And The Beat Goes On...

Well, it’s true that I finished the first chapter I needed to work on. What’s also true is that I have so very much more to work on. And so it continues.

My boss wrote back to my “wha da fa???” e-mail about my return here and said that once this is over, he will keep me off international assignments until I tell him that I’m ready to go out again. So that’s good. He also said that he was very surprised that my return here appeared to be a foregone conclusion. Well, like I said – I’m working on making the changes I need to make for my own sanity. The fact that he appears to be supportive of this is helpful.

Speaking of things that contribute to my sanity, on my parents’ suggestion (quite a good one), I have asked the hotel if they have a small coffee maker or electric kettle that I can keep in my room. I don’t know if they actually do, but at the least they’ve said that they’ll be happy to bring up a pot of boiling water if I need it. We have an electric kettle here at the office that I am welcome to borrow, but a closer look at the box revealed that it requires 2000 watts. I stared dumbly at the box for a minute, thinking that had to be a typo. I don’t even think the treadmill in the gym requires 2000 watts. My goodness. I had visions of plugging the kettle in, and shorting out my entire room. Or having something blow up – neither of which was what I would call a “preferred scenario”. The upshot of this little ramble is, however, that I should once again be able to reconstitute vittles with ease. So hurrah for properly re-hydrated food! (Heh…I said “vittles”.)

(As a p.s. – it turns out that a coffee maker or electric kettle in my room would, not only blow the fuses, but would also SET OFF AN ALARM. So I guess they’ll be bringing me boiling water until I can find another heating coil.)

Let me state for the record that I do NOT think it’s remotely funny that Gerald Ford is in the hospital due to poor health. He seems like a nice man, and I wouldn’t wish illness on anyone anyway. HOWEVER, I can’t help but think of that Saturday Night Live bit with Dana Carvey as Tom Brokaw. I would imagine that I’m not the only person who has thought of this. But I’m fairly sure that I’m the only person in Yemen who has thought of this.

Apparently, Mab is so happy with the work we’re doing here, he’s going to recommend that we take over the job that’s being done in another city here. TL mentioned it to me, and although we were laughing and jokey-jokey and having a very pleasant conversation, I flatly refused to even consider coming back for a longer period of time to work in another part of the country – all while smiling sweetly. He may have been joking, but just in case… Now, I don’t wish to be giving Yemen a bad rap, although I realize that I probably have – it really is a very beautiful and interesting country. My personal thoughts on my particular existence here are a very separate thing. My refusal stems from two main things – first of all, I have been away from home for way too long, and second of all, I have to be honest – I still don’t really feel safe here. And it’s not like I’m in Liberia or something, where there’s a substantial amount of generalized unrest – not that I want to make light of the political situation there, either. Here, it’s not so much that there’s so much unrest as very strong anti-Western feeling, and a quick glance at me would easily lead someone to conclude that I am Western. So it’s a particular, not generalized, uneasiness. If that makes any sense.

But I digress. I have tons of work to do, and, as was the case when I first arrived, not much time in which to do it. But at least I can still avoid ending sentences with prepositions.

So, I went to the gym again and was heading back up to my room, wearing a big ol’ t-shirt and leggings – aka: my workout clothes. I was also all sweaty and nasty, and just wanted to get back to my room and clean up. There was an older guy waiting for the elevator, and we both got in. He pushed the “2” button, which is also my floor. He asked me something, gesturing to the panel of buttons, so I said something about how I was on the second floor.

Then he asked me what room I was in.

Right. Because I’m going to tell you, you revolting, creepy man. I looked at him and said “um, on the second floor…” when what I should have done was told him off, or said “the same room as my husband”. Not that he would have understood. He then said something in Arabic, to which I shook my head to indicate that I didn’t understand him, and hurried toward my room as soon as the door opened. Keep in mind that, as creepy and nasty as this would be in the US, in this culture, what he did was so much more incredibly insulting and inappropriate.

Once again, for those of you in the back who didn’t hear it the first time – all American women are whores, so feel free to treat them like that when you’re out and about. They love it.