The Trials of an American Dilettante

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Yemen

The Indonesian flight attendant walked down the aisle of the quarter-filled flight asking people if they were getting off in Sana'a or continuing on to Djibouti. I told her Sana'a, which gave her pause. All the other Westerners were continuing on, apparently.

After explaining to the immigration guy in broken Jordanian Arabic that my visa was in fact valid, I waited for my luggage nervously at the carousel (a stereotypically rude Air France worker had told me in Paris there was little chance my bag would make it - I want to like you France, I do). One of the luggage helpers, who was very high on the wad of khat in his cheek, stood by my side eager to grab my backpack. Ahamdulila, it arrived just as my ride did. I passed by a line of bearded Yemeni as I exited the airport. Each had a softball of khat in their cheek, an enormous jambiya (dagger) in their belt and a I'm-going to-kill-you stare on their face. Holy shit, this place is intimidating.

Morning came. On the fourth floor on my hotel I could peer over the bomb wall at Sana'a - mountains, sunshine and buildings that can only be described as gingerbread. It was the most beautiful dreamland - only filled with the most extreme religious zealots in the world.

Out the window of the armored car, I saw the city. 95 percent of the women wore niqab and most little girls wore hijab. That was way more extreme than Kabul, where I figured about half of the women were in burqa. And then there was the men. Simply put, all of them looked like bad-asses. Almost all had their jambiya, their huge wad of khat and most looked angry. Many rode motorcycles, weaving in and out of traffic. A fair number had camouflaged jackets like Osama dons in his jihad videos. They all had leathered skin from the harsh sun at the extreme altitude. And they grinned with greenish black smiles - mouths filled with khat stained teeth from a lifetime of getting high.

Besides the inside of ministry buildings, I only got to see a bit of real Yemen twice. The first was lunch at a local hangout. We ate tuna with tomato sauce and some sort of green spicy stuff along with piles of lamb. Circles of Yemeni men chowed around us, sitting Indian style and never releasing their gazes from us. Well, they mostly gazed at the red curly hair of the lone female in our group. On the way out, my companions were making long goodbyes, so I meandered off a little and was offered tea. One of the Yemeni quickly brought up Palestine and told me I needed to do something about that.

"I'll do my best. My heart is with them," I told him.

Of course, if I had that much pull in the world, did he think I'd be sharing tea with him at a Yemeni dive?

My second bit of Yemen was the old city, which amazed me not for the souq, which I've seen a million of by now, but for the old buildings. Again, its like gingerbread. The Yemeni build their houses in brown brick, but fill in white mortar between the bricks in varying amounts to allow the bricks to form designs. It looks like gingerbread and frosting. Above every window is an extra arch with floral design, sometimes filled with stain glass. And the stain glass resembles gumdrops. Over the ages, the mortar even melts a little making the houses look gooey from a far. In actuality its a million times better than a crappy gingerbread house, but still. The mosques are built the same way with thin brick minarets with rounded tops.

With hubris, I say that Sana'a is the most beautiful city in the world, hands down. For a bunch of high, violent, religious zealots, you did good.