Yemen

Following the attacks of 11 September 2001, Yemen was viewed with suspicion by the US. With its remote, unruly and little-policed interior, Yemen was suspected of providing – even unwittingly – a refuge for Al-Qaeda members and supporters, as well as supplying a bolt-hole for militant Islamists. A number of incidents encouraged this perception. In October 2000 the US warship the USS Cole was bombed in Aden harbour, killing 17 US servicemen.

Overlooking Aden harbor were homes made of pressed mud-brick, intricately decorated with beautiful stained glass, much like ancient times. Five times daily, the call to the faithful to pray wailed from nearby Mosques, resounding across the harbor, and echoing across the rugged terrain. If in town, we watched as mats were then drawn out from dusty corners to kneel and pray, often when traders were in the middle of a heated transaction - a customary practice in the Middle East.

Aden is where insular Yemen puts on a more cosmopolitan attire, as the town is known to be more liberal than anywhere else in Yemen. We noticed, for example, the visibility of unveiled women.

"Taxi?" shouted a Yemeni local outside the souk. When I nodded my head, the taxi driver pulled over, tossed my heavy baskets loaded with fruits and vegetables onto the cart, and helped me aboard his camel. I’d wandered into the camel-taxi alleyway, on the hunt for adventure, while Peter and Adam finished mechanical duties onboard Scud. That day, I wanted to immerse myself into this exotic culture, and wasn’t disappointed!

Camel caravans were once used in the ancient Arabian kingdoms to cart the lucrative incense trade across the deserts, into the Mediterranean from the Orient and Africa. At the time of Christ, camel caravans carried as much as 3,000 tons of frankincense each year to Greece and Rome. Time advanced; the camels stayed. Today, they are used to ferry heavy goods across town, much like the Mack truck, but without the fuel.

At sea, ocean-going dhows advanced our stern, more curious of us, than we of them. Adam is checking out their intentions in this photo. They were simply fishing, wanting to trade for fuel or water. For security against piracy and further terriorist attacks - like the USS Cole bombing - the Yemeni Coast Guard is on active patrol of these waters, trained by the US and Coalition Armed Forces. While transiting off Somalia, we were able to contact them on the VHF radio, which allayed our fears.

Men line up for temporary work as house painters or sweepers, waiting in the early morning hours for their first job.

With 35% of the men unemployed, there was ample time for play. Here in the plaza, the men thrive on dominoes.

From atop the souk, I can hear the slap-slap of the tiles. When they caught my gaze, I was asked to join in, but declined. Wonder if they'd play poker instead?

Yemeni tribesmen are known by the jambiyya, or curved dagger, carried in a scabbard on a wide belt at the front of the body. Men often wear one of several types of skirts rather than pants, with a headcloth.

I was so enthralled with their custom, I went out and got my own dagger! It created quite a stir, and the townspeople kept repeating, "Reagan!" , then mimic a gun, as if we were on some western set. I felt more like I was in a real Arabian Nights one.

You can lose yourself in a souk, the Arab marketplace. Wandering down the warren of dark, musky alleyways, men shouted for me to buy their wares. But first, there's bargaining to do. It takes finesse to do it properly, less one lose face. Merchants relish the negotiation, making it fun to perform: I'd turn away; throw my arms up in dramatic show, all the while gaining their respect. Still, I'm sure I overpaid. Fresh goat was not my cuisine preference.

The most distinctive and important Yemeni social institution is the “qat session,” a relaxed, but ritualized afternoon gathering. Men and women socialize separately, and chew the mildly narcotic leaves of the privet-like qat plant.

"Capturing moments of eternity," someone once called the subtle tinkering with time that qat effects.

I was on my way back from the souk, when my taxi driver asked if I wanted to stop and buy some. "It relaxes you," he explained. Men on the street were crowded around bundles of it, bargaining for the best leaf. Relaxing was not my natural talent, so I agreed. Lately, I’d been feeling anxious about facing the challenges of our forthcoming Red Sea passage. So, taking my little bundle home, I swallowed ‘a pinch’ of a leaf. That night, imaginary micro-ants crawled all over me, and I grew frightened. Now what had I gotten myself into? When I queried my guide the next day, he replied, "You're not supposed to swallow it, but chew it for hours, like a plug of tobacco.”

The vibrant colored robes of the women from Somalia stood in stark contrast against the Yemeni women donned in black, and the backdrop of beige infinity. Nearly 100,000 Somalian refugees are crowded into camps and the out-lying squalor of the city interior. When young mothers approached me to beg, I never hesitated to hand over a fistful of coins, feeling compassion for the Islamic people, who are caught in a web of conflicting political strife with the western world.

In the souks, I knew the women were smiling when their eyes crinkled shut, turning up at the edges, but I had to look closely. As long as their menfolk weren't standing sentinel nearby, we could chat, albeit briefly, before he returned to scurry them off. The women would urge their children forward, eager for introductions and to show them off. Most women marry in their teens, and only half attend primary school to learn to read - they aren't encouraged to seek schooling. In their lifetime, they will bear 6-7 children. With this in mind, I knew pride in their familylife weighed heavily in their self-esteem, so I lavished compliments, relishing our contact.