Omani Women's Day: Honouring an icon
Dr. Suad al Lamki: First female lawyer who has inspired generations of women to come
Published: 05:10 PM,Oct 16,2021 | EDITED : 11:10 AM,Oct 17,2021
SARAH AL SHARJI
On this day last year, I sent a text message to someone who had a huge impact in shaping my professional persona. Dr Suad al Lamki had just been honoured by the Omani Society of Lawyers, and I wrote to her to say that of all the women that were honoured on Omani Women’s Day, she was the one I was proudest to see. I told her how grateful I was for the opportunity to work closely with her, and for her being my mentor, and how she will always be an icon for Omani women. She replied with a humble thank you, and suggested we meet up as it had been a while since we met. I promised her I would, and made a mental note to arrange to see her when circumstances permit. I wish I had known then that that would be my last direct contact with her, as on the evening of May 7th, my beloved Dr Suad al Lamki’s soul departed to the Almighty. A flame that burned fiercely for 83 years finally went out, and looking up at the sky that night, I could swear it was noticeably dimmer.
She loved life, and her love for life was contagious. I had the honour and privilege to have worked with her in the formative years of my career. From my first week at my first job, she took me under her wing, and I was unofficially her shadow from then on for a good few years. In the early days I asked her what area of law her PhD was on, and she answered “I don’t know why people keep referring to me as Dr, I’m not a PhD holder”. People didn’t just do this out of respect; as one former minister told her, “your credentials exceed even those of PhD holders.” Indeed they did.
Oman has produced a good number of extremely competent legal professionals, but Dr Suad was on another level entirely. She may still be the first Omani female to have ever worked as a judge; she was appointed in Tanzania many years ago, and even considering my modest work experience at the time, it was clear that she must have been great at the job as she had an innate sense of justice that was obvious in all her interactions. Her motto at work and other aspects of her life was “Justice delayed is justice denied.” She never tired of stressing how you must be fair in any decision you need to make, especially in our line of work. Forgot your familial and friendly relationships; when it comes to people’s rights, justice must absolutely prevail without other considerations.
She had a presence that commanded respect. She wore an elegantly matched suit to work and exuded power and confidence in her discussions. She loved to read, and we were always exchanging books on one legal subject or another. She was the first of many things; the first Omani woman to graduate with a western law degree, the first Omani woman (and perhaps the first and possibly only Omani woman yet) to work as a judge, the most senior Omani legal adviser in the government at the time...the list is long. But all that meant little to her. It was not how she defined nor introduced herself. What was important to her was that she served her country to the best of her ability and that she used her skills to benefit people. And few would deny that she earned the title of “best” in many areas.
I learned first-hand what it means to take pride in your work, and that you absolutely must work hard in this life. She occasionally used a walking stick to assist her in getting around, but that did not stop her from anything. She travelled the world, drove to meetings and still had a voracious appetite for learning until her retirement. I remember the lift at work would frequently break down, and I would call her to tell her to stay put at home until it was up and running, as it would be difficult for her to walk the four flights of stairs to her office. But each time, despite living just five minutes away from the office, she would come in anyway and ask for her work to be brought down to the reception area where she set up a makeshift office, and that’s where she got her work done that day. Problem solved!
She also loved to travel, and I was lucky to have accompanied her on a number of official trips. I have so many joyous memories of spending time in airports, at hotels and exploring the world with her. We regularly attended an annual, international conference and she charmed delegates from all parts of the globe; she always had a circle of friends surrounding her at these events who always looked out for her at the start of each conference. She loved to shop, and was a great travel partner in her eagerness to experience everything. She loved her tea; she was very particular how she has it (she warms the cup first and brews it strong), and we had countless conversations on matters of life over tea, which I will cherish forever.
Perhaps the one thing I admired about her the most was how fierce she was. She was never afraid to speak up when something needed to be said, and even more so when a situation was unfair to anyone. If there was one thing I always yearned to be more like her in, it was her fearlessness.
I can tell you from a lot of experience, if there was ever an opposing opinion, you wanted her on your side! She was a great storyteller and had an infectious sense of humour. Some of my colleagues and I always looked forward to hearing about her life experiences and vicariously live through them and learn from them by proxy. As for her humour, to this day I find myself in a situation practically every week that reminds me of something she frequently used to say, and I hear her voice in my head saying “Who said common sense was common!”
She was a generous soul with everything she had — her time, money and heart. And a patient teacher; she got so much satisfaction from just knowing that because of her, someone was better informed with the knowledge she had imparted.
Lastly and most of all, beyond anything else, she loved her family dearly and was so proud of them. She spoke of her children and grandchildren with such pride and joy, her late parents, siblings, uncle and aunts. But I always wondered if she had any clue just how proud her family must be of her. It is unfortunate that many years ago, she blazed a path for Arab women in the judiciary only to walk alone for so long, with just a handful privileged to follow, and even more unfortunate that none — yet — are Omani. We both had such high hopes when it was boldly announced at the conclusion of the Omani Women’s Forum in 2009 that one of the recommendations made and endorsed was to aim for Omani women to join the judiciary. But alas, it was not meant to be for her.
I started writing this piece on the night she passed. I was in a state of shock and just felt the urge to write, maybe in the hope of holding on to her. But I need not have worried. A part of her will always live in me. Because that is the type of legacy she leaves behind.
My dear Dr Suad, I miss you so very much. I am at a loss for words, as I can’t just say thank you; these two words don’t start to convey the depth of my gratitude to you. I am forever indebted to you for the life lessons you taught me that have carried me to where I am, and have no doubt that I am good at what I do because I learned from the best. I take comfort in the fact that Allah chose you in the holiest days of Ramadhan. How fitting an end that is for you. You have earned your placed with the greats of this country long ago, and your legacy will remain for all of Oman to take pride in and learn from.
(Sarah al Sharji is a lawyer who spent 12 years in government service as a legal adviser, a lawyer appearing before the Courts of Appeal and now works as in-house counsel for a government company. During her 12 years working for the government, she worked closely with the late Dr Suad al Lamki, reviewing government contracts and advising the government on various legal issues ranging from children’s and women’s rights to investment treaties and major construction projects)
On this day last year, I sent a text message to someone who had a huge impact in shaping my professional persona. Dr Suad al Lamki had just been honoured by the Omani Society of Lawyers, and I wrote to her to say that of all the women that were honoured on Omani Women’s Day, she was the one I was proudest to see. I told her how grateful I was for the opportunity to work closely with her, and for her being my mentor, and how she will always be an icon for Omani women. She replied with a humble thank you, and suggested we meet up as it had been a while since we met. I promised her I would, and made a mental note to arrange to see her when circumstances permit. I wish I had known then that that would be my last direct contact with her, as on the evening of May 7th, my beloved Dr Suad al Lamki’s soul departed to the Almighty. A flame that burned fiercely for 83 years finally went out, and looking up at the sky that night, I could swear it was noticeably dimmer.
She loved life, and her love for life was contagious. I had the honour and privilege to have worked with her in the formative years of my career. From my first week at my first job, she took me under her wing, and I was unofficially her shadow from then on for a good few years. In the early days I asked her what area of law her PhD was on, and she answered “I don’t know why people keep referring to me as Dr, I’m not a PhD holder”. People didn’t just do this out of respect; as one former minister told her, “your credentials exceed even those of PhD holders.” Indeed they did.
Oman has produced a good number of extremely competent legal professionals, but Dr Suad was on another level entirely. She may still be the first Omani female to have ever worked as a judge; she was appointed in Tanzania many years ago, and even considering my modest work experience at the time, it was clear that she must have been great at the job as she had an innate sense of justice that was obvious in all her interactions. Her motto at work and other aspects of her life was “Justice delayed is justice denied.” She never tired of stressing how you must be fair in any decision you need to make, especially in our line of work. Forgot your familial and friendly relationships; when it comes to people’s rights, justice must absolutely prevail without other considerations.
She had a presence that commanded respect. She wore an elegantly matched suit to work and exuded power and confidence in her discussions. She loved to read, and we were always exchanging books on one legal subject or another. She was the first of many things; the first Omani woman to graduate with a western law degree, the first Omani woman (and perhaps the first and possibly only Omani woman yet) to work as a judge, the most senior Omani legal adviser in the government at the time...the list is long. But all that meant little to her. It was not how she defined nor introduced herself. What was important to her was that she served her country to the best of her ability and that she used her skills to benefit people. And few would deny that she earned the title of “best” in many areas.
I learned first-hand what it means to take pride in your work, and that you absolutely must work hard in this life. She occasionally used a walking stick to assist her in getting around, but that did not stop her from anything. She travelled the world, drove to meetings and still had a voracious appetite for learning until her retirement. I remember the lift at work would frequently break down, and I would call her to tell her to stay put at home until it was up and running, as it would be difficult for her to walk the four flights of stairs to her office. But each time, despite living just five minutes away from the office, she would come in anyway and ask for her work to be brought down to the reception area where she set up a makeshift office, and that’s where she got her work done that day. Problem solved!
She also loved to travel, and I was lucky to have accompanied her on a number of official trips. I have so many joyous memories of spending time in airports, at hotels and exploring the world with her. We regularly attended an annual, international conference and she charmed delegates from all parts of the globe; she always had a circle of friends surrounding her at these events who always looked out for her at the start of each conference. She loved to shop, and was a great travel partner in her eagerness to experience everything. She loved her tea; she was very particular how she has it (she warms the cup first and brews it strong), and we had countless conversations on matters of life over tea, which I will cherish forever.
Perhaps the one thing I admired about her the most was how fierce she was. She was never afraid to speak up when something needed to be said, and even more so when a situation was unfair to anyone. If there was one thing I always yearned to be more like her in, it was her fearlessness.
I can tell you from a lot of experience, if there was ever an opposing opinion, you wanted her on your side! She was a great storyteller and had an infectious sense of humour. Some of my colleagues and I always looked forward to hearing about her life experiences and vicariously live through them and learn from them by proxy. As for her humour, to this day I find myself in a situation practically every week that reminds me of something she frequently used to say, and I hear her voice in my head saying “Who said common sense was common!”
She was a generous soul with everything she had — her time, money and heart. And a patient teacher; she got so much satisfaction from just knowing that because of her, someone was better informed with the knowledge she had imparted.
Lastly and most of all, beyond anything else, she loved her family dearly and was so proud of them. She spoke of her children and grandchildren with such pride and joy, her late parents, siblings, uncle and aunts. But I always wondered if she had any clue just how proud her family must be of her. It is unfortunate that many years ago, she blazed a path for Arab women in the judiciary only to walk alone for so long, with just a handful privileged to follow, and even more unfortunate that none — yet — are Omani. We both had such high hopes when it was boldly announced at the conclusion of the Omani Women’s Forum in 2009 that one of the recommendations made and endorsed was to aim for Omani women to join the judiciary. But alas, it was not meant to be for her.
I started writing this piece on the night she passed. I was in a state of shock and just felt the urge to write, maybe in the hope of holding on to her. But I need not have worried. A part of her will always live in me. Because that is the type of legacy she leaves behind.
My dear Dr Suad, I miss you so very much. I am at a loss for words, as I can’t just say thank you; these two words don’t start to convey the depth of my gratitude to you. I am forever indebted to you for the life lessons you taught me that have carried me to where I am, and have no doubt that I am good at what I do because I learned from the best. I take comfort in the fact that Allah chose you in the holiest days of Ramadhan. How fitting an end that is for you. You have earned your placed with the greats of this country long ago, and your legacy will remain for all of Oman to take pride in and learn from.
(Sarah al Sharji is a lawyer who spent 12 years in government service as a legal adviser, a lawyer appearing before the Courts of Appeal and now works as in-house counsel for a government company. During her 12 years working for the government, she worked closely with the late Dr Suad al Lamki, reviewing government contracts and advising the government on various legal issues ranging from children’s and women’s rights to investment treaties and major construction projects)