A few days ago I wasn’t good for anything.
A nice gentle case of food poisoning put me down hard, and frankly, I didn’t want to open my eyes, much less get out of bed.
Then yesterday . . . let me paint the picture, since I forgot my camera:
In the Old City of Sana’a, behind a long wall, sits the garden of Eden. It’s not overly cared-for, which lends the garden a wild look. Tendrils and shoots have gone where they will. The wall of sugar cane growing in front of one rock-and-daub wall surprised me. Built into the garden is a few covered archways, dirt-covered stone pathways underneath, the sun glancing through flower-covered vines that wrap up and over the path. Off the path, almost randomly placed, is a white picnic table surrounded similar chairs. I am seated there, as is a handful of other Yemenis and expats. We’re laughing and joking as the lord of the manor, a stately and kind Yemeni man, pours us glasses of his homemade wine. Several small boys scurry to the table with plates of food. There’s more laughter, a hum of traffic outside. I sit back in my chair, and look up through the low branches and leaves of the tree, flowing back and forth to the breeze, winking the sunlight.
Time from death by bacteria sandwich to happy, sun-dappled lunching: two days.
Welcome to Yemen.
Despatches | {Wyoming} 