I lived in Bahrain for several years. Not exactly a lifetime, and certainly not as long as many of my fellow expatriates on the island. But in writing about Bahrain, I do have the small advantage over the thirty-year veteran of being able to cast fresh eyes on the country. I have spent many years in the Middle East - most notably in Saudi Arabia - and in that time, for one reason or another, I rarely had occasion to visit Bahrain.

I put that right by moving to the island to start a business in September 2009. Since then I have had many memorable experiences of life in a small but incredibly diverse society. I have made many Bahraini friends, and seen Bahrain move through interesting times. I wrote these snapshots to capture the aspects of Bahrain that I hope will endure.

 The Middle East is changing fast. Bahrain and its people have qualities similar to those of neighbouring countries, yet different. I hope that these brief vignettes capture some of those unique qualities, and especially the warmth and charm for which Bahrainis are renowned.

The Restaurant

Bahrain is a country of many restaurants. Time Out Bahrain lists over a hundred of them, typically in places beloved of expatriates, such as the malls, hotels and areas heavily populated with Westerners - Adliya, Saar and Juffair for example. Go to one of the swish restaurants in Adliya, and you're unlikely to come away without spending 20-25BD per head (50-65USD), sometimes much more.

Make friends with someone who knows the island well, and you can find wonders unknown to readers of Time Out. My friend Mohamed, one of the most interesting and likeable people I've met in Bahrain, has a local's knowledge of eating out. We recently got together for dinner, and I mentioned that a colleague from France was coming over for a visit, and that he was a serious lover of fish. So when Fred arrived I contacted Mohamed, and he suggested we meet at Tabreez, a fish restaurant near Adhari Park on the outskirts of Manama. I've never written about eating out before, so forgive the unrestrained superlatives which a gnarled old gourmet like Michael Winner might choke on with mirth. But there's a reason.

Tabreez is not mentioned in the restaurant guides. That's because it serves a Bahraini clientèle, as well as being very popular with Saudis who come across the causeway for the weekend. The interior looks a bit like a British transport 'caff', and there's also an outdoor area with a few tables scattered about. In the autumn, Bahrain starts cooling down from the stifling heat of the summer, so eating outside starts to be a pleasure again. So we took a table in the courtyard. But first we had to choose our fish. Now Fred considers himself an expert on fish. I only know that if the fish stares at you from the ice with rheumy eyes like a ninety year-old with cataracts, it's best avoided. So Fred inspected the eyes, the scales and the general look of the fish, and pronounced them good.

Mohamed suggested two fish I'd never heard of. One, known locally as yanam, was about eighteen inches long with a wide body. The other, ma’id, was much smaller - a bit like an overgrown sardine. Both, he said, were caught locally and Bahraini favourites. For good measure, he suggested we get some very fat prawns.

We took our table, which the waiter covered with two plastic sheets Arabian-style. We started with hors d'oeuvre, hummus, tabbouleh and a pile of the flat bread which they baked on the premises. Then the fish arrived. The prawns were barbecued with a delicious yoghurt and herb sauce. Then came a plate of ma’id, grilled with little embellishment - very delicate white flesh - flaky and moist. Finally, the yanaan. Cooked as you would a sole, but with a thick crust of spicy vegetables - chunks of flesh coming easily off the bone, similar to sea bass.

Fred, who, being a Breton who caught his first sea bass from the rocky shores of Brittany at the age of eight, is not easily impressed. With his typically lyrical turn of phrase, he commented; "it was as if the enjoyment would never stop - a moment out of time."

After three hours of great conversation and equally great eating, we walked out of Tabreez with a bill that came to a third of what we would have paid in the swish restaurants of downtown Manama. But not before we were shown the bakery in action, and presented with a couple of pieces of bread straight from the furnace - a typically Bahraini touch.

Breakfast in the Souk. Mornings for me usually start with the local newspaper and a sweep through the news sites on the web. On a weekend, it's nice occasionally to taste the joy of small things. My friend Mohamed, despite surely having had enough of Fred's and my company at Tabreez, showed us yet another face of Bahrain. This time we came together for breakfast at a little Bahraini restaurant called Maseela. It's near the entrance to the Manama souk, and consists of a number of tables in the alley outside, as well as an indoor family area.

For those not familiar with Bahrain, I should explain that the weekend is on Friday and Saturday. So this Friday morning was the equivalent of Saturday in the West. Since I arrived in Bahrain I've got into the habit of going to the excellent Friday Brunch at the British Club - in terms of the volume of food, a serious assault that usually requires me to take to my bed for the afternoon to recover.

So Maseela was a welcome change. A traditional Bahraini breakfast consists of a number of small dishes - scrambled egg with tomatoes, chicken liver with potatoes, a runny lentil dish and a spicy mince stew. All eaten with the inevitable flat bread straight from the oven that was blazing away on the other side of the alley.

The restaurant was thronged with families and groups of men meeting for a chat - a truly social occasion. Mohamed is a man with many friends, and every so often an acquaintance would stop by to say hello. Fred, Mohamed and I were joined by another Fred, who was over for the weekend from Saudi Arabia.

We then set off for a wander round the souk. Fred One was looking to add to his new collection of Afghan seals - beautiful latticed silver objects about two inches across with a stone seal mould (agate, jade and lapis lazuli) as the centrepiece. The seal images are carvings of horses or other animals, or Arabic inscriptions. The same shop sells Islamic coins, which is an interest of mine, and a host of other good stuff.

Having made the necessary purchases, we followed Mohamed to another eating place deeper in the souk. This is a tiny shop which has been open for fifty years. Inside there's room for about five people standing up. Most people eat from there outside in the street. We sampled the food - a plate of potato fritters served with a very tasty chickpea sauce. Apparently, the man who owns the shop has built a sizeable property portfolio, all from the takings of a tiny outlet in a backstreet. A prime example of patience over the instant gratification urge of today's business ethos.

What was originally planned as a breakfast get-together was turning into a full morning's outing. Mohamed's pleasure in showing us his Bahrain was matched by ours at experiencing it. We went on to a shop that sells herbal water - remedies for indigestion, headaches, diabetes and a host of other complaints. The herbs are all locally grown, and the produce is known throughout the Gulf. One of the lesser-known local industries - a throwback to the days when the country had an abundance of spring water and large fields of date palms. Much of that water is gone now, sucked away by the increasing population and the industrial plants that have sprung up on the island over the past thirty years. But the herbal business remains.

Then on to Bahrain Fort, an ancient structure that dates from the Dilmun civilisation that flourished around four thousand years ago. There's a new museum at the Fort, which boasts Sumerian tablets, Dilmun seals, Persian figurines, silver tetradrachm coins from the time of Alexander the Great (who visited the island - then called Tylos - on his way back from Afghanistan), Parthian pottery and artefacts from the days when the Portuguese established a bridgehead into the region. Next to the museum is a café looking out over the sea - a great place to visit as the sun goes down over the Gulf.

We rounded off the tour with a visit to a couple of old houses - now derelict - which reminded us that before the days of tower blocks and apartments, most people on the island lived a life of simplicity.

A great three hours exploring parts of Bahrain that I'm ashamed I've not taken the time to visit before. All through the generosity of a man who clearly loves his place of birth, and is more than willing to share its delights. 

The Artists

One of my big regrets in life is that I’m not a connoisseur of fine art. I envy the likes of Brian Sewell, who lisps his way through his TV and radio commentaries on art with that curious retro-accent that went out of fashion thirty years ago. I may not be an aesthete, but I am a fan. I lapped up Kenneth Clarke’s Civilisation TV series in the seventies. I head for galleries whenever I’m in a city like Florence or Venice. When in London, I pay regular visits to the National Portrait Gallery, because I love portraiture - especially some of the renaissance artists like Durer, who so expertly capture the cunning, the mean and the ruthless spirit of the age. And the Florentines, masters of portraying realpolitik.

One of the joys of living in the Middle East is that there is no shortage of art and artists. Elegant calligraphy, Ottoman miniatures and geometric motifs in the Islamic tradition, a thriving community of Arabic cartoonists, and the figurative and abstract works of present-day local and expatriate artists. Not to mention some magnificent architecture, both new and old.

Here in Bahrain, the Bahrain Arts Society provides a platform for Bahrainis and foreigners alike. Recently they displayed the works of Mohsen Ghareeb and Abdulshaheed Khamdan. Both artists draw on the influences of traditional Islamic art, particularly Arabic calligraphy, to produce striking abstract paintings, and then it was the turn of Meriel Cooper Wallace and Michele Karam. Meriel paints mainly in watercolour and her exhibition portrays the natural world. Michele is a ceramicist who draws heavily on oriental influences. The exhibition was a feast for the eye.

Not being an art critic, I’m unable to wax lyrical on this or that technique. But Bahrain has a long tradition of fine art. If you happen to be in Bahrain for a short trip, and tire of the malls and restaurants, you could do worse than pay a visit to the Society of Arts Gallery in Budaiya, or to one of the other galleries on the island. You’re unlikely to be disappointed.

The Golf Course

I’m one of these sad individuals who look for a golf course wherever he travels. Until about fifteen years ago green courses in the Middle East were a rarity. Saudi Aramco in Dhahran had a brown course, and I remember playing a course on rocky terrain overlooking the Haj Terminal at Jeddah’s King Abdulaziz International Airport. The 'browns' were patches of sand rolled with oil, and player would bring a strip of Astroturf on which you would place your ball when teeing off, or playing off the not very fair fairways. These days every self-respecting GCC country has at least one green course. Dubai has several. Riyadh has three, and these days Saudi Aramco’s Rolling Hill Country Club boasts not only rolling hills but lush green fairways and greens.

The Royal Golf Club in Bahrain is an interesting addition to the portfolio of Middle Eastern courses. I have played in many odd places. Podybrady in the Czech Republic for example - set in the grounds of a Cold War electronic listening station - the only course I know of, where there are real bunkers, of the concrete variety, scattered around the course. And then there’s the course in Belgium surrounded by World War One cemeteries and criss-crossed by shell holes, trenches and military detritus. 

But the Bahrain course is first one I’ve played on what is obviously an oil field. Apart from the fact that, for a hacker like me, the course is fiendishly difficult - it was designed by Colin Montgomerie, and locals say that he was going through a bad patch in his life and took it out on the course - it has a unique ambience. You pass by nodding donkeys gently extracting oil from a fenced-off well. There are holes where if you miscue you can end up lodged between pipes that hiss as they carry oil and gas to the nearest manifold. Well-manicured fairways slope down to rocky gullies, which can quickly lead you to destroy your expensive clubs in an attempt to return to the green. Some of the greens are so viciously sloped that they can make you weep with frustration.

Not for nothing is it called a championship course, and I’m no champion. So if your handicap is above ten, my advice is to take a preparatory course of Prozac and a set of old clubs. It is an experience though, and worth visiting if you’re moving to Bahrain, or just passing through. If you’re a fanatical golfer, you can buy one of the spacious new villas dotted around the course which are part of the very plush Riffa Views development. The club house is also very posh, with reasonably-priced catering and regular social events. 

As a tourist venue, Bahrain is lagging behind Dubai, but given Dubai’s recent financial troubles, Bahrainis would say that this is no bad thing. What is encouraging for a lover of golf is that the game is being taken up by increasing numbers of GCC nationals. Bahrainis, Saudis, Qataris and Emiratis are regular participants and winners in local tournaments, and it can’t be long before one of them hits the big time in one of the major tours. So golf in the Middle East is no longer the exclusive preserve of a few Europeans and North Americans. In its own modest way, it’s doing its bit to bring people together from all cultures and countries represented in the region. 

Long may it continue. I just wish I could stop wrapping my irons round palm trees.

High Society

Bahrain is a captivating place. Not because of the beaches, because there aren’t many. Nor because it has a host of glitzy tourist attractions and ersatz souks like Dubai, because it doesn’t. Nor even because it has a pristine desert environment interspersed with charming oases and interesting micro-climates like Oman, because it doesn’t have these either.

For me the charm of Bahrain is that of its people, who have a character very distinct from that of their neighbours. Friendly, hospitable, and with a great sense of humour, they have embraced their expatriate community with a tolerance rivalled by no other GCC country. As a maritime trading nation, they have seen immigration throughout their history. Bahrainis have a mixed heritage dating from centuries before the discovery of oil in the 1930s - many trace their origins from the Arabian peninsula, Iran and the Indian subcontinent.

Bahrain is not without its problems: periodic political unrest, infrastructure trying to catch up with population growth, divisions between rich and poor, an education system in need of an overhaul, pollution and inconsistent industrial safety standards. But despite these challenges, the Bahrainis remain welcoming hosts to the expatriate population. It takes time to get to know a country and a culture, even in a small island like Bahrain. Anyone coming here to work would do themselves a favour by buying a book called The Inshallah Paper. The author is Andrew Trimbee, who arrived in the early 70s as the editor of the first English language newspaper on the island. 

Andrew tells a fascinating tale of mucking through against the odds (similar to my experience in 1980’s Jeddah), of outrageous characters within both the expatriate and Bahraini communities, and of the life of a pioneering editor as he totters from cocktail party to royal majlis to factories and refineries in the island’s fast-growing industrial sector. What shines through the book is his affection for the civilized nature of Bahraini society.

Even though I’m a latecomer into this society, for me, much of what he describes holds true today. Perhaps everyone’s a little less eccentric these days as the corporate sheen envelops the island, but Bahrain is still a country where at many levels there is a greater degree of integration between local and expatriate than in many parts of the Middle East. In some respects, it’s similar to Jeddah, which has long been a cultural and ethnic melting pot because of its location as the principal entry point for the multitude of pilgrims visiting Mecca for the annual Haj. 

One striking facet of Andrew’s legacy is that from the humble beginnings of the Gulf Mirror, which started as a weekly newspaper, the Bahrain English-language print media has blossomed to an extraordinary degree. A population of a million, of which 50 percent are expatriates and a small minority are mother tongue English speakers, is served by one daily newspaper, the Gulf Daily News and a host of glossy magazines, ranging from business to lifestyle. As a subscriber to the GDN, I get Gulf Insider, Bahrain Confidential, Woman, Fact Bahrain, The Gulf and Bahrain This Month delivered to my doorstep for free. I can also buy Time Out Bahrain and a couple of other magazines devoted to business in the Gulf. They are lavishly produced, packed with ads, and some of them run to two-hundred pages.

I am truly amazed that all seem to survive and prosper, especially in these straitened times. One common aspect of the Daily News and the lifestyle magazines is what Tatler would call the social pages. Page upon page of parties, dog shows, charity do’s, leaving do’s, embassy functions, national days, corporate launches, product launches. Then there are the political and government events: conferences, visits of foreign dignitaries, royal events. I swear there must be people who do nothing but hop from party to party, event to event! And how many photographers must be out there to feed the insatiable appetite for pictures of party goers, business people, dignitaries and associated hangers-on?

One pervasive media star whose picture seemed to appear at least thirty times a month, was the well-respected former British Ambassador, Jamie Bowden. That man was everywhere! Let it never be said that 'Our Man in Bahrain' didn’t earn his corn, and eat some of it too - though I feared for his health given the amount of toasts and rubber chickens he must have got through during his working life here. He looked well on it though, so I’d be interested to know his secret. Perhaps it’s the Foreign Office training, and a few tips from Her Majesty, who has had to endure sixty years of dodgy catering herself in her long reign. The new British Ambassador Iain Lindsay took over from Jamie in August 2011, I'll be interested to see how long it'll take him to fall into the media spotlight too.

Recently there came a great moment for me: my début photo in the Bahrain media! I was pictured in a golf event lining up with my partners. Unfortunately, the resulting shot made me look more like a sumo wrestler than the (relatively) slim former athlete I always imagined myself to be. The fact that everyone else seemed to be about to throw themselves grunting into sandbox consoled me a little. It must have been the camera - the photos were all squashed. Fat chance. But hey, I’ve joined the Bahrain elite, so it’s all up from here. It must only be a matter of time before I’m granted an audience with His Majesty.

Meanwhile I rejoice. Nicky, Kimon, Dr Faisal, Professor O’Malley, Fatima, Linda, Dr Bindu, Ahmad, Hala, Mr Al-Umran, your Highnesses, Excellencies, Sheikhs and all you other movers and shakers on this island - I have arrived, and thank you for welcoming me to the glossy pages of Bahrain’s high society!

Oh, and can anyone direct me to the nearest gym?

A Night in Muharram

As I sit in my balcony enjoying a balmy winter evening, three very different sounds compete for attention. To my left, a raucous party blaring out from a nearby apartment block - Filipina girls having a rare old time singing Christmas carols. In front of me, shouting from a football game at a nearby recreation ground. To my right, the mournful sound of an Ashoura ceremony - drums and cymbals in a slow rhythm, a cleric reciting verses of lamentation in a strong baritone, and a choral response from the faithful. In an island of tolerance, a very Bahraini tableau.

At the time of writing this, we are in Muharram, the first month of the Islamic calendar. The tenth day of Muharram is known as Ashoura - which is Arabic for tenth. For Muslims of all schools of thought it’s a special day. For Sunnis, Ashoura marks the day on which Moses (known as Mousa in the Koran) and his people escaped from Egyptian servitude by walking through the Red Sea, parted by divine intervention. For them, it's a day of fasting.

For the Shia, Ashoura and the ten days preceding it are days of lamentation for the death of Husayn, the third Shia Imam and grandson of the Prophet Mohammed. At the Battle of Karbala, Husayn and many members of his family were vastly outnumbered and killed by the forces of the Sunni Caliph, Yazid of Damascus. His fall crystallized the schism between the Shia and the Sunni branches of Islam. This was rooted in a dispute about the legitimacy of competing claims for spiritual and temporal leadership of the Muslim world between Husayn, as a direct descendent of the Prophet, and the line of successors chosen from the Prophet’s companions.

Here in Bahrain, communities gather across the island to lament the passing of Husayn. And so I accepted the invitation of a friend, Mohamed, to visit an Islamic Awareness Centre near the Manama souk. Its location next door to the Baptist church is an indication that the faithful of many religions worship in close proximity here in Bahrain - a rarity in this region. 

For the first ten nights of Muharram, the Centre is the venue for gatherings to commemorate and explain Ashura and the suffering of Husayn. In a large courtyard there was a tent containing a library of commentaries in many languages explaining the meaning of Shia Islam. At a nearby table, women volunteers offered free refreshments - sandwiches, cakes, tea and coffee. Next door was a sheltered auditorium where a scholar in a white turban and black robes was seated on a podium in front of a few hundred people - men on the right and women on the left.

The scholar was reciting Arabic verses in long, slow incantations. When Mohamed joined me, he explained that the speaker was an American from colourado with a degree in Physics and a doctorate in Islamic studies. Although the majority of the gathering appeared to be Arabic speakers, the scholar started speaking in English. He surprised me by commenting that great strides have been made in expressing the meaning of Ashoura in English - most Muslims I have met have emphasized the purity of the language of the Koran, and therefore the impurity of translations into other languages.

He spoke of the Battle of Karbala and the tribulations of the family of Husayn. Karbala, he said was symbolic of the struggles we face in our daily lives when dealing with adversity. As he continued on the theme of breaking through from observance to true acceptance in word, deed and spirit of the message of Islam, I was struck by the underlying mysticism of the faith he was describing. Western perceptions of Islam tend to focus on the observance of ritual and behaviour mandated by the Koran and Hadith. Yet here was a man talking in a language that any mystic would understand - transformation of the inner person and communion with God.

As the scholar’s address was coming to an end, my friend took me to a nearby street where we could hear the drums of a procession. At the front was a pick-up truck with loudspeakers. The leader was singing to a slow, rhythmic drumbeat. Following him was a line of around fifty men and boys dressed in black. In time to the rhythm, the followers were brushing their backs with flails made of gold beads. This, and hundreds of other parades around the island, was a precursor to the mass marches on the day of Ashoura, in which many followers beat their chests and often draw blood with real flails. Lamentation and guilt at the failure of their ancestors to prevent the wrong done to Husayn and his family.

I’m not a Muslim. Nor am I a theologian or a mystic. In the two hours I spent listening and watching, I couldn’t begin to understand the intricacies of Shia theology. But I was struck by the gentle emotion of the occasion, and by parallels with the Christian observance of Easter. Those who look askance at the ritual self-flagellation practiced by some Shia at the height of the Ashoura observance should think also of Easter processions in many devout Catholic communities around the world, some of which involve similar rituals. Themes of guilt, redemption and inner contemplation are common to both faiths. But the raw emotions and seeming harshness of the climactic Shia observance of Ashoura were not in evidence, and I was touched by the warmth of the welcome I received.

During my time in the Middle East, I have mingled both with Sunni and Shia Muslims. Images of Islam reach the West via TV, YouTube and the print media - the Haj, Ashura and Ramadan. Historical and current events frame our picture of Islam - the Muslim conquests, the Golden Age, the Crusades, the fall of Constantinople, the Ottoman Court, and today, jihad, terrorism, the Taliban, veiled women, Iran, sectarian strife and Iraq. In the West, we fuel our paranoia by seizing upon messages of hatred rather than love. And that hatred is often reciprocated.

For all the posturing of politicians, propagandists, sheikhs and scholars, I also see millions of members of the human race who wish to live their lives in peace and prosperity without harming others and imposing their beliefs upon them. And when the crises of today pass into history, to be replaced no doubt by others, it will still be the common humanity of people like those I met the other day that will give us hope for the future.

Let’s not forget the people of good will.

The Poet

The Arabic language has been a constant, though often distant, companion throughout my years in the Middle East. Mournful intonations from the mosques. Quranic incantations on the radio. Sharp conversations on the street corner. Hectoring broadcasts from leaders and imams.

You could argue that I am utterly unqualified to write about this language of three hundred million people, given my rudimentary familiarity with it. Yet in a way, I feel that I can appreciate Arabic as a means of communication in a way many fluent speakers perhaps cannot. 

Just as a person who cannot see compensates for his blindness by hearing what the sighted cannot hear, and by an enhanced sense of taste, touch and smell, it is possible to look beyond the words of a language one cannot understand. The distinctive nuances of facial expression, tone of voice, gesticulation and body language convey a meaning that sometimes transcends those words.

And just as one does not need to understand French to appreciate the beauty of a passage from Edmond Rostand’s Cyrano de Bergerac, so one can appreciate the beauty of the Quran when spoken or sung. It has often been said that Arabs are more openly emotional than the buttoned-up people of Northern Europe and North America. Listen to Arabs interacting, both in anger and in jest, and you will see the evidence.

I had the pleasure of listening to Hamid Al-Qaed, a prominent Bahraini poet who writes both in English and Arabic. He was speaking at a meeting of the Bahrain Writer’s Circle at La Fontaine Cultural Centre - a large villa in the centre of Manama that has been converted by its owner into a arts centre and restaurant drawing from traditional and contemporary architectural styles. Stone pillars, cloisters, fountains and open performance areas.

Hamid has had four books published, and he read a selection of poems in English and Arabic - about love, life, nature and much else. His poems were short and emotional, and I enjoyed listening to him speaking in Arabic as much as his English work. 

Most Westerners do not understand the importance of poetry in the Arab world. How many sixteen year-old, Internet- savvy kids in England would admit to their pride in the poems they write, as did a bunch of young people I encountered recently in Saudi Arabia? In the royal courts of the region, especially among the gatherings attended by Bedouin tribespeople, it is still common for guests to stand up and recite odes in praise of the host - and receive a small gift as a reward.

If there is to be one positive outcome from the changes sweeping the Arab world, I hope it will be a renewed flowering of Arabic literature. Free speech liberates creativity, and literature is one of the lasting legacies of a culture.

The Youth

I love Bahrain and its people. It’s not the kind of blind and unconditional devotion you might feel for your family. More the clear-sighted love that recognises all the ways in which human beings from time to time fall below accepted standards of behaviour and attitude, fall below their own value systems and do things that in their hearts they might regret. But also the kind of love that looks beyond behaviour and sees essential qualities - in Bahrain’s case, generosity of spirit and enthusiasm for life - that transcend the acts and failings of individuals.

Since arriving on this island, my feelings for Bahrain have steadily deepened, thanks mainly to my involvement in a youth program that has been more intensive and uplifting than any in my recent professional life. My colleagues and I have been working with around sixty of the brightest sixteen year-olds in the country. They are candidates for the Crown Prince Scholarship Program. In May 2012, ten of them will be selected for scholarships that will enable them to complete their secondary education in the UK or the USA, study at the best universities in either country, and if they wish, to gain Masters degrees. So my team and these students have been enveloped in a bubble of learning - away from all the bones of contention that have been rattling around the country in recent months. Many of the students met each other for the first time. They came from a variety of backgrounds. Some privileged, other less so. Some girls, some boys. Some painfully shy, others brimming with confidence. They arrived with a uniformly high level of academic achievement. They left with bonds that I suspect might last for a lifetime.

The event started with a series of workshops designed to hone their skills for the big step forward from school to university - time management, communications, project management, teamwork and leadership. Following that, a week-long program specifically about dealing with the pitfalls, terrors and opportunities inherent in leaving home for the first time and travelling thousands of miles to study in what for many will be a totally alien environment.

And they spent their final week creating ideas for the economic development of the country, and presented them to a panel of entrepreneurs and corporate executives.

It was heart-warming to see these young Bahrainis gradually coming out of themselves as the event progressed. Shy ones from the villages who could hardly be persuaded to let out a squeak in the first week, became enthusiastic and assertive team players by the end. Private school kids who had an advantage in social skills and confidence, helping those who hadn’t had the benefit of their expensive educations. Role-play acted out with the panache of seasoned performers. And presentations that would put many adults thirty years their senior to shame with their clarity, incisiveness and quality of delivery. All in English, their second language, although some would consider themselves bilingual.

What impressed me also was the maturity of their presentation subjects: reflections on childhood, the ethical issues around genetic engineering, early detection of special needs in children, treatment of cleft palates. When I was sixteen, in my private school bubble, my main preoccupation was the next Beatles album and catching the spot on my forehead before it turned nasty.

These sixteen year-olds have idealism and an absence of cynicism that you would rarely find in a street-wise British or American kid. They really want to succeed, they really want their scholarships, but they also really care about their peers, their families, their country and their environment.

There were times when you forgot that you were dealing with youngsters. But occasionally - such as during a series of team problem-solving exercises - the child would come out whooping and squealing as they raced from one decoding task to the next.

There are many other young people like them in Bahrain. Serious, focused and yet exuberant and fun-loving. They represent the qualities that originally attracted me to Bahrain, and I pray that life doesn’t knock too many lumps out of their hopes and plans for the future. They and thousands of others - perhaps not quite so bright but with the same qualities - are the future of their country.

In fact, youngsters like them all over the Middle East are the Arab future. For all the uncertainty across the region, we would do well to remember that the long-term future of the Arab world doesn’t lie with the adults who are fighting, arguing, reliving ancient battles and re-igniting old resentments. It lies with the region’s abundant and talented youth.

The Crown Prince is to be congratulated for an initiative that has transformed the lives of those who have taken part. His scholars are working in high-profile jobs both in Bahrain and abroad, and have competed on equal terms with some of the brightest students in the Western world. Yes, it’s an elite program for a relatively small number of people. But it shows what young Arabs can achieve, and it rides roughshod over the often narrow and ill-informed Western perceptions of the Arab world. 

If Bahrain is to be the home of inventors, innovators and creators of wealth, rather than importers of foreign expertise and traders of foreign technology, it needs more initiatives like the Crown Prince's Scholarship Program, and it needs the spirit of his program to inspire the education system across the island. An investment in human infrastructure that will be far longer-lasting than tower blocks and flyovers.