Back on the road... Part 2

....And waited eagerly was something I did, or rather, my waiting for more information turned from an enthusiastic "when do I start?" to a frustrated.."Ok..hello..is anybody out there?".... let me explain......
I’d finally managed to establish some sort of strategic structure of how I was going to tackle the brochures, pamphlets etc.., which in itself is a colossal feat during Ramadam, due to the fact that shops (including internet cafe's which is what I primarily use to work on my brochures) are only open from 6.30 pm to 3 am and that half the people that are supposed to be my contacts for the translations from English , Somali to Arabic just don’t seem to show up to work.
So, In a way I was ready to rock and roll. I began by interviewing the right people for the right info, and spending late nights at internet café’s trying to accomplish the job ahead, all in a race against time, as it was and always is “ Man versus power cuts” when it comes to using electric fuelled products in Sana’a. In other words I had some sort of flow going on, and when I was then called to see Mr Dhubai in regards to teaching classes, I felt I had to put everything on hold, because after all, he is the top dog, and if he felt there was something more useful for me to be doing then maybe his judgment was one I should rely on, even though I did so with regret. I don’t like letting people down, and to begin a project and not bringing to completion has repercussion effects not only to the party you promised you’d get the job done to, but also to yourself, as it feels as if you’ve begun to work on a puzzle only to realize your missing fundamental pieces, and cannot complete the picture that looked so beautiful on the front cover.
So the waiting game began. Two days passed and I began to wonder wheater I was going to receive the phone call or the laptop promised, so that I could begin to plan how I would structure the classes and also find out necessary information such as wheater the students had any basic computer literacy or understanding of the English language. Three days passed, and still no call, no e-mail, no messenger pigeon and no sign of any change in the horizon.
I may come across as impatient, but when you have a limited time span in a country and when the quality of people’s lives is at stake, time is of the essence , and the last thing I wanted to do was sit at home waiting for someone to call me when at least a couple of days earlier I had a job to do. I decided to break formality rules, got over my phobia of disturbing a very important person with a phone call from a mere volunteer and called Mr Dhubai. My first five phone calls were met by the notorious Arabic answering service informing me the person required is unavailable. I decided to ring the right hand man, but was met by the same answering service. The only option left was to go to the IDF Comm Service office where the right hand man , Mr amar, works .I hailed down the first taxi in sight, reached the centre and asked for Mr Amar’s whereabouts. Nobody seemed to have any clues as to his location or as to when he would arrive, so not really knowing what to do next, I headed back home. I managed to get both Amar’s and Mr Dhubai’s e-mail address from my cousin, so headed off to the net café just to send a quick message asking to be contacted when best convenient, mainly because I was really eager to know more, and also sent a text message to both just in case the e-mail did not reach the desired parties. Confident a reply was around the corner, I found my bed, reached for the book I bought on departure from Perth, and before long, drifted off into a deep sleep that saw me wake up the following morning, still fully clothed and with the book wedged between my cheek and the pillow..
My first thought when awake, even if still in dopey mode, was to reach for my phone, half excited at the prospect of a text message or a missed call, but my excitement was soon extinguished by the absence of either. This was my third day. I got dressed, went to the net café, checked for new messages but the outcome was ditto. I went through the same process again, call, text, e-mail, visits to the center, finger crossing and so on, but for the following four days all I got was the same silence and lack of response. By day six I began spiraling into a half depressed half frustrated self sympathetic mode that really was unproductive for either myself or those around me. A more analytical person would have found some logic around as to why I suddenly felt left in the lurch, and no doubt would have handled the situation with a more controlled, logical reaction. However life is a continuous teacher, and the lessons we learn are many and can sometimes last longer than we’d like them to. I felt I needed to react, because this …“poor me why am I not being contacted back” attitude was pathetic, and a voice deep down in my soul told me that the lesson to be learnt from this chapter was a valuable one, one that would define character and attitude for the times to come. Its funny, but when you volunteer to do some free work for people less fortunate than yourself, in a way “self” likes to put itself on some sort of pedestal and scream out the world…”Hey, I’m putting myself out here…I could be back in my comfortable surroundings thinking about me, so how dare you snob me when I volunteer to put my time aside to come give a hand?????...
Its sickening right, but to my understanding human nature is at its essence is selfish, and it is a conscious realization and decision one must make to look at the issues from the other side of the coin, the side that does not include you, your comfort, or your needs, but it is that very side that also holds the key to a greater understanding of life, and the depth of its core. All I ever need to do is sit down with one of my Somali friends and listen to their story, the hardships they endured, the journey they’ve walked, to realize that my problems are sooooo little and insignificant in comparison, and to awaken to the fact that in order to see change, I must be willing to change myself...
TO BE CONTINUED….

Back on the road again...PART 1

First and foremost, my apologies. So far as keeping a blog goes, one should aim to update on a daily basis to ensure most accounts are told and no details left to be blurred by the sands of time, however, so far as the past week goes, the accounts to be told are few, and the details, well, maybe best forgotten.
All was sailing smoothly as previously told in the 'IDF Thrown into a world of confusion chapter', or at least, as smoothly as being thrown in a non English speaking disorganized environment could be. However, my genial brainstorming concepts of how I was going to revolutionize IDF and re organize it into a functioning modern clinic was thrown into complete chaos by the introduction of a phone call from the HEAD Honcho of The IDF community services department.
I was asked to meet with him and his right hand man to discuss some ideas he had about my being there. From the initial tone of voice he used, which was quite stern and distant, I thought the meeting would involve his politely asking what the hell am I doing volunteering in Yemen and would I please mind leaving on the first plane available..or helicopter..or boat..or heck..to even start swimming, but as it turned out, his agenda was quite different. I got up the morning of the meeting and was quite nervous about the whole ordeal, but decided that whatever may be awaiting was obviously unavoidable and perhaps already sealed by the hands of fate. So,resigned to whatever may lay ahead, I proceeded to light up the little gas bottle in my 1x1 square meter kitchen and got on with my familiar coffee making ritual.
I hailed a taxi, and arrived at the prescribed building using a mixture of hand gestures, try hard arabic/japanese slang and a whole lot of finger pointing, which as I later realized, was quite useless as I myself did not know where I was going. On a footnote, it seems that basic information is unnecessary here in Yemen,like ,if it is Allah's will, it shall come to pass, and if not,well, it was never meant to be.

Ushered into the building by a cross eyed Yemeni I was directed into the room where "The Boss" was waiting for me. I looked for firing squads, secret assassins lurking in the shadows waiting to jump me, or at very least immigration officers eager to direct my behind back to Australia, but alas, none of the above were present....just an empty room, with a large grained wooden table and a harmless looking guy sporting a wide grin on his face.

"Welcome Johanahathahan!" was the greeting I received. I guess all those h's used in my name were the arabic equivalent to how my name is pronounced, or maybe, just maybe, the guy heard my name through the arabic grapevine, which well, seems to tangle and distort information to a great extent.
He invited me to sit, and asked......"So, what is your specialization Johanahathahan?"
I was tempted to reply with a " eating a huge bowl of pasta in the blink of an eye" but as I really dont have a specialization, I told him that I enjoy art, graphic design and would like to help in whatever way possible. "The boss", after deciding that Im not actually as ritarded as I may have looked, decided to unfold his plan, or rather , his ingenious Idea of how to best utilize my talents. He told me they run a non for profit training center by the name of 'SUCCEED", which aims to equip refugees and yemeni with skills such as Information technology, computer literacy, english and design related knowledge using programs such as ILLUSTRATOR, PHOTOSHOP, COREL and so on... He then asked wheater I would be interested in teaching at the center, to which I eagerly replied yes.
With one swift move of his left hand " also known as the Haram hand" for it is used for unclean purposes such as wiping your butt after business is taken care of ( Toilet paper is not used in Yemen), he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialled for Amer,his right hand man.
Noise pollution is not accidental in Yemen, but frequent and on purpose, and this is demonstrated not only by the incessant blaring horns of cars and buses, but also in the way Yemeni communicate with one another. It's a common sight to witness two friends walking hand in hand on the street, standing basically millimetres apart, screaming into each other's faces at a decibel volume that would make a heavy metal band blush in comparison. Maybe they feel that unless everybody in the 100 km radius hears you, its just not worth saying, but at the same time Im convinced that spending one year in Sana'a would render my ear drums as usefull as a pair of tits on a bull. So, after screaming into the handset informing Amer that Johanahahathahan Is ready to be picked up and taken to inspect the center, we conclude our meeting with a hand shake (using the right hand) , and I tell the boss it was nice to meet him and that I look forward to any future co-operation.

Im at taken to "SUCCEED", and make my way to the third floor where I am told Amer is waiting. I see a lift, but the doors are partly closed and it looks like the last time it was used was prior to World War 1, so I figured excercise is good after all, and make my way up the stair case. Amer greets with with a few less h's to my name and shows me around the center. Im taken back,the center is actually modern looking, clean, and well equipped, which is something that I haven't had the opportunity to witness so far in Sana'a. He explains to me that the whole graphic design side of Succed is a new concept they have come up with, and it must have been Allah himself who dropped this foreign master of art and design upon their doorstep. Im humbled, but proceed to explain to Amer that although Im ok at various programmes Im not exactly a Design professor and that I will only be staying in Sana'a for three months, after which, this design master will need to be replaced by someone else who knows what they are doing. I also tell him that Im currently involved in other activities concerning IDF and the kindergarden and that teaching 4 classes on an average of seven hours daily may send me to an early grave and greatly reduce the impact I would have on the other struggling establishments. Amer reassures me that it is ok, and that any help I can provide would be more than sufficient but fails to detail when the classes would begin or of any teaching structures they may already have in place. A tad confused at the casual feeling of it all, I tell Amer I look forward to discussing further info and that I will be waiting eagerly........ TO BE CONTINUED...