This was my year

 

My year in brief

• Rang in 2010 in New York; 
• Traveled to Yemen and went back in time several centuries; 
• Spoke Italian to a Somali man, ate pancakes with Canadian maple syrup with Palestinian friends, ate Indian food served by an Ethiopian waiter, had Argentinian yerba mate with Lebanese friends; 
• Had a run-in with a rowdy Saudi; 
• Dipped my feet in the Gulf of Aden; 
• Met the most heart-warming and hilarious children in displacement camps in northern Yemen; 
• So proud to have a lovely girl in India share my name; 
• Got used to the sound of the call to prayer, then traded it in for the sound of the noon gun from Citadel Hill; 
• Learned to love fog, fiddleheads, Viola Desmond and news stories about roundabouts; 
• Got worked up about the Gaza blockade, the Queen and the World Cup; 
• Spent three days in Accra; 
• Picked wild blueberries, raspberries and roses by the sea; 
• Celebrated – from a distance – the first birthdays of Zahra and Romy; 
• Watched beavers swim along the lakeshore and went to sleep to the sound of loons; 
• Had a wine and cheese party to welcome me back to Yemen; 
• Spent three days in Cairo; 
• Was once again amazed by the resilient children of Yemen; 
• Got goosebumps watching the release of Aung San Suu Kyi; 
• Went to an 800-year-old hammam; 
• Has never had a better answer to the question 'Where are you from?': so happy the answer is Nova Scotia.

Ahmed, the collage-artist/peacemaker

Ahmed runs a newsstand just inside Bab al-Yemen, the main gate to old Sana’a. Business, he said, has not been going so well. No one wants to buy the glossy magazines he has for sale.

On a lark, he started to carve the magazines up, carefully cutting out the faces of Nicolas Sarkozy, Barack Obama, and Ali Abdullah Saleh, Yemen’s autocratic leader.

To make himself laugh, he began pasting those heads onto picturesque backgrounds like the old city of Sana’a or the savannahs of Africa. He made a collage of what Barack Obama would look like as a Yemeni groom. Another features Angela Merkel, in traditional Yemeni dress, shaking hands with Mr. Saleh. His friends were amused.

So were the tourists who slowly began to discover Ahmed’s artwork. Soon they started to request collages featuring themselves holding guns aloft in front of famous Yemeni landmarks, or posing with Osama bin Laden.

Ahmed’s humorous handiwork has become the buzz of the expat community in Sana’a these days. Orders are pouring in for quirky collages to be sent far and wide as Christmas gifts and souvenirs of Sana’a.

Ahmed said he sees his work as a way of changing Yemen’s negative image among foreigners.

“My work makes tourists laugh,” he said. “They leave Yemen with a different impression than they had before.”

The Children of Yemen

An audio slideshow dedicated to the resilience, innocence and exuberance of the wonderful children of this country.

Fog: Nature's Stain Remover?

Living in Nova Scotia these past few months has given me my first real experience with fog. I have to admit, I find it fascinating. On the south shore this weekend, I heard the fog before I saw it. The fog horn started to send out the alert as the clouds (do you call them clouds?) began to roll in. Soon enough, the blue skies were gone, replaced by grey mist.

People here complain about the fog, but I think it's incredible. When the weather is hot, it's the perfect air conditioner. And standing outside as fog envelopes you is sort of like being in a spa.

Our friend Carolyn tells us that fog gets stains out too. Wash your clothes on a regular cycle, she says, then hang them outside for a day or two in the fog and the stains will be gone. I have yet to test this theory myself but I'm intrigued, and so far Carolyn has not led us wrong.

'I likes where I'm to'

Lottie Drake lives by the sea. One would imagine from looking at her that she's always lived by the sea, though judging by her Newfoundland accent, not always by this sea.

Her husband Tom was once a fisherman but now, somewhere in his 80s, has knees so bad he has trouble making it across the living room.

"He fished his whole life," she said, even though he gave up the life about 30 years ago.

Still, considering that he started out on a boat in Newfoundland in his early adolescence and fished till back surgery laid him up in the 1980s, that's probably a good 40 years of hard work aboard a ship.

Lottie's house is white with blue window trim and overlooks Ritcey Cove, in Lunenburg County. She doesn't have much land, but that's all right by her. Once her son, the youngest of six children, offered to put them in a bigger house.

No thanks, she said. "I likes where I'm to. I like my spot."

And a good spot it is, Lottie.

Father's Day

For the past week or so I have been suffering from a nasty cough. It comes from deep in my chest and when it starts it's hard to suppress. Each cough seems to take over my whole body, and each cough makes me think of my father. He had a similar chronic cough for months -- or was it longer? -- before he died.

For ages after, the sound of anyone coughing made me wince.

These days, everything makes me think of my father. Not only was it Father's Day yesterday, but today marks three years to the day that we lost him. The hurt of that loss is not as raw as it was then, but we don't miss him any less three years later.

My mind goes first to the way he was right before he died -- to his withered body and that relentless cough and to his eyes, always wet with emotion near the end. But I quickly run back to happier, healthier memories -- and we're lucky to have many of those to choose from.

I remember him walking out behind the house in Barbados in the evenings after washing the dishes. He would take the dog with him and the two of them would not go far, just across the road really. He would look out across the sugar cane fields, no doubt thinking about work. The dog, a yellow lab with curly hair along her back, would sit patiently next to him until he was ready to come back in. He deserved those solitary moments, and the after-dinner cigarette he would sneak in without us knowing.

When we were kids I don't think there were very many times when we really left him alone. We were so happy to have him home that we'd take every minute we could with him. When I was a teenager, he would dutifully wake up at 1am on Saturday nights when I would call and ask to be picked up at the nightclub.

I feel his presence with us now as we make this move to a new place that he knew we loved. He told me before he went that he would watch over us if he could. He was careful not to make a promise he wasn't sure if he could keep but I knew he would if he could. And now he is showing us that he's there, and he's watching. I miss his physical presence more than I can say, but I am so grateful for his spiritual guidance.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Remember, every day is Father's Day.

Old man Wilsey, Myra and Henry

Last night we got together with our friends Brian and Carolyn, who are masters of the art of Maritime storytelling.

We talked well into the night. Well, we listened while they regaled us with fantastic stories of their South Shore families.

One story had to do with Brian's grandfather Wilsey and his aunt Myra. I will share this one vignette, which was told with such perfect delivery I still can't stop laughing.

Basically, the old man had told Myra that when he passed on she would get his farm and would be responsible for taking care of her brother Henry.

"Henry was retarded," Brian said. "Back then you could call it retarded."

As it turned out, Henry died before old Wilsey did.

"He was hit by a car," said Brian, deadpanning.

"That didn't kill him, but it certainly didn't help."

Metrosexuals take to manscaping

Can we talk about male grooming for a second? How many men really shave their chests? Show of hands?

Apparently there are more men doing this than I would have cared to imagine. I don't know who they are or what their motives are, but there are crazy men out there doing serious damage to their pectoral follicles.

"For men, hair removal has become the equivalent of putting on a suit," Peter Papapetrou, a Toronto stylist, told the Globe and Mail recently.

"There's something very polished about it. The perfect male form has that smooth look and the average guy is taking notice."

And of course corporate America is there to help.

Gillette has produced a handy series of videos on shaving various untraditional body parts:

And Nivea has introduced a handy new product that allows the busy metrosexual to shower, shampoo and shave in just one motion. Handy!

In case you're confused on how to go about snipping your thoracic locks, Nivea has built an entire website to explain.

 "Take care not to hurt yourself in the nipple area," warns the soothing British-inflected voice that leads the online tutorial.

Yikes!

Oh yeah, and then there's chest waxing as a public service announcement:

Clean Up Your Act

Those who know me will attest that I am never going to be in the running for any "housekeeper of the year" awards. Cleaning is not my thing -- never has been. But that's not to say that I don't like a clean house, and when called for I will roll up my sleeves and get scrubbing (with only minimal grumbling along the way).

So it always amazes me how some people who have a choice can just choose to happily live amid filth. OK, cleaning may not be that much fun, but let's face it people, it's just a necessary evil.

We moved into a subletted one-bedroom apartment on Saturday and spent most of the weekend cleaning. It looked neat on the surface, but it was by no means clean. Certainly not clean enough for us to feel comfortable putting our stuff away or using the kitchen. Two of us, working steadily pretty much all day yesterday still didn't get the job done.

Living in a clean home is not just a hygiene issue. Clean environments -- or at least the illusion of a clean environment -- may even have an impact on our behaviour. Research conducted last year found that people behave more generously and more fairly when they are in clean-smelling environments.

Participants in the study were given several tasks; some worked in unscented rooms, while others were set their tasks in rooms sprayed with a citrus-smelling cleanser. According to the Toronto Star:

Given $12, they had to decide how much to keep and how much to return to a partner who had trusted them. Those in the clean-smelling rooms gave back an average of $5.33, compared with $2.81 from the no-smell rooms.

Another experiment, looking at charitable behaviour, found those in the lemony-fresh room expressed more interest in volunteering for a service project and donating money. Twenty-two per cent said they'd like to give money, compared to 6 per cent of those with unteased nostrils.

What a difference a day makes

Here's what Halifax harbour looked like yesterday, in the rain and fog:

And here's the view today:

As they like to say out here, "If you don't like the weather, just wait 20 minutes..."

Our New Life: Week One

Life in a hotel is a bit of a treat... I must say I love the king-size bed and the fact that someone else comes to clean my bathroom every day! Our room looks east, over Halifax harbour, and in the mornings we can watch the sun come up. We've been sleeping pretty well, except for that one night when we woke up at 3am to the shrieks of an Asian call girl in the next room.

We emptied the stuff out of the minibar and filled it instead with our own food. In the mornings, we make coffee and have bananas, yogurt and granola. Lunch the past few days has been ham and cheese sandwiches, with Gruyere cheese given to us by our Swiss friend Nicolas. Dinner last night was at Kempster's, our favorite family restaurant, but other nights we sit on the floor and have a "picnic" of olives, hummus, cheese, prosciutto and other yummy things. There's a wine store and supermarket right next to the hotel, which is very convenient!

The house/apartment hunt is a bit of a drag, though I'm trying not to let it get me down. We have the eternal problem of "champagne tastes and a beer budget" so all the houses we like would put us into big fat debt. The stuff we could afford is uninspiring at best. I've been thinking it might be better to rent, but even the rental market is really tight and competitive right now and the sales market is downright crazy... I hope we have some luck this weekend as I'd much rather be in our own place.

This morning I spent two hours doing a writing and editing test for the CBC, with an eye to doing some web news writing work. I think I did OK, though two hours is not a lot of time for what they asked... I am now exhausted! Might head to the pool for a quick swim. That is one thing I WILL miss about living in a hotel!

Kaos in K-Town

I've just spent the past week in Karachi, which makes Sana'a look like an orderly paradise. The only word I could think to describe it is chaotic. There are people, children, animals, cars everywhere and no rules to keep them all straight. 

Even if there is a rule, no one pays any attention. Like boarding the plane at the airport: the announcement said "we are boarding business class and families with children" and everyone rushed forward. Instead of sending them back to wait, the airline staff started collecting boarding cards, so off we all went, business class be damned!

The photo above shows two buses so close to each other a piece of paper would barely fit between them. This is pretty normal and par for the course there -- only an idiot like me would notice and even bother to take a photo.

The nerve centre of the chaos appears to be my great-aunt's house. She has several people who help her in the house, which is also pretty normal over there. But on my first day there, I saw way more people than I remembered from my last trip. 

One guy comes twice a week to dust furniture. But he doesn't do windows, so another boy comes two or three times a week to do that. He is also supposed to pick up some stuff in the garden, but he doesn't, so another guy comes to do that. Something breaks every single day and a new handyman is called to fix each device. No one ever comes alone, so at any given moment there seem to be about two dozen random people wandering the house. Meanwhile, the front door is ringing, back gate is buzzing, both phones are ringing and no one answers till the 10th ring, great-aunt Dee calls out to the cook to send the driver so he can call the gardener... chaos.

Chatting with the immigration officer at JFK this morning, he asked how things are in Pakistan and I tried to explain the lack of order and the people running everywhere. 

"Sounds like Manhattan," he said.

Perhaps!

Saudade de Sana'a

Tonight a friend asked me what I would miss most about Yemen. On the spot I didn't have a great answer, but luckily enough we were interrupted by a shisha emergency and she didn't come back to the question. On the way home in the taxi I thought of several things I am going to miss... Here are just a few:

• the sound of the call to prayer several times a day no matter where you are
• driving down "wedding dress lane" - the street that has one wedding boutique after another, with some of the most outrageous peacock-style dresses 
• "kebab square," the bustling area in the old city where you can sit out in the open and eat freshly grilled kebabs and drink tea
• my morning drives with mohammed
• the sight of saleh mosque with the mountains in the distance
• abdulla othman, our office driver who shares my appreciation for old soul and motown music and who has been my personal soothsayer and advisor 
• tea with marwan at the little place across the street from our office, and all the young guys who work there, especially the one with the "New Pork" t-shirt
• kudam, the multi-grain bread rolls that were originally made only for the military
• the perfect weather
• morning text messages from my friend ibrahim wishing me a "sweety" day
• the barber shops of beirut street

In Angola we learned the word "saudade," which roughly translates as "nostalgia" in English. But that translation misses out on the deep longing and wistful emotion that the word carries in Portuguese.

One of the hardest things about this type of work is the leaving. It's funny how you can get attached to a place, even a place where the experience wasn't always positive, like Iran. For me, Yemen has been fascinating, funny and chaotic and there's no doubt I will miss it. 

But, as always, it's good to go home. 

New Beginnings

Mohammed and I have figured out a way to communicate, even without many shared words between us. For example, yesterday on the drive home I told him that I would be leaving Yemen.

"Why?" he said in Arabic, slamming on the brakes and cranking his neck around to look at me in the back seat.

"Finished," I said in Arabic. "Khalass." It was one of the only words I know... "I am going home. To my husband."

"When?" he asked. Neither Martin, my carpool mate, or I knew how to say two weeks, but somehow I think Mohammed got the picture that it was soon.

Yes, friends. The time has finally come. I'm heading home in about ten days time. Yemen has been wonderful and awful, though luckily more the former than the latter. It's been an incredible learning experience and it was a perfect way for me to change things up, but now it's time for me to get back home. I've got a fantastic new life waiting for me and I can't wait for it to begin.

Ahmed Scissorhands

 

One of the first things I noticed about Sana'a is the insane number of barber shops you see. They are everywhere, on every block, sometimes three in a row, one after another. And there's always someone in every one of them, getting a trim or a shave.

Apparently there's more to this than meets the eye, and I'm determined to get to the bottom of it. I've heard there are Syrian barbers, Iraqi barbers, even Turkish, Palestinian, Indian and Ethiopian barbers. The prices and services offered in each one vary widely. I want to know more!

I heard a story last night of a Palestinian barber who noticed a very well-dressed Yemeni man walk in to his shop. He was wearing a nice suit, nice shirt, nice tie. Best dressed Yemeni man I've seen, thought the barber. But when he sat down, the barber noticed the man was barefoot. 

"I'm curious," the barber asked. "You are wearing very nice clothes, but I see you are not wearing any shoes. Why is that?" 

"Oh, it's because I live very near here," the Yemeni man replied.

Someone else told me about going to a new barber shop and getting a very good haircut. Pleased with the results, he went back again a few weeks later, but this time got a very bad haircut. It was very uneven and he had to keep cutting it shorter and shorter just to get the two sides to line up.

"What happened to the guy?" I asked.

"The two barbers who work there are identical twins," was the answer. 

Apparently they share the same features, but not the same barbering skills! Beware the evil twin.

Stay tuned. There are sure to be more barber shop stories to follow.

Assisting the displaced

The stories I wrote during my trip to Haradh and the displacement camps last month have now all been posted on the UNICEF website. The latest one is about volunteers who work in the camps to spread awareness about the need for proper hygiene and sanitation:

Volunteers bring hygiene awareness to displaced communities in Yemen

Last week they posted a story about a school that has taken in nearly 2,000 students from displaced families:

Displaced by conflict, students crowd a village school in northern Yemen

A ceasefire was announced about two weeks ago and is slowly being implemented in the conflict area. As yet, though, the situation is still too unstable to allow people to return and it is still unclear what they would be returning to. There is very little information available about the condition of infrastructure and services.

I read today that in previous rounds of this conflict, only about 40 per cent of the displaced people actually returned home after ceasefires were announced. More than half of them remained displaced, and the current round of fighting has seen more people fleeing their homes than ever before.

How to Tie a Yemeni Headscarf

I spent the whole afternoon shopping in the old city today. Our last stop was with Mohammed, who sells scarves and shawls. I asked him to show me how Yemeni men wear their head scarf. Here's his demonstration:

 

First fold the square in half to form a triangle, and put the straight edge against your forehead.

 

Keeping one hand still, bring one of the points around the back of your head and down by your ear.

Now do the same on the other side.

 

Lift one point up and across your forehead again.

Tuck in the tip.

 

And do the same on the other side.

Buy a camel and go for a walk in the desert.

My Morning Commute

 

Not being able to communicate with my driver, Mohammed, is such a missed opportunity. The guy used to be a policeman and there's so much I want to ask him about, but we can only communicate in the vaguest of hand gestures and conversations with other people who speak our respective languages.

This morning he fished around for a cassette tape and then proudly played the one American song he seems to have been able to lay his hands on. It was Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting," a song I adored when I was a senior in high school about 20 years ago! I started to sing along, to acknowledge my appreciation for this touch of home he was able to provide for me. On the way home this afternoon, it was back again, this time on repeat... I wonder if now I'll have to hear that song several times a day for the rest of my stay here. A very sweet gesture, though. Shoukran!

Mohammed has been extremely reliable and dependable and he sort of treats me like he's my uncle or something. I am always happy to see his smiling face waiting for me. I come out my gate and there he is every morning. We take off towards the office and head out on the divided highway that runs north-south through the city. The sun is rising to my right, coming up above the mountains that surround the city. In the distance is the obscenely sized al-Saleh mosque, built by the president at some ridiculous cost -- I've heard reports of $20 million and $120 million! Either way it's a vulgar cost for a country that can't provide its citizens with their basic needs.

 

We swing a U-turn just past the mosque and head back on the other side of the highway, past Pizza Hut and KFC and in the direction of Fun City amusement park. The need for U-turns can be infuriating sometimes... Whenever possible, Mohammed takes a little shortcut that requires us to lawlessly drive the wrong way in oncoming traffic for a short stretch. It's something that would probably drive me crazy in another country, but here it's kind of funny to me and it shaves a good five minutes off the drive. Not that I mind though. It's an easy commute -- 15 minutes maximum. 

When we get in the area of the office, we turn right and pass a tea shop where dozens of men are always sitting on the ground having their breakfast. I always wonder who they are and what they will do with the rest of their day. If I could, I'd ask Mohammed. I'm sure he'd have a story to tell.

A Valiant Effort

Hilarious moment: One of the office drivers had been promising to come over to my apartment to help me fix my washing machine. Yesterday we left early for a meeting and on the way we realized we had just enough time to go to my place, fix it and still make it in time for the meeting. All was going well and, in spite of Sanaa's maddening road system that requires you to go from A to B via D, E and F, it looked like we were going to make it. We took a shortcut and then, Bam!, got stuck.

A truck broke down coming in the opposite direction, right in front of a parked car, leaving no room for other cars to pass. The truck driver got out of the cab and looked bewildered for a moment. He probably hadn't had enough qat yet. Then he walked back behind the rear wheel -- this is a 3-ton truck, mind you, the kind that has tires about 6-feet high -- and gave a push! Like he was going to be able to just bump the truck out of the way!! Hilarious.

Battle on the Bridge

 

Look at this bridge. Isn't it beautiful? Doesn't it look like something out of a fairy tale?

I really want to go there and visit it, but it's in an area of the north where fighting has been ongoing, leaving the region off limits for travel.

I was bemoaning the lack of access to some of the most amazing parts of the country to my Yemeni friend the other day. When I brought up the bridge at Shaharah and how I'd really like to visit it, he said: "Do you know my grandfather fought the Turks there? My family was loyal to Imam Yahya and my grandfather was killed there, on the bridge, with his jambiya in his hand."

This is what I mean about history feeling like it happened yesterday. I will now not be able to look at a picture of Shaharah bridge without picturing a hand-to-hand battle between invading Ottomans and my friend's rebellious grandpa. 

Virtuous Flowering Blossom of the Desert

In Iran, my name first aroused curiosity and then suspicion. Zahra is a very common girl's name in Iran, so hearing it made most people think I was of at least half-Iranian parentage. When I protested that I was, in fact, Canadian, they assumed I was some sort of stuck-up brat whose family had fled Iran at the time of the Revolution and who had refused to learn her own language, culture and heritage.

In Yemen, my name mostly seems to arouse reverence. "Do you know what it means?" they ask excitedly. "Yes, it means 'flower'," I answer, only to be politely corrected and then guided into the various and deeper levels of meaning the name seems to carry for many people here. "Not just flower," they say. "The most beautiful flowering blossom." Others say it means 'beauty' or 'brightness' or 'the shining one.'

"It literally means flower," one young man told me, "but it implies aspects of virtue and high moral standing." Other people just smile and say, "I love that name," giving me a congratulatory look, as though as a very wise baby I had chosen the name for myself.

This, to me, is just one example of the deeply romantic spirit of the people I have encountered here in Yemen.

I'm now reading a book called "Travels in Dictionary Land," by a Brit who has been in Yemen for years and clearly is in love with the place. I can see why, and I can't help but smile as I read of his experiences. I am glad to be reading it now, after being here for a month, so I can relate to what he is saying. Like this:

My reading revealed that others, too, had been bewitched by Yemen. 'Never', wrote one medieval visitor, 'have I seen glances more penetrating than those of the Yemenis. When they look at you, they dive into you...'

Iranians love to hark back to their storied history, but when you are in the country you look around and think, "that was long ago and far away." Here, people don't bring up their past nearly as often, but you can feel it all the time. History never seems far away. As I read about Shem, son of Noah and founder of Sana'a, or the Sabaeans or the Sultans of Lahj, it all feels like it could have happened yesterday.

What Happens in Sana'a, Stays in Sana'a

I've been told that Sana'a, and all of Yemen really, is a common stomping ground for Saudis who want to go somewhere where they can drink, do drugs and pick up girls. How true this is, I don't know for sure, but it makes sense. I was told that after they kicked the troublemaker out of my old place they found whiskey and drugs in his apartment.

With the "Rowdy Saudi" incident firmly behind me, I am happy to say I'm now safely installed in a new apartment that is larger, better equipped and on a quieter street than the last place. I went to the nearest supermarket yesterday evening, which is a complete adrenaline rush as you have to dart across a busy divided street to get there... This town REALLY needs some pedestrian overpasses.

Internally Displaced

I started this week sick to my stomach and ended it homeless, thanks to a rowdy Saudi Arabian who caused a scene in my apartment building two nights ago. The incident made me call UN security in the middle of the night, which prompted my office to insist that I find another place to stay.

A colleague kindly offered to take me in for a few days while other accommodations are found, so now I find myself in an enormous house living out of a suitcase once again. The house, I must say, is grand with lots of sunlight streaming in from all sides, so the situation is an improvement over the windowless sitting room where I've spent the past few weekends. But it's amazing how attached I had become to that place in just under a month. As I hastily packed my things yesterday evening, I was actually sad to be leaving what had so quickly become the "familiar."

Anyway, now that I'm in a new environment, one without constant access to internet and satellite TV, I am rediscovering the joys of reading and listening to music. I'm reading a book by Robert MacNeil, who is most famous for co-anchoring the MacNeil/Lehrer NewsHour on PBS for decades. The book, called Burden of Desire, is set in Halifax in 1917 when a major explosion destroyed a large part of the downtown area. It's a good read, both for the historical setting and for the character development, and I find myself hoping I don't read it too quickly.

Alien Invasion

I just discovered ants in my living room -- lots of them. I probably should stop eating all my meals on the sofa in front of the TV. Or at least I should start being a little neater as I eat all my meals on the sofa in front of the TV.

Even though I was not very happy to see them scurrying out from under my coffee table and chair, I did feel sort of bad as I crushed them under the sole of my sandal. As a sort of punishment, perhaps, I now have the feeling of little things crawling all over me...

What's the average lifespan of an ant? Couple of days? Couple of hours? It couldn't be years, could it?

Well, I'm back from a quick Google search armed with the information that worker ants live about 45-60 days. Oh, and they have about 250,000 brain cells, which is "the largest among all the insects."

The Need for Water

Back in September, the Carnegie Endowment issued a report that stated that Sana'a might be the first modern capital to run out of water.

This is shocking, yet signs of it are everywhere. Even in the main residential district where I live, on a major road, water is trucked in on a daily basis to homes and businesses. The photo above shows the truck that brought water to my apartment building last night.

UNICEF statistics show that only about 65% of the population has access to safe drinking water nationwide. The levels of access in rural and urban areas are about the same.

According to Carnegie:

Yemen is running out of water. Rising domestic consumption, poor water management, corruption, the absence of resource governance, and wasteful irrigation techniques are creating frequent and widespread shortages.

Yemen’s lack of food and water is complicated by the population’s dependence on qat, a quick-cash crop that requires heavy irrigation to thrive. Farmers devote so much land to qat production that Yemen is now a net food importer.

Related: Sana'a basin to drain away by 2025

Third camp opens to accommodate displaced communities in northern Yemen

My story about the opening of a new camp in northern Yemen is up on the UNICEF homepage. Check it out on the website or read the text below.

By Zahra Sethna

HARADH, Yemen, 20 January 2010 – Hundreds of displaced people have begun moving into a new displacement camp in al-Mazrak. This community in north-western Yemen has received tens of thousands of people in the past few months.

The sudden influx began in August 2009, when fighting between Yemeni government forces and rebel fighters forced families to flee their homes and seek shelter in this remote, desert area. The conflict began in 2004, and since then, some 200,000 people have been displaced.

Two displacement camps are already operational, housing approximately 23,000 people. Services are also being provided to thousands more scattered outside the camps. The latest camp opened in the wake of clashes between armed tribal militiamen and Yemeni soldiers at a checkpoint a few kilometres from the displaced communities.

Families are being relocated to this third camp from a reception area, where they had been staying temporarily, as well as from scattered settlements. The new camp will have a capacity of 1,200 families (more than 9,000 people).

Safe spaces for families 

Among the first residents was Hafedha, a 20-year-old mother of five. She and her family spent two months living in the reception area. Like all new arrivals, they were first screened by medical professionals. They were then registered, assigned a tent and given ration cards. Essential items, such as mattresses, cooking pots, jerry cans and hygiene materials were also provided. Assistants, trained and supported by UNICEF, were on hand to help families settle into the camp.

Water points have been set up within the camp to provide easy access to safe drinking water. The water is currently being trucked in, but plans for a piped network are underway.

For many families, living in the camp has provided access to facilities and services that did not exist in their home villages. For example, Hafedha said, this was the first time her family had a chance to use a latrine. In the coming weeks, her children will be able to attend school and participate in recreational activities organized and supported by UNICEF.

UNICEF is also concerned about the mental-health of these displaced people, many of whom have suffered traumatic experiences. A team of trained psychosocial support volunteers is screening the population, offering support and counselling to anyone who may need it. Safe spaces for children to play and express themselves are also available.

A Night of Firsts

The other night, to celebrate the arrival of two colleagues from our regional office in Amman, Jordan, I had my first meal in a Yemeni restaurant in Sana'a. This was a slightly different experience from the roadside joints I had eaten in last week in Haradh, up in the north. The food was different too, including the specialty of the house: a whole roasted fish.  It was a fun night, but the best part turned out to be getting home!

One of my colleagues suggested I take a 'debab' a local version of Kenya's 'matatu' or Ghana's 'tro tro'. It's essentially a minibus that runs a designated route. People jump on and off as needed, paying the driver a mere 40 rials for the ride (about 20 cents). This colleague seems a sensible man -- a medical doctor at that -- so I took his word for it when he said it would be fun and totally safe. Turns out he was right -- totally safe... No one batted an eyelid about me being in the van, the driver was pretty sane and I got home safe and sound and only 40 rials the poorer! Thanks Kemal!

Young Faces of Yemen

Northern Exposure

The village of al-Mazrak is about 25 kilometres from the front line in the fight between Yemeni government forces and Houthi rebels. The village's name loosely translates as "smuggler's point," as it has long been an entry and exit point for goods to cross the Saudi border. The prime item being transported across the border is qat, the narcotic leaf that is grown and used everywhere in Yemen and that is banned in Saudi Arabia.

Since fighting intensified about six months ago, the border is totally off-limits and I'm told soldiers will pretty much shoot at anything that moves. To get around this, smugglers evidently strap qat to donkeys and send the animals unaccompanied across the border.

Al-Mazrak itself is just a huddle of shacks on either side of the road. There appear to be more guns than people in the town itself, as the place is swarming with tribal militia as well as uniformed soldiers with guns slung casually across their shoulders. Things seemed fairly calm as we drove through the town over the past few days, but just a week ago tensions flared into a skirmish that left five people dead. It's hard for an outsider to tell who is who and as yet no one really knows what triggered the clash.

The surrounding area is quite beautiful -- stark mountains against a sandy horizon. The wind sometimes whips up little dust funnels. At other times, the sky completely fills with sand.

Until a few months ago,  al-Mazrak was a fairly anonymous place from which to launch smuggling convoys. But since August, tens of thousands of people have fled into the area and are now being housed in several IDP camps.  That's where I spent the past three days. I'm home in Sana'a now and still covered in sweat and dust from the visit. I'm tired but happy. I'll share more information about the work going on in the camps soon.

Old City, New City

Last Friday I had a walk around the wonderful old city of Sana'a, with its ancient architecture and rich street life. This Friday, I am in another part of the city, with modern apartments, department stores and supermarkets. Here are some photos, to give a sense of the varied nature of this city.

From Wikipedia:

The old fortified city has been inhabited for more than 2,500 years, and contains a wealth of intact architectural gems. It was declared a World Heritage City by the United Nations in 1986. Efforts are underway to preserve some of the oldest buildings, some of which are over 400 years old. Surrounded by ancient clay walls which stand 6–9 metres (20–30 ft) high, the old city boasts over 100 mosques, 12 hammams (baths) and 6,500 houses. Many of the houses resemble ancient skyscrapers, reaching several stories high and topped with flat roofs. They are decorated with elaborate friezes and intricately carved frames and stained glass windows.

One of the most popular attractions is Suq al-Milh (Salt Market), where it is possible to buy not only salt but also bread, spices, raisins, cotton, copper, pottery, silverware, antiques (both fake and real) and formerly, slaves. The majestic 7th century Jami' al-Kabir (Great Mosque) is one of the oldest in the Muslim world. The Bāb al-Yaman (Yemen Gate) is an iconized entry point through the city walls and is over 700 years old.

The modern city resembles many other developing country capitals and reminds me of Tehran because of the mountains and ring of smog that surround the city. There are several modern business hotels, some chic restaurants which I have heard about but haven't yet seen and even fast food joints like KFC and Pizza Hut, which I have no intention of visiting.

Many people have spoken of the wild traffic in Sana'a, but compared with Tehran, and even New York, I have not experienced anything out of the ordinary.  There was one incident where we saw a boy of maybe 12 years old weaving a car a bit recklessly through a narrow street, but otherwise traffic has seemed relatively calm and orderly.

67 Days Till Spring

It was very cold when I left New York, unseasonably so. I wore a cashmere turtleneck to travel in, suspecting that it would be cold on the plane but that when I arrived in Dubai the sweater would go back in the suitcase and not make another appearance until the journey home in April.

I was wrong. I am wearing that sweater right now, in fact.

Sana'a is also very cold, also unseasonably so. The city is at 2,200 meters above sea level, which explains the cooler temperatures. But from what I understand, winter is not usually like this. I think we're experiencing a cold snap similar to the rest of the world, and I hope things will start to warm up soon.

Today is a bit milder but yesterday and the night before were really and truly cold. On Monday, I had just moved into the flat where I am staying and the apartment management kindly brought me a portable heater. I plugged it in, switched it to high and waited for the bedroom to warm up. Instead, the lights went out. Electricity cuts are pretty common here and I figured the generator would soon kick in so I went to bed. The generator never went on, and the heater never turned back on. I was sleeping in sweatpants, a long sleeved shirt, a sweatshirt and socks and under a duvet and heavy blanket and still I was freezing. In the morning, I left my bedroom only to find out that the electricity hadn't failed, I had just tripped the circuit in my bedroom by keeping the heater on high!

Yesterday I asked one of the office drivers when the cold weather was supposed to end. He's a bit of a joker, and without hesitating he replied, "March 21st." The first day of spring.

A Real Value Menu

Last night I had my first meal outside the hotel. It was, unfortunately, not a Yemeni meal. I'm saving that for when I can go to a good restaurant and have a positive first experience with the cuisine. Instead, I went to a popular falafel joint in Sana'a called, appropriately, Palestine Falafel.

One of my chief complaints with falafel in New York is the excessive use of garlic, both in the falafel and in the ubiquitous hummus that accompanies it. Last night's meal was perfectly seasoned. The falafel were crisp and tasty and dressed only with some tahini sauce, tomatoes and cucumbers. The wraps came in normal and spicy. I tried one of each and both were delicious.

The kicker to the whole experience was the price: 70 riyals per wrap, which works out to about 35 cents. Three falafel sandwiches for a dollar? Now that's what I call a happy meal!

The 11th Century Meets the 21st Century

It was bright outside and dark inside, so all I could see framed in the uneven stone doorway were two young boys wearing light-colored blazers. They stood and spoke with the confident demeanor of men four times their age, but they were probably only about 12.

As I entered and my eyes adjusted to the light, my nose took in the strong earthy scent of an animal. The boys, it seemed, were in charge of an ancient stone mill, which was just below and to the right of the doorway. The mill was surrounded by a well-worn dirt ring, around which a camel, when he was on duty, would walk, pulling the mill and grinding sesame seeds – sim sim – into oil. Plastic bottles of the amber liquid were arranged on a shelf to the left, behind which was a stall where the camel was currently taking his lunch break.

It was a scene straight out of another century, but so was most of my morning walk through the old city of Sana’a. This is the Arabia of childhood legends and fairy tales, breathlessly trying to catch up to the 21^st century. Men dressed in head wraps with scabbards tucked into their belts walk down the street chatting on their mobile phones. Outside the ancient wall of the old city, I am sitting in a hotel with wireless Internet access.  A huge, multi-million dollar mosque complex has just been built by the president. Across the highway is a Pizza Hut.

This is going to be a curious adventure.

On the Verge of Adventure

On New Year's Eve of 1999, I was about to embark on a huge adventure. Three months earlier, I had met the love of my life and we were about to move in together in a city over 500 miles away from all of my friends and family. I was happy and excited, but also nervous.

Ten years later I find myself in a surprisingly similar situation. This time, I'm about to leave behind friends, family and that love of my life to go thousands of miles away. Once again, I am happy and excited, but also nervous.

In just over 48 hours, I will be getting on a flight bound for Dubai, and shortly after that I will arrive in Sana'a, Yemen. When I accepted the offer to go to Yemen to do humanitarian work with UNICEF, it was just another fragile country in the Middle East that few people knew anything about. Just two short weeks later, it is front-page news around the world.

Terrorist threats notwithstanding, nothing has changed for the people of Yemen during the past two weeks. Unemployment in the country remains at 35 percent. Nearly half of the population still lives on less than $2 a day. The adult literacy rate is just over 50 percent. Theirs remains one of the least developed countries not only in the region, but in the world, ranking just above Pakistan, Swaziland and Angola in terms of human development.

These are the reasons for my trip there. Working with UNICEF I hope to be able to call attention to the situation of women and children in the country and perhaps, in some small way, shed some light on what is really happening there. I hope to use this blog as a way of communicating and sharing my experiences there.