This article was originally published in the Anglo-Omani Society Review 2019, and was co-written with Zhuan Faraj.
Nestled between sheer rock-faces on a mountainous plateau in the Musandam peninsular, this wasn’t the sort of place we were expecting to find a meadow. Yet fenced off from marauding goats and fed by a centuries-old irrigation system, here in this arid landscape of crumpled crags and bone-dry wadi beds, we were up to our knees in irises.
We had already spent many days and kilometres scouring the jagged surroundings in search of some of Musandam’s rarest flora. By night, we slept on roll mats under the stars and huddled for warmth by the campfire. By day, we explored the mountainsides for small succulents and other hidden plant life, following ridges etched into the rock.
Our 19-strong team included botanists, ethnobotanists and assistants from Oman Botanic Gardens. On the British side, we had an array of experience, from conservation to social sciences and many things in between. Indeed, both by day and by night, the expedition was a fertile ground for cross-cultural education.
We quickly learned that the high-altitude terraces of Musandam are a floristic gem in the rugged crown of Northernmost Oman. When, at first, we’d scouted for plant survey locations on Google Earth, these ancient farmlands looked like a drab patchwork quilt of browns and greens. Yet trekking into the clusters of crumbling brickwork huts and goat houses, we were struck by the vibrant colours of life bursting around our feet. Small bees and hawkmoths flitted between the blanket of purple, white and red flowerheads. We wondered what rich pollinator communities these systems must support as we dug up bulbs and plant specimens for storage and propagation at the Botanic Gardens.
These terraces were once roaring hubs of mountain living. In bygone centuries, we learnt that the crumbling farmhouses around us would have played host to the comings and goings of seasonal migrants, returning to cultivate dates and wheat after months fishing on the coast. Walking among long-abandoned buildings, pottery remains, date palms, grindstones, stone walls and cisterns, the terraces still echoed with the hardiness and ingenuity of these traditional agricultural settlers. Just as the sharp rockfaces nearby had been forged by wind, sun and sand, we knew that it was generations of grit, sweat and heavy-lifting that had reshaped the landscape around us into what it was today.
Outside these man-made oases, our short expedition threw up constant reminders that nature thrives in the nooks and crannies. In collaboration with friends at the Oman Botanic Gardens, we wanted to build a picture of the distribution of twenty of Musandam’s rarest plants. To do so, we split into small groups and spread our exploration across hundreds of square kilometres of undulating coastline and mountainside. From the environs of Khor najd lagoon to the valleys of As Sayh, we hiked along mountain crests and navigated many miles of gravely switchbacks by car. Yet often, we would only find our rarer target flora in small microhabitats between cracks, or along ledges of loose rock.
For days and days and to no avail, we carefully picked our way over the terrain in search of Salvia mirzayanii, a species with whorls of purple flowers that has only ever been recorded once in Musandam. When at last we found it, it was along a tough mountain ridge, whose rock face dropped steeply below us. A few solitary plants clung precariously to the cliffside, offering a stunning vista over the entire valley. Botanist Saif Amur Al Hatmi descended with ibex-like grace to take the first photos of the species in the region and mark its location for future seed-collecting efforts.
On another occasion, we followed a wadi bed cutting through the mountains in the shadow of Jebel Harim. For kilometres, there was little more than the occasional green speckle of a lone tree or cliffside-clinging bush. As the wadi rose sharply, an out-of-view spring dripped life into the dry riverbed. Dark mosses and ferns tumbled down the rockface, framed by thickets of grass and shrubbery. Here, flora found nowhere else in Musandam defied the surrounding dryness, thriving on the slippery rock. To us, it was yet another testimony that life flourishes in the most unexpected places.
We worked along our journey to record the cultural histories and values attached to Musandam’s plant life. In our exchanges with farmers and local people, we learnt about the multiple uses and names many of the plants held. Some are important in construction or used medicinally to treat diabetes and seizures. Others, such as Nirium oliander, are instilled with strong superstitious potency and reportedly used to fend off djinn (demons) in exorcism rituals.
Ali A Dhori of the Dhori tribe still practices the old ethnobotanical ways. , something which is becoming increasingly uncommon as th Omani economy develops and young people adopt more modern ways of living.
One of the most notable practices was the use of the Sidr tree. This is not only used as a building material, but also houses bees in the months of October to December, following which their honey—a highly valuable commodity—can be harvested. Ali also tells our group of Tephrosia appolina, known locally as ‘dhafra’. When made into a paste, this can be applied to fractures with the aid of a hot stone, or used to treat snake bites. We left the encounter humbled by Ali’s wealth of knowledge.
By speedboat we snaked around the rugged coastline of the peninsular towards the fishing village of Kumzar. With this settlement enveloped by sea and rock and isolated from the rest of the mainland, we were fascinated to learn how plant names differed in the unique Kumzari language. A kind local— Suleiman — led us through Wadi Letab, with its abundance of snakebite-healing Tephrosia apollinea, and we enjoyed beautiful scenes further up the wadi. Reconvening shortly after, we documented the pronunciation and names of various flora as a record for the future.
In our short time exploring the floristic and cultural richness of Musandam, we learnt of the resilience of both nature and the region’s historic mountain-dwelling communities. Closely intertwined, both have managed to carve out an existence amidst the arid peaks and crags. Today, just as some of Musandam’s rarest plant-life lives in the nooks and crannies–between tiny rock cracks or in the ancient terraces that pepper the landscape–knowledge of their historical uses and values survives in the rare minds of people like Ali Dhori. It was a privilege to get to explore these biological and cultural pockets of Musandam.
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