Sana'a

9th November, 2 AM local time. I finally landed in Sana’a, capital of the Republic of Yemen. My boss assured me that somebody would have been at the airport waiting for me to make sure I would have comfortably arrived at the hotel, but she had been very farsighted also in giving me the photocopy of the hotel’s manager business card, “just in case”. Useful tactic, as nobody showed up. Meantime, while trying to figure out what to do and thinking about the enormous amount of Kalashnikovs this country is also famous for, I saw a white guy, much whiter than me, who seemed to be just as lost. “Let’s share a taxi and I’ll pay it all!” was the freaked-out deal I proposed him. He accepted in a strong, shameless French accent. After going around for more than one hour (the driver had sworn three times he perfectly knew where my hotel was, and no rooster had sang yet…), I finally arrived to the hotel, in the old part of the town.

4:15 AM. Not even 15 minutes after I got in bed, the minaret right in front of my window called for the prayer. It sounded as a polite, exotic welcome. I would have been honoured with just that, but until 5 o’clock I could hear the whole city’s minarets. And I can assure you that their loudspeakers work really well. Yes, I know, it was a Friday, the weekly day for minarets to do their best!

The morning saluted me with a wonderful view from my window. I said hallo to the minaret, “Yes, I think I’ve…heard you before!”, and rushed for my camera: the picture above was the panorama Sana’a welcomed me with. Wow…

I impertinently staid all day in the hotel. Blame the jet-lag; blame the Kalashnikovs; but the Italian TV (RAI 3!!!), Al-Jazeera in English (the best news-channel I’ve ever seen!!!) and the comfortable bed advised some rest. Tomorrow, we shall think of something.

The day after, a very kind Hamid, sent by the Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, took me for an administrative tour of the city: the bank, the Yemeni Red Crescent Society HQ, Yemenia Airlines office, and lunch in a typical restaurant downtown. Not for tourists, but for local people and local manners: one plate for all, no cutlery but those given us by Mother Nature, no left hand is allowed. I cursed the day I was born left-handed. The food was absolutely delicious: fish and goat.

A lot of men have a traditional and beautiful dagger in their belt (jambia), right over their belly, but “Hamid, I shyly asked, where are all the rifles people here in Yemen are supposed to have so naturally hanging on their shoulders?” He explained that one year ago a law was passed and now you don’t see them around anymore. Now I hope to have buried my memories of Congo for good.

The day had been long. Back to my bed and ready for my next stop: Aden.