‘Yuba’ – My dear father

“المقياس قطر (The measure is Qatar)”

There is no literal translation for this saying, but in essence it means that whatever is done is done for Qatar – not for personal gain, recognition, or ego, but for the benefit of the nation and its people. This single phrase is the compass that guides me in all I do. On my personal platform, it is my motto, learned from my Yuba, who lived it as his daily reality. He put his country and his people before himself. Whenever we were together, it was always about Qatar. There was no line between a day in the office and a family vacation – matters of state occupied him always. He possessed a magnetic personality, a contagious charisma, and a profound ability to mobilise us all behind his vision: The belief that Qatar deserves the best.

Under his guidance, ideas that once seemed like distant, unrealised dreams became powerful realities, ones that would inspire and incubate Arab talent from all over the world. Many of those talents told me that it was only in Qatar that they felt proud to be Arab.

Yuba came to power, and gave up his power, in the most unusual way. His objective was always to transform our nation from poverty into a strong economy that prioritised the human soul above all else. He ascended to transform, and descended to empower his beloved son, intuitively trusting that he had fulfilled his commitment and could entrust my brother to carry the legacy forward. For him, “المقياس قطر” meant bringing youthful leadership to the helm of the throne. In my last moments with my Yuba, he spoke of how proud he was of my brother – and in hindsight, I understood that his abdication, however unusual for our region, was intuitively the right thing to do. He gave all he had to give, and it was time to usher in a new generation to carry these responsibilities forward.

I was one of the young people he entrusted. But crucially, I was his daughter, whom he empowered just as fiercely as his sons. As a young girl, he never let me believe there were limits to what I could achieve. He taught me to swim, to dive, to drive, to play cards, to play tennis, to travel, to love, to laugh, to live – and, most importantly, to give. He encouraged me to study in America and later in Paris, always pushing me towards new horizons. During my summers, he arranged internships for me, and I never hesitated to follow his lead, because my Yuba always knew me best. If he called and sensed I was unwell, he would check in on me every day – and if something in my voice was off, he would simply say, “I don’t like the sound of your voice.” My father was both strong and sensitive, layered and sophisticated. He had an intuition, and he gave credit where it was due. He sought out talent to lead his different portfolios, and once he chose someone, he trusted and empowered them fully. I often spoke with him in detail about the projects we were working on, and he would surprise me with how much he retained when he later asked how things were evolving. That attentiveness wasn’t reserved for me alone; everyone around him felt it. Yuba had many gifts, but to me, his greatest was the way he listened and cared.

The day after I graduated from university in 2005, I began working with him. Within days, we were travelling the globe – from Chicago to New York, Tokyo to Singapore. His energy was larger than life; his unrelenting drive kept us all moving forward. Every decision carried profound meaning. I was 23 when he asked me to take over the Museum of Islamic Art. I remember vividly the day after it opened – he looked at me and asked simply, “What is the next museum we are opening?” There was no time wasted on celebration; the focus was always on the road ahead. To him, cultural infrastructure was a socioeconomic catalyst, a driver of quality of life and human development – there was no time to lose. He kept me on my toes, grounded and humble, and above all, human and real. Yuba loved to laugh at himself, and he taught me to do the same. His confidence to act and to embrace showed me I could do the same. He led not by lecture but by example; he taught me everything I know.

When he came to power, he abolished censorship and created Al Jazeera. I believe this was his proudest achievement, not just for Qatar, but for the Arab world as a whole. He wanted to elevate the lives of Arabs, to let them live with dignity, to empower their voices in media, education, culture, film, sport, and beyond. He believed in dialogue to resolve conflict and had the patience to hear out the opinions of others. He never treated disagreement as confrontation; instead, he encouraged us to speak the truth and search for insight until a matter was resolved. Solutions were driven by Qatar’s best interests, never by personal bias. Qatar deserved the best, and whatever needed to be done had to be done in the best way possible.

In the afternoons, my father would drive around looking at new developments and neighbourhoods, sometimes stopping by people’s homes to see how they were doing. He stayed close to his people, as if they were all his children – because, in a sense, they were. No child, no adult, no Qatari, no resident ever felt too distant from his presence, from his smile.

Behind the visionary leader was simply a devoted husband, father, and grandfather. He deeply respected my mother and often praised her immense contribution to our upbringing and to society. The values he demanded at work were the same ones he demanded at home. Holidays were never for idleness; he woke us early to make the most of every day, ensuring we shared in his discipline. Lunches were animated by politicians, thinkers, writers, artists, and old friends. My Yuba was generous with his heart, his attention, and his curiosity. He was restless, never wasting a moment, and inclusive, never making anyone feel less important than himself. He often introduced himself simply as “Hamad” – and with his infectious smile and warm brown eyes, it took only one encounter, one conversation, to leave a lasting impression.

When death arrives, it strips away everything but love and legacy. In these days of mourning, as the world comes to Qatar to pay its respects, I see my father’s true masterpiece: A nation united in grief by mourners from near and far. To honour him is to remain united, focused, disciplined, and determined to deliver the best for our country and our region. His absolute trust and pride in my brother will no doubt continue to guide us – to make the impossible possible, and to stay focused, undeterred by distraction, on our shared goal. So as we return to work next week, may we all work harder, remembering what he expected of us: To be the best versions of ourselves and to contribute in the best way we can. To remain humble, kind, generous, and hospitable, in the way that we are. May his memory continue to guide us for the rest of our lives.

May his soul rest in peace.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial policy.