Those who have been here for a while may recall that back in April of 2025, I travelled to Oman to write about space. It was an extraordinarily humbling experience. I write about politics in America, and writing about not politics in not America felt like starting my career from scratch. I came in with no background knowledge, no cultural understanding, and no experience writing about STEM (as opposed to my dreamy little thinkpieces). I have read so much about the space industry over the past several months, so much about launchpads, so much about the history of Oman. I lost three precious interviews when I wiped my phone crossing the border back into my own country and had to ask very busy people to spend even more time talking to this ridiculous Westerner still struggling to wrap her head around basic concepts…
Anyway, it’s done. It’s published. You can read the article here, at Rest of World. I recommend you read that first, since the rest of this article won’t make much sense without it.
They say that writers have to kill their darlings, but clearly “they” have never heard of Substack, where self-indulgent authors can resurrect their darlings and send them into the world regardless. Here are a few of them, such as they are:
Ammar Al-Rawahi fell in love with the cosmos at 12 years old in a parking lot in Tuscon, Arizona. His father, a visiting Omani professor, was walking to an event when Al Rawahi saw a group of people clustered around a telescope. Seeing the moon close-up, with all its pockmarks and craters, sparked a curiosity and fascination that would come to define his life.
Al-Rawahi taught himself astronomy while pursuing a civil engineering degree. He helped found the Oman Society for Astronomy and Space just before his graduation in 2008, and has been at the center of Oman’s space industry every since. He helped structure Oman’s Astronomical Affairs Department and served as its director until 2020, then helped transform ETCO Space into a satellite company during his three years as the company’s Director of Space Technologies.
Today, Al-Rawahi serves as the Chief Commercial Officer at SatMENA, one of Oman’s oldest and largest downstream space companies. The company offers high-capacity, high-speed satellite internet in Oman, the UAE, Yemen, and parts of Saudi Arabia (with plans to expand their coverage throughout the Middle East and North Africa).
Rural internet connectivity is important in a place like Oman: a country approximately the size of Italy but with less than 1 percent of its population. Most Omanis live in or near the cities of Muscat, Nizwa and Salalah. The rest of the country is profoundly rural: small Bedouin villages living life much as their ancestors did. These villages are too small and too far apart for fiber-optics. Satellite internet is the only viable solution.
These villagers sometimes pay the price for Oman’s rapid modernization. In 2011, the tiny fishing village of Duqm were informed of the Sultanate’s decreed creation of a Special Economic Zone (SEZAD). Today, Duqm is a vast collection of modern buildings so new that their plate glass windows still have labels affixed, empty and waiting for foreign companies who want to take advantage of the Zone’s duty-free and tax-free status. According to their official website, SEZAD will be able to accommodate a quarter million people by 2040. SEZAD offered the displaced villagers modern homes and a modern way of life within the city. The villagers refused. Bad feelings persist to this day.
Etlaq has taken a different approach. The spaceport occupies a great deal of land traditionally used for camel grazing by the nearby village of Hitam, which caused immediate friction. The encroachment was not appreciated, and the concept of a spaceport was difficult to communicate. But Etlaq worked hard to cultivate good relations from the start, and their months of effort have paid off. Julanda Al-Riyami, Etlaq’s Chief Commercial Officer, tells me the villagers now take pride in their proximity to such an impressive undertaking, and are also excited about opportunities to sell their handmade goods to tourists.
As the scorching sun began its descent on the first day of the Etlaq Space Station Fan Experience, tensions briefly rose. The launch company had set up a tent specifically for the women of Hitam to sell their wares to visitors. But the first day ended earlier than expected, and the marketplace would need to wait until Day Two.
Communicating the change was difficult. The Bedouins speak a different dialect of Arabic; things were getting lost in translation. Westerners tend to perceive hijabs, abayas and especially niqabs as indicators of meekness and submission. This is — to put it mildly — not the case. The conversation became animated, but the two sides eventually reached an agreement, and the women returned home.
By the time I returned for the second day, the tent was packed with card tables heavy with goods to sell. Women wearing traditional Bedouin masks sold watertight baskets expertly woven from date fronds that ranged from complete tea sets to large shallow vessels I am told are perfect for collecting camel’s milk. Flower holders made from circles of wire wrapped with brightly-colored thread. An endless array of helwa, Oman’s national dessert: a thick, set paste made from flour, sugar, butter, and a variety of spices. These things are beautiful but also practical and functional. Omanis have been making them for millennia.
As the sun began to descend on that second day, we heard drums outside the tents. The beat grew louder and louder until at last, about 15 men from Hitam village entered the tents, chanting and dancing to the complicated beat. They wore belts with the traditional Omani dagger, the L-shaped Khanjar, tucked into the front, and held reed canes upright before them. When they reached the front, they divided themselves into two lines, facing each other, and took turns chanting at each other, moving back and forth in near-unison. The boys who remained in the tent watched, or clapped along, or danced at the fringes.
The dance was not a performance for tourists; the event was over, few outsiders remained. Nor was it a reenactment of some dead tradition; Al-Riyami told me the men of Hitam are eager for any excuse to get together and dance. These ancient ways of life are vibrant and active just a few kilometers away from Oman’s gateway to the stars.
Official documents often refer to something the Omanis call “space heritage.” Before I came to the country, the phrase confused me. Over the course of my visit, it started to make sense. Space is not some cold and distant place here in Oman; it has been an intimate part of everyday life for millennia. Magan sea traders navigated by starlight four thousand years ago. Managers of the aflaj irrigation system used stars to keep time and determine when to redirect the water so that farmers and villages received their fair share. Muslims must pay close attention to the moon to keep track of dates and properly observe holidays.
Space plays an increasing role in everyday life here in the modern world as well — more than most people realize, according to James Causey, executive director of the Global Spaceport Alliance . “You have worldwide comms, worldwide GPS, all of which are contained within your cell phone. You are already a space person,” he said. “Every company is a space company. Most just don’t know it yet.”
Read the Rest of World article here.
TY for the peek into a part of the world I knew nothing about. Very cool!
A fascinating part of the world. Good stuff, thanks!