Camel Races

Camels on the way home after a hard day at the track

Randy atop a dune with camel farm in background

the last race, with human jockeys

midrace- don't they look like greyhounds in motion?

coming around one of the bends

pre-race grooming

3 faces and a hump

the race, camels and cars alike, is in progress

remote jockey getting ready to whip the camel

foaming at the mouth

The Camel Race by Randall D. Ball

Just outside the city of Abu Dhabi, on the mainland of the United Arab Emirates, there’s a desert racetrack. Another couple invited my wife and me there one Friday morning for camel racing. We were the only westerners there, and Christine and Barbara were the only women present. There was no one in the stands. Everyone gathers into their four-wheel drives and follows the track (dirt roads run parallel to either side of the track), rooting for their favorite camel. It was wild. We probably saw five hundred camels that day. They used to use child jockeys from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Indian, and other places, which was sad because when these children, ages five to seven or so, grew too large, they were abandoned. These days the “jockeys” are motorized, robotic little creations strapped to the backs of the camels to apply the whips to the camels’ hindquarters. These camels are all dromedaries (one hump). The Bactrian camels (two humps) are found elsewhere in Asia.
After a dangerous start in which the men who led the camels to the starting gate have to run out of their way, the race was on! The five-kilometer oval track takes the camels and the four-wheel drives only a few minutes to circumnavigate, at approximately thirty-five kilometers an hour (later, the same journey with three, four, or five camels tied together with a real jockey would be twenty kilometers an hour). A camera man, mounted on the top of a truck, followed the lead camel, tracking the race from start to face. The other enthusiasts, in their trucks, would honk at the camels, and I could see a few people operating remote controls from the trucks following the camels. One guy was so into the race that he was whipping his own truck with a stick as he yelled at his camel. Others just honked at their camels to increase their speed. We saw one camel collapse into the barricade and fall; he was lifted out of the racetrack with a machine especially designed for that purpose. Another camel broke through the barrier and just kept going. He galloped across the desert sand, and a group of boys, grinning and obviously excited to undertake the task, chased after the escapee. The strangest thing we saw was the passing of the cake. During the race, while trucks jockeyed for position on the camel racetrack, one man held out a cardboard box with a cake and handed it to a man in another truck. Somehow, they managed to make the exchange without spillage.
After the races, we checked out some of the camels. One group of camels, obviously from one owner, were decked out in beautiful purple fabric and looked pretty regal. Each camel or camel group had its own dress—and each was very colorful. From a spot atop a beautiful sand dune, with our feet entrenched in its warmth, we watched the various herds as they were directed home; it was quite a sight.

Part II: From Rags to Riches, BZ (BZ= Before Zayed), by Christine

Prior to oil and Zayed, the Bedouin tribes living on the southern coast of the Arabian Gulf continued on much as they had in the preceding hundreds and thousands of years. Life was extraordinarily harsh: little food or water, no medicine or education. Subsistence living was carried on at its most basic level. Women were in charge of cooking, cleaning, children, camels and goats. Walking many kilometers a day to collect firewood for cooking and to collect the brackish water were also female duties. Men protected their families and maintained tribal relations. Along the coast, men fished in the winter and went pearl-diving in the summers. Clothing was minimal; shoes were unknown. Bartering and a nomadic lifestyle were required to find the things that made life possible. This began to change only in the 1950s and 60s.
The British had slight interest in what they would later term “The Trucial States” for transport and trading purposes. Dubai became an important port and the incredibly harsh pearling industry off the coast of Abu Dhabi created seasonal trade with India and other nearby countries. Generations of sheikhs signed numerous treaties with the British (thus the Trucial States), the most important being the Treaty of Protectorate that was enforced from 1892 until 1971. This role allowed the British absolute power over whom the peoples of the states could interact with while providing occasional, biased peace-keeping services.
The British influence ranged from mercenary to benign at best. In 1819, after the Qawasim tribe tried to conduct some of its own business dealings, the British fleet raided and destroyed every ship in the Ras Al Khaimah port, thus neatly sealing the demise of the Qawasim and setting up the Bani Yas as the dominate tribe in the region. (The current royal family, the Al Nahyans, descend from the Bani Yas tribe.) Throughout the entire “relationship,” no hospital, school or mosque was ever built. The highlight of British involvement came in the protection of Al Ain from Saudi takeover.
Before and after the world wars, oil exploration extended into the area. Bahrain, Saudi Arabia and Kuwait signed deals with the American, British and French oil companies as part of the region’s first key concessions. The sheikhs of the Trucial States were limited by the treaty to have discussions with the British only. Sheikh Shakhbut, the ruler at that time, was in the terminal phase of the Sheikh-British relationship cycle: optimism, doubt and ultimately complete distrust.
Unfortunately, Shakhbut’s wariness was extreme. His decisions held back modernization, and continued a harsh existence for everyone, even after oil money started flowing into the coffers. For several years in the early 60s, he enforced a ban of any construction. He only permitted electrification of the palace after being urged repeatedly by his own family, and then did not expand electrical use in Abu Dhabi until he had time to ensure that it worked safely in his own compound. No new business venture was allowed without his personal approval. And he was always suspicious of anything in writing, as it had been used against him before. Thus in a time of rapid regional growth, the Trucial States stayed, for the most part, in their medieval existence. The populations’ frustration was reaching new limits as contact with the outer world, via battery-powered radio and with workers coming in for the oil industry, increasingly proved that their lives could be so very different.
Trucial States BZ (into the 1960s):
no electricity
little “piped” water
palm-frond huts (called barasti)
donkeys and camels were still primary means of transport
no post office
no hospital (the pieces for one had been sitting in boxes along the beach for years)
a 3-classroom, barely-functioning school
desalinization systems that lacked the proper equipment, pipes to reach the ocean or both
an airport that used the sabkah (salt flats) as a runway- and required camels for to pullout stuck planes on occasion
telegraphs for oil companies only

Al, Fahim. Rags to Riches: A Story of Abu Dhabi. Published by The London Centre of
Arab Studies Ltd. 1995, London, England. Reprinted in 1996, 1998, 2001.

A Day in Al-Ain (Photographs by Christine, Travelogue by Randy)

Christine in the middle of the oasis


Randy by the date palms


The clock roundabout


The coffee pot roundabout


The entry into the oasis


Falaj, or irrigation tunnels


One of the many date palms


After a hearty breakfast Christine and I made our way to Abu Dhabi’s main bus station. The five-minute cab ride cost 5 dirhams ($1.35); the two-hour bus trip to Al-Ain cost ten dirhams (go figure). Years ago, this overland trek took five days by camel. Our journey took us from our bustling, skyscraper-indented island capital through the coastal plains and salt flats, gradually yielding to rolling sand dunes of brown and red. It’s no wonder that people—locals and tourons, er, tourists, alike—enjoy the desert around Al-Ain. Dune bashing, the not-so-eco-friendly act of crashing four-wheel drive vehicles up and over the dunes, is a popular pasttime for the thrill-seeker. Rollercoaster enthusiasts would love it, so I’m ready to do that soon.
The low-rise city of Al-Ain is home to numerous over-the-top roundabouts; their decorations are extreme: the huge, fake rock mountain, the gigantic coffee pot, the mammoth clock—all of these and more can be found in the middle of roundabouts throughout the city. In fact, it’s an effective navigational tool: Go past the coffee pot roundabout and turn right at the gazelle roundabout. If you pass the Arabian horse one, you’ve gone too far.
Al-Ain enjoys the distinction of being the birthplace of His Highness Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, the late founder and president of the United Arab Emirates and ruler of Abu Dhabi, the largest of the seven emirates that constitute this relatively-new country in eastern Arabia. After the discovery of oil in Abu Dhabi (the emirate, not the city), Sheikh Zayed poured money into the city of his birthplace, establishing a museum here (the first in the U.A.E.) and ensuring that, like Abu Dhabi city, there was some green in the town, in the form of parks, trees, and grass. An ancient oasis already, Al-Ain became even more of a gem in the sand, and a welcome respite for coastal city-dwellers seeking relief from the heat. Al-Ain is located along a wadi, a natural and mainly underground stream that nourishes the land. Centuries ago, people constructed irrigation tunnels, called falaj, to put the wadi to their own use. Today, descendants of these irrigation tunnels still transport water to the numerous date palms in the oasis.
After a lunch of delicious mutton and chicken curry at a small Indian café, we walked to this oasis. A sign in English welcomed us: NO ENTRY. EXCEPT FOR OWNERS AND TOURISTS. The idea, I believe, was to keep out local traffic, which could damage the fragile eco-system created in the harsh desert. Underneath the date palms, the oasis was definitely cooler—and quieter. We enjoyed the cooling breeze, the shade, the dearth of vehicles and that incessant honking. Occasionally, we would see the water flowing through the tunnels, although most tunnels were dry. A system of primitive dams had been constructed to control where the water flowed. We saw many birds, including this rather large bird with a beautiful blue streak on his wings.
The meandering paths led us, by chance, to a different exit, right next to the Al-Ain Royal Palace Museum, which we did not know existed. We were aware of the East Fort and its neighboring Al-Ain National Museum, near another entrance to the oasis, but this palace was a nice surprise. Built by Zayed after the oil boom as a home when in Al-Ain, the Royal Palace is now open to visitors. It offers a fascinating glimpse into the life of a royal, with many separate buildings, numerous courtyards, and various rooms for entertaining, sipping coffee, discussing matters important and/or trivial, and sleeping when the day is done. Cool and comfortable, nestled against the thick date-palm oasis, the palace has some charming gardens and ponds. I could certainly live there comfortably.
From the palace, Christine and I walked back through the oasis. One wrong turn later, we were at the East Fort, the actual birthsite of Sheikh Zayed, and the Al-Ain National Museum next door. The museum contains much information on the Emirates and Oman, from Stone-Age remnants to Bedouin life and culture. The museum includes photographs of Al-Ain and Abu Dhabi then and now, exhibits of clothing and silver and weaponry and pottery, and an interesting introduction to the Hili tombs, a Stone-Age archaeological site with many unanswered questions. As we left the museum, we heard music in the form of drum-beating and singing. Some local men had gathered to sing outside the East Fort, and we watched as they sang to the drumbeats and swayed and marched in time.
From the museum, we took a quick cab ride to the Omani border. Al-Ain becomes Buraimi in Oman, and guide books talked of easy entrance to Buraimi. Customs and immigration, the travel books said, were fifty kilometers down the road, so the physical border was very informal, even non-existent! The border official at the well-guarded gate, however, told us otherwise.
“No street for you,” he informed me. “Only for Gulf State nationals.”
“Residents?” I asked, hopefully.
He smiled the smile of a border guard who is about to say no. “No, just nationals.”
He then told me about acquiring a visa elsewhere and returning to a different border point to gain access. Otherwise, he told me, Oman was off limits. No wonder people prefer to fly into Oman rather than deal with land border crossings. Our flight into Muscat a month earlier was much easier.
We had wanted to stay at a hotel on the Buraimi side, where things were cheaper. The only hotels in Al-Ain are high-priced, five-star “palaces” which are fine if you intend to spend time at their resorts, but all we wanted was a place to lay our road-weary heads. Buraimi was also home to another fort of interest as well as a camel market, but it was getting late and we did not want to spend half the night trying to break through the iron curtain that comprised this “informal” border crossing. Another cab ride took us to the cheapest hotel in Al-Ain, where the cheapest rooms were about $100 a night. Those rooms were sold out, however, and all the hotel manager could offer us was a two-room suite. Resisting the urge to ask if there was a stable where we could stay, I told him no thanks. His smile was oddly reminiscent of the border guard’s smile; perhaps they were related. The manager seemed most pleased as he implied that I should have made a reservation. I would have been most pleased to give him a wedgie with his tie, while he was still wearing it.
Yet another cab ride took us to the bus station, which of course is right next door to the East Fort and the Al-Ain National Museum. We had not visited the zoo, the livestock souq, half of the crazy roundabouts, or anything in Buraimi, but we were heading home anyway. The bus driver took our dirhams and directed us, to my dismay, to the front seat, the unofficial women’s section of the bus. I assume he wanted to ensure that Christine was not sitting next to any strange men (besides me, of course). With our overnight weekend trip shortened to a long day trip, we headed back along the tree-lined highway to Abu Dhabi, tired but satisfied overall, thinking of our own bed and a good night’s slumber at home, content with the thought of sleeping late the next morning, and of course already planning our next trip.

Part I: Natural History Group's "UAE Families" Presentation (by Christine)

Unfortunately, we arrived late. On the screen was projected a list of common Emirati surnames and the speaker was telling the origins, relative size and strength of each tribe. Next was another family tree showing Zayed’s nine wives and their progeny. The font was too small to see my own student’s name (Hamdan, a grandson). The British national and long-time advisor to the royal family could not say Zayed’s name without adding “God Bless him” or “God rest his soul” with a softened inflection to his voice. I had often heard such deference from others when talking about this larger-than-life man.

The speaker shared with us his eyewitness story of how the country grew from a group of medieval, nomadic tribes that lived in baristas (date palm-frond huts) to its current federalized, twenty-first century grandeur within a single generation. He recalled the sense of family Zayed fostered in the young nation and how he treated everyone, national or foreigner, as a member of that family. He shared his perspective on the place of women in society: not that they are repressed by the abaya and shayla (black robe and head scarf) or their relative isolation but stressed instead that they are highly valued, listened to, and protected. He explained the stabilizing effects of nepotism but pointed out that meritocracy was on the rise.

I left wanting more.