"On the Road Again"

“Fatti non foste a viver come bruti

ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza"

(Dante Alighieri, Divina Commedia, Inferno canto XXVI, 116-120)


“Ye were not made to live like unto brutes, But for pursuit of virtue and of knowledge"
(Translation from http://www.readprint.com/chapter-181/Dante-Alighieri)

Picture: the seaport of Socotra, Arabian Sea.

Mahas salaama!

Those who live the life in successive geographical contexts should be used to start and finish each stage, like awaking and falling asleep, day after day. It should be easy after some years… Some would look back to the runway the plane just took off from, other would just relax and think about the nice things they would do back home, before leaving for a new adventure… Sometimes I cursed the place I was leaving behind in anger and frustration; sometimes I cried during goodbyes to friends I may not see again; sometimes I just could not care less.

However I shall feel, this stage of my life has reached its end. Unless Yemenia comes out with a last-minute nasty joke, I shall soon say farewell to Socotra, like many other tourists did before me. I may not see again such beautiful beaches again, or won’t have the chance to work among very peaceful people anymore. But these last timeless weeks made clear to me that it is about time to go. Sure, it will not be easy to say “good luck” to Ona and Soma: most probably this would be the only tear I shall shed; the monsoons that started last week undressed my tree and spread around my patio foreign garbage. There is nothing left for me here.

“And still those voices are calling from far away”. I cannot track down the source yet, but I hear them loud and clear. Like the Argonauts, I shall not resist the Sirens; anyway, to bind myself to the mast would not be a wise thing to do, for this ship is now sinking. Who knows: maybe a sweet mermaid will take me to the happy djinns beneath the sea; or maybe I shall just drown somewhere else…I have to find out; I shall definitely answer the call.

To you, who followed this blog from time to time or came across it while searching for something totally different, I would like to express my gratitude for the attention you have paid to my words, or for the comments you left behind. I just hope that, in addition to the personal satisfaction and self-entertainment I had in leaving behind these footprints on Socotra, you also had some good time while walking with me for a while, on this wonderful island.

All people I talk to are sure that Socotra will dramatically change in the near future, and not for good. Hurry up! Eve has already bitten the apple: one of the last paradises on earth is about to disappear for ever.

Mahas salaama!

Out of the Blue

A Neighbour

Djinns & Djinniyahs

A rich cultural inheritage is often the pillar around which a civilisation moves forward. I believe that this is the case of the Arab culture, which is full of interesting and peculiar aspects, like its popular traditions, some so strikingly close to the ones of neighbouring civilisations. In the Arab folklore, I find particularly interesting the character of the djinn, made worldwide famous by the one inside the oil lamp (the English word “genie” simply derives from Arabic).

As written in the already usual reference Wikipedia, the djinn was present in the Arab culture long before the revelation of Islam. The djinns are considered as a divinity of inferior rank, having human attributes: they eat (but with the left hand!), drink and procreate their kind, sometimes in conjunction with human beings. They have their community, boundaries and armies. Usually they haunt cemeteries, dirty places or deserted locations, especially the thickets where wild beasts gather. Djinns live much longer than humans, but are not immortals. They are massless, therefore can fit in any space: the whole universe or a tiny lamp. They are invisible but, when appearing to man, djinns may assume the forms of humans, or animals, like donkeys, cats…

Even if some of them are evil or supernatural thiefs, djinns are usually peaceful and well disposed towards men; they are even believed to have inspired many pre-Islamic poets. But the djinniyahs, the female version (often associated with succubi), can be more of a problem: for instance, they may throw stones around in the peaceful night of a village, or make fun of sheperds by imitating the cry of a goat in distress: when the sheperd gets to the place and realises there is no goat, the silly djinniyah is already somewhere else and again imitating the goat. A curious aspect of all djinniyahs is that they have a tiny spark in their eyes and cannot avoid having long nails, either in her fingers or in her toes. Hadibo, capital of Socotra, owes its name to a good djinniyah, who protects the house, especially when the owner is away, and appreciates that the kitchen door to be always kept open as to be able to eat something if she feels hungry during her visit.

Islam integrated the djinns, believed to be created from smokeless fire and to have free will. The first djinn that disobeyed Allah is called Iblis. When Allah made Adam from clay as His greatest creation, Iblis, once a very pious servant, was very annoyed and became arrogant, jelous and refused to respect and adore a creature made of “dirt”. Since then, he is called Shaitan (Satan) and Allah punished him to eternally stay in the hellfire after death. By the way, he is the one who offered Eve a tasteful apple.

If you need more info about this subject, Wikipedia provides further data: check http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demon and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genie. But…what about Socotra, specifically? As I mentioned before, Hadibo is a djenniyah…and, thanks to my Socotri friends, here are a couple of stories concerning local djinns or djinniyahs.

The first story is about a Socotri gentleman who had to walk several days with his donkey to return to the village he was from. He got to a river and noticed a woman washing her face and hands. They began chatting and knowing each other and, though quite surprised of the unusual situation, he accepted her company during the travel and offered his donkey to carry the luggage she had along. They arrived to a village and checked if they could find some food and water, but the place seemed to be completely deserted. She proposed him to stay for the night in one of the houses but the man, feeling more and more unconfortable with this misterious travel-mate, refused to share the shelter with her. When she asked what was the problem, if he was scared or something like that, he decided to change his attitute and pretend easiness and confidence, and finally accepted to share a room with her. During the night, the doubt about this strange woman was growing in his mind and decided to check the toes of the woman during her sleep. Yes, she was a djinniyah, and the poor man decided to run away as soon and fast as he could. He ran like the wind and she ran behind him, scaring him with death threats and other similar things. The man beated any possible human record to cover the distance from where he was spending that unforgettable night to his final destination.

The second story is about a ship going from Zanzibar to Socotra, loaded with passengers and foodstuffs. All of a sudden, in the middle of the Indian Ocean, a passenger asked the captain to stop the ship and to let him disembark with his foodstuffs. The astonished captain pointed out that there was no island around, but the weird passenger insisted in his request. He even invited the captain to disembark with him, so he could pay him the fare for the voyage, and assured the poor sailor that he would soon be back to his ship safe, dry and with the money. It is not clear how the captain trusted this peculiar invitation, but what he found below the sea was a whole city, beautiful and lively. He went for a short tour with the strange passenger, got his money and actually returned to his ship. In conclusion, some djinns live a peaceful and beautiful life under the sea surface.

If you ever scrub a lamp and a fat funny fellow shows up, ask him to take you to Socotra. The wish is worth it. And, according to the legend, you would still have two others!

Shuaab, Arabian Sea

The Turtle Night

Last night something very strange happened in the sky of Socotra.

There was a very big ring of light around the moon. As it was impossible to take a picture, imagine the good old vinyl LP: the moon would be the round label in the middle and the ring of light the circumference of the disk.

I would be most happy to know the scientific explanation for such phenomenon, but a nice local guy told me that it happens one night a year and in this season. He also romantically reminded the local tradition, which says that during this night a huge number of turtles would arrive to lay their eggs. Possibly true, because this is the time of the year when these animals come to Socotra and leave behind the future generations. I had the pleasure to see one some days ago.

Women

Of Compassion and Shame

Yesterday I went through the worst day I ever had in Socotra, and most certainly not the easiest in my personal or professional life.

I spent most of the evening and night to think about the experience I went through. That was a necessary process, as I just cannot forget or save it in the same memory cell where I store loads of strange or funny things. What happened yesterday cannot be kept among trivial events that, at the end of the day, do not have any direct or conscious effects on you and will just fade away as time goes by.

In the first lines I dropped on this blog, I warned that I would have not touched professional aspects of my Socotrian life. But I guess that exceptions are always allowed, especially if they transcend so powerfully to stay, from now on, deeply rooted inside myself.

There is a very youg girl on this island that suffers from a rare disease, Xeroderma pigmentosum, or XP. Even though it may imply pedantry of the writer and consequent boredom of the reader, I must resort to Wikipedia to define the disease as “an autosomal recessive genetic disorder of DNA repair in which the ability to repair damage caused by ultraviolet (UV) light is deficient. This disorder leads to multiple basaliomas and other skin malignancies at a young age. In severe cases, it is necessary to avoid sunlight completely” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xeroderma_pigmentosum).

One of my pending professional tasks is to bring some kind of relief to this young girl, who has not even the age to cover herself completely in black like girls here start to do as they reach puberty. Even though I never met her, I know the case since I arrived in the island and regularly updated her father on what steps I was taking. But because an Italian doctor, following up the case, is spending sometime on the island with two young doctors, we decided to pay a visit to the girl. Again, I did not actually see the girl, as the doctors wisely advised me to just wait in the patio with my assistant, but I could hear her screams in panic and see the expression of the doctors as they came out of the dark room where she lives. The doctors were very careful and professional in explaining to me in Italian the seriousness of the case, avoiding every unnecessary detail in their briefing, and in informing her father, through the translations of my assistant, on what possible measures could be taken as to alleviate her from that incurable disease, which may torment her even for the next ten years. Less than a couple of hours later, my boss called me and asked me about the visit. It is not easy to admit that I went through a terrifying emotional collapse and I could not speak out a bloody word for the first five minutes of the phone call.

Wikipedia defines compassion as “an understanding of the emotional state of another or oneself. Not to be confused with empathy, compassion is often combined with a desire to alleviate or reduce the suffering of another or to show special kindness to those who suffer. However, compassion may lead an individual to feel empathy with another person” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Compassion).

Is it actually compassion what I feel? The problems I go through, the loneliness of this stage of my life, the boredom that haunts me during these last days of my job here, the sadness I feel when I miss those I love… are just nothing. They can never be compared to the screams that still echo in my mind, to the perpetual torture she is going through. A tremendously brazen shame can never be confused with compassion.

The Egyptian Vulture

(Neophron Percnopterus)

Though present in Africa, Europe and Asia, 25% of the total population lives in Socotra. The local nickname of these birds is "the municipality service".

Football and Goats

I just got back to Socotra, after having spent some most deserved holidays in Barcelona. It was most theurapeutic to see my people, taste my food, wine and vices. Of course, some anectdotes dropped between a drink and another, and from the face of the “audience” you could measure the eccentricity of some situations I went through…

It is not always easy to realize how funny and crazy some situations can life can be. Sometimes, a certain distance in time and space are necessary to put things in context and have a clear idea of the absolute madness and surrealism that often decorate the landscape of our walks of life!

Let me just give you an example, which a very dear person encouraged me to talk about in this blog. During the first weeks of my stay in Socotra I was regularly going to the house of a local guy, F.C. Barcelona fan like me, who had the right card to decript the Spanish league on TV. Of course, all young men of Hadibo, who split up between supporters of Barcelona and Real Madrid, used to join in the big patio of the pirate card owner to watch the “Liga” every “Christian” weekend, or during the week for the “Champions League”. Until something happened.

Few days before Aid, the supporters of Real Madrid kidnapped the goat the owner of the place was keeping for the celebration and killed it. They cooked it and kindly offered some meet to the man, who of course was expressing his deep gratitutde to be invited to such a nice meal by his “sworn enemies” and absolutely unaware of where the meat was from. At the end of the dinner, the Real Madrid supporters could not keep it anymore and told the poor guy about the destiny of his goat.

I am sorry not to have been there that night, for it must had been a tremendous show, a story to pass on to many future generations. I was told that the guy became real angry; quite expectably I would say, bearing in mind that he could not buy another goat in time for Aid. Well, the result is that, since that unfortunate day, nobody could follow the “Liga” anymore: we were all banned from his house, regardless of what team we support or our actual participation in the crime. Even worse, Real Madrid has won the “Liga” and Barcelona played very bad for the rest of the season.

There is no justice. Not even for the innocent goats, the only ones who never have fun for Aid.

Scant: The Wuthering Heights

"The Kids Are Alright"

The Purring Khat

When you arrive to live for some time in a dramatically different context, you may try to increase your chances of survival by camaleonically merging into the new social and cultural environment. But those who travel a lot are aware that these pseudo-darwinistc efforts to decrease vulnerability, or to adapt, actually have limited success. Hopelessly, no matter how hard you try to fit, you will always be a funny external element in the picture. In other words, the best you can do, on the one hand, is to enter the new environment in the most descreet way, as to be better tollerated; on the other hand, you should try to tollerate yourself many “crazy” things you will find in the place. But there will always be some you will never manage to accept; as far as I am concerned, I am having some difficulties with khat.

Let me immediately warn you that I personally never had the experience of its psychotropic properties on myself, and I do not plan to have it. Writing about something I do not really know may entail a credibility issue; therefore, I shall limit myself to describe the interference khat has on my day in Socotra.

Wikipedia describes khat (Catha edulis) “as a flowering plant native to tropical East Africa and the Arab Peninsula.” (for furher infos on the matter, check http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Khat). R. Folch, in his article “Khat” (El Periódico de Catalunya, 17th February 2008), explains very well its importance in Yemen: “Every afternoon, millions of Yemenis sit in group to chat, while they tear and chew the khat [leafs] they have just bought in the shop around the corner”. Khat cultivations substituted first quality coffee plantations and I even read that many people in Yemen die in the attempt to steal it, killed by the electrified fences or anti-personnel mines (!) around the cultivations. Once limited to weekends and now generalised throughout the week, Folch must obvoiusly be right when describing the consumption of khat as “a social problem”.

The Yemeni and Socotri societies are quite different. Actually, the plant does not grow in Socotra and it only arrrived in the early Nineties: therefore, far from being a Socotri tradition, khat is an external element in this island (just like me!) and, apparently, is getting to be a “social problem” like in Yemen, at least in the urban area of Hadibo. It is a pain in the neck indeed, especially for those willing to work in the afternoons, like many foreigners: if they need assistance from the locals, they have serious difficulties in getting them active. It seems that, during the Soviet adventure in the Yemeni civil war, Russians tried to erradicate khat from South Yemen (the belligerent side they were supporting) and to promote vodka instead. After the reunification, these efforts rapidly disappeared and any “vicious” change rapidly reversed. Recently, I heard a rumour about Yemenia Airways wanting to forbid khat on the planes going to Socotra, but it sounds pretty irrealistic to me.

If you complain and try to motivate the boys to work, by pointing out that to be active also in the afternoons can only increase the GNP of the country, they would just say: “You should respect such tradition! Come and enjoy khat with us!” Though it would be nice if UNESCO could provide us some clear guidelines to know how long it takes for a simple “let’s get high session” to become a “cultural tradition”, I anyway doubt that 15 years would be enough time. The numerous coffee-shops in the Netherlands did not turn Cannabis indica cosumption into a genuine Dutch tradition yet, as far as I know…

According to Wikipedia, “Khat contains the alkaloid cathinone, an amphetamine-like stimulant which causes excitement and euphoria”. As I do not know any Yemeni male who does not regularly chew khat, I have asked here and there what is it like, and this is a sample of the answers I got: “you don’t feel bored in doing what you do!”, “you have very pleasant chats with your mates!”, or “the driver will concentrate on driving, and the political scientist on finding the perfect way to rule a community!” Apparently, after spitting the mushed leafs, some people experience a lonely and depressive fall-down.

Finally, Wikipedia reminds that the World Health Organisation classified it as a drug of abuse that can produce mild to moderate psychological dependence. To spend 30,000 Yemen Reials a month on khat when the avarage monthly salary is about 20,000 is not so “mild”; to blow up on a mine to get some leafs for the afternoon is not really “moderate”; but to interact with a guy who is strangely staring at you and speaking through the green purée behind his cheek can actually… get on your nerves!

A Tree-logy

On the left side of the picture, there is a nice Cucumber Tree (Dendrosicyos Socotrana). On the right, the Dragon’s Blood Tree does not need to be introduced, and on the left bottom corner there is a young Bottle Tree, which you also met before.

On Patience

According to the definition given on Wikipedia, patience “is the ability to endure waiting, delay, or provocation without becoming annoyed or upset, or to persevere calmly when faced with difficulties”.

Already in my childhood, my parents soon found out that patience would not have been one of my talents. And they were right. Therefore, if nature does not give you a certain quality, you have only two ways out: either you avoid any situation in which you need what you don’t have, or you try to acquire it from other sources.

If you need a good school to learn patience, come to Socotra. Live and work here for a while! If you ever make it, you will get a whole Master’s degree. Some people here are trained in this fine pedagogical art of teaching you through the endurance of certain situations that can really get you crazy. Some others seem to be genetically patient and, if your deficiency is obvious to them, they may just advise you to “be patient”, but they can hardly understand why such a friendly advice is getting you madder than before…

In Socotra, the tour operators’ jeeps, the waiters of the touristic restaurant and those claiming money run fast towards their aim, but all the rest is slow. The donkeys are easy-going and the goats are lazy to move away from the road. Workers, in the morning, take their time and patiently wait for the afternoon to come and bring them relaxing khat-chewing sessions. The money transfers are soporific, the administrative procedures are narcoleptic and the internet connection is cataleptic. Hunger slowly devours you while the food simmers gently, until it arrives cold to your table (even if the waiters run real fast…)

Life in slow motion can be horrific to somebody that patiently tries to promptly solve every coming problem, as to have time to efficiently face the next one. If, in addition, the speedy metabolism of his body does not match the environment, he is in trouble. The worst you can think of is that such unlucky guy is also an Aries: his mental health is seriously in danger indeed. As there is no helpful drink he can have from time to time, one solution, the only solution, is to concentrate in getting his “Master’s Degree in Patience and Perseverance”, granted by the University of Socotra. The diploma, hanged on the wall of his office, would automatically cause the admiration and amazement of the most respected senior Buddhist ascetic.

What I do fear is that this unhappy character may end up so exhausted that he would not even find the strength to hang the bloody paper, but just to hang himself.

Once, Tuna...

Three Stadiums

After having publically praised my radio for keeping me in touch with my cultural habitat, I would like to loudly reproach the Italian public media for the absolute impossibility to get, at any time of the day, their national broadcasts on AM frequencies. In Socotra, I can listen to BBC World Service from 7 till 22, to Radio Exterior de España in the early afternoon and sometimes even to Radio Habana, Cuba in the early morning; it is also worth mentioning that, when I am fed up of (bad) news, it is relaxing to listen to the music broadcasted by Voice of America. But no, RAI is impossible to catch in this island in the middle of nowhere. Damn!

Not that I consider the Italian media as information models to be followed worldwide, but internet here is very slow and I sometimes do not have the patience to wait for the few reliable Italian news websites to get properly loaded. In conclusion, it is sad that I can follow closely only two of the three electoral campaigns I am interested in the most.

Spain is called to the ballot boxes in March, Italy in April and the United States are engaged in an exciting primary phase that could change, in November, our Planet’s fate. For us who love to pompously call ourselves “political scientists”, it is of a rare pleasure to follow these games, like they were major football leagues. Of course, also in this case, each one has her/his own preferences…

But some games are slightly more serious than just kicking off a ball. The two countries I mostly relate to decide their Parliament and, therefore, their Government. It seems that in Spain will confirm the present majority, but in Italy, it is not who wins that will make the big difference anyway. The issue in my country is more profound, that I think needs to be solved through a dramatic cultural change, a national awakening from a long nightmare, a new awareness about what democracy should be about: to reach out for the best organisation of a diverse community and shy away from selfish political, economic or religious free-riders.

Anyway, Italy is just a province, just a nice leather boot in the middle of dirty puddle. The real game is to be played in November. The outcome of the elections in the United States will surely give us a clue about the coming main political evolutions in this world of ours, this wonderful common home we are tirelessly turning into an ultimate mess (or our communal grave?).

Shame that only few privileged over there will play the game. Do they realize how powerful is their vote? Why only some of them take advantage of having this right? Why so many human beings in this planet have to bear the consequences of the decisions taken only by a few? At the end of the day, when we sing the praises of democracy, what the hell are we really talking about?

A Natural Swimming Pool in Homhel Protected Area

An Interesting Opinion

“Before the construction of the airport, the people of Socotra were archaic. Since the construction of the airport, the people of Socotra are poor”.

(An Italian doctor who knows Yemen pretty well)