Wadi Shaam, Ras al Khaimah // As the sun rises over the mountains, the tapping sound from Ali Rashid al Dhuhoori's hammer and chisel knocking away at the stubborn mountain face echoes over the village below. The 82-year-old, who stands just five feet tall, breaks off a piece of stone weighing more than 70kg and carries it over his head to a pile of flattened stones that will soon mark a freshly dug grave. "I devoted myself in the service of the dead by providing them with the best tombstones I can find and shape," said Mr al Dhuhoori, as he wipes off streams of sweat dripping down his heavily wrinkled and tanned face. Pausing mid-climb, he turns towards a boulder under which he has hidden carefully wrapped bottles of water. He rests a while to drink, then places his hands on his walking stick, and looks up at the mountain. "This is my mountain, and I take care of it and it takes care of me," he said. "Thousands are buried with Ali Rashid's tombstones. They will last forever, years after I am gone." In Wadi Shaam alone, four cemeteries are covered with his tombstones. Known as "shahed" (witness), by Islamic custom they are unnamed. Nearby villages also depend on Mr al Dhuhoori for their graves. At the crack of dawn, after a simple breakfast of Arabic coffee, bread and laban, Mr al Dhuhoori often walks the kilometre to the mountain from his home. From there, he climbs the 400 metres or so to the mountainside above the Wadi Shaam valley. His hands are rough, and some of his toenails missing, but 67 years of working on the mountains have not robbed Mr al Dhuhoori of his agility and stamina. The whole mountainside is his workshop; from the village below, the chipped corners and partially carved stones that are his works in progress are just visible, scattered across the rugged terrain. This careful, piecemeal approach preserves the beauty of the mountain, he says. His tribe, al Dhuhoori, have lived here in the mountains of the Northern Emirates for centuries, along with two others, al Shehhi and al Habous. "I get my strength and livelihood from the mountain, and so I am grateful to it and wouldn't dare to mutilate its beauty, unlike those quarries," he says pointing into the distance. "They destroy these magnificent mountains and its precious stones." He leaves his tools on the mountainside where he needs them - hammers, axes, chisels and sticks, and even changes of clothes. A series of tubular metal rails, more than 200m long, run down into the valley. These are what Mr al Dhuhoori uses to slide his creations towards their final resting place. "I never studied maths," he said, "but I studied nature and found ways to move my tomb heads more efficiently without breaking them as they land below." From six until nine in the morning, Mr al Dhuhoori can be seen hacking or chipping at the stones. Then he heads home and waits for potential customers to call. Besides the flat, rectangular headstones, he carves the gray and brown stones (locally known as qashou) into thinner slabs to line the graves, to prevent them from collapsing. Working the slabs into shape can take anything from a few days to six months. For all this work, Mr al Dhuhoori makes between Dh500 and Dh1,000 a month, the proceeds from between 100 and 200 flattened stones. Sometimes, when times are hard, he sells the carved slabs as backyard decorations. "It is a very difficult job," he said. "But it is the only thing I know what to do and I will keep doing it until I die." And when that day comes, the tradition will die with him. According to the historian Dr Hamad bin Seray at UAE University, Mr al Dhuhoori is the only Emirati doing this. "I know," he said, "because I searched. "This local tradition of customised tomb heads from the materials found in our surroundings will die with him as now they just use common cement." Most gravestones are now made by Afghans, mass-produced from cement, said the historian. "Before, graves would tell us the story of the people that once lived near them through the materials used in them," he said. "But modern graves have lost all that personal and cultural touch." For Mr al Dhuhoori, that personal touch outweighs the slight monetary returns. "At least the graves in my village have beautiful headstones," he said, "unlike those modern graves with cement tomb heads." As for his own grave, he has already carved out his headstone and the inner linings. "My headstone is made from the heart of the mountain itself," he said with a smile. "That is more than enough for a humble mountain man like me." rghazal@thenational.ae