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Saudi ArabiaAnimals

by Alexandra Mansilla

His First Dictionary, His Compass. The Life Of a Camel Herder

10 Aug 2025

Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

After writing about Saudi photographer Saleh Althobaiti, I understood why he is so good at photographing camels — why he can capture something others can’t. The first reason is talent, of course. But the other is that he grew up among camels. His father was a camel herder, as was his father before him, and camels were simply part of daily life, as they still are today.
Saleh has started a photo project dedicated to his father. We asked him to share some of those images with us, along with the full story of his dad.
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

Camels were his first mirror

In Saleh’s family, camels weren’t just animals. They were part of the family’s history, shaping the rhythm of daily life for generations. Saleh’s father grew up in a line of camel herders — his grandfather was a camel herder. So was his grandfather’s father. It was never a profession you chose. “It’s passed down in the blood,” Saleh explains, “rooted in the heart before you even know yourself.”
His father grew up to the rhythm of their footsteps — walking with them on long journeys, falling asleep to the sound of their sighs, waking to their absence. “If the camels were gone, the day felt like a day without shade,” Saleh recalls his father saying. “When they returned, the balance inside him came back too.”
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

Childhood, as most of us know it, wasn’t part of his life. He was carried on camel backs, among mountains, wind, and silence. His eyes learned their movements the way we learn letters. He listened to their silence the way you listen to important advice.
To each camel, he gave the respect of a living being, with feelings, longing, and pain, each with its own temperament and secrets. From a young age, he mastered what can’t be taught in words: the language of the eyes, the signals of the body, and the stillness of waiting — something only understood by those who have lived among the mountains.
“When I say my father lived with camels,” Saleh continues, “I don’t mean they were simply part of his life. They lived inside him, shaping his soul and how he saw the world. They were his first mirror, his first dictionary, and the compass by which he learned to understand life.”
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

The first task of the day — walk to the camels

The day started before sunrise. Saleh’s father would pray Fajr and walk to the camels — always the first task of the morning. He checked each animal carefully, reading in their eyes what they needed. Only when they were settled would he think of himself.
He led them to grazing grounds, often in the mountains, and could read the earth like a diary: knowing from a single print which camel had passed and when. If one was close to giving birth, he stayed beside her for nights at a time. “Rest was in their shade,” Saleh recalls, “and time was measured by the sun, not a watch.”
When evening came, he returned home carrying fresh milk, dust on his clothes, and the scent of the desert in his hair — small pieces of his other world brought back into the family’s.
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

A language without words

“If a camel loves you, it will obey you without a stick,” Saleh’s father used to say. “If it trusts you, it will give itself to you.”
His communication with the animals was made of gestures, changes in voice, and quiet observation. He could read their mood from the way they walked, their needs from the way they stood, and their worry from the look in their eyes. He knew when to approach and when to step back, especially during mating season when tempers could rise.
Saleh didn’t learn camel-handling from lectures. His father simply took him along. There were no instructions, just long moments of watching and waiting. “A camel knows your heart before it knows your voice,” his father would say.
Saleh learned to walk softly so as not to disturb the sand, to wait until the animal’s eyes invited him closer, and to keep his voice low and steady.
Camels carried supplies on long journeys between pastures and water, but their role went beyond work. They set the pace of his life, anchored him to the land, and brought a calm only the desert could give.
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

Jokhah and Khalifah

Some camels stayed in Saleh’s father’s memory more than others. Jokhah, a female camel, was one of them. Once, while his father was away, the herd’s caretaker lost sight of her. They found her hours later in the mountains, her leg broken. Saving her was impossible. That night, his father didn’t speak. “It was as if the mountain had taken a piece of his heart,” Saleh says.
Another was Khalifah, who gave birth while the herd was being moved. His father had to leave her behind temporarily, then walk back through the mountains to bring her home with the calf. He ran out of water on the way, surviving by drinking her milk until they reached the village safely.
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Photo: Saleh Althobaiti

Between two worlds

Today, Saleh’s family lives in the city, but his father’s heart remains in the mountains. In the evenings, he still visits the camels, drinks fresh milk, and gathers with fellow herders. They share stories, swap news, and remember the past, keeping the desert alive even at the edge of the city.