When my brother announced his plans for a family visit to Doha, we all got excited (except for Dad!). We lived in Doha between 84 to 87 and left by the time I was eight and getting ready to enter my fourth primary year. We never went back again as Dad kept announcing that he’ll never go to a country that he’d lived in before. But now after almost thirty-two years, it felt like the most sensible thing to do.
Unlike my brother who had no recollection of anything there, I had a perfect memory of most of the places that we’d been in. I still remember the house we lived in, the school that we went to, the only commercial centre that they had at the time (with the juice shop that looked like a big orange. I kept buying sour orange juice that I disliked from the nice Filipina working there, thinking that I was helping to pay her salary!) and of course the famous Sheraton hotel — the only hotel at the time — with its long steps that took you straight to the beach.
I even remember how I felt every time I returned from Muscat after a long summer holiday with my maternal family. Everything felt glum, especially the two-way road — with sand dunes on both sides — that seemed to be stretching endlessly to our house. When we landed in Doha, the first thing that welcomed us was a cold gust of wind that reminded us instantly of how cold were the winters there. I literally bent and wished to return to Muscat immediately, where we left in t-shirts and at a soaring temperature of 26 degrees.
Doha had changed drastically with its wide roads and skyscrapers, like every other modern city in the world. The Sheraton could barely be spotted now (my mother and I exclaimed in joy when we did!). The sea was turquoise and filled with wooden dhows, a reminder of the gulf’s old commerce and pearling heritage.
We stayed in a hotel in Souq Waqif, a traditional souq that is modernized and has more than 100 eateries. It’s also a centre for cultural events that happens throughout the year. The place was busy with tourists and locals alike, either shopping, sitting in one of the cafes enjoying the cold weather or walking around like us. It had a few antique shops with different collection of ancient coins, flags, army attire and old instruments that are worth being in a museum.
The next day, we went to see the Islamic museum that was one of the best experiences I had in years. Other than its impressive white building, the museum had four massive floors of diverse artefacts collection representing different historical periods of the Islamic world. Our visit lasted three days only and it was time to return home.
In the airport while waiting for our flight, the spirit of Omani kindness materialized in front of me. It started with an Omani man approaching a group of Qataris — complete strangers — and inviting them to have lunch with him at home: “You’re our guests after all”.
On the plane, we were entertained by Faris — a young boy of seven — who had the headphones on and kept singing loudly along a famous Iraqi song. When the plane landed, Faris started chanting for the Qatari football team — the Asia cup recent champions — and announced: “Dear Qataris, you had your breakfast in Doha and your lunch on the plane. Please come and have dinner with us at our house!” Everyone burst out laughing. It’s always good to be home.
Rasha al Raisi is a certified skills trainer and the author of: The World According to Bahja. rashabooks@yahoo.com
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