Our Managing Director, Justin Wateridge, recently travelled through the Gulf States — Qatar, Bahrain and Kuwait — to gain deeper insight into this often misunderstood region.
What follows are his reflections on that journey, a personal account shaped by conversation and curiosity.
Qatar
A smiling woman in a black hijab, or shayla, as it is called in Qatar, gives me a warm greeting at immigration.
As intimated, I am in Qatar, a small country, a peninsula which resembles a thumb jutting into the Arabian Gulf, of 11,581 square kilometres. That’s the same size as Jamaica or Lebanon or a little bit smaller than the Falkland Islands. If you want a more local context then it is bigger than Devon and Cornwall combined but smaller than the Yorkshire ridings. Unlike Yorkshire, Qatar is flat low-lying desert.
My guide tells me that the country has changed a lot in the last 12 years, not just in terms of construction of its impressive skyscraper-clustered skyline, but also openness. Not just societally but so too in workers’ rights – the population of the country is three million but only 10% are Qataris, the rest expatriates.
And all this started from humble beginnings, from a community of pearl divers. The industry collapsed in the 1930s and Qatar was one of the poorest countries in the world. The Anglo Persian oil company found oil in 1939 but it was not life changing.
The big change came about in the 1960s when gas was discovered in the sea. In the interim, Qatar gained independence (from the British) in 1971, became a sovereign state and established their own currency, the Qatari real, in 1973. The real gamechanger was in the 1990s when the country invested in the technology behind LNG. Qatar now has the fourth highest GDP per capita in the world.
This enabled them to emulate Dubai but, sensibly, not just invest in skyscrapers but also culture. Yes, its skyline shimmers in the sun and is home to masterpieces of contemporary architecture, it has a Metro network of three lines and its marinas, most notably Porto Arabia, stuffed full of luxury yachts. But it has invested hugely in the culture and arts. So too sports and most notably the FIFA World Cup of 2022.
That having been said, it didn’t do it for me. Whilst the hereditary monarchy, the Al Thani family, remain very popular, it is a very strict country. And to me it all seemed about sparkle rather than substance. Maybe I misunderstand the country, like the rest of the world – the symbolism of Lionel Messi being given a besht, a traditional formal Arabic cloak, at the World Cup final was hugely significant, yet lost on and possibly misconstrued by the global media and populace.
Bahrain
At 787 square kilometres (48km n-s and 16km e-w) Bahrain is about the same size as Surrey, with a population of 1.5m of which half are Bahrainis. Unlike landlocked Surrey, Bahrain is an archipelago of 50 islands and a further 33 artificial islands – the Gulf Hotel, built in 1965 and the first five-star hotel, used to have a beach but no longer has one due to reclamation of land. The name Bahrain literally means two seas, the land between two seas.
I am met by my guide Husain Naser Habib Naser Habib Alhabib. The names of his father, grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather. Tradition runs strong in Bahrain. Or it used to.
We walk around the old quarter of Muharraq eating freshly baked khubz bread. It is less manicured than Qatar. There is more history and heritage, due to the fact that historically Bahrain was more of a hub due to its position and waters.
Down one alleyway, Mr Jamal invites us into his dusty wood workshop to have kahwah, coffee. He tells me, “My father was one of five boys. My father had four sons. Yet, none of the men in the family want to work in the workshop. I have two daughters, one a teacher, the other works at the Ministry of Information.” The demand for dhows and doors is not what it used to be.
We pass a chai shop where old men sit in their long white and immaculately pressed thobe. Their white ghutra (headdress) is worn loose and tied by a black rope, ugal, to keep it tight. Husain recounts that the ugal originated from a wealthy camel trader wearing the camel tie on his headdress to show his wealth, and from there it became a status symbol representing the economic situation of the person. Nowadays it is commonplace and standard attire.
The old men sip karak, a chai made with saffron and cardamom. They play dama, the Bahraini equivalent of chequers. Husain explains, “They don’t have WhatsApp, so this how they stay in contact.”
Times have changed, as has Bahrain. Originally a community based around pearl diving – Husain assures me that the pearls in Bahrain are clearer and shinier than in Qatar due to the waters – oil was discovered in 1932 and now makes up 89% of the country’s revenue. The hotel I stayed in was full of oil workers of different nationalities – here oil is cheaper than water at US$0.37 per litre.
Oil defines borders. In August 1971, Bahrain gained independence (from the British) but it almost didn’t happen – the Shah of Iran claimed historical sovereignty over Bahrain but eventually backed down and accepted a referendum held by the United Nation. And whilst the ruling families of the Gulf states originate from the same tribe, the Utub, they are fiercely protective of what are now their patches. It was all more fluid – in 1783 the Al Khalifah moved back to what is now Bahrain from Kuwait.
“We like Kuwait and Qatar. The Saudis are rough.”
A driver pulls out unexpectedly in front of us. His car has Saudi plates.
“The Saudi mentality,” shrugs Husain. “Saudis are Bedouin. They were nomadic. A tough life. Bahrainis are not nomadic – we were pearl divers and fishermen. A more relaxed, easier way of life.”
Walking through the souq, a strong smell of spices dominates. Spices dictate Bahraini cooking, even in their omelettes. The sound of the azan, call to prayer, resonates all around. I hand over some Bahrani dinar to buy some sweets – in Saudi and Qatar they use real, in Kuwait dinar and in the Emirates dirham.
On New Year’s Eve of 2019/2020 some 70,000 cars were recorded crossing the causeway from Saudi into Bahrain. Whilst extreme, most weekends some 20,000 cars will cross into Bahrain. The Saudis come to the district of Juffair for alcohol, to dance and for ladies.
Husain clarifies “Bahrain is a quiet and safe country. It is more relaxed and comfortable. You choose whatever you want but you do it indoors, not publicly.”
Bahrain is a Muslim state – the five zigzags on its flag represent the five pillars of Islam (the white is for peace and the red is the intent that Bahrainis are ready to defend their country) – but 10% of its population is Christian, 10% is Hindu and there is a small Jewish community. We visit the Shrinathji Temple. Over 200 years old, it is the oldest Hindu Temple in the Arab world. We also visit the tiny Bahrain synagogue.
“I am Muslim, but I also celebrate Christmas, Holi and Yom Kippur,” explains Husain.
“We all decide what we want but the most important thing is that we accept each other and are respectful. The main thing is how we deal with each other.”
Husain adds, “We have many stories in Bahrain, and you have to find your pearl.”
Kuwait City
I head into Kuwait City on a five-lane highway of speeding vehicles, whose drivers are unaware of how to use their indicators and are clearly oblivious to the gantry signs advising them to put down their phones whilst driving.
Habib, my guide, quipped, “On the roads the Kuwaitis have priority.”
Not just on the road it seems.
The Kuwaitis are reserved – Habib, whilst not Kuwaiti, was born and raised in Kuwait but has few Kuwaiti friends. He adds, “They preserve their own identity.” And they even do so financially – there is a marriage grant of roughly US$13,000 if Kuwaitis marry other Kuwaiti nationals. They also receive free education, healthcare and significant government support for housing.
This generous system applies only to Kuwaiti citizens, who number about 1.5 million of the 4.8 million population. Habib was quite vocal about the fact that the rest of the population, expatriates, do not receive these benefits.
With seven per cent of the world’s oil reserves, Kuwait is one of the wealthiest countries in the world. Enjoying the energy and people watching as I walk around the Al Mubarakiya souq, I am asked where I am from. I reply the UK and ask if he has been to the UK. I was amused by the response that “London is the favourite place to go for Kuwaitis. You are not a Kuwaiti if you have not been to London.”
Inevitably I ask Habib what it was like in Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion. Habib was laconic in his response, saying only that he was overseas when the invasion happened and effectively lost contact with his family for two years.
I decided it best to move on to the aftermath. Apart from the oil wells being lit by fleeing soldiers – remember the name Red Adair – and looting of homes and cultural and commercial assets by desperate Iraqi soldiers, the infrastructure was largely intact. But it wasn’t invested in while Saddam Hussain was still north of the border. It was only with Saddam Hussain’s removal in 2003 that there was a huge sense of relief and explosion in construction – much of Kuwait’s impressive and glittering skyline has been built only in the last fifteen years.
Kuwait: The Grand Mosque
The Grand Mosque of Kuwait is the eighth largest in the world. Completed in 1986, it spans over 45,000 square meters and its main prayer hall can accommodate over 10,000. But it is not its size that stands out but its stunning interior that took seven years to complete. The 26-metre diameter central dome inscribed with Qur’anic verses, the intricate calligraphy throughout, the mosaics and the marble.
And what made it all the more special was that in the main prayer hall an exam was being conducted. It looked like a school examination hall albeit in a far more beautiful setting. The boys sat in trepidation, backs straight and hands in their lap, waiting their turn to face the scrutiny and serious aura of the bearded religious scholars.
They were students from the madrasas, Qur’anic schools, being tested on Hifz, memorisation and reciting parts of the Qur’an from memory, and Tajweed, pronunciation ensuring correct articulation and rhythm. The desire to preserve oral tradition remains strong.
Travelling overland through the Gulf offers a rare continuity, a thread of shifting identities and shared histories. It is a region of ambition and tradition, of pearl divers and LNG pipelines, of shimmering towers and dusty alleyways.
More than the skyscrapers or souqs, it’s the people you meet along the way who will define your experience in in this part of the Middle East.
