Hello, goodbye

Conde Nast Traveler, January 2004

Peace be upon you." "And upon you be peace." "How is everything?" "Fine, by the grace of God. How are you?" "No problems, thanks be to God. How is your family?" "By God's grace all is well. And what about yours?" "Everything is fine. What news?" "Everything is good, praise God." "How is your mother?" "God is keeping her healthy, and yours?"

And so it continues, sometimes for an entire minute. Two Omanis greeting each other make our "Hi, how are you?" the equivalent of a slap in the face. The Omanis in question have just stepped out of their BMWs, having rung off their most treasured possessions---the latest mobile phones; but it was as little as one generation ago that this call-and-answer greeting system was the only way news travelled in Oman. Scattered tribes, no infrastructure and hostile times meant that every meeting between friends or strangers was loaded: news, gossip, births, deaths.

Almost every present-day city in the Gulf region has the line "sprouted from nowhere, in no time" high on its list of achievements. Muscat, the capital of the Sultanate of Oman, keeps reminding me of this feat in, say, the pristine coral reef just off a city beach, the deserted wadi trek minutes from the centre of town, and of course, ancient tribal greetings enacted amid the bustle of KFC outlets and Dior showrooms.

Driving off-road on assignment with Omani friend and photographer Es'haq al Rawahi, the advantage of having an Arabic speaker when in need of directions was tempered by how long each stop would take. The customary round of greetings would be followed by a reflective spell of small talk, and then, with great embarrassment, Es'haq would broach the subject of directions. I could almost hear the unspoken apology that went something like: "I'm sorry to have shown an interest in you for my own ends, but we really need to know where we're heading."

Our new acquaintance's answer would be earnest and detailed, and the ring off would unfailingly be, "My house is just over there, why don't you visit me for some dates and coffee?" In Oman, requests such as these are always heartfelt, but luckily for our deadlines, the rush and tumble of modern life has invaded the sultanate enough to permit graceful refusal. Es'haq's father would not have had this option when he was his son's age. For him to decline the traditional Omani welcome of dates and coffee would be to gravely insult. It would also be to deprive the intended host of the equivalent of his first newspaper in weeks, something our Landcruiser-in-background direction provider would not suffer.

Within Muscat---overrun as it is by expatriates and their obnoxiously abrupt ways---the Omani greeting gradually becomes terser. Sometimes even the stalwart "salaam aleykum" is truncated to the merest hiss of the leading sibilant. The full-blown traditional greeting---whenever I do encounter one---almost always reminds me that not so long ago was an age when there was time to take the time; when very little was measured in seconds, and the world was small enough for the fate of that approaching stranger to be, in all likelihood, your own fate.

The next time some expatriate---or Omani---throws a "Hi, how are you?" my way, maybe, just maybe, I should take the time to answer the question honestly. These crowded days, I find we are rarely "Fine, thank you". The extinction of ways of life, whether greetings or grandmothers' recipes, is every bit as sad and ill-omened as the deaths of species. GR

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