There is a wide expanse of desert behind my house, and over the years it has become a space where I explore, contemplate, and walk, often lost in thought. The space seems endless, forgotten, and deserted, and it is frequented by only a handful of people in the community. I suppose not many have stopped to explore or find out where it leads.
Desert shrubbery punctuates the monotony of the landscape and a small, fairly even winding path opens up for the wanderer. When the rains fall in Dubai, greenery begins popping up everywhere on this land, and the transformation appears miraculous.
After the rains, when I walk along my well-trodden path, I notice the new plants shyly springing up and adding green to otherwise barren landscape. In the winters, this hidden haven becomes my go-to place, for the freshness and peace it offers and the best part is—it isn’t even a park or a pathway. It’s literally a piece of wild tucked away in the city, revitalizing and rejuvenating me in a very special and wholesome way.
In the summers, this place feels arid and hot, and yet there is an openness and welcoming about it that brings me here, despite the heat. In this nook, the wind is somehow always present and it whispers its secrets to anyone who cares to lend an ear.
Right in the middle of this expanse is a small clump of trees, and one of those trees is a very distinct Ghaf tree. On my excursions, I always stop for a few moments under its shade, and feel the tree’s essence.
There is something about Ghaf trees, the wisdom they portray as they gently lower their boughs on the random passerby, unconcerned with whether the world knows them as a success or a failure. There isn’t judgment, just a deep silence that welcomes every traveler who stops to admire the tree on their way.
The tree is large, much larger than any of the trees in that area, and I wonder how many winters, summers and sunrises it has witnessed as it stands there resolutely, in the searing heat and the torrential rains.
Every gnarl on its trunk conceals a story, perhaps a forgotten love or maybe a coming home when someone finds themselves. I look for carvings on the trunk, perhaps two lovers? Perhaps an intertwined heart with initials? I can spot nothing—it appears that the tree knows how to hide far more than I thought.
Coexisting peacefully
What really makes my heart expand in wonder is the boughs that hang from its branches. It’s interesting how each branch seems to hold its own, it’s leaves a separate unit within the whole and there is a clear demarcation of the same. Yet they coexist peacefully together and astonish the admirer as they show up as one complete whole. In the extreme heat of the summer, when only a few plants survive, the Ghaf tree blossoms.
Its tiny leaves come together to form a deep green curtain, immensely pleasing to the eye as it gently sways in the wind, showing how the tree is flexible, but very much grounded. There is a mystery about the tree too, a wisdom that comes only with age, experience, and compassion.
Compassion, you say? Well, yes, surely. The way the tree offers safety and shade to travelers, a home for birds, and a sight for sore eyes in the middle of the desert is all compassion. I wonder what it would say if it could talk. I love the tree, but somehow, I know it loves me too. It is the ultimate symbol of hope and resilience as it withstands extreme temperatures and still appears to smile, as though saying there’s always hope for a better tomorrow.
There is a metal plate hammered into its trunk, and I notice it is a tree recognized and protected by the government. The Ghaf tree is the national tree of the UAE, and these trees are rare and must be taken care of, loved, and appreciated.
Its medicinal healing properties are well documented, and I’m not surprised—just by blossoming in its full glory, the Ghaf tree heals me, strengthens me, and brings me deep joy. As I whisper 'So blessed is Allah, the best of creators', I caress the trunk lovingly with my hand and walk onwards into the unknown, knowing that my Ghaf tree will be waiting patiently when I return. Fondly, like a wise old friend with a deep inner knowing.
— Mehmudah Rehman is a Dubai-based freelance writer
