By Gordon, for the college newsletter...
The Sheik's Sixth Seasick ShaSha
It wasn't a shoe-in, and we didn't really get seasick. But the annual championship power boat races, held in Fujairah on the first through third of November, gave two westerners an opportunity for a unique cultural exchange. That Thursday, a lesser-known race was also held, with the traditional two-man reed rowboats of Arabia, called shashas. Before
oil--thus before fiberglass hulls and Johnson outboard motors--almost all gulf fishermen went to sea in these 20-foot, dumpy looking but eminently seaworthy vessels. They held the two men, their gear and nets, and rode the swells with great stability. So even today, many a father has his son try one out, just to maintain the sense of heritage. Hence the annual races.
This expat inexplicably purchased one last year, from one of the last men in town who still knows where to get the proper date palm leaves to make one. The man, Abdullah, shaved the leaves from the fronds, soaked the long stems in saltwater for ten days, and then lashed them together with hemp, all in the traditional manner. The only modern adaptation was using white foam blocks for the interior flotation, instead of the old way of using palm frond butts. He even carefully carved long flat oars, which would be tied with hemp to the oar posts.
The training workouts gave my Australian partner, Daniel Millie, and me an opportunity to meet several local rowers. Their advice, their help carrying the boat into the water and back onto the beach, their camaraderie during nighttime rowing sessions up and down the coastline, and general hospitality, were all-out Bedu. The older men we met on the beach the day of the races, when all twenty shashas lined up between buoys north of the Hilton Hotel, were genuinely delighted that we were interested in their traditions. It helped a lot that Daniel speaks fluent Arabic. The racing tips we gained that way, such as scraping the bottom of the boat for greater speed, were appreciated.
The race, only about half a kilometre, started smoothly for us, with two local boats leaping out ahead and the Aussie and Yank in hot pursuit. Then----a minor disaster! My oar rope pulled off, costing us fifteen valuable seconds of quick-repair time. We valiantly tried to regain our position, but a final sixth place was the best we could do. Still, everyone treated us like real winners, and the warm hospitality lingered.
The little boat still has big plans to explore the larger Khor Kalba Creek, which extends a ways into Oman, as well as some beaches and diving spots near Khor Fakkhan to the north of Fujairah. It might even go on a fishing expedition. The tradition lives on! |
