Check Your Hubris at the Door: Job’s Tomb

The weather in the Jebel  area between the city of Salalah and the smaller town of Thumrait in Southern Oman was starkly contrasted from the last time I had been here. Previously, this area had been blanketed in the khareef, a natural phenomenon where the mountains are covered in a dense fog, and the landscape is covered in a surprising emerald grass. This time, the grass had turned brown and coarse, and there was no fog in sight. It was warm, dusty, and the sun was extremely bright.

Four of the other six members of this little work trip had followed me out into the Omani countryside on a rare day off, and we had decided to take in as many sights as we could. The five of us had packed into the Mitsubishi Pajero that I had rented from our “preferred” rental agency in Oman. Calling it a “rental agency” was a bit generous, as we were pretty sure that the man we dealt with, Ashish, had been just letting us borrow his family’s vehicles for an exorbitant price. He often showed up late, defaulting to the insh’allah timelines that seem to be preferred across the Middle East. Most of the trucks we rented smelled weird, possibly of livestock, and they always had a weird, blank disc in the CD player. We had to use Ashish and his company for various reasons, but calling him our “Preferred Rental Agency” was more than a bit of a stretch.

The first stop that I drove our little tour group to was an Incense Tree Farm just up the road. As a Biology nerd, I found the various characteristics of the trees fascinating, and I spent a good chunk of time wandering around the rows of trees, checking out the small, waxy leaves and the coarse, twisted bark. The history behind the trees was also intriguing, as the informational placards alleged that the incense from the Nativity story came from this particular region of Oman.

The rest of the tour group was not as impressed. To be fair, the “trees” were only about waist high, making them more akin to shrubbery than anything else. After about a half hour, they were politely, but very clearly, tired of humoring my botanical curiosity. I had wandered pretty far into the row of shrubs, and was kneeling down next to one of the plants to get a good picture of the bark and leaves of the Incense tree when I realized everyone was waiting for me back up the hill next to the truck.

I stood up, brushing some of the fine, powdery sand off of my pants, and started walking back to the under-powered SUV, sipping water out of the liter bottle in my back pocket as I trudged through the sand. The brand-new burgundy converse shoes I had purchased just before departing for the trip were now almost tan in color, the fine sand had worked its way between the fabric as I walked.

“You guys ready?” I asked cheerfully, finally cresting the hill and returning to the Pajero.

“Yeah,” three of the guys were standing around, smoking while they waited, standing in the shelter of the minimal shade that the SUV provided from the sun.

“We gonna go find the tomb now?” the last of my guys asked as I unlocked the SUV. The three smoking stamped out their cigarettes and crammed into the truck.

“Why not?” I said while fiddling with the GPS receiver I had checked out from the Detachment before we left, “According to this, it’s only thirty clicks away.”

The tomb in question, Job’s Tomb, was one of the alleged burial sites of the Prophet Job. Job, or Ayoob according to the Islamic road signs, is a relatively big deal in Christianity, but he is considered a Prophet in Islam, and his tomb is considered one of the holiest sites in Oman. It also happened to be a popular tourist destination that was a short drive from our accommodations at Thumrait Air Base.

The GPS took us on a winding route through the hilly back country of Oman. We passed herds of camels, goats, and other livestock as we wound up and down hills. The roads were narrow and somewhat poorly maintained. Despite being a full size SUV with four wheel drive, the Pajero was woefully under-powered for its size, and the engine was working hard hauling us up and down the Omani countryside.

It reminded me of a more treacherous New Mexico. The grass was yellow, almost brown, throughout the landscape, and the mountains were steep and rocky. We passed several Omani military and police checkpoints as I drove, but we saw very few people roaming about.

Eventually we turned onto a road that was even narrower. There was still a dotted line running down the center, ostensibly splitting it into two lanes of traffic, although it was so narrow that I was driving the Pajero down the center of the road, with only a few inches on either side to spare. This road wound around the steep mountains, just a few feet from the edge of sheer drops into the oasis below.

At one point, the road dipped down a small hill, and then back up again. The road was steep enough that you could not see what was at the top, and the Pajero’s anemic engine practically screamed as we trudged upward. The road turned immediately to the left ninety degrees as soon as we crested the hill. Had I been driving any faster, we would have been launched off the cliff and into the rocks below.

The truck was quiet as we drove, one of the guys had a sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“You good back there, Jimmy?” I grinned as we drove. I was enjoying the drive, it reminded me of driving around the national forests in Colorado.

“I’ll be better when we get there.”

As we rolled up to the GPS designated location, something felt incredibly off. For one thing, for such a prominent religious tourist location, we were way out in the boonies. For a second thing, we had rolled up to what was clearly someone’s house. There were several children running around, some of them soaking wet, and a couple women trying to maintain some semblance of order in the yard in front of the house.

It just did not look like a place a tomb would be.

“Is this the right place?” the tallest of the guys asked, looking around incredulously.

“I mean,” I said as the SUV’s brakes brought us to a squeaking halt in front of the house’s gate, “it is what the last rotation put into the GPS.”

We sat there for a minute, debating whether we should get out and ask, or just call it a loss and leave. While we debated, a man approached the truck cautiously, the many children following him and staring at him. He looked into the Pajero and did not even try to speak Arabic to us.

“Greeting,” he said, sounding cautious as I rolled the window down part way, “You look for tomb of Ayoob?”

“Uh yeah,” I responded, “Where is it?”

“Not here,” He said, shaking his head, “Every day, same thing. Many come, but Ayoob not here.”

“I’m sorry,” I said apologetically, “Where is the tomb?”

The man turned and gestured in the vague direction across the valley and back where we had come from, “That way, seventeen kilometer.”

“Thank you,” I said, “Shakram.” 

“You go now.” The man said before turning around and leaving.

“Dude,” Jimmy said from the back seat, “Where are we?”

“I dunno,” I responded as I reversed the Pajero and drove us out, “but we aren’t at Job’s Tomb.”

I retraced our route, navigating the narrow trail and returning to the main road. The sign at the next intersection pointed us in two directions. Turn right, go back to Thumrait. Turn left, go down to Salalah.

“You guys want to just head into Salalah, get dinner or something?” I asked.

“Sure, why not?”

Turning the truck to the left, I turned the truck down the mountain and toward the bustling city of Salalah.

“Hey if anyone sees a sign for the tomb, or anything interesting, just shout it out. We may as well enjoy the trip.” I said.

As the general ridiculous set in, the SUV buzzed with humorous energy. We could not believe that not only had we been guided to the wrong location, but that it happened often enough that the man who owned that house had to deal with it every day. We were laughing and carrying on inside the vehicle when a brown road sign announcing an attraction popped up on the right.

“There it is!” Lenny shouted, pointing to the right.

I hauled the steering wheel over somewhat more dramatically than I needed to be, throwing the Pajero to the right and down the next road.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Jason said from the back seat, “They even have a restaurant for it.”

Sure enough, there was a building across the street from the tomb labelled “Restaurant for the Tomb of the Prophet Ayoob.”  We got another laugh out of that as we parked the Pajero and clambered out of the cramped interior of the SUV.

The view from the Tomb’s parking lot was quite picturesque. The grass was still sort of green, and there were trees around. We were still high enough up on the mountain that we could look down into the sprawl of Salalah and over the coastline into the sea. There were many families and couples picnicking across the grounds, most of them in traditional garb.

The Mosque was less picturesque. A backhoe was busy jack-hammering away chunks of concrete, and a pile of construction debris was piled up near the entrance. A sign assured us that the construction would be completed in early 2018, but we were more than welcome to try to visit the tomb itself.

Despite the noise from the construction, there was a long line of worshipers outside the tomb. Rather than get in anybody’s way, we all opted to stay outside until the line died down. We looked around a bit more, and took in the views from the hillside.

The line never died down, and in the interest of not interfering with anyone’s prayers, we opted to head down to Salalah to get groceries and dinner. The three of us who smoked regularly rushed out of the Mosque’s gate and stood smoking cigarettes next to a man selling fresh oranges at a small stand near the entrance.

I went to start the truck and get the air conditioning flowing, when I turned around and saw Jimmy walking back, bag of oranges in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

“Figured I would get a start with the grocery shopping,” He grinned, handing me an orange before sucking down the last of his cigarette with a single pull.

I peeled the orange and looked out over the Omani hillside.

Not such a bad adventure, I figured to myself as I tossed the peel at Lenny. The orange is pretty good too.