Safety first

Yemen | Anno 2006 – 2007

 

 

With a quick horizontal sweep of his index finger across his throat, an excited man by the roadside ostentatiously informs us what our fate would be if he had anything to say about it. Apparently he takes us for Americans. Last night Saddam Hussein was hanged in Baghdad, despite Muslims celebrating the Holiday of the Sacrifice during Hajj yesterday. Like a shockwave, the message of Saddam's execution has swept through the Middle East. The local muezzin even added a few verses to his afternoon prayers especially for the salvation of the Iraqi dictator, our travel guide Salem tells us.

Last night Saddam Hussein was hanged in Baghdad, despite Muslims celebrating the Holiday of the Sacrifice during Hajj yesterday

Hamid

Jibla

The tension is high. Getting out of the jeep and calmly explaining to the man that we are not Americans but Belgians doesn't seem like a good idea. Hamid, our driver, therefore keeps the pace high. For Hamid, driving a jeep is a matter of power anyway. Steering movements are to be sharp and sudden, road bends are to be taken along the inside, speed changes are to be quick and powerful. There was a time his jeep had seat belts in the back seat, but thankfully he got rid of that excess weight long ago.

Rarely, one sees Hamid showing respect for other road users. All living beings outside his jeep, be it humans or animals, are called donkeys in his universe. Every time we have to drive through a cloud of dust, he calls it a form of air pollution caused by donkeys. While explaining all this to us, he rarely holds his steering wheel. Communicating without using his hands simply is unthinkable for Hamid.

Traditional homes of the Yemenis, as we have come to know them by now, are small ochre brown skyscrapers

Jibla

 

Clouds gently touch the peaks of the surrounding mountains, but in the valley the sun generously spreads light and warmth. Soon, coming from behind a sharp bend, yet another spectacular view emerges for which Yemen is so famous. On the other side of the valley, the picturesque town of Jibla stretches wide across the mountainside. Traditional homes of the Yemenis, as we have come to know them by now, are small ochre brown skyscrapers. The lower layers of the buildings usually are made of stone, the higher ones of brick. Even from this distance, we are impressed by the richly decorated facades and the windows with filigree plasterwork that reveal themselves in our binoculars.

 

Ready for the Holiday of the Sacrifice

We climb into the town via bumpy streets. Wooden balconies on the facades of some houses remind us that the Turks once held sway here. Incidentally, it were the same Turks who introduced the sharshaf in North Yemen, the black, all-concealing robe that should hide the female body from the horny glances of men. Only the eyes are visible through a narrow slit. After the merger of the North and South in 1990, the conservative North imposed this obligation on the secular South.

 

Some little boys even wear their very first jambiya, the traditional Yemeni dagger, on their hips

As usual during the Holiday of the Sacrifice, children parade proudly in their finest clothes. Little boys walk a little awkwardly in adult costumes, including a tie. Some even wear their very first jambiya, the traditional Yemeni dagger, on their hips. Girls are dressed in colourful robes with matching handbags. Flowers and ribbons embellish their hair, arms and hands are often decorated with drawings in henna. As long as these girls have not yet reached puberty, they can afford such frivolities. At the latest when they are fourteen, the sharshaf becomes their straitjacket. For life.

 

Jibla

This tiny Jibla was once the capital of what later would become North Yemen. A confluence of circumstances brought Queen Arwa to power in 1086. There she managed to survive as a queen until her death in 1138, at the age of 92. Together with Zenobia of Palmyra and Bilqis of Seba, she is one of the few strong women who became queen in the Middle East. When Arwa turned her back on the old capital, Sana'a, and made Jibla her new residence, she felt the new capital could use a facelift. This resulted in the construction of a palace and a large mosque.

Together with Zenobia of Palmyra and Bilqis of Seba, Queen Arwa is one of the few strong women who became queen in the Middle East

Jibla – Mosque

Jibla – Tomb of Queen Arwa

Our visit to that mosque is by no means self-evident. Vague arguments are made to prevent us from entering the mosque as non-Muslims. That makes no sense, Salem argues. Patiently pleading, bit by bit, we advance into the courtyard. Some Muslims are sitting there praying. Standing at the door of the prayer hall, we are finally allowed to glance through the doorway without going inside.

 

Inside the mosque

Too bad, because in the northwest corner, hidden behind the pillars, is the beautiful tomb of Queen Arwa. A young Muslim willingly offers to take the desired pictures loaded with our cameras. That’s a job he performs excellently.

 

Palace of Queen Arwa

We walk down through the souq. Everyone on the street is in a feast mood. Many greetings are exchanged, including warm hugs and heartfelt kisses – only between grown men, of course. We descend to the jeeps past the ruins of the old palace of Queen Arwa. According to legend, there were 360 rooms in the palace.

 

* * * * *

 

As long as Hamid's daily portion of khat is not compromised, his good mood is indestructible. For the time being, we have nothing to fear, because in the highlands nothing stands in the way of a regular supply of khat. Later on, in the coastal region and the Hadhramaut, the situation can become tense. After all, khat only grows at an altitude of more than two thousand metres above sea level and must be fresh every day. Saving khat is not possible.

There even is a special daily flight to Djibouti, completely stuffed with khat – bird of paradise is the warm-hearted nickname for that flight

Khat plantation

Yemen was once the only supplier of coffee worldwide. The name of the port city of al-Mukha even became a generic name for coffee. However, the British and Dutch managed to smuggle the coffee plant out of Yemen and grow it in Indonesia and Brazil. Yemen's monopoly was shattered. Only then did the use of khat in Yemen gain momentum. Today, Yemen can call itself the world capital of khat. Even in Somalia, Eritrea, Djibouti and parts of Kenya, they eagerly await supplies from Yemen every day. There even is a special daily flight to Djibouti, completely stuffed with khat – bird of paradise is the warm-hearted nickname for that flight.

You only chew khat in the afternoon, from just after lunch to just before sunset. And it's only men who do it. As soon as Hamid has obtained his daily portion and has hung the plastic bag with the precious contents on the wiper control, his mood evolves from andante to vivace. Lovingly, he regularly runs his fingertips over the bag. A daily portion costs him 500 to 800 riyal, about two to three euros – day in, day out, seven days a week. If you want to score daily, your financial situation has to be solid. Still, Salem firmly denies there’s acquisition crime in Yemen.

Charging the khat usually takes an hour. One by one, you put the leaves in your mouth, you mix them with saliva and you squeeze them into a ball. You then cherish this ball in the hollow of one of your cheeks for hours – some men prefer the left cheek, some the right one. In the course of this process, Hamid gradually closes all communication channels. We get an image without sound. His gaze turns glassy, the whites of his eyes become wide and a little bloodshot, his alertness shifts to silent resignation. In fact, the autopilot takes over. But that doesn’t stop him from answering his mobile phone in the middle of a busy roundabout and in the meantime calling all other drivers donkeys.

 

* * * * *

 

From Aden we head east through the mountainous, partly volcanic inland of South Yemen. Military escorts will accompany us permanently for the next six days. Our safety might be at stake, as shrewd Yemenis in this region have discovered just how profitable kidnapping tourists can be. Where, when and how we will be escorted, not even Salem knows in advance.

Shrewd Yemenis have discovered just how profitable kidnapping tourists can be

South Yemen – Inland

For the time being it doesn't seem possible to get an escort. Seven jeeps with western tourists already have left with an escort today. With this, the full escort capacity of this corrupt government has been deployed. So we are allowed to drive east without escort. Apparently the risk of being kidnapped is not that great after all. It may be clear the escorts mainly aim at knocking money out of the tourists' pockets.

Gradually the vegetation disappears and a Sahel landscape unfolds. The Arabian Sea is still within reach. After more than a hundred kilometres we turn our backs to the sea and head into the rugged mountain country.

Not coincidentally, the military government does have an escort available here. Yohamsalm is the name of the soldier who will accompany us, albeit not in comfortable circumstances. Together with his Kalashnikov, he is stored in the boot of the first jeep. There he can enjoy the view of our luggage. How he will confront potential kidnappers in that position is not entirely clear to us.

Nor is it clear to us why, after about fifty kilometres, Yohamsalm is exchanged for Abdallah, a slightly older soldier. Apparently he also hates this aspect of his job. At the checkpoint in Al Ain, after about thirty kilometres, Abdallah sees his chance and slips away unseen. But his superiors intervene immediately. With great reluctance, Abdallah climbs back into the boot of the first jeep.

 

 

Jagged rocky mountains with a delicate vegetation of acacia trees, aloe and thorny shrubs force us to a photo stop in the middle of nowhere. From afar, a ragged Somali water seller approaches on foot, laden with full water jugs. No one is interested in his merchandise. As mysteriously as he came, he disappears again.

Meanwhile, Abdallah has managed to bend the short delay to his will. He orders an approaching security police jeep to stop. Then, together with these agents, he stops two civilian cars in which – oh, surprise – khat sellers are on their way to the market with their goods. The khat sellers spontaneously hand a few portions to the soldiers. Not without envy, Hamid observes the ease with which the soldiers obtain their daily khat portions.

As soon as we drive on, Hadar, one of the men in the blue uniform of the security police, appears to have taken Abdallah's place in the trunk. In al-Amrah, Hadar is unceremoniously replaced by Mehsim. He wears a beige camouflage suit, so he must be a soldier. Anyway, Mehsim likes this part of his job just as little as his predecessors because as soon as he sees the opportunity, he jumps out of the jeep at a checkpoint. Sadly, he immediately bumps into an officer. We don't understand a word of the conversation that develops between them afterwards. But the gestures and body language of both men leave no doubt. The message is loud and clear – stay in the jeep, Mehsim. Mehsim clambers sullenly into the trunk of the jeep.

 

 

The vaudeville of the escorts does not prevent us from enjoying the fascinating landscape. The wide valley with low trees gradually gives way to mountains with folded rock layers, which in turn give way to a vast sandy plain with acacia vegetation.

Fifty kilometres further, at the next checkpoint, Mehsim has a better plan. The jeep barely comes to a stop when Mehsim makes a run for it in a carefully chosen direction – one where not a single officer is in sight. So we don't have an escort for a while, but that won't last long. After all, noon is approaching fast. The next escort will be allowed to have lunch at our expense, a treat that no soldier wants to miss. So it is no surprise to us that suddenly a Toyota pick-up with four soldiers in khaki shows up to accompany us to lunch.

 

Armed police escort

A little further a white police pick-up is coming from the other direction. With their headlights our men in khaki exchange signals of understanding with the white pick-up. Our khakis make a U-turn, the white pick-up takes over the escort. So we're cheated. After all, the khakis already have their allowance for petrol, guidance and lunch in their pocket and have now disappeared. But at lunchtime the men of this white pickup will shamelessly demand the same allowance. So we pay twice for the same service.

Not without envy, Hamid observes the ease with which the soldiers obtain their daily khat portions

Protection during lunch

Khat after lunch

But that's not counting Salem. He does not accept these cheap tricks. At the next stop, he excitedly vents his displeasure. While we marvel at the gigantic landscapes, the layered rock formations and the sandy plains with their fragile vegetation, Salem manages to satisfy the police officers with an allowance for the lunch. Nothing more, nothing less.

Yemen is fabulously beautiful, by far one of the most beautiful countries in the world

Habban

The escort vaudeville almost made us forget, but the picturesque town of Habban reminds us – Yemen is fabulously beautiful, by far one of the most beautiful countries in the world. In our eyes, the fascinating landscape rivals both the American Monument Valley and the Jordanian Wadi Rum.

 

Habban

In the distance, amid that grandiose backdrop, lies two-thousand-year-old Habban. The houses have the same structure as in Sana'a, the capital, explains Salem. Such houses are basically the home of an extended family. A father lives there with his wife, his unmarried daughters, his sons and their wives and children.

 

Lamaten

 

A lot of space is needed to accommodate all those people. The clay houses are therefore five to six stories high. The ground floor is always used as a storage place and as a stable for livestock and pets. Higher up are the private quarters of the family members, with the mafradj at the very top. This is the most beautiful room in the house, specially furnished to receive and entertain guests. The staircase spirals up around a central pillar, allowing visitors to reach the mafradj without entering the private spaces where the women reside.

 

 

		Horned ghost crab
Arabian Sea near al-Mukalla		Praying on the beach

 

* * * * *

 

From the port city of al-Mukalla on the Arabian Sea, we begin our unescorted ascent of the three-hundred-metre-high plateau that covers much of South Yemen.

 

Climbing to the plateau

An uninhabitable rock desert it seems, but appearances are deceiving. Here and there wide ravines or wadis run deep scars through this landscape. The walls are so steep that you only notice a gorge when you are standing on the edge, so to speak. There you look down on idyllic green oases, where ancient villages thrive.

 

 

Winding and undulating, the road takes us through the treeless stone landscape – only a few sparse shrubs manage to survive here. Every now and then some wild camels pop up. A stiff breeze howls across the plateau – Salem promptly dons an extra sweater. A pack of wild dogs lives on the waste of a windswept service area.

 

Ras Howaira

In a humble Bedouin settlement, they serve tea for travellers. Roasted chicken legs lie on a barbecue, collecting desert sand. In the back of a Toyota pickup, a camel lazily waits for its boss. Playful youngsters got hold of an adult vulture. The poor animal is injured in the left leg, but is relentlessly tied to a water tap to become a painful attraction.

The walls are so steep that you only notice a gorge when you are standing on the edge, so to speak

Descent to Wadi Duw'an

The desolate stone desert seems to stretch endlessly. Then the road suddenly dives into a gorge and offers us a stunning view over the fertile Wadi Duw’an.

 

Descent to Wadi Duw'an

Hundreds of date palms and cedar trees create a pleasant oasis of greenery in the desert. Impressed by the scenery, we descend a short distance on foot. Apparently the valley is doing well – thanks to financial injections from Saudi Arabia.

 

Wadi Duw’an

 

The stately, large houses are well maintained or built fairly recently. The colourful, richly decorated wooden doors in particular attract our attention time and again. Even though the houses are hermetically sealed and the streets empty and deserted, we hear voices everywhere, especially from children. Only crazy tourists venture out into the streets on this sweltering midday hour.

 

The colourful, richly decorated wooden doors in particular attract our attention time and again

Just fifty kilometres south in this canyon are the roots of the Bin Laden family. Shortly before World War I, a member of that clan, Muhammad bin Laden, emigrated to Saudi Arabia to become a very wealthy sheikh. Sources differ quite a bit about his marital unions. It must have been between ten and twenty-two, the number of women the man was married to. But never more than four women at the same time – completely in accordance with Sharia. More than fifty children were born. Number 17 in that long list was Osama bin Laden.

 

Female shepherd with black sharshaf and typical pointed hat

In complete darkness we reach the fertile Wadi Hadramaut – a two kilometre wide, three hundred metre deep cut more than 160 km long in the desert plateau. The valley now has more than half a million inhabitants. It owes its prosperity to its position on the Frankincense Route. The road surface is in excellent condition, reflectors mark the lanes, traffic lights actually make their appearance.

 

Hajjarein

But Yemen will always be Yemen. The guard of the hotel greets us with a Kalashnikov in hand. A donkey brays us into the night.

 

* * * * *

 

The Manhattan of the desert, that's what they call Shibam. Quite rightly so

The Manhattan of the desert, that's what they call Shibam. Quite rightly so. Unlike many Yemeni villages, this desert gem doesn't cling to a mountain ridge like an eagles' nest, but stands in the middle of the plain on a rocky plateau that barely rises above the dry riverbed.

 

Shibam

About five hundred skyscrapers stand shoulder to shoulder, five to eight stories high, built in mud brick. All the roofs reach almost the same height, about thirty metres above street level, making the town look like a huge box of blocks.

 

Shibam

Like a hedgehog, the town closes itself off from the environment, completely surrounded by a wall. Only one gate gives access to the old town. Each of the approximately 7 600 inhabitants must pass through this gate. Sharp metal pins securing the monumental doors prevent enemy troops from smashing into the gates with elephants.

Children's heads watch us from behind windows, sometimes from a very great height

 

We too step through this gate to meet the enchanting scent of incense in Sahat al-Husn square. The muezzins are just starting the call for afternoon prayers. To our right rises the old palace of the sultan. Slowly we walk to the al-Jami mosque, gazing at all those architectural wonders.

The variety of decorations around the windows and on the slightly backward sloping facades is endless. The wooden doors with their large oeils-de-boeuf are often lavishly carved. On the higher floors, toilet rooms unabashedly protrude from the facades like blind bay windows. Human excrement fell from there into a bin on the street, ready to be scattered across the fields.

 

 

Dozens of goats easily find their way to their stables through the narrow alleys. Children's heads watch us from behind windows, sometimes from a very great height. Souvenir shops try to capitalize on the sporadic presence of tourists. At nightfall, older men gather in Sahat al-Husn square. Drinking thoughtfully from their hookah, they play with the dominoes in the pleasant cool of the evening.

 

Shibam

 

* * * * *

 

The return trip to the capital Sana’a will take us straight through the Ramlat al-Sabatein, the desert in the heart of Yemen. This is the territory of some Bedouin tribes. Even the Yemeni government cannot control them. Soldiers or police officers escorting tourists are not tolerated here. If tourists need to be protected from dangerous tribes, those dangerous tribes themselves will provide that protection. Each in turn, the tribes escort the tourists to their destination and expect a modest fee for their assistance.

If tourists need to be protected from dangerous tribes, those dangerous tribes themselves will provide that protection

 

Even members of dangerous tribes want to return home at a decent hour after doing their job, that goes without saying. For us, that means getting up very early in the morning. At half past three, to be specific. It's still a bit chilly outside, to the extent that Hamid has dressed as if he's about to leave for Antarctica. In the distance, the muezzin starts chanting the morning prayer.

Just after six we reach the place where Nadzji and Ali, our obscure guardian angels, are waiting for us in their Toyota Land Cruiser. Nadji – the man we had to get up so early for – sleeps in the back seat under a blanket, while his son Ali takes his place behind the wheel. Two Kalashnikovs are within reach on the passenger seat. You never know.

 

Ramlat al-Sabatein

Without any problems, we pass three military checkpoints. Some rock formations appear to have been taken from Monument Valley and placed here. Gradually, the landscape changes into a flat desert, bordered on both sides by rock walls that form the edges of the wadi. Checkpoints continue to follow each other every 10 to 15 km, but they don't interfere with us.

In Kushum al-Ainam, the real desert makes its appearance. Air is released from the tires of the jeeps to widen the bearing surface. Nadji now takes the wheel from Ali. At one hundred and twenty per hour – significantly faster than on the asphalt road – we race through a desert as flat as a pancake.

 

Ramlat al-Sabatein

By way of distraction, Nadji and Ali provide some spectacle. They hand me a Kalashnikov just for fun. For safety's sake, Nadji has disabled the automatic mode. Otherwise, this assault weapon would fire 600 rounds per minute. An empty PET bottle at a respectable distance will act as a target. This AK-47 is accurate enough to hit a target at a distance of 1 500 m. In my hands, hitting the target is not even possible at a distance of a few tens of metres. But the weapon's heavy recoil surprises me. It is mind-boggling to realize that the bullets with that same impact penetrate the body of a victim, ten bullets per second if necessary. Official estimates put the number of firearms in Yemen at 50 to 60 million. That's three to four per capita, including women and children.

Official estimates put the number of firearms in Yemen at 50 to 60 million. That's three to four per capita, women and children included

Through a slightly undulating dune landscape we continue to the southwest and cross one dune after the other. Yet the Ramlat al-Sabatein fails to really appeal to us. As impressive as this vast, desolate desert landscape may be, the overwhelming beauty of, say, the Libyan Acacus Mountains is something you will not find here. Nevertheless, the sight of some dry salt deposits of a basin that exceptionally catches some rainwater manages to pleasantly surprise us.

 

 

A lonely camel nurses her young. Her front legs are tied together, so Bedouins can't be far away. Treacherous fine desert sand surprises Hamid for a moment. The jeep gets stuck for a moment, but Hamid manages to break free. A little later we stop in a tent camp in the middle of a noisy herd of camels. We neatly put our shoes aside, lie down on the carpet and sip our tea. Handmade jewellery does the rounds, but doesn't change hands.

Men in traditional thobe, with the Kalashnikov casually over their shoulder and the jambiya behind the belt, crowd around a khat shop

 

At a military checkpoint we reach the black asphalt just before noon. That concludes our desert trip of 160 km. The drivers prepare the tires of their jeeps for the hard surface. Men in traditional thobes, with a Kalashnikov casually over their shoulder and a jambiya behind the belt, crowd around a khat shop. For the time being, the landscape remains what it used to be – a quasi-flat sandy desert.

 

Khat shop

Army checkpoint

Suddenly, a blowout forces Nadzji to put his jeep aside with great difficulty. No need to be surprised – the profile of the jeep's tires hardly differs from that of a billiard ball. A blowout was just an accident waiting to happen. But the spare wheel cannot be used. The rusted screws hold the spare wheel securely in place. Our driver Whaled generously puts his spare wheel at the disposal of Nadzji.

As we go further west, the military government gets bolder and dares to show up again – we perceive a concealed army camp, a machine gun on the roof of a building, a pickup truck with manned artillery.

 

* * * * *

 

Ma’reb

This is how we end up in Ma’reb, one of the most famous, but also most enigmatic civilizations to ever flourish here, namely the Empire of Sheba. At its height, Sheba was more powerful than any empire in the Arabian Peninsula. Ma'reb owed that power almost exclusively to its position on the Frankincense Trade Route. After all, it was only on the southern coast of the Arabian Peninsula that the tree could be found with the fragrant gum resin that was so sought after in the Middle East and the Mediterranean.

It was only on the southern coast of the Arabian Peninsula that the tree could be found with the fragrant gum resin that was so sought after

Ma’reb

However, it is not this story of Sheba's power and wealth that captures the imagination today, but the iconic aura of one of its rulers – Bilqis, Queen of Sheba. There is no archaeological evidence that a queen named Bilqis ever ruled Sheba. Yet chapter 10 of the Old Testament's First Book of Kings falls short for words to describe the splendour of her state visit to Solomon, King of Israel, in the 10th century BC.

 

Hamid from head to toe

The ancient tabloids must have raved about it and even were convinced that a male descendant was born from that cordial encounter. Under the name Menelik I, the king's son is said to have become the first ruler of Ethiopia. Even in the twentieth century, Emperor Haile Selassie still had himself called Heir of the Seed of King Solomon.

Even in the twentieth century, Emperor Haile Selassie still had himself called Heir of the Seed of King Solomon

“Temple of Bilqis”

Mahram Bilqis and Arsh Bilqis, the Temple and Throne of Bilqis, is what the Yemenis call the sites we are visiting. Completely wrong of course, because these sites date from about 400 BC – hundreds of years after the era of the legendary queen. But we hardly can blame the Yemenis trying to capitalize on the mythical appeal of the Queen of Sheba.

For centuries, these sites acted as cheap quarries for the locals. That has left its mark. From behind the wire fence we look at what is left of the buildings – eight pillars, a wall of the large oval temple, a monumental staircase with a beautiful row of ibex statues. Some stones show traces of the original Sabaean script. In a hidden corner we find ten recently discovered tombs. Lifelike effigies depict the heads of the deceased.

 

Lifelike effigies of the deceased

The fact that in the meantime two groups of tourists have been entrusted to the care of the khakis appears to cause insurmountable problems. It is not allowed to leave the site without a military escort, but there is no longer an escort available to accompany us.

Eventually a soldier is found who will accompany us. We drive through the city at eighty kilometres an hour, the soldier clinging bravely to the outside of Hamid's door, the tips of his toes unsteady on the footboard.

 

“Throne of Bilqis”

With their clownish behaviour, the soldiers inadvertently create an atmosphere of casual carelessness. Erroneously, as it turns out. Because in a few months, exactly on this spot seven Spanish tourists and two Yemenis will be killed in their jeeps in an Al-Qaeda suicide attack.

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Jaak Palmans

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