Sanaa's 16,000 Candles

I was told to bring with me feelings of -- Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Severity. Extremity. Dust.

Tonight, I left those emotions in my suitcase, and I watched 16,000 candles come to a crescendo with the sunset call to prayer. One fire after the next lighted up the city in front of my eyes. The smell of carbon-filled smoke permeated the mountain scape. Each flame, or flickering light became just a dot on the city, the remnants of falling stars, as the call to prayer became louder and then whispered with the movement of the flames in the wind. I closed my eyes. I wrapped my Pashmina scarf tighter around my shoulders, as the cool mountain air pushed the sun further to the ground. Soon the orange light of the sunset matched the 16,000 candles lighting up one of the oldest cities in the world.

--- From behind an iron gate --

Welcome to Sana'a, the capital city of Yemen, a history of frankincense and mirth, Absynnians and Sabeans, in a country where the fourth Caliph, Ali, was sent by Muhammed to spread Islam right after the Prophet conquered Mecca. You can feel the history seeping between the tower houses rising 6 -- 9 stories above downtown. It is a city of many men, of small women shrouded in black rushing in between the towers, hurrying out of public to somewhere hidden away. It is a city of just women's eyes and dirty little boys selling tissues, begging for change. It is another world.

I continued to rise throughout the night, listening to the scattered calls to prayer. I wondered if any of Yemen's Muslims ever slept. Did they set alarm clocks throughout the night to know when to get up and bow, or were their bodies, filled with quat, in a never-ending state of wake? Did Allah come to them last night, along with their neighbors, coaxing them into religious submission? Because I have never heard a place so unified in prayer at such early hours of the morning. Even the dogs prayed, barking and howling to the musical notes -- in this city of insomnia.

-- Behind the walls of my hotel --

-- Through the window of an old Mercedes --

I will only know Sana'a in this way -- from a distance. My colleague and I have been forbidden to take taxis, to walk the streets, so I will have to do my best to take in Sana'a without being in it. A government-hired security guard will escort us, because, sadly, in the world war of terror, it has become necessary. As our driver picked up falafel for us from a nearby shop and loaded the car with fresh bananas and mandarins, I watched the sleepy eyes of a quat-filled man graze my profile with his eyes.

Of course, I wonder what he thought of me. I wish I could have asked. I wish I could have been a candle in the night, knowing the hearts and minds of the men, all over Sana'a bowing to Allah. I wish I could have flown through the towers and listened to the women, maybe as they prayed or cleaned and cooked and cared for their many children. But I couldn't, and I can't. So, like we all do, I'll continue to make assumptions. I'll assume many of them do not like me. Haram. Forbidden. I am Haram. I am the United States of America -- an uncovered face -- with the lovely Sana'a air blowing my hair around in the mountain breeze.

Through Sana'a's main public hospital and maybe two others near the city of Aden, I'll try to tell you more of a story. I'll try to let you know more about the Yemen with such a sullied reputation in the international news media. I'll try to bring you something -- maybe not better -- but it couldn't possibly be worse. Because although Al Quaida has a strong hold here, I doubt hate runs through the true blood of Yemen. I doubt it very much. But I'll keep my guard up along the way. Because, unfortunately, the way of the world has me behind an iron gate.