Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [124]
In early spring, she invites me on a trip to Kamaran Island with a group of mostly Dutch friends. I’ve gotten bolder about taking time off, and so without even telling Faris, I leave the paper in Luke’s hands on a closing day and head for the Red Sea. I don’t want to miss a chance to meet people away from work.
The occasion is Floor’s birthday. Floor is Ali’s new girlfriend; they began dating while he was working for me (much to the dismay of my women). When we go to Kamaran, Ali is temporarily away in the United States. Floor is slender and blond, easygoing, and drives her own car, a massive army-green jeep. With her is her best friend, Serena, an Australian doctoral student in political science, and Matt and Nina, a couple from New York.
Xander, a tall, dark-haired Dutch development worker, drives the second car, with Anne and her new Dutch boyfriend Florens. I am squeezed into the last car with Yahya, a Yemeni; Lama, a tiny, wild, married Yemeni woman; and Zana, a vastly fat Albanian with short-clipped blond hair and watermelon breasts.
Zana is from Kosovo and works for the National Democratic Institute with Floor and Lama. We pass the time asking Lama how to say various things in Arabic, focusing on phrases to make men leave us alone. Zana asks how to say “It is nothing that would interest you.”
“There is no Arabic translation for that,” says Lama, “because here, everyone is interested in everything.”
We drive up over the jagged peaks of the Haraz Mountains, majestic and misty. It is cool in the mountains, and I am astonished at their greenness. The color comes from the crops planted in diminishing terraces rising up the slopes all around us. On one peak, our three cars meet up at a bootleg alcohol shop. I am amused to find the tiny, unmarked shed plastered with enormous photographs of Saddam Hussein and stocked with bottles of Glen’s gin, Bell’s whiskey, and Heineken. When I ask what other contraband is available, Serena says, “Anything you want.” Several of the Dutch buy hashish, and we all chip in for cases of beer.
As we descend from the mountains toward Hodeida, the air grows softer and warmer, and the valley alongside the road greens with banana trees. Soon, it is so hot that we have to roll our windows all the way down.
We arrive at the boat launch in Selim just after dark. The air is thick, warm, and sticky. The police at the docks make a big fuss over our papers, delaying us while they hold conferences among themselves. The man who seems to be in charge is very confused about how many of us there are. Serena tells him there are fourteen of us, but he doesn’t understand. “Five and five and four,” she says, pointing out our three groups. He cannot add, and she shows him on her fingers. He frowns and scribbles and counts us again.
Finally, we are allowed to board three rickety fishing boats, our bags of contraband clanking as we heave them over the sides. Even then, the boat drivers are in no hurry to set off. They busily compare cell phone features while we grow impatient. We have already been traveling for seven hours. After sitting for ages breathing exhaust fumes from the boat, little Lama finally loses patience. “Mumkin,” (“Can we …?”) she says, tapping the driver. And we all join in with the “YALLA!” (Let’s go!)
With a sudden push, we are speeding across the water. I look up. The stars are bright and the moon fuzzy with humidity. There are no lights anywhere. Our boats themselves lack headlights and the water is dark around us. The enchantment hits us all in a rush. Our boats fly, faster than our cars had on land, through the dark. Our wake and the waves around us glow white in the moonlight.
“Wow,” we say in one awestruck voice. I trail my fingers in the water.
“This is my first time on the Red Sea,” says Nina.
I’m suddenly excited. “Me too!”
Our driver asks Nina for her flashlight, and she hands it over. It strikes me as odd that he doesn’t have his own.