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...........
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