Blog:’Founding father’
In one of the few surviving mud-walled fortresses just outside Riyadh, the celebrations of King Fahd’s rule were in full swing. It was a case of: “crisis, what crisis?”
In their cool white robes and red chequered headcloths, the assembled dignitaries gathered to watch a display of camel riding, while tribesmen from the south beat out a rhythm that instinctively quickened the pulse.
Men linked arms and chanted, raising their curved swords aloft and made them tremble in time to the beat.
Anyone of any importance wore a bisht, a thin black cloak, trimmed with gold thread.
A troupe of turbaned servants poured thimblefuls of bitter cardamom coffee from brass pots with thin, curved spouts