It has been more than half a century since the call to prayer sounded from minarets of Al Jazeera Al Hamra, or its beaches rang with the shanties of fishermen returning with catches of mackerel and kingfish. But the ghost town has not stood empty. The abandoned pearling village of Ras Al Khaimah has long attracted jinn-seekers, filmmakers and history buffs, bewitched by its secrets. Its 450-odd buildings include a fort, three schools, an open-air market, and mosques set between hundreds of palm-shaded courtyard villas. The town was built from the sea itself, made from nearly 12 million chunks of sun-baked coral and its villas adorned with the stars and crescent that guided mariners home. Heritage trails are set to open this winter, and the town is open to any curious or brave souls willing to wander its powder-dust alleyways.
What is Al Jazeera Al Hamra?
Today, it lies empty, but Al Jazeera Al Hamra is actually the only Gulf pearling town that survived the rapid urbanisation of the twentieth century. Not long ago, the town was surrounded by sea and stood against a backdrop of rich red dunes that gave it the name, the Red Island. It was also known as Al Jazeera Al Za’ab, after the tribe who called the town home and only left it in the late 1960s.
Who lived there?
Pearl merchants and sea captains, poets and fishermen, for the town was a maritime power of fierce renown. Al Jazeera is believed to have been founded in the 1600s and quickly built its naval prowess. When the British invaded the Gulf in the early 1800s the Za’ab of Al Jazeera fought alongside the Qawasim tribe of Ras Al Khaimah. The British retaliated by burning its fleets to the ground in 1809 and 1819, but the townsfolk quickly rebuilt. By 1831, the 4,100 residents had a fleet of 20 pearling ships, 22 fishing ships and 12 bateel trade ships.
How did they survive?
Nearly all men worked in pearling and Al Jazeera’s fleets drew men from the surrounding countryside. The industry could thrive because women helped prepare ships and managed families, livestock and the date harvest while men left for the fourth month summer pearling season. It was a wretched existence for divers, who were often in debt. Those who stayed on land migrated to date palm orchards at the base of the mountains for the summer harvest. What didn’t come from the sea, or over it, the palm provided. When the pearling industry collapsed after the commercialisation of the cultured pearl in Japan in 1928, people relied on the palm, deep sea fishing, ocean trading and boat building.
Where did people go?
Families left in the late 1960s, shortly before the formation of the United Arab Emirates. Some moved a few hundred metres inland near the coastal motorway. Many left for the capital and the Abu Dhabi neighbourhood where they settled is still known as Al Za’ab. They retained building ownership and so the town avoided the rapid transformation of the post-oil era.
Why is Al Jazeera Al Hamra special?
The village is a glimpse of how architecture changed over centuries and how people harnessed the wind, palms and sea to cool homes on this scorching coast. They collected coral from a local reef and dried it on the beach. Being porous, it provided great insulation from the heat. The erosive sea air meant people constantly rebuilt so coral was re-used time and again. One piece from a mosque wall dates to 1551. Altogether, there was enough fossilised coral to fill a rugby pitch about a metre high. And it’s little wonder: the town’s walls averaged 50cm thick and nearly three metres high and would run for 53 kilometres end-to-end. People also built with mangrove poles, palm frond matting and more modern materials like shell-flecked sand bricks, cement blocks and steel.
Is Al Jazeera Al Hamra haunted?
Was that a fox? A crow? A talking goat? Stories abound and rare was the pearler who didn’t have a story or two about underwater jinn. Locally, people were familiar with a colourful cast of spirits: Umm Al Duwais, the seductress jinn with scythe hands and irresistible perfume; Bu Daria, a nautical spirit whose hands were sliced off; Fatouh, the guardian of the mangroves; and even the dreaded Noon Donkey who devoured naughty children who play in the midday sun. As for the village? Go look for yourself.