Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Are words enough?
To speak of you, are words enough or am I just filling void in the realm of time? Where do I find the phrase to speak of your courage, how can I pretend to know your sorrows? How do you keep on walking when my legs feel faint just seeing your burdens? Tears well up but my anger is quick to dry them. I feel stupid for even contemplating that I may touch your scars, and feel the pain you felt. When I watch you, I see a smile that stands up right in the face of adversity, yet I know that had I been you I would have lost my way a long time ago. I cannot know what it was like when your father was shot and killed before your innocent eyes. I would not be able to carry the anguish of not knowing if my mother is still alive . Knowing she was violated by strange man, their eyes void of pity and their souls poisoned by the thirst of their lust. No one knows your story. No one will ever know of your journey. Though you are an unsung hero, and this not by choice, please know, you are a better man, and I wish you justice, peace, and a place to call your home...
Monday, September 28, 2009
Sleepless in Sana'a....
Sounds romantic?... trust me, it isnt.Unless you consider laying down wide eyed staring at your ceiling a romantic experience..in which case,it doesnt take much to sweep you off your feet. Sleepless in Sana'a is how Ive been for the past two weeks. My zombified expression testifies it to be true, and the bags under my eyes I could go shopping with.. I really dont know what it comes down to. I've heard a lot of theories as to why I may be finding it hard to sleep, such as " Get off the drugs, John" or, "Maybe you have a lot on your mind", but the most plausible so far came of course from my sensible cousin Alexis, which was "John, its the altitude bro, It plays funny tricks on your sleeping patterns". Ok, so its not me being high in Sana'a that is the problem, but Sana'a being high up. That should make my mum feel better already.
Apparently if you have low blood pressure, which Alexis usually has in Australia, the altitude stimulates your blood to produce more white blood cells, which in turn helps the body to retrieve more oxygen, which then helps you sleep like a king... if you have low blood pressure that is. As for me, I now have officially developed a high intolerance to resembling a zombie from the night of the living dead. Im averaging three hours per night, which multiplied by seven is barely a full day sleep per week. Then there is my beloved and dearly cherished random skanky street dog that has suffers from some sort of mental illness. He is not my dog, but some white skanky dog sent from the pits of hell whose sole purpose in life is to come directly beneath my window and bark for hours on end at.....a wall? Seriously, I dont know if this dog has suffered some traumatic experience as a pupp whereas he was continuosly thrown against a wall, or maybe ran into a wall one day and never forgot about it, but even if so... then why my wall? There are so many walls to go nuts on in Sana'a, but this dog has chosen the 2x2 square metre block of wall directly beneath my window for no apparent reason.
So I'll be laying in bed, tossing and turning, convincing my eyelids they are tired, hypnotizing my brain into some sort of mantra like state where, as there are no sheep in Sana'a I find myself closing my eyes and counting skanky street cats jumping over a fence....One skanky street cat...two skanky street cats..and so on. But the latter is to no avail, as eventually I realize that counting skanky street cats just isn't sending me to sleep. At around 4 am in the morning, just when Im on the possible verge of maybe, just maybe, falling asleep, white Lucifer appears from nowhere. I can hear his skanky paws approaching my down-trodden alley as soon as he nears the corner. He has this fatigued ,asthmatic like breathing technique, kind of like he's on his last breath, which unfortunately never seems to come true.
He pauses briefly, gasps one last asmthatic drool towards the floor, then begins the long 3 metre journey towards the wall beneath my window. I've sat there countless times observing him, at first trying to scare him off, but this also to no avail.
Point is, there are at least 10 windows along the driveway...so, once again, why mine? Once in position, which is directly placed staring at the nothingness of my white wall, he begins his lament. Ten minute intervals of the most miserable barking Ive heard in my life. A lazy..Woof..Woof...Woouuuf...Ahhh..(gasps for more air..) Wooouuf... and on and on. This is a ritual he performs for the next hour. By then my nerves are frail. Rapid eye movement sets in as my eyelids flutter like a butterfly on crack cocaine...begging to be laid in peace, to close for just one hour at least. Then, right on time for the Incredibly loud prayers to come pouring out of the mosque's megaphone at 5 in the morning, a whole new type of lament begins, and the dog disappears, just like a bad dream, only this is a re-occuring one.
Sometimes walking back from class, where I teach graphics, I'll be walking my usual journey back through the perished streets of Saafia. Its mid afternoon, the sun is high, I'm armed with a red bull in hand, completely fatigued from the day's occurences, when all of a sudden...Lucifer, the Skank..appears from nowhere. He'll be wagging his balding tail, happy he's found a new pile of rubbish on the streets to savour, when, as if he knows something is not quite right, he turns his head slowly, towards me...our eyes meet. Im not sure if he knows I know its him, because the other night when I threw a half drunk can of coke on his skanky head he didnt even budge... or look up..just kept on his demoniacal barking uninterrupted, Coke still dripping down his furry face. But he knows something is not right..the vibes just arent the same, the atmosphere has thickened with hate, and so our eyes meet, and they remain locked for the twenty or so seconds it takes for me to make my John Wayne walk past his skanky fatigued self. We both know we've seen each other somewhere before, just not sure when, and we both know our paths will cross again...
To Be Continued...
Apparently if you have low blood pressure, which Alexis usually has in Australia, the altitude stimulates your blood to produce more white blood cells, which in turn helps the body to retrieve more oxygen, which then helps you sleep like a king... if you have low blood pressure that is. As for me, I now have officially developed a high intolerance to resembling a zombie from the night of the living dead. Im averaging three hours per night, which multiplied by seven is barely a full day sleep per week. Then there is my beloved and dearly cherished random skanky street dog that has suffers from some sort of mental illness. He is not my dog, but some white skanky dog sent from the pits of hell whose sole purpose in life is to come directly beneath my window and bark for hours on end at.....a wall? Seriously, I dont know if this dog has suffered some traumatic experience as a pupp whereas he was continuosly thrown against a wall, or maybe ran into a wall one day and never forgot about it, but even if so... then why my wall? There are so many walls to go nuts on in Sana'a, but this dog has chosen the 2x2 square metre block of wall directly beneath my window for no apparent reason.
So I'll be laying in bed, tossing and turning, convincing my eyelids they are tired, hypnotizing my brain into some sort of mantra like state where, as there are no sheep in Sana'a I find myself closing my eyes and counting skanky street cats jumping over a fence....One skanky street cat...two skanky street cats..and so on. But the latter is to no avail, as eventually I realize that counting skanky street cats just isn't sending me to sleep. At around 4 am in the morning, just when Im on the possible verge of maybe, just maybe, falling asleep, white Lucifer appears from nowhere. I can hear his skanky paws approaching my down-trodden alley as soon as he nears the corner. He has this fatigued ,asthmatic like breathing technique, kind of like he's on his last breath, which unfortunately never seems to come true.
He pauses briefly, gasps one last asmthatic drool towards the floor, then begins the long 3 metre journey towards the wall beneath my window. I've sat there countless times observing him, at first trying to scare him off, but this also to no avail.
Point is, there are at least 10 windows along the driveway...so, once again, why mine? Once in position, which is directly placed staring at the nothingness of my white wall, he begins his lament. Ten minute intervals of the most miserable barking Ive heard in my life. A lazy..Woof..Woof...Woouuuf...Ahhh..(gasps for more air..) Wooouuf... and on and on. This is a ritual he performs for the next hour. By then my nerves are frail. Rapid eye movement sets in as my eyelids flutter like a butterfly on crack cocaine...begging to be laid in peace, to close for just one hour at least. Then, right on time for the Incredibly loud prayers to come pouring out of the mosque's megaphone at 5 in the morning, a whole new type of lament begins, and the dog disappears, just like a bad dream, only this is a re-occuring one.
Sometimes walking back from class, where I teach graphics, I'll be walking my usual journey back through the perished streets of Saafia. Its mid afternoon, the sun is high, I'm armed with a red bull in hand, completely fatigued from the day's occurences, when all of a sudden...Lucifer, the Skank..appears from nowhere. He'll be wagging his balding tail, happy he's found a new pile of rubbish on the streets to savour, when, as if he knows something is not quite right, he turns his head slowly, towards me...our eyes meet. Im not sure if he knows I know its him, because the other night when I threw a half drunk can of coke on his skanky head he didnt even budge... or look up..just kept on his demoniacal barking uninterrupted, Coke still dripping down his furry face. But he knows something is not right..the vibes just arent the same, the atmosphere has thickened with hate, and so our eyes meet, and they remain locked for the twenty or so seconds it takes for me to make my John Wayne walk past his skanky fatigued self. We both know we've seen each other somewhere before, just not sure when, and we both know our paths will cross again...
To Be Continued...
Sunday, September 27, 2009
From Sunsets to Sunrises...
Im sweating profusely.I feel as if Im in a complete semi-comatose state. Sprawled out on the internet cafe chair, one hand rubbing my belly, the other typing away like a deranged chicken, pecking at the keyboard in a casual fashion because, to be sincere, Ive eaten too much, and am now paying the consequences. This is what Buddha must have felt like, no offense intended, but I feel like im 90 percent stomach and 10 percent human. A walking belly with two eyes poking out of it. Combine this factor with the "I know I should not be eating in this restaurant because the guy serving is picking his nose while preparing the food " and I guess the end result is self explanatory and could have easily been avoided. But gluttony and laziness walk hand in hand, and I was too tired to find a decent restaurant, and too hungry to wait for a good restaurant to come to me. So, having established just how nauseus and full I am, let me go on to other topics, such as "Aden".
Aden, situated on the southern tip of Yemen, is one of the oldest port cities in the world according to Wikipedia:), and though Wikipedia in itself may be unreliable. let me reassure you that our get away was sincerely welcomed and thoroughly enjoyed, and that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!, and that in itself is something you can rely on. Priorly colonized by the brits, Aden managed to retain a state of open mindness. Not quite as open as the Western world of course, but in comparison to Sana'a its like a prison cells with the gates swung open and a bright neon sign inviting you to escape if you like. My tattoo was looked upon as arty rather than farty, and by that I mean the look of disapproval that its met with in Sana'a was replaced by "wow's" and " goooood man" and "I love you", which, I dont think its meant literally, but is amongst one of the very few sentences Yemenese pick up from the land of Hollywood and its cheesy films. That and,"where you from?", to which I now always reply "Planet Earth", and after a puzzled look am smiled at and officially "welcomed to Yemen". My arabic still sucks. Probably more so than a gang of hungry vampires vacuuming their castle, but I still manage to get around with a lot of "Hamdulla's" and "Shukran Habibi". So... back to Aden, we arrived on the first day of Eid, which is the beginning of the celebration of "pigging" out after having fasted for a month. The word "Ramadam" still sends a chill to my spine everytime I hear it, because Italian and fasting cannot possible co-exhist in the same vocabulary. Descending from the plane we all experienced the same feeling, which was a mixture between a slow suffocation spiced with a little melting of the skin. Aden is hot, really hot!, but Aden also has a beach, and swimming is allowed, and as we all knew that, we endured the 30 seconds walk from the airport doors to the taxi and informed the driver gently to "please take us to the beach now or we will proceed to beat you to a pulp of sorry mess", shukran habibi.:)
The first beach we went to was a place called elephant bay. I didnt actually see any elephants there, so I suspiciously began to look for overweight bikini wearing ninja's, but inshallah, there were none of those either. Although there were three girls decked out in their full ninja costume attempting to swim without drowning .Wrapped in their all black outfits, and looking as least scandalous as ever, I tried not to laugh, so I giggled instead, but it was still a sight to behold. After approximately 1.6 seconds I had my shirt off and was running towards the water like a thirsty madman running towards a mirage. It wasnt just the need for cooling off, but the pure exhilaration of finally having my shirt off in a public place which was so hard to conceieve, let alone believe. Lex soon followed on the point 8th of the second, and his pale self notoriously lit up the beach blinding everyone in the 100 km vicinity. Soon ,about six of us were splashing around in the water like a pack of dehydrated seals, and it felt good...sooooo good. The main reason for our trip to Aden was of course Mahommed's wedding. Mahommed is one of Lex's closest friends. An aspiring journalist with a keen eye for the deep and meaningful, he now works for Yemen times and has finally managed to lock down his beloved. The wedding in itself actually consisted of two. Not that he married two women, but he held a western style wedding and a traditional Somali one. And to be quite honest, the Somali one was soooooooooo much better. Immagine yourself in a room packed with hundreds of Somali people, decked out in their most colourful costumes and with Somali music blaring from a live band onstage. Everyone, from young and old, sporting bright smiles and enjoying each other's company as relatives and friends hugged, danced, chit chatted and awaited the arrival of the bride. Mahommed looking nervous as heck but trying to disguise it under a cool "deer in the headlights" pose, sitting on the throne front stage. Andrew, Lex, myself and our lady friends on the table of honour wearing traditional Somali costumes, which consist of white t-shirt, white skirt, colourful belt and prop shoulder drop ( refer to facebook photos).The atmosphere was completely magnetic, and if you managed to resist the urge of joining in the dancing it meant you were either paralyzed from head to toe or just a complete party pooper, because even the Grandma's were breaking it down so no excuses were available. It was honestly a privilege to be a part of it, and an experience I will cherish always. We spent our days in a mid-way hostel, which was actually pretty good, and the staff as pleasant and polite as ever.
On that note, let me share something with you. The Western media feeds you, and fed me, lies. People of Arabic descent are usually portrayed as evil terrorists, a race unable to be trusted and one always in conflict with the white counterpart. I cannot stress enough how untrue I have found this to be, and how deceiving and politically manipolized the media in the Western world is in concern to this issue. All day, every day, I am met by smiling faces. They welcome me, they ask me where I am from, they go out of their way to catch my attention with a wave of the hand when walking on the other side of the street, and though communicating is hard, I always feel at ease, and as if the person im chatting with is genuenly interested in my well being, and not just asking for the sake of asking such as" how are you mate". Not to put down the auzzie culture, because I love Australia, its my home, but you know what I mean:). I felt the need to express this because I know that when I first arrived in Yemen I sincerely expected to be spat on and threatened witn an AK 47, but it has been the complete opposite, and I am delighted by the culture and the people, even though most times it is so starkly different and in contrast to the one I am used to.
After four days in Yemen, we were officially partied out. Exhausted from late nights swimming at the beach, dancing at weddings, chewing Qut and talking for hours from the meaningful to the trivial, and walking.... a lot of walking. It was time to farewell Aden and return to Sana'a where our duties awaited us, though we weren't necessarily awaiting them quite yet. The flight back is a blur. All I remember is sitting in the middle seat, Lex to my left and Andrew to my right. I turned to ask Lex a question and was met by Lex in a coma, eyes wide shut and snoring like an elephant. I laughed and turned to inform Andrew of Lex's snoring, but Andrew followed suit and was himself snoring like a wild boar, only with a trickle of saliva languishing from his wide open mouth wetting the pages of the book he obviously meant to read prior to departing to la la land. I decided there and then that when you cannot beat them, join them, so Cap tilted down to block out the lights I myself fell into a tired stupor and only awoke to the grinding sound of the wheels trying to grip the surface of the notoriously damaged tarmac of Sana'a airport. Home sweet home... It was quite funny actually, because we all woke up at the same time. All stunned and ritarded like mummies awoken from a century deep sleep, and all tried to mumble a coherent sentence, yet all simultaneously failed and rubbed the sleep from our eyes.
Im now back in Sana'a, good old Saafia and have already been surrounded by my gang of fans, a group of young children who live close by who keep asking me to flex my biceps so they can all stand wide eyed in disbelief and shout out "Hamdullah!", which in arabic means.. praise be to Allah. Ha ha.. its so funny I crack up everytime it happens, and have noticed that they just do not seem to tire of me doing it, but its rather me who at times tries to avoid them so that I dont have to flex my bicep once again...
The internet guy is informing me the cafe needs to shut so I will continue this blog in the next couple of days. I hope everyone is well and if I know you , know I am missing you and look forward to seeing you again:)
This is Jonathan,reporting from Yemen..
Over and out....:)
Aden, situated on the southern tip of Yemen, is one of the oldest port cities in the world according to Wikipedia:), and though Wikipedia in itself may be unreliable. let me reassure you that our get away was sincerely welcomed and thoroughly enjoyed, and that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth!, and that in itself is something you can rely on. Priorly colonized by the brits, Aden managed to retain a state of open mindness. Not quite as open as the Western world of course, but in comparison to Sana'a its like a prison cells with the gates swung open and a bright neon sign inviting you to escape if you like. My tattoo was looked upon as arty rather than farty, and by that I mean the look of disapproval that its met with in Sana'a was replaced by "wow's" and " goooood man" and "I love you", which, I dont think its meant literally, but is amongst one of the very few sentences Yemenese pick up from the land of Hollywood and its cheesy films. That and,"where you from?", to which I now always reply "Planet Earth", and after a puzzled look am smiled at and officially "welcomed to Yemen". My arabic still sucks. Probably more so than a gang of hungry vampires vacuuming their castle, but I still manage to get around with a lot of "Hamdulla's" and "Shukran Habibi". So... back to Aden, we arrived on the first day of Eid, which is the beginning of the celebration of "pigging" out after having fasted for a month. The word "Ramadam" still sends a chill to my spine everytime I hear it, because Italian and fasting cannot possible co-exhist in the same vocabulary. Descending from the plane we all experienced the same feeling, which was a mixture between a slow suffocation spiced with a little melting of the skin. Aden is hot, really hot!, but Aden also has a beach, and swimming is allowed, and as we all knew that, we endured the 30 seconds walk from the airport doors to the taxi and informed the driver gently to "please take us to the beach now or we will proceed to beat you to a pulp of sorry mess", shukran habibi.:)
The first beach we went to was a place called elephant bay. I didnt actually see any elephants there, so I suspiciously began to look for overweight bikini wearing ninja's, but inshallah, there were none of those either. Although there were three girls decked out in their full ninja costume attempting to swim without drowning .Wrapped in their all black outfits, and looking as least scandalous as ever, I tried not to laugh, so I giggled instead, but it was still a sight to behold. After approximately 1.6 seconds I had my shirt off and was running towards the water like a thirsty madman running towards a mirage. It wasnt just the need for cooling off, but the pure exhilaration of finally having my shirt off in a public place which was so hard to conceieve, let alone believe. Lex soon followed on the point 8th of the second, and his pale self notoriously lit up the beach blinding everyone in the 100 km vicinity. Soon ,about six of us were splashing around in the water like a pack of dehydrated seals, and it felt good...sooooo good. The main reason for our trip to Aden was of course Mahommed's wedding. Mahommed is one of Lex's closest friends. An aspiring journalist with a keen eye for the deep and meaningful, he now works for Yemen times and has finally managed to lock down his beloved. The wedding in itself actually consisted of two. Not that he married two women, but he held a western style wedding and a traditional Somali one. And to be quite honest, the Somali one was soooooooooo much better. Immagine yourself in a room packed with hundreds of Somali people, decked out in their most colourful costumes and with Somali music blaring from a live band onstage. Everyone, from young and old, sporting bright smiles and enjoying each other's company as relatives and friends hugged, danced, chit chatted and awaited the arrival of the bride. Mahommed looking nervous as heck but trying to disguise it under a cool "deer in the headlights" pose, sitting on the throne front stage. Andrew, Lex, myself and our lady friends on the table of honour wearing traditional Somali costumes, which consist of white t-shirt, white skirt, colourful belt and prop shoulder drop ( refer to facebook photos).The atmosphere was completely magnetic, and if you managed to resist the urge of joining in the dancing it meant you were either paralyzed from head to toe or just a complete party pooper, because even the Grandma's were breaking it down so no excuses were available. It was honestly a privilege to be a part of it, and an experience I will cherish always. We spent our days in a mid-way hostel, which was actually pretty good, and the staff as pleasant and polite as ever.
On that note, let me share something with you. The Western media feeds you, and fed me, lies. People of Arabic descent are usually portrayed as evil terrorists, a race unable to be trusted and one always in conflict with the white counterpart. I cannot stress enough how untrue I have found this to be, and how deceiving and politically manipolized the media in the Western world is in concern to this issue. All day, every day, I am met by smiling faces. They welcome me, they ask me where I am from, they go out of their way to catch my attention with a wave of the hand when walking on the other side of the street, and though communicating is hard, I always feel at ease, and as if the person im chatting with is genuenly interested in my well being, and not just asking for the sake of asking such as" how are you mate". Not to put down the auzzie culture, because I love Australia, its my home, but you know what I mean:). I felt the need to express this because I know that when I first arrived in Yemen I sincerely expected to be spat on and threatened witn an AK 47, but it has been the complete opposite, and I am delighted by the culture and the people, even though most times it is so starkly different and in contrast to the one I am used to.
After four days in Yemen, we were officially partied out. Exhausted from late nights swimming at the beach, dancing at weddings, chewing Qut and talking for hours from the meaningful to the trivial, and walking.... a lot of walking. It was time to farewell Aden and return to Sana'a where our duties awaited us, though we weren't necessarily awaiting them quite yet. The flight back is a blur. All I remember is sitting in the middle seat, Lex to my left and Andrew to my right. I turned to ask Lex a question and was met by Lex in a coma, eyes wide shut and snoring like an elephant. I laughed and turned to inform Andrew of Lex's snoring, but Andrew followed suit and was himself snoring like a wild boar, only with a trickle of saliva languishing from his wide open mouth wetting the pages of the book he obviously meant to read prior to departing to la la land. I decided there and then that when you cannot beat them, join them, so Cap tilted down to block out the lights I myself fell into a tired stupor and only awoke to the grinding sound of the wheels trying to grip the surface of the notoriously damaged tarmac of Sana'a airport. Home sweet home... It was quite funny actually, because we all woke up at the same time. All stunned and ritarded like mummies awoken from a century deep sleep, and all tried to mumble a coherent sentence, yet all simultaneously failed and rubbed the sleep from our eyes.
Im now back in Sana'a, good old Saafia and have already been surrounded by my gang of fans, a group of young children who live close by who keep asking me to flex my biceps so they can all stand wide eyed in disbelief and shout out "Hamdullah!", which in arabic means.. praise be to Allah. Ha ha.. its so funny I crack up everytime it happens, and have noticed that they just do not seem to tire of me doing it, but its rather me who at times tries to avoid them so that I dont have to flex my bicep once again...
The internet guy is informing me the cafe needs to shut so I will continue this blog in the next couple of days. I hope everyone is well and if I know you , know I am missing you and look forward to seeing you again:)
This is Jonathan,reporting from Yemen..
Over and out....:)
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