Saleh Althobaiti, The Photographer: ‘Behind The Silence Of Camels Lie Stories’

Photography Interview Animals Saudi Arabia

by Alexandra Mansilla

Saleh Althobaiti, The Photographer: ‘Behind The Silence Of Camels Lie Stories’

18 Jun 2025

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

Saleh Althobaiti is a Riyadh-based photographer whose beautiful photographs of camels you have likely seen — mother camels nurturing their babies, gentle embraces, protective gestures, friendships, and of course, their mesmerising long eyelashes. But how does he manage to capture these intimate and heartfelt scenes?

It turns out that Saleh spent his entire life surrounded by camels in Wadi Talh, where these animals were an integral part of everyday life. He grew up observing their behaviours through the changing seasons and years. As Saleh himself says, "For me, camels are not just animals — they are companions within the landscape." Appropriately, his first-ever photograph featured a camel — a mother lovingly hugging her calf.

What have camels taught him? How do they interact and behave? What unique moments has he witnessed, and what stories lie hidden behind all of his captivating images, camel-related and beyond?

We spoke to Saleh and learned about all this and much more.

— Hi Saleh! Could you please tell me a bit about your background? Where were you born and raised? What is your family like?

— I was born in Taif and spent most of my childhood in Wadi Talh, among camels and alongside my father. Life there was calm and closely connected to nature.

We are a simple family, and growing up in that place shaped the way I see the world — with calm, attentiveness, and a deep sense of connection to the land and its rhythm.

— How did your journey with photography begin? What were some of the first things you captured?

— My journey with photography began in high school. I was with two friends, and one of them was a photographer. He handed me his camera and asked me to take a photo of him. The moment I held it, I felt something click — I liked the weight of it, the feeling of holding a frame in my hands.

Soon after, I bought my first professional camera. Since I had grown up around camels and spent a lot of time with my father among them, it felt natural to start photographing them. I didn’t see them as subjects — they were familiar to me, full of emotion, calm, and deeply connected to our lives.

The first photo I ever took was of a mother camel gently wrapping her neck around her newborn. It wasn’t staged or planned — just a quiet moment that moved me. That is when I realised photography, for me, is not about the perfect shot… It is about capturing a feeling.

I didn’t think about composition or technique at the time. I simply reacted to what I saw and felt. That moment stayed with me, not just as a photograph, but as a realisation that images can hold emotion — and that photography, for me, begins when something moves you enough to press the shutter.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— This photo is still one of your favourites, right?

— Yes, among all the photos I have taken throughout my years as a photographer, this image holds a special place above the rest. It is called “The Warm Embrace.”

It wasn’t just the beginning of my photography journey — it was the first moment I truly understood that a camera is more than a tool; it is a mirror for unspoken emotions.

There was no preparation, no setup… I was simply there. The camera in my hand, and the scene unfolding on its own, as if life itself whispered to me: “Pay attention… this is the real beginning.”

I wasn’t thinking about lighting, angles, or composition. All I felt was a deep, overwhelming warmth — as if the photo was embracing me, not the other way around. That is why I chose the name “The Warm Embrace.” Because what happened between the mother and her calf wasn’t just a gesture — it was a message: tenderness needs no explanation.

This photo was the first time I realised that photography isn’t about how things look, but about how they feel. A powerful image doesn’t need complex effects — it needs an honest moment and a pure intention.

And every time I return to it, years later, I feel like I am returning to my own beginning… where there were no rigid rules, no technical demands — just a pure emotion flowing from the lens straight to the heart, without asking permission.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— Is photography your full-time job, or do you do something else as well?

— I studied microbiology at university, but that first spark I felt when I held a camera never faded. While I was still a student, I continued taking photos — not just as a hobby, but as a way of seeing the world.

After graduating, photography naturally became a bigger part of my life. Today, it is my full-time profession. It started as a moment of curiosity, but it turned into a path — one that continues to shape how I live and express myself.

— How much time have you spent with camels over the years? What could you say about their behaviour?

— I have spent most of my life around camels. Since childhood, I was with my father in Wadi Talh, and camels were a constant part of our daily life. I didn’t observe them as a researcher would — I lived with them. I watched them in silence, over the years and seasons.

What stood out most to me is their emotional sensitivity. Camels are not cold or detached as many people think. They remember faces, respond to familiar voices, and express emotion — sometimes with gentleness, sometimes with pride.

You learn their moods not through study, but through presence. You notice the way they lower their head when calm, or how they shift their feet when uneasy. It is in the details — quiet, slow, but full of meaning.

For me, camels are not just animals. They are companions in the landscape, full of memory and presence. My camera only captures a part of that — the rest, I carry with me.

— Do you remember any particular camel that left a lasting impression on you?

— Yes — there is a memory I will never forget. I was still a child in Wadi Talh when one of our camels, which was close to giving birth, suddenly disappeared. Like many animals do when labour approaches, she quietly separated herself from the herd in search of a safe place to deliver.

By morning, we realised she was missing. My father and I searched for two full days, filled with worry. On the third day, someone called to say he had seen her around 25 kilometres away.

We rushed to the location and found her. But the scene was painful. A metal wire had been tied around her neck, with small tin cans attached to it. The noise forced her to keep running without rest.

It was a cruel act, and one I will never forget. Since that day, I have come to realise that behind the silence of camels lie stories of fear and fatigue — stories only those who have truly lived with them can begin to understand.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— Wow, what a story... Can you say that camels taught you something?

— Yes — but not through a single moment or event. They taught me over time, through quiet presence and careful observation.

To someone who has lived closely with camels, they are not silent creatures, as many might think. They are full of expression, just in their own way. They don’t raise their voices, they don’t rush their steps, and they don’t react hastily. Over the years, they taught me how to slow down, how to wait, and how to understand without needing words.

Through camels, I learned the meaning of true patience — not just waiting, but finding calm within that waiting. I learned that sincere emotions don’t need noise. One look from a mother camel to her newborn, or a subtle movement of her tail, can say so much — if you know how to see.

Camels also taught me to notice the smallest details — how they turn their heads, when they pause, how they rest beneath a palm tree or move with the wind. These quiet details, though easily missed, shaped how I see the world as a photographer. They taught me to appreciate the moment before capturing it, and to wait for it, not force it.

So my connection with camels was never just a visual experience. It was a quiet, personal education — one that made me more present and more aware of the gentle beauty of life itself.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— I also noticed that one of your photos was selected for the cover of the book "Camels from Saudi Arabia." Can you tell me more about that image?

— I was nominated to photograph the cover of the book "Camels from Saudi Arabia" in 2024 — the official “Year of the Camel.” It was a great honour for me, and a personal milestone I deeply cherish. The image portrays camels in their natural environment, without exaggeration or artificiality, reflecting the authenticity and simplicity I grew up with.

I was keen for the photo to speak the identity of both place and time — from the sunlight to the camel’s gaze — I tried to make every element feel as honest and true as possible.

Instagram: @s_althobaiti1

— Five years ago, one of your photos was featured by National Geographic. Could you tell me the story behind it?

— The photo was taken at the camel racing track in Taif, during one of the most intense sandstorms I have ever experienced while photographing. I was originally there to document the atmosphere of the race, but the storm completely transformed the scene — dust filled the air, and visibility dropped almost to zero.

Instead of stopping, I chose to face the moment with my camera. I moved through the camels, looking for a unique composition amidst all the chaos. Then, in a brief but powerful instant, I captured the image that was later featured in National Geographic, as part of a special issue celebrating Saudi National Day, alongside a selection of distinguished Saudi photographers.

It was a fast, fleeting moment, but deeply emotional. The scene was full of movement, noise, and visual confusion… and in that moment, I felt like I had captured something real — a raw piece of the desert, and a genuine reflection of the bond between people and camels in this traditional sport.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti (National Geographic)

— What is happening in this photo? Who is the man in the image? Do you remember that moment?

— The photo captures a moment of Al-Ta‘sheer — a well-known cultural tradition in Taif. It is a ceremonial walk marked by steady steps and the carrying of a maqma‘ — a traditional firearm used to fire gunpowder — and it blends display with dignity.

Al-Ta‘sheer. Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

The man in the image is performing Al-Ta‘sheer, holding the maqma‘ with a sense of pride and familiarity, as if it were a ritual he had known since childhood. I was present with my camera, observing in silence. It didn’t feel like a performance — it felt like a visual retelling of a long-standing memory.

I didn’t ask him to stop or pose… I simply witnessed the moment as it unfolded. That is why I see this photo as a living record of our intangible heritage — something that can’t be staged or repeated with the same honesty anywhere else.

Jabra Palace. Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— You once mentioned that you used to visit Jabra Palace quite often. Why was (or is) it a special place for you?

— Jabra Palace holds a special place in my heart. I used to visit it often, especially during the early days of my photography journey. It felt like a space where time stood still — a blend of history and calm.

What drew me to it most was its architectural design — the harmony, the old details, the way light slipped through the windows and mud walls. All of it was deeply inspiring for a photographer.

Jabra Palace. Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

It wasn’t just a building… it was a complete visual scene, offering a wide space for imagination — a place where you could reflect on the connection between place, people, memory, and history. That is why every visit felt like a fresh beginning and a source of renewed creative energy.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

— And what about this photo series? What is going on here? Who are the people in the photo? What were the circumstances when you took it?

— This photo series was taken on the Day of Arafah in 2022, specifically at Mount Arafat (Jabal Al-Rahmah) — one of the most sacred and symbolic places in the pilgrimage journey. I was there not just as a photographer, but as a witness to one of the most profound spiritual moments a person can experience.

As I walked among the pilgrims, every face told a different story. Some stood silently gazing at the sky, others raised their hands in prayer, and some wept quietly. They came from different nations and spoke different languages, but what united them was stronger than anything that separated them: humility, surrender, and hope.

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

I didn’t direct anyone or ask them to look at the camera. I simply tried to be present without interfering, waiting patiently for moments that spoke for themselves. And each photo that came from this series wasn’t just a frame… it was a feeling. A moment of ascent.

The heat was intense, and dust filled the air, but what I saw in the eyes of the people overshadowed any physical discomfort. I felt I was documenting something that happens only once a year, but lives on in the heart forever.

That is why this series is one of the closest to my heart. Because it captures people in both their most vulnerable and most powerful states at once: vulnerable before their Creator, powerful in their sincerity.

by Alexandra Mansilla