The majority of people at the old Muttrah fish market in Oman appeared to be either vendors or customers and all of them men. These men were all attired in their traditional dress — a dishdasha (collarless, crisp, ankle-length robe with long sleeves and embroidered details around the neckline and cuffs). The Omani national dress is a cultural tradition that is reinforced by the local Ministry of Commerce and Industry. In fact only five designs have been approved by the Ministry in order to preserve the heritage of Oman. Despite the imposed restrictions of the dishdasha style, there is some flexibility in choosing the type of fabric but the colour options are quite limited to white or other light colours. Consequently, the fish market appeared to be a homogenous sea of Omani men rhythmically moving in the routine of their respective activities amongst a variety of fish.
But on this particular day, this scene was juxtaposed with two tourists.
Although we arrived together at the old fish market, my travelling companion and I promptly separated to indulge our respective curiosity. I was wearing a long, layered, white skirt that was precariously skimming tables dripping with fish blood and guts while I leaned over seeking permission from the vendors to take photos. My friend — wearing her white capris and open toed sandals — sought out the best spot at the back of the market to watch the men processing the fish for customers. These men, wielding large knives, were rapidly chopping fish heads and removing guts at a pace that subconsciously made you curl your fingers into your hand.
We were the only women, obvious westerners, inappropriately dressed and quite oblivious to these circumstances. We weren’t selling or buying fish but we were fishing — fishing for insight into the local Omani culture. We roamed the aisles listening for recognizable Arabic words or phrases in an attempt to get the gist of conversations. We were intrigued by the variety of fish that were unfamiliar and how artfully they were presented. We lingered to observe the interactions between customer and vendor, and received friendly head nods and smiles in response to our “salaams”.
In fact, as significant as attire should have been, it was irrelevant, we were simply additional active participants in the social space of the local fish market. We had gone fishing.
* I have written before about my love affair with Oman (Globetrotter blog: Oh Man, I love Oman) sharing all the reasons I fell for this country, it’s culture and the people. I also wrote about how I believe that that love was instigated through my nose in: Capturing my heart by starting with my nose: Following Oman's frankincense trail
