Category Archives: Yemen

The Wedding That Wasn’t Supposed to Wait

by Reem Jazem

In 2014, my biggest concern was when to get married.

I was engaged in August, and my fiancé and I planned to have our wedding in May 2015. I wanted March instead. We were both born in March, and three had always been my lucky number, so a March wedding seemed almost too perfect to give up.

Unfortunately, he was going to spend three months filming a television series, so May won.

I was not planning a big wedding. I wanted something simple so that we could spend more of the money on our honeymoon. We were choosing between Turkey and Socotra Island, and my friends and I spent our time looking for a dress, a wedding hall, invitation cards, and all the other things that suddenly become extremely important when you are a bride.

Life was ordinary.

That is probably the best way to describe it.

We had plans. We had dates. We made decisions based on what would happen next month, or next summer, or after the wedding. We assumed that tomorrow would be there when we reached it.

I had never thought much about how extraordinary that was.

In Yemen, preparing for a wedding is not exactly a small task. Traditionally, the groom provides the agreed dowry, while the bride and her family carry many of the wedding expenses. The bride is also expected to prepare new clothes and gold jewelry for herself.

Men, I often thought, were lucky.

They put on a suit and show up.

The bride, meanwhile, could spend months preparing for a single day.

At the time, these were the problems occupying my mind.

Then came March.

Because we could no longer have our wedding that month, I decided that at least we could celebrate our birthdays together. On March 17, my colleagues surprised me with a birthday party at work. I remember that day clearly. Even my serious, strict manager danced Lahji.

At some point that day, I told my fiancé that I had a strange feeling that it would be my last birthday.

I had no reason to say it.

A week later, on March 26, I was at home chatting with friends on WhatsApp while my parents watched television.

Then came the explosion.

It was so loud that the house shook.

My father changed the television channel, and the news announced the beginning of the Saudi-led military intervention in Yemen against the Houthis.

Until that moment, the future had been something I could schedule.

After that night, it became something I could only wait for.

The airports closed. Traveling became difficult. Businesses and projects stopped. Buildings were damaged and people were killed. Things that had once been simple—getting somewhere, buying something, planning a trip, making a living—suddenly required calculations, luck, and sometimes could not be done at all.

We postponed everything.

The wedding. The honeymoon. The plans that depended on a life returning to normal.

We assumed the war would end.

So we waited.

Then we realized that waiting could not last forever.

The wedding finally took place in October.

The war did not.

By then, we had learned something that people living through ordinary times rarely have to learn: life does not always wait for the world to become normal again.

Sometimes you postpone your plans for a few months, expecting the interruption to end.

And then the interruption becomes the landscape of your life.

The war continued far beyond October, far beyond what we had imagined, and eventually far beyond what we could have imagined in our worst nightmares.

Looking back, I think about that girl who was worried about whether she would get married in March or May.

She thought she was choosing a date.

She did not know that history was choosing one for her.

A Visit to Yemen in 1884: Part 1

Most scholars who have read about the many travelers to Yemen in the past are well aware of the Italian Renzo Manzoni, whose 1884 El Yemen records his visit to Ottoman Yemen in 1877-1878. This travel account has even been translated into Arabic. A little more than a decade later, in 1891, another Italian visited Yemen after a journey that took him through Tunis and Egypt. His name is G. B. Rossi and his Nei Paesi d’Islam was published in 1897 with some 70 drawings. It is a popular account, drawing on earlier works of Yemen along with his own personal anecdotes about his visit, which he notes was at a time when there was tension between the Ottomans and the Imam. For a flavor of his writing, consider the following near the start of his discussion on Yemen:

Rossi provides a map about his journey:

Among other items is a list of the altitudes of Yemen’s main towns at the time.

What makes this text worth looking at is the number of illustrations. I attach one below and will follow up with more posts of the illustrations.

To be continued…

Bunk is not Bunn: A Silly Claim about the Origin of Coffee

In a non-academic website called Atlas Obscura, there is an article with the entertaining title: “Before Drinking Coffee, People Washed Their Hands With It.” The article was written by Nawal Nasrallah, an Iraqi scholar who has published excellent work on classical Arabic recipe books. However, this particular article is anything but sound scholarship. Her main argument is that a “mysterious ingredient” very similar to coffee was known five centuries before the documented appearance of coffee, known in Arabic as “bunn“, as a drink. “However, instead of bunn, it was called bunk, and rather than drinking this ingredient, it was mostly used for cleaning and freshening the hands,” she argues.

Her argument is flawed from the start. She is aware that the 9th century Ibn Masawayh defined bunk as an aromatic coming to Iraq from Yemen. He clearly identifies it as coming from the trunk wood of a plant called Umm Ghaylan. However, Nasrallah says Ibn Masawayh was confused, without indicating why. The link to the wood of Umm Ghaylan is also made by al-B’iruni, who adds that it is a Persian term, and by other scholars. Umm Ghaylan is a well-known name for a species of acacia grown on the Arabian Peninsula. Nasrallah was unaware that the renowned botanical scholar Abu Hanifa al-Dinawari, a contemporary of Ibn Masawayh, described Umm Ghaylan as a synonym for talh, the well known term for several acacia species, including the major gum arabic variety. Al-Dinawari also noted the terms for the parts of the tree, specifically defining bunk as the bark (laha) of the acacia tree. This term for bark is still in use in Saudi Arabia. So unless these early scholars were making it up, which I doubt, the meaning of bunk is clearly established. The claim that a 16th century traveler named Leonhard Rauwolf said that the coffee beans he saw being roasted (he never saw the tree) were the same as the term bunk used centuries earlier is hardly reliable proof, especially since Rauwolf assumed that the term bunn for coffee was no different than the earlier term bunk. It was not unusual for writers at this time to make such claims without any real evidence.

Nasrallah writes that early medical scholars like al-Razi and Ibn Sina describe the qualities of bunk “to check the unpleasant odors of sweat and the smell of the quick-lime used in baths to remove hair,” but no mention is made of it as a drink. It is a serious stretch of logic to suggest, as the author does, that when Ibn Sina said that “consuming bunk had mind-altering properties, ‘which could affect the intellect,’” this was proof that this was the first time anyone had pointed out the impact of caffeine. It is not unusual for herbals to comment on the impact of certain substances on the mind, so such a general statement does not imply caffeine from coffee.

In addition to ignoring the clear identification of the plant, which is not mysterious at all, Nasrallah can cite no evidence from Yemen for such an identification. If the coffee plant was indeed coming from Yemen in the 9th century, why is there no reference in any Yemeni text to it? The geographical text of the 9th century al-Hamdani mentions numerous plants, but not any known term for coffee, nor the term bunk. Nor do the agricultural and medicinal treatises of the Rasulid era (13th-15th centuries) refer to coffee. The known documented sources suggest that coffee came from Ethiopia as a drink useful for Sufis; this was probably sometime in the latter half of the 15th century. By 1500 it had spread widely from Yemen and even prompted a legal meeting in 1511 to determine if it was licit for Muslims, as discussed in an article by the historian Jon Mandaville.

The speculation continues with the following claim: “As for coffee as a hand-cleaning product, it seems that the spread of good-quality colored and perfumed soaps eclipsed its popularity. As bunk itself faded away, so did the knowledge of what it was used for.” To suggest that by the 16th century no one used traditional plant products for aromatics or for hand washing is ridiculous, as such practices have continued into the last century. To assume that perfumed soaps were widely available among a population that was still mainly rural and poor is silly. To think that the drinking of coffee took off after several centuries of hand-washing is wishful thinking. There is no evidence at all that the term bunk, which is not related to the coffee term bunn, ever referred to anything other than a product of the acacia tree. To argue otherwise is pure bunk.

Lament for Yemen

Yemen,
your body lies crushed
beneath the rubble that was the home
where you were born
your blood floods the land
where sorghum supplied every need
your breath is a raging wind,
a gasp in the swirling dust
but despite all odds you cling to life,
you sing, you dance, you will not be denied.

Sanaa,
your towering buildings bow down
in prayer for the dead
the saila swells with your tears
Bab al-Yemen closes its eyes
blinded in dark nights more dense
than locusts devouring all they see
but as the bombs flash
hope shines through the alabaster
carved by your grandfathers’ hardened hands.

Yemen,
your past is like no other
your present is not of your doing
no matter how many bombs fall
how many families mourn
how long the world ignores you.
The smile of one of your children
will outlast all the vain kings in their palaces.
Your future will not be denied.

Daniel Martin Varisco, February, 2022

[Words can no longer describe the suffering inflicted on the people of Yemen; the damage is beyond comprehension, where only poetry can dare to speak.I wrote this poem more than a year ago, but it is as relevant today as it will be for some time to come. But I stress the last line for an amazingly resilient people.]

A History of Food Production in Yemen

In October, 2022, I participated in the Food Sovereignty Workshop at Ohio State University and discussed the issue of sustainable agriculture and water resource use to improve the opportunity for food sovereignty in Yemen and reduce the staggering amount of need for external food aid. A self-guided pdf tour is available online of the history of food production in Yemen here.