Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [12]
We settled there, on deep blue cushions, to talk about my class and finalize the plan for my first day. This had the effect of making me feel simultaneously more at ease and more apprehensive. “They will love you,” he’d say. “Don’t worry.” And then a moment later he would add, “But you cannot show them any weakness. You cannot show them a flaw, or they will become completely disillusioned and lose faith in you.”
After a few cups of tea, we climbed to his roof so I could take photographs before dark. The roofs around us were draped with carpets airing in the sun. I leaned over the walls, trying fruitlessly to see in the windows of other buildings. I was hoping to spot that elusive species, womankind. Already I missed them so much.
As evening fell, the stained glass windows in these buildings lighted up like gems, glowing from lamplight within and splashing color into the night. I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. I felt as though I had caught sight of an extraordinary woman and was spellbound by the details of her face.
“Allaaaaaaahu Akbar!” a male voice suddenly blared through the speakers, which sounded as if they were set in Theo’s windowsills. The sound jolted me, although I’d heard the call to prayer at least once before, that afternoon. And then Theo tossed me out of the nest.
“You haven’t truly arrived until you’ve gotten lost in the Old City,” Theo said. “So go, get lost.”
Now, as independent a traveler as I am—I have nearly always traveled alone, usually without any concrete plans—I came very close to begging him to come with me. I had no idea how to find my way around this medieval city. It was getting dark. I was tired. I didn’t speak Arabic. I was a little frightened. But hadn’t I battled scorpions in the wilds of Costa Rica and prevailed? Hadn’t I survived fainting in a San José brothel? Hadn’t I driven a van full of theater sets over mountain passes in Montana during a blizzard? Hadn’t I once arrived in Ireland with only $10 in my pocket and made it last two weeks? Surely I could handle a walk through an unfamiliar town. So I took a breath, tightened the black scarf around my hair, and headed out to take my first solitary steps through Sana’a.
I remained apprehensive as I headed up the alley toward the souq, having no idea where I was going. A clutch of black ghosts drifted by, their curious eyes following me. I imagined I could hear them whispering, “Who is that?”
“I don’t know, but she obviously doesn’t belong here. Her hijab is tied all wrong!”
As they brushed past me, I caught a whiff of musky incense rising off of their clothing. A man hurried by carrying a plastic bag of tomatoes and dragging a boy by the hand. Though I kept my eyes cast toward the ground, everyone I passed stared at me as though I were an escaped zoo animal. A Western, bare-faced, blue-eyed ocelot.
As soon as I had turned a corner, a small girl called out to me in English, “Hello, Bostonian!” and I laughed, feeling a little insulted. I may have been born in Boston, but I am a New Yorker to my bones. The laughter loosened the knot of fear in my chest. Another little girl in a tattered green taffeta dress followed me, saying, “What’s yer name, what’s yer name?” But when I finally answered her, she turned mute and ran away.
I quickened my pace, wanting to find the markets before it got too dark. But I was distracted by a flash of green on my right. I stopped and retraced my steps. A window was cut into the stone wall on the right side of the street. I stood on tiptoe to look through, into—a secret garden! Behind the wall was a lush oasis of palm trees and unidentifiable green crops that filled an area the size of several city blocks.