This is a shoutout to the incredibly talented Kate Dixon, of the "Happy Yemen" blog. Her Yemeni photo blog can be found here. It is not called "Happy Yemen" as I incorrectly claimed, but is definitely worth taking a little looksee.
Talent like this makes me regret the ill-advised expenduture of a fancy-pants SLR camera.... indoor/outdoor disposable cameras were good enough for my first 22 years of life! And they darn well would have been for Yemen- as evidenced by the cardboard-encased camera my family used to commemorate our big time adventure in Turkey.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Around town
Grandma
Typical Businessman
winding Sana'anee alleyway
Old Sana'a garden with gardener
Shopping Spree
Promoting world peace
Watermelon by the slice
A Drive-by Fruiting! Does anyone know that quote?!
What are you selling, Sir?!
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Some thoughts
There are many reasons why I moved to Yemen, I’m scanning my memory for those very reasons right now...Ummm... oh! Somewhere along the meandering journey of my life, I decided I really liked camels. Camels? I mean come on! How tantalizingly exotic! I like to call them dromedaries, something to do with the number of humps I think(but can never remember to look up). I will use any excuse I can to drop the neat little phrase “recumbent ruminant” in conversation. That combined with my prodigious appetite for hummus and lamb (which as it turns out is Syrian and Lebanese, not Yemeni) – and of course the fact that I still vainly cling to the hope that if I learn Arabic well enough, I can become the next real-life “Alias”- in my mind this life will combine lots of hand to hand combat skills, weaponry know-how, and throwing knives concealed about my person. Someday (whistful sigh..) and so... YEMEN!
Now clearly had I done more than the most cursory of google searches I would have discovered that my little“golden utopia” was merely a figment of my imagination. Had I done some substantive research, not merely “can I wear t-shirts in Yemen + is there hummus” searches, I would have been far better prepared. But in truth there really isn’t a lot of information about Yemen out there. But still, I had my dreams.
I spent hours, whole afternoons, days even, dreaming of Yemen. Dreaming of this unprecedented, unexpected, unbelievable experience I was about to embark on- I was enchanted. Bewitched even. The allure of the unknown has always drawn me, the romance of history, the grandeur of differences, the austere beauty of the desert.
My dreams became my vivid reality, they were my tacit hopes and desires, they imbued my expectations and anticipations. Finally, finally I was moving to the Middle East. I was moving to Yemen- an ethereal, unknown place, my little golden Arabia. I had unsubstantiated visions and expectations of what would happen while I was there. Products of my vivid imagination, of my unspoken yearning for something..something great? More? I’m not even sure.
I pictured an old, rugged wooden cart heavily laden with rolled carpets, copper trade goods, sacks of spices, and large bolts of gilt fabrics, in damask, and the finest Egyptian cotton- an antiquated oil lantern crudely affixed to a pole on the cart- being pulled by a lugubrious, plodding old camel. I pictured a wizened, care worn old man beside the cart- his shuffling gait only mildly slower than the uneven pace of the ancient ruminant in front of him. His thoughts are far, his heart is heavy, his eyes scrunched in thoughtless concentration.
I pictured dark, foggy winding alleys, the aroma exotic but not unpleasing- roast lamb, fine incense, dung, and the intoxicatingly intangible aroma of mystery and intrigue. Eyes watching from darkened windows, heavily curtained doorways leading to shisha dens, and tiny tea shops, the only sound interrupting the cool night air is the occasional braying of a donkey, or the hiss and spat of a lone, stray cat. The wane light coming from the occasional quaint lantern barely augmented by a three quarter moon and the mountains hanging ominously, toweringly, in the far distant haze of a midsummer night. Suddenly a noise rents the silence, the hauntingly beautiful call of the muezzin is heard in the distance- then again, and again as mosque after mosque echo the resounding cadence, an atonal chant allahu akbar, allahu akbar, god is great. The stillness of the predawn morning shattered by the scuffle of sandaled feet- men weary, still bleary eyed and unfocused from their prematurely interrupted sleep- its fajur prayer, and the day has begun. Soon the streets come alive- women and children making their way to school, men adjourning to the shops to drink tea and talk. Shopkeepers and street vendors uncovering their merchandise , preparing for another day in a dusty, whirlwind of activity, hawking their wares, greeting passerby; both old acquaintance, and possible customer. The streets are a jumble, a splendorous mishmash of animals, and refuse, and un-chaperoned children, tired old men, and the unemployed. The woman continue only on their purposeful way- stop at the meat seller for some fresh mutton, on to the spice market for ground cardammon and curry powder. Or they are home doing the washing, cooking, looking after the children, sweeping the floor from the presence of the dust that is forever alighting on every surface- the dust that is disturbed by the sweep, sweep rhythmic motion of the brush, the dust that hangs effervescently in the air, only to settle back on the floor again, another day, another sweeping, always the dust. Some woman are out making house calls- dropping in on a cousin, a sister- in law, an aunt- they remain cloistered in their private enclave- the separate social realm of the woman- in the house, together, rarely seen, never heard, and so they continue on, evermore on their ponderous journey through life.
I imagined reclining on beautiful, embroidered divans- sipping tiny cups of sweet mint tea, eating sugared almonds, dates, and cakes dripping with honey and nuts. I imagine teeming platters of food- rice cooked with cardomman, raisins and spices, plates of roast lamb, mutton and chicken, large flat loaves of bread, meat pies, and cooked vegetables, platters of fresh fruit and honey; an ambrosial array- the lightly perfumed air from the burning charcoal brazier full of incense contributing to the drowsy, contented atmosphere. Everywhere wall hangings, and woven tapestries, and piles of handmade carpets of the richest color, costliest material and most intricate designs.
I see old men, their white hair, trimmed beards and wizened, wistful expression showcasing a certain grandeur achieved from many years spent toiling outdoors under a hot sun. They sit at cafés playing dominoes and backgammon, everywhere little boys sipping cokes from the bottle and squatting beside their fathers- springing up at the slightest glance or command cast their way. Fathers gossiping and boasting, drinking tea, lazily puffing on fragrant water pipes, planning and scheming but content, always content. An itinerant bread seller, hesitating briefly in the shade, just a moments rest, and away again. It’s a simpler life, it’s a picturesque time.
Can’t you see it? Can’t you imagine? It is clear, vivid, vibrant in my head.
This is what I pictured. This is what I see in my mind, this is what I was hoping to find- I’ve caught glimpses- brief windows into a past life, another time. Children trotting three to a donkey, giggling away their youth. Old women huddled by a well, filling buckets, talking, sharing the sameness of their lives, carrying huge bundles of grains and rice on top of their heads, heading towards, heading from, the market. I’ve seen it in the outlying countryside, I’ve seen flashes of it in old Sana’a. I continued to cling to that vision, still tried to find it. Tried to make Aden, my life there charming, tried to morph it into the ancient utopia of my dreams.
I’ve read too many books focused on early 1900’s Cairo, or the old city of Kabul. I had romanticized, and dreamed, and polished, and augmented, and skewed my view- into an otherworldly place. Formed in my mind from years of reading novels and history books, poems and memoirs- romanticizing the land that so intrigued me. My visages were of the ancient, the primordial, the immortal.
I came with a slew of expectations, of goals, an agenda, both realistic, and less than so. A plan to find myself, solidify my career goals, learn a language, become something more, something greater than I had been thus far. And now I find myself, almost a full year later, still searching.
Yemen is a rather lost county. Plagued with problems, perpetually on the cusp of civil war. Aden in particular has taken the worst of the middle east- the stifling social customs, the burka, the oppressive laws, and stingy, corrupt business practices and meshed it with the worst of middle America, communist Russia, and China- shoddy, derelict old buildings, rampant pollution and homelessness, cheap, plastic, mass market consumer goods, cell phones, and facebook.
It was hard for me to abide in this halfway house between tradition and modernity. Eschew it all and embrace the coming times, the technology, the social relations, the freedom and democracy- or return to a simpler, traditional time. By refusing to choose, Aden is failing them both. Internet but not consistent running water? Cell phones and SMS but no country-wide policy standardization, corrupt government, inadequate electricity, high unemployment, unreliable postal service, and no stipulation on pollution and waste material. But we do have a pizza hut and escalators in the mall.
My time in Yemen was not wonderful, my time in Yemen was not terrible. Somewhat like Yemen’s precarious balance between tradition and modernity, so too was my experience a tenuous equidistant existence- exciting and enriching and unique but oh so lonely, beneficial but plagued with boredom and anxious uncertainty.
At times it was very easy to fall into crippling self-doubt. Why the hell am I in Yemen? I often felt like I was vainly clinging to belief that I was doing, experiencing something worthwhile. That I was accomplishing something, not merely surviving, expending an extended expanse of my life in one place- that this whole thing was somehow meaningful. Because what was the point? I’ve never suffered delusions of wanting to be a career teacher. I felt like I wasn’t changing anything, I wasn’t helping anyone, I wasn’t accomplishing the goals I embarked on, what was the purpose? I’m not someone who intrinsically needs a purpose for every action, but I do need a direction, a plan- however farfetched, absurd, improbable- I need a goal in order to enjoy the journey.
I can say that I did it. That I made a choice, that I stuck with it, that I honored my commitment, did my best, left with my integrity. But for me, that wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and thus at times, sparked a general unhappiness, a malaise, a lingering, pesky, persistent doubt about my rational not for coming, but for staying.
Now of course, that damnable hindsight, I’m back in the states... And I miss it. Not Yemen per se, but the experience, the people. I really was doing something different, something more. It was just hard to see it sometimes. Hard to appreciate it through the sweltering heat, and rolling blackouts, and dirtiness. And really, I did some amazing things. And I’ll never be the same person I was when I left so many long months ago, and, I think, that’s okay too. Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Now that I'm back anxiety consumes me. Life has no clear path, no easy answer- and for no one is that more blatantly true, than for the faltering first steps of a recent graduate with a social sciences major(damn you anthropology!) Once again sleep, that evanescent temptress, remains elusive. The nighttime hours are the longest- my mind a whirlwind of cogitations, ruminations, speculations, contemplations. I ponder, I reflect, I remember. Sleep comes slowly- a thousand and one thoughts filter through my mind. The clock emits a faint glow as it slowly, inexorably counts down the minutes, hours until dawn and another day. It’s the future that scares me the most. It’s on the future that I dwell- it gapes before me, a dark abyss of the unknown. So many possibilities- or worse yet, so few possibilities. Its so unclear, the uncertainty is at times paralyzing. I need a plan. What’s next? I just don't know. One thing's for sure though, I sure hope it will involve throwing knives!
Now clearly had I done more than the most cursory of google searches I would have discovered that my little“golden utopia” was merely a figment of my imagination. Had I done some substantive research, not merely “can I wear t-shirts in Yemen + is there hummus” searches, I would have been far better prepared. But in truth there really isn’t a lot of information about Yemen out there. But still, I had my dreams.
I spent hours, whole afternoons, days even, dreaming of Yemen. Dreaming of this unprecedented, unexpected, unbelievable experience I was about to embark on- I was enchanted. Bewitched even. The allure of the unknown has always drawn me, the romance of history, the grandeur of differences, the austere beauty of the desert.
My dreams became my vivid reality, they were my tacit hopes and desires, they imbued my expectations and anticipations. Finally, finally I was moving to the Middle East. I was moving to Yemen- an ethereal, unknown place, my little golden Arabia. I had unsubstantiated visions and expectations of what would happen while I was there. Products of my vivid imagination, of my unspoken yearning for something..something great? More? I’m not even sure.
I pictured an old, rugged wooden cart heavily laden with rolled carpets, copper trade goods, sacks of spices, and large bolts of gilt fabrics, in damask, and the finest Egyptian cotton- an antiquated oil lantern crudely affixed to a pole on the cart- being pulled by a lugubrious, plodding old camel. I pictured a wizened, care worn old man beside the cart- his shuffling gait only mildly slower than the uneven pace of the ancient ruminant in front of him. His thoughts are far, his heart is heavy, his eyes scrunched in thoughtless concentration.
I pictured dark, foggy winding alleys, the aroma exotic but not unpleasing- roast lamb, fine incense, dung, and the intoxicatingly intangible aroma of mystery and intrigue. Eyes watching from darkened windows, heavily curtained doorways leading to shisha dens, and tiny tea shops, the only sound interrupting the cool night air is the occasional braying of a donkey, or the hiss and spat of a lone, stray cat. The wane light coming from the occasional quaint lantern barely augmented by a three quarter moon and the mountains hanging ominously, toweringly, in the far distant haze of a midsummer night. Suddenly a noise rents the silence, the hauntingly beautiful call of the muezzin is heard in the distance- then again, and again as mosque after mosque echo the resounding cadence, an atonal chant allahu akbar, allahu akbar, god is great. The stillness of the predawn morning shattered by the scuffle of sandaled feet- men weary, still bleary eyed and unfocused from their prematurely interrupted sleep- its fajur prayer, and the day has begun. Soon the streets come alive- women and children making their way to school, men adjourning to the shops to drink tea and talk. Shopkeepers and street vendors uncovering their merchandise , preparing for another day in a dusty, whirlwind of activity, hawking their wares, greeting passerby; both old acquaintance, and possible customer. The streets are a jumble, a splendorous mishmash of animals, and refuse, and un-chaperoned children, tired old men, and the unemployed. The woman continue only on their purposeful way- stop at the meat seller for some fresh mutton, on to the spice market for ground cardammon and curry powder. Or they are home doing the washing, cooking, looking after the children, sweeping the floor from the presence of the dust that is forever alighting on every surface- the dust that is disturbed by the sweep, sweep rhythmic motion of the brush, the dust that hangs effervescently in the air, only to settle back on the floor again, another day, another sweeping, always the dust. Some woman are out making house calls- dropping in on a cousin, a sister- in law, an aunt- they remain cloistered in their private enclave- the separate social realm of the woman- in the house, together, rarely seen, never heard, and so they continue on, evermore on their ponderous journey through life.
I imagined reclining on beautiful, embroidered divans- sipping tiny cups of sweet mint tea, eating sugared almonds, dates, and cakes dripping with honey and nuts. I imagine teeming platters of food- rice cooked with cardomman, raisins and spices, plates of roast lamb, mutton and chicken, large flat loaves of bread, meat pies, and cooked vegetables, platters of fresh fruit and honey; an ambrosial array- the lightly perfumed air from the burning charcoal brazier full of incense contributing to the drowsy, contented atmosphere. Everywhere wall hangings, and woven tapestries, and piles of handmade carpets of the richest color, costliest material and most intricate designs.
I see old men, their white hair, trimmed beards and wizened, wistful expression showcasing a certain grandeur achieved from many years spent toiling outdoors under a hot sun. They sit at cafés playing dominoes and backgammon, everywhere little boys sipping cokes from the bottle and squatting beside their fathers- springing up at the slightest glance or command cast their way. Fathers gossiping and boasting, drinking tea, lazily puffing on fragrant water pipes, planning and scheming but content, always content. An itinerant bread seller, hesitating briefly in the shade, just a moments rest, and away again. It’s a simpler life, it’s a picturesque time.
Can’t you see it? Can’t you imagine? It is clear, vivid, vibrant in my head.
This is what I pictured. This is what I see in my mind, this is what I was hoping to find- I’ve caught glimpses- brief windows into a past life, another time. Children trotting three to a donkey, giggling away their youth. Old women huddled by a well, filling buckets, talking, sharing the sameness of their lives, carrying huge bundles of grains and rice on top of their heads, heading towards, heading from, the market. I’ve seen it in the outlying countryside, I’ve seen flashes of it in old Sana’a. I continued to cling to that vision, still tried to find it. Tried to make Aden, my life there charming, tried to morph it into the ancient utopia of my dreams.
I’ve read too many books focused on early 1900’s Cairo, or the old city of Kabul. I had romanticized, and dreamed, and polished, and augmented, and skewed my view- into an otherworldly place. Formed in my mind from years of reading novels and history books, poems and memoirs- romanticizing the land that so intrigued me. My visages were of the ancient, the primordial, the immortal.
I came with a slew of expectations, of goals, an agenda, both realistic, and less than so. A plan to find myself, solidify my career goals, learn a language, become something more, something greater than I had been thus far. And now I find myself, almost a full year later, still searching.
Yemen is a rather lost county. Plagued with problems, perpetually on the cusp of civil war. Aden in particular has taken the worst of the middle east- the stifling social customs, the burka, the oppressive laws, and stingy, corrupt business practices and meshed it with the worst of middle America, communist Russia, and China- shoddy, derelict old buildings, rampant pollution and homelessness, cheap, plastic, mass market consumer goods, cell phones, and facebook.
It was hard for me to abide in this halfway house between tradition and modernity. Eschew it all and embrace the coming times, the technology, the social relations, the freedom and democracy- or return to a simpler, traditional time. By refusing to choose, Aden is failing them both. Internet but not consistent running water? Cell phones and SMS but no country-wide policy standardization, corrupt government, inadequate electricity, high unemployment, unreliable postal service, and no stipulation on pollution and waste material. But we do have a pizza hut and escalators in the mall.
My time in Yemen was not wonderful, my time in Yemen was not terrible. Somewhat like Yemen’s precarious balance between tradition and modernity, so too was my experience a tenuous equidistant existence- exciting and enriching and unique but oh so lonely, beneficial but plagued with boredom and anxious uncertainty.
At times it was very easy to fall into crippling self-doubt. Why the hell am I in Yemen? I often felt like I was vainly clinging to belief that I was doing, experiencing something worthwhile. That I was accomplishing something, not merely surviving, expending an extended expanse of my life in one place- that this whole thing was somehow meaningful. Because what was the point? I’ve never suffered delusions of wanting to be a career teacher. I felt like I wasn’t changing anything, I wasn’t helping anyone, I wasn’t accomplishing the goals I embarked on, what was the purpose? I’m not someone who intrinsically needs a purpose for every action, but I do need a direction, a plan- however farfetched, absurd, improbable- I need a goal in order to enjoy the journey.
I can say that I did it. That I made a choice, that I stuck with it, that I honored my commitment, did my best, left with my integrity. But for me, that wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, and thus at times, sparked a general unhappiness, a malaise, a lingering, pesky, persistent doubt about my rational not for coming, but for staying.
Now of course, that damnable hindsight, I’m back in the states... And I miss it. Not Yemen per se, but the experience, the people. I really was doing something different, something more. It was just hard to see it sometimes. Hard to appreciate it through the sweltering heat, and rolling blackouts, and dirtiness. And really, I did some amazing things. And I’ll never be the same person I was when I left so many long months ago, and, I think, that’s okay too. Would I do it again? Absolutely.
Now that I'm back anxiety consumes me. Life has no clear path, no easy answer- and for no one is that more blatantly true, than for the faltering first steps of a recent graduate with a social sciences major(damn you anthropology!) Once again sleep, that evanescent temptress, remains elusive. The nighttime hours are the longest- my mind a whirlwind of cogitations, ruminations, speculations, contemplations. I ponder, I reflect, I remember. Sleep comes slowly- a thousand and one thoughts filter through my mind. The clock emits a faint glow as it slowly, inexorably counts down the minutes, hours until dawn and another day. It’s the future that scares me the most. It’s on the future that I dwell- it gapes before me, a dark abyss of the unknown. So many possibilities- or worse yet, so few possibilities. Its so unclear, the uncertainty is at times paralyzing. I need a plan. What’s next? I just don't know. One thing's for sure though, I sure hope it will involve throwing knives!
Monday, January 11, 2010
1001 Things
I have about 1.2 billion thoughts, musings, anecdotes, quotes, stories, factoids, etc. about Yemen that I never got around to blogging about. As I will soon have an absolute ABUNDANCE of time on my hands, I shall continue to blog faithfully. Plus I plan on have many more glorious(althought perhaps not as absurd) adventures in the near future.
And eventually I'll add more pictures! I took a couple thousand of them...
*IMPORTANT* I expected to have another month to pick up souveniers- so those of you who(rightly) expect souveniers- don't hold your breath. SORRY! I simply ran out of time. Leaving Yemen happened... quickly. It's a lot of work dispersing a years worth of clothing, appliances, furniture, dishes, books, toys, equipment, supplies... closing out bank accounts, prematurely canceling rental agreements, discontinuing various memberships, stopping teaching.. blah blah. Hopefully my triumphal return and sunny disposition is souvenier enough!
And eventually I'll add more pictures! I took a couple thousand of them...
*IMPORTANT* I expected to have another month to pick up souveniers- so those of you who(rightly) expect souveniers- don't hold your breath. SORRY! I simply ran out of time. Leaving Yemen happened... quickly. It's a lot of work dispersing a years worth of clothing, appliances, furniture, dishes, books, toys, equipment, supplies... closing out bank accounts, prematurely canceling rental agreements, discontinuing various memberships, stopping teaching.. blah blah. Hopefully my triumphal return and sunny disposition is souvenier enough!
Did I forget to mention that I'm coming home?
Yep. I'm leaving Yemen. Soon. Today actually, in a matter of hours.
Do I want to leave Yemen? No.
Do I feel unsafe here? No.
Am I happy about this? No.
Am I being a good sport about this? Yes.
Clearly I am a self-sufficient adult and quite capable of evaluating risk factors, and making informed, independent decisions. I do however have a very good relationship with my family and friends and respect their opinions and wishes greatly- I have never seen anyone react so strongly- The recent (and hugely exaggerated)Western media frenzy has absolutely destroyed whatever tenuous hold on reputubility Yemen had. I did my best to assure them of my safety, but little I, or others said seemed to make any difference.
Risk aside, the direct requests and appeals to leave Yemen was enough to make me acquiesce to their wishes. Although I feel their alarm is largely unwarranted, in order to honor their wishes, and assuage their concern, I feel it would be in my best interest to leave Yemen early. No one would ever force me to do anything I don't think is in my best interest, but I have recieved empassioned appeals on multiple fronts, and as my friends and family have been an endless source of support and comfort for me throughout my time here, I cannot deny or begrudge them this. And so! I shall be home tomorrow.
I guess I need to find a job. Damn.
Do I want to leave Yemen? No.
Do I feel unsafe here? No.
Am I happy about this? No.
Am I being a good sport about this? Yes.
Clearly I am a self-sufficient adult and quite capable of evaluating risk factors, and making informed, independent decisions. I do however have a very good relationship with my family and friends and respect their opinions and wishes greatly- I have never seen anyone react so strongly- The recent (and hugely exaggerated)Western media frenzy has absolutely destroyed whatever tenuous hold on reputubility Yemen had. I did my best to assure them of my safety, but little I, or others said seemed to make any difference.
Risk aside, the direct requests and appeals to leave Yemen was enough to make me acquiesce to their wishes. Although I feel their alarm is largely unwarranted, in order to honor their wishes, and assuage their concern, I feel it would be in my best interest to leave Yemen early. No one would ever force me to do anything I don't think is in my best interest, but I have recieved empassioned appeals on multiple fronts, and as my friends and family have been an endless source of support and comfort for me throughout my time here, I cannot deny or begrudge them this. And so! I shall be home tomorrow.
I guess I need to find a job. Damn.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Happy Yemen
Got this grass
Brandishing the sword... of friendship!
Beans anyone?
This is a series of pics I took earlier today whilst adventuring around the outskirts of Sana'a. I went with Matt and Kate (fellow American teacher I recently met living in Sana'a) Kate is taking a online photography class and starting a blog- Then she started talking about blog themes- I was all "theme? bahh... I just blog about whatever piques my interest at that particular moment." Hence I spend an inordinante amount of time blogging about rooster attacks and dead animal parts because dead animal parts always pique my interest. Duh.
So clearly we started talking about how the West believes Yemen is scary hell-hole and there are land mines and car bombs on every corner, and lurking, scheming suicide bombers and everyone hates Americans and we could all die at any given moment. Which is simply absurd. And it is completely the fault of Western media. I shall not delve much further into this subject because I get all sorts of heated about it and will likely devolve into an empassioned diatribe castigating western media and I shall pepper my discursive harangue with many an illustrative anecdote.
I plan to get years and years of small talk, chit chat, raised eyebrows, awkward encounters, free drinks at pubs, etc out of Yemen. Now it's this otherworldly place, people have a vague notion of its location as “somewhere over there..” gesturing offhandedly. Yemen is known as the place that blew up the USS Cole, and achieved unprecedented infamy from a casual reference from the hit sitcom “friends”
Until the recent media frenzy, the world has not cared about Yemen. America, the UN, other powerful nations throughout the world are too caught up in Iraq and Afghanistan, fighting other nation’s proxy wars. Resources cannot be further spread to another small, undistinguished third-world country, but Yemen’s time on the world’s main stage is coming- soon. The attention of the world will focus on Yemen, and finally see how desperate and floundering this country is. Yemen is seen as a veritable breeding ground for governmental corruption, fomenting zealotry and overall lawlessness. Yet all of this is juxtaposed in a place of rugged natural beauty, with good, simple people whose lives are complicated by the daily conflict of social and religious conservatism fighting against modernity. I wanted to be one of the people who knew the real Yemen; who knew what it was like before the civil wars that seem preordained to come(or in fact, continue to happen), before the impending resource crisis, and meddling of foreign interests that will likely rip this nation apart. Before Yemen utterly, completely, irrevocably implodes. But know this- it isn't there yet. I haven't felt scared or threatend for single moment that I've been here. People are invariably warm and welcoming, with such an aura of simple goodness.
I hate it when people castgate an entire nation, race, culture based off a few overzealous acts by extremists, based on fear and misunderstanding....Okay I'll stop... I could go on an on about this...
Anyway, Kate was talking about how the theme of her blog should be "Happy Yemen" endeavoring to showcase the real Yemen- I like that. So here's a few pics of today- interacting with local people going about there everyday lives. That is until three photo-happy Americans busted into their sleepy village!
getting water
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Mild hypothermia
Sana'a is freezing- I had heard, I had been warned, but I absolutely did not believe that Yemen could get this cold. I am wildly unprepared for this type of weather- I have one hooded sweatshirt. Bah... that's it, that's my winter wardrobe. I finally went out and bought a pair of knee high socks the other day- and yes, they are both stylish and warming. I have taken to sleeping in long pants, my hoodie, and socks with multiple blankets- just a few days ago in Aden I was sleeping in boxers and a sports bra, on top of my covers with the air conditioning and fan on full blast. Immediately after the sun goes down (around 6:30) I start shivering and whinning, mostly to Matt. The other day I was moaning from hypothermic shock at such a continuous and shrill volume that Matt finally checked the temperature - it was over 60 degrees. I have turned into a big pansy. That's all.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Dancing Yemenis
The other day after class, a bunch of students were hanging around in my classroom chatting and listening to music. I didn’t pay them much attention I was fiddling around on my computer, preoccupied with other things. Suddenly as though on a predetermined signal all the girls turned and filed out of the room. “Wait, were are you going” I exclaimed, “you forgot all your stuff!” After the last girl had left the room, the boys all formed a circle and started dancing to traditional Yemeni music. Soon we were all laughing, and clapping and ululating wildly, “come on teacher! Dance!” Uh… no. It was so funny and unexpected. After awhile there was a knock at the door, “uh oh” I thought, “busted.” But it was just the girls, they wanted to come back in and were letting the guys know.
Indian goddess
My friend Hussain- the old Indian tea seller at the café(I’ve mentioned him before) just got back from a THREE MONTH trip to India. Three months is completely excessive in my mind, but quite a normal length of time round these parts. People routinely go visit there family and stay for a couple months. When I went to Greece and Turkey, people were astounded that we only went for two weeks. But I mean… I have a job… two weeks is actually quite a long vacation, right? So anyway FINALLY he came back the other day. It was so nice to see him, we were such buddies before he left. He brought me back a salwar kameez/ long jangly Indian shirt and pant set as gift- extremely thoughtful, sweet gesture. So my last day in Aden I went in full hindu glory… to teach Yemeni teenagers.
Menagarie in my bedroom
Lizard on my pillow, cockroach under the desk, pigeon perched on the light. Seriously?
Normal.
Taryn: “Hey I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, how many times do you think you’ve stepped directly on feces this year?”
Ben: “Goat? Probably around 70”
Taryn: “Walked through blood?”
Ben: “At least fifty times”
Taryn: “Stepped on an animal part?”
Ben: “40+”
Taryn: “Been inadvertently spit on, or stepped on phlegm? They should really learn to look before they spit.”
Ben: “More than a hundred times.”
Taryn: “I’ve only been pooped on once though.”
Ben: “Yeah, by that bat, me too.”
Ben: “Goat? Probably around 70”
Taryn: “Walked through blood?”
Ben: “At least fifty times”
Taryn: “Stepped on an animal part?”
Ben: “40+”
Taryn: “Been inadvertently spit on, or stepped on phlegm? They should really learn to look before they spit.”
Ben: “More than a hundred times.”
Taryn: “I’ve only been pooped on once though.”
Ben: “Yeah, by that bat, me too.”
In other news
I finally got transferred to Sana’a! Hamduliallah! So my last 6 weeks in Yemen shall be up North- finally! I’m pretty excited about it- there's a gym AND a bar! the only sad part is that I’ll be prematurely leaving the people that I’ve been hanging around with for the last year; I thoroughly enjoyed my colleagues in Aden, the students and staff and such- they were what made it possible for me to remain in Yemen for so dang long.
My flight up to Sana'a was awesome. I got to sit in the COCKPIT OF THE PLANE! With the pilot! It was completely cool- I've never done anything like that before, especially on a commercial airline full of passengers! I got to ask a million questions, and poke buttons, and wear a headset. I kinda felt like a big deal. It was really interesting to talk to the pilot about living and working here- to talk to a fellow American, non-teacher. As we came to the final descent we hear the US Military over the radio confirming that we were a commercial airliner- not a terrorist. The pilot also told me that the other day as they approached Sana'a, the plane got "lasered" as in the laser from a long-range weapon. Scary.
Things are getting... dicey here. It seems less and less likely that I will complete my contract here. I only have six weeks left, but things are getting out of hand. The Embassies are all closed because of direct Al Queda threats- how reassuring to know that my saftey-net embassy is closed. They also apprehended several suicide bombers outside the British Embassy the other day.... I think I prob need to get out of here. Odd though, no one else(that actually lives here) seems worried. I shall be monitoring the situation very closely.
My flight up to Sana'a was awesome. I got to sit in the COCKPIT OF THE PLANE! With the pilot! It was completely cool- I've never done anything like that before, especially on a commercial airline full of passengers! I got to ask a million questions, and poke buttons, and wear a headset. I kinda felt like a big deal. It was really interesting to talk to the pilot about living and working here- to talk to a fellow American, non-teacher. As we came to the final descent we hear the US Military over the radio confirming that we were a commercial airliner- not a terrorist. The pilot also told me that the other day as they approached Sana'a, the plane got "lasered" as in the laser from a long-range weapon. Scary.
Things are getting... dicey here. It seems less and less likely that I will complete my contract here. I only have six weeks left, but things are getting out of hand. The Embassies are all closed because of direct Al Queda threats- how reassuring to know that my saftey-net embassy is closed. They also apprehended several suicide bombers outside the British Embassy the other day.... I think I prob need to get out of here. Odd though, no one else(that actually lives here) seems worried. I shall be monitoring the situation very closely.
Christmas...bah... Allahmas
Clearly it didn't feel like Christmas at all this year- it still feels like its mid August or early September. As there wasn't the slightest bit of Christmas decoration or cheer around, I didn't really miss it. It was odd not spending Christmas at home amidst my family, absurdly tall tree, and a million beloved traditions.I think if I had been in a place that actually acknowledged Christmas, I would have been overwhelmingly homesick, I kept getting Christmas emails, or getting snow reports- and it just didn't seem real.
I kept trying to make a joke about how Santa wasn't in Yemen, he was back at ho! ho! home! NO ONE appreciated it so I finally had to stop.
We had a Christmas eve family din din- it came down to two americans, a lanky dutch fellow, an Irish lass, a mustachioed Yemeni man, a middle aged Indonesian lady, and a grandma Canadian! Hahah not exactly traditional.
I am made my mother's famous Swiss Bean- but pretty much had to substitute every ingredient for a lame-o attempted equivalent. They turned out similar but not as good. And that was Christmas!
New Years was rather uneventful as well- The Islamic New Year happened earlier in the month and no one really seemed to care that it was 2010. Not just a new YEAR, but a new DECADE! I did however have a suprising amount of people wish me in English, a very "happy birthday!" and also "Happy chrismas!" Close enough.
I kept trying to make a joke about how Santa wasn't in Yemen, he was back at ho! ho! home! NO ONE appreciated it so I finally had to stop.
We had a Christmas eve family din din- it came down to two americans, a lanky dutch fellow, an Irish lass, a mustachioed Yemeni man, a middle aged Indonesian lady, and a grandma Canadian! Hahah not exactly traditional.
I am made my mother's famous Swiss Bean- but pretty much had to substitute every ingredient for a lame-o attempted equivalent. They turned out similar but not as good. And that was Christmas!
New Years was rather uneventful as well- The Islamic New Year happened earlier in the month and no one really seemed to care that it was 2010. Not just a new YEAR, but a new DECADE! I did however have a suprising amount of people wish me in English, a very "happy birthday!" and also "Happy chrismas!" Close enough.
Glittery Dustbowl Megatropolis
Last break I flew to the United Arab Emirates aka “the glittery dustbowl metropolis”. This was my first solo vacay ever- going someplace without knowing a single person. It was super big girl. I’ve gone on vacation by myself to meet people I know there, or see people I know who live there. I’ve certainly moved to a new place without knowing a soul. Like that time I moved to the East coast for college.. or that time I moved to YEMEN. But never a vacation. By myself. It was exciting..
Fellow Pacific Northwester, Lindsey lives in Dubai and I was excited to hang out with her. Alas my trip perfectly coincided with her trip to China. She did however go out of her way to make my trip enjoyable- not only lending me her glorious (and astoundingly well organized) apartment for a week, but also emailing me info, and leaving me an abundance of tour guides, delivery menus, maps with hand-drawn (well, nailpolished on) arrows and “you are here” marks, and a fantastic “to do in do-bai” (hahaah) summary list and letter. It was unbelievably awesome.
Included in the list was a note that said there are “things hidden behind the curtains” so I ran, giggling manically across the room and found behind one curtain…. Cleaning supplies! And the other… A door to a previously unsuspected balcony!
Almost the first thing I noticed upon walking into Lindsey’s apartment (besides the SHOCKING difference in our living conditions) was a pic of my sister on the wall! Whoa. Hey Kal.
Much like my most recent vacations in Greece and Turkey, I have found that my “vacation style” has drastically changed post-Yemen. I no longer feel the need to rush around and explore, do touristy things, or load up on souvenirs. Rather I now spend my vacation time simply relaxing. Luxuriating in the fact that I can take hot showers, sleep on a real mattress, eat sandwiches. I wildly underestimated how much I would miss sandwiches.. My favorite thing about the trip was the fact that no one even gave me a second glance. No one cared that there goes another white girl. I wasn’t ogled every moment of everyday like some freakish reptilian humanoid alien( more on this subject later). Instead of rushing about looking at the sites, trying to get my fill of the glittery metropolis of Dubai, I spent most of my time in- catching up on a years worth of tv show on dvd, ordering delivery food, sitting on a COUCH. It was like narcolepsy, the minute I sat down on that couch, I was out like a light. I had some amazing naps, mostly by accident.
I even got to go to a movie! Going to the movie theatre was very much like what I imagine the stock exchange on Wall street must be like on a busy day- teeming throngs of people pushing and shoving, yelling and haggling, papers being waved in the air, cash flying about, electronic screens and message boards constantly changing, scrolling, flashing- it was total sensory overload.
Lindsey also left me the email address of her friends Brad and Cory in case of emergencies/ overwhelming boredom. I did email them and we ended up going out for a drink at some fancy restaurant- owned by Marco Pierre White- at first I was not unduly impressed by this chef name-drop, but now thanks to cory, I’m practically an expert on celebrity chefs.
Brad and Cory became my new besties for ever! I simply loved them. My last night they invited me over for dinner and drinks. They made me a cornucopia of pork delights- slow cooked pork, vegetables cooked in pork fat, and a side of sliced, cured pork. I’m drooling right now. Cory is the chief of Ski Dubai, and Brad is a façade architect.
I love them very much and am actively trying to get back to Dubai and hang out with them again.
Fellow Pacific Northwester, Lindsey lives in Dubai and I was excited to hang out with her. Alas my trip perfectly coincided with her trip to China. She did however go out of her way to make my trip enjoyable- not only lending me her glorious (and astoundingly well organized) apartment for a week, but also emailing me info, and leaving me an abundance of tour guides, delivery menus, maps with hand-drawn (well, nailpolished on) arrows and “you are here” marks, and a fantastic “to do in do-bai” (hahaah) summary list and letter. It was unbelievably awesome.
Included in the list was a note that said there are “things hidden behind the curtains” so I ran, giggling manically across the room and found behind one curtain…. Cleaning supplies! And the other… A door to a previously unsuspected balcony!
Almost the first thing I noticed upon walking into Lindsey’s apartment (besides the SHOCKING difference in our living conditions) was a pic of my sister on the wall! Whoa. Hey Kal.
Much like my most recent vacations in Greece and Turkey, I have found that my “vacation style” has drastically changed post-Yemen. I no longer feel the need to rush around and explore, do touristy things, or load up on souvenirs. Rather I now spend my vacation time simply relaxing. Luxuriating in the fact that I can take hot showers, sleep on a real mattress, eat sandwiches. I wildly underestimated how much I would miss sandwiches.. My favorite thing about the trip was the fact that no one even gave me a second glance. No one cared that there goes another white girl. I wasn’t ogled every moment of everyday like some freakish reptilian humanoid alien( more on this subject later). Instead of rushing about looking at the sites, trying to get my fill of the glittery metropolis of Dubai, I spent most of my time in- catching up on a years worth of tv show on dvd, ordering delivery food, sitting on a COUCH. It was like narcolepsy, the minute I sat down on that couch, I was out like a light. I had some amazing naps, mostly by accident.
I even got to go to a movie! Going to the movie theatre was very much like what I imagine the stock exchange on Wall street must be like on a busy day- teeming throngs of people pushing and shoving, yelling and haggling, papers being waved in the air, cash flying about, electronic screens and message boards constantly changing, scrolling, flashing- it was total sensory overload.
Lindsey also left me the email address of her friends Brad and Cory in case of emergencies/ overwhelming boredom. I did email them and we ended up going out for a drink at some fancy restaurant- owned by Marco Pierre White- at first I was not unduly impressed by this chef name-drop, but now thanks to cory, I’m practically an expert on celebrity chefs.
Brad and Cory became my new besties for ever! I simply loved them. My last night they invited me over for dinner and drinks. They made me a cornucopia of pork delights- slow cooked pork, vegetables cooked in pork fat, and a side of sliced, cured pork. I’m drooling right now. Cory is the chief of Ski Dubai, and Brad is a façade architect.
I love them very much and am actively trying to get back to Dubai and hang out with them again.
Where have I been?!? Busy. I mean... kind of. Well... not really.
Allow me to reference the greatest blog quote of all time:
"In case you didn't know. A blog is like a plant you get as a gift and feel obligated to water but eventually, like everything else done out of good intentions, it just dies." - Ben Carver
So true! Now it's time to play blog catch-up! I shall try and do this somewhat chronologically. So... Thanksgiving!
After an exhaustive (and futile) search of Aden for turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing ingredients, gravy mix, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie filling, wine, football, members of my family… really anything vaguely reminiscent of my favorite holiday, Ben and I flew to Sana’a to spend Thanksgiving in Sana’a with Matt. We dined at a downright fancy-pants restaurant- they put ice in the glasses! (Tangent: how divine it shall be to live in a country where ice isn’t seen as a luxury item….) and I had roast lamb on a bed of spiced rice- not quite mom’s super secret world famous swiss bean casserole but it sure seemed pretty decadent to Ben and I. Forks? Table cloth?! I’m not spooning beans into my mouth with a piece of bread, directly from the steaming hot sauce pan?! After din din we went to the British Embassy run “Lion and Jambiya Club” and had a couple beers and played scrabble with some British consulate workers. Much to my devastation and chagrin, no one was impressed with my scrabble skills.
Ben and I stayed at the house of a coworker of our development worker friend, Federica the Italian Cougar. The house was in the heart of old town Sana’a and it was pretty much everything I was looking for when I moved to Yemen- located in the middle of a residential area, found only by wending your way through ill lit, narrow alleys. The house was huge, and becomingly rustic (rustic = charming, not dilapidated or ramshackle) with a giant top floor mafraj (qat chewing/arab style living room) and sweeping views of the old city skyline. The first day we got up early and lounged about the mafraj, luxuriating in the fact that we a) weren’t at work, and b) weren’t in Aden. I made us a pot of coffee and then! An entire pitcher of mimosas! from a bottle of wine we snagged the night before. I like Sana’a, it feels vaguely, slightly reminiscent of real life. I was only in Sana’a for a couple of days, my trip coinciding with Islam’s “Eid” holiday. Not to be confused with the Eid after the month long fast of Ramadan, this Eid is all about the slaying… I mean sacrificing of the goats.
It was straight out of a tale of two cities- the streets LITERALLY ran red with blood. The aroma of guts, and fresh blood was visceral, tangible. It hung cloyingly in the air and was completely inescapable. Walking down the alleys of old Sana’a you had to hike up your pants and tip toe through running streams of blood- I almost went down several times. I've never seen anything like it- it was like a massacre. pools of entrails covering the roadways, the drains plugged with blood clots. At one point as I was walking along I saw a huge pile of old goat heads. Just hanging around on the street corner. Happy Thanksgiving!
"In case you didn't know. A blog is like a plant you get as a gift and feel obligated to water but eventually, like everything else done out of good intentions, it just dies." - Ben Carver
So true! Now it's time to play blog catch-up! I shall try and do this somewhat chronologically. So... Thanksgiving!
After an exhaustive (and futile) search of Aden for turkey, cranberry sauce, stuffing ingredients, gravy mix, sweet potatoes, pumpkin pie filling, wine, football, members of my family… really anything vaguely reminiscent of my favorite holiday, Ben and I flew to Sana’a to spend Thanksgiving in Sana’a with Matt. We dined at a downright fancy-pants restaurant- they put ice in the glasses! (Tangent: how divine it shall be to live in a country where ice isn’t seen as a luxury item….) and I had roast lamb on a bed of spiced rice- not quite mom’s super secret world famous swiss bean casserole but it sure seemed pretty decadent to Ben and I. Forks? Table cloth?! I’m not spooning beans into my mouth with a piece of bread, directly from the steaming hot sauce pan?! After din din we went to the British Embassy run “Lion and Jambiya Club” and had a couple beers and played scrabble with some British consulate workers. Much to my devastation and chagrin, no one was impressed with my scrabble skills.
Ben and I stayed at the house of a coworker of our development worker friend, Federica the Italian Cougar. The house was in the heart of old town Sana’a and it was pretty much everything I was looking for when I moved to Yemen- located in the middle of a residential area, found only by wending your way through ill lit, narrow alleys. The house was huge, and becomingly rustic (rustic = charming, not dilapidated or ramshackle) with a giant top floor mafraj (qat chewing/arab style living room) and sweeping views of the old city skyline. The first day we got up early and lounged about the mafraj, luxuriating in the fact that we a) weren’t at work, and b) weren’t in Aden. I made us a pot of coffee and then! An entire pitcher of mimosas! from a bottle of wine we snagged the night before. I like Sana’a, it feels vaguely, slightly reminiscent of real life. I was only in Sana’a for a couple of days, my trip coinciding with Islam’s “Eid” holiday. Not to be confused with the Eid after the month long fast of Ramadan, this Eid is all about the slaying… I mean sacrificing of the goats.
It was straight out of a tale of two cities- the streets LITERALLY ran red with blood. The aroma of guts, and fresh blood was visceral, tangible. It hung cloyingly in the air and was completely inescapable. Walking down the alleys of old Sana’a you had to hike up your pants and tip toe through running streams of blood- I almost went down several times. I've never seen anything like it- it was like a massacre. pools of entrails covering the roadways, the drains plugged with blood clots. At one point as I was walking along I saw a huge pile of old goat heads. Just hanging around on the street corner. Happy Thanksgiving!
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