Learn a little Arabic today

By means of providing you with a bit of Yemeni cultural immersion in whatever country you currently find yourself in, here are a few words or phrases that you hear all the time, every day fii al-Yemen. Feel free to incorporate these into your everyday language if you feel like having a little fun.

"Ma-Sha-Allah" (pronounced "mashallah) - most typically used as an exclamation over something beautiful or impressive. Also the closest thing to a "pick up line" used by men on the street, lol.

"Ham-Dil-Allah" (pronounced all together - hamdilallah) - literal meaning, Praise God. Used in greetings, passing by someone, when someone asks how you are doing, and then wherever else appropriate. "How is the food?" "Edible." "Hamdilallah!"

"In-Sha-Allah" (pronounced inshallah) - literal meaning, "If God Wills." Used as both a way of acknowledging that things will only happen in accordance to God's will and as a perfectly acceptable excuse to everything. "You said my clothes would be done today." "They shall be done tomorrow inshallah." Tomorrow, nafs-a-shay

"Nafs-a-shay" - the same thing.

"Mumtez!" - excellent/good.

"Laissa Jay-id" - not good.

"Yalla!" - let's go

"Al-An" - now

And perhaps the most overused word ever in human history:

"Mumkin" - literal translation, "It is possible." Used more in the American way of using the word "maybe," you hear this word multiple times in every conversation. It can also be used as a question, "Mumkin...?" = "Is it possible...?" Or as a filler when you are searching for the right word: "I want, mumkin, this, and mumkin that, and mumkin..." you get the idea. Very useful and totally overused. We wholeheartedly embrace all possible meanings.

So you want to buy aflam...

The plural version of the word "film" or "movie" is pronounced "aflam" in Arabic. And while Yemen is considered more of a closed country, don't be fooled. You can buy movies here no problem - Indian movies, Saudi movies, American movies, etc. We saw a poster a few days ago for what I think was an Arabic version of James Bond. The title was "Rashad 007." Classy. Of course, you're buying films the only way they're available in much of the world - high-quality bootleg copies (and yes, "high-quality" is a relative term). No copyright laws here, my friend. No quality control either.

BUT you get movies with Arabic subtitles, which can be a nice way to learn new Arabic words. So a friend and I decided we wanted to pick up a movie on our "friday night" (which is really on Wednesday). We stopped at a store in the old city and flipped through some books of film covers. The selection of American movies at this particular store wasn't extensive, but it was ecclectic. We settled on "I Am Legend" (ahh, Will Smith, I have missed your pretty face), Madagascar (it would be some fun vocabulary!), and another title that we still can't remember. (And maybe you can guess which direction this story is now headed...)

We pointed out our selections to the nice store owner who was so excited to have Americans in his store that he started showing off all the pictures on his computer from all over Yemen, apparently not believing our story that we already loved Yemen and didn't need to be convinced that it is one of the most beautiful places on earth. After about 5 or 7 minutes, he had finished burning our movies on a few DVDs and we paid the tab of four dollars. Off we went to enjoy our evening!

So, funny thing. Okay, back up. Sometimes, in Yemen, you just have to shake your head and mutter "la af-ham" - "I don't understand." That will be another blog for another time. We get back and start reading the titles on the DVDs. One says, in English, "I Am Legend." Actually, two DVDs say that. Okay. The other two have titles in Arabic. After staring at the one for a few minutes, we finally decided that it said "Disney." For some reason I didn't think Madagascar was Disney but I could be wrong. The other title no one could figure out. And since we ironically could not remember what other movie we purchased, we figured we would be pleasantly surprised. So that's the DVD we popped in first.

After watching about five minutes of an action scene that I quickly attributed to the latest "Fast and the Furious," an action scene that clearly was not at the beginning of the movie and which we initially mistook for an ad of some sort, we realized that we had nearly the whole film of the Fast and the Furious...with Arabic subtitles and I *think* maybe not the final cut of the movie? A little confused because we knew that wasn't what we asked for, we began to fast forward...and realized that this DVD was six and a half hours long. Then we realized that it didn't just contain the Fast and the Furious - it included four movies, none of which we ordered. But we now have the Fast and Furious (or most of it), Dragon Hunter, some strange Spanish film, and another movie that I don't remember, all with Arabic subtitles. Huh.

We tried Madagascar - aka "Disney." Laissa Madagascar. Instead, we got Aladdin and the King of Thieves, Aladdin and the Return of Jaffar, Looney Toones Strikes Back, and two other animated features - these, with no subtitles. We watched Alladin.

And then we checked out I Am Legand. Wouldn't you know, it was exactly what we ordered. With Arabic subtitles, so that was great. But the film is what, an hour and a half? And they split it between two DVDs.

So yeah, I don't really have a whole lot else to say on the matter. But if you're interested in a film with Arabic subtitles, let me know and I'll pick one up for you. Of course, who knows what you'll get - but it might be a fun chance to take.

This may not work and I don't guarantee that it will, but...

It's the desire of my heart
It's the anthem of my birth
I'll love you til you cross the line
Then watch my faith turn into works

So here's to hoping we evolve
And here's believing that we will
Blessed are those who seek for peace
But in control are those who kill

An eye for an eye will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see
An I for an I will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see

I was born to go to war
It comes so natural to me
Sure as a hammer finds a nail
Death is the only way to peace

An eye for an eye will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see
An I for an I will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see

I've got a killer instinct bringing out all of my best
I've got a poisoned conscience telling me to go with that
And this may not work and I don't guarantee that it will
But I've got no choice unless you tell me who Jesus would kill

An eye for an eye will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see
An I for an I will never satisfy
til there's nothing left to see

(Derek Webb - Album: The Ringing Bell; Song: "I for an I")

State of the Art medical practices

For those of us accustomed to state-of-the-art medical practices and procedures (however frustrated we may get with the system), medical conditions in developing countries (from educational content to ministries of health and hospital facilities) can make us seriously stop and pause. I remember hearing stories several years ago from a doctor from Bosnia and Herzegovina. She talked about the deplorable state of Bosnia's medical facilities. Surgical instruments were 40 years old; some of the surgical tables had to be held up by people during surgery because otherwise they would collapse during the procedure. The war, as always happens, sent far more civilians to the grave than military personnel. Many died because they could not get proper medical treatment in time, either because they were hurt directly from the fighting or because the war prohibited medical supplies from reaching the hospital. Some people underwent surgery with no anesthetics because none was available.

A few weeks ago, on a trip to Hodeidah, several of us got to witness the practice of an ancient medical tradition here in Yemen (and perhaps outside the country too, not sure; it's a practice that is somewhat religious in nature as it was apparently put forth by the Prophet Mohammad as one of his approved medical treatments). The "procedure" took place at a small enclave in a very busy marketplace, so anyone could observe, but pictures were strictly prohibited. The person who is experiencing pain (a toothache to a ruptured spleen, it's all the same treatment) has these glass "bubbles" or containers filled with hot, boiling water suctioned to their back. The lack of oxygen causes blood to come out directly through the skin without breaking the skin. After several of these "bubbles" are filled with blood, they are removed and the treatment is done. Essentially the same as "bleeding" someone, but excessively more painful. The pain is absolutely excruciating. Perhaps this "works" in that you totally forget the pain of your health problem. Not really sure what the rationale is behind this practice, though I think it also includes some sort of supposed "cleansing" of evil toxins within the body. At any rate, it's not practiced in too many places in Yemen as I understand, but it was a common practice in this particular place and it made me so thankful for modern medicine.

I heard another amusing medical solution yesterday. A young medical student told me, "You know, some people in Yemen say that Qat will cure diabetes." When my response was an instantaneous and fully unveiled laugh, he threw up his hands and exclaimed, "Thank you! That is the response I've been looking for my whole life! Crazy, right? But the rationale is if people just chew qat for five or six hours straight, they won't eat, so that will help." Somehow.

Lest you worry too much about medical safety here, Sanaa does host a great German-Saudi hospital within its jurisdiction. :)

Random updates that will benefit you in no foreseeable way

So I have a confession to make: I really want purple hair. I know, I know, I know...I'm a hopeless case when it comes to hair color. But seriously, deep purple with a few black streaks or maybe just half black/half purple - it would be EXCELLENT. As we love to say here in Sanaa, "Mumtaz!" I would totally love it!

I tell you all of this because a couple of days ago, I bought a box of hair dye here in Yemen, knowing that the mixing of this supposedly red color with my current red color might produce something less than desireable. At the time I wasn't thinking purple at all, but when I put it on, about five minutes later I looked in the mirror and my hair was definitely purple. I got momentarily and prematurely super excited - the color ended up darkening to what is now something resembling black with a red tint. I like it, but I have to admit that I'm a little disappointed. I was so close! Sure, purple hair in Yemen is probably not a good idea, but where else am I ever going to do it? lol

If I close by telling you that I bought this amazing fifty cent ring from an underground tunnel today - a ring that spins and consequently captivates my attention every time I look at it - will you think I've gone completely mad?

Al-Mahwit

This past weekend we visited Mahwit‎. Al-Mahwit is one of the more fertile regions in Yemen. From its mountains the waters of several large wadis run into the coastal plain. Coffee beans, tobacco and various fruits grow here. The city itself is one of the most beautiful cities in Yemen in terms of geographical location and landscape - it is located 2100 meters above sea level. Mahwit was the center for the collection of coffee in preparation for transport to export ports from the late 15th to mid 18th centuries. It was also an important administrative center during the first Ottoman rule of Yemen (1538-1635 AD) The hike was nice, just a few hours long and much of it on an actual trail. Check out pictures of the scenery and an ad hoc game of football with some Yemeni kids at the side of the mountain - http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=94189&id=509602661&l=c5a7e43be0.

Forget Dress Shopping. Go shopping for Jeans.

So I blogged earlier about the joys of dress shopping in Sanaa. The culture that asks its women to completely cover themselves when they go out in public has dresses here that i'm not sure even the most scandalous women in America would ever wear in the privacy of their own homes. Hilarious.

But perhaps not as hilarious as the array of jeans that are available. There is pretty much one style: Tight, stretchy, and covered with "flair," aka stitching and glitter and sequence. The jeans are often various bright colors. But the best part is that this is the lone style available for women AND men. If you would like to have a really good laugh, bring the men in your life to Yemen for a little jeans shopping. This is especially effective if the guys are big, because Yemeni guys are almost all very skinny and overall, by American standards, a little short. And I hear a rumor that a certain store down the street has some amazing man-jeans that are purple with white stitching and zippers up the sides.

I shall now desist from speaking.

Racism and Diversity

At the men's wedding celebration in Ibb last weekend, I had a sobering conversation with one of the men at the party. I'm not entirely sure where this topic came from as the guy was chewing a lot of qat and the resulting increasing speed at which he was talking caused me to miss quite a bit of what he said. But I quickly came back around when, from what seemed like out of nowhere, he said the following, and I quote: "The color of a man's face tells you the color of his heart." This was his way of explaining why people of a certain race simply couldn't be trusted. (This may seem a bit off to you given that Yemenis have darker skin themselves, but they don't consider themselves brown. They have a different word for the color of their skin, one that doesn't really translate into English but means essentially a darker shade of white.)

My face must've given me away before my vocal response did because the man stopped toward the end of his sentence and didn't finish. Who knows if it was the fact that a woman was rebuking a man or simple surprise at having this point of view contradicted, but he was increasingly surprised when I vehemently shook my head and insisted that was not the case. He displayed a puzzled expression and then backed up a little and tried this line out: "Sometimes. Maybe sometimes it does." I stubbornly shook my head. "Nope. The color of your skin NEVER determines the color of your heart or what you do." He continued to stare back at me, looking increasingly puzzled.

Racism is a definite problem here, primarily toward those of Asian and especially African descent. This was the most direct conversation I've had about it, but I've listened to or overhead similar ideas from a number of different people. This belief is also reflected in the unofficial caste system of Yemen that is too detailed for me to eleborate upon here in this note. I draw a very, very, VERY small amount of comfort from the fact that this seems to be based on ignorance, not maliciousness. Islam dictates caring for the poor, and Yemenis certainly do that, although it mostly stops at giving money versus implementing any type of societal or programmatic changes that could bring the poor up out of poverty. And the bottom of the economic chain is primarily made up of other races. There simply isn't diversity here, so such ideas are allowed to flourish because no one questions them. Whenever I've voiced dissent to the popular opinions about other races, the response is the same: confusion. Not anger, just confusion.

It makes me thankful for the effort that many people in the U.S. and other areas of the world put into pursuing diversity. When you surround yourself with it, not just racial diversity but diversity in socio-economic status, religion, culture, etc., you are no longer permitted to just make assumptions for which there is no foundation. You are forced to confront your prejudices and incorrect or harmful ideas that have been passed on to you by your culture or your own way of thinking and instead you are forced to learn to love. This doesn't mean you agree with everything or everyone, but you learn quickly the truth in Plato's exhortation, "You are young, my son, and as the years go by, time will change and even reverse some of your present opinions. Refrain therefore a while from setting yourself up as judge of the highest matters." Not only that, but without diversity you just plain miss out on the beauty of so much of the world.

A football for 300 Riyals

Yesterday as I wandered down the alley close to where I live I briefly jumped into an intense football (aka soccer) skirmish with the boys who were outside playing. A number of them seem to be enamored with the strange western custom of shaking hands so in between hard kicks they would run up and shake my hand and offer me the customary Arabic blessing. After a couple of minutes, the eldest boy in the group, probably about 10 or 11, yelled something and began to dodge in between the swinging legs, attempting to stop the ball. When he was finally successful, he hurried over to me and, apparently the unofficial spokesman for the small band of boys, showed me two large, once-patched-and-now-again-unmended holes that were the cause behind the ball being so flat. In hurried Arabic he explained to me (I think) that they had been playing with the ball for a long time and tried to fix it but it just had too many holes in it. With a number of oversized hand gestures he motioned down the street and said something else that I wasn't able to understand. At first I thought he wanted me to walk somewhere else to play with them (probably because the other boys kept yelling "football! football!") but then I noticed two men standing at the end of the alley. They were giving me a most peculiar look that I had no idea how to interpret. I didn't know if the look came from the fact that they were watching me play ball with the kids or from our conversation that I probably obviously wasn't understanding in its entirety or from something else. But we passed by them and they simply turned and studied me and the entourage of about seven little boys scampering down the street. After another minute of conversation I realized that the eldest boy was asking me if I would buy them another ball and was leading me to a little store where we might find one. I nodded and momentarily hoped the five dollars I had in my wallet would be enough. I needn't have worried. The shopkeeper looked a little surprised but smiled gratefully at the strange woman asking to buy something from his very ecclectic collection of items that he had somehow fashioned into a store. He kicked a couple balls around on the floor, found the one that was pumped up the best and held it up for our inspection. The cost was a whopping 300 riyals, equivalent to a dollar and fifty cents. The boys, not assuming anything, stood there patiently to see what my response would be. I nodded and pulled a bill out of my wallet. A minute later the ball was proudly in the one boy's hands while the others tried to bat it out and start a little skirmish on the ever-too-narrow sidewalk that is hardly wide enough for a person to walk down. I indicated that I needed to go to another store and the boys nodded and headed back to the alley.

When I arrived back a few minutes later, the ball was in flying motion a good ways down the back street and the boys all stopped to wave and yell "shukran sadiqatii!" (thank you, my friend). But as I knocked on the door for the guard to let me in, another boy in the group scampered back. With a slight tilt of his head he pronounced in adorable, Arabic-clipped English, "thank you." I stuck my hand out to shake his and told him he was welcome, no problem. Then in what has got to be the most adorable moment I have encountered since arriving in Yemen, he smiled a slight and shy smile, laid his right hand over his heart and recited what was clearly a well-practiced line: "I love you." With that, he turned, waved, and ran off to play ball.

As adorable as this story is and as much as I will always love the memory (we all know I fall in love with kids a bit too easily - oh wait, that's not possible :), a ball for a group of boys won't change their lives. It may change their perception of an American, or it might make their life better for an evening or provide them a source of entertainment for another month or two, but really, it's nothing. Not even a drop in the bucket in the intense need that sweeps this country. I love Yemen, but I am not immune to its faults. Kids here are in desperate need of opportunities. On an evening like this, other emotions drift away and I am simply left broken-hearted. Heart-broken for the kids I see wandering the streets and mountain passes - not because I want to take them out of this place, but because I want to make it better. I want them to have the opportunities I know they have the skill and ability to take full advantage of if only given the opportunity.

Tales of the Taxi Cabs

The term "safety" is a funny thing. Mostly because it's so relative.

The variety of taxi drivers we meet here in Sanaa is as diverse as the cars they drive - or, more specifically, the cars you hope will make it long enough to get you to your destination. Some of the more amusing taxi rides I've experienced are as follows:

Driver number one: Doesn't talk much, but after about five minutes in the cab pulls out the cassette tape (everyone here only uses old school cassette tapes) and pops it in. Next thing you know, who else but Marshall Mathers is rockin' a little "Slim Shady." The cab driver glances back in his mirror at his two western passengers, nods a little and says, "Tamaam?" (Ok?) We both laugh and nod. Then he cranks the music up so ridiculously loud that we drew far more stares from the cars crowded next to us than normal. But what can you do.

Driver number two: Four of us pile in a cab, only to look up to see a perfect bullet hole in the front windshield, and from the hole the glass splinters in every possible direction. (Cracked windshields are the name of the game around here. Most are cracked. It was just the cause of the cracks that was noticeably different this time.) One of the guys in our entourage pointed to the hole and asked the obvious question. The driver nodded but then proudly announced that he himself had not been hit! We looked around the back for evidence of a backseat passenger casualty but fortunately it was dark enough that we couldn't see anything.

Driver number three: Wasn't actually a taxi. Probably not the smartest thing ever but this guy who was just idling by the side of the road offered to give us a ride to where we needed to go. Once we got in the cab, he confirmed what we sort of suspected - he wasn't actually a taxi driver. But he had kicked out his friend who was sitting in car chewing gat with him, so for some strange reason we felt compelled to agree to the ride. Along the way he gave us gat, bought us flowers, and then refused to let us pay him when we arrived at our destination. I'm torn between wondering how sketchy that is and being thankful for a free ride.

Which leads me to my musing about this idea of "security" or "safety" that we all throw flippantly around. Clearly the fact that I travel to certain places in the world showcases the obvious reality that I'm probably not as concerned about "safety" as some people might be. But more pointedly, I think that safety comes in very different forms. In big cities in the U.S., like a New York or Boston or Detroit, there are plenty of safety concerns. Pickpockets, someone breaking into your car and stealing it, someone grabbing a bag of purchased goods or your purse when you sit down, needing to always keep a close eye on your kids to make sure nothing happens to them, etc. You certainly wouldn't ever catch a ride from an unmarked "taxi" in these cities. And sure there are safety concerns here in Sanaa. They're simply of a different nature. But you can let your kids play on the streets because everyone looks out for the kids, and you can strike up random conversations with strangers and even when it seems like it should be shady by American standards, it seems to turn out okay. That's not to say you shouldn't always be careful and avoid being stupid (that goes without saying), but keep these cultural differences in mind the next time you see a State Dept travel warning. They're not all they're cracked up to be.

Yemeni weddings

Here in Yemen, the men and women hold their celebrations for a wedding seperately. Best I've been able to tell, there's not much variation in the syle of wedding celebrations. What's different from one wedding to the next is simply how many people are invited and how many days the celebration lasts. The wealthier you are, the more people and the more days are involved. Some people have a wedding celebration only for a day. Others, I've been told, can last up to seven.

Two days ago, a few of us spent a few hours at a women's wedding celebration for one of the women who works at the school here in Sanaa. The women's celebration involves all the women sitting on the low, close-to-the-ground "couch" type seating that is common in gathering rooms all over Yemen, then broadcasting the music that is live at the men's celebration. Sometimes the women get up and dance, sometimes they sit and chew qat or just talk. When the bride shows up, there is lots of clapping and shouting and dancing, and she sits on a very elaborate bed at one end of the room while the other women dance around her. The bride herself is done up in a white dress with far so much sparkle (as is the Yemeni tradition), an elaborate amount of henna, and a lot of make up that includes essentially white foundation that, with all due respect, makes the poor woman look a little fake. I've heard that this is also quite common - when the women here want to look very done up and beautiful, they opt for white foundation because they think to look white makes them more beautiful. Rather sad in my opinion because they are beautiful just as they are and the white foundation doesn't help in the slightest, but not like my opinion is going to change years of tradition, right?

The men, on the other hand, gather outside with drummers and someone playing a flute or similar wind instrument, pull out their jambias and engage in a large amount of very energetic dancing. It's quite enjoyable to watch. It's also common for more than one wedding to be celebrated at a time, as was the case in the wedding celebration we visited in Ibb yesterday. Weddings are very expensive in Yemen, so celebrating them together helps cut down on the cost. In Sanaa and the close surrounding areas, the man who is getting married pays for all the costs of the wedding, including giving a large sum of money to his wife for jewelry and other things. In some regions more north apparently the tradition is that the women's family first gives a large sum of money to the man, then the man pays for the wedding. I'm not sure if this practice is limited to certain tribes or if it's more geographical in nature. At any rate, the Sanaa practice (according to one of my profs) is one of the reasons many men here have only one wife. They can't afford more than one wedding. :)

Women are normally never allowed at the men's celebrations, but being white and a foreigner does allow you some advantages in situations like this. The men were quite happy to have our delegation that included four Western women. Heaven only knows how many videos of us are now available on some Arabic version of YouTube as I'm pretty sure that every single one of the approx 60-80 men there pulled out his phone and was videotaping us for minutes and minutes on end. Talk about the far-reaching effects of globalization. We were as strange and as worthy of pictures to them as vice versa. I also enjoyed the men's celebration a little more because the men were quite eager to talk about culture and marriage and Yemeni history and all sorts of things. The women are much more reserved around foreigners. Even with the insane amount of qat you're expected to chew and the one man who took far too much of a liking to me and about whom one of my fellow students amusingly commented "I think you're about to become someone's second wife!", it was enjoyable. After requests for my number, numerous invitations to visit his village and home and work, and an offer to visit me in Sanaa, I became more thankful for the culturally accepted excuse of "Inshallah." But I do hope you all have the opportunity to witness Yemeni style dancing for men and women. Both are different but take an impressive amount of skill, and from a very young age boys and girls learn these dances. While the men's dances are fun and elaborate, the women's dances I'm sure would make any American man instantly fall head over heels for a Yemeni woman. :) And this is probably why men and cameras are banned from all of the women's celebrations.

Pictures from a Men's Wedding Celebration in Ibb

One of the guys who works here invited us to visit the men's part of the wedding celebration that was happening in a village near Ibb. You can view some pics from the celebration at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=92379&id=509602661&l=3a0cc51c94

MJ's funeral

In yet another great example of confusion over cultural differences, one of my professors reported to us today that he watched Michael Jackson's funeral yesterday. (Does anyone know where I can see the full coverage online? I need to go back and see it now.) And after reporting to us a few of things he had watched and explaining that he didn't really understand any of it or why folks who were there said anything that they did, he asked about Michael Jackson's wife. He kept asking about the way she talked at the funeral. We were all a bit confused until he finally switched to English and falteringly explained, "Queen Latifah. This is his wife?" Laughing, we quickly exclaimed that she wasn't. With a confused look, our prof continued, "But he is King of Bob (pop). So his wife, she is called queen?" After explaining that there was no relation and quickly trying but then abandoning an attempt to explain Michael Jackson's family situation, he nodded. "Ahh. I wonder, because, she so happy. And I think, maybe his wife, she would be not laughing?"

Here in Yemen, funerals happen within 24 hours of the death of a person because they don't do any embalming. Instead they wrap the body up, put it on a stretcher type contraption and all the men gather together to carry the body above their heads and march down the street. There is also some sort of spiritual "credit" (for lack of a better word) that you supposedly get when you help to carry the body in this procession, so the men often rush to at least touch the stretcher, whether or not they knew the person. And no women join this procession, even if it's a woman who died. We saw a funeral procession in the streets of Sanaa last weekend. Interesting sight.

I'll just say it. It's good that I'm an American.

Cultural differences. Although people are people and at the heart we are ever so similar across countries and cultures and races and languages, cultural differences still run deep and can be quite amusing at times. I've found the cultural differences to be a little more stark than normal when I'm conversing with my professors, primarily for two reasons. One, for those of you who didn't already know, I'm a little independent - strike number one. And two, because I don't exemplify a typical American, people get even more confused.

When you're learning a language, you start out talking about your own life story, so you instantly see a lot of cultural differences and often have an amusing time trying to explain them. In a culture where it's not at all unusual for a girl to be given in marriage between the ages of 13 and 16, and where the average lifespan is fifty some years, and where people live a country that celebrates its unification with "unification or else," imagine trying to explain being 25, not married, living independent of your family from 16, and identifying yourself as politically independent. When we talk about different lifestyles and hobbies and work responsibilities, one of my professors thoroughly enjoys it. The other just shakes his head at me sometimes, making comments like "this is YOUR culture" or giving me a look that says he clearly doesn't understand why anyone would want such a life.

But most recently, my professor who enjoys discussing the differences in culture apparently decided that he needed some personal entertainment and assigned the following "language exercise" - write a personal profile advertising yourself and explaining what you want in a husband or wife. (I'll give it to him, he's got a great sense of humor.) And if you're stuck with a "language exercise" as ridiculous as that, you have to live it up, right? So I listed out my set of criteria...an independent thinker, someone who loves a good debate, who isn't afraid to question authority, yada yada yada. After spending a good several minutes laughing so hard he was almost crying, my professor commented, "This is good." And I decided it is a very good thing that I am an American, because no good Arab man here would ever want me. Hahahaha.....

I love Yemen.

Losing your identity

Excuse me while I stray from my usual "Yemeni update" and wax philosophical for a moment.

I used to be quite the blogger way back in the day. That's probably not the only thing I used to do (aka "be") that I've turned away from in recent years. Every now and again someone will recall something from an old blog and comment on how I should do more writing, or make a comment on how I should join another band. But inevitably, faced with a blank screen or a loved but recently mildly scorned instrument, I find myself in the same position yet again: nothing original to say, nothing original to play.

Some people travel through life always learning new things, braving new frontiers, adding words to the lists they use to identify themselves. They're professionals, eccentrics, survivors, conquerors. Sometimes the list is more specific, drilling down to abilities or roles - they're communicators, writers, managers, electricians, professors, mothers, fathers, husbands, wives. I don't suppose that there is anything wrong with these descriptors in and of themselves. But from my life experience I can attest to the fact that sometimes these identities get in the way.

This is not to say that I'm any different. I had my own list too, once upon a time. Musician, writer, political junkie, professional, whatever... I had my identity. And then, along the way, by some great act of mercy, I lost it.

Over the past several years, God has been doing what I can only describe as a systematic stripping away of my identity. The process has left me a little battered at times (maybe more than just "at times"). But it's also resulting in giving me something I never would have known enough to ask for.

Generally speaking, we gain our worth by what we do. It's our ability, or maybe our personality, that sets us apart as someone worthwhile. We gain acceptance and respect by continuing to be what we've identified ourselves to be. To strip that away is to remove from ourselves the very core of our being. It is to rid ourselves of what makes us feel like we have any worth. It is to say, here I am just as I am. I can't be anything else. And in the process of admitting that we are less than perfect, it rids us of the need to be perfect - or, more precisely, the necessity of being perfect that most of us all too readily impose upon ourselves. We no longer have to be someone we're not. And in a strange way, the ability to be a fallen and broken human who is free from a self-made identity results in a freedom that no other identity could possibility afford. (Perhaps this is why God refers to himself as the great I Am.)

I'm not entirely sure where to go with this from here. There is no point I'm trying to make other than the fact that losing your identity is what gives you an identity that can't be stripped away. You are who you are in the sight of God, and you get to be that person only when you let go of the other identities that make you think you can credit yourself for who you are - the things that will fail you at some point and leave you lost when your own abilities fail. But the beauty of the matter is that God loves you beyond measure and he loves the person he created you to be. You don't have to "be" anything else.

I suspect that some of you will shake your heads in confusion or roll your eyes at the content of this note and that's fine. Do with it as you will. But I've shared these thoughts with a few other people over the past several months and I've been surprised at how many times people have come back to me to tell me it's made a big impression on them. So I'm throwing it out there, as personal and philosophical and as full of jagged edges as it is. If you're as jaded or as rough around the edges as I am, perhaps it will make sense to you.

Hotel "Amenities" - it's all relative

I've been trying to work out the details for a quick two or three day trip to Ethiopia in August to meet my two Compassion kids who live there. Now that I have potential dates, I decided to jump online to check out some hotels. After finally locating a decent website for hotels in Addis Ababa, I began reading the descriptions for the nicer hotels - the ones that actually have websites. With the exception of the two expensive western hotels in the city (the Sheraton and the Hilton), the hotels all definitely have "flair." For your reading pleasure, here are some of the advertised amenities for hotels in the area.

"Private shower"
"Shower with HOT water!" (I like)
"Carpet from one side of room all the way to the other!"
"Bed is furnished"
"Internet available. Internet not always available"
"Hotel restaurant serves lunch three days a week!"
"16" tv with cable"

You get the idea. Personally I want to book a room at the hotel with the carpet that goes from one side of the room all the way to the other. Only because that line amused me enough to inspire me to write this note. :)

Pictures from the President's Mosque

We visited the President's Mosque in Sanaa this week. Pictures are available at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=90773&id=509602661&l=624af106c7.

Pictures from a road trip

Several of us took a road trip last weekend and I have posted pictures from the experience online. A full blog on the weekend is coming but for now enjoy the pics! http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=90222&id=509602661&l=15d7d1d0ac