still waters at hagar

Dar's a lazy, sortah hazy/ Feelin’ grips me, thoo an’ thoo;/ An’ I feels lak doin’ less dan enythin’;/ Dough de saw is sharp an’ greasy,/ Dough de task et han’ is easy,/ An’ de day am fair an’ breezy,/ Dar’s a thief dat steals embition in de win’.
Sprin’ Fevah, Ray G. Dandridge

Hagar is little more than a few stone houses that lie huddled against the rock of mountain walls. It is also the least welcoming of all the jebel villages, and for good reason: this little settlement lies at the mouth of a gorgeous crack in the rock, its sides smoothed and polished by water over thousands of years. You will find that water in the still pools around the corner, completely hidden from view, channelled quietly into the falaj and whisked away to date gardens that are fenced off. Hagar might be barely a few families strong, but it sits on abundant natural resources and the only contact we had with an inhabitant was when he warned us against getting into the water. No greetings, no coffee, no dates.

Hagar also has the nasty habit of flooding, as we discovered when we returned on our way back. Those pools of water, calm hours ago, were gone. Instead, a brown muddy torrent gushed out, flooding the entrance to the village and the depression you have to drive through to get to Bilad Seet. We had to get in up to the grill of the Land Cruiser, and barely made it through

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