The Russian Club
Even the same sounds sketchy—The Russian Club. Recalling to mind cold days, scantily-clad women, and cheap vodka. Well the club’s location in Yemen necessitates that the vodka be not all that cheap, and it’s not really THAT cold, but scanty clothing was in abundant supply and the place was packed with people ranging from 20 year old Thais to Embassy workers, local Yemenis, and 65-year-old Arabs. So about it being a little sketchy…
The music leant a little too much toward the Euro-techo bent, but the dance floor was packed (the 9 people I was with at times took up a substantial percentage of the dance floor) and the so-so music compensated for by the gin and tonics. We danced and sang, and as the alcohol flowed, the Europeans’ dancing got a little dirtier (okay, more American) and everyone got friendlier. It was a very “last outpost of civilization” sort of a vibe, down to the crusty old barkeeper, his English and Arabic both broken with his heavy Russian accent, the vodka bottles kept in the freezer, the palm-thatched bathrooms outside, and the dozen different languages being spoken as a Thai pop group pleaded with Ryan and I to “be in the picture, pleeeeease.” But the dancing was good and the company entertaining. Nothing like having to explain to your sober Yemeni Muslim friends at 4am exactly why the German girls and British are being so friendly toward one another. Well, sometimes when people drink, it lowers their social inhibitions, and… you get the picture.
It’s one of the questions frequently asked by Yemenis who have never drunk alcohol; what happens, what does it feel like, and what is the purpose. As with all humanity, endless curiosity about the unknown. Here, the unknown includes me and while the curiosity (at times bordering on confusion) toward my existence is at times entertaining, it is also the reason why I could never make Yemen my permanent residence. Over the past week, friends residing here have encouraged me to come back for a longer period of time and while I love the culture, the people are kind and incredibly friendly and helpful, and the random occurrences endlessly entertaining, I cause a spectacle every time I walk down the road without the burqua (which would be all of the time). In Egypt, the men were/are forward and often offensive, but my presence doesn’t cause quite the stir of passion and curiosity that it does here.
The Lebanese Club—exponentially sketchier than the Russian Club
“Wait!” you say. “What? How? Didn’t you just say the Russian Club was pretty sketchy? What is this Lebanese Club business and how can it be sketchier? The Lebanese aren’t sketchy!” They’re not, but the club without doubt is…
On the upside: I saw Yemenis breakdancing, learned some traditional Arab dances (not gonna lie, all I could think was “ELECTRIC SLIDE!!!”), and had a night of entertainment courtesy of my friends and I mocking various other people in the club. On the downside, I was the only girl in the entire club who was not a prostitute and either Yemeni or Ethiopian. This, of course, has both positive and negative aspects: positive, classiest girl in the room; negative, the only one not dry humping every pole and wall in sight; positive, not dry humping every pole and wall in sight; negative, I was shocked by some of the dancing. I, a blue-blooded American, was shocked by the scandalous nature of the dancing… let’s just say that one of the twins popped out at one point. While the Russian Club screams “last outpost”, the Lebanese Club reeks of secret hedonism and a slight dirtiness. The overwhelming presence of women who have resorted to prostitution, by choice or forced by circumstance, added an air of near desperation.
In order to counter this air, I shall add photos of the people I study with for your amusement
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