the Phlog

Hilal bin Ali al Amri has been burnt almost black after a lifetime in the glare of the sea, loading wood and dates onto dhows bound for Zanzibar. The logs came from Sawadi and the fardh from this khor that gets its name from them. But the furthest Hilal has ever been from home is around the nearby Damaniyat islands, and he swears nothing, not even the ever-present dull thud of development along the seafront, will get him to move.

While his parents traded dry fish and dates in Zanzibar, Hilal has never left Oman, choosing instead a life spent fishing for sahwa, gedar, sultan Ibrahim, kanat, deeba, sansool and even abu matarka, the hammerhead.

It is almost lunchtime and we stand on the edge of Khor Fardh, once a scattering of houses huddled between palms and the sea. Hilal is a thick, muscular man, with massive fingers and an even thicker nose, and proudly shows off deep cuts in his hands from working on fishing nets that will sell for 25 rials new.

We get into a brief discussion on why the sultan Ibrahim that he flaps at us is called so, who the original royal might have been and why the present ruler doesn’t have a fish named after him. Hilal is delighted.