Matthew Teller takes a tour of ancient Muharraq – the “burnt place” – and marvels at how Bahrain’s one-time capital is being brought back to life
“Follow me.” My guide, Ezmiralda Kabbani, pushed her oversized sunglasses onto her forehead and squeezed through the narrow doorway. From the hot, dusty lane it looked like nothing – just an anonymous door in an anonymous alley.
I followed her inside and, suddenly, we stood in air-conditioned comfort, on a polished wood floor. The outside glare was replaced by tinted daylight, flooding a broad, circular space through a huge skylight supported on pointed arches. Shelves of books in English and Arabic lined the wall to my left; half a dozen computer screens stood ranged to one side. The interior felt calm and architecturally deft, using areas of natural and artificial light to create airy, open spaces within what was a small, narrow building.
“This is the children’s library,” Ezmiralda said. “It’s called Iqra, meaning ‘read’. It’s only for the local children of Muharraq; somewhere they can come to take time, play, daydream, read a book.” She looked at her watch. “And it’s almost storytime.”
I spent a few minutes roaming around, admiring the design, grinning at the elegant alphabet tiles adorning the wall of the tiny bathroom – with its chic, hotel-style glass bowl for a basin – and wishing I’d had somewhere like this in my neighbourhood when I was growing up. Then, as if on cue, 20 or so children appeared and flung themselves down onto floor-cushions under the great skylight. Local teacher and part-time storyteller Dana Abul followed them in, perched in an alcove, settled her audience, chose a storybook and began to read aloud, acting out all the parts as she went along.
It was great to watch, and chatting with Dana and the kids gave me a glimpse into the ordinary life of Muharraq – a part of Bahrain most visitors don’t even know exists.Muharraq island lies just northeast of Manama, connected to it by several highway-carrying causeways. A tiny dot of land, just 17 square kilometres in area, it has long held an importance far beyond its size. From 300 BC, when the Greeks held sway, the island was known as Arados, distinct from its larger neighbour, Bahrain (known as Tylos); historians theorise that the name Muharraq – which means the “burnt place” – might commemorate some great fire here in antiquity. By the 19th century, Muharraq was Bahrain’s capital, the centre of government and hub of the region’s pearl industry.
I wandered out of the children’s library, through the whitewashed alleyways and over to the building that best evokes that earlier period of Muharraq’s history – the Shaikh Isa House. Begun around 1800, this palace served as the residence of Shaikh Isa Bin Ali Al-Khalifa, ruler of Bahrain from 1869 to 1932. Showing only blank walls to the street – it occupies an entire city block – inside, it displays ornately carved arabesque designs around every doorway, niche and arch. Its mud-brick walls are faced with gypsum, which glitters white in the glare of the sun, but has an almost alabaster-like luminescence in the darker, cooler interior.
I explored the house’s four austere courtyards, each linked to the next by a labyrinth of narrow passageways. Massively thick walls, up to a metre wide, and small, deep-set windows help to keep the sun’s heat at bay, as does the building’s distinctive wind tower. This classic feature of Gulf architecture was a precursor to air-conditioning: a square, open tower built high above roof level to catch any passing breezes and direct them down into the rooms.
I met up with Ezmiralda again to see another of Muharraq’s renovation projects, the Shaikh Ebrahim Centre for Culture and Research. She explained that Shaikh Ebrahim Bin Mohammed Al-Khalifa was a late 19th-century Bahraini writer who led a cultural salon from his Muharraq home, where intellectuals would gather to debate the issues of the day. Today, a 21st-century equivalent has arisen under Shaikha Mai Bint Mohammed Al-Khalifa. This group has taken the name of their 19th-century forebear and restored his home to a national cultural centre, hosting academics, poets, musicians, writers and critics in a year-round programme of lectures, debates and performances.
We stood at the façade of the rejuvenated Shaikh Ebrahim Centre, taking in its mashrabiya panelling, its double-height portico and beautifully worked wooden door. Inside is a sleek, intimate auditorium, seating perhaps 150, crowned by a wooden gallery. Ezmiralda explained how the centre – and, specifically, Shaikha Mai – had, with the help of donations and corporate sponsorship, restored several traditional buildings around Muharraq and Manama, including the Iqra children’s library we’d already visited. Would I like to see more?
We set off through the lanes to the stunning Abdullah Al-Zayed House nearby. This time, exquisite mashrabiya work and delicately carved gypsum were heightened by fanlight panels above each door, fitted with colourful stained glass in red, green, yellow and blue – another traditional method, I was told, of reducing the sun’s glare indoors. Al-Zayed was founder of Bahrain’s first newspaper – simply called Bahrain – in 1939 and his splendidly restored house, set around a covered courtyard, now serves as the country’s Press Heritage Centre, housing newspaper archives and an historical research library.
Then Ezmiralda showed me Korar House – where a group of women were working with complex webs of golden thread and natural fibres to produce traditional embroidery – and Mohammed Bin Faris House, former home of a pioneer Bahraini artist and now an arts centre showcasing performances of traditional music.
It would be wrong to picture Muharraq as a precious, sanitised slice of historical culture; back on the main street the district is clearly very much alive – shopkeepers are busy, traffic flows and the old souk even manages to trump Manama’s for atmosphere. But, in this most unusual part of Bahrain, just one anonymous doorway can lead to a completely fascinating other world. |
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