A little of this...a little of that...

-Teaching is sleepy-
I know that it’s a bit hasty to judge but I have been teaching for three weeks now and ya know, I just don’t like it that much. I LOVE YEMEN, I love being here, I love Arabic, I love learning about Islam, I love the food, I love my students and coworkers, I love where I live, I love the people, I love that I moved here. But…the actual act of teaching? Not so much. In class it is fine, but the prep work! Oh hell, the prep work! Lesson planning is just plain laborious. I have to keep people engaged, interactive, and stimulated for TWO HOURS AT A TIME! The material is dry, well really, just plain boring. I’m teaching lower level courses so it’s all about the grammar. I really couldn’t care less WHY or HOW we use English, I just know that I’m good at it and speak it rather well. I only care about vocabulary, and literature. Umm…yeah, that’s really all. When I’m teaching the simple past tense of “to be” aka “I was”, “you were”… there really isn’t a whole lot of complex vocabulary to work with. My students are wonderful and earnest and kind. But I don’t want to have to spend even one extra minute outside of the classroom thinking about modal verbs let alone spending hours trying to come up with a plausible way to make the topic “can/can’t” interesting and last for two hours.. Amideast is amazing. They are doing great things in the Mid East especially in a post 9/11 world. The company motto " Bridging cultures, building understanding" is particularly apt. I keep meeting people who have studied in America on fellowship and cultural exchange programs. Or are working for their TOEFL so they can go to University in the states. Their stories are amazing and I'm very happy to be part of something so meaningful.

-Bad word sounds-
all the time my students mispronounce words so they sound like they are cussing wildly. Or sometimes in a perfectly natural manner they will bombard me with racial slurs or swear words (an example- the word cheek- first they mispronounce it like chick but also their accents are so thick it really just sounds like they are saying shit). It happened just the other day, we were using descriptive words for facial features and body parts when a student sad an extremely rude racial slur- A good reaction would be; don’t show alarm, calmly ask them to clarify, acknowledge what they said and then mention how, in English that word is actually bad to say. It is unkind and never used. Tell them multiple other options for that word and then, just as calmly move on without making a big deal about it. My reaction was not quite as subtle or professional. When the student casually mentioned the word as a descriptive example I said “WHAT?!? Wait…WHAT DID YOU SAY?” my eyes going wide and my mouth dropping open in alarm. The student repeated the word, I must have still looked stunned because a couple other students repeated the word as well, in a “Hellooo teacher, you don’t know this word?” kind of manner. Soon every single person in my class was shouting the word in various and alarming degrees of volume. I was like WHOOOA there class! Yes, I know what you said but NEVER EVER EVER say it again! My class kept asking, why? What does it mean? as they all continued to shout. As the only Caucasian woman working at my company I fervently hoped that no one was passing by my door at that exact moment… WHAT THE HELL IS TARYN TEACHING HER STUDENTS!!?!

-Incestuous friendships-
Yemen, it seems is a very small world. The man I met in the suq? The guy everyone call’s Obama? He is the father of one of my students. My friend Muhammad? Obama is his uncle. My family? Their close friends are being tutored by my Colleague’s(Muhammad Talksalot’s) wife. A friend I met in Aden told me to come to dinner and meet his cousin? Who turned out to be one of my students. A man started talking to me about his brother who has been to America- turns out it was Amal and Basaam, the couple I met in Jordan. Last night I went to dinner with Matt and the Muhammad’s, they decided to invite a friend of theirs, Waseem. I had met Waseem previously two-nights earlier at a get-together with my family. I could go on and on. Its just wild- this isn’t some crazy small town, it is the second largest city in the whole country. Its crazy the complex series of acquaintanceships and family relations.

-sweet, sweet vengeance-
The last three times I went by the rooster’s turf (once again safely sequestered in my bus) he wasn’t there! I HOPE HE WAS SOMEONE’S DELICIOUS, DELICIOUS DINNER!

-skimpy swim attire?!-
I’ve been curious about the swimming situation. I know men can swim whenever and where whatever they choose. But what about all the ladies? I find bathing suits in America are remarkably scandalous and thoroughly indecent. I, not a big fan of swimming, find myself extremely self-conscious and uncomfortable in the clingy, revealing ensemble of a bathing suit. What- in this culture of extreme sartorial modesty and conservatism- do Yemeni woman wear? Certainly not a bikini! Maybe a one piece? I decided to check it out. THEY SWIM IN FULL ABAYA! Can you believe that! Full abaya and head scarf…in the water…while swimming! I feel like that is extremely dangerous, just imagine how heavy and entangling a huge, cloaking-robe would be plus a head-scarf, and face cover. If any sort of current caught you or perhaps a rogue wave bombarded you, how could you even survive? Every woman I saw had some sort of floatation device in their arms at all time, not because they couldn’t swim, but simply because of the sheer volume of saturated clothing they were trying to support. So I guess I won’t be swimming any time soon…

"So there are these 3 Muhammad's standing in a row.."

"Umm.. okay? So what's the punchline?"

"No, I mean seriously, your 3 friends Muhammad are standing outside waiting for you"

"Ohh..."


I finally have their names figured out- there is Muhammad Jamal, Muhammad Saeed, and Muhammad Ali. There is also a fourth Muhammad whom we refer as Muhammad Talksalot because I find him so exasperatingly smug and pedantic that I simply cannot be around him

Got these goats

Blending right in

This weekend I got invited to a big Friday afternoon(sabath day) lunch with my family. We went to a beach side restaurant and had huge fish cooked in front of us over coals. It was hysterical- Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, babies, toddlers, teenagers, moms and dads and grandparents- all in traditional Yemeni garb and sitting right in the middle of the whole family- digging into the platter of food with my bare hands and bouncing babies on my lap- ‘ol Taryn (desperately feigning like I had any desire for, or knowledge of babies). Grandma kept laughing and handing me choice morsels of fish that she expertly ripped from the carcass. Grandma! You need to save some for yourself! People were staring with open-mouthed consternation, I'm sure it was quite a sight. I love it.

We decided to go on a boat ride at Steamers Point on the Gulf( after having this unusual and delicious ice-cream made from stale bread, burned milk and salt.. I wonder which part was the ice cream? And also,yeah good idea! Lets tempt our fate of raging seasickness after a large and unusual meal!). So at the port the Fam rented a boat- 3,000 Riyals for the whole family + and additional 30,000 just for me! They were trying to scam the hell out of me. Once it was sufficiently explained that I was in fact not a tourist but rather a member of their family, all was fine. I whispered to the girls “I’ll be sure to talk only in Arabic so they won’t know I’m American” “NOOOO!” they both yelled, “that ridiculous accent of yours will surely give you away!” as though the sight of me with crazy, windblown hair, a pink, sunburned nose, and a giant camera dangling around my neck standing next to a flock of women in abaya didn’t already scream out AMERICAN! WE’VE GOT AN AMERICAN HERE! SHE IS A TOURIST!
The boat trip was lovely, unlike my previous boat excursion this was a simple, relaxing joyride. We chugged lazily along the coast, snapping pictures and enjoying the brisk salty breeze. As we got back to the port I saw some other tourists(the first tourists I’ve seen since moving here) They were being wildly overpriced and were staring me down utterly baffled like, “what is that girl doing with all those locals?” I immediately felt wildly superior to them- oh you don’t have a Yemeni family yet? Such greenhorns.
Afterwards without a question we headed back to the house- I just flopped down on the couch like I owned the place and watched Arabic tv picking up approx 1 out of every 5,0000 words I heard.

Lumpy the Camel

This weekend I got to see my first ever camel farm! And by farm I mean a narrow, dusty, expanse of barren land located between two lanes of highway. These were my first real life, Middle Eastern camels! I had all sorts of pre-conceived notions that camels would be numerous and though clearly not a practical means of transportation or business, surely their use would be widespread. I pretty much thought I would spend frequent amounts of time riding camels or perhaps find life-giving sustenance in their milk/ subsist on the water in their humps if and/or when I got mislaid in the desert… My hopes were dashed upon the rocks of reality when I learned from my friend Muhammad(in case you haven’t realized yet, everyone I know is named Muhammad) that he, a native of Aden, had never once ridden a camel because helloooo this isn’t the 1800’s anymore.
After observing (from a distance! Camels are extremely brutish creatures!) the camels for a while we went to a nature reserve- the only of its kind in Aden. There were all sorts of birds and plants and it was really lovely and scenic. And then a surprise! Muhammad had arranged for a camel to come so we could ride it! Those who know me know that riding a camel is one of my all-time life goals. Woo-hoo check that one off the list!
And let me tell you this- it is not a smooth ride. Riding it took every ounce of concentration and agility in my being. This was no picnic. And I, apparently, am no longer a spring-chicken. Camels have an extremely jarring, plodding gait and a GIANT HUMP RIGHT WHERE YOU SHOULD SIT. Pretty much the whole time I was clutching with all my might to a mangy tuft of hair and trying not to slide head over heels off the massive ass of the ruminant.
Matt and Muhammad Jamal

WE HAVE FLAMINGOS!

I'm very excited about the flamingos! I mean, how fun is that?

Also please note this particular posts title "WE have flamingos" as opposed to "Yemen has flamingos" Why did you write that, you ask? BECAUSE MY RESIDENCY WENT THROUGH! I am a Yemeni resident! I am officially an Ex-pat! Peace out! I shall make a triumphal return again one day, adieu America, adieu.

I should probably put some pictures up of where I live...

Out and around Aden- The scenery is ruggedly beautiful
Left- near the Crater suq

Left- old Sufi temple

Camel farm..and a cow

Left- skyline of Mu'allah
Below- Khormaksar, where I live

Left- around Elephant bay aka the "nice" area with the "upscale" hotels
Below- a little fishing village on the coast near Little Aden

Left- Seera district near the fish market

Crater center outside my family's house

Grizzly or Brown?

Hehee, get it?

"Really Matt, Really?"

"Some people really do just drink it for the taste you know!"

Family

I have been adopted. About two weeks ago- through an astounding series of slight acquaintanceships and tenuous-familial relations (With literally no affiliation with my NGO- My friend Muhammad’s friend’s cousin, who works with a man, who knows the uncle of a brother-in-law who’s wife is the sister of a woman who speaks English…)- I was put into contact with a Yemeni family. They are Yemeni, but spent 10 years in the UK before moving back to Aden. Initially the idea was that I would go and meet them, discuss options, maybe they could teach me some Arabic, play it by ear, etc. It was pretty much mutual love at first site. I adore them and vice versa. I go every weeknight after evening prayer and stay for a couple of hours. I have learned about two words in Arabic thus far because we just get so dang excited we are all yammering away in English. I essentially go at family togetherness hour- I do my lesson plans for teaching, the girls do their homework, the kids run and play around, we make tea- I just really like being there. Apparently I have developed a strange habit of adopting parents wherever I go- I now have my own beloved family, plus Mama and Papa Sterrett(my East coast family, love you!) and now The Tawambiyah’s from Yemen!
They are absolutely delightful. The two teenage girls- Sabrina and Sherin(15 and 16 years old) are exuberant and funny. They have had the best of both worlds; born and raised in the UK and then back to their home country for their teenage years- an amazingly authentic look into both West/Eastern culture.
They commonly refer to me as their sister Taryn, and even joke with their friends at school about how they recently got a new member of their family. “Oh who had a baby? You’re cousin Reena?” “No no…. she’s already 23…and pale.”
I too just refer to them as my family “Want to come to dinner?” “Oh sorry can't, I have plans with my family” and I get in response “WHAT?!? You’re parents are here?! Really! Can we meet them? Do they like it?!” No no no, my YEMENI FAMILY, Helloooooo obvi.

We have recently started going on mini adventures- they take me out to get the best spices and fruit, or introduce me to wild new food items (such as a big leaf that is covered in licorice seed, coconut, sugar and pieces of a fragrant wood that you knaw on for awhile called “toombol”..) They other day we were prowling the suq( I have discovered a second suq- this one much smaller than the one described in a previous post but MUCH more like what I originally thought a suq would look like- all dark and crowded and winding) when the power went off! It was thrilling to be following shadowy figures all speaking a foreign language in a dark, narrow, winding alleyway! When the power came on there were shouts of jubilation all around. Amazing.

Their traditional Yemeni sitting room. These "couches" are amazingly comfortable and I really am becoming quite graceful and lady-like as I recline amongst the cushions. The First pic is of my cousin Yussuf and I.
Also- everything in the second pic besides the pink backpack is mine... I just bombarded my presence into their lives as though I own the place.

I'm pretty famous

Last weekend I was roused from my blissful slumber and forced into helping to supervise a massive beach clean-up endeavor. I had hopes of being able to sleep in past 8am but no such luck! The beach-clean up was one of several yearly activities done by Amideast’s ACCESS students- ACCESS being students that study at Amideast from either U.S. or Yemeni government sponsored scholarships- providing that the students maintain certain academic criteria at both Amideast and at their regular public schools. It’s an extremely worthwhile program and is successful because the students are highly motivated- they know that if they don’t maintain academic standards and English proficiency levels they will lose their scholarship. Apparently this commendable work ethic DOES NOT translate to school-sanctioned manual labor.
The whole experience was a lesson in futility. From the get go it was poorly organized. After more than an hour and a half we finally got all the students shuttled over to the beach. It was the single most disgusting beach I have ever seen. Wandering around Yemen it is clear that they have different sanitation standards and procedures than we do but this was just ridiculous. Trash as far as the eye could see. One of the reasons that Aden enjoys such a high status as a tourist destination(relative to Yemen) is because of the beautiful beaches. Maintaining a modicum of sanitation clearly needs to be a much higher priority(for this particular beach, certainly not all, or even most).
This is the scene I was met with when I arrived at the beach with the last of the straggling students- just utter chaos. There were hundreds of Yemeni teenagers milling about aimlessly without a hint of guidance or direction. First order of business? Get them into groups. Okay not too bad. But then we had to give them garbage bags and gloves and designate work areas- I don’t know who planned this but they did a TERRIBLE job. It worked out to about one small garbage bag per every three students and far too few gloves.
Our cleanup attempt could not possibly have been more ineffectual; it was well over a hundred degrees, no one thought to provide water, there was a paucity of garbage bags and sanitary gloves, and did I mention that these were teenagers? Multiple hours of manual labor during the hottest part of the day by TEENAGERS? It doesn’t matter what country you are in, it’s just not going to happen.
I was given a group of about thirty teenage girls and told to watch them, keep them working, and not to let them take their shoes off FOR ANY REASON. Bah…okay. I defy you to be able to keep track of thirty girls out of hundreds when they are all wearing full abaya..
I was met with a constant barrage of whining “oh Teacher it’s too hot”, “oh I would give my arm for some water”, “oh this is Yemen, we don’t care”, or my favorite “oh why are you picking that garbage up? It’s not worth it, just pick up the really big pieces, or anything metal”. WHAT? There was no motivation or incentive to work at all.
Across the street were some men lounging around in orange jumpsuits in the shade of a massive dump truck, if you came anywhere even close to being productive they would bound up to you and whisk away the garbage bag before it was even half full, pitch it over the side of the truck and then adjourn back to the shade. I must have had half a dozen bags snatched from my grasp in just such a manner before overcome with the futility of it all, I gathered some of the girls around me and made them sing to me in Arabic.
Strewn all along the beach were piles of teenagers collapsed from the heat and the absurdity of the situation. Partially filled garbage bags lay wantonly cast aside. I literally picked up HUNDREDS of plastic, sanitary gloves. Because, we are here to pick up garbage, so once we’re done, why wouldn’t we just throw our gloves on the ground and walk away?
As I taught some of the boys how to make kites out of the remaining garbage bags and some dirty twine we found, I had to keep constant vigilance because the lady who organized the whole thing (abysmally) kept stalking up to me demanding that I make the kids work harder and keep picking up trash. Pick them up with what? And put the garbage where? We ran out of supplies in the first half hour. I just wanted to be like, listen lady, one- I don’t know you, and you are ruining my first weekend in Yemen, two- this is unbelievably futile, three- it is undeniably your fault this is a disaster, and four- get the damn buses back here so we can all go take a nap.
THE DAY WASN’T COMPLETELY WORTHLESS THOUGH!!
It turns out there were a couple of men roaming around taking photographs. I paid them no heed-this was during the first half hour of the clean-up process and I had yet to realize how worthless the whole endeavor was, I was busy toiling away. Awhile later Ben came bounding up, “I GOT MY PICTURE TAKEN WITH THE GOVENOR! THE GOVENOR! I’M GOING TO BE IN THE PAPER!"
“Damn you.” Is all I said as sweat was streaking down my face. Whatever Ben, ever heard of a work ethic?
Early Saturday(essentially Monday) morning I walked into the office to see a big group of people huddled around a newspaper. As I drew closer they all got super excited and animatedly gestured me over- and there it was FRONT AND CENTER of the morning paper, a pic of ‘ol Taryn toiling away on a dirty, Yemeni beach! BOOYAH BEN! WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?!!? Many of my students brought copies of the article to class, and I told anyone and everyone I met unabashedly, that I was now a Yemen celebrity. It was awesome. Ben’s reaction to hearing the news “WHAAAT? Some stupid, American comes and it trumps the GOVENOR making an appearance at a community clean-up project? Damn you”
BAHAHAHAHHA, I’m kind of a big deal. No seriously, I am.


HELL YES.

A little bit closer- I look SOO good.

All encompassing Arab hospitality

So early last week my friends the Mohammed’s and I went to an Islamic center (different than a mosque, where I am not allowed to go), I meant to go for just a few minutes to check it out but ended up staying almost two hours (and I have subsequently been back several times). Initially upon my arrival I felt a bit uneasy. Although met with exceedingly polite and courteous behavior, I felt that perhaps I shouldn’t have come. Had I brazenly (albeit inadvertently) walked into a private, Muslim-only area where the three-strikes- white, American, and female would prove insurmountable odds?
I will admit that I just don’t look the part of truly-interested-for-scholarly-reasons + I-swear-I’m-not-wasting-your-time. I look YOUNG. I guess I never realized just how young I look until I started teaching adults. I’m constantly getting, “Wow! You’re allowed to teach us even though you’re still a teenager?” or “Oh is your mother a teacher here?” NO! I'M 23 DAMNIT! The consensus seems to be that I look like I’m 17… Not so great when I am trying to personify an authoritative, hell-yes-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about demeanor. But this will be GREAT when I’m an old lady and still look spry!
We soon found ourselves sitting next to the main guy’s desk at the Center- I, of course, feeling exceedingly foolish and uncomfortable. A few pleasantries were passed back and forth in English, with much regret given that women were not allowed to study there. The man then proceeded to ask something in Arabic to a man standing beside me- miraculously I happened to understand several of the words he said and was able to decipher the general meaning- somewhat boldly I went ahead and answered his question. Immediately his eyes light up, I wasn’t some silly girl on a whim after all! To make a long story short we ended up talking for almost two hours about my purpose for being in Yemen, my desires to know more of the Arabic language and the religion of Islam, how Islam is viewed in America and vice versa, how misunderstanding breeds contempt and the biased portrayals seen in the media… it was wonderful. I ended up getting a tour of the center and then book after book was pressed upon me, a veritable wealth of information. Much regret was expressed over the fact that I couldn’t study Arabic at the center but they went out of their way to find me a place where I could.
All of this only further solidified my views of Muslim culture in general and the Yemeni people in particular. Islam is a wonderful, pluralistic religion practiced by kind, generous people. Everywhere I go I am met with unbelievable displays of kindness, hospitality and friendship. Moving here was definitely the best decision I have made in a long, long time.
Anyone want to come visit?!

Yemeni Blogs

The two American fella's(AKA "my big strong men" as in, "where are my big, strong men?! Where are they? Matt! Ben?! Hey come lift this big, object for me!) I work with have both started blogs, they offer slightly different perspectives and information than my blog provides, which may prove interesting to devoted readers.

Ben Carver's blog
When we looked at each other's blogs we laughed and laughed because WOW they couldn't be more different. I write about scavenging for beer and rooster attacks. He writes about the socio-political climate in Yemen, includes insight on the history and culture, and offers impassioned diatribes on the educational system and governement of Yemen. But did I mention THAT I GOT ATTACKED BY A ROOSTER?!?!
http://mideasy.blogspot.com/


Matt Duda's(hahahahahaha Dead Worm) blog
Matt's blog is a continuation of his myspace page. It offers more pictures than my blog and includes a few videos as well. I particularly enjoyed the video entitled "That is NOT gunfire" its worth a watch if you have time.
http://blogs.myspace.com/mattjd43

Luck O' the Irish...In Yemen

So the other day was St. Patty’s day- for years and years I have been precluded from celebrating my heritage as any young Irish lass should(by downing green pints and Irish carbombs and living it up with my friends) because I was either STLL IN HIGH SCHOOL or because I was trapped with my softball team at a sleazy hotel in the middle of nowhere Delaware- MISERABLE, playing far too many games or, more likely, huddled in the bus because we were under a constant barrage of rainstorms, game delays, too-cold-to-be-legal weather situations and overall misery. There was one notable exception however and while it has absolutely no bearing or pertinence to this blog I’m going to post them anyway because the WORLD NEEDS TO SEE THESE AMAZINGLY CANDID PICTURES. This has to be the absolute, MOST GLORIOUS, accidently taken series of photographs in all of creation.

Things to note- in a moment of profound stupidity someone bought generic whiskey and baileys. IT IS NOT THE SAME.



Here we are getting ready to drink the carbombs- Taryn "come on come on! Pay attention! Hellooo its bombtime girls! PALMS!" Mendy and Kip are getting ready, Palms isn't giving this anywhere close to the proper attention it deserves.








All of us drinking steadily- I am employing the two-handed method for optimum guzzling effect. Please note Kip's blue cup.











I finished mine instantly and am expressing my triumph through a double fist-pump, Mendy is disgusted with me for actually drinking that noxious brew. Palms is shadily trying to pour her's out so we don't notice that she didn't drink it. Kip(with mostly full cup set down on table) is now booting in the bathroom after one sip. OOOOOOOH st. pattys!





So here I find myself once again celebrating St. Patty’s day in an atypical situation... I’m in Yemen. I tried to teach my students about this holiday but lets just say it didn’t translate too well. With limited choices we decided to go to Ching Sing the famous, or I guess, only Yemeni Chinese restaurant. Word on the street was that they had an extremely limited albeit downright tasty selection of beers. WHAT?!? BEER?!? This is an Islamic state! Alcohol is forbidden! Will I be arrested upon first sip? Hmmmm… it is St. Patty’s day though… what would my ancestors do….So off we went. Upon arrival as if drawn by a magnet our eyes locked on the minuscule selection of brews; Amstel light, a Heineken look-alike fake-out, and some weird French beer-flavored water. Okay awesome. Shall we sit down, leisurely order, peruse the menu? No. Beer. B-E-E-R. WE WANT B.E.E.R. “Thalatha Thalatha thalatha!(3)” we shouted, gesticulating wildly toward the bar area in our excitement. At 1500 riyals a piece it was the most delectably frosty, and refreshing, genial beverage I have ever had. We joked about trying to find some Irish carbombs because, hellooo whiskey, bailey’s and Guinness is an ambrosial mix and what Irish celebration is complete without it, but then we were like wait…hmmmm, we’re in Yemen… prompting the new slogan- Yemen, home of the not so delicious carbombs. Get it?! I’m joking!! As it has been an unprecedented two and a half weeks since I’ve last imbibed I cut myself off after two cans of golden deliciousness because, really, why come to Yemen to drink? There is so much beauty and culture and fun at hand! But it was a hysterical situation anyway- An Irish celebration, at a Chinese restaurant, drinking French beer, in the Middle East. How utter absurd and delightful.

Monkey Business

This monkey was drinking mango juice AND eating qat!

Candy and prizes and treats?!?

In other news-
- This weekend I got wrangled into supervising a beach clean-up project with Matt and Ben. I was so excited to get to sleep in past 6:30... but now I shall spend my day watching a million teenage Yemenis, and doing manual labor on a beach where I cannot even wear a t-shirt or shorts...

- When matt introduces himself people often laugh- nothing unusual about that, he's an odd dude- but we finally found out why. The name "Matt Duda" literally means a "Dead worm" in Arabic! "Hello there, my name is dead worm...how are you?" Hahahah sucker.

- On my first day of classes we were going over some basic verb endings, we had barely begun when one of my students said, "Okay, enough of this. Thats fine, something else now." Wait, what? Um helloooo I'm the teacher. When I say conjugate that verb YOU HAD BETTER CONJUGATE THAT DAMN VERB.

- I decided to try and do some laundry in our old-school, manual washer (with clothes line on terrace) as per instrutions I filled it with water. Apparently this apparatus was just for show/to accumulate dust- there was no bottom on it and it flooded our whole bathroom. Somehow maintenance found out about flooding and two guys came up to my apartment to fix it. One guy was the handi-man the other guy clearly served no purpose, he just came to see the show. All three of us were standing there huddled in the tiny bathroom, one guy diligently banging things around, and brandishing screwdrivers- the other guy and I just shifty-eyed looking at each other, not talking, watching... Finally out of sheer desperation I went and got some sticky-notes, I had the Yemeni guy go all around my apartment labling my furniture and appliances in Arabic. We had a LOT of time to play this game and quickly blew through major furniture and possesions... does anyone want to know how to say "wall socket" or "hangar" in arabic because I could probably tell you.

-Today I got majorly called out on using a "tense" wrong- I said it was present-continuous or some such nonsense and I had 16 Yemenis all yelling and pointing that I was incorrect. Oh? My bad. Let's move on and see what else I can incorrectly teach you today, shall we?

-The other day I bought a SIM card for my global cell phone. I tried to buy a Yemeni compatible one at home but they were all around $50. Buying one in Yemen was a bit of a charade- trying to explain in my faltering Arabic until I prised my phone apart and showed him where the card would go. When he told me how much, I just stared at him in shock- My total cost for a global SIM card and Yemeni phone number? 75 cents. Awesome! Easy, done! But not quite... For reasons that remain unclear I then had to give them a copy of my passport. I had to undergo a FULL fingerprinting and I had to fill out in ARABIC a lengthy questionnaire about my intended use for the phone, American and current address, email contacts, it took a VERY long time. I can read and write arabic, but I didn't know exactly what it was asking for. Imagine me, and five random men-none of whom spoke a word of English all huddled around a piece of paper-my hands COVERED in ink- trying to decipher/translate/explain the process of registering my information to the phone company. There was lots of shouting and gesticulating wildly. The paper was snatched and passed around becoming more and more illegible...and is the Yemeni government monitoring my calls?? What a fiasco!

- About every other day I hear a knock on the door, and without thinking go over and open it- almost invariably its a Yemeni man who see's that I'm in a tank top or t-shirt and yells "ahhh! sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry!" and covers his eyes with his face and backs slowly away. There are literally only two other Americans here, neither of whom live near me, and we have a secret knock so I know its them. Really though, what do I think's gonna happen when I open that door, I gotta stop flashing bare, beguiling fore-arms at all these Yemeni men.

Girl scouts honor this happened

I caught the bus yesterday to go to the Lebanese International University to find out about Arabic lessons. I was meeting my friend Muhammad and his two friends (ironically, or perhaps not so ironic in Yemen, both also named Muhammad). I became so engrossed in my thoughts that I blew past my stop and had to hoof it back several blocks. As I was walking along the road (a very busy road with limited sidewalk options) I saw a rooster up ahead- I had seen this rooster previously several times; he was remarkably handsome, pure white with red accents. He looked stalwart, healthy, and proud. Every time I saw him (always whizzing by on a bus) he was in the same spot- clearly his turf- and this was to be the first time I passed him on foot.
As I approached he was pecking and clucking along, guarding his brood of hens and then he saw me! Instantly you could tell he meant business (He was clearly in a fowl mood, Hah! See what I did there?!?) Across the expanse of pavement we made and maintained a fierce, burning eye-contact, his eyes malevolently challenging me- “I will eat you alive, bitch” and I thinking “what’s more dignified? Risking life and limb to dash across 8 screaming lanes of traffic to avoid a small bird or being mauled by a malicious rooster?” but then I remembered I’m a Hanley girl! Hanley girls are NOT deterred by mere poultry. Resolutely I marched forward. Warily I gave him a wide birth, he followed me with his steely gaze the whole time and then I was past him! Great success! But wait! Now he was following me, slowly at first, maintaining pace with my even stride. But then he started walking faster, and faster, and then he was RUNNING BEHIND ME! At this point, dignity be damned, I too am running. Just running away down the streets of Yemen being chased by a riled-up rooster. By now we are in a full blown chase and have progressed well beyond his territory, what does he want from me?! He’s gaining…gaining…and then PECKING! PECKING AT MY TOES! Now we have both stopped running and I am leaping, and kicking, and jumping, and skipping away from his beak. And then just like that, he was done. Game over. I whirled toward the street, astounded, flabbergasted, “DID ANYONE SEE THAT?” I shouted, “HELLO YEMENIS, DID ANYONE JUST SEE THAT ROOSTER ATTACK ME? WHAT WAS THAT?!?” but I got nothing. No reaction, no one cared. Just another silly American. And all that was left for me to do was pull myself together and move on. Of all the indignities.

Damn you ESL! You've screwed me again!

Over the years I have come to have a rather healthy regard for my prowess in the realm of linguistic expression- I both eschew obfuscation and espouse elucidation. At times I can be extremely loquacious and magniloquent but I believe I maintain an eloquent and articulate communicative style. My verbosity, acquired by copious amounts of reading, stimulating confabulation and colloquy(and my smarty-pants family) has always been a source of pride. I’m a bit of a wordsmith if you will( and upon reflection, I think you will). When referring to teaching English as a Second Language, I have often heard people remark that teaching this subject will absolutely ravage your vocabulary. And I thought hah! Never! I love vocab! Won't let the man bring me down! But then I find my self frequently thinking(luckily not saying. Yet.) things like-
I am went for shopping at mall
or
I am being hungry for lunch meal for now

Bah... I'm a teacher

So I finally had to start my job…Damnation! I just want to play and eat and explore and learn Arabic all day… life is hard.
But anyway I can sum up my first class like this- Bah….what?
I spent a lot of time preparing for my first class, I had to teach simple past tense- specifically the verb “to be”. Fine, I can do that. Classes are two hours long which I find woefully daunting, I don’t have the capacity or focus to talk about anything for two hours let alone boring grammar. So my first class went like this- Me talking about class rules, Amideast policy, what we are trying to get out of this class, course-wide project ideas, etc, etc. This is what they heard- lalalalalalalalalala Amideast lalalalalalalalalalalala tests lalalalalalalalalala my name is Taryn lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalallalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalal....
After talking for a few minutes(in a way that I felt was slowly, articulately, enthusiastically, and simply) I looked around and was met with blank stares, OH MY GOODNESS THEY HAVEN’T UNDERSTOOD A WORD I JUST SAID. And Then I had to keep teaching for another hour and 57 minutes. And then another two hours after that.
My first day was really just discouraging. I was met with a much lower proficiency level than I expected and it didn’t help when Matt kept roaming around my apartment, in my face boasting “I’M THE MAN! I ROCKED THE SHIT OUT OF THAT LESSON! WHY HAVEN’T I BEEN DOING THIS MY WHOLE LIFE?! WOW, I’M SO GOOD AT THIS! ALL MY STUDENTS WANT ME. HELL YEAAHHHH!”
I probably deserved it after a week of bragging about my superior living situation, in-apartment internet, and beautiful terrace…

Today was much, much better. I simplified, changed my preparation strategy(still just a jumble of notebooks on my bed though..) and did lots of vocal, full-class, work.
Also at break one of my students brought a friend into class and introduced me, I said “oh is he going to be joining class?” “Oh no teacher, he just wanted to come look at you, okay bye.”

Also in my other class yesterday for the briefest of seconds someone mentioned movie stars and Brad Pitt was mentioned- I said “I love Brad Pitt, he’s great” and then we moved on. Today one of the guys downloaded a MILLION different pictures of Brad Pitt to his phone and brought them to show me after class. It was really quite sweet.

I’m feeling quite anxious about class tomorrow.. the problem with being a teacher is that you actually have to teach them things. You know what I say about grammar? Eff grammar. I just want to talk about cultural differences, food, hobbies, and things that interest me. And I want them to teach me Arabic in class. Is that too much to ask for?

And also I will at no point, ever, ever, be able to remember their names- perhaps partly because I can only see the eyes of the girls in my class...

Blessed Relief

For years and years and years I have been battling wicked insomnia. Just forever. But ever since I arrived here I have been sleeping the night away! I am having the deepest, most restful sleep I think I've ever had (except for the night I chewed qat and patronized the tea shops...I didn't go to bed at all that night..) Who would have thought that after all these years of battling insomnia and sleep deprivation all it took was a drastic, life-changing move to the middle east.

Here's where all the magic happens

Oasis of Tranquility

Matt suprised me with a "first day of teaching!" plant. I'm in love with my terrace.

No booze + dress-up + makeovers + dancing, Yemeni wedding or my own personal hell?

Tomorrow I'm going to a Yemeni wedding. I have absolutely NO idea what to expect, what to wear, how to behave, what to bring... my anxiety level is sky rocketing. This is what I know- My roommate and I are going with a woman, Aliza, whom we literally just met, yet somehow we were invited to this wedding.... I know that men and women have entirely separate wedding celebrations. I know that woman wear lots of make-up, dress up rather scandalously(because they are covered head to toe the other 99.5% of the time), they are extremely bedecked, bedazzeled and bejeweled, and there is lots of wild, body-gyrating dancing. Which pretty much sounds like everything in the world that I hate/makes me incredibly uncomfortable and self-conscious..
I also know that for the men's celebration they get to go out into the countryside and chew qat and shoot AK-47s. D it all to H I wish I was a boy...even just for a day...(so I just quote Beyonce now? thats just what I do?)

this will be wild.

Yemeni wedding summation- Quintessential late 90’s junior high prom x Boy George make-up x random wilting, flora head-adornments = What the hell was that?!?

The whole thing was a bit of a fiasco- super unfamiliar social situations make me panicky and without the aide of a little liquid courage I was just a heap of anxiety. Not knowing what to expect I decided to straighten my hair(creepy, white-girl fro seemed inappropriate) Oh fine, no big deal. WRONG. First, doing my hair involved a frigid, low-pressure, drip shower. Then obviously I needed to dry it- my wild main of hair has mixed with the humidity in a truly appalling way- I pretty much just have a fro now. Constantly. My hair has just been an endless debacle- my straigtener wouldn’t work…then my hair dryer blew out all our fuses… then I bought a Yemeni straightener but the only plug for it is in the kitchen… actually the only plug in the whole house is in the kitchen, which, clearly, is fantastic. But I digress…
After my shower I obviously needed to dry my hair. This manifested itself by me standing on my tip toes on a chair in the middle of the living room, harnessing the power of the languidly twirling ceiling fan for an hour. Good times. Then came the straightening- did I mention that it’s boiling lava hot here? I adopted a 2 mins on, 2 mins of straightening method. Frantically straighten my hair for two minutes then run! to my room and twirl about in the fan-breeze, whisk away temple-perspiration(from both the elements and hair apparatus), collect myself, and back to the kitchen again!
Liza picked us up at four- for and 8:30 wedding! Good lord what can we possibly be doing for 4.5 hours you ask? Why bedazzling our hair and faces of course!
We were told to wear whatever we had on hand and next time (really though? Next time?) we would really do it up right( upon hearing this I thought “yeah that sounds right, I don’t know what to wear or how to act, with a little hindsight and experience I can really look good for the next wedding I go to.” Now that I’ve seen the monster that is a Yemeni wedding, I shudder to think what will happen when they really help me next time). When we got to Liza’s house all hell broke loose. To sum it up picture Taryn- nice, simple, halter-style dress, hair down, heels, minimal, tasteful jewelry, and light, becoming make-up. Hours later T-MONSTER comes out- wearing shocking-pink lipstick(with some drawn on to make my lips look fuller. Thanks for that, Yemen) cloyingly sweet perfume, and more eye shadow and in a darker variety than I have ever worn in my entire life combined. On my ears I wore big, fake, dangling gemstones, I had a matching big, choker-style necklace, and a large, multi-colored firefly broach on(just so I would look a bit dressier). And then the hair. Oh wow, the hair! My hair was gently and efficiently arranged for me- one half down dangling in my face, the other half pinned up. Yes, that’s right. ONLY HALF WAS PINNED UP. With bobby pins? No. With a giant gem-cluster with shooting-star dangling pieces pinned along the side of my head. I was, in a word, pretty. After being “shown off” to many family-members and several of my own co-workers(much to my chagrin) We were off to the wedding!
It was held in the basement of a hotel- we were taken to the back entrance so as not to be gawked at. Inside was a small vestibule for removing niqabs, hijabs, and the million other shroud-like, enveloping outer garments that Yemeni’s wear. It was amazing to see the transformation of lemming-like, faceless, shapeless females into beautiful, vibrant women. Everywhere you looked were women fully bedecked in outrageous gowns, every color of the rainbow. It was a fashion explosion. The eye-shadow situation was unbelievable- sparkly blue was a favorite and it often covered from the base of the eyelid all the way up to the eyebrow. It was straight out of a drag show. Another popular thing was head ornamentation; big sunglasses, sparkly gems, even fake alien antennae- but by far the most popular was plant matter. A shocking amount of women had their entire heads covered with a wilty-looking, green, weed. It was fastened with bobby pins and looked exactly how you would imagine hair covered in deed leaves would look. What was that about?! I have truly never seen anything like it- it was the singular most gaudy, tacky, outrageous and mystifying occurrence of my life. The wedding hall was teeeeeeeeming with ladies- No men! Yemeni weddings don’t serve food so it is custom to invite everyone you know, and let me tell you EVERYONE THEY KNEW WAS THERE. Plus one American lady!(keep in mind even now, I just have no idea who got married, or even what her name is). The music was LOUD. Way beyond necessary or comfortable. It made conversation impossible (as though it were possible already with our profound language barrier…). Liza said that it was to be a religious wedding, and she seemed pretty sad about it. Later I found out that “religious” meant that there was only Yemeni music, not any Egyptian or American rock. Oh? Dang. In order to get to our table in the very back we had to walk through surging crowds of dancing/shouting women- most of whom stopped and stared me down as I went. They were staring at you? Was it because you had a firefly broach on? And bedazzled hair? No. It was because A) I am a pasty-white, American and B) because the day before I became so engrossed in my book whilst lounging on the terrace that I got a wicked sunburn-but only on my shoulders and shins. Liza said that they had probably never seen sunburn before, “what is this rare breed of red and white speckled human?!”
At no point throughout the night did I not have an entourage of smiling, squirming, little girls by my side. They practically sat on my lap, openly staring at me and shouting “what you name?” over and over. IT’S TARYN! Taryn! Can’t you understand me?!? Every once in awhile I would whirl on them quickly and make a wild face or slyly bring my hand around and poke them on the back. Just to keep things lively.
I also had a number of teenage girls stalking me throughout the night- to make a long story short I ended up giving them my mobile number as a means of appeasing them and they now call me all the time.
There was literally no ceremony- the purpose was to showcase the bride, and to let the women cut loose! The bride made her grand(and interminable) entrance and then sat on a gaudy throne the rest of the night. At one point everyone suddenly surrounded her, jumping up and down, ululating shrilly. And then, just as suddenly, they all stopped and went back to the dancing. Alas I have no pictures of the event because cameras were not allowed- all the women were letting their hair down, dancing, shouting, communing- and we certainly cannot have pictures of that. The sight of myself in the mirror however, bedecked in my full Yemeni glory will remain emblazoned in my mind for all eternity.

All in a day...

Oh yeah? Well then let me put my AK-47 and giant curved knife down for a minute

Suq it to me baby!

The last two days we have been spending considerable amounts of time wandering the suq(open market, bazaar). In my idealized and romanticized mind I have always envisioned the suq to be one long, narrow winding lane with dark, covered alleyways jutting off. It would be bustling and noisy with tea shops and sweets-sellers. Spice vendors and silver and fine cloth merchants. Lots of haggling and intrigue! It was in fact, quite different than that. Bustling? Yes. Haggling? Yes. Tea shops, sweets-sellers, merchants galore? Yes, yes, yes. But it is a wild labyrinth that spans many blocks. There are squares that are teeming with crowds and streets extending in every direction from them. There seemed to be sections of the suq; the electronics section, the furniture makers, the fruit carts, clothing, etc. but many, many shops were tiny stalls jammed with everything you could think of. Honestly it reminded me an awful lot like Canal street in New York, different but not disappointing.
We made our way to the fresh seafood- pungent aromas assaulting our senses well before we even arrived. Lots of men were vying for our business but one particular vendor had a giant, unique looking fish in a pretty shade of blue that intrigued me very much. And for that reason alone he got my business! After picking out a few fish, they were flung cavalierly into a plastic grocery sack and off we were to a restaurant with dinner in hand. Some men at the front of the store relieved us of our parcel and ten minutes later, voila! Whole roasted fish, rubbed with spices and served with pieces of flat bread. Delicious.
Last night we were escorted about the suq but today Matt, Ben and I decided to foray out into the semi-controlled chaos of the suq all alone. We stopped at a fruit stall for some fresh juice- we discussed this particular matter and decided, hang it all! We are going to eat street food! It smells so tantalizingly, out-of-this-world delicious that I just can’t wait any longer(plus I’ve been brushing my teeth with the local water anyway…) For about 35 cents we had the sweetest, most delicious fresh fruit smoothies this world could possibly offer. Mango, guava, papaya, banana and pineapple with ice blended to cool, creamy bliss. We’ve been there several times already. As we were wandering aimlessly enjoying the cultural assault before us, we turned a corner and lo and behold! We had stumbled upon the Qat market! I’m sure I’ll have many more things to say about Qat later, but for now- Qat is THE social lubricant of Yemen. Alcohol is forbidden in Islam, but do you know what isn’t? Qat. It is a green, leafy plant that is massively cultivated throughout Yemen and celebrated for is use as a social stimulant/mild narcotic. It is immensely popular and hours of everyday are spent sitting idly by, chatting and chewing the qat leaves(you masticate the leaves gently, and store them in the hollow of your check, sucking the juice as you go. You have to continually eat more and more leaves, everywhere you go you see men with giant, baseball shaped protrusions from their cheeks).
I don’t for even one second think you can come to Yemen and not partake of the quintessential Yemeni social phenomenon. With only minimal hesitation we decided to try it. All over the square men had bundles of qat leaves wrapped in damp clothes, gesturing to us emphatically. We approached one. He offered us a MASSIVE bundle of leaves. HELL NO, we do not need to die today, thank you sir. We told him half. At this point I was unsure if I, as a lady, would be able to indulge, or was I continuing to exacerbate the “loose-American-woman” stereotype. The seller named a price, “HA!” I scoffed quite loudly by accident- clearly I’ve never bought qat before, I have zero knowledge of how much it goes for, just no idea, but Yemen is a bargaining culture and that seemed exorbitant. He lowered his price and looked at me-not either of the men I was with, they men currently bargaining with him- and I shook my head. He lowered it again and as Matt was about to pay I said, “Laa! Laa!” (no, no) and named a different price. Am I allowed to chew this? I don’t know, but at least I’m getting a good deal! The seller grinned at me and good naturedly accepted the price I offered. Heck yes Yemen. To show our appreciation we gave him a bit more than the agreed upon sum. (buying the qat foiled a scheme that Ben and I were EXTREMELY excited about- Matt had been talking about wanting to try qat for a while. We knew this, so while we were at a market we came across a nice bundle of bay leaves. We were planning on picking off the stems, putting it in a generic plastic bag and surprising Matt with our extremely generous gift of fresh qat! What I would give to have seen Matt munching away at bay leaves thinking it was a mild narcotic… oh well, maybe I can try it on another unsuspecting person..)
With our new purchase firmly in hand we started wending our way through the market. As we passed by a tea stall we heard someone shout “Englizee!” not an uncommon occurrence, we just waved and continued on. This man however, spoke English. He took us to the tea stall(where I had formerly been under the impression that woman weren’t allowed) and we had delicious tea and tried to talk to the locals. We stayed there for awhile and quite a crowed gathered, we took their pictures and shared our qat, they gave us free tea and kept shouting “OBAMA! YES. BUSH, BAD!” Hah. The man who originally hailed us gestured us to his car, come on, he’ll show us a great site- okay strange man, yes we will come with you in your car. Right now. He drove us down a winding, narrow, dirt lane that suddenly opened to the sea! But not the sandy, touristy beaches, no! To some rocky bluffs bordered by cliffs. This was a bit of a locals hang-out that we never would have found on our own. We stared out at endless ocean as white-capped waves broke on the rocks beneath us, salty spray whipping our face. It was stunningly beautiful. He went back into his car and got some rugs which he arranged on the ground around a rock for us to lean on. The qat chew had begun! Qat tastes pretty much exactly like what you would imagine any broad, green, leafy plant would taste like- bitter, acrid, a bit dry. Definitely an acquired taste(I think the boys have already acquired it, hah!). We chewed the qat and talked to Omar for hours(known throughout the suq as “Obama” because he is originally from Kenya) and it was unbelievably relaxing. I can certainly see the appeal of whiling away a lazy afternoon chewing qat, talking with friends, watching waves crash upon the bluffs…
It also turns out that Omar’s son Amar, will be taking one of our classes- we took pictures with Omar and got his business card and are planning to prank his son by photoshopping a picture of America in the background and pretending we knew his father back in the states- it will be interesting to see how this joke translates between the languages… We came back and spent some more leisure time on my terrace, sipping mango juice and watching some wild parrots play in the tree by my room. It was a truly once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable day.

Like a thousand fiery suns...

ITS HOT HERE

Heaven on my palate

Today Ben, Matt and I went for an adventure and then found a local Salta restaurant. Salta, a spicy meat stew-like item of meat, onions, chilies, yogurt and spices, is the national dish of Yemen and quite singular and delicious. They cook it on huge iron pots and serve it boiling-lava hot with bread. Every meal we have had to sit in a private “family” section because I am a lady.
I feel like I’ve only really talked about food and transportation thus far, but really, those two acts have comprised 75% of my time thus far.
Previous to arriving in Yemen I had entertained thoughts of losing weight while I am over here and returning as a tan, thin lady. BUT THE FOOD IS SOO GOOD. The portions are just huge. HUGE. We haven’t even come close to finishing a meal yet. Platters of rice, vegetables, lamb, chicken, mutton, fish. And hummus, tabuleh, yogurt, chili sauce… endless food. Yemen is a little slice of heaven.

More on transportation

I am a bus expert
I just successfully made it to the mall and back by myself! This was my first foray in Yemen all alone without a males escort. On public transportation! After dark! I was feeling quite cocky and proud until we realized later that it was truly a great fluke that I got on the right bus. I, in my exceeding ignorance, thought that all buses run on a continued loop so if I hopped on a bus heading the way I wanted to go, boom. I’ll get there eventually. WRONG. Apparently every single thing that needed to go my way, did. There is no set schedule for these buses, they just go when they’re full. They go on routes either toward the Aden mall(outside the region of Crater/historical area) or to W-something or other(clearly I haven’t been there yet). If you point with your finger in front of yourself off toward the distance and the driver nods his head that means that that particular bus is heading toward Aden, if you point behind you, its going some place else. These buses are simply everywhere. I haven’t waited more than 20 seconds for one to come by and you never pay more than 40 Riyals a ride(about 22 cents). These buses- why they are referred to as buses mystifies me as they are clearly vans- are called “Dabobs” I have no idea what that means but I have accidentally, PUBLICLY called them “Bo-bo’s” three times….damn it.

it has been confirmed that in the city of Aden and the surrounding area there are NO traffic lights, they simply don’t exist. There aren't any cross walks either. To get to the right side of the road you simply have to cross 8 "lanes" of RAGING traffic. I say "lanes" because yes, sometimes there are technically lines painted on the road to delineate space.... clearly they are merely a suggestion. Cars are streaming in all directions, people are crossing at will, pedestrians have ZERO right of way- its simultaneously exhilirating and terrifying!

Also upon further investigation it appears that “Nazil” has nothing to do with the word “stop” so I really have no idea why we say that. I keep doing it and it keeps working so I no longer ask questions.

Impenetrable language barrier

Arabic has proven frustrating. I was taught modern standard, not Yemeni Arabic so the little I know isn’t particularly helpful. I guess the difference would be Formal English to Normal/Modern English. Damn you, dialects!

Trying to assimilate quickly becomes failing to assimilate

There are four other new teachers along with me
Katherine- my roommate/from South Africa
Ben- from Portland, Oregon!
Matt- the guy who found me in Jordan
Amira- a recent Muslim convert who brought her FIVE sons with her from America

We are all getting along wonderfully (As we were all hanging out yesterday, Ben says “this feels absurdly like summer camp. Shall we do an icebreaker?” hah) But I’m having an especially good time with Matt and Ben. We are buddies, and its nice to be roaming around with men, not as a single, young, American girl.

Yesterday, Nafisa-our academic coordinator- took us out for a traditional Yemeni meal. Lunch is the main meal of the day and let me tell you, it was a feast! We had platters of chicken cooked with potatoes and onion on rice, huge roasted legs of lamb and goat(DELICIOUS), whole grilled fish, a variety of paste-items(similar consistency as hummus but made of chili peppers and yogurt) and HUGE pieces of bread as big and flat as a pizza to eat it with. We just dug right in. No germs in family. You eat everything with your hands and rip of pieces of bread and just get after it. To finish the meal we ended with platters of fresh fruit(mango, papaya, oranges, bananas and limes). It was just about the messiest dining experience of my life. They rolled out big pieces of plastic to cover the table but it hardly contained the fiasco that was our attempt to eat like a Yemeni.

so dang American

Today as we were bumbling around the streets of Yemen, trying to act nonchalant but creating a ruckus wherever we went, we wondered- what’s the Arabic word for “gringo?”

Roaming Aden

Last night we went to the Aden Mall. We got there via bus, a hop-on-hop-off fiasco.
A lady from one of the blogs I stalked told me that at no time while she was in Aden did she ever feel threatened or unsafe EXCEPT while in a car. I absolutely understand that. It is insane. Thus far it seems that stop signs are merely a suggestion and I haven’t seen a single traffic light anywhere. As we were careening around single-lane but two-way blind corners the driver would honk the horn to let everyone know WE ARE COMING, WATCH OUT.
These “buses” are truly the most derelict yet still functioning vehicles I have ever seen. They don’t have doors(to facilitate the hopping on, hopping off). You just pile into one, the drivers don’t really even acknowledge you, you sit there until every seat is filled AND THEN IT’S OFF TO THE RACES! People on the street hold up a hand and if there is an empty seat they pull over and get you, while others hope off(I haven’t paid more than 20 cents for a ride yet). When we stop we yell “NAZIL” which we think means “stop” but aren’t really sure. It warrants further investigation, but its worked thus far. The mall is large(by Yemeni standards) clean, modern and blessedly air-conditioned. Matt and I got in trouble for taking pictures but I got a couple anyway. The mall is right on the gulf-which we didn’t realize at first because it was night- and as we were going down an escalator( escalators in Yemen!)(at least one) we saw through a huge class wall, the sea! The mall is RIGHT on the edge of the sea. Very beautiful. Also the mall is nestled around some cliffs and quite stunning. There was a grocery store at the mall so I picked up some fruit/sweet ambrosia and coffee- after searching my apartment and the boy’s we were unable to find a coffee pot. We couldn’t find one at the mall either which was, clearly, quite devastating. I decided to buy coffee anyway and cling to the vain hope that there would magically be a coffee pot in a hidden cache of my apartment. As Katherine and I were cleaning off a shelf-jumble in the kitchen WE FOUND A MINI FRENCH PRESS!! Oh you magical and mysterious kitchen! What other wonders do you have in store for me! First a hidden terrace and now life-giving coffee! Alhamdulillah! So this morning as I woke up without an alarm at 7(the first and only time I have ever/will ever purposefully do that) I boiled water on our butane stove and had coffee and fresh fruit and mango juice on the terrace. I’m just livin’ the dream.

Livin' the vida loca...in Yemen

So today I flew to Yemen. Or, rather, two days ago I bid America adieu and embarked for Yemen. My trip was looooong:
-Seattle to JFK – 6 hours +
-6.5 hour layover +
-JFK to Amman, Jordan-11 hours +
-7 hour layover +
-Amman to Yemen- 4.5 hours
___________________________
= far too long

My flights on Royal Jordanian airlines( for a total of 15.5 hours) were surprisingly luxurious. The plane was huge, 8 seats across, and astoundingly spacious and comfortable. We had multiple hot, delicious meals, hot towel service, coffee and tea service throughout, a nice variety of free Jordanian reading material, and duty-free shopping options throughout the duration of the flight.
Then I arrived in Jordan. Once again I was laughed at when I tried to get Yemeni currency(I have subsequently found out that it is illegal to export Yemeni Riyals which greatly explains a lot of the reactions I got when I tried) Wild. In an inexplicable display of Arabic prowess I was able to get through customs, get on a bus to a hotel, get a room for a nap and shower, negotiate a wakeup call, have dinner, and then take a bus back to a different terminal of the airport, get back through customs again, AND find my gate. It was all very whirlwind and exciting! While at the hotel I saw a Yemeni couple, Basaam and Amal, that I recognized from JFK, desperately hoping they spoke English I decided to invite them to have dinner with me. They spoke great English! They were delighted to dine with me! They gave me their phone number and address in Yemen and I’m going to meet up with them later! Great success!

Back at the airport an American guy, Matt, approached me and tentatively inquired if I was going to work for Amideast. Yess! How utterly thrilling to have a compatriot to go through the perils of international travel with. Later we found another guy, Ben who would be working with us as well. Neither of them went to the hotel and had both(separately) sat for 7 hours at the airport, suckers! Ha! I’ve been blatantly rubbing it in for two days now.


When we arrived in Yemen the plane essentially pulled right up to the main entrance of the terminal. I could clearly see it outside my window on the right side of the plane, no more than 150 feet away. They wheeled some stairs up to the side of the plane and upon disembarking we were buffeted by balmy, fragrant winds. Going down the stairwell we were immediately ushered onto a bus. “huh” I thought, “I guess that wasn’t the terminal after all...” Matt and I briefly discussed where we could possibly be going instead but decided to leave our fate up to Allah, when in Yemen…After waiting an excessive amount of time the bus finally pulled away from the plane, and in a move that rivaled even the most outrageous of American laziness PULLED UP TO THE TERMINAL 150 FEET AWAY. It was astoundingly absurd. Matt and I just started cracking up. Okay Yemen, Okay.

This is, quite truly, nothing like what I expected. It was exceedingly difficult to prepare for a trip like this- there is shockingly little written material on life in Yemen. Most of the info I got was from googling things like: Yemen+ food+ can I wear t-shirts? Or from stalking peoples internet blogs and then inundating them with questions via email. Soo.. not particularly helpful.

My apartment is right on the Amideast compound which is extremely convenient. It is a small, upper level apartment that I’m sharing with another new teacher, Katherine(South African!) we have a small dining area, bathroom(no hot water!) and kitchen. As I was prowling around last night I found a secret hidden door in the kitchen that REVEALED A HUGE TERRACE!( I’ve been rubbing in the fact that I have a terrace to the boys to no end. They are PISSED that they don’t have one, that I keep mentioning it every five minutes, and that I refer to it as a terrace not a balcony or porch) I’m going to get some plants and another chair or two and have a magical oasis of my very own!