A story of stone: How Jabal Al-Qarah shapes the soul of Hofuf

DAMMAM: Near Hofuf, at the edge of Al-Ahsa Oasis, where the palms thin out and the desert hushes before turning to stone, Jabal Al-Qarah rises. Low and wide, its sculpted sandstone flanks have been worn into curves and fissures.  

I first saw the mountain just after dawn as the road, having coiled gently through date groves and irrigation canals, veers toward the open plain. In the distance, the mountain appeared — not dramatically, but deliberately. A long, earthen body stretching across the landscape, its folds catching light like the surface of an old parchment. 

“This is not a mountain in the European sense,” local historian Salman Al-Habib told me, his hand resting on the stone. “It’s not for conquest. It’s for shelter. For memory. It held the lives of our grandparents — sometimes literally.” 

He was referring to the caves that run deep into the heart of Jabal Al-Qarah. Stepping inside one, you feel the temperature drop immediately. It’s very still, and the acoustics are strange. Sounds stretch and settle. “ 

They say Judas Iscariot wandered in and was never seen again,” Al-Habib said. “Others say a goddess lived here. The mountain listens. It holds everything.” 

The caves have served a multitude of purposes: storing grain, sheltering travelers, even childbirth. The temperature, remarkably constant year-round, made the mountain a natural refuge.  

“Before fans or air conditioning, this was how we survived,” said Al-Habib. “We didn’t fight the climate — we listened to the land.” 

Geologist Dr. Layla Al-Shemmari echoed that sentiment. “The mountain is formed of calcareous sandstone and marl, deposited millions of years ago,” she explained. “Its structure naturally insulates, naturally ventilates. The people mirrored that in their homes — thick-walled, inward-facing, mudbrick construction pulled straight from the land.” 

She ran her hand along the cave wall, where moisture clung faintly even in the dry season. “The stone taught us architecture. It taught us how to live without taking too much.” 

But perhaps the most unexpected moment came just outside the caves, at dusk. A minaret stood in the shadow of the mountain, its golden tiles catching the final light. Behind it, the rock face glowed a soft amber, every crack and crevice thrown into relief, like a thousand sleeping figures stacked into one colossal wall. The call to prayer began, and something uncanny happened: the rock didn’t reflect the sound — it held it. The echo lingered, cradled by stone. 

“When I was young,” Al-Habib said quietly, “I believed the mountain was repeating the prayer. That it wanted to join in.” 

UNESCO’s 2018 recognition of the Al-Ahsa Oasis — of which Jabal Al-Qarah is a vital part — has brought conservation efforts and guided tours. But many locals say the real work is remembering. Not preserving the mountain like a fossil, but allowing it to continue what it has always done: listening, absorbing, reminding, providing. 

“If these rocks could speak, they wouldn’t lecture,” Al-Habib said. “They’d ask us why we stopped listening.” 

And maybe that’s what the mountain is doing: waiting, patiently, for silence to return, so that its stories, etched into sandstone and shade, might be heard again.