Travels In Yemen
On The Arabian Peninsula
~ by Dustin Javorsky
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| January 2006
For over the past year the country
of Yemen has had its foot firmly in the US Government's list of places
your average tourist shouldn't visit, the warning states: The Department
of State strongly urges U.S. citizens to consider carefully the risks of
traveling to Yemen. The security threat level remains high due to terrorist
activities in Yemen, and Americans are urged to exercise caution and take
prudent measures to maintain their security. Even before I entered Yemen,
I knew of its reputation, I knew of the tribal wars that have torn the
country apart and continue to do so, the rumors on the Omani side of the
border were that Yemen was a wild and dangerous place, gun toting locals
with a spite for westerners, and as I made my my aproach towards the city
of Sallalah still well inside Oman, the security of the Sultanate began
to make itself known, vehicles with heavy mounted machine guns, small bases
and checkpoints dotted the roads, soldiers performing ID checks of not
just locals but even foreign nationals like myself. When I left the city
of Sallalah on foot walking towards the border with Yemen, I was held up
several times by Omani security forces who would take my passport, call
the base commander over to review my story, check me out and then tell
me I was insane and wish me on my way. |
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The road followed the coast a few
miles inland, the terrain a bit more mountainous, after trekking along
the roadside until well into the night I was picked up by a man and his
family in their little red Honda; he asked where I was going and I explained
I was on my way to the Yemen border, as luck would have it, he lived walking
distance from the last checkpoint before entering Yemen. I jumped in and
he offered me something to drink, his English was broken, my Arabic still
under construction, but we managed to make light conversation: I explained
how I had walked from Abu Dhabi and the length of his country; he thought
I was crazy.
When we reached the intersection
in the road, he told me his home was 30 minutes down the road and the border
just 15 minutes ahead, so we parted ways, and I began walking, it was nearing
11pm and pitch black, the border between Oman and Yemen is situated in
a great valley, no moonlight could penetrate the steep rock walls on either
side, ahead about 10kms in the distance I saw what looked like a prison,
floodlights defined the border clearly. Lights cast my shadow across the
road, and a large box truck stopped, the driver rolled down his window
to question me quickly before inviting me to dinner at his home before
I crossed the border; I couldnt refuse Omani hospitality, we drove the
box truck up a dirt road, into a very small village of patchwork homes,
camels leering over the road in their pens, at the end of the road we stopped
at a large traditional Omani style home, the driver ushered me inside to
the sight of about 20 men eating dinner watching the National Day parade
on television and eating rice and goat.
They couldnt believe their eyes,
what had just walked through their front door, the whole line stood up
and I made my rounds shaking hands, and introducing myself, my host took
the liberty of conveying my story to his family, and we dined for the better
part of two hours, about half of that was the family trying to convince
me to stay the night. It was getting late and I was still not in Yemen,
the idea of throwing my gear down and sleeping had crossed my mind, but
I was too anxious to get into Yemen. The driver broke the news to the family
that I wouldnt be staying and they all again took turns shaking my hand
as I passed out the door. Back in the truck we headed to the border, it
was nearing 1 or 2am, and the border officials had their hats down over
their eyes and their feet propped up on the chairs. After getting stamped
out, I was lucky enough to meet a man heading into Yemen, a rich man who
spoke English. My last Omani friend waved goodbye, and told me this man
would take care of me from here out. The border was heavily guarded and
fortified, fifteen foot chainlink fences with razor ribbon around them,
and just a few feet on the other side Yemeni nationals were sleeping, I
walked through the gate and got into a truck with my new friend. His English
wasnt as good as my last host, but we were able to make a few exchanges.
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The difference
between Oman and Yemen was night and day, the lights in the distance were
dim, and flickering, the lights behind me, bright and powerful. I had a
moment to assess my choice, and it wasnt too late to turn back, but I really
wanted to be here, and took that mindset further into Yemen. After driving
down towards the coast the truck stopped at what looked like a hotel, a
few insomniac businessmen roaming around taking stock of me, and leering
as if I was some sort of oddity. The immigration official was a short man
with a thick mustache, his shirt unbuttoned and boots missing laces, they
did things a bit differently here in Yemen. After a minor ordeal with immigration
about one of my pages in my passport being torn they sent me on my way,
as we piled back into the truck, myself and two others, we stopped at a
small gatehouse, minus the gate. And spoke with the man there, he handed
us each an assault rifle resembling an AK47. My eyes probably bugged out
of my head, but it was too dark to notice, things were much different on
this side of the border. The men on either side of me removed their clips,
checked the ammunition and placed the clips back into their rifles and
pulled back the bolts, ready for action! We cruised along a seaside road
towards a clump of lights on the coast, when we arrived the scene was quite
grim, buildings halved by explosions, bullet holes and rubble everywhere,
roofs missing, bare light bulbs dangling from their cords flickered in
windows. |
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The truck made its way up to a well
lit structure which I found out later was the police station, an open air
square arena, lined with rows of beds in the courtyard, my companions got
out and told me to remain in the truck, when they came back bringing more
guns I couldnt help but wonder what was going to happen next. They piled
the guns into the bed of the truck and we began to navigate the maze of
leveled buildings, we came to rest outside a house, some light snuck through
a crack in the massive steel doors, the driver honked the horn and the
doors slid open, another man came out, and the two or three that had accompanied
me got out of the truck, the man I met at the border told me that this
new man would take care of me and that he would see that I got to a hotel
before the night was over. The men emptied the guns out of the trunk and
left 2 in the vehicle with me and my new driver. He propped them up in
between us, the barrels facing the roof and introduced himself, he spoke
next to no English and again my Arabic was still in its infancy. We left
my companions and got out on the main road, heading along the coast; it
was hard for me to stay awake, even with all the excitement of the day
I was pretty tired from walking ten hours earlier. The next time I woke
up we were still driving but in the middle of the road was a flashing light,
as we grew nearer and slowed down I could see a man in all white with a
cape and goggles standing in the middle of the road holding a lantern switching
it on and off, as the truck stopped the man picked up his rifle and approached
the window. As he did on either side of the truck the ground began
to move, two men - one on each side - flung off blankets and came up to
the window, the driver spoke with them and soon all 3 were in the back
of the truck and we were moving again. I began to doze off again and caught
myself trying to keep my head up. I cant be sure how much time passed but
when I woke up I was in a city, a city I still to this day cannot identify,
the lights on the larger buildings near the city center kept my attention,
soon we were stopped and I was at what looked to be the only hotel in the
city. I thanked my driver, shook hands and was led inside.
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