Back to Yemen

I had five days to play with in late November and wanted to go some where but not too far away.  I wanted a place I could walk around and also a place I could continue with Arabic lessons.  Even though I would be there over the Hajj Eid holiday and this was rather last minute, the manager at CALES was more than helpful to line up a teacher.

Yemen is a special place and one that needs to be seen.

Journal entries.

November 26, 2009

     It is Thanksgiving Day in all American hearts wherever they may be. Before I left on this trip my friend Andi from CO asked in an email “what meaningful way will you spend this day”.  The word “meaningful” stuck with me because how often do I do meaningful things for other people – the ones I know and strangers?  Today I hope I did something meaningful as I walked around Old Sana’a stopping to talk with people, taking photos of smiling men, and trying to converse in simple Arabic with children.  

     Selim is the one who reached out by welcoming me to Yemen and inviting me to tea right in the heart of tea/kabab/bread/motorcycle square.  Sort of like Marrakesh’s food court but the fraction of the size increasing the congestion.  It was GREAT.  He suggested I try some local food and it was shredded meat mixed with minced meat all boiling in some oil with a blob of something like a green, watery dumpling.  Turns out this was saltah and is made from clover and gravy.  All this comes in a very hot stone bowl and the food continues to cook while cooling.  This is eaten with a hearty roll or flat bread and it just so happened I had some rolls with me (seconds earlier I stopped at the bread stand and could not resist the fresh whole grain rolls).

 


In this food court area, old women are selling flat bread and everyone is fair game to get tugged at for a sale.  The ladies have a black tie-dyed scarf over their faces and then something like a table cloth for a cloak.  I was told these are the old Bedu ladies.  

During lunch Selim told me his story.  He could speak decent English and I asked him where he learned it.  He said at the University in Aden.  Selim continued to tell me he was born in Mogadishu, Somalia and his parents are now in a refugee camp in Kenya waiting for the lottery to go to America.  Selim lives outside Sana and has a wife and four little kids.  His rent is $40 a month and he has no job – his teeth were in dire need of saving.  He asked if there was a way to help him.  He did seem to be in need something/anything because he was awfully thin.

We walked through the qat souq and he took photos for me in this very male-centered area of the souq.  He had no problem asking men for a photo, and, in fact, people here like getting their picture taken.  It was a nice hour together and then we parted ways.  Will the $20 I gave him be for his kids tomorrow for Eid or for rent or for qat?  That is his call.  As a side note, later that evening I was reading somewhere in the school to be aware of a local man chatting it up with students and then asking for money.  Was this the man?  In the spirit of Thanksgiving I was thankful for what I had and wanted to share it with someone else. 

Selim and friends.

   Qat is big business.  Smiling faces in odd places.