Nature-Embedded Cities in Arid Contexts: A Khaleeji Framework

January 30, 2026 by AbdulRahman Al-Mana

The notion of nature-embedded cities has become a fascinating and increasingly prominent topic in contemporary urbanism. The Chinese sponge city model, adopted as a nationwide urban construction policy in 2014, promotes a set of nature-based solutions that enable cities to absorb, store, infiltrate, and purify rainwater through natural and semi-natural landscapes rather than relying solely on conventional grey infrastructure.

The Nanchang Fish Tail Park, example of the Sponge City model in action. (Source: Turenscape, 2021)

Instead of rapidly channeling stormwater away through pipes and concrete drains, sponge cities seek to slow, spread, and sink water across urban surfaces using tools such as wetlands, permeable pavements, bioswales, retention ponds, and green open spaces. The concept draws from both ecological planning theory and historic urban practices developed in response to monsoonal climates in southeastern China, where cities evolved to coexist with seasonal flooding rather than resist it, turning water from a hazard into an organizing element of urban form and public space.

Another emerging model of nature-embedded urbanism is urban rewilding, which challenges the idea that nature in cities must always be highly manicured, ornamental, and controlled. Urban rewilding advocates for the restoration of native ecologies and the reintroduction of self-sustaining habitats within the urban fabric, allowing natural processes to play a greater role in shaping landscapes over time. Urban rewilding treats park and landscape design as evolving ecosystems that support biodiversity, regulate microclimates, and strengthen ecological connectivity across metropolitan regions.

A frequently cited example is the transformation of the Cheonggyecheon stream in Seoul, where a buried waterway was uncovered and restored as a linear ecological corridor, dramatically reducing urban heat, improving air quality, and reintroducing aquatic and bird species into the city center. While highly engineered in its execution, the project demonstrates how reintegrating natural systems into dense urban environments can simultaneously deliver ecological, climatic, and social benefits.

Cheonggyecheon Stream, Seoul, South Korea. (Source: @giuliaseok on TripAdvisor.com)

These models of nature-embedded urbanism share a common thread: they are largely oriented around “green” conceptions of nature rooted in temperate and monsoonal ecologies. One of the central challenges of urban planning in the Arabian Peninsula, however, lies in its fundamentally different environmental and climatic conditions. Cities of the Khaleej (and the peninsula at large) are built within hot, arid desert landscapes where water is scarce and evapotranspiration rates are high. In this context, importing conventional green models of urbanism can be environmentally counterproductive, leading to increased irrigation demand, higher energy consumption for desalination, and intensive landscape maintenance regimes that undermine long-term sustainability.

This raises an important set of questions: can nature-based urbanisms meaningfully exist in this part of the Arab world? Are there indigenous spatial and environmental practices to learn from? And how can we reinterpret nature-embedded urbanism for arid environments?

Nature-Embedded Urbanism in Pre-Oil Khaleeji Settlements

Aflaj Irrigation Systems of Oman. (Source: Ko Hon Chiu Vincent / UNESCO.org)

Long before modern drainage systems and desalination plants, communities across the Arabian Peninsula developed highly effective ways of living with water scarcity. One of the most notable examples is the aflaj irrigation system (singular: falaj), a network of gravity-fed underground and surface channels that carried groundwater or spring water from distant sources to villages and agricultural land. These systems required no mechanical pumping and were carefully calibrated to follow natural slopes. Just as important as their engineering was the social system built around them: water was shared through precise time-based allocations, and maintenance was carried out collectively. The falaj was therefore not only infrastructure, but a system that shaped settlement patterns, farming practices, and daily life around shared responsibility for scarce resources.

Around these water networks emerged oasis settlements where homes, date palm groves, and farmland were closely intertwined. Palm canopies created shade and cooler microclimates, allowing other crops to grow beneath them and reducing water loss from the soil. These landscapes were productive, climatic, and social spaces at the same time, showing that nature in desert settlements was not decorative, but directly tied to survival, comfort, and economic life.

In parallel, many communities relied on wadi agriculture and floodwater harvesting, making use of seasonal water flows rather than permanent sources. Instead of trying to block floods, people built small barriers, channels, and terraces to slow and spread stormwater across fields, allowing it to soak into the ground and nourish crops. Flash floods, while dangerous, were also opportunities to replenish soils and recharge shallow groundwater. In many ways, this was an early form of landscape-based water management, working with natural cycles instead of forcing water into rigid pipes and drains.

Nature-based adaptation in Gulf settlements was not limited to water management alone. I’ve talked about this on my blog and public talks before, but passive climatic design strategies played a huge role in making this part of the world habitable. Architectural designs that worked with heat, wind, and solar exposure to create livable environments in extreme conditions.

Al Fahidi Historical Neighbourhood, Dubai, United Arab Emirates. (Source: Yamani Alafari / Al-Bayan Newspaper)

One of the most recognizable features of traditional Gulf architecture is the wind tower, or barjeel, designed to capture prevailing breezes and direct cooler air into interior spaces. Combined with narrow streets and shaded passages that accelerated airflow, these elements helped reduce indoor temperatures without the use of mechanical cooling. At the scale of the home, courtyard houses created protected internal microclimates, where shaded open spaces, vegetation, and evaporative cooling moderated heat while maintaining privacy and social cohesion.

Material choices also played a critical role in regulating comfort. Buildings were commonly constructed using locally sourced materials including: mudbrick, coral stone, limestone, and other materials with high thermal mass that absorbed heat during the day and released it slowly at night. These materials were not only climatically effective, but also low in embodied energy and closely tied to local supply chains and craftsmanship. Roofs made from palm trunks and fronds further added insulation while using readily available natural resources. In this way, construction practices were directly linked to local ecologies, rather than dependent on imported industrial systems.

On the neighborhood and town-scale, settlement layouts themselves contributed to climate adaptation. Compact urban fabrics reduced exposure to the sun. Shaded walkways encouraged pedestrian movement, and building orientations responded to dominant wind patterns and seasonal sun paths. Together, these strategies formed an integrated environmental logic where comfort was achieved not through energy-intensive technologies, but through spatial design and material intelligence. This broader reading of nature-based urbanism, one that includes air, shade, soil, and thermal behavior, is especially relevant for desert cities today, where water alone cannot be the foundation of climate-responsive urban design.

“The urban fabric of Muharraq with its distinctive features; hierarchy of open spaces, courtyards, organic form and winding roads” (Source: El-Masri and Alraouf, 2005).

Redefining Nature in Desert Cities

So how do we embrace nature-embedded urbanism in desert cities? Planners, designers, and landscape architects must answer this question by redefining what we mean by “nature” in the public realm. Landscape design in Gulf cities should not be reviewed by aesthetics and visually, by how “green” a space looks. Rather we should measure how well it performs ecologically or climatically.

Lawns, exotic trees, and water-intensive landscapes may visually signal environmental care to the layman and general public, but they come at high environmental cost in arid regions, relying on constant irrigation and energy-intensive desalination. In this context, the pursuit of visual greenness risks becoming a form of greenwashing that masks deeper ecological inefficiencies.

An example of desert xeriscape landscaping in Dubai (Source: ‘NAD AL SHEBA’ Project by Wilden).

A more appropriate approach lies in embracing desert-based and xeriscape landscaping, using native and drought-tolerant plant species that are adapted to local soils, heat, and salinity. Such landscapes require significantly less water, provide habitat for local biodiversity, and are better suited to long-term maintenance realities.

More importantly, they reflect the natural character of the region rather than attempting to overwrite it. Shaded gravel gardens, native shrublands, and desert grasses can be just as spatially rich and socially inviting as conventional lawns when thoughtfully designed and integrated with seating, shade structures, and pedestrian networks.

An example of desert xeriscape landscaping in the UAE (Source: “Private Residence” Project by desert INK).

This redefinition of nature can also extend vertically and into the built environment. Green roofs and green walls in desert cities don’t have to mimic temperate gardens. They can be planted with xeriscape and drought-tolerant species that thrive with minimal irrigation and are adapted to heat and salt-laden winds. In practice, this means selecting plants such as succulents, native grasses, hardy shrubs, and desert flowering species that require very little water and can survive long dry periods, dramatically reducing irrigation needs compared with conventional green roofs. Research into native plant palettes for Qatar and the wider Gulf has identified local species suited to urban conditions that can save around 70% of the water required by typical ornamental landscapes while still providing shade, habitat, and aesthetic value.

In Khaleeji cities, rooftop gardens should use hardy species like succulents, ornamental grasses, and shrubs chosen specifically for arid conditions, helping to insulate buildings and cool their surroundings while supporting micro-habitats for pollinators and birds. This approach allows vegetation to persist on rooftops and facades with minimal water, either through drip systems or recycled greywater.

AI Generation of what a desert xeriscape landscaped roof could look like in the Gulf (Source: Google Gemini).

Perhaps most importantly, desert cities should reconsider the role of urban agriculture and productive landscapes as part of everyday urban life. Date groves, community gardens, and small-scale agricultural plots can once again become elements of neighborhood open space, reconnecting residents to food systems while reinforcing cultural identity. Historically, productive landscapes were central to settlement life in the Gulf, not peripheral to it. Reintroducing them into contemporary urbanism challenges the notion that nature in cities must be purely recreational or decorative, and instead frames it as functional, cultural, and socially embedded.

In this light, planners should advocate for the preservation of agricultural lands within urban areas, prioritizing their transformation into community gardens and productive parks rather than allowing their gradual conversion into residential subdivisions.

Such spaces can serve both environmental and social functions, supporting food security, microclimate regulation, and community engagement while maintaining links to local heritage. Planning tools such as transfer of development rights, land banking, and targeted zoning protections can be used to safeguard these lands, redirect development pressures to better locations, and ensure that productive landscapes remain an integral part of the urban fabric.

Heenat Salma Farm in Al-Shahaniya, Qatar. (Source: Heenat Salma Farm).

It is here I am reminded of the Khaleeji adage:

“.الخليج ليس نفطا، والنفط ليس عار”

… meaning the Khaleej is not oil, and there is no shame in oil. In the same spirit, we ought to say that the Khaleej is not only desert, and there is no shame in the desert. What I mean by this is not a rejection of progress or urban growth, but a call to embrace our natural heritage as a foundation for shaping our urban praxis, both scientifically and aesthetically.

Desert landscapes are not empty or hostile backdrops like we often characterize them to be, nor do they need to be corrected by imported greenery. They are complex and resilient ecosystems with their own rhythms, beauty, and ecological intelligence.

To design cities that are truly nature-embedded in this region is not to deny the desert, but to design with it, to work with its water cycles, its winds, its soils, and its seasonal extremes.

In doing so, we not only reduce environmental costs, but also recover a sense of place that is deeply rooted in local geography and cultural memory. A confident urbanism for the Gulf should not aspire to resemble other climates and other cities, but should instead draw strength from what this landscape already offers.

In embracing the desert, we may find that sustainability, identity, and resilience are not competing goals, but deeply intertwined ones.

I’ve also released a supplementary carousel post on my Instagram which proposes a couple of planting palettes to use for green roofs in Qatar, linked here! Do check it out on my personal Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/abdulrahmanalmana

The Role of Vernacular Architecture & Urbanism in Mitigating Heat

July 04, 2020 by AbdulRahman Al-Mana

Vernacular architecture is often appreciated for the historic aesthetic value that it presents. Preservationists and activists argue on the importance of preserving historic structure from a cultural angle: its unique character, the story that it tells, the memories people associate with a particular building. States and institutions may feel inclined to preserve such structure, to instill a national identity. To frame the nationalist state as an idea and concept much older than it is. Preservation vernacular architecture could also be argued for in economic terms. The Qatari state has begun heavily investing in heritage tourism as an alternate source of revenue. Yet, it is not often that preservation is argued for under an environmental lens.

We view the humanmade, the cultural, as something that is inherently opposed to the natural: but should that be the case? We understand and perceive the urban and urban spaces as something that is not natural. If anything, urban environments are seen as antithetical to the environment. Nature was seen as something to be conquered by humans. Nature was scary. It's home to beasts and fauna that could potentially be hazardous and poisonous. Moreover, nature was something to be exploited. It was through the exploitation of natural resources that man was able to build and create robust economies. This point draws an essential question to our understanding of urban spaces and where they stand in relation to the natural environment and requires a fundamental change in that understanding.

Dubai, UAE

Dubai has become a poster-child in the region of building with little regards to environmental context.

There is an underlying foundational issue with how urban spaces are being built and manifest themselves in the 21st century in the Persian Gulf, and the Arabian Peninsula more broadly speaking. Does it make sense for architects, engineers, and urbanists to import architectural and urban styles and building methods in a region where the very environment rejects it? Urban heat islands have been written about extensively in academia and the press, how glass towers and wide avenues of asphalt heat our cities are well documented and understood. In a region where the natural climate is already naturally hot, it is vital to mitigate the urban heat island effect as much as possible when designing our cities.

The most critical factor in giving architecture a distinct look and feel is the environment and climate. Legendary architect and scholar Hassan Fathy writes in his book Natural Energy and Vernacular Architecture that "Climate, in particular, produces certain easily observed effects on architectural forms." Whether in the deserts of New Mexico or the deserts of the Arabian Peninsula, architectural principles follow very similar patterns: smaller windows, flat roofs, mud bricks, and projecting wooden spouts to collect water. Despite the geographical distance and the lack of communication modes between the two regions, it is surprising to see how similar these indigenous styles of architecture genuinely are.

Wadi Daw’an, Hadhramaut Governate, Yemen

The manners in which we have constructed our buildings, and by extension, our cities are mostly void of these environmental contexts. Architects and preservationists have long made an argument against the "International Style" where it is not suitable for the climate. Hassan Fathy writes on the adoption of the International Style in the tropics:

“Changing a single item in a traditional building method will not ensure an improved response to the environment or even an equally satisfactory one. Change is inevitable, and new forms and materials will be used, as has been the case throughout history. Often the convenience of modern forms and materials makes their use attractive in the short term. In the eagerness to become modern, many people in the Tropics have abandoned their traditional age-old solutions to the problems presented by the local climate and instead have adopted what is commonly labeled “international architecture,” based on the use of high-technology materials such as the reinforced-concrete frame and the glass wall. But a 3 x 3-m glass wall in a building exposed to solar radiation on a warm, clear tropical day will let in approximately 2000 kilocalories per hour. To maintain the microclimate of a building thus exposed within the human comfort zone, two tons of refrigeration capacity is required. Any architect who makes a solar furnace of his building and compensates for this by installing a huge cooling machine is approaching the problem inappropriately, and we can measure the inappropriateness of his attempted solution by the excess number of kilocalories he uselessly introduces into the building. Furthermore, the vast majority of the inhabitants of the Tropics are industrially underdeveloped and cannot afford the luxury of high-technology building materials or energy-intensive systems for cooling. Although traditional architecture is always evolving and will continue to absorb new materials and design concepts, the effects of any substitute material or form should be evaluated before it is adopted. Failure to do so can only result in the loss of the very concepts that made the traditional techniques appropriate.”

— Hassan Fathy, Natural Energy and Vernacular Architecture

However, it is not enough to adopt these ideas in the architectural context; we must study and understand this ideology on a grander scale. The past 50 years of urban development in the Persian Gulf and the Arabian Peninsula have primarily been motivated by the luxury, spectacle, and above-all: capital. It is not surprising that the lands that were stricken with the harshest levels of poverty and one of the worst qualities of life would want to free themselves from that life and adopt the new and modern. The tradition was a reminder of darker days. The people of the Persian Gulf embraced the new because it brought forth a better quality of life. Knowledge and expertise were outsourced to Europe, in the Khaleeji context, primarily to the British and Americans, who modeled our cities and capitals after their own. The automobile was embraced in the design, and wide avenues had to be built to accommodate more vehicles. Naturally, cities became covered in asphalt. Zoning codes mandated that buildings had to have sufficient parking spots for automobile drivers. Our new urban environment could only be described as an asphalt desert.

The impact asphalt has on the heat island effect is well documented. Dubai, one of the fastest developing cities in the region, has seen a 64.8% change in land cover and a 1.5 degree C rise in land surface temperature. Projects like the Blue Road on Abdullah Bin Jassim Street by Souq Waqif are certainly exciting in that aspect in mitigating this effect. But is this A) Enough? B) Actually helping? While the street has seen a decrease in temperature, it ignores the issue at large: Our urban design does not make sense in our environmental context.

Our forefathers built verandas by mosques and commercial areas, had narrow streets that gave shade to pedestrians, and created a scale in which people felt more comfortable walking. Moreover, despite the propagation of the idea that Khaleeji Urbanism was built with little regard to proper city planning measures is a false notion. A study that compares temporal variations 'organic' and 'structured' urban configurations in Dubai shows that the "organic" historic neighborhood of Al-Bastakiyah was "cooler in summer and autumn" than the 'structured' Orthogonal and Volume Orthogonal configurations. The configuration of the streets contributed to a smoother distribution of temperature throughout the entire site by directing the wind. Street and building orientation were built in terms of wind direction. This shows that a great deal of thought went into planning the streets and sikkak in Khaleeji towns before any colonial planning practices and that the supposed 'organic' structures were far better organized and structured than the modernist principles enforced by British engineering and architectural offices. Additionally, that same study concludes that the Bastakiyah street configuration should be selected as the recommended configuration not only for its thermal behavior, but also for the other sustainability dimensions it promotes.

“This type of configuration allows for higher levels of privacy and in other instances increased social interaction. It responds best to the cultural aspect of the society and at the same time to the climatic conditions of the city.”

— Dana Taleb & Bassam Abu-Hijleh (2012)

Snapshot of the Al-Bastakiyah Neighborhood in Dubai, UAE

Perhaps the best example of cooling technology in the Middle Eastern context is the wind catchers or the wind towers, also called barajeel (sing. barjeel), malaqif (sing. milqaf), and badgir. Wind catchers have come in an array of styles across the Middle East and South Asia, including Egypt, the Arab States of the Persian Gulf, Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan, and Pakistan (It very common in the Sindh Province, where it was called Manghu) . A masterpiece of mechanical engineering developed thousands of years ago, architects and engineers were able to bring thermal comfort into their homes through these vertical wind channels. It is based on the principle of cold air suction from higher elevations into buildings. It acts as a natural solution developed in a pre-mechanical air conditioning era in hot desert climates. Residents of these hot climates were forced to adapt to their natural environments, and through that, they were able to innovate. The crucial underlying point here is that this technological innovation was spurred about by necessity, due to its geographic and climatic situation. Towers can vary in design, height, and depending on whether the climate of specific geography is dry or humid, the technology can vary slightly.

Milqaf (Cairo, Egypt)

One-Sided Badgir (Mehriz, Iran)

Octahedral Badgir (Yazd, Iran)

Manghu (Hyderabad, Pakistan)

One-Sided Barjeel (Dubai, UAE)

Two-Sided Barjeel (Manama, Bahrain)

Manghu (Hyderabad, Pakistan)

For thousands of years, barajeel provided natural ventilation of air that is free from pollutants and dirt due to the elevated air source. This air flows into the interior spaces of the house, such as a living room or a bedroom of sorts. Regardless of the building's orientation and its relation to the wind direction, the barajeel were still able to cool down buildings. In dryer climates, the airflow can be directed through a water source such as a fountain to increase humidity. It is astonishing today to look at these technologies, as most people today cannot fathom how to live in our environment without mechanical air conditioning, and considering how four of the ten highest countries in electricity consumption are situated in the Persian Gulf, we should consider how to reduce electricity consumption to become environmentally sustainable. Dr. Ayman Alsuliman at the University of Jordan (2014) has written on the merits of wind catchers as an environmentally friendly technology for cooling. He cites that mechanical air conditioning relies on Freon gas, the cooling agent used in most air conditioning systems, extremely harmful to the environment, while wind catchers don't. He also notes that the higher oxygen levels in the air with the guarantee of continuous ridding of CO2 and ensures higher productivity levels. The study also concludes that natural underground ventilation systems result in 60% savings in energy consumption compared to mechanical cooling. Technological innovation and mechanical cooling systems do not call for the riddance of traditional cooling methods; instead, we should embrace and innovate new technologies and build on cooling methods used in vernacular architecture.

So, what does this mean? Where do we go from here? Should we return to building houses from mud bricks and tear down our roads? Not quite. However, when designing new neighborhoods or retrofitting current suburbs in our cities, we should perhaps embrace traditional building methods and philosophies. Why turn to European expertise and philosophies in our city building when our builders had the right idea for centuries? Earlier in this article, I called for a radical change in our understanding: but these fundamental ideas are not radical. These were ideas that are tried and true, age-old and have worked for years. This idea is not at all revolutionary, it's common-sense. If it responds best to our climactic condition and the cultural elements of society, why should we not adopt it?

This article was inspired by the brilliant Egyptian architect Hassan Fathy. I wholeheartedly recommend reading his books if you are at all interested in vernacular architecture. Both Architecture for the Poor and Natural Energy and Vernacular Architecture, although the latter maybe hard to find.

Articles Referenced:

Alsuliman, A. (2014). Wind Catchers and Sustainable Architecture in the Arab World. Journal of Civil and Environmental Research, 6, 130–136.

Taleb, D., & Abu-Hijleh, B. (2013). Urban Heat Islands: Potential effect of organic and structured urban configurations on temperature variations in Dubai, UAE. Renewable Energy, 50, 747–762. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.renene.2012.07.030

Evaluating Urban Heritage In Doha

June 15, 2019 by AbdulRahman Al-Mana

Historic urban cores are the backbone of a city’s cultural identity. London; Rome; Istanbul; and Tokyo are all cities that have existed for centuries, and are places that have captured the eyes and hearts of the world. These cities all share something in the fact that they have a defined cultural identity that survived through the preservation and maintenance of the socio-cultural, environmental and economic characteristics of their built heritage. The preservation of built heritage represents a collection of ‘local memories’ that allows citizens to interact, share, and experience urban history as the city lives and breathes. In an age where cities all over the world compete to attract global markets, cultural heritage acts as a magnet for tourists and investors. It is no surprise then that there is a great deal of interest for cities that seek to penetrate the global stage such as Doha, to market themselves not only as new and cutting edge but as centers of culture and history.

Souq Waqif circa 1967. Taken from Anne Elliot’s Flickr page.

Jane Jacobs writes extensively in The Death and Life of Great American Cities on preservation issues and the need for old buildings: “Cities need old buildings so badly it is probably impossible for vigorous streets and districts to grow without them. By old buildings I mean not museum-piece old buildings, not old buildings in an excellent and expensive state of rehabilitation–although these make fine ingredients–but also a good lot of plain, ordinary, low-value old buildings, including some rundown old buildings”.

Doha in 1956