Exploring Yemen's countryside and Kamaran Island (Where I learned to ride a motorcycle), Part 2

When I left off in my previous post we had just docked on Kamaran at the island camp, which is owned the wonderful Mohammed and Magda, a married couple who claim roots in Yemen and Germany. I will leave figuring out which one is German and which one is Yemeni to the reader, a task that should not be too difficult. Along with the island tourist camp, they also operate a restaurant in the Old City of Sana’a, Two Moons Restaurant & Cafe. The ‘Two Moons’ name is better understood when one knows the story behind it, which requires a brief digression and a small lesson in Arabic (which I hope I am getting right!).

From what I have gathered in my personal research, Kamaran was originally called ‘Qamaran,’ but the name was changed due to difficulties that some of the Western (European) occupying powers had in correctly pronouncing it. The ‘q’ written in phonetic translations of Arabic to English represents the Arabic letter qaf, pronounced similarly to cough. The word qamaran in Arabic means ‘two moons’ and was chosen as the name for the island because of a double reflection of the moon that can be seen there at different times throughout each month. As a result of this original name and its meaning, it seems Mohammed and Magda decided to use it as inspiration when naming their restaurant, which, on a side note, I have visited several times but not yet eaten at. My first visit there, a few days before our departure, was so I could give Mohammed a fifty percent advance payment for our stay. This allowed me a chance to meet Mohammed and to learn a bit more about the accommodations they provide on the island. In our brief meeting Mohammed also told me that either he or Magda has to be at the island to run the business, meaning they spend the majority of their time apart. Nevertheless, they both seem to be happy people and I hope are happily married as well.

Back to the island. After exiting the water craft and unloading our few things, we made our way towards the main building of the complex, which is one of the three actual buildings located there, the others being a bath/shower house (which lacks adequate plumbing, including the ability to flush) and a small shed used by the workers. The remaining structures, including all the guest rooms, are Tihama-style huts consisting of long, dried reed-type plants assembled in a circular fashion around a central framework of logs and covered with a roof of tightly woven dried reeds. The huts do have a concrete floor and a power outlet, but besides that are quite primitive and similar to those employed by people of the Tihama region. Tihama refers to a narrow coastal area along the Arabian peninsula’s Red Sea coast. After my somewhat negative comments about Hodeidah and the surrounding area in my previous post, I was somewhat relieved to find out, via Wikipedia and Brittanica Online, that the Tihama region is one of the hottest places on earth. Our stay here was about two weeks before the end of summer, meaning the temperatures can be worse, but were still on the hotter side. I am not a wuss after all, and from what I have read only seasoned locals can truly tolerate the heat.

As we approached the central building we saw a couple small groups of other guests, but had the place mostly to ourselves for the time being. Once we made it inside we were soon greeted by Magda, who informed us that she had just put away the food from the midday meal after leaving it out for us for an extra hour or two. Despite this, she asked if we were hungry and if we would like some of the food heated up for a late lunch. Since we had not eaten much since breakfast other than snacks of fruit, dried fruit, and nuts, we decided it would be a good idea to have something. I wish they had left the food unheated because of the ridiculous heat, but I did not care to interfere with their normal manner of doing things, especially after making it clear that I did not consume animal products. Magda told us the food would be ready in about thirty minutes, which gave us a chance to put our things down, rest in the shade for a bit, and familiarize ourselves with the small layout of the grounds.

After our short wait we enjoyed a delicious meal that was characteristic of the food prepared by their kitchen: a unique mix of German and Yemeni cuisines. Though I obviously did not partake in any of it, one of the main foods offered is freshly caught fish or as Magda put it “the catch of the day.” The rest of the food consisted of lentil soup, a vegetable salad made with cucumbers, tomatoes, chopped cabbage, and peppers, and routi, the long, thin bread loaves seen all over Yemen. These dishes, along with foul, a traditional Yemeni dish made with fava beans that are slow cooked with spices, oil, and peppers, rice, potatoes, and hard boiled eggs were about all of what was offered during our stay (and likely always). Each meal is a bit different, however, as the kitchen staff has become quite creative in presenting these core ingredients in different ways to prevent too much monotony in the menu. Overall I was quite pleased with the food we ate throughout our stay and am glad I decided to pay for the full accommodations, which included three meals a day.

Once we had eaten what seemed like a feast, we all set about exploring the island in our own ways. For Deryk, Lisa, and Ela this meant going for a swim in the water to cool off, though we would all find out swimming in this part of the Red Sea does not really cool one off in the normal sense because the water temperature remains as warm as bathwater. Nevertheless, I imagine this is how most people spend their first afternoon on Kamaran as well as the majority of their time out of the shade. As with many things I choose to do, however, my first afternoon and the majority of my time exploring the island was not typical. Despite the nearly unbearable heat I was excited to get out and explore the terrain by foot, which is my preferred activity when visiting any new place. After downing a liter or so of water, filling my 1.5 L CamelBak water bladder, and losing my shirt, I was ready to take on my new environment and began trekking.

Since I wanted to see the coast, I maintained a relatively close distance to the shore, which on Kamaran consists mostly of a four foot cliff-drop off made of coral and rock. As I walked I continually scanned my surroundings and felt myself really digging being alone in the middle of this desert landscape. As I mentioned previously, Kamaran is a coral shelf island and as a result much of the ground is covered with a unique mixture of sand, crushed rock of a reddish-brown color, and washed up chunks of coral and sea shells. This, coupled with the virtually treeless topography made me at times feel like I was walking on Mars. The views in front of me, especially once I ventured away from the coast, evoked images I have seen of our red neighbor taken by satellites and other space equipment. One main difference between Mars and Kamaran, however, is that Mars actually has some change in elevation. Kamaran’s highest point, I have read, is 24 meters high, but because it is on the southeastern point of the island, the views I had in most of my walks, including the present one, were of some of the flattest land I have seen in my life. This is saying a lot, given that I am a South Dakota native and have spent nearly all of my life on the Great Plains. Nevertheless, I continued to absorb the new milieu and several times even did some running.

The further I distanced myself from the island camp, I began to notice more trash laying near the coast. It is difficult to predict exactly where it comes from, but regardless I found it disappointing to again see so much rubbish lying around. Besides the garbage I also saw some old fishing equipment and several abandoned boats, some as big or bigger than the one which ferried us to the island earlier. The only other company I had were some seagulls and, when I was near the water, a few small tadpole-type creatures. I was happy to see the seagulls, as these are one of both mine and my brother’s favorite animals. One of the main reasons for this is because of how diverse seagulls seem to be. I have seen them on both coasts of the United States, in Oregon, Maine, New Jersey, and North Carolina, throughout the Dakota prairie, and now inside the inferno of hell. Okay, it was not all that hot at this moment, I just want to make clear that it is really damned hot at almost all hours of the day in this area.

Each time I see seagulls I cannot help but think of some of the many memories my brother and I share in seeing them in our travels. Standing out the most is a beautiful moment he and I shared at the top of Dorr Mountain on Mount Desert Island in Maine, where we watched a seagull hover for several minutes only a few meters from where we sat. Though he is the only other person who knows the exact experience and feelings I am trying to convey, I feel it is important to share this memory because of how much of a beautiful moment it was, truly Zen-like. I am also telling it to encourage others to step into moments such as these and allow life to simply transpire around yourself, rather than engaging in our usual human tendency to control or manipulate our environment and time. I have found these experiences to be beneficial not only in the instant they occur, but also in future life experiences, as the details noticed in these moments can later bring one back to the place, mentally speaking, enjoyed in that former time. In this example, mine and John’s seagull friends act as reminders of that peaceful moment we shared on top of the mountain and help us return to that state when we see them.

Again I have drifted, while necessarily, from my current focus. Allow me to return. As I continued to walk, I periodically picked up some of the larger shells I saw and decided to keep several that I would use as decorations in my barren apartment. Throughout this walk I also managed to take many pictures, some which turned out spectacularly, especially because of the interesting lighting provided by the gradually setting sun. Because the sun continued to sink closer to the horizon, I decided it would be in my best interests to begin my way back towards the island camp, even though the idea of spending the night in the barren terrain was alluring.

On my return I first headed inland until I could no longer see the coast and was then completely surrounded by my make-believe Mars’ landscape. While I walked I also noticed a bit of vegetation and made a point to check it out on my way back. From my visual tracking of both this small growth of vegetation and the silhouette of the island camp in the distance, I realized how difficult it is to gauge distance without having any consistent landmarks around. I imagine this characteristic of desert landscapes has gotten many travelers in precarious situations, as things can often look much closer than they are in actuality. Fortunately in my case, I knew exactly where my shelter and access to food and water were, but this is not always so for those walking across desert areas. By this time the sun’s light had almost disappeared and I finished the last few hundred meters in near darkness, moving towards the lights of the island camp like an insect drawn to a floodlight. When I arrived I met back up with Deryk, Lisa, and Ela and we exchanged stories of our evenings. Not long after this supper was served and we once again ate some of the delicious German-Yemeni cooking from the kitchen staff.

After finishing our meal we soon began to prepare for bed, as we were all exhausted, both from our long day of travel and the relentless heat. Unfortunately this first night at the island would end up being a rather miserable experience, though I can honestly say I fared better than my traveling comrades as well as many of the other guests of the island. There were several factors which made this night so unpleasant with the heat taking the trophy for being the worst. Along with the heat was incessant barking of the island camp’s dog throughout the night and the lack of ventilation in the huts in which we stayed. At breakfast the following morning I learned that nearly everyone besides me, including Deryk, Lisa, and Ela, the workers, and most of the guests, had moved their cots out of the huts during the night and opted to sleep under the stars where a bit of a breeze could be found. When I told my friends that I had stayed in my hut and slept they could not believe that I had managed to sleep in there. I personally believe I was able to stay because of all the hot summer nights from my childhood spent in a house without any air-conditioning and with little in regards for ventilation. I actually found the dog’s barking to be much more bothersome and difficult to ignore than I did the heat.

Regardless of the reason for a poor night of sleep, it appeared everyone on the camp shared this experience, which made for a somewhat apathetic breakfast crowd. Despite this lack of zest, we all made the best of the situation and felt better after a meal of foul (fool) and bread, raw vegetables, and coffee (at least this is what I had). After finishing breakfast I decided I was going to walk to the village of Kamaran, which is roughly six km from the island camp. Before I started my walk, however, I struck up a conversation with a pair of Norwegian girls whom I had saw on our arrival the previous day. I soon learned their names, which I cannot remember now, and that they were in Yemen as part of a graduate study one of them was completing. Her research involved the Jewish population in Sana’a’s Old City and had been ongoing for a few years now. This was her fourth time in Yemen, the first coming five years ago to study Arabic at the same institute I began my studies. Ironically, she had the same teacher then that I now have helping me in my studies. We enjoyed a mutually engaging conversation for the next twenty to thirty minutes and even made plans to go dirt bike riding later that evening.

When I left the Norwegians I began to prepare for my trek through the desert. Although everyone thought I was insane for wanting to go walking across the island in the heat of the day, I was excited and drank several bottles of water before leaving. I also made sure to fill my CamelBak and to grab my camera and cell phone. I then set off for the village, this time in the opposite direction I had gone the previous night. Before I continue on about the walk, I want to be sure I mention how Deryk and Lisa encouraged me to wear sunscreen and how I ignored their conventional wisdom, mostly out of habit and perhaps a bit of pride. I assured them they could tease me and say, “I told you so,” if I ended up with a sunburn and told them I have just never got in the habit of wearing sunscreen and prefer not to. More on that later.

Since I had already seen a good portion of the coast on my first walk, I decided to stay further inland on this walk and see what surprises the island may have for me. The first landmark I cam to was an old, crumbling building that provided me with some interesting photo opportunities. I am unsure what the building was once used for, but would guess it belonged to the British from their occupation of the island. A bit further along was an abandoned military post that consisted of an old building foundation and four large guns/cannons, each mounted on a set of wheels and appearing to have been dormant for quite some time. It seems odd that these would have just been left here, especially given the possibility that someone could fix them up and use them, but there does not appear to be a problem, as they had clearly been sitting untouched for a number of years.

By the time I reached this old military camp I had been walking for a little over an hour and the sun was alive and well on the island. Despite the rising temperatures I felt good and was enjoying my desert trekking. Thus far I had been alone, but as I reached the top of the small hill behind the military equipment I was greeted by a small flock of goats that appeared to be picking at the sparse, and nearly invisible, vegetation on the rocky ground. I am still unsure whether these goats were wild or belonged to the villagers on Kamaran, but either way their presence made me smile and provided some variety in my walk. Behind the goats was a cluster of buildings, each in a different state of dilapidation and appearing to be abandoned. I made my way towards this area and walked into one of the buildings through what was once a doorway. The small structure looked like it could have once been a home and some of the walls were still decorated with various things, including Arabic phrases, a Yemeni flag, and, if I remember correctly, a calendar and a picture of President Saleh. These remaining signs of life gave the building a slightly eerie feeling and made it seem as though it had been left in a bit of haste. After taking a few pictures I made my way out through the opposite side in another former doorway. Immediately as I stepped outside I managed to startle both myself and a donkey that had been standing in the shadow of the building. Once I had gained my composure I followed the donkey over towards another building, this one in an even greater state of disrepair. Standing both near and inside this building were two more donkeys, looking just as melancholy as the first one I had seen.

At this point I was almost convinced that I was in an old village that had been abandoned for a spot a few hundred yards down the coast. However, as I approached the next section of buildings, which looked slightly better but were still run-down, I saw the first humans of the village area. Although Kamaran receives a fair share of tourists, I do not think the men I saw have seen very many walking around their island shirtless in the midday heat. A few appeared to be working, but the majority (which was only a handful) seemed to be taking refuge from the heat in the shade of the buildings. After a taking a few pictures and giving the place one last look around, I decided to make my way back to the camp. Just as I was leaving the area, a truck with three Yemenis pulled up and asked if I needed a ride. “La (no),” I said, while making a walking motion with my hand back towards the island camp. The men understood my answer but the looks on their faces seemed to say, “Why the hell do you want to walk in this heat?” Nonetheless, I continued on my own legs from their sleepy area and plotted a mental sketch of the route I would take back. Previously, on the way to the village, I had spotted a small mosque about a kilometer further inland and now, leaving the village, decided to head for it. Besides the ruins and military equipment from earlier, the mosque, which was semi-surrounded by a small oasis, was about the only other structure between the village and the island camp, so there was not much else to aim for.

After perhaps twenty minutes I was within a hundred yards from the mosque, and upon seeing it recalled a conversation Derek and I had during our drive through the mountains the day before. We had seen a similarly sized mosque in an open field near the road, which had prompted Derek to make the joke that it was like a “little mosque on the prairie,” an obvious reference to “The Little House on the Prairie.” After Derek’s comment I began to describe how this would make a great idea for an Islamic TV show, and was then surprised when Derek said that it already was the name of a TV show in Canada about a Muslim family living on the Canadian prairie. So much for that idea.

Regardless, here I stood at the small ‘mosque on the desert island’ and tried to imagine when it was built and how much use it had seen in its existence. Based solely on its exterior I would guess it is not much more than fifty years old, but still do not know its age or how frequently it is used at the present. Thinking back to its location, I am still perplexed why the mosque was built in that particular location, given its relative isolation to the other small pockets of life on Kamaran Island; but like so many things Yemeni, there does not always have to be a specific reason or rationale for the way things are done and that is good enough for me. After hanging out in the area around the mosque and taking pictures of it and the small oasis that neighbored it, I continued on my way back to the camp. I had not walked even 100 meters when I saw a camel of the single-humped Dromedary species attempting to graze on the barren ground. Naturally curious, I made my way over to my new friend and got within arm’s reach from him. Although my friend never ran away from me, he also did not exactly stay put when I would get this close to him and kept turning away from me to walk, very slowly, in the opposite direction.

I enjoyed observing my camel friend and while doing so was reminded of an interesting experience my brother and I had on a ‘trip’ to the Bismarck Zoo a few years ago. This memory involved John and I spending an unusual amount of time watching the camels, the two-humped Bactrian species, and finding amazement in how these creatures evolved to look as they do today. Camels are typically found in arid and barren terrain, which forced them to adapt to limited access to water and food as well as extremes in temperatures. This is also why they developed their signature humps, which are not actually used for storing water but are a heavy concentration of fatty tissue that prevents them from having too much heat-trapping insulation around the rest of their body. Wow, evolution kicks ass. Despite being hardy creatures that have helped man as both a beast of burden as well as a food source, they have a somewhat grotesque shape that makes them rather unattractive. Unfortunately, my particular ungulate friend was also a bit on the gaunt side, which only added to its already peculiar appearance. Nonetheless, seeing this particular camel in its natural habitat helped me understand their evolutionary adaptations and appreciate their ability to withstand such extreme living conditions.

After my temporary travel companion abandoned me for good, I found my way back to the road leading to the camp and decided to go nonstop until I returned. This last leg of my morning hike was interspersed with intervals of running, which felt surprisingly good in the midmorning heat. By the time I had got back to the camp I had been gone for roughly two and a half hours and felt a bit hot and tired, but also refreshed. Shortly after returning I opted to get in the water to cool off and do some snorkeling. As I made my way into the water, I joined the two Norwegian friends I had made earlier that morning, who had been relaxing in the water since shortly after breakfast. While we enjoyed the slightly cooler temperature the water had to offer over the air, we continued to converse and again discussed our dirt biking plans for later that day. I then decided it was time to explore the underground world of the island’s coral reef and geared up with a snorkel.

Once I had submersed myself in the water, I began to take in the otherworldly landscape below me and found myself in awe of the incredible features of this habitat. All around me I saw signs of life: schools of colorful fish floating by, masses of uniquely shaped coral, dark sea urchins lurking along the bottom, and so many more things, much of which I likely did not even notice or see. Adding to the mystique and grandeur of this real-life underwater screen saver was the blissful silence that accompanied it, creating a peaceful atmosphere that made it very easy to concentrate and focus in. For the next thirty to forty-five minutes I dwelled in this world, leaving it only to empty my snorkeling equipment and to occasionally check my location. Knowing that I find deep and unfamiliar water to be unnerving and intimidating reinforces how mesmerizing and extraordinary this experience was. Although I returned to these waters later for more snorkeling and to try my waterproof camera out, these times did not equal the initial amazement I experienced the first time I explored the coral. Truly incredible indeed.

Again I must leave off at this point. I will pick back up in my next post and finish this experience so I can begin to recount more recent adventures of mine. I apologize to all my readers for the long gap between this current post and the last. I have been extremely busy with teaching, studying Arabic, hiking and rock-climbing, and was sick for five or six days in the last two weeks. Nonetheless, it is my intent for this to be the first of what will be more consistent and regular posts. Thanks again to all the encouragement and support everyone. I appreciate your willingness to step into my world and life experiences. Mara salaama.

Exploring Yemen’s countryside and Kamaran Island (Where I learned to ride a motorcycle), Part 1

Author's Note: The experiences reported here are from September 10-12, unless stated otherwise.

Recently I have had several opportunities to explore and take in several different areas of Yemen and its countryside. These excursions have allowed me to become more familiar with my new home and at the same time take in some of the most spectacular land I have seen in this life. As much as I enjoy living in Sana’a, there is no denying I was raised on a farm where the nearest neighbor was nearly two kilometers (one mile) away and the backyard consisted of fields upon fields of land to explore. Not surprisingly, then, my roots lie in rural life and my journeys outside Sana’a have provided some much appreciated (and perhaps necessary) respite from the hullaballoo of the city.

The trips have also allowed me to see the great variety of lifestyles existing within Yemen as well as the stark contrast between urban and rural life. Life in Sana’a, though noticeably different from that of American and European cities, features most of the modern amenities associated with urban life; while Yemen’s rural areas and the accompanying ways of life have changed little over the past several hundred years. Nomadic herding and small-scale or subsistence farming continue to dominate the livelihoods of rural Yemenis, and when driving through these areas it feels as though some sort of time portal has transported you back several centuries. This only adds to the incredible natural beauty already existing and makes for all the more magical of experiences.

The most extensive expedition I have been on so far was a three day trip to Kamaran Island, a small coral island located several miles from the Yemeni coast in the Red Sea and roughly a five hour drive from Sana’a. Sharing the adventures on this journey were three of my new friends from life in Sana’a. Two of the friends, Derek & Lisa, are married and coworkers of mine at SIS, and the third is their seven year old daughter Ela. Derek is a native of Alberta, Canada and Lisa hails from San Jose, California, making Ela half-Canadian and half-American. They made for great traveling company and have fast become good friends of mine. Our brief vacation and the accompanying experiences, which were made possible by a week off from school due to the Eid holiday, will be the focus of the remainder of this post. I will start at the beginning: the morning of the first day of the Eid holiday and the first day following the month long Ramadan holiday.

We began our journey around 7:00 am, a time we thought would allow us to beat the traffic of Sana’a and help us make a quick exit from the city. Unfortunately, the four of us had only previously experienced Yemen during Ramadan and seriously underestimated the busyness associated with the normal pace of early morning Sana’a. Until this time, none of us had seen much traffic at all before ten or eleven o’clock in the morning and did not think life would resume its typical frenzy so quickly. As I began my walk from my apartment to meet them, however, it became immediately clear this was not the Sana’a we had come to know over the past month. Here I walked at 6:30 am, surrounded by people and walking amongst motorcycle and vehicle traffic reminiscent of the early afternoons I had been experiencing. Making this all the more interesting were the new clothes worn by nearly all the children I passed by, an annual tradition associated with the Eid holiday. For many of these children, as well as adults, this is the one time of the year when they get new clothing, which makes the Eid holiday all the more memorable and exciting. Much of the clothing is very colorful, especially the bright and vivid dresses worn by young girls. The boys seem to prefer suits and look damned cute in their two and sometimes three piece suits complete with ties. This was the Sana’a we would eventually become accustomed to and know as our home greeting us without any warning. The traffic was so busy that Derek & Lisa were unable to meet me at our original meeting place because of the random blocking of a street by some Yemeni guards and policemen. These seem to be a fairly common occurrence, and while I am sure there is some explanation for them they are nearly impossible to predict and can be rather inconvenient when driving (which rarely affects me on my bike!). Consequently, I had to walk a few extra kilometers to get to a place where I could be picked up. I did not mind this a bit and actually enjoyed the morning stroll.

Once I had climbed in my friends’ 1986 Toyota Peugeot the journey had officially started, at least as a group, and we made our way down Hadda Street out of Sana’a. At this time the weather was typical of Sana’a and what we all knew Yemen to be up to that point: moderate and comfortable. As we cruised out of the city and made the gradual climb into the surrounding mountains, there was a collective feeling of anticipation about the landscapes we would be seeing over the next few days. In my travel experience it does not matter how many places I have been, there remains a certain thrill in seeing an area of the world with virgin eyes; as Yemen, outside of Sana’a, was uncharted territory for the lot of us, the moment held that excitement. Not long after reaching the top of the mountain ridge surrounding our city, we came to the first of six checkpoints for our travel that day. It would also be the longest wait at any checkpoint of the entire trip.

At this time I must digress for a moment to explain the function and operation of these checkpoints. Unlike the United States or anywhere else I have been, it is not possible, at least for foreigners, to simply climb in a vehicle and drive where one pleases. Travel outside one’s home area, in our case Sana’a, and between towns requires filing a travel itinerary with the government that must then be approved. After approval, one is issued a travel permit to be presented at checkpoints in an attempt to safeguard foreigners’ security. Fortunately for us, SIS has an Administrative Coordinator, the great Naji, who takes care of these needs for us and ensures we have the necessary paperwork to reach our respective destinations. He had given me our permit the day prior and gave explicit instructions on what to do as well as what not to do on our trip, including extending or shortening our stay. According to Naji’s instructions from the day before, I made four copies of our travel permit which, along with the three he had given me, gave us a total of seven and what I thought would be plenty. More on that later.

Back to our first checkpoint. When we first pulled up to the guards, who, by the way, carry Kalashnikov assault rifles (AK-47s) just like all the guards in Sana’a, they asked for our permit. After perusing the single sheet of paper and looking over all of us in the vehicle, one of them inquired where we were from. Both Lisa and I began telling him “ithnayn Amerikee, ithnayn Canadee (two Americans, two Canadians).” He understood what we had said, but to ensure he knew our plans and legitimacy I also said “Nahnoo Hodeidah wa Kamaran (We Hodeidah and Kamaran)” and “Nahnoo mooallum (we teachers, while pointing to Derek, Lisa, & I)” and “talib (student, while pointing at Ela).” This is fairly close to all the conversations we would have with the guards at each checkpoint we stopped at. Unfortunately for us at the time, this first stop was just beginning.

After looking over the paper a bit longer the guards motioned us to pull over to the side of the road just ahead to clear the way so the traffic behind us could keep moving. Keep in mind that Yemenis do not have the same requirements as foreigners and more or less breeze through these checkpoints with no delay. Not us djanahbeeaht (foreigners), though, which at times can be rather testing of one’s patience. As we sat and waited, our guard friend began speaking into a walkie talkie and headed back towards the small guard station, which was smaller than a trailer house and in similar condition to those found in dumpy parks. What I found to be most frustrating about having to wait here was that we had no idea (and still do not to this day) what the guards were calling about or who they were contacting. As far as we could tell, and from what my helpful and wonderful neighbor had told me when she read the permit, our documents were all in order and (theoretically) should have made for smooth sailing. As the minutes turned into quarter hours we began to grow impatient, so Derek and I followed our gender roles and male instincts and left to investigate the situation.

When Derek and I walked up I greeted the guards, “Asalamu alaykum (Peace be upon you)” and they responded “Alaykum salam (Peace upon you, too),” the standard Yemeni greetings. We then proceeded to stand there and do our best to express our desire to know “What the hell was going on?” The guards were generally friendly, but at the same time did not interact with us a whole lot. We continued to stand around and attracted plenty of stares and double-takes from passing cars and pedestrians, who also were probably wondering “What the hell was going on?” After we had been standing there for a few minutes, I picked up a page of a magazine lying on the ground near the guards’ truck with the intention of getting some Arabic reading practice. As I looked at the page, I could tell from both its picture as well as the script (yes, my Arabic is getting better) that the article was about qat. I had not been reading/looking over this page for even two minutes when a few of the guards immediately began to take interest in what I was looking at. Suddenly it was as though they were drawn into the article and began to read some of it aloud, perhaps for us or maybe just for them. I am not sure. What was comical about the situation, though, is that this page had likely been lying there on the ground all morning and had not interested any of them until I picked it up. Both Derek and I found this amusing and enjoyed a laugh together over it.

A short while after we had been waiting, we were joined by one of the drivers of a two-car caravan of Chinese citizens. Their driver was Yemeni and as far as I could tell was waiting for the same reason we were, gaining clearance to move on past the checkpoint. Unfortunately he was not all that friendly and resisted more than one attempt by Derek to make conversation. We are still unsure how he communicated with the Chinese, because when Derek asked if he spoke either Chinese or English he said, “No.” Derek then asked him if the Chinese spoke Arabic and he said no to that also. I think he was just in a sour mood and did not feel like talking. We were just trying to liven up our situation, but at least we had the guards (still) poring the article on Qat like it held some divine secret. At last we were given the go ahead to continue on our journey and after nearly two hours were back on the road.

Almost immediately after this first checkpoint it finally started to feel like we were out of the city and into the wide open spaces of Yemen. It was refreshing to again see vast expanses of open space and be in a truly rural area, something I had seen very little of since leaving my home area of the Dakotas. As I do when traveling anywhere, whether consciously or unconsciously, I found myself comparing the terrain of Yemen to that of other lands I have visited, noticing similarities and recalling comparable landscapes from my memory bank. After scanning my personal hard drive I found myself most reminded of the rugged terrain of Northern Wyoming and Southern Montana, where the mountains are covered not with lush forest growth but with short grasses and rocks of all shapes and sizes. The main differences between the terrain from my recollection and the Yemeni landscape I was soaking in are the amount in which it is populated and the extent it is used for agriculture purposes. Unlike the rugged areas like these in the States, the land in Yemen is used extensively for agriculture and is consistently populated.

As we continued to drive, our journey punctuated regularly by small villages, winding curves, and peasants going about their day to day affairs, the temperature seemed to correspondingly increase as our journey progressed. Derek & Lisa’s vehicle did not have any working air conditioning, and with our windows down all the way we frequently caught huge whiffs of rotting animals. Despite these minor inconveniences, the trip was certainly enjoyable, especially given that none of the other checkpoints we reached took longer than fifteen minutes to pass through. The further we moved away from Sana’a, the terrain also seemed to become more rugged and difficult to traverse. Fortunately the main road from Sana’a to Hodeidah is in surprisingly good condition, which makes some of the hairpin curves and switchbacks at 2800+m (9000+ft) much more comfortable. Being the main road between Sana’a and the Red Sea coast also means it is heavily traveled and is one of the primary fuel trucking routes into Sana’a. These last two details make this drive all the more exciting and interesting, especially when typical Yemeni driving practices are thrown in the mix. Indeed it is not uncommon for vehicles to pass just before tight blind curves, their faint honking the only real protection against an outright collision with oncoming traffic. Even with this seemingly imminent possibility of death, however, I generally had a feeling of relative calm and safety along our drive, putting full trust in Derek’s worldly driving abilities (he not only grew up in the mountains of Alberta, but has also lived and traveled throughout Central and South America, SE Asia, and Western US). Regardless of how Yemeni driving practices may appear on the surface and at first glance, they do seem to possess competent driving skills, which may very well be influenced by the enormous amount of qat that is chewed while driving. As qat is a strong stimulant it no doubt increases one’s attention and ability to focus, and if nothing else may be preventing more accidents from occurring on the roads throughout Yemen.

Irrespective of how much farther we traveled and more removed we became from the modern metropolis of Sana’a, the number of inhabitants throughout the rugged and majestic terrain seemed to remain comparatively unchanging. Even on land appearing too rough and craggy to establish an existence, there are towers, homes, mosques, even entire villages seemingly clinging to cliff faces just as an expert rock climber would tightly grip a hold. Anytime I saw (and continue to see now in my explorations) these amazing structures I wonder in amazement both how and why these buildings were constructed in such a precarious location. Making these all the more impressive is that most are likely well over two or three or more centuries old. Given that they are visibly still intact and used says much for the traditional building practices employed in areas such as these. Just as spectacular as these structures is the ability of the goats and their keepers in traversing the mountains of Yemen. Several times, not just on the present journey being told, I have seen goats fearlessly descend sheer cliff faces, sometimes at an almost dead run. Often times not far behind them is their herdsman, similarly exhibiting lack of fear and sporting open backed sandals or, in some cases, bare feet. This last detail is something I have yet to see with my own eyes, but I have read several accounts describing such people who claim they are better able to feel and adapt to the ground below them without footwear. I will take their word for it for now, though it is tempting to find out for myself.

Roughly three hours into our drive and not long after reaching one of the highest points on this stretch of road, we began our descent from the Central Highlands to the Coastal Plains. If the weather on our drive so far was hot, then the blast of heat we now approached must have been the fire and brimstone of hell itself. For the life of me I cannot ever recall encountering heat such as that of the Coastal Plains and what would, unfortunately, characterize the weather on Kamaran Island. Living in Sana’a, the four of us soon realized, is much different from living in the coastal areas of Yemen, which have the much more typified look of the Middle East: vast expanses of sand spotted with occasional palm trees and oases and with sand dunes providing the only real significant changes in elevation. This heat is definitely a force to be reckoned with and not something to take lightly, though I more or less did. The descent to these plains is rather brief, which likely makes the temperature change seem all the more brutal.

For the next hour we drove through this desert on our way to Hodeidah, where we would turn north and continue towards the port village of Salif, from which we would be ferried across the Red Sea to Kamaran. Unfortunately the only real scenery we saw in this stretch besides sand, sparse vegetation, and unsightly villages, was bloated and rotting cattle corpses and trash, lots of trash. Regrettably, environmental awareness does not seem to be a high priority through much of Yemen, and the ‘3 R’s’ or any accompanying propaganda have not been translated into Arabic for mass dissemination.

Allow me to digress briefly so I can provide some evidence of just how little concern there appears to be for conservation and reducing waste throughout Yemen. First is the ridiculous use of plastic bags. Coming from the United States, which is home to, sadly, one of the most wasteful societies ever to inhabit this planet, I thought I understood overuse of plastic bags. Nothing could have prepared me, though, for the apparent obsession some Yemenis seem to have with placing nearly every purchase inside a plastic bag. Worse yet is buying produce, which involves every kind of produce item being placed in its own plastic bag that is then placed inside a larger plastic bag. The most frustrating part about this is the lack of understanding and, even, cooperation that shopkeepers have when one tries to either refuse a bag or reuse one that has been brought with. In truth, just tonight and not even two and a half hours before this writing, I was buying some romaine lettuce and cucumbers from one of the local produce men just a few minutes from my apartment. Once I had selected four good heads of lettuce I put them in two small plastic bags from the supply I keep in my backpack. I then put these down and began to grab for some cucumbers. While I was doing this the shopkeeper actually took my lettuce out of the bags and put them in a new bag, tearing at least one of the bags I had intended to use and rendering it useless in the process. I would have protested and undone what he had done, but unfortunately I had just been hit with a sudden and intense urge to relieve myself. Since I was already dancing because of this, I could not justify taking even more time to try to navigate my way through this small ordeal. As a result, I let him bag my kilo of cucumbers, paid him, said a farewell, and hurried out. This is not the first time I have had an experience such as this, but felt sharing this particular one was most appropriate given its freshness.

Let me take you back to the litter strewn and sweltering coastal plains, however, and continue to a more sanguine part of our journey. After what seemed to be a long hour we found ourselves in the port city of Hodeiedah (also known as Al Hudaydah), which is, alas, not the greatest looking place I have seen in Yemen or, for that matter, anywhere. I would not feel justified in speaking poorly of Hodeidah, given the little time I have actually spent there, were it not for several accounts I have read, some published, and personal accounts from friends, both Yemeni and foreign, who all appear to agree it is best avoided if possible. I suppose the ungodly hot temperatures do not help their cause much, but neither does the general state of disrepair that many of the buildings on its perimeter are in or (again) the amount of trash littering its roads. Perhaps in the future I will come to know Hodeidah more personally, but for now I think my brief passing through will suffice.

After only one wrong turn and being lost for maybe fifteen minutes, we managed to find the road to get us to Salif and were now within about 70 km (44 mi) from the end of the driving portion of our trip. Shortly after leaving Hodeidah we caught our first glimpse of the Red Sea on the left side of the road, just a hundred meters or so away from us. The terrain remained fairly consistent with what we had seen in the coastal plains, except for camels roaming about and what appeared to be marshy areas where sea water occasionally reaches, leaving salt in its absence. We soon made our last turn, this time west and taking us on a direct course to Salif. For over half of this drive the road skirts the coast and offers unrestricted, sweeping views of the Red Sea. Were it not for this, or at least the novelty of it at the time, this drive would likely be much more unpleasant because of the extreme heat and frequent strong gusts of equally hot air. Regardless of these circumstances, I enjoyed the experience and tried to make the best of it. Before long we found ourselves in ‘Salif City,’ as it is named on the welcoming sign, though it is hardly a city and modest even for a village. We managed to find the port for our departure with relative and surprising ease and were soon talking with the men who would ferry us across the ten kilometers of sea separating Kamaran Island from the Yemeni mainland. These men were used to the heat we were experiencing and had parked themselves in a shaded lean-to shanty where they were passed the time chewing qat and staying out of the sun. It was at this time that I first became aware of the noticeably darker skin tone of people in this area of Yemen. Given its lower elevation, increased temperatures, amount of direct sunlight, and close proximity to Africa, it is not surprising that the average person has a much darker skin tone than that of Sana’a and the Central Highlands.

Following a brief conversation with these men and after providing them with copies of our passports, we began to board the small boat that would get us to our final destination. The best comparison I have for this boat is that of a small ‘duck boat’ with a hand propelled prop motor. Not exactly a cruise liner, but we only had a thirty minute ride so practicality trumped appearance in this case. Accompanying us on this short lift were two young men, neither looking much past sixteen and certainly not over twenty. Despite their young age, they seemed old pros at this and safely guided us across the somewhat choppy waters of the Red Sea. Fortunately the water was not too rough, a fact especially important given that Lisa was, at the time, seven months pregnant, and we docked at the small resort without any new members to our traveling party. The remainder of the adventures from this trip will be coming shortly and will include my hikes across the desert, making friends with camels, riding motorcycles with girls from Norway, snorkeling among beautiful underwater forests of coral, and more heat and sun. Stay tuned...........


The spontaneity and generosity of Yemeni hospitality or How I spent the evening with Abdul....

Author’s note: The experience conveyed here is from 17 September 2010.

Yemeni hospitality is frequently touted as being among the most generous of all cultures. Countless books have been written that demonstrate the giving, friendly spirit of the Yemeni people as well as their ability to live spontaneously and free from the constraints of time. These aspects of Yemeni culture have played a central role in a number of my experiences in Yemen thus far including the one recounted in this post. It is my hope that this experience will not only encourage others to live spontaneously and freely in the moment, but also to help provide information about what I have experienced to be the “real” Yemen. Before getting to this adventure it is necessary to provide some background information to set the stage for my unique tale of Yemeni hospitality. Here goes........

This afternoon, following a wonderful two hour walk/hike through Sana Village on the outskirts of Sana’a, I left my friends Kate and Barbara and hopped on my bike, unsure of where I was going but certain that it would not be directly home. Since Kate and Barbara live in an area of Sana’a I do not frequent too often, I decided to take advantage of being in the area and headed in the general direction of the Movenpick Hotel and US Embassy. It was refreshing to go biking for the sake of biking and to see an area of Sana’a I have not previously experienced from the seat of my bike. Shortly into my ride I decided to replenish my recently depleted supply of qat and soon spotted some on a street corner. After making a quick deal and talking the price down, I hopped back on my bike with a fresh wad of leaves in my right cheek. For the next twenty-five minutes I dug in and enjoyed the ride through Sana’a’s eastern edge while simultaneously interacting with many of the friendly Yemenis I passed (or was passed by) on my bike. At one point a motorcycle with three men kept pace with me and allowed us to have a brief exchange, though I ended up mostly alternating between nodding and saying Tammam (Good/fine) and shrugging and saying Moo fa him (I don’t understand). Regardless of their intended message, I appreciated their friendliness. At another moment I heard a horn behind me and at first (incorrectly) assumed it was an impatient taxi driver, but was then pleasantly surprised to have a amiable taxi driver shouting Welcome! while at the same time leaning to my side and waving. What friendly people.

After biking up the hill that is home to the Movenpick and Sheraton Hotels as well as the US, British, and Turkish Embassies, I made my decent back into the heart of Sana’a with the intention of heading for home. The only other time I had traversed this particular part of Sana’a was on a long walk on my third day in Yemen. As a result, I was not entirely sure which streets would get me to Tahrir Square, but knew the general direction I needed to go. I continued on and was moving along at a nice speed when I suddenly came to a street dominated by pedestrian traffic that was much more difficult to navigate on a bike (or car for that matter). After several minutes of moving along at a snail’s pace I finally caught a break in the foot traffic and was able to get back to a more desirable pace.....for about forty feet. I then found myself again in the middle of a street clogged with veiled women and small children and lined on both sides with vendors selling their wares. I next spotted a side street and took that hoping it would get me out of this area. I covered about a hundred feet before realizing it was not a thru street and turned around to join the crowd again. At this point I realized I was in the Old City and was dumbfounded about how I had entered it without noticing. For those unfamiliar with Sana’a’s Old City, it is the original walled in heart of the city and consists of narrow, cobblestone lanes flanked by shops on all sides and usually teeming with activity and people. Overall it is not the best place to bike and certainly not where I planned to end up, but I was there and was not going to magically make my way out.

I continued on and began to become familiar with certain parts of my surroundings. I had been in this area of the Old City before, but never while on a bike. Twice more I ended up in backstreets that led to nowhere and was forced to turn around. It was after turning around in this second instance when I saw a man pointing and calling in my direction just ahead of me. I was not entirely sure if he was directing these gestures at me, so I pointed and said “Me?” The man confirmed that he was indeed talking to me, so I slowed to a stop and dismounted from my bike. He immediately asked me where I was from and what my name was, speaking in intelligible and well-practiced English. I supplied him with the requested information and, seeing an opportunity to practice my Arabic, replied with Mah ismuka? (What is your name?) My new friend answered by speaking his name, Abdul, and simultaneously handing me a business card. As I looked down at the card and read The Cultural Center for Foreigners’ Call and Great Mosque, I realized that Abdul worked in the Great Mosque in the Old City and was likely a well-respected and well-known man. Abdul then introduced me to his friend standing by us and explained he was the muadhin, or person who performs the call to prayer, of the Great Mosque and was responsible for reciting Allah'u'Akbar each day before the Iftar meal during Ramadan. I was honored to meet this man and have the opportunity to shake his hand, which he graciously offered me. I then explained to Abdul that I had gotten lost in the Old City while biking home from a hiking excursion. He assured me that he would help me find my way, but asked if I minded walking and talking with him for “just five minutes.” Having nothing else to do and enjoying the opportunity to get to know my new friend more, I said “Sure.” And so began my evening with Abdul, whom I would spend the next three and a half hours with in the Old City.

As Abdul and I walked and talked, we shared an authentic level of enthusiasm that is not easy to find. We were mutually interested in each other’s life and life experiences, and took turns sharing personal details. After walking for a bit Abdul explained to me that we were “inside the Great Mosque” and that I was safe in there because I had someone “on the inside.” We then made our way to a small closet type room from which Abdul produced a chair for me to sit on and where he parked himself. We continued to talk, exchanged phone numbers, and then decided to have a tea. Before leaving Abdul’s closet, he gave me two books: an introductory book to Islam and a welcome guide to Yemen. He assured me the books were intended to be free of charge and that they were mine to keep saying “even if someone gave me two million dollars for one of the books, I would not take the money.” I thanked Abdul for the books and was then flabbergasted when he extended an invitation to me for a wedding later in the week. I told him how honored and excited I was for this and said Tammam jiddan (very good) and Shukran (Thank you) several times. As we gathered up our things, I learned that Abdul is the father of three children, two boys and a girl. He even showed me a report card of his fifteen year old son, who he described as “not a good student.”

Once Abdul and I had collected our things we began walking again, heading out of the Great Mosque and into the heart of the Old City. As we walked together it was refreshing how easily the conversation flowed, similar to an exchange between longtime friends. It was apparent that the comfort level between the two of us was mutual and made for a very memorable experience. Along the way Abdul frequently stopped to greet friends and acquaintances, leading me to believe he is not only well known in the area but also well liked. After walking for perhaps ten minutes, we arrived at a small shop where Abdul instructed me to sit down as he did the same. He then introduced me to the shopkeeper, his friend Mohammed, and retrieved a small bag of sweets from his things that he wanted to share with me. Not being a very big fan of sweets, I did not really want any, but to refuse would have been extremely rude, so I ate a couple of the small cookies and two of the sugarless bread biscuits, which I preferred. Just before we had begun to eat the sweets Abdul had walked just down the lane in the suq to get tea for us, which was provided complimentary by another friend. In the time he was gone, I made small talk with Mohammed and a few of the customers who came to his spice shop. Abdul later explained to me that the spice shops in the suq previously met all the needs of medicine for Yemeni people and negated the need for traditional pharmacies. This is not the case today, however, as pharmacies are abundant throughout all of Sana’a.

I was thrilled when Abdul returned with the tea, which was traditional Yemeni shay flavored with cardamom, mint leaves, and delicious Yemeni honey. Unfortunately I spilled my cup after a few minutes and immediately began apologizing, to which Abdul said, “Please it is not big deal” and, without hesitation, gave me his tea to replace my spilt one. Mohammed provided us with some newspaper chunks to dry the spilt drink with and we continued on as if nothing had happened. Not long after finishing our tea, Abdul informed me that he and Mohammed needed to leave to go to the mosque for prayer. He told me to watch over the shop until Mohammed’s brother arrived, which would be in a few minutes. I bid my friends a temporary farewell and decided to pass the time by reading, while periodically looking around to take in the Old City. It was easy to see how busy Mohammed must be, as I had to tell several people “Mohammed towaleh ( Mohammed straight ahead)” , which I said while making a walking gesture with the index and middle fingers of my right hand. Everyone understood what I said but likely wondered why Mohammed had entrusted his shop to a random adjanabee (foreigner). After watching over the shop solo for about ten minutes, Mohammed’s brother, Ahmed, arrived. We exchanged pleasantries (in Arabic) and I began to tell him that I was a teacher here in Sana’a. He was quieter than his brother, but kind and friendly nonetheless.

Just before Abdul and Mohammed returned I walked from the spice shop up the lane to buy some more qat, as my previous bag had fallen out of my pocket during my bike ride. I had only been sitting and chewing for another five minutes or so when Abdul returned, at which point he and I parted ways with Mohammed. Once we began walking Abdul at once told me about a second wedding he had been invited to not five minutes prior. He told me how he had asked this groom to be if he could take his friend, me, along to the wedding, which is on Thursday. I was absolutely thrilled at this news and was generous with my thanks and praise of his kindness. I had known Abdul for roughly one hour at this point and already he had invited me to two weddings, given me two books, a bagful of sweets, a cup of tea plus his own after my spill, and everything short of the shirt off his back, which actually would not have been possible given that he was not wearing a shirt, but instead a suit jacket and a thoub, the traditional long, white one piece dress common of Gulf Arabs. Already a strong bond had been forged between the two of us and I continued to soak in each moment of this increasingly enjoyable experience.

Abdul next took me to the silver market to introduce me to more of his friends and allow me a chance to look at some of the finest silver and jewelry in the suq. We spent the better part of the next hour perusing the wares of several silver shops and visiting with the shopkeepers. I especially enjoyed our visit with Ahmed, who ran a shop with his sons. Abdul told me that Ahmed was a very honest and kind man, which I gathered from his overall demeanor and from the dialogue Abdul translated to me. At one point, Ahmed showed us some of his finer necklaces and explained how certain segments of it were created by combining two smaller pieces. It was fascinating to take the time to fully examine and appreciate the intricacies of these beautiful jewelry selections, something I have never previously done. Doing this allowed me to understand how much effort and time is involved in the work that silversmiths such as Ahmed engage in. Truly a cool experience.

After spending some time visiting with Ahmed, Abdul and I bid adieu and continued walking. As we walked we happened upon a group of three young boys who were fascinated with my mountain bike, which I had been pushing the entire time. Abdul told one of these boys a story about his name, Ibrahim, that had to do with a prophet from Islam. The boy liked the story so much he asked Abdul to write it down, which he obligingly did. We soon came to the last of the silver shops we visited, which also happened to be owned by some of Abdul’s relatives. Just before we walked in the shop I leaned my bike against a pole near the front entrance and was surprised to immediately see someone climb on and prepare to take off. It took me a few seconds to register that it was my friend Alexander (not his real name, but what I know him by), who also lives in the Old City. I found out that he and Abdul knew one another and was thrilled at our chance meeting. We then walked in the shop it became apparent that they were in the middle of a rush and Abdul did not want to trouble them. He got one of their business cards for me and we moved on.

Although the time was getting somewhat late, I continued to allow Abdul to guide me through the Old City. Around this time I also began to realize and appreciate something about Abdul in addition to his incredible hospitality and naturally generous spirit. This characteristic is that Abdul, like many Yemenis, has a unique ability to fully immerse himself in the moment with little regard for man-made time, except for prayer times, which allows him to embrace opportunities such as the experience he and I were presently sharing together. I do not know what he would have done this evening had he not saw me lost on my bike in the Old City and I doubt Abdul would have known either. I find it incredible that so many Yemenis I have met seem to have this sort of open spirit that allows them to so naturally flow with the events that unfold in their lives. They do not fight interruptions or delays because of rigid schedules or an incessant need for predictability, something I have difficulty with at times, but instead accept them and adapt. In the short time I have been in Yemen this is something I have been able to learn from its people, and shway ashway (slowly) I am trying to change these twenty-five year ingrained tendencies. It is not easy, but I feel I have made some progress.

Back to the magical evening, though. As I was saying, I continued to follow Abdul’s lead and suggestions and soon we were walking into the National Art Museum, Sana’a’s largest collection of Yemeni art. Immediately upon entering I was greeted by warm lighting that was amplified by the whitewashed stucco walls which were shaped in a smooth fashion that made the entire interior of the building appear to blend seamlessly in beautiful manner. Nowhere did I see a single pointed corner or two walls that met truly perpendicularly. I loved this gallery already and had not even seen any of the art yet! Abdul next began walking up the stairs, which I must admit was somewhat of a sight, given his short, thick stature and the relatively steep steps we were ascending. Like most Yemeni buildings, the floors in this building were tall and each one involved climbing a three-tiered section of stairs. After we passed the second and third floors without stopping, Abdul informed me “we go to the top first, and then come down.” When we reached the top, which was the roof of the building, the payout was immediate and well worth the effort. Sprawled out on all sides of us was the night time grandeur of Sana’a, which is unlike most cities in that there is no skyline of high-rise buildings but instead a constant spread of traditional Yemeni architecture. Rather than take away from the city’s effect at night, I believe it increases its charm and allows one to clearly see the mountains surrounding Sana’a on all sides. Also visible were the numerous minarets from the city’s mosques, including the six from the President’s Mosque at the south end of Sana’a. This is truly an incredible building and nothing short of elaborate and perhaps even a bit ostentatious. As I marveled at the view, Abdul pointed out a few landmarks to me including his old home, where one of his relatives now lives who may be our source of transportation to the wedding on Thursday. I then pointed to a landmark of my own, a tall Tele-Yemen tower near my apartment, and told Abdul “Ana shuqqa (my apartment).” Abdul was surprised by my ability to orient myself on top of the museum’s roof and told me I had a “good mind.” After I took a few pictures we began to descend the stairs to take a look at the art.

Although we did not spend as much time as I normally prefer to in art galleries, I thoroughly enjoyed the collection and intend to go back soon. It was wonderful to take in another art gallery, and I was reminded of my travels across the States a few months ago this summer. It is not surprising that the natural beauty of Yemen’s rugged and varied terrain, as well as its unique architecture and people has inspired so much stunning art. Indeed the art I saw there is as engaging as any collections I have taken in of more renowned and popular artists. I saw tinges of Impressionism and Realism/Naturalism, as well as traditional portraits and more abstract pieces. Seeing this art brought me great pleasure both because of the aesthetic beauty and to see that artistic expression is accepted and encouraged in Yemen. When Abdul and I reached the bottom floor I grabbed the opportunity to have a picture taken with my new friend in quality lighting and asked the attendant sitting nearby to do the favor. He appeased my request and seemed to enjoy doing so, especially when Abdul took his skullcap off and placed in on my head for a picture.

Once we stepped outside, it seemed clear to both of us that our evening together was winding down to its inevitable ending. As promised earlier, Abdul was going to see that I made it to the edge of the Old City before leaving me on my own. During our last bit of walking together Abdul continued to point out buildings from his past including the first house he and his wife shared. It was on the top floor where their marriage was consummated in a room Yemenis call the Flower Room, named so because it is where the ‘deflowering’ of the bride takes place. Before parting ways for the evening, Abdul shared some other deeply personal information that I believe would be disrespectful to repeat here, but mention because it is a testament to the incredible hospitality, generosity, and trustworthiness of Abdul and so many other Yemenis. It is these characteristics, after all, that made the experience recounted here possible. Were it not for the open and giving spirit of so many of the Yemeni people, this country would have much less appeal. But this unique and fantastic aspect of Yemen makes up for what it lacks in natural resources, monies, adequately working modern amenities, and, foremost, the overall unfair manner in which the country is too commonly misrepresented. It is my hope that accounts such as my own will help break down stereotypes and false premises that create boundaries and tension between nations and their peoples. In addition, I hope this has provided enjoyable reading and look forward to sharing future experiences with Abdul including a couple weddings at the end of this week. Until then, mara salāma (go without fear).

Ramadan: The sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and more......

I mentioned in my previous post that holidays and celebrations “mark a period of time when the human spirit seems most alive and vitalized. Emotions run the full gamut of possibilities, sensory input and stimulation are at all time highs, and the usual problems of life seem to melt away as people embrace the opportunity to relax and enjoy life perhaps more than usual.” I feel this description adequately encapsulates the month of Ramadan and is why I have chosen to quote myself rather than try to illustrate it differently. Now that I have experienced Yemen apart from Ramadan I feel I have a better understanding not only of Yemeni life, but also the significance of Ramadan on it. The difference is really like night and day, which is a natural play on words, given that these two facets of time literally switch places during the month of Ramadan. I saw this very clearly the first day after Ramadan, which is also the beginning of Eid ul-Fitr, a three day Muslim holiday that marks the end of Ramadan, as I walked to meet some friends I was joining to go to Kamaran Island. Before this morning I had seen very little or no activity at 7:00 in the morning, but on the first day of Eid I was dumbstruck to find the streets very active with both pedestrian and motor traffic. I had not expected the change to be so rapid and altogether contrastive of my time in Yemen thus far. Making this morning all the more interesting is the tradition of wearing new clothes on Eid. So here I walked around Sana’a surrounded by Yemeni children wearing brand new (and stylish) clothing ranging from suits for the boys to decorative and colorful dresses for the girls.

As interesting as Eid is, however, I feel I have lost my original focus for this post, which is to explore the ‘sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of Ramadan.’ There is certainly much to experience and take in during Ramadan and this narrative will offer only a glimpse of what it is really like. Truly, as the case is with most things in life, the best way to understand Ramadan is to experience it personally. For those unable to do so, however, I hope my delineation is sufficient.

Perhaps the first thing that one notices about Ramadan during a given day is the relative lack of activity that occurs until the mid to late afternoon. I have mentioned this several times in previous posts and do so again here because of how apparent it is. I have heard Sana’a before Iftar described as a ‘ghost town’ and it indeed does resemble a city devoid of life for several hours in the early part of each day. This is of great benefit for commuting and getting to and from places, but can be rather frustrating when trying to shop, exchange money, or anything else one might normally do during the day. Nevertheless, one gets used to the pace and adjusts rather quickly (or doesn’t and spends much time complaining!). Another thing that is noticeable is the lack of businesses that are open during the day, especially food establishments. This makes sense considering that everyone, save for the foreigners and non-Muslims, is fasting and would therefore not make very good customers. Even early in the day, however, there are vegetable and fruit stands in operation and these sellers will even offer samples if you are a foreigner. This can be a somewhat confusing situation given that it the general guideline to abstain from drinking or eating in public until after Iftar. I usually just declined these generous offers and make my purchases anyway. The other food items that are sold early in the day are simbosa and falafel. Simbosa is a traditional Ramadan food that consists of a small pastry stuffed with either cheese or meat and then deep fried, while falafel is a famous Middle Eastern food made from ground chickpeas and spices that is also fried. The reason these are sold early is that they are food items that are to be given to those who cannot afford to buy food for Iftar and are bought by individuals to leave inside the mosques. Being a Vegan I obviously did not try simbosa, though I have heard it is delicious, but I did partake of the falafel, which is as good as any falafel I have ever had.

As the day progresses the level of activity correspondingly increases, hitting a peak in the interval between 5:30 and 6:30. This stretch is characterized by wild traffic, short tempered individuals, and an overall atmosphere of excitement. The main reason for the short tempers is because it is the point in the day when everyone has been fasting the longest, which also means that blood sugar levels are the lowest and everyone is eager to get to their respective Iftar. This in turn creates more chaotic traffic than usual, which is already pretty chaotic. Generally it is best to avoid being on the roads during this time if possible. Also seen during this time is people making last minute purchases for their Iftar meals. Bakeries are especially busy selling pita bread, loaves, and other specialty items, many of which (primarily specific sweets) are available only during Ramadan. Men begin to seek out qat in the late afternoon as well, ensuring they will be able to start chewing promptly after the Allah'u'Akbar, the daily call to prayer that signifies the end of the fast. During this time the smell of food being prepared for Iftar also begins to permeate the air providing a wonderful dose of aromatherapy for the city.

The closer the time gets to 6:30, which is roughly the time that the fast is broken each day, the traffic and activity on the roads does begin to slow down. As the time for Iftar draws near most businesses, apart from restaurants, close up shop for an hour or two to enjoy the evening meal. It is interesting to walk around during this time and peer into the shops to see people huddled on the floor around plates of food as they await the cannon that signifies the end of the fast. It is like this on the streets too, with people huddled around platters of foods in doorways, alleys, and on the sidewalks. Even the guards on duty in front of the various governmental buildings have someone bring them food and commune together at their respective posts. The sense of community that is characteristic of Ramadan is seen very clearly in the time leading up to the Allah'u'Akbar. Also characterizing this time just before Iftar is the evening call to prayer that can be heard throughout the city, as can all the daily calls to prayer, on loudspeakers broadcasting from various mosques. This is an idiosyncratic sound of Muslim countries and something that one grows accustomed to quickly. As the call to prayer continues on and the last few moments before Iftar, the sense of anticipation is so strong in the air it could practically be bottled and sold. Just as the suspense reaches an all time high, the canon is fired and the fast ends for the day. Immediately almost everyone begins to feast on their Iftar meals, which are traditionally begun with the eating of dates, while the more dutiful Muslims eat only a date and then excuse themselves for more prayer before eating.

Once everyone has ingested some food and raised their blood sugar levels, a whole new sense of energy can be felt in the air. After a short time the streets begin to fill again, becoming especially busy with foot traffic as people use their renewed energy to walk about. Gradually businesses begin to open again (some starting up for the first time of the day!) and a general sense of merriment is shared by all. Additionally starting at this time is the qat chewing, which I predict some men have looked forward to more than eating throughout the day. Shortly after this it is not uncommon to see men with cheeks that appear to be concealing golf balls and in some cases billiard balls. Yemenis truly do love their qat!

The sounds that characterize the evenings of Ramadan, at least those that stick out to me, mostly involve children in various forms of play. Tahrir Square, which is a mere 8 minute walk from my apartment, teems with children riding motor scooters and small ATVs. While this appears fun and innocent to these children, many are far too young to be riding solo and as a result it is not uncommon to see some crash their motorized transports. Fortunately I have not personally seen anyone get hurt, but I have seen crashes and many more ‘near’ crashes. The collective sound of all the 100cc motors being revved is somewhat like an amped up swarm of mosquitos and, at least in my opinion, grows old quickly. Fireworks, namely bottle rockets and standard firecrackers, are also a common sound as children light and throw them with little regard for their surroundings. Indeed, I have been surprised numerous times while walking by the sound of firecrackers exploding very near to me, sometimes practically under my feet! While the fireworks can be heard throughout the day, it is not until the evening that their prominence becomes especially noticeable. Other play activities include Foosball, with tables frequently set up curbside along streets, and its more active cousin soccer, though soccer is more commonly seen in the early mornings during Ramadan being played in the middle of streets.

As a result of being gainfully employed in Yemen and working during Ramadan, I had to retire to bed long before the evening festivities associated with Ramadan expired. The only real downside to this is that while I may be ending my day and seeking sleep, the rest of the city is hours from this as well as the accompanying sounds. This means I was nightly lullabied by all the sounds described above as well as the occasional barking dogs and fighting cats. This made sleep a bit elusive at times, but thankfully my great friends and coworkers, Derek & Lisa, had several extra pairs of ear plugs which they generously gave me. This not only safeguarded me from much of the sounds of Ramadan’s evenings, but also from the even more troublesome 3:30am call to prayer that, without fail, usually wakes me up. Since receiving these earplugs my quality of sleep has increased significantly.

As I mentioned earlier in this post, my account of Ramadan is not exhaustive or inclusive of all that is to be experienced in this great celebratory time. Clearly the best way to understand Ramadan is to experience it personally, which I hope all of you are able to do at some point in your life. It is unlike any other time I have ever been a part of and something I look forward to experiencing again next year. As for now, I am enjoying the opportunity to experience Yemen in its normal pace of life and adjusting to this. I hope all enjoyed this narrative and can think of no better way to close this particular post than by wishing all “Ramadan Kareem.”

Non-Religious Commentary on Religious Observances

Celebrations and holidays, whether religious (Christmas, Ramadan, Easter), secular (Independence Days National Days), biological (birthdays), scientific (New Year’s, Equinoxes and Solstices), or for any other reason mark a period of time when the human spirit seems most alive and vitalized. Emotions run the full gamut of possibilities, sensory input and stimulation are at all time highs, and the usual problems of life seem to melt away as people embrace the opportunity to relax and enjoy life perhaps more than usual. There is perhaps no better example of this than the Christmas truce that occurred between British & German troops in December 1914 (and to a lesser extent in 1915 between German & French troops) amidst the terror of World War I. Despite heavy fighting that started in August (or earlier), several unofficial truces were declared between the troops along front lines and saw them singing Christmas carols, enjoying drinks, and actually cohabiting with one another in ‘No man’s land.’ This is a miraculous display of human behavior and is testament to the strong pull that holidays/celebrations have and the human desire for tradition.

This brings me to the present time in Yemen, where for the past four weeks I have been able to witness a period of great celebration and tradition within the Islamic/Arab world: Ramadan. As with most new experiences in life, I (like most humans) search my memory bank of experience to help me understand and make sense of the new events taking place around me. With Ramadan, the closest thing I can compare it to is the festive atmosphere that abounds during the Christmas/New Year’s holiday period as well as the 4th of July and Thanksgiving in the United States. There is a major difference between these holidays and Ramadan, however, as Ramadan is a much lengthier and sustained celebration. As I mentioned above, Ramadan is an entire month and during that month the normal pace of life is almost completely abandoned and a very different rhythm permeates the daily existence of people. Also making Ramadan different is the fact that it involves fasting during daylight hours, which adds an element unfamiliar to any holiday from my childhood except perhaps for the period of Lenten that certain Christian sects observe. It is the universal following and adherence by the people to this principle, though, that makes Ramadan so different from holidays and observances which are are customary to me. The fact that everyone, with the exception of small children, pregnant women, the elderly, individuals with diabetes, and those with illnesses, is fasting creates a strong sense of camaraderie among the people and I believe makes it easier to get through each day.

I would now like to digress and offer my personal observations on religious celebrations from a non-religious point of view, which will be the heart of this particular blog post. Over the past month I have spent a rather significant amount of time observing and thinking about the role that religious celebrations play in societies. Spending nearly all of my life, save for the past month, in a Christian dominated society allowed me to experience and understand the central holidays/observances associated with that faith. Christmas and Easter are by far the two biggest holy days within the Christian calendar, and my childhood is filled with great experiences from those ‘breaks’ and the wonderful family gatherings that took place during them. From talking to people in Sana’a, I have come to understand that Ramadan holds a very similar place in people’s lives here. In fact, during my first few days here I had several Yemeni men tell me that “Ramadan is the best time of the entire year” and that “You are here during a great time.” Certainly I have seen that Ramadan is a unique time period, but oddly enough I have not actually seen much of the normal pace of life because Ramadan began on my third day here.

To get back to my observations, though. As I eased from childhood to adulthood, I began to see things from a more removed perspective and as a result have been able to take a step back and see things for what they truly are and make decisions for myself about life situations. One example is my take on the Christmas holiday. As a child I thought very little about the true origins of this holiday and was much more concerned with presents, time off from school, and the other ‘fun’ things associated with it. In my adult life I have tried to understand more clearly how this holiday has evolved throughout time and have come to realize it is much different today than from its origins. Nearly everyone knows that the basis for this holiday is the birth of Jesus Christ around 2000 years ago. Someone visiting the United States (or likely most other Christian dominated countries) during the Christmas holiday season today may have difficulty understanding this, however, as the holiday now seems to be much more centered around the commercialization of this time period and the (truly) ridiculous amount of money spent.

Ramadan, at least in my perspective, has had a similar evolution. The origins of Ramadan are loosely based around the time period when God revealed the first verses of the Quran to Mohammed. This month is marked by an increase in prayer, self-sacrifice (through fasting), repentance from past wrong-doings, and an overall rejuvenation in the Muslim population. I do believe that Ramadan still plays this role, just as I believe that those who truly practice Christianity gain much from the holidays associated with their faith. The fasting period was originally supposed to be incorporated into the normal daily activities and therefore not significantly change the regular obligations/responsibilities of people. Just as Christmas gradually moved from being a ‘pure’ celebration, however, Ramadan too has changed. Now it is not uncommon for people to sleep very late into the day, even as late as three or four o’clock, and then eat iftar a few hours later. People then spend the evening eating, drinking, celebrating, chewing qat, shopping, and in effect doing the things they would normally do during the daylight hours. It is as if daytime and nighttime reverse roles for this month. From my perspective, sleeping late into the day and avoiding work until after iftar completely defeats the purpose of the fast. Fasting is supposed to force one to come to terms with having less and to push through the difficulty associated with being hungry. It is precisely this feeling that I believe is at the heart of fasting. It seems that fasting should become something that one does in addition to their normal affairs not in their absence. It is quite obvious that it is much easier to fast for an entire day when one spends all the time sleeping and resting than when engaged in the pace of a normal work day. I have been rather surprised to see that Ramadan has evolved into its current form and wonder how much of the Islamic population is aware of this.

I do not mean to be critical of Islam, Christianity, or any other religion that observes holy days, I am just offering my perspective on what I believe is the evolution of holy days in modern times. I am positive that there are individuals from Christianity and Islam (and other world religions) who personally stick to the roots of their religious celebrations and observances, but it seems to me that on a societal level the true meaning of many holy days has become lost in the festivities, marketing, and commercialization associated with them. I am not even saying that I see this as a bad thing or a good thing, for that matter, as I feel I am an outsider simply looking in on these events. This evolution most simply put 'is what it is', like most things. These are just my thoughts and I do not believe anyone is less virtuous for not adhering to the principles laid out in their faith system. I also do not believe I am any better than anyone for the approach I take to life and can not stress this enough. I have just had much time to cogitate on these thoughts and felt the need to share them.

Coming up after this post will be a more descriptive account of Ramadan including observations on the “sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and more” associated with this wonderful time. As they say in Islamic culture “Ramadan Kareem” (have a wonderful Ramadan), I certainly did. Namaste, JOE

Bike Yemen!

Anyone who knows me, even if as a passing acquaintance, is likely aware how passionate I am about biking and how much I like it to be a part of my life/daily routine. I am especially passionate, as well as adamant, about relying solely on biking as my form of transportation. In the past, and now in my time in Yemen, I have eschewed automobiles as a means of getting to and from places and instead chose to use my bike as my primary method of travel. My reasons for biking are varied and include the following: it provides a guaranteed and built-in workout in my day to day life, helps me reduce my carbon footprint, allows me to get fresh air (though this is not always the case in the bustling hubbub of Sana’a!), and offers me greater freedom from which to explore my surroundings/milieu. Having expressed my reasons for biking, I would now like to share my perspective and experiences from biking Yemen thus far.

Before I go any further, however, I would like to explain that my desire to bike and steadfastness in this pursuit even involved me turning down a Mercedes-Benz that the Sana'a International School (SIS) administration had picked out for me. Yes, this car would have cost me, but the school would have provided me with an interest free loan which I could pay off throughout my time in Sana’a. Despite the temptation to be the ‘owner’ of a Mercedes-Benz and have a set of gas-powered wheels here in Yemen, I immediately pushed the idea aside and stuck with my original plan to be automobile-free in my new home. Contributing to this decision included not just my desire to save money, but also my determination to reduce my carbon footprint, increase my level of fitness, my eagerness to enjoy Yemen in a more intimate connection, and perhaps a hint of pride too. :-)

Wild. Unpredictable. Fast-paced. Insane. Frustrating. Absurd. Exhilarating. Surreal. Ludicrous. These are a few of the many adjectives that could be used to describe the experience of biking in Sana’a. Not included are those which would prevent this blog from remaining all-ages friendly. To say the least, biking in Sana’a is unlike any other experience life has ever afforded me and is one crazy adventure. It is an experience that engages nearly every one of the five senses, though sometimes I think there may be a sixth sense of that wards off the risk of sudden death, and in the process keeps me hyper-sensitive to my surroundings.

Each morning I begin my bike ride to SIS at roughly 7:10 am and see many of the same scenes at nearly exact locations each day. I wave to the guards outside the Prime Minister’s Office just as I leave the street I live on, pass by the early morning street sweepers and garbage collectors, and cruise onto the campus of Sana’a University approximately five minutes and twenty seconds into my journey. Since I have biked only during Ramadan thus far, I have had the luxury of having very peaceful rides during the early morning hours. Little traffic is encountered on the streets of Sana’a during this time and makes for a wonderful and pleasant way to begin my day. The return trip is a completely different story and I will soon get to its details, but please allow me to continue with the serene morning journey a bit longer.

As I near the opposite side of Sana’a University I almost always have to wait for the guard to be roused from his post, where he reads the newspaper, to have him open the gate to allow me to exit the campus. Occasionally along the stretch in the campus I ride through the middle of soccer games enjoyed by Yemeni youth on the otherwise empty streets and almost always have a few things yelled to me in Arabic (don’t worry, they are being friendly). Once I leave the campus I then make the decision about whether I should continue straight up Wadi-Dhayr road and take the quick route to SIS or, if time and energy permit, I should turn right on Sitteen (60 Meters Road) and put an extra couple miles and five to seven minutes of biking in before beginning my day of teaching. Lately it seems I have been choosing the latter, both because of my efforts to explore alternate routes and the simple fact that I feel like biking more. If I go straight on Wadi Dhayr, I continue on a gradual uphill that takes me past countless shops, all closed at this hour, and I share the road with occasional taxis who almost always honk in their approach behind me. One highlight along this stretch is the familiar smell of rotting animal flesh that greets me at about the 3.3 mile mark and almost always takes me back to the farm in South Dakota. I still am unsure about its specific source, but am positive of this all too familiar and, strangely enough, refreshing smell. HOME.

Also on this stretch are the occasional flock of goats being pushed across the road by weary looking herders that frequently includes reluctant looking children as well. As I near SIS I look to my right and see its familiar white perimeter fence outlining the mountain ridge that serves as the school’s southern border. I then take a left at the 4.4 mile mark (this is if I take the short route, it is closer to 6 or 7 if I take the detour along Sitteen) and glide along the last .3 miles, readying myself for another great day of teaching! Again there are the occasional goats on this stretch, though now they are not being moved anywhere but spending their morning rummaging through some of the (unfortunately plentiful) garbage that litters the side of many Yemeni roads. It is true that goats will eat about anything. And you people wonder why I abstain from consuming animal products!! (I jest, haha.) The guards open the levered gate and I give them my usual morning greeting. As I finish my early morning ride, I almost always invariably think of the contrast between the peaceful ride I just finished and the hectic adventure that will see me back to my apartment later in the day.

It is now roughly 4:45 pm, give or take a half hour either way, and I am just hopping on my bike to begin my precarious journey home. As I exit the gates for SIS the guards pass on their cheerful farewells and I cruise down the hill towards Wadi-Dhayr to greet the stimulating stream of cars that is Yemeni traffic. Unlike my morning ride, the afternoon/early evening involves a constant influx of stimuli to deal with and make decisions about. Before I have even reached Wadi-Dhayr I have likely already been greeted by half a dozen small children, some yelling greetings to me in English while others say things in Arabic I do not yet understand. As I then merge with the traffic on Wadi-Dhayr, I again make a decision about whether I want to take the quick route home or enjoy a lengthier route. This decision is generally dictated by whether or not I need to buy any produce, as my favorite produce stand is just down the road on Wadi-Dhayr. Regardless of the route I take, my ride positively involves a fair amount of adrenaline, cat-like reflexes I did not know I possessed, and an addictive rush I am fast becoming hooked to.

The once barren streets of the morning are now jam packed with traffic of all types: cars, taxis, motorcycles, pedestrians, debubs (basically Yemen’s version of a bus system, except that these are small vans that keep their sliding door open and almost always seem to pull over right in front of me!), bicycles, large trucks, and everything in between. Throughout the next twenty to thirty minutes, depending on the route I take, my vision is nearly constantly scanning the area in front (and behind) me; my ears key in on approaching traffic horns from my rear and to the upcoming side streets; my hands grip my handlebars and remain on my brakes like minutemen soldiers, ready to answer the call to arms at a moment’s notice; my mouth and nose settle into a rhythmic pattern of inhaling/exhaling that unfortunately is sometimes filled with more exhaust fumes than air; and my mind plays an inner dialogue in response to the chaos unfolding in front of me that may sound something like this: “What the hell are you doing pulling in front me like that for? This is insane, why aren’t there any practical traffic regulations. What a friggin great adventure, I love this.” As with the adjectives earlier, the dialogue is often more like Christian Bale’s rant on the set of Terminator Salvation than it is a Garrison Keillor memoir of Lake Wobegon. Use your imagination to fill in the blanks.

Irregardless of the route I take, my journey involves a number of sights and sounds that have become instantly etched into my memory bank. For example, just this evening I was passed by a taxi that was full in both the front and back as well as housing two grown men in the open trunk, one of whom lazily dragged his sandaled foot along the pavement. Another image are the fur-covered motorcycles (Yemenis think it makes them more manly) that pass three or four men deep, almost always offering me some type of greeting whether spoken or gestured. There are the constant shouts and stares I encounter as the novelty of a biking foreigner challenges the locals’ previous experiential memory bank. Little children stare from passing car windows, some hanging nearly halfway out, adults gesture from the open doors of debubs, broken English greetings are hurled my way “How are you? Welcome to Yemen!” Fortunately nearly all of the attention focused towards me is out of friendly curiosity and genuine interest. Very rarely do I ever experience any hostility or negativity from the Yemeni people.

As I continue along my way home it is inevitable that I will hit traffic jams that are bumper to bumper and which move in single feet (or inches) at a time. This is when my choice to bike really pays off and I am affirmed in my decision, as I maneuver my way through the nooks and crannies of the stalled cars and weave my way past traffic that I leave in my dust. It is a fact that I get around quicker on a bike at these times and free myself from much of the headache that can be associated with city traffic. It is not uncommon for me to pass vehicles during this time as my human powered accelerator zooms past the slow moving manual transmissions of the vehicles sharing the roadway. I feel invincible in these moments and proud as I fly by holding a steady twenty miles per hour. It is these breaks from the hubbub that make it all seem worthwhile, though I do not need these lulls to continue to bike my way through this life.

As I begin to hit the home stretch on my return trip, I should note that the time is fast approaching the daily occurrence of iftar that happens during Ramadan. This is the time in which the daily fast is broken. It is preceded by a great increase in traffic and activity as well as a seemingly exponential build up of emotion and irritability coupled with a steady decline in patience and self-control, as the collective blood-sugar level hits a daily low from twelve plus hours of fasting. Despite making this all the more hectic and unpredictable, it also makes it all the more interesting, exciting, and exhilarating. I continue to forge my way through traffic, seizing even the slightest breaks in the flow of vehicles to cross busy intersections and undoubtedly taking great liberties on my two wheeled human transport system. My ride is nearing its end and I can not help but feel a bit sad that my excitement must come to a temporary close, until I start it all over the following day. In this last stretch I ease into a slower pace and express gratitude that I have once again survived a biking adventure through the spasmodic streets of Sana’a. Thank God/Allah that I get to do it all over again tomorrow!