A Hadrami Night

I was pushed by the noise and the sudden erratic movements around me out of the bus. Half a sleep and completely dizzy from the monotonous movement of the old bus, I followed the crowds towards ramshackle coffee shop. Theoretically I was standing in the middle of a straight line connecting the Hadramout desert to the fertile highlands of Yemen, or in a bus stop half way between Mukalla and Ta’iz. The passengers who were either snoring loudly or just rocking in their seats a few minutes ago were jumping energetically in front of my tired eyes. The scene was getting clearer as I approached the hut showered by blue, green and white fluorescent lamps, where dozens of skinny teenagers were quickly serving the sleepy passengers, stirring coffee and tea, selling cigarette packets and biscuits and even cooking spicy liver and beans. All these noisy, after mid night activities scratched the beautiful silence of a balmy desert night. The quick short shouts characteristic of the Yemeni dialect of all the hurried impatient clients echoed with a loud happy monorhythmic song against the anger of numerous kerosene generators of different sizes and shapes. All these sounds danced with the pleasant aromas of coffee, tobacco, freshly baked bread, spices and the unavoidable lingering smell of burnt kerosene. Without any intension of eating or drinking I walked around the irregularly shaped rest house, inspecting the cheerful carnival happening around me, while trying to identify the bus driver within the crowds. My previous road trips taught me that asking about when will the bus leave is utter naivety or a sign of disrespect to the passengers, driver and the whole culture, so I surrendered to the fact that as our crawl was interrupted suddenly it will be suddenly resumed. As enlightened people live to kill their ego, I travel to kill that arrogant fussy touristy attitude, when I worship my itinerary and concentrate mostly on checking the not-to-be missed highlights of my destination. I reminded myself that I travel for moments and places exactly like these. A few steps away from the glow of the cold lamps were enough to disperse the kerosene’s itchy smell, and to spread a dark blue moonless sky studded by endless stars in front of me. I cannot remember for how long I was washed by the blissful stars and the fresh breezes welcoming a new hot day till the mythical serenity around me was interrupted by my own happy sighs. I returned back to my fellow passengers who were still whirling in their lively conversations. Healed from the tourist rush, I accepted the first invitation to join a group singing, joking, quarrelling and reciting poetry at the same time, It took them a few minutes to slow down and pace their dialect to my Egyptian ears, I picked a ripe date from a plastic bag in the middle of the circle and dove in the chat trying to answer their thirsty questions of why, how and where. We left sluggishly after repeated calls from other passengers, I moved towards the bus fare welling that magical spot that I do not even know its name.