This is on the road to Kharaz refugee camp. Driving from Aden to the camp you'll see a few people on the side of the road every 30 minutes or so, walking, hitch-hiking, riding camels. You'll also see people - usually children - running towards the road with empty bottles pleading for water. Drivers on the road are their only source of it. There is no camera lens wide enough to capture the emptiness of this area. No one I've asked can figure out why (and how) Yemenis live in this area. We hear "middle of nowhere" used so often but it's fitting for this area. 31 May 2009
We're on a road to nowhere
This is on the road to Kharaz refugee camp. Driving from Aden to the camp you'll see a few people on the side of the road every 30 minutes or so, walking, hitch-hiking, riding camels. You'll also see people - usually children - running towards the road with empty bottles pleading for water. Drivers on the road are their only source of it. There is no camera lens wide enough to capture the emptiness of this area. No one I've asked can figure out why (and how) Yemenis live in this area. We hear "middle of nowhere" used so often but it's fitting for this area. 
RICS
As you all can testify to I am always late with everything, and I might be a wee bit late with this thank you, but my gratitude is profound.
To everyone at Refugees and Immigrant Community Services,there are no words to describe the enormity of the work you do everyday. I am so humbled by your dedication and compassion, your drive to contribute to the betterment of society and the world. It is admirable, it is awe inspiring, it is praise worthy.
Thank you for being great co-workers and great friends. For putting up with my glaring shiny red shoes, my lame jokes, and mildly disturbing personality.
To the families I had the honor of working with, thank you for accepting me, and welcoming me into your lives. Each and every one of you has enriched my life more than you can ever imagine. I will forever be grateful.
Under the fierce Yemeni sun, I raise my glass of syrupy sweet tea to you all! Thank you!
To everyone at Refugees and Immigrant Community Services,there are no words to describe the enormity of the work you do everyday. I am so humbled by your dedication and compassion, your drive to contribute to the betterment of society and the world. It is admirable, it is awe inspiring, it is praise worthy.
Thank you for being great co-workers and great friends. For putting up with my glaring shiny red shoes, my lame jokes, and mildly disturbing personality.
To the families I had the honor of working with, thank you for accepting me, and welcoming me into your lives. Each and every one of you has enriched my life more than you can ever imagine. I will forever be grateful.
Under the fierce Yemeni sun, I raise my glass of syrupy sweet tea to you all! Thank you!
15 May 2009
Good Things
This week has been difficult. I'm trying to concentrate on good things. These are some things I really enjoy about being here so far.Saltah: the national dish of Yemen, usually eaten in the north for lunch but there are a couple spots nearby that make it and it is good. You can see in the picture above the heavy dish with saltah in it. The dish is heated empty then in goes a cracked egg, rice, beef or lamb with sauce/juice, and then at the very end a frothy cup of fenugreek. It comes to your table bubbling hot and it takes a lot of patience to let it cool down enough to eat - because it's good! The bread in the picture next to it is the everyday bread you get at restaurants here. The food in Yemen is some of the best I have ever had.
This picture is of Elephant Bay beach. This is where I go swimming every weekend. I swim past the rocks and can see fish of all colors and sizes, beautiful coral, sea cucumbers, and sea urchins. Last week I even saw a morey eel. The best is swimming with a huge school of tiny silver fish.Other things here that I enjoy are going to the Seera fish market, choosing a fish just caught, then going to the restaurant to have them cook it; tea with everything; seeing Somali children everywhere; buses driving with their side doors wide open; being able to buy good incense and oud in almost every outdoor market; every outdoor market; fresh lime juice; how people greet each other with salaams; how things get relatively quiet on Friday mornings; the boats; seeing people fishing; the mountains that surround Aden; the way most Yemenis treat beggers with respect; the goats; the music.
01 May 2009
Wedding Party
Thursday night is wedding time. I happened to catch these guys after walking home from a restaurant. The music was strong. It sounded like some African stuff I've heard because of the time signatures, the conversation between the different tones of the drums, and the call-and-response style of singing. It was nothing like any other Arab music I've ever heard. It shows how closely Africa and the Arabian Peninsula are connected. But the drums they're playing are Indian style. The area where this picture was taken was developed by British colonialists to house their Indian servants. Apparently it wasn't only bread, sweets, and curry the Indians left behind.
Work Has Been Interesting
The other day an Oromo refugee man upset over the fact that we wouldn’t help him pay for his medication pulled out a knife and threatened to stab a coworker of mine. Our security guard had been chatting with his friends and didn’t notice what was happening, so staff had to handle it.
Nearly every day a Somali woman named Ayesha comes to the office to demand cash or material assistance. She sometimes uses her crutches as weapons when she gets angry. She also screams very loudly but last week I saw her in a relatively quiet mood. She was sitting in the waiting area, quietly criticizing everyone who passed. As an American coworker walked past her Ayesha said, “And that one is from Britain but she can’t even speak English.” She chose to harass me next, scolding me for having a Somali wife but not being able to speak Somali.
The agency I work for is responsible for most social programs in Basateen. That means, more than anything really, that there are many refugees who come to the office to ask for material assistance. To most refugees I’m sure that more cash, food, medicine, clothing, etc. will make life better. The situation in Basateen is absolutely dire but there are those suffering from trauma that tend to focus on material as the solution to everything painful. When we do give them what they say they need they’re often back in the office the next day to demand something else.
There are a few women we serve who are like this but there is one who's very extreme. Last week she came to the office to ask for help to get back to Somalia. She said she’s had enough of Yemen. This was after she had received cash, food, and mattresses – all of which she requested. She thought the material would ease her suffering. When it didn’t she blamed her pain on being in Yemen. She said she wanted to leave her children here and return to Somalia. She became so distressed and desperate for attention that she tried to undress in front of our staff in the office. She was screaming wildly as she tore off her clothes.
As if all this wasn’t enough, the office itself has been hard to bear. The electricity has been off for over three weeks now, which means that we cannot even run fans. If it’s 95 degrees outside, it’s easily 100 inside the office. The supervisor tells everyone at the morning meetings that the electricity will soon be back on. She implores everyone to be steadfast then leaves for her air-conditioned office in another area of Aden, far from Basateen.
There have also been stretches where the office is without any water. It’s hard to describe the feeling of using a “bathroom” that's easily over 100 degrees, whose walls are covered with all sorts of bugs, and doesn’t have any water. Luckily the malaria medication I'm taking has plugged me up.
The apartment the agency set me up in has cockroaches and rats. Worse, there’s a mosque directly across the street whose loudspeakers are level with my bedroom window. Around 4:30 every morning I wake up when they turn the speakers on. I can hear the click and then the static. Then we have to listen to some poor, tone deaf elderly man do his best adhan. The mosque also broadcasts every prayer, every khutba (sermon), and every Qu’ran class during the week. I stopped going to the mosque in Chicago because I felt like I was constantly being yelled at. This seems to be my punishment.
Nearly every day a Somali woman named Ayesha comes to the office to demand cash or material assistance. She sometimes uses her crutches as weapons when she gets angry. She also screams very loudly but last week I saw her in a relatively quiet mood. She was sitting in the waiting area, quietly criticizing everyone who passed. As an American coworker walked past her Ayesha said, “And that one is from Britain but she can’t even speak English.” She chose to harass me next, scolding me for having a Somali wife but not being able to speak Somali.
The agency I work for is responsible for most social programs in Basateen. That means, more than anything really, that there are many refugees who come to the office to ask for material assistance. To most refugees I’m sure that more cash, food, medicine, clothing, etc. will make life better. The situation in Basateen is absolutely dire but there are those suffering from trauma that tend to focus on material as the solution to everything painful. When we do give them what they say they need they’re often back in the office the next day to demand something else.
There are a few women we serve who are like this but there is one who's very extreme. Last week she came to the office to ask for help to get back to Somalia. She said she’s had enough of Yemen. This was after she had received cash, food, and mattresses – all of which she requested. She thought the material would ease her suffering. When it didn’t she blamed her pain on being in Yemen. She said she wanted to leave her children here and return to Somalia. She became so distressed and desperate for attention that she tried to undress in front of our staff in the office. She was screaming wildly as she tore off her clothes.
As if all this wasn’t enough, the office itself has been hard to bear. The electricity has been off for over three weeks now, which means that we cannot even run fans. If it’s 95 degrees outside, it’s easily 100 inside the office. The supervisor tells everyone at the morning meetings that the electricity will soon be back on. She implores everyone to be steadfast then leaves for her air-conditioned office in another area of Aden, far from Basateen.
There have also been stretches where the office is without any water. It’s hard to describe the feeling of using a “bathroom” that's easily over 100 degrees, whose walls are covered with all sorts of bugs, and doesn’t have any water. Luckily the malaria medication I'm taking has plugged me up.
The apartment the agency set me up in has cockroaches and rats. Worse, there’s a mosque directly across the street whose loudspeakers are level with my bedroom window. Around 4:30 every morning I wake up when they turn the speakers on. I can hear the click and then the static. Then we have to listen to some poor, tone deaf elderly man do his best adhan. The mosque also broadcasts every prayer, every khutba (sermon), and every Qu’ran class during the week. I stopped going to the mosque in Chicago because I felt like I was constantly being yelled at. This seems to be my punishment.
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