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HAMRA- CAPITAL OF THE ABRIYiN

written by ROB ARNHEM
photographed by PINAKI CHAKRAVARTY

Enigmatic figures of a man, a woman and child can be seen in crude low relief

The wilayat of al Hamra nestles in the foothills of the southern slopes of the Western Hajar Mountains, a focal point for one of Oman’s grandest natural spectacles, the Grand Canyon. To get there, you turn off before the oasis town of al Hamra, and so miss out on one of Oman’s many hidden assets. The old town of itself lies behind a low hill crowned by ancient watchtowers as sentinels of times when a more vigilant attitude was necessary. Most visitors miss this old settlement by driving directly through the new town up to Misfah. But if you turn left into the extensive palm gardens and fields of lucerne, and follow the narrow road around and back, you’re in a different world. No longer hard and harsh and sun-beaten rock, but lush, cool and shaded, with the sound of water trickling everywhere down the irrigation channels. Cross the main falaj dividing the town from its gardens, and a walk along one of the lanes will bring you to a whole hidden quarter of two- and three-storey mud-brick houses, one of the few places left in Oman where so many are still in a reasonable state of preservation. Then you’ll stop wondering why the town’s name means ‘The Red One� and it’ll come as no surprise that Spain’s Alhambra got its name for exactly the same reason. The houses are built on solid rock, and were lived in up to and after the 1970s, when Oman’s oil boom revolutionised the way of life. Today, most are just storerooms and locked up, the carved wooden doors shut on the past, and their inhabitants have moved to more modern air-conditioned homes in the new town. One of the most remarkable and oldest houses stands somewhat aloof at one end: Bayt as Safah, about 350 years old, is now used as an antiques storeroom but is currently closed. At the other end, the old souq is sadly derelict but remains atmospheric, and near the entrance there’s a tiny shop which still sells halwa, just around the corner from the furnace where the great copper pots were stirred. A stroll through what’s left of the souq is a step back into the not so remote past, with your footfalls softened by dust and shards of sunlight stabbing through the old palm frond roofing. Getting a little lost in the maze of deserted houses is part of the experience, and a helpful child will always help you out and point the way. The falaj still forms the main artery of the village �clothes and dishes are washed here, and sometimes babies too, while on a hot day boys splash about happily.

ANCIENT HISTORY
A strange carved rock

Al Hamra isn’t particularly old as Omani settlements go, only having developed in the 17th century. The majority of its people are members of the al Abriyin tribe. Almost everyone you meet here will be an al Abri, and they often enjoy telling wry stories about their origins. The village of Misfat al Abriyin was where they first established themselves in more dangerous times, and this village hangs almost suspended from the cliffs in a very protected setting. As peace came and numbers grew, it was natural to move down to the confluence of Wadi Misfah and Wadi Ghul. This explains the lack of a defensive wall and, for that matter, a fort. There are two watchtowers on the low hill above the town, and the view over the old quarter below in the late afternoon, when the houses take on a reddish glow and al Hamra lives up to its name, is not to be missed.
The area has been settled for millennia, though. Just outside the town, on the right as your approach it, beneath the looming rock pillar above the wadi, is a strange carved rock called Hasat bin Salt. When the light is right, say at nine in the morning, enigmatic figures of a man, a woman and child can be seen in crude low relief. Locals tell you that the man who gave his name to the rock had a deformed child, and killed it by dashing it against this rock. To punish them, the heavens stamped the forms of both parents and child into the rock as an ageless memorial to the crime of infanticide. The large figure of an adult man wearing a loincloth and holding a curved sword is visible, the others less so.

The truth, though, is argued over by archaeologists, and some suggest it might have originated in the Umm an Nar period. The original figure might have been the woman, who represented fertility, and the man with his arms raised, with a sword in one hand, might have been superimposed by a later culture in which men were more dominant.