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THROUGH THE EYES OF A SHEIKH

featuring the hidden neighbourhoods of OLD MUSCAT

“I keep no hours – all you have to do is knock on my door”

WELCOME TO THE HILLAT
Dominoes on the hill

The light is fading and the sheikh of the neighbourhood looks out from his living room, perched at the top of a multitude of houses, each unfolding onto another like a game of dominoes played halfway up the hill. Looking out from the black iron staircase all you can see is a jungle of rooftops, minarets, wires, dish antennas and clothes left to dry. Welcome to Hillat Takiyah, the Muscat you’ve never seen.
You’ve probably driven through scores of hillats as you make your way anywhere between Darsait and the al Bustan. A hillat is Arabic for neighbourhood, and each hillat in the city has it’s own characteristics, sheikh and nurtures feelings of communal pride among its population. Find the hillat and you might chance upon the soul of the city itself.

Just ask Sheikh Ahmed Mubarak al Raisi, rashid of the residents of Takiyah. His domain, or rather that of the people he is responsible for, extends from one end of the street to the other, from the palace roundabout till where the road starts to climb towards Sidab. That lane and the alleyways sandwiched between the mountains
on either side comprise an entire world. Most people would instinctively shy away from such grubby corners: adorned with graffiti, peeling in most places, leaking ever so often, a mismatched patchwork of paint, corrugated iron, wood and concrete. You will find only residents within, for strangers drive past down the main road, in and out of the hillat day in and day out, a million times a month without even knowing it.

A handful of corners away children play in the alleys, the inevitable foodstuff shop opens for the evening, a football game begins by the old graveyard and a group of ladies sit down in laysus for a bit of gossip. If you look hard enough you will find more character in these streets than most places in Muscat.

BEING THE SHEIKH
I keep no hours

Sheikh Raisi wasn’t always in such an elevated position. He served in the police force for 32 years, and applied to his current post with the passing away of the previous sheikh. Once elected, a sheikh keeps his position for life, unless he wants to relinquish it. Why was he selected over the son of the previous sheikh? “I was well known and trusted by the people of Takiyah for many years before,” he says, “my being appointed was the decision of the people. There were other contenders among the family and close circle of people around the previous rashid. We all went to the Mahafadat Muscat and the matter was sorted out.”

So what does a sheikh do in modern times? He doesn’t really seem to have the power to make or enforce decisions – that is up to the municipality, police and other government bodies – but he is a sort of go-between the people and the authorities. If residents have a disagreement or face a problem they can come to him to sort it out. His mediation might successfully bring the matter to a close – if not he refers them to the concerned authorities. People come to him for death certificates, passport applications and other paperwork. “I keep no hours, I am on call 24 hours. You don’t need an appointment to see me, you just have to knock on my door.”

Sheikh Raisi has held his position for the past eight years, but his little living room is crammed with history and photographs. “In the old days we had no road, just a track between the mountain, with huts on either side. The road was built in the mid-Seventies, which is also when we stopped relying on our wells and started getting supplied water. In those days, a lot of people used to work for the PDO and what was then British Bank. Others would tend to their goats, bits of cultivation and fishing boats.”
Today there is little evidence of such earthy pursuits. Wedged in between the mountains, Takiyah has no space to expand, or invite more settlers. The old graveyards are full and the oldest are just anonymous slabs sticking out of rock, jam-packed. “We do not bury anyone here anymore – we use the municipal grounds down al Amerat instead.”