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Dear Friends
It is not a good idea to take fireworks to a wedding party in Aden,
especially when the country’s president is in town. Someone did that
a few nights ago near here. The local police rushed to the scene,
and by the time they reached the house enthusiastic guests had added
their own small arms fire to the crackle and fizz of the fireworks.
It had the promise of a thoroughly good wedding party, but the
nervous police broke it up and the bridegroom, who was held
responsible for the disturbance, spent his wedding night in jail. We
had all the details from Sahel, one of our security guards. He was
at the wedding, his cousin the unfortunate bridegroom.
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We have four security guards
here – Sahel, Ramzi, Walid and Ahmad. All are in their early
twenties. One is a qualified secondary school teacher, who
cannot find a post, another an accountant. They are employed
by Group 4 and between them offer 24 hour cover of the
compound. They do much more than just patrol. On clinic
mornings the guard on duty helps process and direct
patients. If there is a building project underway – and we
undertook a major redecoration of the interior of both
clinics recently – they are always keen to help as far as
their duties permit. They are a very loyal, conscientious
team and we probably know them (and they us!) better than
almost any one else here. |
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Sahel’s family are originally
from Somalia. A few weeks ago he heard an uncle was dying
there. His mother was keen to visit and Peter promised that
he would take her to the port of Mocha to catch a boat to
Djibouti. (Mocha was once the port for the export of Yemeni
coffee, before English and Dutch merchants smuggled plants
from her to plant in their own colonies.)
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Two days ago we set out in
the mini bus to Mocha with Sahel’s mother, his cousin
Abdullaheh, and many bundles of clothing, gifts and a very
large tent for relatives in Somalia who have no home. It
proved a more protracted and exciting venture than any of us
had imagined.
The journey there by the new and very fine coast road was
easy. Letters prepared for us before hand by Mansour eased
our way through the occasional military check points. Other
traffic was scarce and comprised almost entirely of
refrigerated fish trucks. (Yemen has wonderful fish and
exports increasing amounts).
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Mocha itself is a desolate, windswept, battered place. At
first glance it looked a bit like buildings in down town
Beirut during the civil war, but close inspection showed the
crumbling walls and collapsed roofs to be the result of
weather and neglect. The harbour is shielded by an enormous
breakwater. In it there are more submerged hulks – ancient
and exhausted dhows and rusting Soviet era patrol boats –
than actual sea going vessels. |
Eventually we discovered, after two
hours of enquiries at doors in narrow dusty lanes in the town, which
vessel was leaving for Djibouti. We met the captain, who said he
thought he might leave the next day. Abdullaheh had by this time
discovered a friend in town who was willing to offer us a room to
rest in. While the men returned to the port to process papers and
load the bundles aboard, the ladies retired there, their spirits
totally undiminished by the day’s adventure.
‘Formalities’ on the quayside took a further two hours – from one
grey metal desk and dirty tea glasses to another, with a brief gale
tossed excursion to an almost empty warehouse for customs. The sound
of loose corrugated sheeting flapping in the wind was deafening. At
each point, more than just the forms were asked for, but Sahel
patiently pleaded the age and situation of his mother and parted
with little from his wallet.
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In the end we
carried the bundles, tent and yellow plastic jerricans (also
gifts for the family) up the gang plank of the ship, ‘Mofa’,
once long ago registered in Bremen, and deposited them
beside the cattle pens from which two hundred horned, humped
steers had just been disembarked. The return cargo of onions
was arriving in trucks as we left.
We returned
to Nancy and Sahel’s mum. Their flip flops, which they had
shed outside the room, were completely covered in sand. The
party had grown inside and all were watching the video ‘Cool
Runnings ’- the hilarious story of a Jamaican bobsled team.
It seemed quite in keeping with the rest of the day’s goings
on! Soon afterward we decided to leave and head back for
Aden before the storm grew even worse. |
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Today, Mansour
came into the office at the end of the morning, unusually
subdued and preoccupied. He had done a long morning clearing
vital surgical instruments through customs. (They are needed
for outreach surgery back on the island of Socotra in two
weeks time). The task began two days ago. It is not yet
completed. When it is, he will have collected thirty five
signatures. We do have customs exemption on drugs and
instruments but there is no escaping ‘formalities’. Weary,
Mansour nonetheless exclaimed with gratitude, “Still, there
are some good and very patient people, too, in the customs.”
(We felt like him when approaching the final check point on
our journey home from Mocha: the young soldier logized that
it was still a long way to Aden, and earnestly wished us a
good and safe journey home.) |
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That Christ
Church and its clinics exist at all as, it would be fair to
say, the only public, active Christian place of worship and
service in the country is a wonder. That it should continue
to be served so devotedly by those mentioned and others here
is remarkable. It does a good work and serves many, very
like Sahel’s mother, who have few to plead for them, and
very slender resources.
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Many have enquired after Samra, the young girl who
came to the clinic some months ago with a dire heart
condition. She has recently had her second heart
operation in Saudi Arabia and is doing well, which
is wonderful.
At present she is with her aunt in Jeddah, and after
final tests hopes to return to Aden in a week or so. |
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It would have
been quite impossible without your enormous and spontaneous
generosity. Dr Shada, here, keeps in close contact with the
family and is as enthusiastic as any about Samra’s progress.
She and her sister, Nada, carry full loads here and at home
nurse their brother, who has been in a coma since last
August. It is hard.
A few weeks ago we attended the Diocesan Synod in Cyprus. It
was inspiring, encouraging and refreshing, and it was very
good to meet up with our predecessors, Tom and Edna and
Irene and Colin. A regular reader of the Christ Church news,
also there, said eagerly, “tell us stories”. We have done as
told.
One or two at synod also kindly asked if we didn’t feel very
isolated. ‘Not for a minute’, was our honest reply, but
there are moments, few admittedly, when we feel very
exposed. It is not, humanly speaking, a big work here, but
it is very public and that carries perils and
responsibilities! We are glad and grateful to be here
though. |
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Some members of Christ Church |
An Ethiopian
Wedding
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One of the synod
reports ended with this striking quotation:
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By blood
and origin, I am an Albanian
By citizenship I am an Indian. I am a catholic nun.
As to my calling, I belong to the whole world.
As to my heart, I belong entirely to Jesus.
(Mother
Teresa)
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With our love and
very best wishes in Christ
Peter and
Nancy
PS – The ‘Mofa’ has still not left Mocha, and there is a family who
came over on it who haven’t yet been let ashore. They don’t have the
‘landing fee’.
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Staff New Year's Party Elephant Bay |
Aboard Filipino ship - Aden |
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