the peace envoy is watching

The hero of Tin Cup and Dances with Wolves beams down on Sana’a morning traffic. The fallen Hollywood star is part of Turkish Airlines’ latest ploy to lure unsuspecting Yemenis to the land of the Ottomans on holiday.

The ploy might work better if people knew who he was.

“Tony Blair!” grins my taxi driver, pointing at the huge sign in the middle of the road beyond the intersection. "Kevin Costner," I reply. "Yes, yes, Tony Blair!" he says. His enthusiasm is contagious.

Unlike larger Middle Eastern cities like Beirut and Cairo where massive billboards of pop stars adorn the sides of main roads, in Sana'a giant portraits are usually either of a lady in hijab advertising a sweet biscuit, or of the president.

"I think he's an American actor," I venture. "Tony Blair!" he cries.

I give up, and start squinting to find the resemblance.

buying basil at half past eight

“My name is Enas and I am a spinster,” she says, re-adjusting her black scarf around her head. “Do you have a mirror?” I do, actually. A small multicolored spotty one I was given for Christmas. Should I whip it out in the middle of this dark garden?

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” she says, waving her sickle towards the dimly-lit houses at the edge of the large green patch. “It’s dark, no one can see me anyway.”

“What about you? What is your name?” she asks. “Are you married or are you a spinster?” I consider this. I am 27. In my book that is not old, but then again I am not married. “I am a spinster,” I announce. She likes this. We become friends instantly.

She asks why I want basil. I explain it is to cook with, not for a bride or a dead man’s shroud as is usual in Yemen. She takes this in her stride. She knows this because she has American neighbors who do the same.

With her sickle, she gathers two large bunches of mint and one of wild basil. We step back over the damp earth mounds separating the lettuce, marjoram and radishes to the edge of the garden. Her elder sister, wrapped in the same red an blue cloth with nothing but her eyes and hands showing, is waiting.

She introduces me. The same question again. “I am a spinster, but God willing there is still hope,” I say. She laughs, “Not in Yemen!”