Thought the skyscrapers of New York City are impressive?

Just wait until you see Shibam, home of the arguably oldest skyscrapers in the world.

Shibam quick facts

Location: Hadhramaut governate, Yemen

Nickname: the “Manhattan of the Desert,” thanks to its mudbrick skyscrapers.

Famous for: Skyscrapers made from mudbrick. Some buildings reach as high as 30m (98ft).

Why: The skyscrapers were built to protect the town’s inhabitants from attack. (The city is also surrounded by a high mudbrick wall.)

When: The city itself dates as far back as the 3^rd century. The famous skyscrapers are from the 1500s.

UNESCO: In 1982, Shibam was inscribed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Yemen’s first.

My visit to Shibam

My first glimpse of Shibam came as we drove through the region on the way to our hotel.

I was sitting languidly in the car, staring out the window without really looking at anything. Then, without warning, the neat, implacable facades of the skyscrapers of the town came into view.

The buildings were a stark contrast to the low, verdant shrubs of the surrounding valley. Their sturdy, rectangular shapes seemed a testament to the city’s former wealth – it was a prosperous stop along the lucrative frankincense route. The buildings’ uniformity also appeared deceptive, like a huge, continuous wall that no invader could hope to conquer.

The city quickly receded into the distance as we passed on our way to our hotel. But it would be long before I’d have my chance to visit this ancient place.

Soon it was time to enter Shibam and explore.

Stepping out of our cars, we were greeted by a couple of locals. No introductions were made and my best guess was that these would be our local guides.

My first impression of Shibam was how clean it was. The cobbled streets barely had any trash, which was abundant in other towns we had visited.

Then there were the buildings themselves. Shibam’s skyscrapers are packed densely together. The odd square that breaks up the monotony, but otherwise buildings are clustered tightly in no apparent pattern, leaving you to walk through narrow alleys in the shadows of the giant structures.

Unlike in Manhattan, there isn’t a grid pattern or wide avenues for breathing space.

I was also struck with how similar all the buildings looked and I was grateful I wasn’t walking around on my own or else I’d never find my way around. My mind went back to this being a complaint a European friend of mine had about Manhattan – how all the buildings looked identical and he couldn’t distinguish one street corner from another.

Nevertheless, Shibam itself is wondrously charming. This is a place where I could happily wander aimlessly for hours.

There was also a serenity to the town that I enjoyed. Chaotic hustle and bustle doesn’t appear the norm here. Its inhabitants instead seem to follow a slower rhythm of life, one that I imagine has continued unchanged for centuries – and has so far been spared the disruptions of mass tourism.

A sign caught my attention. It read in English and Arabic “Shibam Beekeepers Association,” which for some reason I found amusing. Yemen is famous for its honey; it’s no surprise there would be beekeepers.

A young man approached me as I was taking a photo of the beekeepers’ association sign. Through one of our translators I understood he was inviting me into his antiques shop. I eagerly followed him in.

My tourmates came in behind me, but as I had been the first to enter, the young man spun me around and began affixing a niqab made entirely of colorful beads to my head.

Before I knew what was happening, I emerged from the shop arrayed in the elaborate, colorful attire of a Yemeni bride.

“Am I getting married?” I joked.

The ululations from our guides that followed in response seemed to confirm that I was!

I was encouraged to walk around town in the bridal gear as we waited for the young man’s father to return. He would handle the negotiations for the sale of whatever we wanted to buy from the shop.

So there I was, neither a Yemeni nor a bride, yet dressed as one, as we entered inside one of the famous skyscrapers.

It was surprising cool in the building – in fact, it was surprisingly cool all over town. Our guides explained that the mudbrick that all the buildings are made from naturally regulate the temperature; they keep the inside cool from the heat and warm from the desert cold.

After climbing more stairs than we cared for – there are no elevators in these centuries-old buildings – we emerged onto the roof and surveyed the surrounding valley.

Shibam itself may be beautiful, but so is the wadi that serves as its equally stunning backdrop.

By the time we returned to street level, the shopkeeper’s father had returned. Negotiations were tough, but in the end the price for the bridal clothing was unfortunately more than I could pay and I reluctantly had to give it up.

We continued our tour through town, our guides explaining how the buildings must repaired regularly using traditional methods.

We soon found we were not alone. Children, uninhibited by the strict social norms of Yemeni society, followed us closely in silent, excited curiosity.

They seemed to want nothing more than to watch us, occasionally waving to us in response, once in a while laughing at something we did.

Adults also regarded us with curiosity. Men came close to us or stared unabashedly. Women, whether out of modesty (there were, after all, men in our group) or to avoid getting in the way of our cameras (particularly religious people in Yemen do not like to be photographed), watched us from afar.

Catching when I could the eyes of the women, peering out from under the severity of their black niqabs, I placed my right hand over my heart and bowed my head slightly. They responded in kind, after which, I like to think, we exchanged smiles.

There were apparently more women out than normal, as a large tent was set up in one of the squares. We were not permitted to enter, but our guides let us know the tent served as a meeting place for a celebration – a baby had recently been born.

The last group of people we came across where the men I affectionately referred to as the “domino dudes.” They were older gentlemen who were engaged in lively games of dominos.

I immediately liked the domino dudes, who were naturally gregarious and more than willing to allow us to walk among them, watch them at play, and even take their photos.

Soon, however, it was time to leave, but we would not escape of the magic of Shibam quite yet.

We drove a short distance and, getting out of the cars, were instructed to walk uphill. This was never an easy feat in Yemen, where pavements aren’t exactly accessible friendly and I had to be careful not to trip over my abaya on the loose stones as I climbed upwards.

I was panting when I got to the top, inwardly cursing my apparent lack of fitness. But my breath was taken away for another reason when I looked up and beheld one of the most strikingly beautiful sights I’d seen in the country – Shibam at sunset.

I don’t really have the skills to describe the magnificence of Shibam in the soft amber glow of the sunset. Nor, I’m afraid, do photos do it justice (but here’s at least one anyway).

It was a sight that filled us with awe.

As we gazed at the city before us, the boys playing football in front, the bright green plants in full bloom all around, the distant mountains acting as impassive guardians, we could almost forget that this was a country presently being ravaged by war and suffering one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world.

One day, hopefully, Yemen will return to the peace and prosperity of its vibrant past. And, hopefully, Shibam will still be there, rising from the valley, impassive and impressive as always.

Inshallah

Want to check out more spectacular places to see in Yemen’s Hadhramaut province? Check out my article here!