Defying the laws of gravity

Yemen | Anno 2006

 

 

Midnight. In about half an hour, we’ll be landing in Sana’a, the capital of Yemen. A few women on board are already preparing for arrival. Over their Western clothes, they pull on their sharshaf, the all-concealing black garment that reduces the female body to an amorphous mass. Only their eyes remain visible through a narrow slit. Because only in that outfit is their presence tolerated in the ultra-conservative Yemeni society. Yet, even through that tiny window, those eyes still radiate curiosity, optimism, joy for life – even a hint of welcome. Especially among the younger generation. That's what the coming days will teach us.

Yet, even through that tiny window, those eyes still radiate curiosity, optimism, joy for life – even a hint of welcome

 

With its 527,970 km², Yemen is slightly larger than Spain, but only a third of this vast country is inhabited. If you want to count the population, you'd better be quick, as the number of inhabitants increases by 3.4% each year. At present (2006), the population stands at about 20.7 million. Half of them are younger than 15. The improvement in medical care has much to do with that. The average life expectancy has risen to 61.7 years. Back in the 1980s, it was only 45. On the other hand, more than half of Yemenis are still illiterate.

 

Sana’a – Bab al-Yaman

Salem is the man who will introduce us to this fascinating country. He had to teach himself the profession of tour guide. We will come to appreciate how well he handles the logistical and organisational aspects of the job. And the fact that his explanations often only deepen the mystery of Yemen adds to the charm.

 

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There could be no better place to immerse ourselves in the boiling cauldron of Sana’a than the square in front of Bab al-Yaman, or so Salem must have thought. This is the main gate of the city wall, the Gate of Yemen, which even graces the 1,000 riyal banknotes. Honking cars, roaring mopeds, agitated vendors, and shrieking children relentlessly bombard our eardrums with a cacophony of sounds. Colourful old men, shy women in black sharshaf, men with daggers tucked behind their belts and a wad of khat in their cheeks – all weave their way calmly through the crowd. And this, Salem tells us, is still relatively quiet for a Sunday morning, because the sun is still high in the sky. Later, by early evening, the real hustle and bustle will begin.

 

And this, Salem tells us, is still relatively quiet for a Sunday morning, because the sun is still high in the sky

 

Here and there, street vendors tout their wares. For now, our attention is mostly drawn to the more exotic side of their offerings: the green henna powder, for example, or the glassy yellow blocks of myrrh. At last, we have the chance to examine that mysterious product which the evangelist Matthew once named, alongside frankincense, as being as precious as gold. For a long time, frankincense and myrrh were indeed the top exports that kept the trade balance of this region in the black.

 

Bab al-Yaman

The stunning ochre-coloured façades of the townhouses, richly decorated and rising five to eight stories high, immediately cast their spell on us

Sana’a

But as soon as we pass through Bab al-Yaman and enter the old city, our interest in costly perfumes gives way to a fascination that won’t let go of us for the next fourteen days. The stunning ochre-coloured façades of the townhouses, richly decorated and rising five to eight stories high, immediately cast their spell on us.

 

Sana’a

In earlier times, the al-Mahdi Mosque stood on the banks of the Wadi as-Sa’ila, a river that flows from north to south right through Sana’a. But like nearly all wadis in Yemen, it remains dry for most of the year. Then again, it was never really a river in the proper sense – more an open sewer where all the city’s trash seemed to accumulate until the rains came to do a major clean-up. In March and April, these are known as the small rains, while from July to September, the big rains fall.

 

Sana’a

A remarkable feat of urban development has borne fruit here. The wadi has been transformed into a paved road; its banks have been raised and reinforced. Now, pedestrians stroll along the sidewalks, while down below, cars speed through the wadi as if through an open tunnel. True, during the rainy season the water can rise up to two meters, but that inconvenience is only temporary.

The majestic scenery rivals that of more famous urban canals like those in Bruges, Amsterdam, or Venice

Sana’a – Wadi Sa’ila

On both sides, Wadi Sa’ila is flanked by tall façades of traditional houses. The majestic scenery rivals that of more famous urban canals like those in Bruges, Amsterdam, or Venice. One of these façades features an image of a horse with a woman’s head. Though this is a scene from one of Mohammed’s dreams, only Zaydis – a moderate Shiite sect closely aligned with the Sunnis – would dare to depict a human being.

 

Sana’a

Once we cross the Wadi as-Sa’ila, we step in awe into the heart of the old city. Before us unfolds a uniquely homogeneous whole, where – over an area of nearly one square kilometre – you literally won’t find a single house with a modern signature.

Since 1986, this part of the city has been listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. That recognition came with significant financial support, which immediately explains the excellent condition in which this heritage site is found today. It also explains why the old city now appears on the 100 riyal banknotes.

At the very top is the mafraj, the most beautiful room in the house, specially designed to receive guests

In principle, a Yemeni house is the residence of an extended family. The patriarch lives there, along with his wife, his unmarried daughters, and his sons with their wives and children. To house so many people, you need a lot of space. These residential towers are usually at least five stories high. On the ground floor, you’ll find storage rooms and stables for livestock and household animals. These serve as a kind of buffer zone between the public street and the private living quarters above. At the very top is the mafraj, the most beautiful room in the house, specially designed to receive guests.

The base of the building is typically constructed from natural stone, while brick is used for the upper levels. You’ll only find such luxury in the central highlands, because elsewhere in Yemen, people often have to make do with adobe bricks – simple mud-and-straw bricks that are either hand-moulded or pressed into moulds, then sun-dried. Against heavy rains, these mud bricks offer little resistance. That’s why the facades are often coated with a layer of mud plaster, which in turn needs to be well maintained.

 

Sana’a

Each and every one of those ochre-coloured façades is richly decorated. Above the windows, you often find filigree plasterwork in white, with coloured glass in between. In the past, only alabaster was used for this, but that material is no longer available in Yemen, and the skill to work it has also vanished. That craft was in the hands of the Jewish community, and they are now almost entirely gone – at most a few hundred remain.

It wasn’t always like that. Once, tens of thousands of Jews lived here, until between 1948 and 1950, when Israel, in cooperation with the United States and the United Kingdom, launched Operation Magic Carpet. It was a massive airlift that transported more than 50,000 Jews to Israel.

From small bay windows with an open floor in the façade, residents can look down to see who’s at the door

Sana’a

Some front doors of these homes have two door knockers. The large one is for visitors, while the small one is for family use. Nobody here feels like going all the way down to open the front door every time someone drops by. From small bay windows with an open floor in the façade, residents can look down to see who’s at the door. Then, using a clever pulley system, they unlock the door with ropes, allowing the visitor to enter and find their own way upstairs.

In a country where half of the population is illiterate, democracy is not a given

Sana’a

Posters from recent elections remind us that, in principle, Yemen is one of the few Arab countries that can claim to have a democratic multi-party system. In a country where half the population is illiterate, that’s no small feat – though it certainly raises many questions. A rearing horse symbolises the conservative ruling party of the president, while a radiant half-sun represents the even more conservative opposition. President Ali Abdullah Saleh was re-elected for another six-year term. In 2017, he would be executed by the Houthi rebels.

Barely had the Prophet Muhammad passed away in 632, when construction began on what we now call the Great Mosque of Sana’a

 

When Islam began to spread across the globe, the inhabitants of what is now Yemen were among the very first to embrace the new religion. Barely had the Prophet Muhammad passed away in 632, when construction began on what we now call the Great Mosque of Sana’a. Stones from a Christian cathedral were used as building material. Christianity had established a strong presence here in the 4th and 5th centuries. However, the Muslims were respectful enough not to build the mosque on the cathedral’s foundations. The district where the cathedral once stood is still called al-Kalish, derived from the Greek word ecclesia, meaning church.

 

Anyone who wants to call himself a man in Yemen is expected to always wear such a dagger tucked behind his belt

Jambiyas

Through the carpenters' souk, we gradually make our way into Suq al-Milh, originally the salt market, but today the umbrella term for the large central souk of Sana’a. It's a labyrinth made up of around forty smaller markets, each specialising in a specific trade – carpenters, blacksmiths, kitchenware, copper items, water pipes, sweets, clothing, shoes, and more.

 

Boys often receive their first jambiya around the age of fourteen

 

One of the most popular items here are jambiyas. Anyone who wants to call himself a man in Yemen is expected to always wear such a dagger tucked behind his belt. Some of these daggers are recently made and may appear a bit gaudy to us, while others are authentic, finely decorated, very old, and quite expensive. Boys often receive their first jambiya around the age of fourteen.

 

 

Intense exotic aromas almost literally take our breath away. We’ve entered the spice souk, located in a former caravanserai, where caravans once found a safe place to spend the night. Salem makes a point of drawing our attention to fenugreek seeds, also known as Greek hay. He knows that this spice will appear frequently on our plates in the coming days. But also frankincense, myrrh, saffron, sesame seeds, and many other products from this exotic world draw our attention.

 

A little later, gilt-head bream appear, blackened in a tandoor and served without any side dish

Gilt-head bream in tandoor

For an introduction to Yemeni cuisine, we can rely on al-Shaibani restaurant. The sight of the kitchen, the staff’s clothing, and their working methods may not exactly align with our notions of hygiene, but we don’t let it bother us. Fenugreek and spicy cheese paste are already waiting on the table upon arrival, along with small bowls of mutton soup. Shortly after, freshly baked bread is slammed down on the table – round, flat loaves almost as large as goatskins. A little later, gilt-head bream appear, blackened in a tandoor and served without any side dish.

To our great surprise, even freshly fried French fries are being sold on the street here – packaged in sealed plastic bags

		Raisin souk
Khat sellers

Talha Street now leads us ever deeper into the old city, through the heart of the popular Talha district, where children play on the tiny squares around the Peacock Mosque and the Talha Mosque, and shadowy figures of women in black hurry through the alleys. To our great surprise, even freshly fried French fries are being sold on the street here – packaged in sealed plastic bags.

 

Bakery
		Spice souk

Sometimes, a traditional house is converted into a funduq, the Yemeni version of a hotel. Dhar al-Dahab, or the Golden House, is a striking example. We are welcomed there – our tea is waiting for us on the top floor. We gladly climb the 93 steps to enjoy the unparalleled view of the two-thousand-year-old old city from above.

The Dawud Mosque reminds us that even the biblical David is recognised by Muslims as one of their prophets

Spice souk
Clothing press		Carpenters' souk

Mosques are everywhere. The Dawud Mosque reminds us that even the biblical David is recognised by Muslims as one of their prophets. In the Zoumahu district, we briefly step into an old caravanserai, which now houses the raisin souk. We pass through the al-Keshr souk and eventually reach the familiar Bab al-Yaman.

 

Sana’a

Great Mosque of Sana’a in the background

That the sun has now almost disappeared behind the western horizon escaped our notice during our wanderings. The muezzin is already calling for evening prayer as we return to the hotel.

 

Sana'a at dusk

With their frivolous skirts just above the knee, Irina, Fatima, Anastasiya and the other maids create an illusion of freedom in the restaurant of our western hotel. But by now, we know better. This bold fashion choice ends abruptly at the hotel door. Later, before heading home, they will wrap themselves in their sharshaf, the black cloak that reveals nothing but their eyes to the outside world.

 

Sana'a at dusk

Tomorrow, Christmas will be celebrated in the Western world. A lit Christmas tree with colourful presents tries to evoke a bit of Christmas spirit in the hotel lobby. Feliz Navidad adds to it. The Christmas song plays on an endless loop through the speakers in the restaurant, the hall, the corridors, the elevators, the staircases, even the bathrooms – there’s no escaping it.

Just across the Red Sea, the Ethiopian army, backed by the United States, has invaded Somalia to put an end to the regime of the sharia courts

But once again this year, peace on earth will be far off. Just across the Red Sea, the Ethiopian army, backed by the United States, has invaded Somalia to put an end to the regime of the sharia courts.

 

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Even from this distance, it’s undeniable. The world-famous building we see in the distance, about a hundred meters below in the fertile Wadi Dhar, can justifiably be called one of Yemen’s most iconic landmarks. Perched on a high rock formation, it seems to defy the laws of gravity. At the same time, it forms a perfectly harmonious whole with the surrounding nature, as if it organically grew out of the rock itself.

Those addicted to khat will sometimes pluck the leaves straight from the bushes without bothering to pay

Khat plantation with watchtowers

Here, about fifteen kilometres northwest of Sana’a, Imam Yahya Muhammad Hamid ed-Din had a summer palace built around 1920. In the capital, summer temperatures can rise significantly, so it was pleasant to have a cooler retreat high on a rock to escape to. This part of Yemen was then an imamate, with the imam serving as a governor – a role that did not imply spiritual leadership. The seven-story palace was named Dhar al-Hajjar, the Rock Palace.

 

Wadi Dhar – Dhar al-Hajjar

Imam Yahya was assassinated in 1948, and a few years later, in 1962, the revolution permanently put an end to the imamate. Dhar al-Hajjar was abandoned to its fate. Decay gradually took hold of the architectural gem. It wasn’t until 1990 that it was reclaimed as a national heritage site. Today, the government occasionally hosts official receptions there.

Perched on a high rock formation, Dhar al-Hajjar seems to defy the laws of gravity

Dhar al-Hajjar

That quite a bit of khat is cultivated in the valley does not escape our notice from this height. The green bushes often grow in fenced orchards, typically with a watchtower nearby. After all, khat isn’t cheap. Those addicted to it will sometimes pluck the leaves straight from the bushes without bothering to pay.

 

Dhar al-Hajjar

Once we’ve arrived down in the valley, the unique location of Dhar al-Hajjar impresses us even more – if that’s possible. In a breathtaking way, the five-story building manages to balance itself atop a more than twenty-meter-high rock, like a pinhead on a needle. Existing caves and water wells were incorporated into the structure. To protect the private quarters from smoke, the kitchen was positioned slightly outside the main building.

 

Dhar al-Hajjar – Mafraj

The icing on the cake is the relatively simple mafraj, where the windows are adorned with plasterwork and coloured glass

Dhar al-Hajjar – Mafraj

Wadi Dhar

As the muezzin calls for afternoon prayer, we begin the ascent of the 129 steps leading to the summer palace. Before long, we reach the kitchen, the adjacent wells, and several ancient burial chambers. One of these wells is even said to date back to the 7th century BCE. On the eastern terrace, rainwater was collected in cisterns, and women would bend over their laundry.

Higher up we find the storerooms, the grain room, the ablution room, the women’s quarters, and the imam’s chamber with its adjacent prayer room. The western terrace offers a magnificent view of the surrounding area. The icing on the cake is the relatively simple mafraj, where the windows are adorned with plasterwork and coloured glass.

 

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Our three Land Cruisers glide fairly smoothly over the comfortable asphalt. Driver Saleh, never at a loss for a quip, leads the convoy and has guide Salem in his vehicle. Hamid, as restless as ever, follows with the spirited driving style that suits him perfectly. The somewhat enigmatic Whaled lets the hustle and bustle pass him by, stylishly bringing up the rear of our little convoy with his jeep.

We have a journey of about one hundred kilometres ahead of us, bound for a few villages that have managed to preserve their authenticity. That we’ll encounter a series of military checkpoints along the route is something we’ll just have to accept. Barely twenty kilometres outside the capital, the first one is already waiting for us.

As long as Hamid's daily khat ration isn't threatened, his good mood remains unshakable

Of course, you don’t embark on such a journey unprepared. Hamid made sure to give us a short training session before we set off this morning. Did he teach us how to safely navigate the hectic Yemeni traffic? Did he emphasise the importance of wearing seat belts? Did he stress the need to stay hydrated in this parched climate? Not at all. Hamid taught us the etiquette of getting into the car. Or, more precisely, the proper way to shut the door – a skill not to be underestimated.

 

Warawan

After all, if we slam the door shut too hard, Hamid and his jeep are rudely jolted. Especially in the afternoon, when he’s had his daily dose of khat and is mentally drifting on some distant cloud, he finds that extremely unpleasant. On the other hand, a door that’s closed too gently won’t achieve the desired effect either – because it will remain dangerously ajar. And given Hamid’s assertive driving style, that could easily send us flying into the dust. Hamid will not be swayed. Meekly, one by one, we demonstrate that we know how it’s done.

As long as Hamid's daily khat ration isn't threatened, his good mood remains unshakable. For now, we need not fear any storm clouds, since here in the highlands, the supply chain functions flawlessly. Khat grows only at elevations above 2,000 meters.

As the morning progresses and the moment nears when the first leaves are tucked into his cheek, Hamid’s temperament will shift from andante to vivace. This is usually the phase in which he attempts to initiate us into the secrets of Standard Arabic – unsuccessfully, by the way. Then, in the afternoon, as the khat settles in, he will gradually shut down communicatively – we get the picture, but no sound.

Sometimes it even seems as if plastic bags grow from the trees like multicoloured fruit

By now, we’ve reached Warawan, an archetypal ribbon of roadside development – hot, busy, dusty – under the watchful eye of a military checkpoint. Plastic bags and PET bottles are strewn everywhere, a form of pollution that has reached legendary proportions in Yemen. Sometimes it even seems as if plastic bags grow from the trees like multicoloured fruit. This, of all places, is where Salem has chosen to forage for candy. In the upcoming villages, he hopes to delight quite a few children with his stash.

Gradually, the landscape transforms into a volcanic terrain dotted with black basalt blocks. This is the Harra of Arhab, an active volcanic field covering approximately 1,500 square kilometres. You can spot a few small stratovolcanoes and dozens of cinder cones, which are essentially small volcanic hills. The last eruption took place around 500 CE, forming a lava flow nine kilometres long.

 

You can barely see the traditional residential towers, as they share the same black hue as the hillside against which the village nestles

Bani Maïmoun

In Bani Maïmoun, they've used basalt stones to build their traditional residential towers. You can barely see them, as they share the same black hue as the hillside against which the village nestles. Only the lower, more recent houses faintly stand out from the surroundings.

Such bani villages are a dime a dozen in Yemen, according to Salem. The literal translation of Bani Maïmoun is family of Maïmoun. The village thus arose around the spot where someone named Maïmoun once settled with his family. Today, nearly the entire region relies on the genes of that distant ancestor.

That basalt blocks are the preferred building material should come as no surprise. Only hard natural stone offers sufficient resistance to the ruthless rains. Only for the upper floors will a builder, if necessary, resort to mud bricks.

Though space is abundant here, the houses rise three to four stories above the landscape. Each home thus functions as a small fortress. Safety, after all, has always been a highly valued commodity in these turbulent regions.

Yemen still enforces the death penalty without mercy. Public execution is the grim norm

In the distance, we can just make out the watchtowers of Amran prison. Incidentally, Yemen still enforces the death penalty without mercy. Public execution is the grim norm. According to Yemeni customary law, only the family of the victim can grant a pardon to the condemned – but if they do, they must banish him forever from their community.

In the meantime, Hamid has secured his daily khat supply – 500 riyals, or just over two euros, is what it cost him. The plastic bag containing the precious stash dangles from the light stick of his steering wheel. Eagerly, he lets his fingertips glide over the bag now and then. The concern in our eyes does not escape him. Is he really going to chew khat while driving? With hand gestures, he tries to reassure us. We gather from it that the more khat he consumes, the calmer and safer he drives.

As if that puts us at ease.

 

Amran

Hardly have we stopped in the dusty surroundings of the eastern city gate of Amran when young girls dressed in sharshaf from the nearby girls’ school surround our jeeps, curious and eager to start a conversation – naturally, only with the female travellers. As everywhere in Yemen, girls here wear pretty dresses until puberty, but as soon as they reach sexual maturity, they are expected to don the black veils. The very youngest sometimes wear a gargush, a beautifully decorated traditional hood.

The centuries-old eastern city gate is supported by sturdy natural stone pillars, but the upper layers are made of mud bricks

Amran

In the past, Amran was an important transit city for pilgrims travelling to Mecca. The old city district, the city wall, and the city gates are still fairly intact. Yet one of the city neighbourhoods suffered heavy damage during the bombings in the civil war of 1994.

The centuries-old eastern city gate is supported by sturdy natural stone pillars, but the upper layers are made of mud bricks. Over these mud bricks, a mixture of mud and straw has been applied to protect them from the rains.

The very youngest sometimes wear a gargush, a beautifully decorated traditional hood

Girl wearing gargush

Everywhere, curious children’s faces cautiously peek from the open windows high up in the facades

 

Paved streets lead us to the market square. Everywhere, curious children’s faces cautiously peek from the open windows high up in the facades, retreating shyly as soon as they catch our attention. Pre-Islamic inscriptions on the facades of some houses sometimes mislead us – Salem explains that these are simply ancient stones reused in the construction of the houses. Stalls for livestock and pets can be found on the ground floors, as elsewhere, with storerooms above them and living quarters even higher. Usually, the houses also have a water cistern downstairs, filled with rainwater. Using a manual pump system, this precious moisture is drawn up to the upper floors. More and more houses, however, are being connected to the water supply system.

 

 

In ancient times, black slaves were sought-after servants in Yemeni society. Even today, Amran counts descendants of those slave communities among its inhabitants. Legally they may be free people, but in practice they live separately from the rest of the population and take on jobs that others turn their noses up at.

 

 

The western city gate also houses the local police, who operate a prison cell directly accessible from the street. Behind the bars sit a few scruffy fellows, embarrassedly playing the picture of innocence. Further on lives the local sheikh, who is not only Amran’s mayor but also a member of parliament.

Below, in the barren valley, khat plantations follow one another in succession. Each one is guarded by an obligatory watchtower, creating the illusion of supervision

Khat plantations with watchtowers

We now climb higher into the mountains, with increasingly heavy clouds obstructing the view. Below, in the barren valley, khat plantations follow one another in succession. Each one is guarded by an obligatory watchtower, creating the illusion of supervision. We pass Halmham, the misty peak of the pass at 2,800 meters above sea level, shortly after noon. Fossils from a distant past should be thriving here, but we barely manage to find anything noteworthy. From a safe distance, a young eagle watches the scene. We continue on our way and descend into the next heavily clouded valley.

We now climb higher into the mountains, with increasingly heavy clouds obstructing the view

 

Just before one o’clock, we reach the spectacular viewpoint of the mountain village of Kuhlan. Below us, a winding road with hairpin bends snakes through dizzying terraces; to our right lies the fortress of Kuhlan perched high on a hill; to our left, the mountain range stretches out. At least, that’s how Salem describes the panorama, because through the mist, we can’t see any of it.

A Kalashnikov casually slung over the shoulder and a supply of bullets in the belt – that seems to be the standard gear of the clientele frequenting the restaurant

Lunch

A Kalashnikov casually slung over the shoulder and a small supply of bullets in the belt – that seems to be the standard gear of the loud, all-male clientele frequenting Kuhlan’s rustic restaurant. We’re not entirely at ease as we take our seats at a few tables and quietly bend over our plates of saffron rice, potatoes, beef, and fried egg.

 

Dozens of meters below us, houses cling to the rock face like eagle nests – the terrace of one house is the roof of the next

Kuhlan with palace-fortress

Now and then, the sun tries to break through the clouds, though without much conviction. A walk leads us along the mountainside to Kuhlan’s palace-fortress, located right at the end of the ridge. Dozens of meters below us, houses cling to the rock face like eagle nests – the terrace of one house is the roof of the next.

 

Kuhlan

 

From the tower of the palace – the highest point in the area – we gaze out across the landscape. Caution is advised, as not every floor or ceiling in the palace looks solid, but in the end we all manage to get in and out safely. A dense cloud cover drifts low over the mountains, occasionally parting just enough to allow the sun’s rays to reveal pieces of the fabulous landscape, giving us plenty to enjoy. As the muezzin begins the call to the afternoon prayer, we start our journey back.

 

Kuhlan		Kuhlan – Palace-fortress
Gatekeeper of the palace-fortress

Half an hour later, we descend deeper into the valley aboard the jeeps. Despite the many hairpin bends, Hamid, with a wad of khat tucked behind his cheek, gradually sinks further into his apathetic visions behind the wheel. Meanwhile, we become increasingly captivated by the deep valleys and dizzying peaks adorned with picturesque mountain villages. Clearly, safety concerns once drove these people to settle in the most extreme locations, unreachable by any enemy.

Hamid, with a wad of khat tucked behind his cheek, gradually sinks further into his apathetic visions behind the wheel

Shortly after four, we reach the military checkpoint by the wadi and begin the sixteen-kilometre ascent to Hajjah. Only a herd of tame camels delays us briefly. An hour later, we arrive at Hotel Ghamdan. From its hilltop position in the middle of the city, it dominates the surroundings – a 360° panorama of photogenic views unfolds around us.

 

 

Our understanding of the everyday life of the average Yemeni is still far from profound, but Salem is working hard on that. Whenever time allows in the evening, he explains various aspects of modern life – something we eagerly soak up.

That Salem allows the drivers to stock up and trip behind the wheel has a simple explanation – otherwise, they’d be completely unmanageable

Take khat, for instance, a topic that continues to intrigue us endlessly. Even though it’s only men who are addicted, the substance has become commonplace across all levels of society. That’s precisely why it’s so difficult to put an end to it. South Yemen once tried to limit its use to Thursdays and Fridays – the equivalent of the Western weekend – but the attempt failed miserably. Not even the fatwa of an overzealous Islamic jurist made any impact. By contrast, the Arab Gulf states seem able to enforce the ban – violators there face actual prison sentences of up to six months.

 

 

That Salem allows the drivers to stock up and trip behind the wheel has a simple explanation – otherwise, they’d be completely unmanageable. Khat may be a mild drug, but it does indeed create physical dependence. Skip it for a day, and you’ll face headaches, clammy hands, and nervousness.

Khat must be freshly picked. It can’t be stored; the leaves need to stay on the tree and must be protected from penniless consumers – hence the watchtowers. After harvesting, it takes about six to eight weeks before new leaves grow back.

Khat is chewed only in the afternoon, from just after lunch until sunset

 

Khat is chewed only in the afternoon, from just after lunch until sunset. The first hour is spent inserting the leaves. One by one, they are placed into the mouth, mixed with saliva, and kneaded into a wad. This wad is then cherished for hours in one of the cheeks.

What a trip does to a person, we’ve already observed several times with Hamid. His gaze turns glassy, the whites of his eyes become more prominent and slightly bloodshot, and his alertness is dulled into blissful indifference – the autopilot takes over. Around sunset, the cheek is emptied and the teeth are thoroughly brushed using the jeep’s side mirror. The ecstasy has passed, leaving behind only a faint nagging sensation, much like the mild hangover of a drinker.

 

 

For the lowest quality khat, you can get a daily dose for 200 to 300 riyals. The standard quality that someone like Hamid uses costs between 500 and 800 riyals. The wealthy class, on the other hand, is only satisfied with a quality that goes for 1,200 to 1,800 riyals per pouch. So if you want to get your daily dose of khat, you'll need to be pretty well off.

If you approach a government official or a police officer with a portion of khat, you’ll definitely get much more done

That this would lead to acquisition-related crime is something Salem strongly denies – which we meet with some scepticism, given the watchtowers surrounding the khat fields. That khat is an instrument of corruption, however, Salem readily admits – if you approach a government official or a police officer with a portion of khat, you’ll definitely get much more done.

 

 

The majority of Yemenis believe that khat has no harmful effects on health. Understandably so, since it's that same majority that enthusiastically chews khat. It does, however, suppress hunger – to such an extent that a user must force themselves to eat something right after removing the wad. But for Salem, it remains an open question whether Yemen would be better or worse off without khat. After all, young people might then turn to other substances like alcohol or drugs.

With our minds ‘at ease’, we can go to sleep – apparently, neither our safety nor Hamid’s health is in any real danger.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

The soft murmur of the sun-drenched provincial town gently rises up to our little hill. Pleasantly surprised, we rub the sleep from our eyes and gaze at all the people in the streets on the surrounding hills that encircle us like a giant doughnut. Hajjah is a town that cries out for a closer acquaintance.

Hajjah is a town that cries out for a closer acquaintance

Hajjah

From afar, the market already announces itself with much commotion, noise, and the accompanying smells. A lost cow’s head in the middle of the street suggests that somewhere at the meat market a butcher is racking his brains over the missing piece. High above us, the citadel dominates the surroundings; a bit lower, the stately house of the imam rises up.

 

Hajjah

Buying a goat without thoroughly inspecting it? That’s not something you can expect from a Yemeni. Checking its mouth, lifting it up, shaking it back and forth – it’s all part of the deal. Where we might expect a tail, sheep here carry an enormous fat lump. Just as a dromedary stores fat in its hump, these sheep store it in their tails. The average Yemeni, however, mainly sees that tail as the base for a hearty soup.

Just as a dromedary stores fat in its hump, these sheep store it in their tails

Hajjah

At the market stalls, a plate of fried sheep’s liver as a snack finds its way just as easily to hungry shoppers as a hot dog or a portion of fries would in our country. The peelings of coffee beans are enough to produce a coffee infusion – cheaper than real coffee, but still full of flavour.

 

Hajjah – ‘Snackbar’

Salem leads us into the meat souk. On the left, cattle are processed and sold; on the right, sheep – naturally under the very best hygienic conditions. Our knowledge of anatomy and the gastrointestinal tract gets a solid refresher.

 

Hajjah – Meat souk

And if the function of some unidentified piece of meat isn’t immediately clear to us, not to worry – the butchers here are courteous and well-versed in didactics. A shapeless white lump of flesh that puzzles us is promptly picked up. Just blow firmly into the black tube hanging from the meat mass – aha, the windpipe – and lo and behold, the fresh lungs of a sheep take on their natural shape

 

Hajjah – Meat souk

At half past nine, we begin the return journey toward Sana’a. Through an unassailable landscape with tiny villages that seem to have been glued by giants onto sheer cliff walls or atop nearly inaccessible mountaintops, we descend to the wadi in half an hour. On the other side of the valley, we begin to climb again, giving us a good view of Hajjah, our overnight stop, perched high on a mountain ridge.

 

 

There is no trace of mist or clouds anymore – yesterday’s foggy Kuhlan now basks in the rays of a bright winter sun. Terraces and hairpin bends unfold freely before our eyes. At this time of year, beans and lentils are the main crops on the terraces; after the rainy season, it will be millet.

 

Volcanic landscape

Hardly have we crossed the pass when we turn right toward Thula – not without stocking up on a few portions of khat. The asphalt on this newly constructed shortcut is brand new – clearly, the authorities intend to fully exploit this tourist loop from the capital Sana’a. The desolate, treeless landscape, peppered with jet-black volcanic basalt rocks, inspires us to take a short walk, while our drivers break into a few dance steps next to the jeeps – Hamid leads the way.

A gem of a fortified city, it has miraculously managed to preserve its historic old town al-most entirely intact

Thula

Shortly after noon, we reach Thula, perched 2,800 meters high on the plateau. A gem of a fortified city, it has miraculously managed to preserve its historic old town almost entirely intact. We’ve barely set foot on the ground when fifteen-year-old Fatima is already there to welcome us – in the language of our choice. French, English, German, Spanish, Italian, Japanese – you name it, Fatima handles it fluently, as she practices almost daily. And Dutch? “Een beetje…”, meaning “A little…”, she replies hesitantly.

French, English, German, Spanish, Italian, Japanese – you name it, Fatima handles it fluently, as she practices almost daily

Thula

In the turbulent times of the Turkish invasions in the 16th century, Muttahir Sharaf ad-Din, the local imam, was compelled to fortify his city. Watchtowers on the high rock rising behind the village made it nearly impossible for enemies to approach the city unnoticed. At the top of that rock, there is said to be a pre-Islamic temple dedicated to the moon god, later converted into a citadel. In times of danger, the townspeople could seek refuge there. Nowadays, the military has taken control of the site, and it is no longer accessible.

 

Thula

The city wall originally had seven gates; we enter through Bab al-Mayah, the northern gate, and are immediately struck by the enormous cistern. Once vital for the city’s water supply, it is now used solely for animals. Fairly recently, a piped water system was installed.

With houses that are three to four hundred years old, Thula has a distinctive architectural style

Thula

With houses that are three to four hundred years old, the city has a distinctive architectural style – partly restored, yet still partly authentic. Natural stone was the primary building material, which is logical in the mountainous region. The imam also commissioned the construction of a mosque and a madrasa, a Quranic school.

 

Thula – Bab al-Hadi

With our heads tilted back – the most beautiful decorations are on the top floors – we stroll through the old town along cobbled streets, trying to ignore a few persistent vendors. We leave the town via Bab al-Hadi, the southern gate, not without first taking in the view from the gate of the uniquely designed architectural ensemble nestled at the base of the rock. Here too, a massive cistern reminds us of the vital role water plays in this desolate region.

Two reflective mirrors were installed on top of the rock face to serve as beacons for approaching travellers

In earlier times, Shibam was a stage town on the caravan route. Its location, like Thula, at the foot of a colossal rock wall rising 300 to 400 meters above the plateau, was an added advantage. Caravans didn’t really need a GPS to find the place. As if that weren't enough, two reflective mirrors were installed on top of the rock face to serve as beacons for approaching travellers. This eagle’s nest owes its name, Kawkaban – which literally means two stars – to them. Situated at about 2,950 meters above sea level, Kawkaban also served as a safe haven for the inhabitants of Shibam when danger loomed.

 

Thula (in the distance at the foot of the rock)

It’s not Shibam but Kawkaban that is the real goal of our visit. From Shibam, you can hike up to the fortified city – a steep path winds its way up the barren rocks. One look at that trail is enough to convince us to opt instead, without hesitation, for our jeeps, which will take us up in a sweeping panoramic route of nine kilometres.

But first, we need to nourish ourselves – it’s already past two. Restaurant Hamedda is expecting us, but seems to have forgotten to set out tables and chairs. No problem – that's just how things go around here. We settle on the floor and do our best to keep our feet out of each other's plates.

Kawkaban is only accessible by a bridge and a gate. Until just a few years ago, that gate was even closed every evening

During the climb to Kawkaban, Salem points in the distance to Jabal al-Nabi Shu’ayb, which, at 3,660 meters, is not only the highest mountain in Yemen but also in the entire Arabian Peninsula. It doesn’t look especially impressive, but then again, we are already at nearly 3,000 meters ourselves.

 

Kawkaban

At the very edge of the rocky plateau lies Kawkaban, accessible only by a bridge and a gate. Until just a few years ago, that gate was even closed every evening. Shortly before four o’clock, we pass through the gate and enter the town. Dusty, unpaved streets lead us through the messy, crumbling, and partially abandoned city – Egyptian bombings during the civil war of the 1960s left their mark here. A few almond trees are already in bloom, just before the turn of the year – a surprising sight, according to Salem, who says they don’t usually blossom until February.

Near the massive cistern, we hop out of the jeeps and walk toward the precipice. The helicopter-like view of Shibam below our feet is breathtaking. The cliff face drops straight down – a sheer 350 meters.

Off in the distance to the north, a long rock formation rises above the plateau. At its eastern base, we recognise the silhouette of Thula, the town where we stopped this morning. Down in the plain, the fields show the brown tones of dry earth. Only during the rainy season will a wealth of green emerge, as crops – including alfalfa – begin to bloom.

Apparently, the gatekeepers of the hotel feel it necessary to search Hamid for weapons behind the wheel. The look on his face speaks volumes

It takes a moment to readjust when Sana’a, in the early evening, welcomes us back to the comforts of a big city. Like getting stuck in rush-hour traffic, for example. Hamid doesn’t seem too bothered. Apparently, this is the ideal time for him to tend to his oral hygiene and dispose of his wad of khat. Bit by bit, he spits out the bitter mess – much to the horror of the family in the car next to us, who find themselves directly in the splash zone.

Although we’ve stayed at the hotel for several nights now, the gatekeepers still seem uneasy. Apparently, they feel it necessary to search Hamid for weapons behind the wheel. The look on his face speaks volumes.

 

*     *     *     *     *

 

Ever higher the hairpin bends take us into the mountains. If you’re looking for authenticity, the Haraz Mountains southwest of Sana’a are the place to be. It’s a harsh environment, with bare mountain peaks rising two to three thousand meters high. Yet centuries-old mountain villages manage to hold their ground here. Traditional tower houses perch precariously on the edges of cliffs. Life proceeds quietly, just as it has for centuries.

 

 

Without pause, bend after bend, fascinating vistas continue to unfold. Near Daraga, our long ascent culminates in a spectacular panorama of five villages, each perched unassailably high on a different mountain ridge.

 

 

Al-Maghribah is the name of the place where we leave the main road. For six kilometres, the road now winds along the flank of Jabal Hudhar amid breathtaking scenery. Even on the steepest slopes, terraces have often been carved out. This is how we arrive in Manakhah, a town at an altitude of 2,200 meters. Thanks to its central location, it has developed into an ideal gateway to the surrounding villages.

Near Daraga, our long ascent culminates in a spectacular panorama of five villages, each perched unassailably high on a different mountain ridge

 

One of those villages is al-Hajjarah, famous for its fabulous location. Even now, we can already see it across the valley, like an eagle’s nest perched on a high rocky outcrop several hundred meters above us. It’s a breathtaking sight – those traditional tall houses standing right on the very edge of the cliff. Gravity seems to have no power here. But dark clouds worry us. They approach ominously and seem to gradually obscure this mountain jewel from our view.

 

 

Still, our inner selves deserve some attention first. In front of the al-Hajjarah restaurant in Manakhah, jeeps are lined up. Clearly, we’re in the heart of the tourist circuit. We settle down on the carpeted floor around dishes of assorted vegetables, eggs with tomato, fenugreek, sweet risotto, rice, bread, bananas, and cake.

But the local interlude has more in store. Dancing is also on the menu – naturally performed exclusively by men. Fiercely swinging their jambiyas, a few warrior-like men hop and leap around the spot where our meal was just served. Grace and style are clearly not the primary recruitment criteria for these dancers. The loud spectacle builds to a deafening crescendo of drumbeats.

Gravity seems to have no power here

Al-Hajjarah

A narrow road leads us up to al-Hajjarah. Meanwhile, clouds continue to gather around the eagle’s nest. Below, the valley still basks in sunlight, and Manakhah gleams like a pearl atop the rocks, but higher up, mist robs us of our view. It seems that our encounter with this mountain jewel at 2,600 meters may end in disappointment.

Mountain peak and village form a single organic whole, the façades of the outermost houses seem like a natural extension of the cliff face

Al-Hajjarah

Indeed, mist girdles the town upon our arrival. Occasionally, it lifts just enough to let a sliver of sunlight touch the village. But any real view of al-Hajjarah’s unique location is clearly out of the question today.

Still, that does nothing to spoil the experience. We can’t suppress our amazement at the breathtaking sight before us. Mountain peak and village form a single organic whole – the façades of the outermost houses seem like a natural extension of the cliff face. The town is completely walled in; some houses are even built directly into the city wall itself.

All goods here are transported solely by donkey – no other form of freight transport is viable

Al-Hajjarah – Donkeys at the entrance gate

A long, steep staircase leads up to the only city gate. It’s so narrow that even a loaded donkey can barely squeeze through. Around 600 people still call this medieval setting home. The town likely dates back to the 11th or 12th century. In times of danger, the population could quickly retreat behind the protective walls.

 

Al-Hajjarah

Through the long stairway and tiny gate, we enter the village. Where one might normally expect streets, here there are only narrow, uneven paths carved into the rock, and at best, stairways.

Each layer is placed slightly farther back than the one below it, giving the façades a subtle inward tilt. Should an earthquake strike, this design is said to improve stability

Mixing mud with straw …

… and applying it under the ceiling

Some houses rise as high as eight stories above ground level. Layer by layer, stones are dry-stacked, held together only by some gravel mixed with sand. Each layer is placed slightly farther back than the one below it, giving the façades a subtle inward tilt. Should an earthquake strike, this design is said to improve stability. Unlike the houses in Sana’a, al-Hajjarah homes lack the central staircase that typically serves as a structural spine.

 

Al-Hajjarah

Salem guides us through the town. With one eye on the richly decorated façades towering high above us, and the other on the pockmarked path and the dizzying drop beside us, we follow in his footsteps. Magnificent glimpses between the buildings offer views of the fields far below. The smell of stables announces the livestock quarter well in advance.

 

Al-Hajjarah

Everywhere, children try to get our attention. Young boys crowd around us and eagerly offer to show the way – of course, not to the exit, but to their father's shop. A maze of alleyways, dark passageways, uneven rocky paths, and narrow staircases carved into the stone make up their world. All goods here are transported solely by donkey – no other form of freight transport is viable.

 

Al-Hajjarah

By the time we turn our backs on this medieval gem, dark rainclouds have entirely engulfed al-Hajjarah. A 50-kilometre descent brings us into the Tihama, the coastal plain along the Red Sea. The cool highlands transition seamlessly into the sultry lowlands. We pass banana trees, mango trees, guava trees. An ibis struts through the water; a heron stands motionless, watching for prey. Then, the first primitive huts appear – the contrast with the proud façades of the mountain dwellings couldn’t be greater.

It’s not only the civil war that has inflicted serious damage on these historic buildings. Climate change is also taking its toll

Al-Hajjarah

But it remains an open question how much longer we’ll be able to enjoy the stunning architecture of Yemen’s traditional tower houses. It’s not only the civil war that has inflicted serious damage on these historic buildings. Climate change is also taking its toll. In 2020, torrential rains battered the capital, Sana’a, for months. Several buildings collapsed, and many more were damaged.

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Jaak Palmans
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