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One Man’s Mission To Save Yemen’s Ibex

In Hadramawt, a self-funded sanctuary is bringing the endangered animal back from the brink of extinction

Saeed Al-Batati is a Yemeni journalist based in Yemen's southern port city of al-Mukalla who has been covering Yemen for many years for local, regional and international media outlets

May 21, 2025
One Man’s Mission To Save Yemen’s Ibex



Two decades ago, Abdullah Ahmed Salem Mawla al-Dawila was among many hunters in Yemen’s southeastern Hadramawt province pursuing the rare Nubian ibex, an activity he would later regret and dedicate years to rectifying.

The Nubian ibex, once plentiful, was driven close to extinction by years of hunting while the nation was at war. Instead of continuing on that route, Mawla al-Dawila made a different choice: He put down his gun and transformed his desire to kill rare wild mountain creatures into an effort to preserve them.

Today, thanks to his rare and self-funded conservation effort, the once-endangered wild goats are making a quiet comeback inside his sanctuary. “I have decided to turn my deep love for hunting and raising animals into an effort to preserve those endangered animals,” the 50-year-old told New Lines in a large and sparsely furnished lobby where he receives his friends and guests.

In a small village called al-Mukhibiyah in the far east of Hadramawt, nearly a seven-hour drive from the province’s capital, al-Mukalla, lies a sanctuary built from scratch by Mawla al-Dawila, hosting more than 50 male and female ibexes and more than 20 gazelles. “My hunting trips sparked an idea in my mind to protect these animals instead of chasing them. I love hunting too much. So instead of killing them, I opted to preserve them,” he said, surrounded by some of the 15 children he has from his three wives.

In 2020, the Switzerland-based International Union for Conservation of Nature classified the Nubian ibex as vulnerable and placed it on its “red list” of threatened species due to excessive hunting, limited water resources and competition with other animals.

In Yemen, over a decade of intense fighting has left the wild mountain goats susceptible to unregulated hunting and a deep-rooted tradition that drives the capture of these animals as symbols of pride and masculinity. During the war, local and international nongovernmental organizations were unable to access the animals’ natural habitats, which accounts for the lack of accurate and updated data on the ibex population. However, accounts from Mawla al-Dawila and others, as well as reports from neighboring Oman, shed light on the animal’s condition in Yemen, revealing that the number of ibexes is rapidly declining.

Some antiques showing ibexes with huge, curved horns have been uncovered in Yemen, emphasizing the ibex’s cultural importance in ancient Yemeni kingdoms. The ibex is also entwined with Hadramawt’s rich traditions, including poetry, proverbs and legends. “He brought the ibex by its horns” is a saying in Hadramawt that praises a successful individual.

The sanctuary, which covers more than 5,000 square feet of agricultural land, is divided into two enclosures: The large one is supported by metal poles, a sturdy chain-link fence made of galvanized metal where the ibexes are kept, and the other, where he keeps the gazelles, is constructed using long and uneven wooden poles brought together with woven wire mesh. The quality of the first enclosure’s wall and its size indicate that he values the ibexes more than the gazelles.

The sanctuary is part of a large agricultural area that contains the farmland that belongs to Mawla al-Dawila and his brothers, camel and sheep cages, and his home. He began the project with two newborn male ibexes and one female that he “bought from a Bedouin who had captured them from the wild,” he said, recounting the modest beginning of his efforts more than 20 years ago.

In the beginning, the project was not promising because the males did not breed rapidly, requiring him to purchase more ibexes. At the time, the novice herder was unable to maintain them in his small shelter, and some escaped to the wild or perished. Despite the early setbacks, he refused to give up and continued to care for the surviving ibexes.

He also expanded his herd by buying gazelles, another endangered species. In the following years, his project began yielding fruit as both the gazelles and the ibexes began breeding. “They first increased by three, and then later the females gave birth to five,” he said.

During his youth, he was not an average hunter. Unlike other villagers who went hunting every year, Mawla al-Dawila would take his gun and go hunting once or twice a month, hopping through the ibexes’ habitat in Hadramawt. “Hunting was something I loved too much,” he recalled.

To recreate the rugged mountain landscape the animals originally inhabited, he erected clusters of mounds across the enclosure and threw stones on the ground, replicating the rocky outcrops where ibexes and gazelles ordinarily take refuge. “I filled the earth of the enclosure with stones and made highlands. I also made rooms to protect them from the rain and cold.”



Mawla al-Dawila has the skills needed to approach the animals without surprising them. To assist me in photographing the ibexes, he entered the cage first, carefully and deliberately, sidling further into the enclosure with bundles of sorghum and alfalfa. Shortly after he placed the handful of feed on the ground, male ibexes appeared and congregated around the fresh green stalks. As they began to eat, he stood quietly among them and encouraged me to enter to take shots. “They would run away if you made even a small move,” he said, standing still and moving just his lips.

But the same method that worked with the ibexes didn’t fool the gazelles. When he tried to lure them by capturing a baby of one of the gazelles, hoping they’d settle for long enough for me to take a few photos, they scattered instead, kicking up dust as they rushed across the enclosure. “As you can see, they don’t stand still,” he said, watching them hide behind the enclosure’s chambers and simulated rocky highlands. “Only a drone from above could get close enough to photograph them properly.”



Despite raising and reinforcing the fences to protect his herd from predators like stray dogs, an unseen threat once infiltrated the sanctuary and threatened to destroy his precious creatures, which he had spent years tending. Years ago, a mysterious disease spread across the community, sickening cattle and reaching his cages. While sheep, goats and camels got treatment from veterinarians, Mawla al-Dawila’s ibexes and gazelles were left to battle the infections. Seven of the animals perished, and he seemed impotent as he watched his valued creatures die one after the other. He couldn’t capture them because catching ill animals would startle them and send them rushing over the fence, possibly to their death.



“Seven of them perished, and I was unable to cure them because I could not capture them. Goats and sheep are usually vaccinated by a veterinarian from Tarim,” he said, referring to a neighboring city. To avoid future losses, he requested that he be provided with a tranquilizer rifle. “I need a tranquilizer gun to catch the ill and cut their cloven hooves. I once attempted to catch one to cure it, but two hopped over the fence and ran.”

He also complained about the spiraling cost of taking care of the animals. On a monthly basis, he spends about $2,000 on their food and to pay a man helping him manage the herd, among other expenses. To keep his project running, he sells goats, sheep, camels or some of his farm’s products in the local market. Despite the importance of his project, he has not received support from the government or a local or international organization. “No one has helped me,” he said. “I cover everything myself by selling some of my goats and camels or onions.”

He also needs money to repair the gazelles’ crumbling wood-poled fencing and to purchase special food for them. If he had the necessary assistance, he would split the sanctuary into two or three enclosures. One of them would be devoted to nursing mothers and their newborns. Since males and females are mixed in the same environment, the infants do not get enough milk from their mothers, who become pregnant again before their kids can wean. “I have a small pen in my house where I feed the newborns whose mothers become pregnant with milk from my goats,” he said.

He has resisted requests from family and friends — and even his cravings for meat — to slaughter the animals for food. He sticks to a strict rule, which is that only those ibexes and gazelles that are sick, injured or too old to survive are ever butchered. “I once slaughtered an aging ibex after it became too weak to move,” he said. “We ate its meat. I also killed two gazelles after they fought each other and were badly injured.”

He says he would want to extend his conservation efforts to include other endangered antelopes, such as the Arabian oryx, if given the proper assistance, which would include the government legalizing his activities. “During a visit to Oman, I tried to bring an Arabian oryx back with me. However, the authorities there informed me that I needed an official letter from Yemeni officials to approve the transfer. If I had the support, I’d go to Oman the next day and bring them to my refuge.”

Despite his firm stance against selling his ibexes prematurely, he admits he once gave in to pressure from close relatives and friends, agreeing to sell four animals. But the experiment didn’t go well. “I once sold four to relatives,” he said, “but they couldn’t raise them. One of them escaped, and the whole effort failed.”



Annual hunting trips in the areas around Mawla al-Dawila’s sanctuary and across the enormous Wadi Hadramawt, which he used to participate in, are more than a pastime; they are part of a deeply established cultural tradition that dates back decades.

Taking advantage of the animals’ seasonal movements, in the winter, groups of men prepare for the hunt by meeting in their villages, where they are welcomed by well-wishers before going off. They set off for the highlands, armed with food, tents, firearms and ammunition, in pursuit of the elusive Nubian ibex. Some hunters are fortunate, locating and killing an animal soon after starting their excursion. However, most spend up to four days traveling large distances, sometimes depleting their supplies before even reaching a target. According to Mawla al-Dawila, these journeys are carefully planned: Winter is selected because the animals leave their homes and congregate, and the chilly weather helps hunters to stay out longer without becoming tired or thirsty.

When a hunt is successful, massive celebrations take place across the communities. To escape the embarrassment of returning empty-handed, especially since ibexes have become more elusive in recent years, some hunters trek for hours across the isolated valleys of Hadramawt, even crossing into neighboring Mahra province, desperate to bring home a kill.

During the hunting season, videos of these homecomings surface, showing men returning to their towns with guns and freshly chopped ibex heads raised high over their heads. After they’ve settled down, they form circles and recite poetry, sing ancient melodies and dance rhythmically, each proudly bearing the horned head of the animal they’ve killed. “Hunting trips are treated like weddings — or even more important,” Mawla al-Dawila said. “When the hunters come back with an ibex, there are big celebrations — dancing, chanting, even slaughtering a camel or goats.” When the celebrations come to an end, the skulls are handed over to the leader of hunters as a trophy. Houses along the roads leading to Mawla al-Dawila’s sanctuary are adorned with skulls of slain ibexes, a tangible reminder of the region’s deeply ingrained rituals.

Some hunters who returned empty-handed from poaching expeditions joked with Mawla al-Dawila about releasing one or two ibexes from his cage to the mountain so that they might catch them and celebrate their capture. He not only rejected the proposition but also continued to criticize the hunting. “These missions have resulted in the extinction of the ibex. Ten years ago, the animals were abundant.”

He has also turned down several offers to sell the ibexes and gazelles, fearing that if he started selling the animals, the number of animals would decline, as would the initiative. “There are requests to purchase the ibexes. But I’m scared that if I start selling them now, the number of animals will drop and the idea would collapse.”

He would only contemplate selling ibexes if the herd reaches 100, a figure he feels would ensure the project’s long-term viability. He anticipates that if the cattle obtained enough assistance, such as food and medical attention, he would be able to complete his objective in two years. “I would breed them until there were 100 and then start selling them. I can achieve that figure in two years if I get help.”

If the Yemeni government or local authorities were ever to establish a similar initiative to breed and protect endangered wild goats, he would gladly contribute, offering not only animals but his knowledge. “If the province is planning to establish a zoo for Hadramawt or even for the republic, I can give them some animals for free,” he said. “And I’d help them learn how to care for them.”

Curious individuals have often challenged him on why he continues to care for the animals despite the expense and effort. “Many of them ask me why I’m still doing this,” he said. “I tell them I love this project. I’m not thinking about profit. These animals are nearly extinct.”

For him, this unique project is a legacy that he wishes to see survive while he is living and to continue after he dies. He’s even spoken to his children and brothers about what should happen once he’s gone. “I told them, if I die, they must take care of this project,” he said. “They must give it their whole attention.”