A man threw his sword up. As he leapt into the air to catch it, everyone’s eyes fixed on the shining metal. The viewers held their breath in anticipation. As soon as the man in the light brown dishdasha swiftly caught the sword, the crowd burst into loud applause. I was surprised to hear the drumbeats and singing behind Nizwa fort’s golden-brown defensive walls. More than twenty men dressed in traditional Omani clothes stood in two rows facing each other and performed the Razha Folklore dance.
The Razha imitated a swordfight, and the performers moved to the beat of the drums. The men mostly sang patriotic songs about the country, glory, and nation’s pride, as well as folk ballads about love and friendship. On Fridays and Saturdays, enthusiastic Nizwa residents gathered at the fort to keep the Razha tradition alive and introduce young locals and foreign visitors to Omani customs. Said Al Mandhri, the group’s leader who learned the dance from his father, was participating with his son Nofal.
“I like coming here with my father,” said Nofal in a low yet determined voice. It was obvious he took the task seriously and gladly showcased different learned maneuvers. The performers stood in the square in front of Nizwa fort, built by Imam Sultan bin Saif bin Malik Al Yarubi in the middle of the 17th century AD. The defensive fort had a cylindrical shape that allowed a 360-degree view of the area and an outstanding shooting power from 23 cannons placed on top of the high citadel. There was a double-leaf door at the fort’s main entrance, and tower defenders threw rocks at the intruders who tried to reach it.
“If the enemies managed to go through the main entrance, they were greeted with hot oil,” our friendly Omani guide explained in fluent English. Vivid images flashed through my mind as if I were watching a historical action drama. The only way to reach the top of the citadel was through a narrow, winding passageway with deadly traps around every corner. When the enemies entered one of the many doors, a double-leaf hatch opened with their body weight, and they fell into the holes.
Nizwa castle, adjacent to the fort, was built by Imam Salt bin Malik Al Kharusi in the 9th century AD. It was a residential area with public and private rooms where Imam met with guests and lived with his family. The meeting room was accessible only through the school, which consisted of four rooms where bright young adults lived and studied various disciplines. Interestingly, Imam placed the school directly before the meeting room so students could talk to visitors and learn new things.
“To check what was happening in and out the castle, Imam used this secret passage,” the guide pointed at the hole in the ground which led to the underground tunnel. If he walked out with all his security, students, and advisors, people would have time to prepare and hide all the problems or mistakes, but this way, he could see what was really happening. Also, the passage was used to bring food and armory supplies when the castle was under attack. The ruler’s living area was simple, consisting of a sitting room, bedroom, bathroom, and toilet. Atypical to other palaces, there were no paintings, ornaments, or embellishments on the walls, and the overall style seemed quite minimalistic.
After the tour, I explored the territory on my own and went back to the top of the fort to enjoy the magnificent view of Nizwa. Then, I watched an older gentleman weaving baskets from dry palm leaves and a young man making clay pots. Listening to distant chanting and singing, I sat in the shade and ate freshly-baked Omani bread. For a while, my eyes roamed the fortified complex. The towering walls of the fort held countless stories and preserved Oman’s rich history for generations to come.
By Olga Velikaya
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