I live in a castle. Or, if you prefer, an inverted Hobbit hole. My building is six or seven stories tall and covered entirely in brick, and is attached to a similar building by a narrow bridge on about the fourth floor. You enter through a wooden rectangular door set into a stone archway. In the middle is a large metal ring, like a door knocker. Large stone stairs carry you throughout.
My room is more than spacious for one person with nothing but a bed, desk and wardrobe, but I wouldn’t call it big. Wooden beams run the length of my ceiling, and above my main window is a stained glass pattern causing red, orange, green, and blue to play across my wall in early morning.
The roof is where everything happens. This is where the mafraj is located. It’s a long, narrow room with low cushions on three sides. Verses from the Qur’an are elaborately etched in plaster. The two outside facing walls are lined with clear-glass windows topped with more stained-glass geometric patterns. Through these windows we access the roof-top patio which offers a great view of the city and the surrounding mountains. We all remove our shoes before entering the room, in keeping with the permanent relaxed late-afternoon vibe.
I live near Midan Tahrir, the center of the city for Yemenis. Most of Yemen outside of the Old City reminds me of the character-less Cairo sprawls, with many shops and small restaurants and few identifying architectural features. Like other places I’ve been in Arab world, a dusty, well-worn concrete façade usually leads to clean, and well-kept modern interior. This is the case at least for those homes of businessman and intellectuals that I’ve been to. The poverty in Yemen is obvious, and I’m sure that those who fall into this class do not live so well.
Yemen has been defined by its iconic architecture, the most striking examples of which are found in the Old City. The buildings are tall and rectangular with heavy wooden doors opened in the center with huge metal keys. Stained-glass windows line the building, on the outside of which plaster decoration is laid. The mafraj is another distinctive feature, and is the scene of afternoon gatherings for the discussion of politics, religion, and any other topics you’ve been told never to talk about with strangers.
My first week in Yemen has been a long one. I slept in late after my first full day here, mostly because I had not idea what I would do after I woke up. Despite the quick tour I got on my first day here, I had no idea where anything was. Where do I buy food and notebooks? What would I do after that? Just walk and try to get a feel for the area? That would entail getting lost, and while that is normally a fun thing to do and a city that needs exploring, I had no clue as the names of the landmarks I would need to reference to find my way back.
After a few days I learned where the closest restaurants were, where to buy food and water and clothes and office supplies and just about anything else one might want. I got a feel for the area and learned my way around my little section of 26th of September Street. On that second day here I woke up in time to get lunch with some of the students here and their Yemeni acquaintances from the Business English program. It was strange and disorienting to go racing through the more far-flung (from my house at least) parts of Sana’a having not yet had the chance to even learn my way around my own neighborhood. Despite the nerves, lunch was excellent and Ahmed and Ali from the English program invited us back to their house for coffee, tea, and shisha.
The people in Sana’a have thus far been friendly and welcoming. I have already been shown unearned hospitality on a number of occasions. They are also in appearance more traditional than those I’ve met elsewhere. Many men opt to wear what I can only describe as a gallabiyah, although I’m sure it is distinctive from and has a different name than that traditional Egyptian cotton dress. Another option for lower body wear is a checkered wrap. In addition to this, most wear a sport coat style jacket and a large belt, with an even larger dagger prominently held in place by an absurdly curved scabbard. Perhaps this style of dress is not as ubiquitous as I think, for it quite sticks out to the Western eye, but it is fairly common. Almost all women wear a black niqab in public, which covers everything but their mysteriously enchanting eyes. I have though been to a Turkish café, where one flight up a set of stairs a couple of women sat with their men, faces uncovered and talking freely. A quick trip to the bathroom after their drinks and they emerged once again, faces covered and ready to step out into the night.
I hope to give more than a superficial description of appearances, but this is the best I can provide for now as I have only been here for a week. I would assume that Yemenis are like most other people, focusing their lives on providing for their families and trying to create a better future for their kids. This is an obvious observation but one that I think often gets lost during the exploration of a new culture made up of new and different traditions and customs. Social and political issues are different, and the style of human expression is unfamiliar and the holidays are strange, but the aim of life is the same.
I am working here in exchange for Arabic lesson. I must learn two jobs on the fly while becoming familiar with countless filing systems and procedures and learning the locations of an endless number of spreadsheets and databases. I help students through the application process and reach out to universities from around the world. “Please send students to our school. I’m begging you.” Attracting well-to-do American university students to come to Yemen to study Arabic is a hard sell these days, especially now that public universities can no longer legally officially endorse sending their kids to Yemen. These students must decide to apply independently.
“‘Yemen? Why do you want to go there?’ His mouth puckered around the word as if it were some disagreeably bitter fruit. Lemon. ‘Why don’t you go somewhere more respectable…Cairo, Amman, Tunis?’” p. 4, Yemen: The Unknown Arabia
This is where I will be living for the next eleven and a half months. Life will be interesting, strange, at times difficult but more often pleasantly unpredictable. I hope to share as much as I can with you and to perhaps give a small glimpse at life in a country that is increasingly making headlines for all the wrong reasons.
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