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THE PEARL FISHER
There is a moment in the desert that leaves observers totally in awe.
It happens when the day makes way for the night and the sky transforms, taking on shades from black to blue, and the stars fill the heavens to keep the moon company.
You have to admit--it’s breath-taking. Unique and irresistible. Exerting an almost deliberate motivation to the pearl fisherman lying on his back and enjoying his view of the starry sky.
It is his watch as lookout. Pirates could attack at any moment, raiding this slender boat loaded with pearls and cloths, undoing all the hard work entailed in transporting the goods from Oman to the Yemen.
The fisherman is lulled by the lapping of the waves, a sound that takes him back to his childhood, caressed by the trade wind blowing, the Shamal, the wind that has relentlessly - over many years - shaped the dunes in the deserts. As the Shamal blows, gentle yet unceasing, bringing with it the fragrance of dates mixed with burning incense, the pearl fisherman lies there blissfully, tasting some fruit as he resists that temptress, sleep.
He lapses to daydreaming. The images circumnavigating his mind take him far, far away, where nothing is earthly, and everything seems light and fleeting, relieving his body of the day’s tiredness and reviving his spirit.
The legend says: The pearl was formed when a drop of rain managed to reach the shell under the water and find its way inside, turning the water from the sky into a fabulous jewel in the depths of the ocean.