periodically by Sahar, can I ask you a question? Omanis say that when you sleep outside under the stars, in the fresh air, that you need less sleep, that 2 or 3 hours of this sleep is as good as 7 or 8 hours in a room. And I just sucked in the desert, drank in the air, absorbed the stars and the night sky, falling into the pit of dreams, spiraling down, only to rise again with the next question. Early the next morning we met some fine black racing camels wandering through the emptiness.

Today one of my errands was to find ice. Sounds easy. Since my refrigerator doesn’t really work much, and the freezer is quite useless, I thought if I got maybe 20 kilos of ice I could keep the condenser cooler. I looked up the word for ice and started my quest at a busy market. Yes, we have ice! The Indian worker proudly pointed at the ice creams. Finally I managed to convey that what I wanted was the stuff that actually kept the ice cream frozen. Oh, sorry. Perhaps in the industrial zone. Anyway, no need to elaborate too much on this odyssey. But I didn’t find it. Even looked at the gas station mini-mart…..Ice. I think if you want ice in Salalah it’s better to make it yourself. We are a do-it-yourself community.

It is nice though, particularly when one is accustomed to a New York lifestyle, where most of us don’t know how to do anything and professionals must be called in for every task, it’s kind of exciting that men here can do everything. Practically everything anyway. Sink leaking? Need to make a fire? Car won’t start? Livestock sick? Moving equipment? Catch some fish? Rarely do you need to call for assistance, except to carry heavy things.

I’m sitting in my kitchen as I write this, watching the Luban drip into my little receiver. I have become a very good siphoner, yet another skill that will serve me well throughout life... My set-up is a joke, but at least it’s a cute one. And it works! Sooner or later, though, something will have to change. I can’t elaborate enough on the cultural challenges here. It’s good, I feel so completely out of my element, so completely at sea much of the time, that it’s got to be doing me some good. After all, we only change and grow when we’re challenged and uncomfortable. If everything is easy and familiar then where is the impetus for growth? At least that’s what I tell myself.