My buddy Eric is a much better writer than me and gives great insight in what it is like to live in the West African nation of Cameroon. I have stolen his story and replaced it with Yemen. This is my story.
Sorry, it’s been a while since my last journal entry. I actually wrote something a while ago about security, safety, jungle justice, and theft in general, but just couldn’t bring myself to upload it. Every time I read it, I felt as though I was feeding the stereotype tales of banditry and lawlessness we tend to let shape our vision of Middle East. In that light, I decided to do rewrite the whole thing, since I do think it’s something worth knowing about, even if it is my own unscientific perspective. While I’m certain that life in most parts of Middle East is not the loose cannon that we may conclude from what we read in the papers, there are some unfortunate circumstances that arise here in Yemen, of which I won’t go into detail. I’ll just say that stories of armed banditry are common, and ‘jungle justice’, where citizens take the law into their own hands, is real, although it is of very little threat to me as a foreigner, unless I plan to start burglary as a new hobby.
Another reason I’m hesitant to go into the details on the subject (but will anyway) is that, after 60 months in Yemen, I still cannot get a handle on it. I’ve never felt as though I was in a vulnerable situation, but my Yemenian friends tend to treat me as though there is a thief waiting around every corner. In that light, I have to admit that my ‘gut feeling’ only gets me limited mileage. We all like to think of ourselves as having some degree of intuition, but I’d like to see those self-described ‘intuitive’ folks I know try and make their way around the bus stations and markets out here.
Here’s an example of the why I’m unclear as to security here: One evening in Sana’a, I stayed out until 10pm, which is a rare event for me. A part of my walk home was along an unlit stretch of highway for a few hundred metres. I was very alert and constantly looking over my shoulder, but didn’t see a soul in sight, and fortunately, had an uneventful walk home alone. The next day, when I was at the market, a young man approached me, introduced himself, and told me he followed me home the previous night to make sure I got there safely. I’d never seen this guy before. While it’s nice to know someone was watching out for my safety, I found it a bit unnerving to discover that, in addition to my not knowing him, I didn’t notice him following me home. That, and he felt it was necessary to watch out for me.
I can appreciate that the greater concern regarding safety would have to do with uprisings that result from political or social unrest, which was very real in many parts of Yemen in February 2008, when protests against rising fuel prices turned violent, resulting in several deaths (including one in Sana’a). I realize there is a risk, but by the same token, given the number of aid workers whose safety has been jeopardized, relative to the total active all over the world, I think the risk is not much greater than that of getting struck by lightning. I know that sounds cocky and naïve, but it sure makes for a great coping mechanism!! Also, strange as it may sound, there are actually advantages to being a ‘visible minority’ in Yemen. My Yemenian friends and coworkers are constantly on the lookout for me even though I don’t ask them.
By far and away, the biggest threat here is with pickpockets and purse-snatchers. That’s why I stopped carrying my man-purse, and always wear extra tight jeans. I mean, like, spray-on, spandex tight. Anything happens in those pockets, I’m gonna know about it. Unless, of course, my circulation gets compromised from the waist down.
When it comes to burglary, some of the stories I’ve heard have been more comical than concerning. For example, one of my buddies told me a story about how several hundred feet of electrical wire was stolen in one of the villages in Sana’a. I’m talking live, operational, overhead lines that provide service to several homes. Someone actually climbed the power poles, disconnected the cable, and took it away. Speculation was that the thieves sold it back to Sonel, the electric company.
My favourite story about thieves in action comes from the Sana’a Council, which owns 2 oxen for helping farmers pull ploughs. A few months ago, someone stole both oxen. To get them back, the mayor hired another known thief to act as the middle man, locate the thieves, negotiate a ransom on the council’s behalf, and safely return the animals. The middle man received a fee for his services, and we never found out who the original thieves were. Even the mayor was laughing when he told me that story. Where else could someone make an honest living as a thief?
Another amusing story: several months ago, I was away from my house for a couple of weeks. I arrived home to discover that the main breaker panel to the building I live in had been stolen. I know what you’re thinking: Frank, what was going through your mind, leaving home with the main breaker panel exposed to everyone to help themselves? Live and learn, I guess. I wonder what I should do about my front door, just sitting there, attached to the entrance of my house for everyone to see.
Something else I find quite perplexing lies in the whole notion of trust. I’m frequently surprised by the advice I receive with regard to whom I should and should not trust. Part of my confusion is that I’ve had many experiences where people have exhibited trust in ways that are not common even in my home country. As a small example, one morning I watched a woman put her daughter of 5 or 6 years on an okada (motorcycle taxi), leaving the driver, whom she obviously didn’t know, to take the child to her destination. The poor kid was frightened and crying, but the mother and okada driver thought nothing of it. I can’t imagine anyone in Canada would trust a strange man with his or her young child that way.
I’ll leave you with this story: I was walking down the street in Hadramount one fine day, when a man I was passing greeted me and shook my hand. We both continued our respective ways. No big deal, happens all the time here. I walked about 10 metres further, when another 2 men stopped me, visibly concerned because they saw the other guy shake my hand. Turns out the ‘handshake’ guy was casting a spell on me, and sometime later in the day, all my money and documents were going to disappear from my pockets without my noticing. They insisted that I go back to the man and have him touch the ground, then rub my hand, thus reversing the spell. I told the guys, “No problem, I’ll just wash my hands when I get to the restaurant I’m going to.”
That was not good enough for them. They refused to let me continue along my way until I went back to the man who shook my hand. Fair enough. I’m on a busy street, lots of people around, and they’ll never get into my pockets without my knowing (spandex tight jeans, and all). I went back to the guy and he reversed the spell, just as I was told he would. Next, the good Samaritans told me that now I have to remove all my belongings from my pockets and rub them on my hand so that they will not disappear later in the day. I thought to myself, “here we go…” I promised them I’d do it later, then made my way into the restaurant I was going to. They were satisfied with that, and did not pursue.
Perhaps I’ve been influenced by my time in Yemen. I went into the restaurant, ordered my meal, then took all my belongings out of my pockets and rubbed them on my hand. It worked!! I made it through the rest of the day without incident.
There are heaps more stories to tell, but I’ll leave it here for now. I trust you’re all enjoying your respective summers (actually, there’s only one summer taking place, we just have to share it amongst ourselves, but you know what I mean).
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