Saudi Arabia’s Street Photographers
I got the chance to interview five up-and-coming Saudi street photographers documenting social changes and daily life in the country’s newfound period of opening.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A Saudi man looks into the camera. Abdulrahman Saleh.
Starting in early 2016, Saudi Arabia entered a period of rapid domestic change unlike anything the kingdom has seen in its history.
Recent reforms have targeted the Kingdom’s oil-dependant economy, as well as the ultraconservative Wahhabi social and religious structures that have been a defining factor in Saudi Arabia since its founding in 1932.
Long seen as the Arab world’s most conservative and least open nation, Saudi Arabia was built upon a tradition of Islamic Puritanism paired with absolute hereditary rule by the Al Saud family. However, with the ascension of Crown Prince Mohammed Bin Salman, a series of liberalizing reforms have been successfully implemented, much to the surprise of people outside and inside the Kingdom.
The Crown Prince has curtailed the powers of Saudi Arabia’s hardline mutaween (religious police), removed of the ban on female drivers, weakened the male-guardianship system, launched public music concerts and sports games, increased the presence of women in the Saudi workforce, and opened the country up to international tourism for the first time through an overly welcoming new visa-on-arrival program.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A look from inside a “town bus” in the outskirts of Riyadh. Abdulrahman Saleh.
The real question here though is what does all this social change mean for the lives of people in the Kingdom? After visiting the country myself— an early beneficiary of their visa on arrival program— I was honestly a bit shocked by the level of diversity I found.
Saudi Arabia is ethnically mixed, people are openly opinionated, the landscapes range from your typical flat desert to lush green mountains and extinct volcanoes. There is a side to this country that is not well seen by outsiders, and the stories of people living here do not tend to make it far beyond political headlines about women drivers.
Reflecting on the diversity I found during my own short stay in the Kingdom, I decided to reach out to Saudis who are working to document daily life across the country. Free from polished images of white sand beaches, turquoise waters of the Red Sea, and fine dining, I want to meet those who are on the front lines bringing the diversity of Saudi Arabian life through imagery to others.
Al Baidaa, Saudi Arabia. Norah’s Reflections in Windows series shows her— the photographer— reflected in a bedouin family’s car window. Norah Al-Amri.
Saudi street photographers offer something hard to find elsewhere, especially in a world of posed Instagram imagery and tourist board campaigns. They offer raw, and at times gritty, authenticity. It’s from a point of authenticity that we can glean a more nuanced understanding of what it means to be a person living in Saudi Arabia.
I reached out first to Norah Al-Amri. Norah is a bubbly and well-informed 28-year-old girl from Riyadh with a passion for photography. I was first drawn to a collection of photographs she published called “Reflections in Windows” where she as the photographer can be seen in a reflection within a part of each image in the series. I asked her about the motivation behind her work.
“I feel I’m lucky to have been working on documenting life in Saudi Arabia in time when my country is changing quickly, and that I’m able to share it with the world.” Norah wrote back.
And that’s exactly it— this is a unique opportunity for local photographers in the Kingdom to document the changes that are happening right in front of their eyes. This kind of work is not just fascinating and beautiful, but also fundamental in understanding and honouring the human stories from a country in transition. “So what have you learnt in this process?” I asked back.
“My experiences with photography have helped me realize how diverse my country is in every aspect and how many beautiful stories around us there are that need to be photographed and shared!” Norah replied.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. Men enjoy a drink in a cafe. Norah Al-Amri.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A man reads the newspaper. Norah Al-Amri.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A man gets a shave in a barber shop. Norah Al-Amri.
One thing I noticed during many of my own travels in the Islamic world was how difficult it was for men, local or foreign, to photograph women. On countless occasions, I have experienced women running away or lowering their niqabs to block their eyes at the mere sight of a camera. I’ve seen women in Yemen throw rocks at boys with cellphone cameras. I felt the presence of this taboo even more so in Saudi Arabia, with its long history of strict Wahhabi Islamic law, male guardianship and nearly ubiquitous abayas and niqabs.
I asked Norah if she felt there were any particular challenges or unique opportunities as a female photographer in the Kingdom.
While Norah does not believe there are any major challenges for a female photographer beyond her own capabilities and personal limitations, she pointed out something important: “I guess being a female photographer in my country gave me the opportunity to get close and photograph people easily, especially women.”
Being able to not only see into but also document the world of women in the Kingdom is something special. Norah launched a photo series called “Black is My Color” highlighting the daily lives of women in the traditional abaya.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A woman walks into a convenience store. Norah Al-Amri.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A woman in a full abaya, niqab and black gloves sits on a couch in the streets. Norah Al-Amri.
Early one morning in the city of Ha’il I decided to wander around the outdoor date market with my camera. Medjool dates are famed throughout Saudi Arabia; I’ve even been told that they are the country’s second-largest export after petroleum products. Ha’il is one of the Kingdom’s main date growing regions. The outdoor marketplace is where farmers come into the city and trade dates.
At the sight of a foreigner, the date farmers and marketeers would call me over to drink tea and sample their dates. They had no interest in selling them to me, knowing I was not a wholesale date buyer. Rather, they insisted I take boxes of them for free. As is customary in the Middle East, I made numerous attempts to buy them, but the payments were adamantly refused.
However, the intimidatingly-sized camera around my shoulder proved to be a more curious item.
I wanted to do some portrait photography of the men in the market; and most of them obliged openly, with a few exceptions from some rather curmudgeonly old sheikhs. But what stands out in my mind was an intriguing explanation I got from one of the few English-speakers in the market.
A Bedouin man in his sixties who spoke nearly impeccable English with a slow, deep voice commented: “For me, it is okay to take my photo, but I would never put up any photo in my home, and I don’t keep any photos of myself or my family.”
“Why not?” I asked him. “Because a photo prevents the angels from entering the home.” He responded with a sly smile before handing me another fistful of dates.
For some Islamic puritans, photography is still seen as somehow un-Islamic, as some people believe photographs, or rather the act of “picture-making”, can either lead to idolatry or “imitating the creation of Allah”, both grave sins in Islam.
Ha’il, Saudi Arabia. A date trader shows off his products at the Ha’il outdoor date market. Matt Reichel.
Abdulrahman Saleh, a street photographer from Riyadh, also brought up the issue of photography’s taboo status during our interview: “10 years ago, people would look at a street photographer with a lot of suspicion and negative feelings. They would never agree to have their photo taken. But now things have been getting much better for photographers, as people’s attitudes towards photography are changing. Smartphones are everywhere in Saudi Arabia, so a lot of people take photos of themselves, their families and their experiences. They have become more open to letting photographers like me take their photos as well. Photography does not feel so taboo anymore.”
Abdulrahman’s work is stunning, he has a naturally artistic eye and uses that to tell stories of the lives of many people in Saudi Arabia’s large expatriate labourer community. As a Saudi-raised, Kenyan-born Somali refugee, he approaches life with a distinct openness and curiosity.
He got his start in photography by documenting his daily commute from his home in the Riyadh suburbs to college. When he reflects on this period of his life, he credits those hours in transit as his inspiration: “Instead of wasting all this time doing nothing, I would spend these three to four hours a day in transit listening in on people’s stories and gossip on the bus, or looking outside the window at daily life on the streets around me.”
He continues, “I observed hundreds and hundreds of stories, and in 2012 when I finally got a camera, I was inspired to take photos inside and outside the bus. It was almost like a mini-documentary project.”
Abdulrahman then took this passion for capturing small, intimate, human moments around the country with him, documenting weddings on the streets, Afro-Saudi musical ceremonies, and the holy pilgrimages to Makkah and Al Madinah. He crafts each image to be both genuine and emotionally powerful.
Al Madinah, Saudi Arabia. Local residents participate in a traditional yet rarely seen Hijazi folk dance called the Oboe. Abdulrahman Saleh.
Makkah, Saudi Arabia. Pilgrims gather at the Kaaba Doors. Abdulrahman Saleh.
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. A Sudanese man claims a space on a prayer mat in anticipation of many worshippers for Eid prayers. Abdulrahman Saleh.
I scoured through Norah’s recommendations. My inbox was full of profiles from across the country, each photographer came with a different style, aesthetic and mission behind their work. I interviewed five of these photographers, and each one was full of insights and stories from various perspectives and parts of the country.
It’s easy to just think of Saudi Arabia as a barren, oil-dependent desert land with a few uninteresting megacities and glitzy palaces. Not only is this inaccurate, but this kind of stereotype also diminishes the diversity that can be found in the country. One region that, to me anyway, truly stands out is the southwestern mountains along the border with Yemen.
Ibrahim Sarhan’s mission is to document the most remote communities in the country. He travels regularly to the border region to stay with the tribes nestled between in these verdant peaks of southwest Arabia.
I was curious as to why Ibrahim is so keen on documenting this region in particular. He explains: “Asir, Jazan and Najran have the right mixture of natural beauty, historical depth, ancient ruins and greatly preserved and intact traditional culture.”
Ibrahim continues to tell me that he has a particular fascination with cultures that have been developed in the mountains: “I believe people who live in difficult geographical locations are the least affected by a ‘flattening’ identity based on increased globalization; rather, they are more authentic and they have great stories to tell.”
There are still many villages in this remote region that grow coffee the traditional way, handpicking every fruit and drying them themselves. Coffee originated in this area and Ibrahim believes those who still harvest it are actively preserving an element of human heritage in Arabia.
When I asked Ibrahim what is the one photo he has taken that gives him the most memories, he did not hesitate to answer.
“Three Generations of Coffee.” Ibrahim states with confidence.
“Why this photo is special to you?”
“The photo shows a coffee farmer with his son holding a branch of a coffee tree in a symbolic representation of the connection between the boy and his grandfather, who planted this tree and died before his grandchildren were able to know him.”
Asir, Saudi Arabia. A father and son stand immersed in a coffee tree that grandfather planted many generations ago. Ibrahim Sarhan.
Jazan, Saudi Arabia. A village clings to the side of a green mountain in southwestern Saudi Arabia. Ibrahim Sarhan.
Asir, Saudi Arabia. Flower men from a tribe living in the mountainous border region between Saudi Arabia and Yemen. Ibrahim Sarhan.
Najran, Saudi Arabia. A village granary in the mountains. Ibrahim Sarhan.
On social media, Abdullah Al-Malki’s profile photo shows a black and white side profile shot with headphones on and a short-cropped artists’ beard. He instantly gives off a cool, hipster vibe, but I know he cares deeply about his work.
Abdullah grew up in Abha, in southwestern Saudi Arabia, but moved in the holy city of Makkah as a teenager to pursue his education. He has been based there ever since.
Reflecting on his life’s trajectory, Abdullah comments: “When I moved to Makkah I witnessed a lot of emotions and scenes that made me wonder: ‘Why are people not able to see these feelings and how can I transmit these emotional scenes to other people?’”
As an artist, Abdullah seeks to establish a real connection with his subjects before he uses his camera. He sees his camera as a tool to transmit these human emotions: “I want to tell the story about these people— these frames in time using a visual medium like photography— to bring out the emotions in a photograph. For me, this usually reflects a spiritual connection that has been experienced.”
Makkah is an excellent place for combining cultural street photography with spirituality. The city attracts two million Muslim pilgrims a year from all over the world as they partake in the Hajj, one of the five pillars of the Islamic faith.
This makes for some supreme people watching. Abdullah finds much of his own artistic inspiration this way: “Watching people— simply watching humans for hours in the streets of Makkah just for the sake of seeing how they act and behave, the situations they are in, and how their different cultures reflect on their behaviour— is my passion and my inspiration.”
Since I am not permitted to visit myself, I asked Abdullah to describe the most emotional moment he has captured on film in the holy city.
“The most emotional moment I experienced was in Makkah on a day called Arafa. Tons of people gather on that day and the sacred, spiritual energy is huge. Besides being a Muslim, I believe this gathering represents something particularly meaningful for humanity and human spirituality. The photo [I took] attempts to capture this feeling as if you are present at the ceremony that day.”
Makkah, Saudi Arabia. Muslim pilgrims gather for prayer. Abdullah Al-Malki.
Makkah, Saudi Arabia. A man in deep prayer while in pilgrimage in Makkah. Abdullah Al-Malki.
Makkah, Saudi Arabia. Men gather to watch a volleyball match on the outskirts of Makkah. Abdullah Al-Malki.
“To be honest, most of my images are disliked by the tourism ministry,” acknowledges Zuhair Al-Traifi. He continues, “in their mind, they want to present photos that only show positive, beautiful, vibrant and clean places.” Zuhair’s work does not fall into any of those categories. Rather, he focuses his efforts on documenting alleyways, chaotic markets, and graffiti-lined streets in an effort to, as he says, “show what's truly happening in the daily lives of people in Saudi Arabia.”
Zuhair comes from the eastern city of Dammam. Unlike the cities, towns and villages of Saudi Arabia’s west, Dammam is flat, industrial, and relatively new, having only been established some 80 years ago. Like the other photographers I interviewed and profiled for this project, his upbringing has had a profound effect on his photography and personal mission.
Zuhair believes that documenting local life in these communities helps provide insights into how normal, working people live in the country. His images depict old men sitting together chatting over tea, women in black abaya walking in the alleys holding their children’s hands as they go to school, and market sellers with their goods laid out on cloths along the streets. He shows neighbourhoods built decades ago, places he describes as “on the verge of extinction in Saudi Arabia— the old buildings, the traditional clothing, the people's habits and traditions.”
These are scenes that I saw all the time walking around Saudi Arabian cities. Yet they rarely make it out into the public domain. Zuhair’s mission should no be overlooked, as while his images are gritty, messy, and unrefined, they are real.
As the Kingdom moves further towards economic and social liberalization, and the beautification campaigns that accompany these changes, old neighbourhoods are torn down to be replaced with standardized, clean, nondescript apartment buildings. So much of what once stood is to be lost forever.
While photographing an old neighbourhood in Makkah, Zuhair recounts an interaction he had with the residents there: “When I was photographing this area, a lot of people were asking me: ‘Are you photographing for the demolitions?’ Because they were told the government had plans to demolish the whole area because they believed it had a lot of crime like drugs, kidnapping, and stealing… but deep inside of me I was moved to document this place before it would be lost forever.”
Makkah, Saudi Arabia. Residents gather young and old in an alleyway of Makkah city. Zuhair Al-Traifi.
Qatif, Saudi Arabia. A man a Al-Khamis market shows photos of his deceased relatives and friends that he keeps in his wallet to remember them. Zuhair Al-Traifi.
Al Hasa, Saudi Arabia. An old woman in a black abaya and niqab walks down a residential street. Zuhair Al-Traifi.
I have a genuine fascination with people who work to document their own neighbourhoods. I want to learn more about the purpose behind their efforts, where their creativity comes from, the way they interact and view their own communities, and what they seek to show.
I find this is something that is hard, if not impossible, to get through a foreign correspondent’s report. To a certain extent, we’ve become accustomed to reading about places and seeing images from communities that have been curated for us through the eyes of someone who speaks our language and knows what would interest us as readers.
But at the same time, there’s a gaping hole to this kind of learning. We are missing local perspectives in the crafting of the stories themselves. After visiting Saudi Arabia myself this past year I wanted to learn more from how local content creators and storytellers see their own community, and that formed my inspiration behind this piece and this project in general.
The five photographers I interviewed each have such different styles, come from different backgrounds, and are working to showcase unique elements of their own country. I appreciate the care they put into their work. They are on the front lines of documenting aspects of life in Saudi Arabia that remain a mystery to so many outsiders.
To read my full interview with each of them and see more of their work, click on the photographers’ profiles below.
