Petroglyphs-Part 1

Hundreds of petroglyphs exist unprotected in various areas of Qatar. The largest cache of these perplexing images is carved in a collection of limestone mounds called jebels in the northeast corner of the country named Al-Jassasiya. Experts are fairly sure that they are old, but certainly not ancient when compared to the thousands of years since the beginning of humankind’s evolution. Best guess – 700 years give or take. Archeologist consider them modern, so modern in fact, that the carvings have only attracted casual investigation. But, they are the only legacy of a long gone transient culture.

On one of the last days of the long-run riding season, which ends in the middle of May when the temperatures in the desert become dangerous, a group of expats rode to the petroglyphs. I am not sure how many of us were actually interested in seeing the carvings as much as we were interested in hanging with friends and getting in one more ride before melting into summer when rides are limited to a few turns around the Corniche at dawn. Expat riders are a tight community where friendships are made quickly and deeply during Friday morning rides, usually the only day off for many of us, and transcend the limitations of an impermanent lifestyle where leaving can sometimes reach crisis proportions; tight friendships bonded in the desert do not slip away when a contract ends and one is forced to move on.

The majority of expat riders are hard-drinking, hard-working men working their way through middle age. Many are self-educated and in the oil/gas or construction industry. Others have jobs at one of the military bases supporting the US war effort. Occasionally, an expat may own 49% of a private company sponsored by a Qatari whom, by law, must own 51% or more of any outside businesses. On rare occasions a teacher, or a pilot, or a doctor becomes a part of the group. Most smoke. Some have families in country, but many are on single-contract status. Without exception, we are all in the country for the money. Qatar, its history, its culture, and its petroglyphs are interesting but ultimately meaningless. If it were not for the extraordinary compensation packages expats receive, most would never choose to live in a land that looks like it had the life bled out of it a million years ago. Our lives are intense; riding and partying with friends transforms life in a harsh environment into a bearable existence.

Petroglyphs-Part 2

Of the nine riders headed north, five made up a core group of expats that had ridden together for years and had bonded over the loss of friends as a result of both contract completions and untimely death. Carl, an intense, look-you-straight-in-the-eye no nonsense, dark-haired native Californian led the group on the ride. After riding in Qatar for five years, he knew exactly where the petroglyphs were located despite a monotonous terrain where everything looks the same. Carl, at the time of the ride was looking for a new job and a way out of the country. By summer’s end, Carl would be gone.

Finn, a quiet Dane with a slight frame, crystal blue eyes, a gentle nature, and a thoughtful mind has lived in Qatar the longest – 12 years – and when not called off-shore, will often lead rides when Carl is not around. Although yearning for home, Finn can probably work in Qatar for as long as the oil and gas flows through the pipelines and into the massive export tankers.

The only not-quite-middle-aged member of the group is a Dominican from the Bronx whose worldly exploits have brought him much experience and a calm, "it's all good" nature. Inside his Cheshire Cat exterior, Felix’s empathic heart pumps with kindness. He is our sweeper, trailing behind, tending to the safety of the riders ahead. He has a growing family in Qatar and it is unlikely that he will leave before the end of the US wars in the Middle East. But, the wars will end and he, too, will leave.

Peter is a barrel-chested Scotsman with a wicked wit. Although once a dedicated expat rider, the demands of his life prevent him from joining the group except on the rarest of occasions. But, when he does, everyone, after giving him a bit of a razzing about abandonment, embraces him as if he was the prodigal son whom finally found his way back to his family. All contracts come to an end and at the time of the ride, Peter’s was almost up. The petroglyphs ride was his last. He would be gone before fall arrived to calm the intense summer heat.

Last of the core five was a petite, dynamo of a woman raised in Rhodesia with proper manners, impeccable English, and a lust for living, partying, and riding motorcycles. Dinky, named so because of her tiny stature, was and is the soul of the expats. She provides stability to the group because everyone but her has an exit date. Although also in Qatar for career and money, Dinky truly loves living on the thumb-sized peninsula off of Saudi Arabia’s hand. She has no intention of ever leaving and every intention of keeping her riding tribe happy and together for as long as possible.

The remaining four riders consisted of two first timers with new bikes – two businessman, one with roots in Lebanon and the other from the southern US – another Dane in oil and gas whom has ridden for half a season, and me, a teacher, falling somewhere in between the new and the old.

We were nine riders with different backgrounds, with different jobs, and with two things in common - motorcycles and the desire to make enough money to support ourselves in a manner that was sometimes impossible in our home countries. We were temporary inhabitants in Qatar, which was nothing more than a way station along our lives’ journey. When our contracts end, hopefully most of us will remain friends, but we will all move on to the next adventure: the next job.

Petroglyphs-Part 3

At 7am, the temperature had already hit the mid-30sC/90sF. Hot, but doable. The Al-Jassasiya site was not more than an hour from Doha – Friday morning, back roads, and traveling at about 110-120ks – an easy ride. No sign posts or markers directed us, only Carl’s knowledge of where to turn on road, sand, or rock surfaces got us to the carvings. Reaching the glyphs required a little off-roading. Always an adventure on motorcycles as the integrity of desert sand is not to be trusted. Tires sink into the soft sand and the hard compacted, crusted surface is rife with rubble and stones that pop and ping through the air at the slightest disturbance. But we managed to park without trouble and followed Carl on foot to the limestone outcroppings that loomed on the near horizon.
No gates protected the remains of the forgotten culture, and no warnings about walking on, touching, or otherwise defacing the petroglyphs were to be seen anywhere. I wondered if, because they are part of Qatar’s nomadic history, they are not worth worrying about, let alone preserving, as much as the country’s propitious present and future in the excavation and exportation of oil and gas.

Petroglyphs-Part 4

The petroglyphs appeared without fanfare. In fact, a few of us walked on them before we realized that we had arrived at the mysterious leftovers of another time in history. Surprisingly, they were well preserved and quite vivid in detail. Series of little cups in organized formations were dug into the rocks and scattered throughout the sight. Some formed double lines and others looked like daisies.

The most predominant petroglyphs etched into the stone took the shape of various types of sailing vessels; most with oars jutting far out from the body of the boats. They resembled primitive fish with fanlike fins. A caravan of scorpions seemed to march their way from one side to the other of a large jebel. Just about everyone offered an opinion about what the carvings represented – a game, pearl or fishing boats – but no one really knew. Even archeologists cannot say for sure who or why they carved pictures into the coarse limestone surfaces. And most of us had nothing more than a mild curiosity about the legacy of the artists. Newcomers in the group needed to feel welcomed and known, friends had catching up to do and after about a half an hour, our curiosity about the petroglyphs and each other succumbed to the rising temperature, sending us back to our bikes for the sweltering return to Doha.

On the ride back to Doha, with the heat chasing us, I considered the creators of the petroglyphs. Did they know that they were leaving behind a clue as to who they were and where they came from? Did they care? Or, were they simply passing the time carving symbols that represented their lives while exploiting the country’s resources by fishing the seas, diving for pearls, or settling in for a season or two until they achieved what they needed and the wickedness of the desert drove them away? We will never really know for sure.

I considered, too, as the heat rose and the wind swirled, what might the legacy of the expats be in Qatar in 700 years? We are all in the country for one reason – oil and gas. If Qatar was devoid of natural resources, we would not be here and only the indigenous Bedouin tribes would wander about living the pastoral life of herders and fishermen. But, for now, there is oil and gas. Armies of men from a hundred different countries, invited - some say bought - by the Qatari government, use their expertise to mine Qatar’s abundant natural resources. And hundreds of thousands of us are here to support the oil and gas industry employees. Merchants, secretaries, educators, maids, restaurateurs, manufacturers, medical personnel, pilots, hotel and hospitality staff, and any number of other western professions are in Qatar solely to make the lives of the oil and gas men and their families easier. Along with glorious salaries, we are a bribe to make sure the extractors have everything needed to endure the desert so they can successfully exploit the country's precious commodity with colossal machines, that during the day resemble a Mad Max world and at night, when backlit by artificial light, resemble the futuristic scenes in Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

Petroglyphs-Part 5

The creators of the petroglyphs left their simple etchings in isolated corners of Qatar – barely noticeable to passersby and of minor importance to historians. And, what will be left by the expats to investigate by residents 700 years from now? What will they discover? Deep holes sucked dry of fossil fuels and hydrocarbons, for certain.
Land rigs sunken into an earth drained of life, partially covered by the desert, rusted, decayed, and blistered by the brutal wind and sand. Kilometers of pipelines, once the arteries of unimaginable wealth, become nothing more than homes to sand spiders and scorpions.

Flare stacks, the fire breathing portals of excess gas, lean willy-nilly in all directions creating what might resemble ancient desert art. Poking out of the landscape of the future will be the decrepit remains of derricks, elongated steel pyramids from which monster-sized drills relentlessly bored into thick layers of rock to capture Qatar’s life blood, lie long abandoned, collapsed, and buried in the sand as the desert returns to its natural landscape.

And what about the legacy of the other million plus expats that lived and worked in Qatar during the heady days when just about anyone and anything could be bought because the money flowed like the liquid natural gas siphoned from its bowels. Hundreds of schools, the ubiquitous malls, hundreds of thousands of villas and apartments built quickly and shoddily will have suffered the same fate – desertion by the masses because when the last ounces of fossil fuel have been excised in 40 years or in 200 years, a quiet apocalypse will converge on Qatar with the diaspora of the expats, because, as Finn says, “ . . . we are something the locals can purchase,” and when the resources are gone and our expertise is no longer useful, the Qatari government will rescind our invitation, we will be erased from their history books, and we will leave what will again become an irrelevant peninsula, handing it back to its Bedouin fathers, barren and used up, and ready for the desert to reclaim.

And, like the petroglyphs my expat rider friends and I investigated in May of 2010, the abundant artifacts we leave behind, the legacy of our long gone transient culture, as evidence of our tenure will remain a mystery, a perplexing puzzle to wonder over, to whatever primitive culture finds its way to Qatar 700 years into the future.