Featured Photo: Uncle Hifhdullah on his farm in Haraz.
Since beginning work on Al-Khanshali Estates, I've had to spend even more time on the farm than I had in the past. It's been an incredible experience. This year alone I've already traveled to Yemen three times. One of the things that has fascinated me in the past and continues to be a great draw of inspiration for me is these farmers' connection to their land; it's unreal.
My dear friend Uncle Hifdhullah shared a story with me once of his father, who was bedridden and ill. One morning, Uncle Hifdullah's father turned to him and asked that he assemble their family for an important request. His request was that they carry him, still in bed, to the brink of the cliff overlooking their farm. This appeared odd to them, but they of course, obliged. The entire family came together and carried their beloved patriarch in his bed to the cliffside. And there, amidst the wide fields and terraces, he sat upright, cast his gaze upon the land, and with tears streaming down his face, spoke directly to her (his beloved farm). He began with farewell, he thanked her for providing for him, for being his most loyal confidant, for feeding him the most delicious and abundant things, and for offering him solace even at his most desperate. Up until this point, the family held out hope that he would recover but upon hearing this, they all began to weep profusely, knowing that it meant that their father would soon be leaving them. He passed away two weeks later.
He called his farm 'maleeha'. A special word found in countless Arabic songs, poems, and proverbs, a word commonly used to describe a beautiful woman. This is the relationship of the farmer to their land. It's a bond that far transcends ownership. It's a love story. One of possession and of being possessed. And one that, above all, reminds us we belong to the soil.
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