THE NATIONAL EMBLEM OF OMAN IS THE KHANJAR — ACURVED DAGGER, SHAPED ROUGHLY LIKE THE LETTER ‘J ’.
Khanjar are ubiquitous in Oman. They appear on the national flag, on police cars, banknotes and coins. Khanjar sculptures adorn roundabouts; depictions of khanjars have been engraved on Rolex watches. Not long ago, khanjars were emblazoned on the tailfins of Oman Air planes — until someone considered that perhaps knives and passenger jets do not mix. Around Oman, you can see khanjars being worn to occasions as diverse as weddings, funerals and job interviews — they stand for pride and purpose, an ironclad adherence to tradition. For the better part of a millennia, these daggers were tools for camel husbandry and self-defence. In the present day they are a symbol of a country whose heritage cuts deeper than most along the Arabian Peninsula.
And, as I look at it out of a plane window, it occurs to me that the shape of the country’s coastline also vaguely resembles a khanjar. The shoreline curves northward — at the sharp tip is the Musandam Peninsula, daggering deep into the Strait of Hormuz. The central spine is the Hajar Mountains. And, at the cutting edge, beaches blade into the blue waters of the Gulf of Oman. Nearing the hilt, my plane lands in the Omani capital Muscat — one of the most likeable capitals in the Middle East, sprawled along a coastline serrated by little coves.
“When you wear a khanjar, it’s a way of showing that you mean business,” explains my guide, Khalid Mathrushi, who has just given his young son his first (small and blunt) khanjar. “People respect you: they take you seriously.”
I’m travelling around Oman on an itinerary organised by adventure tour operator Wild Frontiers, getting a sense of its history and
