Mahmoud
Fadl
In my Inbox I had an email message from Mahmoud Fadl. The sender was
unknown to me, but I opened the message nevertheless.
Mahmoud
wrote that he wasn't sure if I still remembered him, since it was
a long time since he was in Finland, but he needed help in the kitchen.
I
had no recollections of Mahmoud, but I suspected he was one of the
exchange students I had met in various events during my university
days. "Of course I remember you," I replied.
In
Sana'a, the capital of Yemen, I took a taxi to Mahmoud's house. This
was located in a run-down area in the north of the city, a maze of
narrow lanes. I paid the fare and stepped in. I was immediately recognized
and heartily welcomed. Mahmoud asked how I was doing and led me to
the kitchen. In the frying pan there was a raw pork cutlet. Apparently
Mahmoud had trouble with the stove. He explained there were cuts in
the supply of electricity. Mahmoud's father, a 60-year-old man, whispered,
"Mahmoud is a bit nervous. He's getting married soon."
Mahmoud
pointed a cupboard in the kitchen. In it I found broken fuses and
wires. Mahdmoud's father tried to join them together, which resulted
in a torrent of electricity sparks.
The
stove warmed up, and Mahmoud fried to cutlet in the pan. The electricity
was cut off, however, when the wires got disconnected. Mahmoud's father
grabbed the wires again and got big shocks as he held them together.
I warned him of the danger but he didn't care about the inconvenience.
I
chopped some vegetables and threw in the pan, as it got hot again.
Mahmoud continued preparing his lunch.
Mahmoud's
father wanted to offer me some tea. He poured hot water in a cup while
conversing with me. I told him I'd stay in Sana'a for a couple of
days, curious to see some sights, if only I could find a local guide.
He volunteered, although he said their neighbourhood wasn't particularly
attractive to tourists. "That's good," I said, "Then
I don't have to stay in the company of other tourists. And I can avoid
the expensive tourist menus, too."
Sipping
tea I noticed that Mahmoud's family was extremely poor. In the kitchen
I couldn't see any food items, except for the cutlet that was again
getting cold in the pan.
Mahmoud
gave up. He said his food was cooked enough, even if I could clearly
see that the vegetables were raw and the pork bloody.
It
crossed my mind that I should probably offer to pay for our lunch
if I went out with Mahmoud's father. He eagerly grabbed the opportunity.
We
left Mahmoud in the kitchen and stepped out to the sunny streets.
Dusty and dirty facades betrayed the fact that there were a number
of decent restaurants here, even if modest by their outlook. I suggested
a number of lunch joints, but we didn't go to any of these. Instead
we went to a nearby grocery store to buy some food items so as to
cook a proper Yemenese meal. This seemed like a good idea, as I noticed
that there were loads of exotic spices, vegetables, and other items
in the store.
And
the price level was very low. With a couple of cents I could fill
the entire shopping cart. I spent some time looking around in the
shop, since I was planning to buy some souvenirs. I checked the liquour
bottles but Mahmoud's father said alcohol was forbidden. I thought
maybe Yemenese coffee might be a good option, so I reached out to
get a package, but a police man came and said, "You can't buy
coffee on a Sunday. Any other day is fine but not Sunday."
Meanwhile
Mahmoud's father had filled his cart. I paid our purchases at a ridiculously
cheap price.
Out
on the street I figured out that if everything was so cheap here,
maybe it would be a good idea to hire a car. "Is there a car
rental somewhere here?" I asked. Mahmoud's father looked at me
with disapproval. "Renting is forbidden," he rebuked. "If
you want to drive a car, you must buy one."
