Oman, the Ancient Sultanate of the Middle East

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Today, Somewhere on Earth is off to discover the Sultanate of Oman in the south of the Arabian Peninsula. This is the Orient of the Thousand and One Nights, which the Romans called Arabia Felix, Blessed Arabia. It's also the land of the once-nomadic Bedouins. Bedu in Arabic means desert dweller. Dhofar, in the far south of the country, harbors a precious treasure, frankincense. Mohsin has a PhD in biology. He devotes most of his time to protecting the frankincense tree. Two thousand years ago, the inhabitants here made fortunes, and their influence spread worldwide thanks to the frankincense trade. Saïd is a mountain Bedouin. He lives in the Hajar, a mountain range in the north along the Gulf of Oman. Saïd is also a tree man. Like those who have gone before him, he maintains vital contact with nature. Saïd lives his life according to the seasons of his date palms. He takes care of them, for they're all he has, and he lives right amid his trees. Ahmed and his son live in Balad Sayt in the Djebel Al Akhdar, literally the Green Mountain. Greenery means water and it's conveyed thanks to the falajs, an irrigation system that was born 5,000 years ago when the farmers channeled spring water to irrigate their crops and thus managed to thrive in a barren, hostile land. Ahmed is an Arif, a water master, a guardian of knowledge, and a living memory. We prefer to keep it as it was in the beginning. Those who have gone before us knew very well what they were doing. In ancient times, caravans would cross the deserts of southern Arabia. The Rub' Al Khali, the empty quarter, the desert of deserts, is situated in northern Dhofar. It's a natural frontier between Oman and Yemen, Saudi Arabia and the Emirates. In this vast, immense expanse, we are no more than minuscule particles, insignificant specks. When you're in a big city and have people all around, you're caught up in the bustle but here, not at all. We're fully aware of how insignificant we are compared with the immensity of the desert. The desert is immense and boundless, and we're very small in this world. I feel at home here, I'm in touch with this land. The desert gives me serenity and peace. Mohsin's father was a man of the desert, and he transmitted to his son the entire history of his people. The Bedouins were originally nomadic herdsmen. Moving from place to place with their camels, they had to face hunger, thirst, and the merciless sun. This parched earth, with its sparse vegetation, wouldn't allow them to camp in one place for very long. For those tribes, nomadism was less a way of life than a simple struggle for survival. It was the Bedouins who long ago traced the caravan routes through the heart of this vast desert. They would cross the boundless expanses of sand with their precious cargo, frankincense. The historians say that the frankincense passed through here and across the Rub' Al Khali. You can easily imagine what a difficult voyage it was. Likewise, it gives you an idea of how important frankincense was. It is so important that some people would risk their lives on such a voyage. The Bedouins would cover thousands of miles with their precious cargo. Even today, with all the modern means, crossing the desert is not an easy task. Imagine what it was like for the caravans back then. Frankincense was important. It was priceless. At the time, the difficulty of the voyage increased the value of the frankincense. It could be worth its weight in gold. The fate of the nomadic tribes depended on this treasure, which was in demand the world over. The story of frankincense begins here in the Dhofar region on the southern tip of Oman. These wild trees are full of resin with an unmistakable aroma, frankincense. Today, olibanum, another name for this aromatic essence, is still a must. In the Dhofar region, they burn it day and night. It's said to keep evil spirits away. It cleanses the atmosphere and purifies the soul. It is used in the rituals of a number of religions. Mohsin is the guardian of this legacy. His family has always owned trees. This is where the story of frankincense begins, in the Najd, not far from Yemen. It's harvest time. Many say that the Najd produces the world's finest frankincense. I wound the tree so it weeps. These are the tears of the tree. In order for it to produce, I have to wound it again and again. The tree suffers, but it's to make us happy. Of course, this tree is specific to this region. This tree grows only around the Arabian Sea. My responsibility as an Arab from this region, our responsibility is to protect it, to see that the tree continues to thrive, as other countries do with their plants. My favorite spots, the places I like to explore are those where the frankincense trees grow in the mountains of Dhofar. I'm attached to the spots where this tree grows. I've always liked them ever since my childhood, and that's why I feel at peace when I come to these places. Since he became a PhD in biology, Mohsin has been rediscovering the Najd. It's a scientific as well as a personal quest. I'm at peace when I'm out alone in the middle of nature. It can be in the mountains, in the deserts, or along the sea. I feel at peace. I feel that it's my place where I belong. I never get this feeling when I'm in the city. Only when I'm away from it. The only way to get around in this wild land is by foot. Certain parts of this broken terrain are still unexplored. Mohsin devotes all his spare time to studying and understanding the Boswellia sacra, the scientific name for the frankincense tree. Frankincense runs in my blood, in the blood of my ancestors, in the blood of our history. Our entire existence is bound to it. It's in our flesh. "All of Arabia exhales an odor marvelously sweet," so wrote Herodotus, a Greek historian who lived in the fourth century BC. If Herodotus was acquainted with frankincense in ancient times, it means that olibanum had already made its way across the deserts and seas. The frankincense routes were either overland towards Europe or overseas towards India, China and Egypt. Ever since ancient times, these roots have linked Oman to the Mediterranean countries and to the Far East via the Indian Ocean. Dhofar earned a widespread reputation as a frankincense exporter. [Arabic spoken audio] The Omani seafarers became excellent navigators and gave the world the first instruments like the sextant. Thus laying the foundations of modern navigation. Frankincense has traveled far and wide. It has penetrated Asia and reached the heart of China. It has crossed borders, even the most tightly sealed. It has opened the gates of unassailable citadels. Olibanum, this perfume of 1,000 mysteries, has even penetrated to the heart of China's Forbidden City. The frankincense routes relate this epic tale. They connected communities, they wove bonds, united different peoples and their cultures. Thanks to the caravans and the seafarers, frankincense has had a role to play in the rites and prayers across the continents and throughout the world. These ruins are a testimony to a still-living legend. [Arabic spoken audio] Here, we're in the citadel of Samhuran, where the frankincense was exported to the rest of the world. It's a historic port. The frankincense would leave here for the far corners of Europe, the Mediterranean Sea, the Far East, and China. [Arabic spoken audio] This port is a historical link with other civilizations, the Greek civilization, and the Mediterranean civilization. There is a reference to Samhuran in Greek mythology. That shows that there were already exchanges between this port and the major trade routes of the time. At the time, different civilizations were vying for control of the frankincense trade. There were many military expeditions undertaken to find the source of frankincense, by Alexander the Great, for example. The frankincense of the Najd region is unique, and that's thanks to a microclimate found nowhere else in Arabia. Once a year, Dhofar receives the monsoons of the Indian Ocean, but the frankincense tree needs above all, an arid, sunny climate. The hotter it is, the more concentrated its aroma. The frankincense tree needs a very specific climate. Humidity is not good for it. It can't be too cool, either. It grows in regions that are dry and arid, but not totally desert. The seasonal winds also play an important role. Mohsin is on his way to Manzala, a few hours away. The name means land of trees. Mohsin knows a man there whose tribe still owns 500-year-old trees. That man, a Bedouin as well, has worked all his life in that remote region. I see you have a herd of camels. I need one for a few days. I have to go to Manzala. Let's go take a look, one might be right. One has to use a camel in this region. The trails are impossible for cars or any other mount. Here, we packed everything we'll need, food, blankets, water, everything we'll need for this week-long trip. At the bottom of the canyon lies the legendary site of Manzala, a thriving frankincense market in the Middle Ages. The merchants would come here to buy it directly from the families who owned the trees. Then, another voyage would begin. Frankincense is known throughout the world, yet the tree itself remains shrouded in myth. Far from the coast, the locations of the groves were a closely guarded secret. Manzala still preserves this mystery. -Salaam alaikum. -Wa alaikum assalam. [Arabic spoken audio] I've come to learn how you go about harvesting the frankincense. Show me the old method, the technique that your ancestors passed on to you. We've always done it like this. These are the cuts. After making the cuts, you wait 20 days. After 20 days, the first layer appears and we harvest it. Then, you stop at the fourth cut. Is it the same for all the trees? No, some don't produce anything even after the fourth cut, so then you stop. The frankincense you harvest here, what's it like? When the resin flows, it forms little white pellets. The best incense is what you harvest first. It has the lightest color. The desert Bedouins don't speak Arabic. Even today, they continue to speak their own particular dialect. Even though times are changing in Oman, it is still a land of oral tradition. In his quest for knowledge, Mohsin listens attentively to the stories of the old-timers. There are a lot of trees here. We've always been part of the Manzala. We share the trees of the whole wadi. Manzala means a region of trees. Each person has his territory. Everyone knows and respects the boundaries. That's always been the tradition. -Do you mean from the beginning of time? -Yes. We have to respect the tradition for our life depends on frankincense, literally. This holds true not only for my family, but for all the families of Manzala All of them. As long as there are trees here, there will be "man" as well. In these hushed, timeless valleys, only the words of the Bedouins ruffle the silence. [Arabic spoken audio] To the south, Dhofar borders on the sea, the Sea of Oman and the Indian Ocean. Scheherazade drew her inspiration from this land, and one can easily imagine Sinbad the Sailor striking out across these waters to embark on fantastic adventures. Mohsin owns a few trees himself, an inheritance. He and his nephew study every aspect of them. He is also transmitting his storehouse of knowledge and hopes to heighten people's awareness of these trees. [Arabic spoken audio] Right now, the trees are suffering from several diseases and parasites, as you can see here with these insects. We have to find out why and get to the root of the problem. Why is this tree healthy here and not here? [Arabic spoken audio] There are other insects invading this tree. Again, we have to find out why. When they overtap the tree with too many cuts, it's weakened and gets attacked by insects. [Arabic spoken audio] To understand and to share, that's the mission that Mohsin has taken on. Knowledge of the frankincense tree will be his contribution to this story, which is thousands of years old. It's the pride of Mohsin, son of Bedouins, a man of the desert. There are no limits to knowledge, but before leaving this world, I hope to contribute something, and make a significant advance in the scientific knowledge of this tree. Mohsin is perpetuating the Bedouins' age-old story. He carries us off to the mysteries of the Orient, of frankincense, and of the Thousand and One Nights. Larger than all of France, the Rub' al Khali covers one-fourth of the Arabian Peninsula. This boundless wilderness has forged the identity of Arabia and those who live here. It's a last frontier, defended by the wind and the vast emptiness. For the Bedouins, this is the desert of desert, a hostile, arid land, and it never rains here. The temperatures can soar to 60 degrees Celsius in the day and plunge to -10 at night. The dunes can shift in a few hours, pushed by the winds alone. The French poet Arthur Rimbaud was 26 years old at the end of the 19th century. He answered the call of the desert. During the final years of his life, the poet traveled through Arabia and Abyssinia. He roamed these vast expanses on foot, on horseback and camel. His friend Verlaine dubbed him The Man with Foot Soles of Wind. "There's one thing that remains impossible for me," insisted Rimbaud. "That is, to lead a sedentary life." In the desert, you feel hunger, thirst, the lash of the sun, and drought. You lose yourself without knowing whether you'll survive. Realm of a few madmen, seekers of the absolute, and somewhere amidst these dunes, Lawrence of Arabia. One can easily imagine the British soldier crossing Arabia in 1916 with his fellow nomads. Face-to-face with the desert, he learns to make do with nothing. He approaches as he says, "The pleasure and suffering." The man surrounds himself solely with desert Bedouins, the only men worthy of his trust, he thinks. In the peninsula, he earns the honorific name of Al Lawrence. Thirst, hunger, and a hostile environment, this is Saïd's daily lot. Within him dwells the response to the desert. He is a Bedouin as well, but belongs to the mountains. This wadi is called Salma. My village is named after that river. I've lived here all my life. This is where I was born. We're in the mountains here. I wouldn't leave it for anything in the world. I wouldn't want to live down there on the plains or anywhere else. I've always lived here. This is my land. I'm attached to these mountains. I don't like to go down into the valley. When I travel, it's never more than one or two days. I always come back very quickly to Salma because I miss it. I get homesick very quickly. Saïd has a three-day walk to reach the nearest town, several hours to his village. He lives right in the heart of the Hajar Mountains. This range is in the northeast of the Sultanate. Saïd lives in this remote valley where he tends his palm grove. When Saïd was a child, there was no school here, no electricity and no roads. Saïd doesn't know how to read, write or drive. I get around the valley only on foot, never by car. I know all the wadis, all the rivers, and all the channels because I've walked them. Wherever I go, I use these trails. The same trails my ancestors used. I never learned how to drive a car. It's a bit late for that now. I'm almost 60. According to a legend, this narrow gorge leads to the ancient city of Sana'a, meaning the hidden village. It's called that because it hides behind the mountain when you begin to get close to it. For many years, this haven of peace and prosperity was protected and hidden from view. Then one day, a tyrant discovered it. He seized its riches and then destroyed everything. Ever since this sad tale, Sana'a has been marked on the maps. Not far away, in the village of Salma, Saïd's life consists of a small herd of goats and his fruit trees, date palms in particular. The date, king of fruit in the Sultanate of Oman. In this plot, there are six palm trees. Over there, another five. They belong to my family, to my brothers, my sisters and my cousins. I'm the one who takes care of them, so I get a larger share of the dates. We have 70 date palms and all. These branches are palm flowers. It's where the pollen is. I put them in my tunic here, and I wet them so the palm tree can produce a lot of dates. This is how we pollinate the palm trees. I have to wet them. Otherwise, it wouldn't work. Now, I have to bring them up the tree. Dates are the sugar of Oman. The inhabitants eat them at any and all hours of the day. Saïd has been climbing to the top of his date palms for 50 years. I learned everything from my father, and the old-timers before. It's the tradition here. I've been working in the palm groves since I was 14. I also take care of the irrigation here, and in the other spots farther up and in the valley. I've been doing the same thing since I was 14. For years I've been doing nothing but this. This is my life. Everything needs water. Every living thing needs water, as it says in the Quran. Everything was created from water. Where do man, the animals, the trees, and palm trees come from? From water. It's the very essence of man, of plants and all things. I'm not afraid, even 40 meters up. I'm not afraid, 40 meters up. The Hajar mountains with their 3,000-meter peaks, are a mineral barrier where time seems to stand still. All this space and seeming hostility have shaped the life, spirit, and identity of the Mountain Bedouins. Once nomads, they owe their survival to this wild nature that they succeeded in taming. In controlling this craggy terrain, they've made life emerge where there was none before. Our ancestors devised the entire system that allows us to channel the water into the canals, and then to the terraces. From the top of the mountains, down into the valley. Every morning, Saïd makes his ritual tour of inspection of his palm grove, crossing it from one side to the other. The only path possible in these mountains is this steep trail. The climate here is milder than in the plains. The Bedouins have settled in the highlands to cultivate their trees, and Saïd is continuing this ancestral way of life. We eat and drink thanks to the irrigation system. Just like our ancestors before us. We came into the world and we carried on their tradition. Now, we continue to work the land, and live from farming and cultivating palm and orange trees. They follow this way of life in the whole valley and beyond. The Bedouins are keeping the past alive, and this once-abandoned village as well. They keep up the houses on the mountainside so that their memory will never disappear. The terraced plots make a charming adornment to the Hajar Mountains. Saïd lives a solitary life here. He tends his trees that feed his children. Perched on the mountainside, this earth yields fruit and vegetables. These are the lemons. Our grenadines are here, the peaches over there, and on the other side, we have vineyards. Saïd knows that one day he too will have to pass his trees on to his children. All that is in his chant. Born in the palm grove, his lament rises and drifts away in the echoes of the mountains. Forty years is the prime of life. Fifty is another age, the beginning of another life. Then 60, the time to reap all that we've sown throughout our lives. The fruit of our experience has ripened, and it's the time of the harvest. Saïd, a mountain Bedouin, grows trees from rocks. His hands bring forth lemons, grapes and dates. This is how life flows in the Hajar Mountains. Several hundred miles from the shores of the Gulf of Oman and the capital, Muscat, lies the Djebel Al Akhdar, the Green Mountain in English. The village of Balad Sayt numbers about 50 families. It is situated near a wadi, a canyon. A trail has been recently opened leading to it, but for a long time, the village was inaccessible. For centuries, the villagers here could only count on their ingenuity and sense of sharing, so they managed to master water. In Balad Sayt, the whole life of the village depends on the transmission from one generation to the next. Parents teach their children right from a very early age this simple truth: life comes from water. I would like to do like my father and my grandfather before him. It's always been the tradition here: growing crops, irrigation, and taking care of the falajs. After my father, it would be my turn to pass my knowledge to my brothers and sisters, and later on to my own children. The spring water is channeled from the peaks down to the villages by these aqueducts that carry it to its intended destination. The channels and plots of land are all laid out, so each family gets its fair share. This irrigation system is called the falajs. We're in the heart of the Green Mountain. Here, the air is alive with the murmur of water. Ahmed and his son were born here in Balad Sayt. Ahmed is the Arif, the water master. His role is to take care of the village's major falajs. Everyone respects his knowledge and authority. Over its 5,000 years of existence, the system of canals has continued to grow. Naturally, they had to appoint men to tend the many branches. The water masters have an overall view of the irrigation system, laid out like a spiderweb. Once a week, I do the maintenance on the oasis. I check all the channels and make sure the water flows freely. [Arabic spoken audio] Every year, one member of the community is chosen for the job. [Arabic spoken audio] This year, I'm the one in charge. It's my job. I'm in charge of the maintenance as well as the distribution of the water. If something needs to be repaired, I get my children to give me a hand. We buy what we need for the repairs, and we go to work. [Arabic spoken audio] We teach our children the knowledge of our forebears. If we don't teach them at this age, they'll never know how to work the land or tend the falajs, what needs to be done day by day to keep them up. That's why we ensure they come along when they're quite young. They come everywhere with us. We're proud of them as we are of our fathers. This way, everyone knows all about our culture. That's why our children come along with us. It is to learn. The water masters are the guardians of an important facet of Oman's history. The falajs have been classed a World Heritage Site. Even today, life in the Djebel Al Akhdar depends on them. By tending the falajs, the water masters become intimately acquainted with the whole network, and they ensure that the system runs efficiently. Once, long ago, people climbed this mountain. Five thousand years ago, they deviated the course of the water. Once a month, Ahmed and his son go up to the source. Ahmed, here's the falaj we have to clean out. We'll start at the source and then go on to the channels, down to the village. These mountains enjoy a different climate from the rest of the country. It's not as hot in the summer, and colder and more humid in the winter. In November and December, the mountain is buffeted by violent storms, a true godsend for these valleys. The falaj must never get clogged up, and even less to rot. The water must always flow. There should never be any bugs or slime mold in it. It's important to take care of the water. Nothing will go wrong as long as the falaj is well-kept. Thanks be to God, our fathers taught us how to repair the falajs with clay. Of course, we could use cement, but we prefer to do like our ancestors. We want to preserve the health of our people as well as the beauty of the falajs. [Arabic spoken audio] The whole canal system was very difficult to dig. Our ancestors worked very hard. It wasn't a simple task. That's why it's important for us to preserve this heritage. We have to take care of the channels, the quality of the water and its good taste. That's why we prefer to keep it as it was in the beginning. Those who've gone before us knew what they were doing. Ahmed and his son work so that Balad Sayt conserves its history. Their life continues practically unchanged in the age-old way. The mountain jealously guards the secrets of the falajs. It's much better living here in these isolated regions than in the city. Down there, you don't feel the weather and the change of seasons. You spend all your time running around. It's not like that here. We can enjoy the passing of time, and we can take the time to say hello. We live in the old way. We're not contaminated by the city where you need a car and a big house. Here, our modest dwellings are enough for us. In the palm grove, the main canal splits off into a complex network. Each plot of land, each terrace gets its ration of water. The water masters see that the distribution runs smoothly. They know all the ramifications of the system and channel the water where it's needed. We irrigate every nine days following a 24-hour cycle. It has always been like this. It's our system here. Everyone knows the system. Nothing is written down. Everyone knows when it's their turn. From noon to 4:00 p.m., it's one farmer's turn. Then, someone else until 8:00 p.m. Everyone gets their turn. In the Sultanate of Oman, the Bedouins are the keepers of age-old secrets. People of an oral tradition, they tell their story and thus perpetuate it. This memory is engraved in these waterways that flow on and on.
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Channel: Best Documentary
Views: 459,828
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Keywords: documentary, full, movie, english, hd, middle east, persian gulf, oman, sultanate, oil, full documentary, sultan, bedouin
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Length: 52min 0sec (3120 seconds)
Published: Tue Feb 13 2024
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