My experience with Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab

I am not sure of the wisdom of this post. There is so much that could go wrong with a post such as this, but I feel the need to tell people about it. To give another side, to provide a view of a terrible tragedy. To explain what an acquaintance with an individual can have on another, even if that meeting was brief. To share the pain of knowing, even if is was only a passing meeting.

I am grateful I have not placed too much information on this site. Nor will I. It is about my experiences, but not about me. It is about what has transpired, not what will transpire. It may contain glimpses into a life, but it could be anyones life, a nonspecific experience of one hoping to understand a culture. However, with all of the good I have experienced here, I must share the opposite as well.

Recently I read about a thwarted attempt on a domestic flight to America, where one Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab attempted to do the unthinkable. I was stunned. It was an act of aggression and hatred that I was familiar with, growing up in a post 9-11 society. However, the feelings of fear, anger and overwhelming sadness remain, regardless.

Upon hearing the news, I followed it religiously, tracking the streaming news feeds, and the information grew from a hint here and there, to a flood of speculation. I was stunned when I read of the Yemeni connection. This is my home, a beautiful country, fraught with perils and danger, but full of warm loving people, willing to assist, comfort and share at all moments.

The facts continued to mount, when last evening a stunning revelation crushed all I knew. Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, typically only introduced as Umar, had shared a house with me when I first moved here. We only shared a residence for a few weeks, and I rarely came in contact with him, but nonetheless, we had resided under the same roof.

My world shrank and darkened, spun and halted, all in the same moment. I was furious. I was angry with a sudden, unjustified sense of dishonesty. I was horrified of the possibility of the “what if” questions. What if he had been successful, I thought. I was immediately overwhelmed with a unjustifed, irrational feeling of guilt, one I can not explain, but one that took full hold nonetheless. Then the fear returned. “What if…”. I know such thoughts are useless, but the rational mind is helpless against the onslaught.

In time, I began to think clearly. I thought about Umar. A seemingly good boy, one who rarely spoke to anyone in the house. He would attend the mosque and exchange pleasantries when passed on the stairs. He had been enrolled in the school, but had not been attending by the time I had arrived. When at home, he remained in his room, and kept his presence to a minimum.

Several times, early in the morning, we would meet in the kitchen during breakfast. We shared several conversations, typical in nature. How was your studies. The weather. The beauty of Yemen, and his hope that I would enjoy my time in the land. Without fail, the conversations would drift towards Islam, the Quran and mosque attendance. He would politely encourage me to continue my studies of the Quran, and give thought to joining him at the local mosque one day, when I felt it would be appropriate, as we packed our lunches for the day together. Then, with abruptness as sharp as a knife, he would wish me a good day, and with a traditional salute of “Ma’a Sala’am” he would head out. During the time I spent in the house while he was still there, we had such encounters only four or five times. Not enough to even leave much of an impression, only a curiosity. Curiosity as to why such a nice young man would excuse himself from our revelries in the house, our late night meals, our conversations till all hours, and our fellowship at the school.

Then one day, early this October,  we noticed his room was emptied. I never thought to question it much, as he had mentioned returning home at some point, with no definitive date in mind. Then life carried on.

I do not share this to be sensational. I am not attempting to sway opinion, nor create sympathy. I share it to show another side, one the media will refrain from mentioning. One of a quiet student, with gentle manners toward fellow travelers in a strange land.

When I heard about the attempt on board the airplane I was frightened, enraged, overwhelmed and confused. However, I have come to understand the power of an idea. I do not pretend to know what was in his mind. Nor the ideology which drove him to such a rash conclusion. I am not attempting to place a timeline of actions or thoughts. I am sharing my experience. I am not sure how it will help any others. Perhaps it is just therapeutic for myself, but share I must.

The point of terrorism is to strike fear, in order to further a political or personal goal. There is no logic to it. My experiences prove that there is no logic to it. It is illogical, and it works. As far removed as I was from the actual event, and thank God it did not transpire as planned, I was still deeply frightened. However, I have chosen to learn from this experience.

I have learned that those who go on to do such acts do not do so out of blinding hatred and rage. If that were the case, if they were crimes of passion, I do not believe I would be writing this right now, as we had several disagreements over some points of doctrine. These are individuals disenfranchised with a situation, be it political or social, and have fallen to such a state of frustration that the outrageous seems plausible. What is obviously not an intention one day, quickly becomes one the next.

As a possible friend, I feel betrayed. But as one who perhaps could have noticed something amis, I feel guilty. As one placed in a precarious situation, I feel frightened. But most importantly, as one who has studied the faith of Islam in University, one who came to Yemen to experience the inhabitants joys, sorrows and fears, one who has seen the hospitality of the Muslims and the blind rage of humanity, through warm arms and vicious war, I am left saddened.

With this recent act, the world will once again fear those of an Islamic background. As one who lives in such a society, has studied such philosophy, and loves those whom I have met, I find myself seeing my surroundings with different, un-trusting eyes. I wish I would not, but for today at least, I do. This is a great disservice to a people, a nation, and a faith. It is a vicious weapon utilized upon Nations already unfamiliar and frightened of that which is different. It is a horrendous crime against those unwitting victims upon the plane, their families and loved ones.

It is an act that has reshaped my experience here. I can only hope, with the help of my Yemeni, Saudi, Sudanese, Iraqi and Jordanian friends, I will quickly remember the love that is present in such a devastated land. My heart goes out to those effected, both far and near, both directly and indirectly. May you find peace today.

In addition, I feel it is important to include the power of music at all times in my life. My song for these past few days comes from a Samoli Canadian rapper, incidently a Muslim as well, named K’naan, who has produced some wonderful melodies. His song “Take a Minute” feels like a proper response to my feelings. Enjoy.

K\’naan; Take a Minute

Pictures from India: Part One

I wanted to provide a journal/pictorial essay of my experiences in India. I am afraid that the time that I would have to put into such an endeavour would put me so far behind at school and work, that to do so would be irrational (remember, dear reader, that I was in India for almost three weeks).  So, what follows is just a rough outline of a few pictures, documenting some of the highlights, lowlights and feverish moments of our trip. I tried to find the pictures that captured the feelings we experienced, but there were far to many to edit properly. For that, I apologise.

Also, my own photo skills were lacking on the trip, due in large part to constant fever and flu, but my travel companion Katjia was kind enough to pass along some of her photos. So the vast majority are her’s. I still have several to go through, so the pictures that are not quite ready yet will come along in a separate post.

Therefore, without any further adue, India: Part One

A Holy Cow outside the Temple of the Rats; Rajastan’s famous Karni Mata Temple

Jain temple outside the Red Fort, Rajasthan.

Red Fort; Rajasthan

Central Clock Tower in Town Square; Jodhpur, Rajasthan

Graveyard, Outside Jaisalmer; Rajasthan

On the Banks of the Ganges; Varanasi

Swimming in the Ganges; Varanassi

Muslim Mosque Outside Agra

Local Woman; Agra (Thankfully Katja was much more willing to ask local women for pictures. Yemen has scared that out of me.)

Mosque Devotions; Agra

Taj Mahal at Dawn; Agra

Local Beggars; Jaipur

Taj Mahal; Agra (Major fever at this point)

Islamic Mughal Period; Agra

Sorry there is not more details. More to come. Stay tuned.

Christmas in Arabia

This is my Christmas. I found it beautiful, even though I can only catch a few words here and there. Its fun to be in the land where  the Genesis of the “Big Three” found its home. Christmas may take different forms, but the message remains the same. Peace be with you this holiday season, my dear readers.

ما أسلم

Christmas In Sana’a

Life got a little bit better in Sana’a last night. Amid heightened security tensions and rumours, a wonderful taste of home snuck into town last night. Quite by accident, I happened across a semi-private Christmas party last night, where, it seemed, almost every expat in town had gathered for some caroling and hot drinks. While I was supposed to be catching up with friends, I found myself enraptured in childlike awe to the refrains of “Away in a Manger”, “Silent Night” and “The First Noel”. The lights, the colours, the spirit, everything Christmas should be. No Santa, no gifts, just good, good music, and a good spirit. Ahhhhhhhhhh.

I snapped a few pictures of the even, although the place was so packed, it was difficult to get close. Merry Christmas from Yemen.

Sitting, thinking, wishing, wanting

إنني حتى تشعر بالإحباط

I find myself sitting at a local coffee shop at the moment, aptly name Coffee Traders, enjoying a festive peppermint tea, wallowing in a funk of frustration, with military jets loudly passing in the dark night sky above my head. Having just come from work, I am justifiably tired, but the day seems particularly difficult. I don’t write this to complain or to reach out for some sympathy (although I do have Metric’s “Gimme Sympathy” playing on repeat on the iPod. Maybe I should change that), so please no responses of that nature.

It is a combination of a lot of little things that has me in this mood I think. At work I spent over four hours of my day editing a piece for tomorrow’s paper outlining in graphic detail the state of domestic abuse in Yemen. One would think that after hours and hours of editing such an article, one would become numb to the subject, but I found myself yearning to be able to be effective in some capacity in the alleviation of the problem, even though I am fully aware that such a task is herculean at best, and impossible at worst. Nevertheless, the subject got to me. Just before I left work, I was given one more piece, a last-minute submission from Sa’adah. I have been assigned to edit all of the “propaganda”, or as they are called, press releases, that come from the war-torn region an hour north. The stories are the same day after day, but again, today I could not help but be moved as I reworked the piece.

After work, I came to coffee traders to meet a friend for some last-minute Arabic cramming. As I sat down with Anoud, three separate jets flew low over head, carrying their deadly ordinances, and I could not but help wonder who was going to lose a brother, sister, husband, mother or friend tonight. I would have to write about that in the morning, I realized.

As Anoud and I got down to studying, the previous melincolli experiences compounded into one gigantic ball of frustration as I struggled to force my brain to turn the squiggly in front of my eyes into coherent sentences that I could understand. Things that had been clear only hours earlier were now far removed from my mind. Even the simplest conjugations were taking me far too long to produce.

And so, letting Anoud head off to find some food somewhere in the city to calm her raging stomach, I am left to flounder in this particular mood.

But I have to realise that this is why I came to Yemen. It was not only to learn a language. I could have just as easily studied at home for a whole lot less money. But I wanted the experience of living in a country torn apart by war. I wanted to feel the frustration everyday of knowing that I should understand those I am around, but failing to. I wanted to understand the justification of the veil, to know divergent opinions on religion, domestic situations and international relations. I wanted to live where Christmas is unknown and where I feel like I am freezing at night, when the temperature dips to a chilly nineteen degrees celsius. I am getting exactly what I wanted. There is absolutely nothing to complain about. So why do I find myself in this mood?

Strangely, with the conclusion of the last sentence I no longer feel frustrated. I guess that is why I started writing in the first place. Funny how the mind subconsciously knows exactly what to do when these feelings emerge. I think I will head off to Shamali Hari to search for a Lindors chocolate. I am sure that would make the world make sense once again.

I FOUND DORITOS!

It took the better part of three months, but it has been done. I have found Doritos in Yemem. Hold all applause please. They taste better then I could have every hoped for!

I am a happy boy

Rocks, Ruins and Rain

First off, a preamble. I have received numerous requests from individuals, in email and post form, to post something about the working conditions and arabic training here in Yemen. I am working on that post, I promise. However, it is a lot easier to post pictures, give a caption or two, and, as they say in Yemen, “حلس”!

So here we are, realizing this is going to be another post full of pictures. But not just any pictures. Pictures of rocks, ruins and rain. Therefore, if watching a slide show of images you are not it does not tickle your fancy, then this one, as are many of the rest of my posts, is not for you. Sorry to bore.

This past weekend, during Eid al-Adha, عيد الأذى, my friend Sig invited me out to Manakha for a few days of hiking, eating and relaxing without school. Sounded like a plan, although, in retrospect, I have come to realize that in the last month, between going to India and  the week-long Eid celebrations, I have only had four days of classes. This means I postponed the pain for the immediate gratification of fun now. Brilliant.

After sleeping in, I awoke on Saturday morning and ran to catch a Bijo, the tiny little cars that kriss cross the country, taking travelers to certain destinations for a small fee. For roughly five dollars, I was able to catch a ride three hours out towards Manakha. However, in the small car, they manage to squeeze in nine people. So I decided to buy two seats, at the low low cost of ten dollars, and rode in “comfort” the whole way.

I managed to fall asleep for an hour or so, interrupted from time to time to produce my requisite papers at the army checkpoints, until we reached the beginnings of the Haraz Mountains, a harrowing crisscrossing of switchbacks climbing and descending through the range. I was amazed with the beauty of the surroundings and the skill of the driver, doing the switchbacks at breakneck speed, all while happily munching away on his Qat. I reached for my camera only to realize I had forgotten to pack it. Idiot.

Fortunately, one of the guys I was hiking with had one, and I was able to utilize his camera for some reasonable shots. Since it was not mine, I didn’t know exactly how to work the filters on his point and shoot, so most of the shots are somewhat hazy. I apologise.

The Haraz Mountains are stunning. Contrary to the European practice of building in valleys, where the land is fertile, Yemeni’s, due to the constant invasions of history, developed the practice of building their villages high in the impenetrable mountains. If you can imagine villages perched atop the Rocky Mountains, with farms built into the sides, you have an idea of the feat.

We reached Manakha at one o’clock, where I was treated to a spectacular view of what locals call “the eagles nest in the clouds”.

After enjoying an afternoon walking around al-Hajjarah, an amazing dinner, and a good nights rest, we set out the next day towards our destinations. I am not in the best of shape, so frequent breaks were the order of the day. Since the villages were built long before the advent of modern roads, they are extremely close together, at least visually. You can typically see roughly 20 villages at any one time, although those villages are located on different peaks and hillsides, and are still a hike from one to another. It is not uncommon to see a villager asking about the health of his friend in the next village by shouting across the deep chasms that separate the towns.

We came across an abandoned home, which we “played around in”, (read: took a heavy breather in), and explored the practical ancient construction. Each home has room for livestock on the bottom floor and a living area on the top. We also came across a drainage system, large enough to tightly crawl though.

After several hours we reached our destination, Hutayb. Hutayb is an ancient Ismail’i town that has deep historical roots. At times prosperous, at times persecuted, the Ismaili’s are the Jews of the Muslim world. The town of Hutayb contains the mosque of al-Hamidi and the tomb of Hatem bin Ibrahim al-Hamidi, an important pilgrimage site for Ismaili’s the world over. Large numbers of Indian Ismaili’s make their way to Hutayb for weddings every year. As it was Eid, it was quite quiet when we arrived.

We made our way up a steep, vertigo inducing staircase to the top of the peak containing the mosque, where we spent our time taking in the view, and fraternizing with the local children.

From the mosque, I could see an abandoned village on the next peak, and, curiosity getting the best of me, I asked the children if we could go there. They laughed and said no. When we asked why, they responded, hatha’a al-bait al-Jin “It’s a Jinn house”. Curiosity now peaked, we made our way over.

Once there, we ate our lunch, and basked in the glories of the mountain.

On our way back, I noticed a cistern that I had not saw before.

As I began to climb into the cistern, I noticed a religious marking on the side, facing north, towards Jerusalem. Al-Hutayb, it would seem, is settled upon an even more ancient village from the Jewish Himyatie dynasty that once ruled the land.

Having spent our time in Hutayb, we began to make our way to Kahil, only to get caught in a mountain summer shower. Being tired and hot, and now wet, the next two hours of hiking were in silence, with only the sound of the rain on the terraces, the occasional goat, and the wind in our ears. Alternating between rain and sweeping clouds rolling over us, obscuring the view, we finally reached Kahil, in time to see the city on the top of the world overcome with the majesty of the sky.

My next day was spent nursing some mammoth blisters while the others ascended a local peak, and wandering around more villages. For the trip home, we decided to travel in style, sitting in the back of a Toyota pickup truck through the same twisting and steep mountains. Mom would be proud (ok, probably not, but it is the Yemeni way).

Photos of Sana’a

Nothing too exciting here folks. Sorry to disappoint. I was rummaging through some photos I had taken recently, and came across four from the Old City of Sana’a, and thought that perhaps someone other than myself would like to take a look at them. So, therefore without any further adieu, the Old City.

The weather has turned a wee bit chilly here lately. It is a brisk 23 celsius  in the afternoon, and even chillier in the evening, requiring even me, the tough Canadian boy, to wear a coat. Above is a shot of the city on a particularly chilly afternoon.

Autumn is beautiful here in Yemen, although most of the time you would not recognise it as being a new season. However, the leaves are changing, in particular areas at least, and with the setting sun, one can almost picture oneself laying in a Canadian valley in the early fall. Before your guilt over your slow academic process pulls you back to reality that is.

At times, lately at least, for an hour during dusk, the clouds roll in, and sprinkle the city with short Arabic showers.

However, for the majority of the day, the sun is bright and relaxing.

Anyway, not quite a fierce posting, but I thought that perhaps some pictures of the city would be a nice change from long drawn out stories. Cheers.

Afternoon hike outside of Sana’a

Needing to take a break from school, my friend Sig encouraged me to join him and a few others outside of Sana’a the other day for a quick hike up a mountain 9000 ft. above sea level. Arriving at the base, roughly 7000 ft., at four o’clock in the afternoon, we had exactly two hours before we lost the light. Climbing straight up, we managed to summit at around 5:30, giving us a few minutes to enjoy the view of the city before the sun set.

While this left us in the dark during decent, it provided a fantastic release from the pains of learning a new language. Enjoy.

Nathan “enjoying” the view. Don’t look too closely.

My flatemate Ahmed, taking a breather. And taking in the view.

One of our teachers, Ahmed, as the lights go out.

A somewhat candid picture of Sig trying his best to look fierce.

Dusk descends.

Long overdue posting on road trip

Thula, Kawkaban, Shibam, Wadi Dhahr – Two days, headaches, arguments, music, dancing, hiking, Qat and culture – it’s all in a journey through any area of Yemen. Several weeks ago, I was invited by Ahmed Kipsi, one of the teachers at SIAL, the Sana’a Institute of Arabic Language, to come along with several other students, on a non-school funded/sanctioned road trip out of the city of Sana’a. As I had, up to that point at least, been unable to find the time, motivation or courage to leave the oasis of normalcy, relatively speaking, that is Sana’a, I weighed my options, and decided to join their journey. Doing so, with the experience I had accumulated up to that point in Yemen, I set several standards from which I would approach this first outing, standards which probably saved my sanity, and made the trip an enjoyable one.

First, I decided to treat every experience, whether big or small, as I would the first several classes with a professor I did not know. I would keep my mouth shut, and observe, observe, observe. Obviously, I was already carrying several assumptions, both positive and negative, but those would be challenged from the moment we stepped in the cars. Second, I decided that money was no issue, as the issue of how much such a short day journey would cost was consistently unclear in the time leading up to the departure date, with costs changing day by day. Armed with this ambivalence regarding money, I knew I would be able to fulfil my first standard, that of “shut up and observe” without being overcome by frustration. Furthermore, I was partially unaware of the costs of traveling in Yemen, although I had already read all I could about foreigner costs versus local costs, however, I wanted to witness these discrepancies for my self. Third, I would quietly do what I wanted to do, while being respectful to our hosts and guilds. This will become apparent shortly.

Early in a Thursday morning, seven in the morning to be exact, four other students and myself piled into two new sport utility vehicles, with two separate drivers, two of their friends, and the instructor. After paying for the weekend, an abnormally high price, even by those “unknowing” days of my early stay in Yemen, we split into the two cars and took off through the early morning crowded streets of Sana’a, on our way out of town. The views as we climbed the mountains overlooking Sana’a were breathtaking, punctuated by whole vistas we were not allowed to photograph, due to the military presence. The whole trip though, from Sana’a to Thula, lasted only an hour and a half, checkstops and breakfast included. (For a glimpse into the ride itself, see the earlier post Road Trip to Thula.)

As we approached Thula, I got my first glimpse of life outside of the hectic city of Sana’a. Thula, a UNESCO shortlister, is one of the best preserved fortified towns in the region. With a history as striking as the view, I was able to spend hours wandering around the narrow winding streets, with children and persistent salesmen dogging my ever step. The most common approach of the desperate salesman is to descend on the tourist as soon as possible, with all the “Habibi’s” beloved, and “Sadiki’s” my friend possible, offering access to the best views, impeccable english and hidden gems of the village. Taking rule number one seriously, I found one Yemeni whose Habibi was louder than the rest, and chose him to be my single serving morning friend. I quickly explained one point to him, that I would not be buying anything at the end of his tour through the city, to which he forcefully accepted (knowing full well that for me to get away from him at the end of the tour would be next to impossible until I bought something).

He quickly showed me around the walled portion of the old city, the city cistern, now only used for irrigation, and the local mosques, most often converted Jewish synagogue and Christian churches.

As quickly as it had begun, I found myself in the main Souk, with countless silversmith and souvenir shops lining the road and owners nearby looking for my money.  After some fierce haggling and good-natured teasing (and some not so good-natured on some Yemeni’s parts, making the experience even richer), I managed to extradite myself from the Souk’s by stepping into a mosque, with the phrase “insha’ ‘allah”, or “God willing”,  my best friend, as far as phrases go, up to that point. As I caught my breath in the mosque, and enjoyed the beautiful calligraphy of the painted Qu’ranic sura’s, I heard a commotion coming up the street toward the mosque. Looking at my watch, and realizing that the afternoon prayers were indeed over, I decided that the best option was still to exit the mosque as quickly as possible. As soon as I stepped out of the door, a large funeral procession entered, with the body of the deceased atop the pryer. Although encouraged to attend the funeral, I politely declined, as it felt somewhat awkward to join a funeral for the sole purpose of avoiding the souk salesmen.

I spent the next two hours wandering around, getting lost, playing with children and attempting to guess the ages of the Burka clad women floating around the city. (If I have not mentioned this before, I will clarify this point now. A women dressed in the full Niqab, the black body covering that almost all women wear, looks suspiciously like a phantom ninja. No offence intended. However, late at night, as taxis hurtle towards their destinations, having a phantom ninja step out in front of you is enough to  cause even the most culturally sensitive individual acknowledge their stealthy prowess. Sorry, no pictures…. yet….). Certain young sales girls in particular enjoyed following me around every bend, flashing their smiles as they alternated between trying to sell me their products and giggling.

Other children were less intrusive, and chose to follow, with chants of “Sura, sura”, untill I was able to get them to sit still long enough for a quick picture, or two.

Together, we explored, played football, and climbed the ruins. Thula is an exceptionally beautiful city.

Hours later I finally met up with our group, and in the process of exchanging stories with the other students, found that they had each had similar experiences, although the constant haggling and pull of the locals and our Yemeni companions from Sana’a and left them in somewhat bitter moods. Our drivers, their friends and our school teacher were anxious for us to get a move on, for reasons unbeknown to us. Therefore, without lunch, we jumped into the vehicles, and set off an hour for the villages of Shibam and Kawkaban. After a short stop on the way for armfuls of Qat, we neared the destinations. Our Yemeni guilds wanted to stop in Shibam, eat a wonderful lunch of Salta, and then head up the mountains for Kawkaban, in order to get back to Thula as soon as possible to begin their chewing. My fellow students, on the other hand were adamant that we needed to see Kawkaban first. After roughly a half hour of “discussion” (a discussion, especially when Qat is involved, typically seems suspiciously much more like an argument in Yemen), our drivers relented and drove the twenty minutes up to Kawkaban.

The town of Kawkaban itself is almost completely deserted, with only a handful of residents remaining. The view itself from the town is spectacular, overlooking, and in the past, guarding, the country for miles in every direction. We hiked along the ridge, through cemetaries, abandoned cisterns and terracing. To our guilds dismay, we decided that we would hike down the mountain, instead of taking the expedient route with the vehicles. Again, after some heated “discussion”, they relented and allowed us to begin the hike down, although not without first attempting three separate times to discourage us.

The hike down from Kawkaban to Shibam took a little over an hour and a half, with stunning views along the way, through an ancient path cut into the side of the mountains.

Arriving in Shibam, we found the town littered, literary, with huge amounts of garbage, a tragedy replicated throughout Yemen. However, looking past the trash, the town itself presented lovely mosques, warm residents and a fascinating view of Yemeni life outside of the relative affluence of Sana’a.

Finally finding our rides, who were quite put out by this point, we realized that while they had eaten, the late hour of the afternoon ment that all shops were closed, and we were out of luck for food. Loading back into the cars, and with a particularly quiet drive back to Thula, we returned to our lodgings. Once in Thula, everyone sat down for what would turn out to be an extremely long (for the unchewer at least. For Qat chewers, there is no such thing as too long) Qat session. Roughly four hours into their chew, we foreigners decided to head back out into the village to see if we could rustle up some food, but found that the rest of the village was engaged in the same Qat activity, thus leaving very little options. We finally found a small souk, selling sandwiches and tea. After several egg or cheese sandwiches (the definition of sandwich here is starkly different then back in Canada), and a glass or two or three of tea, we returned to find our guilds still hard at work chewing. Several hours, many games, studying and conversations later, we all tucked in for a good nights rest in the mufrid’g, the Yemeni livingroom.

We were awoken early the next morning, and told that it was time to go. It felt a little strange that we needed to leave that early, but some of us were already quite put out, and so we relented, and decided to get ready. After a wonderful breakfast of eggs, foul, and tea, we packed our bags and stood by the cars, only to realized that our guilds had decided to take their own time, leaving us waiting outside for over an hour and a half. Needless to say, my fellow students were growing agitated by the minute. I have to say, I kind of enjoyed the Yemeni payback. Fitting.

We were under the impression that we would be able to visit the famous Wadi Dhahr on the way back, to visit the five storey Dar al-Hajar, or Palace of the rock.  However, we were greeted with the shock of our guilds, who assumed that we were going to go straight home, in order to begin the Friday chew session. They also felt that the money we had payed only covered the ride out to Thula and Shibam, and not the extra ten minutes to Wadi Dhahr. They would have been wrong with this assumption. Arguments erupted between the other students and the Yemeni guilds, although I took this time as an opportunity to get in a nice suntaning break. Eventually we were driven to a cliff overlooking Wadi Dhahr, a five-minute drive away, but not further. One of our guilds went so far to discourage us from wanting to go down, as to tell us that eight tourists had been kidnapped from Wadi Dhahr the previous day, (a quick google search revealed no such incident, but full points for trying I guess).

Whatever the feelings of all others at the time, however, I must say the view was magnificent.

I will get down into the actual town at a later date I guess.

The trip itself was wonderful for me. The clash of cultures, ideas regarding hospitality, tourism and financial obligations was fascinating for me. Neither side of the repeating internal conflict ever felt that a line had been crossed by themselves, and in reality, I do not think either side had ever crossed any lines, at least by their own cultures standards. I have to say, I enjoyed every minute of it.