Yemen, a land of ancient civilizations and breathtaking landscapes, is often overshadowed by the turmoil of war and political instability. Yet, beneath the headlines of conflict lies a rich cultural tapestry, particularly in regions like Dhamar (also spelled Dhammar or Zamar). This city, nestled in the highlands of Yemen, is a microcosm of Yemeni heritage, where traditions, art, and daily life persist despite the challenges of modernity and war.
Dhamar, located about 100 kilometers south of Sana’a, has long been a cultural and agricultural hub. Its name is believed to derive from Dhamar Ali, a pre-Islamic figure, reflecting its deep historical roots. The city’s architecture, with its distinctive brown brick buildings and towering minarets, tells a story of resilience. Unlike the skyscrapers of Dubai or the bustling streets of Cairo, Dhamar’s charm lies in its simplicity—a place where time seems to move slower, and traditions are fiercely guarded.
No discussion of Yemeni culture is complete without mentioning coffee. Dhamar, like much of Yemen, is part of the birthplace of coffee cultivation. The port of Mocha (Al-Makha) may get the fame, but the highlands of Dhamar have been growing coffee beans for centuries. Today, as global coffee connoisseurs seek out Yemeni Mocha, farmers in Dhamar struggle with water scarcity and economic instability. Yet, the ritual of qahwa (Arabic coffee) remains a cornerstone of social life.
In Dhamar, serving coffee isn’t just about caffeine—it’s a ceremony. The host roasts the beans in front of guests, the aroma filling the room, before grinding them with a mihbaj (traditional mortar and pestle). The coffee is then brewed with spices like cardamom and served in small cups, often accompanied by dates. This ritual is a symbol of hospitality, a value deeply ingrained in Yemeni culture.
Yemenis are known as the People of Poetry, and Dhamar is no exception. Even in the face of war, poetry remains a vital form of expression. Traditional zamil (folk poetry) is often recited at weddings, funerals, and even protests. The verses speak of love, loss, and resistance—echoing the struggles of a people caught in geopolitical crossfires.
One famous Dhamari poet, Abdullah Al-Baradouni, captured the essence of Yemeni resilience with lines like:
"We are the ones who build with ruins, who plant hope in the cracks of despair."
Dhamar is also known for its textiles, particularly jambiyas (traditional daggers) and futa (woven skirts). The jambiya is more than a weapon—it’s a status symbol, often passed down through generations. The belts and sheaths are intricately embroidered, sometimes with silver threads, reflecting the wearer’s tribal identity.
Meanwhile, women in Dhamar continue to weave futas on wooden looms, a skill taught from mother to daughter. These colorful garments are not just clothing but a statement of identity, with patterns varying by region. In a world of fast fashion, Dhamar’s textiles are a testament to slow, deliberate craftsmanship.
Since 2015, Yemen has been embroiled in a brutal civil war, with Dhamar suffering alongside the rest of the country. The city’s university, once a center of learning, has been damaged. Ancient homes have been reduced to rubble. Yet, amid the destruction, the people of Dhamar cling to their traditions.
Markets still buzz with activity, though goods are scarce. Weddings are still celebrated, though with simpler feasts. The war has forced adaptation, but it hasn’t erased identity.
In Dhamar, as in much of Yemen, women have taken on greater roles due to the war. With many men fighting, missing, or killed, women now manage households, businesses, and even farms. They preserve oral histories, teach children traditional songs, and keep the qat (a mild stimulant plant) chewing sessions alive—a social ritual that, despite controversy, remains a cultural fixture.
The question looming over Dhamar is whether its culture can endure the dual pressures of war and globalization. Younger generations, exposed to the internet and diaspora communities, are torn between preserving traditions and seeking new opportunities abroad.
Yet, there are signs of hope. Local NGOs are documenting oral histories. Artists are using social media to share Dhamar’s poetry and music with the world. And, perhaps most importantly, the people of Dhamar continue to gather, to tell stories, to drink coffee, and to remind themselves—and the world—that their culture is worth fighting for.
In the end, Dhamar’s story is not just about Yemen. It’s about how cultures everywhere resist erasure, how they adapt, and how they endure. As the world watches Yemen’s humanitarian crisis, perhaps it’s time to also see its cultural wealth—and the people determined to keep it alive.