The Emir’s Moustache

Even in the jostle of Doha’s bazaar, with white-robed Bedouins, short-wearing tourists and women in dark, baggy thobes pushing in all directions, I could see my friend Henry. Sitting with crossed legs amidst the throng, at a small marble table of a street cafe, he sipped from a glass of mint tea and bare feet in tassel loafers, mauve shirt, matching tie, beige denims, he exuded happiness. It seemed to create an almost illuminated space around him. “Welcome to Qatar”, he beamed at me when he saw me…Continue Reading