“Let’s plan a trip to Mahadha this Thursday,” my wife suggested, excitement in her voice.
“That’s a great idea,” I replied, feeling a wave of nostalgia. Mahadha is not just a destination; it’s a trove of cherished memories. Every street and corner of this town holds a personal connection, making it close to my heart.
We set off early in the morning, right after our Fajr prayer, from Al Maabela. The road ahead stretched invitingly and we decided to take our time, savouring the sights along the way. Passing through Barka, Al Suwaiq, Saham, Suhar and Falaj Al Qabail, each place felt like a page from a well-loved book, filled with its own unique stories.
“A long drive without music is incomplete,” I remarked, turning on the music system.
My wife nodded in agreement as we chose to listen to Balochi songs by Nooral. The first track, Jambar, Jambar Saach Sharab, a poignant poem by the late Gul Mohammed Wafa, set the perfect mood. The poet’s plea to the clouds, wishing for rain to fall as wine instead of water, carried an air of longing and deep emotion, making our journey even more soulful.
As we neared our destination, I glanced at the navigation. “In five minutes, we’ll turn right towards Mahadha.”
“So, we’re close?” my wife asked, peering eagerly out the window.
“Yes, just about twenty more minutes.”
The first sight that welcomed us was the grand fort standing tall on our right. A magnificent structure, it stood as a testament to Mahadha’s rich history and heritage.
“Can you take a picture?” I requested.
My wife smiled, pulling out her phone. “Done! It looks stunning.”
Driving further, I pointed towards a distant hill. “That’s where I used to sit when I was in school. It was my escape, my quiet retreat.”
“Do you want to go there again?” she asked.
I paused for a moment before shaking my head. “No, I’d rather keep the memory untouched. But let’s take a picture of our old house.”
We did just that, capturing the place that still held the warmth of our past. Though the area had changed — with new mosques and signs of development — the essence of Mahadha remained intact.
We passed by the medical centre opposite my old school, Yazid Ibn Al Muhallab, where I had studied during my middle school years. Memories came flooding back as I spotted the football ground near our house.
“I can never forget that field,” I said, smiling. “That’s where my friends and I played, celebrated our victories and built lifelong bonds.”
My wife listened attentively. “It must be comforting to see that some things never change.”
Nodding, I felt grateful for the enduring spirit of my hometown.
Our journey continued to Al Buraimi, a mere twenty-minute drive away. As we entered the bustling city, the vibrant marketplace greeted us with its lively energy, vendors calling out to customers amid the hum of daily life.
“This place has always been full of life,” I remarked.
“Shall we stay overnight or head back home?” my wife asked.
The idea of spending the night was tempting, but home beckoned stronger.
“Let’s have lunch first, then decide.”
We found a cozy restaurant and enjoyed a delicious meal. As we sat there, savouring the flavors, our decision became clear.
“Let’s go home,” my wife said and I agreed. “This trip was more about revisiting memories than extending our stay.”
As we drove back, the golden hues of sunset bathed the landscape. The journey had been more than just a trip — it was a heartfelt reunion with the past, a reminder of the bonds that time can never erase. Mahadha had once again welcomed me like an old friend and I knew I would return, time and again, to relive the past and embrace the present.
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