The Panther

CHAPTER TEN


Tom Walsh, as promised, arranged an appointment for Kate and me with the State Department Office of International Affairs for our cultural awareness course. The OIA is right here at 26 Fed, which is convenient, but still sucks.

On Tuesday morning at 8 A.M., we met Mr. Buckminster Harris—where do WASPs get these names?—in a small, windowless conference room. Mr. Harris asked us to call him Buck, and he invited us to sit.

Buckminster Harris was a well-dressed gent of about sixty, and I guessed he’d seen some of the world during his long and I’m sure distinguished career with the State Department. This was probably his last posting before he retired to some genteel WASP enclave in the Northeast where he’d write his memoirs for Yale University Press. Meanwhile, he was stuck with me for the morning, and I with him.

There were apparently only two people going to Yemen this week—Kate and me—so the class was small and intimate. Kate had a notepad, of course, so I didn’t need the one I forgot.

There was a colored map of Yemen on the wall, and on the table were State Department handouts, which I’d be sure not to forget.

Mr. Harris took a seat at the head of the table and began, “So you’re going to Yemen?”

Why else would I be here?

He informed us, “I was there during the civil wars.”

I inquired, “How many were there?”

“A few.”

“Right. Who won?”

“The north,” he said.

“Good. Right?”

“The south was Marxist.”

“Karl or Groucho?”

He chuckled and continued, “The north is tribal, backward, and fundamentalist.”

“Glad the good guys won.”

I thought Buck was going to take me out in the hallway for a scolding, but he smiled and said, “They told me about you.”

Really?

“I understand you’ve been to Yemen.”

“Correct. Short assignment. Back in ’01.”

“Well, nothing there ever changes, except for the worse.”

“Looking forward to seeing that progress.”

He smiled again, then said, “It’s a country you can love and hate at the same time.”

Actually, it’s a country you love to hate. But this was Buck’s class and I wasn’t going to be like those dopey students who spent a month someplace and tried to impress their teachers with their half-assed observations.

Buck continued in his very prep school accent, “The capital of Yemen is Sana’a. South Yemen, also known as Adan, with an A, had its capital in the city of Aden, with an E.”

Also known as the Shithole, with a capital S.

He also let us know, “The country was unified in 1990 after another war that the north won, but there is still a separatist movement in the south, and also a movement to restore the Imam as ruler in Sana’a.”

Kate stopped taking notes and said, “Led by the warlord Hussein al-Houthi.”

Buck was happy to have at least one bright student in the class and smiled. “Yes, very good. I see you’ve done some homework.”

I mean, who gives a rat’s ass? I wasn’t going to Yemen to make friends or discuss politics. I was going there to probably whack some a*shole who needed whacking. Sorry—to capture a prime suspect in the Cole bombing and return him to American justice. Maybe, though, I could learn something here that might help me. But probably not.

Buck said a few words about the al-Houthi rebels and the tribal warlords. I sort of listened. Warlords are interesting. I’d like to be a warlord.

Buck said, “There are dozens of Bedouin tribes that hold power in their respective regions. And now, to add to the political and social divisions, we have Al Qaeda, who have gained influence in some of the towns and villages.” He concluded, “Yemen is a failed state.”

Right. Not even worth nuking.

Buck recapped the history of Yemen, which was mostly a history of civil wars, revolutions, and invasions. Also, there was a period of British colonial rule in Adan until the 1960s when the British left after another war. Buck said, “You’ll see some vestiges of British rule in the south. Like a statue of Queen Victoria in Aden, which the Yemenis have left standing for some reason.” He added, “She is often veiled by fundamentalists.”

I actually saw that when I was there. I thought it was a statue of Elton John in drag.

Buck continued, “When the British left, South Yemen became Marxist—the only Communist Arab country in the world.” He added, “You’ll also see some vestiges of the Soviet presence in Aden during this period, such as ugly architecture, black-market vodka, and a Russian nightclub that features Russian strippers and prostitutes.”

Address?

Buck continued, “During this period, there were a series of wars between the north and south, alternating with reunification talks. With the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russians left and unification was achieved, but then the south changed its mind and waged a new war of secession, which failed and led to the present reunification.”

Who’s on first?

Buck further informed us, “I was in Sana’a and Aden during this period. It was a very bloody time and the scars remain.” He added, “Yemenis have become used to war, which has led to a sort of national psychosis, and which is why Yemen is an armed camp.”

I glanced at Kate, who seemed to be getting that Yemen wasn’t the Switzerland of the Mideast.

Buck continued, “During the first Gulf War, Yemen sided with Saddam Hussein, which annoyed their large and powerful neighbor of Saudi Arabia. The Saudis retaliated by expelling a few hundred thousand Yemeni guest workers.”

Who are now in Brooklyn.

Buck continued, “The Saudis and Yemenis are currently engaged in a border dispute.” He explained, “They share a long border including the area of Ar Rub al Khali, what is called the Empty Quarter, an uninhabited expanse of scorching desert and shifting sands.” He added, “This area includes the border province of the Hadhramawt, which means ‘the Place Where Death Comes.’ ”

The Yemen tourist board should really think about renaming that. I mean, the Empty Quarter is bad enough, but Death Comes is not a winner.

I asked Buck, “And the loser of the border dispute has to keep this place?”

“There is oil there,” Buck answered, then continued. “It is a porous, ill-defined border and a suspected crossing point of AQAP—Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula.”

Right. Maybe that’s where The Panther had a shoot-out with Saudi soldiers. I’m glad I didn’t have to go there. Right?

Buck concluded, “This brief history brings us to the Cole bombing in October 2000. Since then, as you well know, the U.S. has gained a foothold in Yemen, but it is a very tenuous foothold and our mission there could end suddenly if the Yemenis have a change of heart or a change of government.”

That would be nice.

Buck took an ornate curved dagger out of his briefcase, which he unsheathed as he said, “I can cut your throat with this.”

Not if I get to my gun first, Buck.

He smiled and said, “But only if you fall asleep.” He informed us, “This is called a jambiyah, and it’s worn by most men in Yemen. You can buy a jambiyah at a souvenir stand for about three dollars, but the ones made by artisans can cost thousands of dollars. This one is an antique with semi-precious stones and a rhinoceros-horn handle, and is worth about five thousand dollars. According to the last owner, it has been used to kill at least six people.”

Buck advised us, “Never ask to see a man’s jambiyah.” He explained, “A man only unsheathes his jambiyah if he is going to use it.”

He continued, “There is an old Arab war song”—he didn’t sing, but recited—“ ‘Terrible he rode alone, with his Yemen sword for aid; ornament it carried none, but the notches on the blade.’ ”

Right. I’d actually heard those words before, from a guy named Gabe Haytham, an Arab-American on the Task Force, when I was working the case of Asad, The Lion.

Buck was going on now about religion—ninety-eight percent of the country was Muslim, the rest were Christians, Jews, and Hindus. He said, “Before the creation of Israel in 1948, the Sana’a government tolerated its Jews, who are part of their heritage from the days of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. In fact, many Yemenis were Jewish until the arrival of Islam.”

Maybe that explains the Yemeni delis in Brooklyn.

He informed us, “Most of the Jews fled to Israel after 1948.” He continued, “The Yemeni constitution supposedly provides for religious freedom for minorities, but there are no churches or synagogues remaining where you can attend services.” He added, “As in most Islamic countries, the conversion of a Muslim to another religion is prohibited, and punishable, usually by death.” He warned us, “Do not proselytize. It’s a capital offense. Though you may quote from the Old and New Testaments, which Muslims consider sacred texts. But try to learn a few passages from the Koran as well.”

“Which Korean?”

“The Koran, Mr. Corey.”

“Right.”

Buck continued, “Yemenis speak Arabic, including ancient dialects. Yemeni Arabic is considered the most pure form of the language—unchanged for thousands of years because of the isolation of the country. Many Arabic-language scholars, including Westerners, go to Yemen to study the language. Think of Yemeni Arabic as Shakespearean English, though it is much older.”

I asked Buck, “Do you speak Arabic?”

He replied in Arabic, and I said, “That’s easy for you to say.”

Kate accidentally kicked me under the table.

Buck said, “Sex.”

I sat up.

“Sex,” he repeated. “We all know or think we know about the Muslims’ attitude toward sex, so I won’t repeat all that you’ve heard, but I’ll recap. Sex outside of marriage is forbidden, and adultery is punishable by death.”

“Right. Screw the divorce lawyers. Get that jambiyah sharpened.”

Buck smiled and said, “That shouldn’t be a concern for a happily married couple.”

Correct, but I had to ask, “Do guys get the death penalty for screwing around?”

“Not usually, but—”

Kate interrupted, “They do with me.”

“Just asking.”

Buck also informed us, “Homosexuality is often punished by death, but rape is usually settled with a cash payment to the victim’s family. But if the rapist claims the sex was consensual, which they always do, then the victim, if she can’t produce four witnesses to the contrary, is sometimes killed by her family. What they call honor killings.”

Okay, we knew all of this, but it was jarring to hear it.

Buck next discussed marriage and family. “Polygamy is legal under Islamic law, and a man may have up to four wives, but polygamy is not common in Yemen.”

“Why not?” Kate asked.

Because what guy wants four women telling him to take out the garbage?

“Because,” said Buck, “most men can’t afford more than one wife.”

Most men, Buck, can’t afford one wife.

Buck continued, “Most marriages are arranged.”

I asked, “Do they have Match.com?”

“Yes, but the women in the photos are all veiled and they have no hobbies, interests, jobs, or education.”

Funny. I liked Buck. Even Kate laughed.

Buck informed us, “Custom regards the ideal marriage as a marriage between cousins.”

Like in Kentucky.

“Women are viewed as subordinate and must serve their fathers, husbands, brothers, and even their male children.”

This might be a good year.

Buck said, “The Yemeni constitution states that women are equal to men, but then incorporates many aspects of Sharia law, which negates that equality. For instance, in a court of law, the testimony of one man equals that of two women.”

My lawyer wife asked, “How can they call that equal?”

I volunteered, “Buck just told you. One equals two. Do the math.”

I got another kick. Restless leg syndrome?

Buck also told us that the Yemenis had the highest birthrate of any Arab country—six to ten children were not uncommon—so something was happening when those veils came off.

Buck also said, “There’s a population explosion in progress, and there are now more than twenty million Yemenis, mostly young, in a small, impoverished country with few natural resources. This is a demographic time bomb waiting to go off, and most analysts predict social upheaval within ten years.” He added, “We’re seeing it already.”

Recalling Nabeel, I suggested, “More Yemeni delis in Brooklyn.”

He replied, “In fact, there is a high emigration rate to America, Western Europe, and the oil-rich countries of the Arabian Peninsula, which serves as a safety valve for Yemen and is a source of outside money. But millions of unemployed youths remain in the country.”

Right. I remembered hordes of young men hanging around the streets and souks in Aden with nothing to do. A surefire recipe for trouble, and a fertile ground for Al Qaeda recruiters.

Buck finished up with love and marriage; divorce is easy for men—just say, “I divorce thee” three times—but nearly impossible for women. Pre-nups—marriage contracts—exist and are enforceable, unless you get an a*shole judge like I did.

Buck switched to the subject of clothing. “Ninety percent of the population wears traditional Arab dress that probably hasn’t changed much since biblical times.” He advised us, “Buy a set of traditional clothing for yourselves.”

“Why?” I asked.

He replied, “Just for fun. Or you might wear it when wandering around the streets and souks.” Buck confessed, “I often dressed as a native when I left the embassy.”

I inquired, “Do you have a picture you can show us?”

He smiled, then described to us the native Yemeni attire. The men wore headgear called a thob or shiwal, usually white, and in the north they dressed in a white fouteh, a robe, and in the south the men wore a white sarong. Underwear optional.

Sometimes, I recalled, they also wore a ratty Western-style sports jacket over their robe, the pockets stuffed with khat and magazines of the metal variety. They all wore sandals, and the whole country needed a pedicure.

Two things a man never left home without were his dagger and his rifle. The right to bear arms in Yemen seemed to be an obligation, and ninety percent of the males over the age of about fourteen toted an assault rifle, usually an AK-47, capable of taking out all his friends and neighbors in a few seconds of automatic fire. Oddly, though, there was little random gun violence or crime. I mean, everyone was packing, so you thought twice before you walked into a store and said, “This is a stickup.” Everyone in the place would blow you away. Right?

Non-random gunplay was another matter. Most people who got whacked got whacked for a reason. Usually something to do with politics, or honor, or a business dispute that couldn’t be settled over a khat chew. Also, Westerners were rarely robbed at gunpoint. If you got a gun stuck in your back, you were not likely to hear, “Your money or your life.” Instead, you’d hear, “Come with me.” The purpose of kidnapping Westerners was not only money, but also a way for the Bedouin tribes to embarrass the central government and/or extort favors or services from them, which was a common pastime of the tribes. These abductions were called “guest kidnappings,” and kidnap victims often reported that nothing was taken from them, except maybe an admired watch or piece of jewelry that should be offered as a gift while you were waiting for the ransom money to arrive. Your food and upkeep isn’t free, you know. And you were getting an authentic experience.

When I first got to Yemen, I was, I admit, a little taken aback by the sight of almost every male carrying an assault rifle. But after about a week I didn’t even notice it—in fact, what caught my attention were men without rifles. Who were these wimps?

Anyway, Buck was done with menswear and we moved on to ladies’ wear. Almost all the women wore the balto, like a burqua, an all-encompassing cloak that, like the first Model T Ford, came in any color you wanted as long as you wanted black.

Buck then moved on to the subject of veils. He said, “Very few women show their faces in public, and those who do are often harassed by fundamentalists.”

“Because they’re ugly?”

“No, Mr. Corey, because it’s immodest.”

“Right.” I wondered if I was going to get a cultural awareness certificate in my personnel file.

He continued, “As for Western women”—he looked at Kate, who is from Minnesota—“you are not required to wear a veil, but you may feel more comfortable on the street if you cover your face with a hijab, a head scarf that can also be wrapped around your face.”

Kate stated, “I have no intention of covering my face.”

Buck nodded in solidarity with his compatriot, but advised her, “It’s best to wear a pantsuit with long sleeves, but it has to be loose-fitting.” He informed us, “There have been reports of Western women traveling in the rural villages who have been jeered at and even had stones thrown at them for their seemingly immodest attire.”

I mean, what do you say about that? Nothing.

Buck looked at his watch and said, “Fifteen-minute break.”