w a d i   b e i h

In endless shapes, mutations/ quick or slow,/ The world revolves, and all/ above, below,/ In various moulds and frames/ all things were cast,/ But none forever endure/ or last.
Constantine Rafinesque, The World, or Instability

We bumped deeper into the narrow canyon of massive rock that seemed to dive straight into the heart of the mountainous region. We passed no sign of life other than an abandoned earthmover, until perhaps a half hour later when we started climbing out of the gloom and over the top. The first signs of life were boxy stone dwellings, uninhabited as we passed by, the only moving thing a lone bright red flag fluttering over a stone helipad. We climbed down into Wadi Beih, coming to a dusty halt at a military roadblock.

Later in the evening the next day we would come across a Pakistani worker, in search of a ride back to Khasab from the central plain within the mountains. He looked after more than 200 goats there, but the really strange part wasn’t an expatriate goatherd in the Rowdha bowl – it was the fact that the hundreds of goats there were owned by an Emirati from across the border, and they were left running around the depths of Musandam where, it seemed, no one lived anymore. Musandam seemed even stranger than it had looked from far away.

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