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Woke up late. Had our showers, did some laundry. Abdo drove us to the
Bab El Yemen, one of the entrances to the old city. Aida and I walked
around. We met a local, Mohammad, who took us around the souks, and
then to have lunch with his brother's family. They made a traditional
Yemeni dish and begged that we take pictures of their two sons to send
to them in return. Mohammad bought us some qat. He is really
nice to us (as are most people in this country), and answered every
question I had about Yemen. He does computer work at the Ministry of
Health but his passion was poetry, so when we were walking around the
streets, he was intoxicating me with line after line of his favorite
poetry. He then took us to some friends of his and left us there to
go to work. The house was filled with women, the mother and a few of
her girls, from their teens to their thirties. The younger one had just
returned from school, and all of them were comfortably unveiled. It
was nice to see them, in what to me was a more relaxed atmosphere, than
when they're covered up outside. To see their faces, their bodies, their
dresses, their bras even.
We continued our walk; it started raining hard. We took refuge in the
hotel we had stayed in our first night in town, had some tea, chewed
the qat Mohammad had gotten for us. We chatted with some British women
who were interesting. One of them was a CNN reporter based in Kenya,
the other a jewelry make who had come to Yemen to get inspired by the
local art. It was a very relaxing afternoon, and for a change it was
nice to talk to foreigners and relax from the Arabic.
This couple came in from the rain for momentary shelter. They sat down
across from us. The girl seemed so young and interested in us. She started
at us, probably in curiousity as well as disgust. Here we were single,
free, uncovered, doing whatever we wanted, sitting at our leisure. We
weren't bound by tradition like she was. She didn't speak, but her eyes
said so much. I felt sorry for her, even if this is the way things are
here. Similarly, I felt sorry for one of the girls that we had met at
Mohammad's friend's house. She was only 18 and already had a three year
old and an eight month old baby.
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