What We Are Buying Today: Mikal’s cereal: The first Saudi brand to offer dry baby cereal

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Updated 08 May 2020
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What We Are Buying Today: Mikal’s cereal: The first Saudi brand to offer dry baby cereal

Mikal’s is the first Saudi brand to offer dry baby cereal made with only organic ingredients. The firm was founded in 2019 by a young Saudi couple, Mawya Eshki and Tarek Khoja, who named their cereal project after their first baby Mikal.

Mothers increasingly are looking for high-quality baby cereals since the first step after breastfeeding is crucial for babies.

Mikal’s cereal has all-natural ingredients with no additives or preservatives, and is free of sugar and coloring.

The couple carried out three years of extensive research to develop the formula for their cereal — a healthy mix that allows babies to experience their first meal without the risk of an allergic reaction to gluten. 

Mikal’s gluten-free cereal is made mainly of oats and dates, which are rich in natural minerals, vitamins and dietary fiber. The cereal is easy to make on the go and can be ready to consume in a single step. Simply add the measure you think your baby is willing to eat to hot water or hot milk, and mix until it has a thick, creamy, pureed texture.

Pureed fruits or honey can be added for extra taste and color.

Mikal’s cereal uses Qassim dates from local farms and is certified by the Saudi Accreditation Committee. The cereal is rich in B vitamins, vitamins A and K, folic acid and a range of minerals. A 300 gm pack of Mikal’s cereal costing SR65 ($17) will make 12-14 meals, depending on the age of the baby and quantity consumed. For more information, visit the online store: www.mikalscereal.com


Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

Updated 25 January 2026
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Decoding villains at an Emirates LitFest panel in Dubai

DUBAI: At this year’s Emirates Airline Festival of Literature in Dubai, a panel on Saturday titled “The Monster Next Door,” moderated by Shane McGinley, posed a question for the ages: Are villains born or made?

Novelists Annabel Kantaria, Louise Candlish and Ruth Ware, joined by a packed audience, dissected the craft of creating morally ambiguous characters alongside the social science that informs them. “A pure villain,” said Ware, “is chilling to construct … The remorselessness unsettles you — How do you build someone who cannot imagine another’s pain?”

Candlish described character-building as a gradual process of “layering over several edits” until a figure feels human. “You have to build the flesh on the bone or they will remain caricatures,” she added.

The debate moved quickly to the nature-versus-nurture debate. “Do you believe that people are born evil?” asked McGinley, prompting both laughter and loud sighs.

Candlish confessed a failed attempt to write a Tom Ripley–style antihero: “I spent the whole time coming up with reasons why my characters do this … It wasn’t really their fault,” she said, explaining that even when she tried to excise conscience, her character kept expressing “moral scruples” and second thoughts.

“You inevitably fold parts of yourself into your creations,” said Ware. “The spark that makes it come alive is often the little bit of you in there.”

Panelists likened character creation to Frankenstein work. “You take the irritating habit of that co‑worker, the weird couple you saw in a restaurant, bits of friends and enemies, and stitch them together,” said Ware.

But real-world perspective reframed the literary exercise in stark terms. Kantaria recounted teaching a prison writing class and quoting the facility director, who told her, “It’s not full of monsters. It’s normal people who made a bad decision.” She recalled being struck that many inmates were “one silly decision” away from the crimes that put them behind bars. “Any one of us could be one decision away from jail time,” she said.

The panelists also turned to scientific findings through the discussion. Ware cited infant studies showing babies prefer helpers to hinderers in puppet shows, suggesting “we are born with a natural propensity to be attracted to good.”

Candlish referenced twin studies and research on narrative: People who can form a coherent story about trauma often “have much better outcomes,” she explained.

“Both things will end up being super, super neat,” she said of genes and upbringing, before turning to the redemptive power of storytelling: “When we can make sense of what happened to us, we cope better.”

As the session closed, McGinley steered the panel away from tidy answers. Villainy, the authors agreed, is rarely the product of an immutable core; more often, it is assembled from ordinary impulses, missteps and circumstances. For writers like Kantaria, Candlish and Ware, the task is not to excuse cruelty but “to understand the fragile architecture that holds it together,” and to ask readers to inhabit uncomfortable but necessary perspectives.