With poetry and chants, Omanis strive to preserve ancient language
Sitting under a tent, poet Khalid Ahmed al-Kathiri recites the verses, while men clad in robes and headdresses echo back his words in the vast expanse.
"Jibbali poetry is a means for us to preserve the language and teach it to the new generation," Kathiri, 41, told AFP.
The overwhelming majority of Omanis speak Arabic, but in the mountainous coastal region of Dhofar bordering Yemen, people speak Jibbali, also known as Shehri.
Researcher Ali Almashani described it as an "endangered language" spoken by no more than 120,000 people in a country of over five million.
- 'Protected by isolation' -
While AFP was interviewing the poet, a heated debate broke out among the men over whether the language should be called Jibbali -- meaning "of the mountains" -- or Shehri, and whether it was an Arabic dialect.
Almashani said it was a fully-fledged language with its own syntax and grammar, historically used for composing poetry and proverbs and recounting legends.
The language predates Arabic, and has origins in Semitic south Arabian languages, he said.
He combined both names in his research to find a middle ground.
"It's a very old language, deeply rooted in history," Almashani said, adding that it was "protected by the isolation of Dhofar".
"The mountains protected it from the west, the Empty Quarter from the north, and the Indian Ocean from the south. This isolation built an ancient barrier around it," he said.
But remoteness is no guarantee for survival.
Other languages originating from Dhofar like Bathari are nearly extinct, "spoken only by three or four people," he said.
Some fear Jibbali could meet the same fate.
Thirty-five-year-old Saeed Shamas, a social media advocate for Dhofari heritage, said it was vital for him to raise his children in a Jibbali-speaking environment to help keep the language alive.
Children in Dhofar grow up speaking the mother-tongue of their ancestors, singing along to folk songs and memorising ancient poems.
"If everyone around you speaks Jibbali, from your father, to your grandfather, and mother, then this is the dialect or language you will speak," he said.
- Not yet documented -
The ancient recited poetry and chants also preserve archaic vocabulary no longer in use, Shamas told AFP.
Arabic is taught at school and understood by most, but the majority of parents speak their native language with their children, he said.
After the poetry recital, a group of young children nearby told AFP they "prefer speaking Jibbali over Arabic".
But for Almashani, the spectre of extinction still looms over a language that is not taught in school or properly documented yet.
There have been recent efforts towards studying Jibbali, with Oman's Vision 2040 economic plan prioritising heritage preservation.
Almashani and a team of people looking to preserve their language are hoping for support from Dhofar University for their work on a dictionary with about 125,000 words translated into Arabic and English.
The project will also include a digital version with a pronunciation feature for unique sounds that can be difficult to convey in writing.
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News.com.au
2 days ago
- News.com.au
With poetry and chants, Omanis strive to preserve ancient language
Against the backdrop of southern Oman's lush mountains, men in traditional attire chant ancient poems in an ancient language, fighting to keep alive a spoken tradition used by just two percent of the population. Sitting under a tent, poet Khalid Ahmed al-Kathiri recites the verses, while men clad in robes and headdresses echo back his words in the vast expanse. "Jibbali poetry is a means for us to preserve the language and teach it to the new generation," Kathiri, 41, told AFP. The overwhelming majority of Omanis speak Arabic, but in the mountainous coastal region of Dhofar bordering Yemen, people speak Jibbali, also known as Shehri. Researcher Ali Almashani described it as an "endangered language" spoken by no more than 120,000 people in a country of over five million. - 'Protected by isolation' - While AFP was interviewing the poet, a heated debate broke out among the men over whether the language should be called Jibbali -- meaning "of the mountains" -- or Shehri, and whether it was an Arabic dialect. Almashani said it was a fully-fledged language with its own syntax and grammar, historically used for composing poetry and proverbs and recounting legends. The language predates Arabic, and has origins in Semitic south Arabian languages, he said. He combined both names in his research to find a middle ground. "It's a very old language, deeply rooted in history," Almashani said, adding that it was "protected by the isolation of Dhofar". "The mountains protected it from the west, the Empty Quarter from the north, and the Indian Ocean from the south. This isolation built an ancient barrier around it," he said. But remoteness is no guarantee for survival. Other languages originating from Dhofar like Bathari are nearly extinct, "spoken only by three or four people," he said. Some fear Jibbali could meet the same fate. Thirty-five-year-old Saeed Shamas, a social media advocate for Dhofari heritage, said it was vital for him to raise his children in a Jibbali-speaking environment to help keep the language alive. Children in Dhofar grow up speaking the mother-tongue of their ancestors, singing along to folk songs and memorising ancient poems. "If everyone around you speaks Jibbali, from your father, to your grandfather, and mother, then this is the dialect or language you will speak," he said. - Not yet documented - The ancient recited poetry and chants also preserve archaic vocabulary no longer in use, Shamas told AFP. Arabic is taught at school and understood by most, but the majority of parents speak their native language with their children, he said. After the poetry recital, a group of young children nearby told AFP they "prefer speaking Jibbali over Arabic". But for Almashani, the spectre of extinction still looms over a language that is not taught in school or properly documented yet. There have been recent efforts towards studying Jibbali, with Oman's Vision 2040 economic plan prioritising heritage preservation. Almashani and a team of people looking to preserve their language are hoping for support from Dhofar University for their work on a dictionary with about 125,000 words translated into Arabic and English. The project will also include a digital version with a pronunciation feature for unique sounds that can be difficult to convey in writing.

ABC News
05-08-2025
- ABC News
Zoo in Denmark faces backlash asking for animals to be fed to predators
Any chickens or rabbits to spare? Denmark's Aalborg Zoo is seeking animals to feed to its predators — after they have been euthanised — a plea that has sparked a public backlash. "We are looking for small livestock, not pets," Anette Sofie Warncke Nutzhorn, one of the zoo's managers, told AFP on Tuesday. "It can be for instance a chicken that doesn't lay eggs anymore." "Predators usually catch prey of this size, so it's like the natural course," she added. The zoo has found itself in hot water since sending out the appeal on social media, last week. The zoo specified that it was looking in particular for chickens, rabbits, guinea pigs and horses. "The animals are carefully put down by qualified staff and then used as food," it said. Only healthy animals are accepted by the zoo, which has been accepting donated animals for several years. "It is a very common practice, we were just sending a friendly reminder," Ms Warncke Nutzhorn said. The zoo later turned off the comments section on the social media post in response to what it called "hateful" postings. Practices at Danish zoos, particularly the euthanasia of healthy animals to limit the risk of inbreeding, have in the past triggered fierce international criticism. In 2014, a giraffe calf named Marius was put down at the Copenhagen Zoo and staff later performed an autopsy on the carcass in front of visitors, before feeding it to the lions. AFP

The Australian
04-08-2025
- The Australian
80 years on, Korean survivors of WWII atomic bombs still suffer
Bae Kyung-mi was five years old when the Americans dropped "Little Boy", the atomic bomb that flattened Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. Like thousands of other ethnic Koreans working in the city at the time, her family kept the horror a secret. Many feared the stigma from doing menial work for colonial ruler Japan, and false rumours that radiation sickness was contagious. Bae recalls hearing planes overhead while she was playing at her home in Hiroshima on that day. Within minutes, she was buried in rubble. "I told my mom in Japanese, 'Mom! There are airplanes!'" Bae, now 85, told AFP. She passed out shortly after. Her home collapsed on top of her, but the debris shielded her from the burns that killed tens of thousands of people -- including her aunt and uncle. After the family moved back to Korea, they did not speak of their experience. "I never told my husband that I was in Hiroshima and a victim of the bombing," Bae said. "Back then, people often said you had married the wrong person if he or she was an atomic bombing survivor." Her two sons only learned she had been in Hiroshima when she registered at a special centre set up in 1996 in Hapcheon in South Korea for victims of the bombings, she said. Bae said she feared her children would suffer from radiation-related illnesses that afflicted her, forcing her to have her ovaries and a breast removed because of the high cancer risk. - A burning city - She knew why she was getting sick, but did not tell her own family. "We all hushed it up," she said. Some 740,000 people were killed or injured in the twin bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. More than 10 percent of the victims were Korean, data suggests, the result of huge flows of people to Japan while it colonised the Korean peninsula. Survivors who stayed in Japan found they had to endure discrimination both as "hibakusha", or atomic bomb survivors, and as Koreans. Many Koreans also had to choose between pro-Pyongyang and pro-Seoul groups in Japan, after the peninsula was left divided by the 1950-53 Korean War. Kwon Joon-oh's mother and father both survived the attack on Hiroshima. The 76-year-old's parents, like others of their generation, could only work by taking on "filthy and dangerous jobs" that the Japanese considered beneath them, he said. Korean victims were also denied an official memorial for decades, with a cenotaph for them put up in the Hiroshima Peace Park only in the late 1990s. Kim Hwa-ja was four on August 6, 1945 and remembers being put on a makeshift horse-drawn trap as her family tried to flee Hiroshima after the bomb. Smoke filled the air and the city was burning, she said, recalling how she peeped out from under a blanket covering her, and her mother screaming at her not to look. Korean groups estimate that up to 50,000 Koreans may have been in the city that day, including tens of thousands working as forced labourers at military sites. - Stigma - But records are sketchy. "The city office was devastated so completely that it wasn't possible to track down clear records," a Hiroshima official told AFP. Japan's colonial policy banned the use of Korean names, further complicating record-keeping. After the attacks, tens of thousands of Korean survivors moved back to their newly-independent country. But many have struggled with health issues and stigma ever since. "In those days, there were unfounded rumours that radiation exposure could be contagious," said Jeong Soo-won, director of the country's Hapcheon Atomic Bomb Victim Center. Nationwide, there are believed to be some 1,600 South Korean survivors still alive, Jeong said -- with 82 of them in residence at the center. Seoul enacted a special law in 2016 to help the survivors -- including a monthly stipend of around $72 -- but it provides no assistance to their offspring or extended families. "There are many second- and third-generation descendants affected by the bombings and suffering from congenital illnesses," said Jeong. A provision to support them "must be included" in future, he said. A Japanese hibakusha group won the Nobel Peace Prize last year in recognition of their efforts to show the world the horrors of nuclear war. But 80 years after the attacks, many survivors in both Japan and Korea say the world has not learned. - 'Only talk' - US President Donald Trump recently compared his strikes on Iran's nuclear facilities to the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. "Would he understand the tragedy of what the Hiroshima bombing has caused? Would he understand that of Nagasaki?" survivor Kim Gin-ho said. In Korea, the Hapcheon center will hold a commemoration on August 6 -- with survivors hoping that this year the event will attract more attention. From politicians, "there has been only talk... but no interest", she said. oh-kjk/ceb/djw/jfx Breaking News Siraj stars as India beat England by six runs in fifth-Test thriller Breaking News Israel wants world attention on hostages held in Gaza