Photos of: the fish market, a view from my room, and the Old City of Sana'a. Just some random shots of where I live!
This past weekend I forsook adventures outside the city and spent some time around Sana’a, attempting to memorize words I can barely pronounce and generally lounging. Now you’re thinking, lounging? Why just lounging? Kind of a waste of time…
Yes, but this weekend saw the northern front of a tropical storm hit Sana’a and we were more than a little bit wet. I’m not talking “the entire city flooded and I am on my roof in a liferaft” wet, but wet enough to be a little cold (didn’t bring the GorTex) and to bring out one of the world’s greatest terrors: Yemenis driving in rain. Now Yemeni drivers are bad—really, really bad. They’re what Egyptian drivers would be if a: there were less people on the road b: there were less police officers on the road and c: there were more motorcycles. Crossing even a 2-lane street is harrowing at the best of times as just when you think you’ve crossed that final lane and passed that final car, a crazed 20-something motorcyclist darts out from behind the debab minibus and makes a fervent attempt to smash into you. Add lots of water. Can we say hydroplane?
Meanwhile, I spent the day avoiding the maniacs on the road by studying, attempting to watch the news in Arabic on AlJazeera; about the only thing I can currently understand in any detail is the weather report. My key secondary homework avoidance tactic was an attempt to cook apple pie. All things considered, this was an extremely successful endeavor. And if the Europeans didn’t already consider me stereotypically American, this pretty much wrapped it up…
And finally, yesterday I enjoyed my first ever Middle Eastern wedding!!! It was a very fun affair, but very different than your standard western wedding… It was the wedding party of my teacher’s friend and consisted of 2-300 of her nearest and dearest female friends, family, and neighbors. The party is held in a rented mafraj—a big room lined with low Arab-style couches above a room lined in mirrors for the burquad and baltoed women to make last-minute alterations to their party costumes. In Yemeni weddings, there are two separate parties at two separate locations, thereby allowing the women to unveil and enjoy themselves dancing, singing, and celebrating. There is no food with the exception of maybe a little cake and some water at weddings; rather, people bring their own food if they choose to eat, their own hookahs if they want to smoke (and there was lots of smoking), and their own qat if they want to chew qat***.
The women resemble a flock of sparkly, beaded, butterflies, with everyone dressed to the nines in brightly-colored junior-prom/80s style dresses. Some of the younger girls, especially, were gorgeous and tasteful; seeing what women look like with hair uncovered was a fun adventure. But then there was that one woman, who at 40 and quite voluptuous, was wearing a baby pink crochet bikini top and miniskirt; I am still recovering from the shock of having that image burned into my retnas.
An hour or two into the party the bride arrives and begins her slow walk from the entrance of the mafraj to the gold and fake-flower covered dais at the front of the room. She wears a white, western-style gown in this case with a full hoopskirt and lacy-white veil. Her henna is not just on her hands and feet as is common in many Arab countries, but consists of small floral patterns on her arms, legs, and torso. Upon entering, a song unique to Sana’a is played congratulating the bride and reminding her of her imminent departure from her mother’s household. The younger women and her relatives crowd around, clapping and singing, as she walks and stops, walks and stops her way up a raised runway (it took about 15 minutes, which is apparently a fairly fast walk). Walking too fast is a sign that she is anxious to get married and apparently leads to serious harassing from the bride’s female relatives. Well my Arabic isn’t great, but the phrase “la la la, mashallah” is pretty easy, so myself and Hanna and Nicole (two German students here) were able to chant and sing with the best of them. Tragically, I am unable to do the cool tongue whistle wedding call and even more tragically, you’re not allowed to take photos, so I have no schnazzy shots to adequately describe these gowns. However, I will take photos of some of the dresses in store windows (well, many of them can’t really be described as dresses—I’d put them in the lingerie category) and if you’re lucky, I might even bring one back for you. (Kate, Erin O’Shea… just you be ready!)
*** Qat is a tree whose leaves have narcotic properties; almost everyone here chews the leaves for a couple hours per day, the result apparently being a cross between caffeine and amphetamines. It is also notorious as the source of the cheek bulge that causes many Yemeni men—from my taxi drivers to shopkeepers to businessmen—to look like chipmunks every afternoon and speak like they're playing the game "chubby bunny". As though Arabic wasn’t hard enough to understand to begin with…
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