Since releasing The Art of Gifting video, I’ve been flooded with responses—some curious, others deeply personal. Those with ties to the Arab world shared stories of their own experiences, memories filled with warmth and wonder. Arabs themselves expressed gratitude, saying the video felt like a love letter to a part of their heritage that is often overshadowed.
Hearing these responses made me pause and reflect. Generosity is not just something Arabs do; it is who we are. It defines us. It is our dignity and our pride. To give, for us, is a statement of identity. And when I think about the stories that inspired the video, I’m reminded of just how profound—and sometimes even painful—this kind of generosity can be. I decided to write this blog to delve more deeply into the things mentioned in that short video, and to take a little more time to narrate the stories that inspired it.
“Dignity is measured by generosity, and shame by its absence.”
I once heard a story from a dear mentor of mine, a Muslim convert who married a Moroccan woman, became fluent in Arabic and became very Arabized himself as a result. He told me that when he was a child, his mother, a white woman from Arkansas, gave him a piece of advice: “Never compliment an Arab on something they own. If you do, they’ll give it to you.” As he began interacting intimately with Arabs and began to experience this first hand, he remembered his mother telling him this. Point being, the generosity in our culture it’s something well known across the world.
For us, generosity is inseparable from dignity. It’s a cultural and spiritual virtue. The great figures of Arab history—those whose names are etched into our collective memory and immortalized in our poetry—are remembered for many things, but no biography of a great Arab man or woman is complete without mention of their acts of generosity.
One story that encapsulates this ethos is that of Hatem al-Tai, a legendary figure whose name remains synonymous with boundless giving it's literally an a common idiom to say someone is "more generous than Hatem". In a time of severe famine, visitors arrived at Hatem’s home seeking food. Yet, despite his reputation for hospitality, he found himself with nothing left to serve them. For most, this would have been an impossible situation, but for Hatem, it was a moment to reaffirm his values. He went to his stable, where he kept his prized horse—a symbol of wealth, status, and personal pride in Arab culture. Horses were revered, not just for their utility but as markers of honor and prestige. But Hatem didn’t hesitate. He slaughtered his beloved horse, prepared it, and served it to his guests.
At the same time, the absence of generosity carries immense shame. To be called a bakheel—a miser or stingy person—is an accusation that carries immense weight. It cuts to the core of a person’s character and if it’s directed toward a man, is a direct attack on their masculinity. Generosity is actually sacred in our culture with the majority religion among Arabs (Islam) having uncountable injunctions from the Qur’an, the Prophet Muhammad and luminaries throughout history extolling not just the virtue, but incumbency of generosity among its adherents. Many Muslims regularly pray for protection from stinginess, recognizing it as a spiritual disease that deeply harms the soul.
“And this quality is indistinct among social classes.”
Early in my career, I would visit villages and be invited into homes for meals. What awaited me each time was nothing short of a feast—platters of meat, rice, bread, and more. The generosity was overwhelming. During this time, as I was just starting, I didn’t know the families as well as I do now and what I would come to learn some time after these meals, often through my handlers or village leaders, these meals came at a significant cost to my hosts. Families would go hungry for days or even take on debt just to ensure I was treated with the utmost care.
It was a revelation that broke my heart. How do you reconcile the beauty of such generosity with the pain of knowing it came at such a cost? Offering repayment in these situations is delicate. To openly give money risks offending your host, undermining the dignity of the gesture. The only option is often to leave the money discreetly—hidden in a pocket, a drawer, or somewhere in their home—hoping they discover it later and accept it without embarrassment. Even this though can come back to haunt you… you might find the same bills of cash in your own pocket months later and never know.
(I would give money to their kids, do trivia questions and give them rewards, indirectly give them money)
And there are countless stories like this of travelers in the Arab world being taken in by strangers, cared for, and treated like family. The same mentor I mentioned earlier would often recount a story of a trip to Egypt where he stayed with a family of modest means who lived in a rural part of Egypt. They noticed somehow he was struggling to sleep in the heat of summer and without saying a word, drove hours on a motorcycle to buy an air conditioner, which they couldn’t afford and which was extremely difficult to transport on the small motorbike they owned. He tried profusely to pay for the AC unit and found it impossible. When he would tell this story, it would nearly always bring him to tears.
The Pinch
A friend of mine once said that a gift should “pinch.” What he meant is that if you give a gift to someone there should be some level of sacrifice. That sacrifice can be in the form of giving something financially significant, it can be something which clearly had a lot of thought put into it, it can be something which took great effort to obtain or create. But the best gifts, the best, best gifts are when you give something of your own which you truly love. Those are something really special.
Recently, I experienced this firsthand during a trip to Oman. I met a fellow coffee professional who many of my friends in the region had been telling me I needed to meet for some time. We connected and bonded quickly over our shared love for coffee, farming, coffee farmers, and the coffee industry itself. But also, as it turned out, he also, like myself, had a passion for history. We immediately nerded out together talking about coffee history, the Arab/Muslim empires, Europe and other things. He later invited me into his home and again we began to talk history. He then told me he wanted to show me something then stepped away for a moment. When he came back he showed me a collection of rare golden coins from the Umayyad and Abbasid Empires. If you’re a history buff and haven’t spent time looking into ancient coinage it’s definitely something I'd recommend doing. It brings history from abstraction to reality in a way you really should experience. He had spent years acquiring these coins, spending hours and hours on Ebay and online auctions and told me intended to pass them down to his children. These coins weren’t just valuable; they were a connection to his heritage, a piece of his identity and something which he intended for his posterity.
On my last day in Oman, he handed me a small box and insisted I not open it until I was on the plane. I’m sure it’s obvious to anyone reading—because of how I'm telling this story —what was in the box. But, please believe me when I say that I did not have even an inkling that it could possibly be the coins. We had spent a lot of time together and the idea that he would give me something so dear to him did not for a moment cross my mind. I got on the plane, settled in and opened the gift. Inside the box were his coins. I called him as soon as I landed, insisting I couldn’t accept them, but he refused to take them back. What he said to me I think sums up everything I'm trying to say in this blog. He said “I wanted to train my ego by giving something away that is dear to me, and I want us to have a long and fruitful friendship. This is my token of that.”
This is the essence of gift-giving. It’s not about the object itself but about the relationship it represents. It’s about what can be communicated with a gift that cannot be communicated any other way.
The Art of Gift Giving
In this season of gifts, where companies will stop at nothing to get your attention and your dollar—myself included, I’m of course not exempt from that—I wanted to take the time to encourage everyone to either renew or shift your intentions around the gifts that you give. Whether it’s some piece of tech, a knitted sweater, pasta art, or a beautifully crafted and sourced box of coffee (hint, hint), remind yourself of the person you’re giving to and why you love or appreciate them. Give the gift from that place and intend that in giving it you strengthen the bonds between you.
Happy holidays everyone, and happy gift giving.
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