Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [65]
Salem comes to take me back to work at eight thirty. My reporters arrive enormously cheerful after their massive iftars. Ramadan fasts are traditionally broken with dates, with which the Prophet Mohammed broke his fasts. These are followed by deep-fried samosa-type potato dumplings called sambosas, yogurt drinks, fruit juice, a pale wheat porridge, and then meat, rice, and bread. Before sunrise, everyone eats again to store up for the day. Ironically, many people complain that they actually gain weight during Ramadan.
Final election results are declared on the first day of Ramadan. We knew them already, but now it’s official. The city goes wild with joy. Firecrackers explode the whole evening, and men on neighboring roofs empty rifles into the air. The country has been saved from a tricky transfer of power, saved from unpredictability.
I run out to go buy some gum and candy for the office, wanting to give the staff a treat after their day of fasting. Farouq stops me at the door. “Why don’t you send someone to the store?” he says. “You are the boss; you don’t have to go yourself.”
“Because it’s right there,” I say, pointing down the street. “I can walk.”
“But you don’t have to walk.”
“But I want to walk.”
“Send someone! Someone can go for you!”
“Farouq! I like to walk!”
We both start laughing, and he finally moves aside and waves me down the steps. My days are filled with plenty of these small, happy moments with my staff, enough to keep me fond of them even when they are thwarting my deadlines or returning late from lunch.
One of the most striking things about Ramadan is how clearly it illustrates the cohesiveness of the culture. I have never in my life lived anywhere where everyone belonged to the same religion (although Yemen is divided between Sunni and Shia Muslims, and within these groups are scores of subgroups). I have never lived in a country where everyone is doing exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. For example, at sunset during Ramadan, every single Yemeni is eating a date. This alone is remarkable. At this time, there is no one, no one, on the streets. Every single Yemeni man, woman, and child is home breaking his or her fast. No stores are open and no taxis are on the streets.
I don’t find this out until the second day of Ramadan, when I go to the Sheraton in the afternoon, emerging from the hotel just before six P.M., in time to see a spectacular sunset over the city. The Sheraton is perched on a hill over the bowl of Sana’a, and the purples and pinks descending across the mountains above and valleys below take my breath away for a few moments as I stand on the totally abandoned street. But my awe is short-lived as I look up and down the hill. Not a car in sight. No taxis, no dabaabs, no trucks, nothing. How will I get home?
Fortunately, just as I am despairing of a ride, a Sheraton taxi driver who remembers me from June passes by and sees me standing in the empty road looking bewildered. He mimes eating gestures to explain where everyone is and drives me swiftly home. We make it from the Sheraton to Sabri’s house in about three minutes—without stopping once—a miracle! Sana’a is a ghost town. We do not pass a single car or person. My driver speeds away as soon as he drops me, no doubt late for his own feast.
ON SEPTEMBER 25, the kidnapped French tourists are finally released. Karim gets photographs of them as they disembark at Sana’a airport, and we run them on our front page. I’m relieved, although the Yemenis have all been predicting this outcome, so they didn’t worry. While I am upstairs with Karim, Faris stops by. I tell him again how much I need more staff and that I can’t hope to get the paper under control until I have an adequate number of reporters. I mention the hours I am working.
“Jennifer,” he says, looking concerned, “I don’t want 100 percent from you. Do this gradually. Aim for 40 percent improvement or 60 percent improvement. I am afraid you will burn out if you try to do too much.”
Fine, I think. It’s good to know his expectations are low.