Shisha is alive and well in Taipei!!!
There is a saying in Arabic that says that once you drink the water of the Nile you will undoubtedly return. I never did drink the water, let alone touch it as I always feared amputation may be necessary. I once ate a fish from the Nile and my face went numb for five hours as a result. Also, when the Bird Flu spread to Cairo, there was a mass slaughter of chickens and rumor has it their bodies were dumped into the mighty waters o the Nile. Water was cut in Cairo for three days as a result.
Regardless of my failure to drink the water, I do feel that I need to return. Whether it be to live I’m not so sure, but I have missed living in Cairo since the day I left. I do not have the same desire to return to Yemen; however I do have a desire to get back to the Middle East. I used to say this about Latin America, and I do feel this way. While in college I studied in Peru and Bolivia and I will always hold those times dear to me and I have since returned. But there is something about the Arab countries I find fascinating.
I left because I needed a break. Arabia is a special place and is not for everyone to live. For the western visitor it is truly the exotic experience. For the pessimist, it is thought to be utterly dangerous. For those that fall under the spell of Arab culture, the people, the food the dance, the history and camaraderie all of the negative reasons fall by the wayside.
Arabia does have its fair share of ironies such as veiled women buying sexy underwear from outdoor male vendors. There are the nuances like the five calls for prayer that can shock the new comer especially if they are staying in a hotel next to a mosque. The 4:30 am fajr prayer sounds as if there were a man in your room with a blow horn to let you and you alone know that Allah is waiting for his prayer. And of course there are the fears like eating with the wrong hand.
And then there are all the other sights, sounds, smells and tastes that overwhelm the senses. Men who wear long galibeya dresses in Southern Egypt and men who are wearing futa skirts and daggers in Yemen; this of course not being complete without a wad of qat in his mouth. The occasional man with a flute charming snakes. They sit and chat over spiced mint tea, the sounds of Um Kalthoum wafting in the warm night air while men sit puffing on large pipes that bubbles and fruity smoke is exhaled. Child vendors with youthful but the eyes of an adult. Taxi rides that can make you re-evaluate your goal in life as you almost lose yours in the process of getting to your destination…the cabs that have screwdrivers holding the window in place and the door that occasionally opens in traffic.
The daily fast during the month of Ramadan and the party that begins with the evening call for prayer. Prayer, always there is prayer. Drinking a Stella beer on the rooftop Odeon when the Morning Prayer is sounded through the city. Saudi business men dressed in freshly starched white, clutching prayer beads with one hand and tossing money to a belly dancer on stage with the other. The belly dancing, tie a sash around your waist and then watch hip shimmies and body control that make every onlooker envious for their own respective reasons. The look of sadness in the eyes and abnormal white power on the face of a Somali prostitute forced to service sailors.
Defending myself while I was being robbed by a corrupt manager of a Yemeni airline and the generosity of the others on my flight who were appalled by his behavior.
The hospitality, the un-relentless Arab hospitality that is a must and makes the host forget about world politics and ideas. A bond that is formed between strangers by uttering only a few sentences in a common language. The jealousy of the women who want the same freedom in life as their brothers. Sweet smelling incense being burned to clear the air especially on Thursday evenings. Holding the coals under my hair allowing the smoke to fragrance my hair and sometimes being wrapped in a green cloak and forced to stand over the burning coals to perfume my body and clothes. Mixing henna and having women with years of practice quickly decorate my hands, feet and arms with intricate floral designs. I remember seeing the same floral designs in the black wedding khadab (black henna)on the arms and legs of a Yemeni teenage bride, not more than 16. She was made up to look like a doll and had fear in her eyes and she was fighting back tears while she waited next to a packed suitcase; waiting to be taken to her new home and life.
Being one of five females out of 700 men packed onto a boat from Egypt to Jordan and wrapping my hair in a flaming red head scarf to ‘protect’ me…protect it did and also enticed a Jordanian customs official to propose marriage. Watching the sunrise over the jagged mountains of Sinai and thinking if it really was the location where Moses received the ten Commandments…thinking the same thing at the gate of St. Mary of Zion Church in Ethiopia where the Ark of the Covenant is rumored to be kept.
The characters I have met and friendships I have found through the years from every walk of life and every corner of globe. Waving goodbye and giving a kiss on the cheek; walking in opposite directions and not knowing if those paths will ever cross again. Wondering if this crazy road I’m on will ever end and where that will be. Hopefully it will not be with a dead end.
I left it all because I needed a break, and I long to return. While I lived in Yemen, many had told me I had become Arab. I laughed and cast this to the side. But I understand now, I did in a way become Arab. I had created an identity for myself, and now I’m beginning to lose it. I guess it’s like a drug, skeptics are apprehensive to try it; however, once they have a taste they are dying for more. Perhaps I’m suffering from a bit of withdrawl. This time too will pass.
