Why this Emirati gave up a diplomatic career to revive traditional pearl diving in the UAE

Dubai: What makes a man walk away from a high-flying diplomatic career armed with international degrees in political science and public affairs, rubbing shoulders with global leaders only to return home and dive into the depths of the sea?

For Abdulla Rashed Al Suwaidi, the answer lies in pearls. And in the memory of one man, his grandfather.

“I worked in foreign services and the government sector. But being abroad, studying and working in government, I didn’t feel like myself. It felt like I was playing a role. I wanted to return to where I began, with my grandfather, the pearl diver,” Al Suwaidi told Gulf News.

Al Suwaidi’s late grandfather, Mohammed bin Abdulla Al Suwaidi, was one of the last in his family to make a living from pearl diving. He was the final living link to an era many had declared long lost. But he wouldn’t be the last for long.

In 2005, Abdulla opened Suwaidi Pearls, a cultured pearl farm in the coastal village of Al Rams, nestled between the ancient Hajar mountains and the northernmost shores of Ras Al Khaimah. It was a tribute to his grandfather and a mission to revive a tradition fading from collective memory.

As a child, Abdulla was captivated by his grandfather’s quiet strength and storytelling charm. Reflecting on time spent in their family home, he remembers him as a man of few words but great wisdom, a mentor with a mysterious aura who held the secrets of the sea.

“In our culture, grandparents live and die in the same house. My grandparents had a quarter of the house, and that was my refuge, a safe haven from my mother’s scoldings,” he added with a smile.

It was in that sanctuary that his love for oysters and pearls was born and gently nurtured.

Abdulla recalls the moment he first saw his grandfather in the water. “He would go to the sea every day, but I wasn’t allowed to join him. There had been drowning incidents in the bay due to strong currents.”

One day, his grandfather persuaded his mother to let him come along. “I watched him disappear underwater and stay there for what felt like forever. As a child, I believed he was half man, half fish,” he said, laughing.

That childhood awe would eventually shape his life’s purpose to preserve the memory of the men who once braved the sea to find the elusive natural pearl.

Pearl diving was once the UAE’s main source of income. But with the twin shocks of two World Wars, the rise of Japanese cultured pearls, and the discovery of oil, the industry all but vanished by the mid-20th century.

For most, it became a closed chapter. For Abdulla, it became his calling.

“My grandfather passed on so much knowledge, and I couldn’t accept that it would all be forgotten. I saw potential to revive it,” he said.

Even while working and studying abroad, Al Suwaidi made time for diving and researching oysters. He began scouring the UAE’s coastline, working with international experts to test the viability of a homegrown cultured pearl industry.

But how did he know where to dive and find viable coasts for pearl farming? Was it high-tech GPS or carefully collected data?

“I have a treasure map,” he said proudly, pointing an old chart. But it’s not just any map.

The ‘Al Naylah’ map, created in the 1930s by Sheikh Mana bin Sheikh Rashid Al Maktoum, outlines the traditional pearl fisheries of the UAE. “Most of these spots still exist today. This is my guide to the treasures beneath the sea.”

The mission to restore pearl diving wasn’t easy. “To simplify it, imagine a beautiful pearl necklace that lasted for thousands of years. When the industry collapsed in the 1930s and 1940s, the string snapped. That’s how I see it. My job is to reconnect that necklace,” he said.

His grandfather, the last pearl diver in the family, taught him firsthand. Abdulla now sees himself as the bridge between generations ensuring his son, who never met his great-grandfather, inherits this legacy.

“Pearl diving was in the past, it’s with me today, and I hope it’s in the future too,” he said.

Pearl diving, Al Suwaidi says, teaches two core values - courage and persistence.

“It builds character. You fear nothing but God. Diving with only a nose clip breaks the barrier of fear,” he said.

Othman Al Balooshi, a tour guide at Suwaidi Pearl Farm, explained the bare-bones equipment used by traditional divers. A simple turtle-shell nose clip (‘al fatm’), a black cotton shirt and trousers to ward off jellyfish, and camel leather fingertip gloves for handling oysters yet no goggles. Divers operated in salt-heavy waters with one eye open. Many would go blind by their 40s.

The work was gruelling, the risk immense. But the reward  a single pearl could make the months at sea worthwhile.

“They saw terrible things underwater but survived through teamwork,” said Al Suwaidi. “Just like I can’t run this pearl farm without a crew, they couldn’t dive without each other. The ethics of pearl diving remain, even if the economy around it has changed.”

The traditional pearl diving season ran from April to June. Crews of 30 men shared a wooden boat, jalbout, where they ate, slept, and worked under the scorching sun.

They would dive from sunrise to sunset, surviving on dates and coffee until dinner, usually rice and fish. Drinking water was rationed, with each man allowed just one cup per day.

The main divers al ghawawis could stay underwater for up to three minutes, sometimes longer. Once they gathered enough oysters, they would surface, and after dawn prayers the next morning, begin the process of shelling, hoping for a glimmering prize.

But not every diver returned. As Al Suwaidi noted, the journey was not without tragedy. The tour guide shared how, if a diver drowned, they could not afford to turn back. They would pray for the soul, tie the body to a stone, and watch him disappear into the sea bed.

For Al Suwaidi, the men who spent gruelling summer months at sea to feed their families must not be forgotten. Their stories are not meant to be romanticized but remembered.

He also recalled a recurring dream that shaped his life’s path.

“I dreamt I was diving, and a pearl floated up and landed in my palm. My grandmother told me the pearl symbolised knowledge, and that its arrival in my hand meant it was exclusive to me. That knowledge turned out to be pearl diving.”

And so, Abdulla Al Suwaidi dives into the waters of Ras Al Khaimah, into the past, and into a future where the legacy of his grandfather, and thousands like him, lives on.