"Salaam Aleikhum"

“Salaam Aleikhum”. “Aleikhum Salaam”, I reply.

He gestures, palms upward, to a multi-coloured tent. All that’s missing is beige-white desert sand. A brilliant orange, green and white-frond overhang beckons. Cardamom coffee, pale as ale, percolates in a copper pot plucked from Aladdin’s cave. The pot sits on a coffee table-stove made of inlaid hardwood resting atop four brass-camel legs. Next to the coffee pot, a round wooden box of palm dates.

I sit in a comfortable niche, next to a bronze camel and brass lamp. In one swift motion, my host pours coffee into a small, porcelain cup which looks like a tiny inverted tulip, painted white with a red-gold rim.

I prop the pillows behind me. He smiles and places before me a plain white serviette. The box of plump, juicy-brown dates with yellow stem-ends follows, then a crystal ash tray for the date pits. The Persian carpet of pale pink and dark blue wool contrasts the simple geometric-patterned fabric of red, white and black which grace the walls and couch. The smell of the cardamom coffee fills the space. "The tent faces south but is left open East as a sign of welcome", he says. The desert comes to me.

I know this is Bedouin culture, sanitised. The chap serving me may well be Pakistani not Bedouin Qatari. But no matter. In this Oasis calm, amidst the bustle of Doha City life, the hospitality & heart of Bedouin tradition descends. There is an aura about my host—he is the genial Gastgaber who greets us, one and all, from New York, Nieuwegein or Nagasaki.