The Yemeni Tailor
Over the past few years, I’ve come to realize that one of my bad habits is making a mental note to catch up with people, only to find that a decade, or sometimes even two, has passed since we last spoke or met. Some of these people are easily reachable through modern communication, and for them, I have no excuse for not following up. Others, however, are harder to track down because I no longer have their contact details, though I always intended to find them again.
The Yemeni Tailor - Khobar, Saudi Arabia 2006-2007
One such person is a Yemeni tailor I once knew.
In 2006-2007, I lived for a year in Saudi Arabia while working at a school in Khobar, in the Eastern Province. Reflecting on it now, as that time disappears into the distance in the rear-view mirror of my memories, it was a year rich with unique experiences—an invaluable opportunity in terms of life lessons and personal growth.
I lived in a small one-bedroom flat, which I later came to realize was an excellent location, especially for someone without a car—alhamdulillah. It had great amenities nearby and was within walking distance of Khobar’s Pakistani district, which felt like a mini version of Pakistan whenever I visited.
Just around the corner from my apartment was an elderly Yemeni tailor, whom I was introduced to by a British brother who also lived nearby and used him for tailor-made thawbs. The tailor’s shop had a large window, and he would sit behind his sewing machine, working late into the evening. He was a slender man, with a naturally sparse white beard and sharp, handsome features.
I vividly remember seeing him many times as I walked past his shop, where he would be bent over his sewing machine, dressed in his white garment, a hat on his head, and glasses perched on his nose. I can still visualize him looking over the lenses and watching me as I walked by.
As the year went on, he must have noticed me passing by frequently in the evenings and on weekends. One day, he waved me over as I walked past his shop. I went in, and it became clear that he was working alone and simply wanted someone to chat with to break up the monotony of his long hours at the machine. From that point on, throughout the year, I often stopped by his shop for these conversations.
On one of those visits, as he got to know me better and perhaps noticed that I was different from the other expat Pakistani Brits he knew, he said, “Saleh, listen to this,” and pressed play on a tape recorder next to him. The sound that filled the room was that of traditional religious qasaid from Yemen. I was pleasantly surprised, delighted to meet someone connected to the tradition of religious poetry. He mentioned some Yemeni shuyukh in the UK, though I can’t recall their names, nor did I know them at the time. I believe might have been referring to the early Yemeni migrants and scholars who settled in the UK before the Indo-Pak community arrived.
This piqued my curiosity, and I wanted to learn more. I discovered that he was a pious Muslim, raised in Yemen in an environment where devotional poetry (qasaid) was a natural part of religious life, unencumbered by labels. This pattern reminded me of others from my parents’ generation, who were familiar with and respectful of religious poetry, often tied to Islamic spirituality, but who didn’t identify themselves with any particular label beyond “Sunni Muslim.”
I’m not sure if the Yemeni tailor shared his love of qasaid with anyone else. Based on my visits with others, I don’t think he did. In any case, I’m grateful that he felt comfortable enough to share it with me.
The summer of 2007 came, and it was time for me to leave and bid farewell the Eastern Province. I don’t specifically recall if I stopped by his shop to bid him farewell, but I like to think that I did do so considering our regular interactions.
A couple of years ago (2022), I returned to Saudi Arabia and made plans to visit Khobar, hoping to see if the Yemeni tailor was still there, sitting in his shop behind his sewing machine. He was already aging back in 2006, so I wasn’t sure what I would find. Unfortunately, our flights were rescheduled by the airline and cut short by a few days, making it impossible to fit the visit to Khobar into my already tight schedule.
Below is the neighbourhood where I lived and the approximate location of his shop.
Wherever the Yemeni tailor is now, may God protect and bless him—Amin.
