Smugglers Sharks and Dhows

A Tale of Tarut 

A few years ago, while working in Saudi, I was told by most American families living in the compound nearby that it was dangerous to venture outside of Dhahran. Bearing their advice in mind, but wanting to find out for myself, I rented a car and took a short trip North. After only a few kilometres, I came

across an Island - Tarut.

As I approached the port, I saw dhows pulling in to the harbour. Curious to see more, I drove closer. Suddenly, a uniformed guy stood in my path, waving his gun and gesturing for me to get out of the car.

As I stepped out, I smiled, raised my hands, and showed him my ID. He didn’t speak any English, but after a few moments, he relaxed. “Tourist” and “Manchester United” translate into any language. We were then joined by another gentlemen, who introduced himself as the Harbour Master. We chatted more, and finally, they explained why they were armed.

Tarut has been a port for more than 7000 years. The native Saudi fishermen used to dive for pearls here, but the pollution in the Gulf from industry brought the sharks and began to silt up the harbour. Since then, the port ell into a slow decline. The wooden dhows rotted, and the tradesmen became unemployed. Some of the divers kept their dhows and switched to fishing. Over time, these divers became Captains, brought Tamil's and other workers to crew and mend their boats. Today, they mainly make a living providing fish and shrimp to the local markets.

However, recently, there had been an increase in smuggling through Tarut. Drugs, guns, even people. The Saudi authorities have been fighting to control this for years and, post 9-11, they were even more conscious and ever more alert to stem the tide. After a while, the Captain and the Harbourmaster invited me for a ride into the Gulf.

While riding round the harbour we talked about our families, our countries  and the history of Tarut. After an hour’s wonderful trip, we returned to the Port. Docking the Dhow, the Captain, who spoke no English, then invited me back to his house for a drink.

Inside his house, he introduced me to his sons, who had never met an Englishman, and I even met his wife’s gloved right hand, waving her greeting from behind a screen in their lounge. We sat and talked, the host constantly refilling my coffee cup every time I finished it. 

Saudi coffee is strong, and I was getting a bit jittery until I remembered that placing your coffee cup on the floor face down, was the way to show you had drunk enough. I did so.  Presently, I left, promising to return, should we ever be in Saudi again.

This really is typical of the old-fashioned courtesy and hospitality I frequently encountered in Saudi Arabia, and in fact, throughout most of the Middle East.

Do you think the same would happen in London? New York? Amsterdam? My guess is not.