4 days ago
How a muddy hobby led to becoming an unofficial ambassador for Omani crafts
In Bahla, where the wind still carries whispers of a bygone era and the famed fort stands like a storybook carved in stone, a different kind of history is being shaped—not in dusty archives, but on a potter's wheel. It's not loud or flashy. In fact, it begins quietly with a ten-year-old girl, her palms muddy and her eyes alight with curiosity. This is where we meet Marya Al-Adawi, who took her first spin at pottery not in an art school or classroom, but in her family's workshop—the Al-Adawi Pottery Factory.
That was years ago. Today, Marya is not just playing with clay—she's playing a part in reviving an age-old Omani tradition.
'I remember my first piece,' Marya laughs. 'It was lopsided, uneven—but I was so proud. It felt like I'd made magic with my own hands.'
How a muddy hobby led to becoming an unofficial ambassador for Omani crafts
Back then, it was simply fun. But what Marya didn't know was that this muddy little hobby was actually shaping more than just pots—it was shaping her mind.
Psychologists have long confirmed what Marya and her generation are just starting to realise: hobbies, especially creative ones, are vital for childhood development. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, hands-on creative play boosts fine motor skills, enhances problem-solving abilities, and supports emotional regulation. Dr. Amanda Gummer, founder of The Good Play Guide, notes that structured hobbies help children build resilience, patience, and a sense of achievement.
In simpler words? Give a child some clay, and you might just give them confidence, too.
That's what pottery did for Marya. Surrounded by the quiet strength of her grandfather and the steady hands of her parents—both seasoned potters—Marya absorbed not just technique, but tradition. It wasn't long before the clay that once felt foreign began to move fluidly under her touch.
How a muddy hobby led to becoming an unofficial ambassador for Omani crafts
By 2021, she formally trained to hone her skills. In 2024, she crafted her first true piece using madar and sarbookh—two types of raw Omani clay that carry centuries of legacy in their grit. While she hasn't started selling her pieces yet, her goal is to blend classic Omani craftsmanship with sleek modern design.
'Pottery isn't just a job for me,' Marya says. 'It's peace. When I work on the wheel, I feel grounded. It's taught me to slow down, to be patient—and honestly, it's helped me understand myself better.'
That's the beauty of hobbies—they create space for children and teens to channel energy, process emotions, and build identity. In a world hooked on screens and fast-paced everything, crafts like pottery offer a tactile, slow-burn reward that's increasingly rare.
Marya isn't keeping this to herself. She's become something of a young ambassador for Omani crafts, leading pottery workshops and welcoming visitors from around the world to Bahla Fort—transforming the ancient into the accessible.
How a muddy hobby led to becoming an unofficial ambassador for Omani crafts
Her influence doesn't stop at the wheel. She's part of a bigger global movement where young creatives are breathing new life into traditional crafts. Think Japan's kintsugi—the poetic art of mending broken pottery with gold—and how it's enjoying a revival thanks to social media and artisan-led workshops.
Closer to home, Oman is investing in its cultural future. The Craft Training Centre in Salalah, founded in 1985, has been quietly preserving traditions like leatherwork and dagger-making. Meanwhile, the 'Young Crafters' programme now trains students in everything from ceramics to graphic design, in partnership with the Ministry of Education and the Scientific College of Design. In Muscat, the Ministry of Housing and Urban Planning has established the Specialized Traditional Crafts Centre to ensure that heritage doesn't just survive, but thrives.
How a muddy hobby led to becoming an unofficial ambassador for Omani crafts
For Marya, all of this fuels her dream: to open her own pottery centre for kids, where they can get their hands dirty and their imaginations fired up—just like she did.
'In every cup I make,' she says, 'I see a story. My story. My country's story. And maybe, the beginning of someone else's.'
In the age of digital everything, what Marya is doing feels almost revolutionary—slowing down, shaping the old into the new, and proving that with the right kind of hands (even small ones), tradition doesn't fade. It evolves.
And in Bahla, where the past and present twirl together on a spinning wheel, the future is already taking shape.
