Behind the aura of power, a genuine man of the people

Peter Hellyer

• Last Updated: November 01. 2009 8:25PM UAE / November 1. 2009 4:25PM GMT

Five years ago today, the UAE and the rest of the Islamic world was just over half-way through Ramadan. At sunset I attended an iftar given by one of the embassies. Much of the conversation was about the health of the President, Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, who was seriously ill. For weeks, there had been false rumours that he had already passed away.

An hour or so after leaving, I received a phone call. I was needed in the office immediately. I stayed there until around 8am the next day, helping to inform the world in a timely manner, went home for three hours’ sleep, then went back to work and stayed until nearly dawn the next day – by which time Sheikh Zayed had been buried, the UAE had a new President, His Highness Sheikh Khalifa, and the UAE had begun a period of widely felt sorrow and mourning.

I had the good fortune to be involved, albeit intermittently and peripherally, with the work of the late President. My first encounter with him was indirect, but informative in understanding the way he thought. In 1973 I was writing for several small publications in London, generally on Middle Eastern affairs. In October, the Arab-Israeli war broke out. A day or so later I received a call from the UAE embassy. To ensure that the Arab side of the conflict was properly reported, Sheikh Zayed, then in London, had instructed the ambassador to offer the British media tickets and accommodation so that they could send reporters to the front.

A few calls revealed that the mainstream media had already made their arrangements. “So contact the smaller media, who can’t afford to send their people,” the ambassador was told. Hence the telephone call, and a memorable fortnight spent between Cairo and the Suez Canal.

Eighteen months later I was working with the British news broadcaster ITN when they were asked by Abu Dhabi TV to produce a film on a state visit by Sheikh Zayed to France. As one of the few in the office who knew anything about the Arab world, I was asked to take part. The filming of the formal events was followed by a one-on-one interview (through an interpreter) in a state room of the Elysee Palace.

I remember noticing that Sheikh Zayed, unlike me, didn’t perspire under the TV lights – but at that time I had not experienced an Abu Dhabi summer. More impressive, though, was his confidence in front of the camera, guiding a nervous interviewer through the encounter. The man had a presence about him, a charisma that was immediately evident.

Over the next few years I took part in more of Sheikh Zayed’s overseas visits, seeing him in both official and off-duty roles. In the former he was in his element, with imperious monarchs such as the Shah of Iran, revolutionaries such as Fidel Castro and all manner of heads of state in between. But the off-duty moments provided greater insights into the man.

In Iran, we rested in Isfahan for a day or so after the end of the official visit. Sitting one morning in a majlis in the hotel garden, we saw some American tourists approaching. “Gee,” one said loudly, “those look like real Ay-rab sheikhs.” The Iranian security guards bristled, but Sheikh Zayed waved them aside, allowing the tourists to approach and take their photos, before I was asked to tell them quietly that, yes indeed, they were real sheikhs, a President among them, and that it was time for them to move on.

On a visit to North Yemen, the vice president invited us to lunch at his country stronghold. We arrived in a cloud of dust, to a welcome from dancing tribesmen firing their Kalashnikovs into the air. Ignoring the concerns of the security teams, Sheikh Zayed grinned broadly, grabbed a gun and joined in, much to the crowd’s delight. An Arab chieftain among celebrating tribesmen, he was immediately and completely at home.

After a non-aligned summit in Sri Lanka in 1976, we were preparing to leave the hotel for the airport when one of our party was given one last task. Sheikh Zayed had instructed that every member of the staff who worked on the floor where we had been staying, right down to the man who cleaned the shoes left outside our rooms overnight, was to be given an envelope containing a token of thanks. It was probably equivalent to their year’s salary.

Others have many more tales than I of Zayed the leader and Zayed the man, but there are two other glimpses of him that I remember well. Driving home along the Eastern Corniche late one night after a stint of newspaper-editing, I stopped at a red traffic light. A large Mercedes drew up next to me, driven by Sheikh Zayed, with Sheikh Tahnoun bin Mohammed next to him. No outriders, no security – just a President driving around to look at the city he was building. We nodded to each other and smiled, the lights changed, and we drove on.

Some years later, my wife came home from the Mina Zayed market with a story to tell. She was inspecting some fruit when she realised that there was a hubbub approaching. She turned to see a car, occupied just by Sheikh Zayed and a driver, gently making its way through the crowd. Stallholders rushed to offer him mangoes and oranges, shoppers reached out to shake his hand as he grinned broadly. He was much loved, and he knew it.

A few days after his death I had the opportunity to pay my personal condolences to one of his sons. “We have all been so fortunate to have lived under his leadership,” I told him. I wouldn’t change that today. He is, rightly, called the Father of the Nation. He was a remarkable leader and a remarkable man.

Peter Hellyer is a writer and consultant specialising in the UAE’s heritage and environment and has written extensively on the country’s social, political and economic development