Bahrain Archives - Circles in the SandCircles in the Sand

“Kids, this is where it all began!”

An underwhelmed stare passed between them, then they glared at the tap in the ground – an unassuming piece of equipment with metal components, red wheels and a gauge on top.

The tap was on the small side; and it was hot. The sky a translucent blue, the sun a dazzling ball. I felt a trickle of sweat make a slow, tickly descent down the back of my neck. All around us, desert stretched for as far as the eye could see, punctuated by nodding donkeys (pumpjacks), pylon-like masts and oil pipes that traversed the sand in never-ending lines. The only sound was the clanking of machinery.

The key to riches

While I got busy taking photos, the boys looked on bemused. They weren’t as impressed by the Bahrain oil field as I was (the magazine I work on reports on the energy industry, so for me Oil Well Number One was actually rather exciting!).

As I explained its significance, there was no denying the sweat breaking out across our faces. I could feel my hairline becoming wet. I told them how this region hasn’t always been wealthy; from dire poverty it grew fat on oil, and while a tap in the desert might not look like much, it was where the story of the region’s riches and growth began.

For those curious: as a quartermaster in the British Army, posted to the Middle East during World War 1, the UK/New Zealand geologist Frank Holmes had heard of seepages in and around the Gulf and was driven by a passionate belief that he would discover oil in Bahrain. He persuaded the ruler at the time to grant him a concession to search for oil, in return for drilling water wells.

Not everyone was convinced: George Lees, a geologist in the Anglo-Persian Oil Company, promised to drink every drop of oil produced south of Basra. But in October 1931, Holmes spudded Oil Well Number One. A year later, the field produced its first oil at 9,500 barrels a day (b/d), rising to a peak of 79,000 b/d in 1970.

The brazen mid-morning sun continued to dazzle and scorch, and the boys’ concentration began to wane. I spent a few moments thinking about how the oil is running out, and that soon this field will be history (already they’re having to use enhanced oil recovery techniques to increase production). Then I got the boys to pose for a few photos.

After which, they wailed in unison, “Mum, can we go now?”.

Well, I thought it was interesting.

Bahrain, which means ‘two seas’ in Arabic, comprises an archipelago of 33 islands lying between the east coast of Saudi Arabia and the Qatari peninsula

“Where’s Matty gone?”

I turned around at the sound of Son1’s voice, a notch smaller than usual, and sure enough his brother was gone.

It all happened in an instant. We’d spent a magnificent day exploring Manama – a cosmopolitan capital city with a liberal lifestyle, where old and new is succinctly blended; where glass and steel spires decorate the city’s skyline, and the narrow streets at the Manama souq are filled with stalls selling perfumes, spices, nuts, shisha bottles and gold.

The rabbit warren of streets at Manama souk is a sight not to be missed

We’d worn the children out, with sights including the new Bahrain Financial Harbour, rising like Neptune from reclaimed land, and the twin towers of the Bahrain World Trade Centre – linked by skybridges sporting wind turbines. The kids had swum, jet-skied on the sparkling bay (the small island nation is characterised by the aquamarine water that laps its shores). They’d enjoyed a Dairy Queen dinner beside a beautiful mosque with two towering minarets lit up like candles. Then they’d both fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel.

I’d woken Son2 up with difficulty, and he was walking right behind me as we made our way in the dark to the wide doors at the entrance. I’d seen him a second before, his head bowed, shoulders hunched with tiredness. And then, like a car crash, it happened.

Except, of course, you don’t immediately think you’ve actually lost your son, do you? You assume he’s just trailed too far behind and you casually start calling his name across the dimly lit car park.

Dairy Queen in Manama

Fast-forward 10 minutes, and I was beginning to panic. Where on earth had he gone? We’d checked all the obvious places, the room, the car park, the hotel lobby, a second entrance where workers were dismantling tables and chairs from a wedding at the hotel. Noticing that something was amiss, they joined our search. What was he wearing? they asked, and I could barely remember.

“Come,” said one of the men, and feeling like my legs were on backwards, I followed him over to the security guard at the gate. I’d noticed him earlier: dark hair stuck to his glistening forehead as he checked the trunks and underbellies of all the cars entering the hotel grounds. Checking for what? I’d wondered. Bombs?

He shook his head. “Maybe the swimming pool?” he said, looking askance. I wasn’t too worried about the pool, as Son2 swims well; by now, I’d started imagining he was in someone’s car, half-way over the King Fahd Causeway to neighbouring Saudi Arabia.

DH, Son1 and I lapsed into a dreadful silence as everyone continued to search, the sound of loud music from the wedding party reception at the edge of my hearing. How could he have vanished in the blink of an eye? I’d only taken my eyes off him for a second. My heart was thumping, my mouth as dry as the desert all around.

Then out of the darkness came the silhouette of a man. A security guard was walking towards us, all smiles, eyes twinkling with warmth. He was carrying our sleeping son – Son2 had wandered off, laid down on a grassy verge, and fallen fast asleep. Totally oblivious to the commotion going on around him …

Just when I thought holidays with kids were getting easier!

The Tree of Life: This amazing, 400-year-old tree stands alone in the Bahraini desert, surviving on water gleaned from particles of sand and the air’s humidity