I flew into at Sana’a airport just after midnight with a fiver in my pocket and no other means of financial support. My debit card was way over the limit and no cash point machine would give me money – which was a bit academic because the airport cashpoint was broken. None of this mattered. My friend was going to meet me. “Come to the Yemen”, he said, “you won’t need money, just come”.
To a penniless student waiting to go off to theological college it was a dream offer. Except he wasn’t there to meet me. A curfew started in an hour and a number of intimidating looking technicals – civilian pick-up trucks mounted with machine guns – patrolled the airport grounds. That was the beginning of the first adventure. The first of many. Welcome to Yemen.
My final destination was Taiz, a city over 150 miles to the south, up in the mountains. My friend made a living selling large cartons of Rothmans cigarettes to the locals, touring the middle part of the country in a Toyota land cruiser packed with fags. With our gnarled-looking local guide and protector, who lost an eye fighting the Israelis in the Yom Kippur war, we travelled into every out-of-the-way village, every part of a town or port, flogging our cancer sticks to absurdly grateful locals.
Some children had never seen westerners before and would run out to greet us. Rothmans, Toyotas and Kalashnikovs – these were gestures of acknowledgement to the twentieth century, everything else felt like the Middle Ages. It was like nothing I had ever experienced. The smells, the sounds, the flies, the Qat, the gun souks (markets), the in-your-face intensity of the temperature and humidity.
In the day I would wander over to the leper colony and play chess with men and women, who would grasp the pieces between their wrists because they had lost all their fingers. No doubt Edward Said would accuse me of the worst kind of sentimentalised Orientalism as I lay on the roof at night and listened to the call to prayer waft over the town. But aesthetically, I still find Islam the most beautiful of the world’s religious traditions. And I fell in love with Yemen and with Taiz.
Today, however, Taiz has been flattened, obliterated. Photos of it look like the surface of the moon. Or like Dresden after the Second world war. And while I recognise a few of the local natural landmarks in the photographs, I recognise none of the town itself.
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