the weekend begins

I woke up yesterday morning to a dream that Nate and I returned to the U.S. and I remember feeling a deep sense of sadness at being back in the States. After spending the first week battling constant bursts of tears of frustration and fear and certainty that I would not be able to handle this new world/life for a year, I realized, when I woke from my dream, that I finally feel at peace with our decision to move to Yemen for this next year. I realized that the trash littering the streets, and the strange (to be polite) smells that radiate from the old buildings and alleys, and our kitchen and bathroom (that despite any amount of scrubbing will never be clean)...all these things, I realized, no longer bother me. I love that, after carelessly stepping into an intersection into the path of an oncoming motorcycle, the cyclist--rather than yelling at us for our our mistake-- tracked us down in order to introduce himself and welcome us to his country. I love that a hijab vendor, after selling me a new pink head scarf, invited us to stay in his shop for a cup of tea. I love that a cab driver the other night, in a gesture to welcome us to his city, tried to refuse payment and insisted we take his cell number so that we may call him next time we need a ride or assistance. This city, in which pedestrians share the sidewalk with the occasional herd of goats or cow being proudly paraded around, has captured my heart.

Not long after we woke this morning there was a knock on our door. Um Akhmed, one of the school's cleaners, had arrived to both clean our apartment and bring us an assortment of carpet scraps to collage our entry way floor (I kind of liked the clean, sweep- and mop-able linoleum, but it's impolite to refuse a gift...) Although we've never formally discussed this with the school, it appears we have a maid. She comes about twice a week to vacuum and clean our bathroom and kitchen. Nate and I are really digging this. On top of cleaning our flat, she has also promised to teach me how to cook Yemeni food (and I, in return, promise to post any recipes I get!) After Um Akhmed's arrival, there were several further knocks on our door: a man selling pots and pans, neighborhood kids offering us a kitten, the neighborhood kids again, this time with three rabbits to show off, and finally a gentleman by the name of Abdul Kareem who works around the corner from us at the Canadian-Yemeni Water Project (a sort of non-profit that helps establish public gardens in the City that are irrigated solely from the local mosques' gray water, an ancient tradition here). Abdul Kareem had come to introduce himself to the newest neighbors; we had a lovely visit and he has promised us a private tour of the project's 44 established gardens. We spent the rest of the morning visiting the Souq al-Milh (Salt Market), a massive outdoor market in which vendors--in addition to selling the regular items, i.e. small plastic toys imported from China & etc.--offer the most amazing spices, bolts of fabric, dresses, abayas (women's robes), and jambayas (traditional Yemeni knives worn on the belt). Immediately upon our entrance into the market a vendor demanded we accept a gift of a small bundle of qat (the mildly narcotic leaf chewed in Yemen). This first offering fueled further offerings to us by surrounding vendors. Qat leaves in hand, we stumbled into a tailor shop in order to inquire about having a cotton abaya commissioned (they're mostly polyester here). Although this was not in their realm of work, the four male tailors did invite us in (again, with offerings of qat) and had quite a lively discussion with Nate (in sha'allah I will be able to hold real conversations on my own soon!). They also gave us a stack of Muslim propaganda, which we promise to diligently read. During the course of our hour-long stroll through the Souq, Nate shook hands with no less than 30 vendors and shoppers, all of whom wanted to introduce themselves to the tall, blond-haired westerner and practice their English: "Welcome to Yemen!"

Nate's Arabic is becoming progressively better and he can now hold both religious discussions (diplomatically defending our status as "Christians" to the local kids who try their hardest to convert us to Islam) and political discussions ("Yes, I am from Amrikah, but I promise you, al hamduallah, that I did not vote for Bush," which is generally received with a big sigh of relief, a huge grin, and more vigorous hand-shaking). My Arabic is also improving, and now, in addition to writing the alphabet and offering the most basic pleasantries, I can also recite the words for chair, table, car, and purse. My teacher says that I am ma sha'allah (very clever).