A Friday Morning in Nizwa: Daggers, Auctions, and Goats

It was nearly six on a Friday morning in Nizwa, Oman. I stepped out of my boutique hotel, grabbed a handful of dark-colored, delicious dates (Oman’s sweet and sticky national fruit), and headed toward the city’s Friday market.

I came expecting goats. What I found first was a crowd gathered around silver daggers.

Before dawn, traders gathered around piles of silver khanjars, auctioneers shouted bids over baskets of garlic, and goats paraded through a dusty ring in front of hundreds of spectators. What began as a visit to Oman’s famous Friday goat market became one of the most unexpected mornings of my trip.

Just outside the central souq (the Arabic word for market), I stumbled upon a group of around 20 men gathered in the pre-dawn darkness. They were dressed in their dishdashas, the long white robes that are the everyday dress of Omani men. Not only was I the only foreigner there, but I was also the only woman.

As I stood at a slight distance away from the group, I witnessed a few curious glances. Yet, they were unbothered by my loitering. There were string lights hung between the trees, giving the surroundings a warm, amber glow. The birds were already chirping, impossibly loud for that hour, filling the darkness with sound.

I watched as this quiet gathering of men stood close together, passing objects between themselves in a casual manner. They were trading khanjar: the traditional Omani curved daggers that have become a symbol of national pride, as well as a fashionable accessory for men dressed in traditional attire.

Also being exchanged were old rifles, inspected closely by each man. There were no market stalls and no price tags. The men stood among themselves, handling the pieces, turning them over, negotiating prices.

At one point, I approached the makeshift table, which was really just a stone bench built around a tree. Although communication was limited, as we didn’t speak each other’s language, a few of the men showed me the daggers and posed for a photo.

None of this was put on for visitors. It felt like I came across a scene that could have taken place in any time period. It existed entirely on its own terms, in its own hour, before the rest of the morning began.

The Art of Omani Auctions

I walked on and saw wooden tables had been set up, piled with colorful fruits and veggies. Looking around, there were only men in sight. Again I wondered to myself, where were the women?

Where Are All the Women?

The Public Sphere: In Oman, I rarely saw women out. In traditional towns like Nizwa, markets and squares have been (and continue to be) male-dominated spaces.

The Private Sphere: Omani women are the pillars of the home, managing everything from finances to education and the children.

The Culture: As a frequent solo traveler, I felt more respected in Oman than almost anywhere else. Omani men were so non-intrusive and respectful of my space that I felt almost invisible, a silent observer in a white-robed world.

As the light changed, seemingly so did everything else; I saw more people arriving, the sellers’ activity now really picking up. I passed through the gates of the area labeled “fish souq,” but there were literally no fish to be found. Instead, I was met with a wall of men, crowded into this open-air space. I slipped through the crowd, a solo woman in a sea of white dishdashas. To describe the scene as bustling would be underselling it.

It turns out the heart of the Friday food market is found here: the Munadah. This is the traditional public auction system in Oman that has been the core of Omani commerce for centuries.

There were clusters of locals gathered around different men who were auctioning off seasonal produce. It was very different from Western auctions, the likes of which I’ve only ever seen in movies. Instead of the auctioneer standing on a stage or behind a podium calling over a microphone, in Oman, the Al Munadi (auctioneer) is mobile. He takes the product around the circle so every potential bidder can get a close-up look at each item, even allowing them to touch and smell it.

Purple Gold: The Garlic Auction

Standing in the middle of a circle, I watched one Al Munadi hoist up a blue plastic crate of vibrant purple bulbs. This purple variety is considered the cream of the crop, especially when it’s grown around Nizwa and other interior regions of Oman.

The Al Munadi moved with a rhythmic chant, calling out bids as he showed the crate to the customers. “Ethnein wa ‘ashreen!” he shouted (22 Omani rials, about $57) for a single basket of garlic. Then came the call: “Haddi?” (Anyone else?).

At that price, buyers inspected each bulb carefully. They checked weight, color, and skin integrity, indications of of freshness and quality. Visiting in late February meant catching the crop at its peak: freshly harvested and only available for a few weeks. It created a clear “gold rush” energy in the market.

The Date Palm Industry and Its “Pods”

Next up, I wandered to a different circle where male date palm flowers (technically called spathes) were being auctioned off. At first glance, I thought they looked like creamy-white wheat bundled in pods. Farmers use them to pollinate female date palms and ensure the year’s harvest.

The Al Munadi shouted “khalik, khalik!” (“stay, stay!”) as he raised another bundle into the air. Unlike the $57 garlic, these were only priced around $3 USD each. Farmers often buy them by the dozen, a small price for something so essential.

Timing is everything in the Omani interior. By late February, the palms are just beginning to flower, and the window is short/ Once the spathes open, the pollen only lasts a few days. The urgency explained the energy of the auction.

The Modern Munudah

Despite the ancient feel of the Munadah, I noticed a distinctly modern addition: smartphone screens being held up and filming the auctioneer like he was the lead singer at a concert.

They were likely sending real-time updates to business partners or family members back at the farm, reviewing the quality of the day’s products before committing to a price. It was such an interesting time warp; a 500-year-old trade system being bolstered by technology.

Despite modern technology, and the possibility of online sales, the Munadah persists for its history, trust, and sense of community.

The Goat Parade

Finally, I made it to the “main event”: the Nizwa goat market, just adjacent to the fish souq. Although the Munadah auction had been busy, it was nothing compared to what was to come.

Technically, this is a general livestock market, but the goats are the undisputed stars. The G.O.A.T., if you will (bad joke, sorry). Farmers and shepherds travel from across the region to auction their best stock or scout for new additions. While some are kept for milk or breeding, most are destined for the kitchen. In Oman, a goat isn’t just livestock; it’s the centerpiece of every major celebration and the heartbeat of the local food culture.

As I strolled around the concrete courtyard, I felt a bit underwhelmed at first. I didn’t realize it yet, but this was the calm before the storm. There were some men standing around with their animals and a few other tourists milling about. Several men were inspecting goats who were tied up to a pole. Overall, the Omani men were pretty rough with the animals, with one exception. A father scratched a young kid (baby goat) under the chin and his young son followed, petting the white coat of a nearby goat. It was a rare moment of gentleness amidst the intensity of the auction.

Then, I saw locals and tourists alike climbing up to the raised viewing platform overlooking the ring. “They must know something I don’t,” I thought. So, curiosity and my constant desire for good photo ops led me to join the club. A nice young man helped me scramble up to the platform and while the view was unparalleled, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of an obvious way down. I pushed the thought aside, figuring that would be Future-Trish’s problem, and turned my attention to the ring below.

By 7:26 AM, bam! The spectacle began. From my vantage point, it was mesmerizing to watch the sea of white robes and kuma caps moving gracefully around the circle.

Men paraded their goats around the arena, with interested buyers shouting out bids from the sidelines. Once a shepherd heard a price he liked, he stepped over to speak with the potential buyer. The customer closely inspected the goat, trying to determine the health and quality of the animal. I saw these buyers open the goats’ eyes to find any sign of illness and pry their mouths open to check their teeth (a reliable age indicator).

The sounds were equally as electric as the visuals; many men shouting at once, their voices blending together. Each seller called out their starting bid in rapid succession. Buyers sporadically called out “huna! huna!” (here, here!) or whistled to get the seller’s attention. It felt more like a sporting event where the spectators were also players in the game.

At one point, a shepherd stopped and leaned in to speak with someone; there was a quick transition from loud shouting to the focused conversation to complete the sale. After an animated discussion, the buyer handed over a wad of Omani Rials. This market is a cash-only affair with transactions sealed with handshakes. There are no receipts or refunds; a deal is done when the money hits the seller’s palm.

What struck me was the sheer, dizzying scale. Hundreds of animals, hundreds of people: everything happening all at once. The energy was both exciting and overwhelming. I found that the Nizwa goat market is a beautiful, ancient tradition that continues to demonstrate just how vital this market is to the soul of the Omani interior.

A Crash Landing in Nizwa

Just as quickly as it started, the market seemed to wind down. Standing on a ledge built for function, not tourists, there wasn’t an easy way for me to get back to ground-level. I missed my footing on the small concrete pedestal that others were using as a makeshift step, and before I knew it, I came crashing to the ground below.

As nearby onlookers swiveled their heads to see what all the hubbub was about, I popped up, more embarrassed than hurt. By 7:50 AM, I was walking back towards my hotel, passing in the shadows of the beautiful Nizwa fort. By the time most tourists were just waking up and heading to breakfast, the most authentic part of the Omani week was already wrapping up.

The Nizwa Souq Time Warp

Looking back at the timestamps on my pictures and videos, I realized something shocking: this entire morning, from the quiet dagger trade to the peak of the Munadah auction happened in just 27 minutes. Within the time it takes someone to have their morning cup of coffee, I discovered a secret dagger trade, witnessed a “purple gold” garlic auction, learned the complex biology of pollination pods, and found my way into the heart of a 500-year-old livestock circle.

Ultimately, the Friday morning Nizwa goat market had lived up to the hype. Not just because of the sights, but because of the sheer, un-staged reality of it all: my sore back, their dusty dishdashas and all.