I applied for my press visa about three weeks before my planned departure to Yemen. I met with an assistant media affairs officer in the Yemen Embassy in Washington to discuss the purpose of my trip and go over any necessary details in order to get approval. She looked through my letter of intent and my materials and said that everything looked to be in order and that ideally I would receive my visa in about two weeks.
She warned that the Ministry of Information in Sana’a was being slammed with requests, so it could take longer, but inshallah, I would have the visa before my scheduled flight.
About 10 days after I submitted my request, I received an email from someone in the Ministry of Information. This is copied verbatim from the email:
I would like to inform you that I sent the approval for your request concerning your visiting to Yemen last saturday. I am preparing also the permission for the entrance of your equipment at the Airport and another permission for your travelling in Yemen, I will be your guide and accompany you during your staying in yemen,to offer all help and facilities to you to carry out your task properly, and I will recieve you at the Airport bringing with me the permission of the equipment.
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Sean Carberry Aden, Committee to Protect Journalists, press freedom, Sanaa, Yemen
Scenes from the streets today as I made my way around town for a variety of meetings. Started out with the Deputy Minister of Finance. Then a family of people displaced from the fighting in the north of the country. Unfortunately, this meeting feel short of expectations as the family really didn’t have much to say beyond the basic fact that four months ago they had to flee their farming village due to growing hostilities between the government forces and Houthi rebels. They said they sold everything and are living in a hotel in Sana’a owned by a fellow tribesman. But, they are far better off than the tens of thousands living in camps. Sadly, they wouldn’t let me take any pictures, which is a shame as I really wanted to capture the largest family I’ve ever met. I didn’t get the full count, but there were several sets of parents with 10-13 kids each.
Afterwards, I attended a conference on terrorism and extremism, that ended up being more of a soapbox for people to vent about their theories behind the al Qaeda problem in the country. And, finally, I ended the day with dinner in the old city and a walk through the streets – and a couple of games of foosball with some local kids.
Sean Carberry Old City, Sanaa, Yemen
The streets of Yemen are full of vendors of all kinds. On the sidewalks you walk past people selling clothing, food, books, sunglasses, watches and more. In the ubiquitous traffic in the city, young men (and sometimes women) walk among the cars hawking everything from DVD’s to children’s toys to steering wheel covers to Yemeni flags. This is really no different than most cities I’ve visited in the Middle East where the streets are clogged with vendors of all description.
In the area around Tahrir Square I’ve seen a variety of merchants and creative street businesses. There was the horse ride racket (or at least pictures on a horse), and then the man offering photos with a young bird of prey (sorry, the photo is a bit blurry as I was trying to snap it discretely).
But, the most memorable and baffling business venture, and frankly the most baffling thing I have seen so far in Yemen, was a young man sitting on the sidewalk with an old bathroom scale in front of him. As people walked by, he would gesture to the scale as an invitation for people to step on it. He was polite and unobtrusive, and if he made any disparaging comments about my weight, I couldn’t understand him anyhow.
Ultimately, I declined his pitch, as did everyone else I saw walk past him. I can only guess that he was asking for donations from people who stepped on the scale, if any did. I walked past him once on my way to the square, and about 15 minutes later I passed by him again. It didn’t look like he had much luck in that time. While it made me smile and chuckle to myself each time I walked by, I have to say it’s probably the least lucrative street business I have seen. But, I give him points for creativity, and at least he wasn’t chewing qat (although it was early in the day)or running around doing anything destructive.
Sean Carberry Sanaa, Yemen
View from my hotel room at night
Have you ever noticed how often the drive from an airport into the city is a “worst hits” tour? Airports are often in less affluent/attractive sections of cities so it makes sense, but it can also shape first impressions.
I arrived in Sana’a around 1:30 am Monday of this week. I breezed through immigration, and my handler from the Ministry of Information met me at baggage claim to shepherd my equipment through customs – yes there was a “grandfather handshake” that took place between the handler and the customs agent.
Then, we hopped in one of the typical yellow and white taxis to head into the city and to my hotel. The ancient Peugeot wagon looked like it had been through a few wars in the 20-or-so years it’s been on the road, but it did the job.
Anyhow, the drive into the city at that hour was eerie, and borderline creepy. There was little light most of the way. The orange-hued streetlights were about the only signs of electricity for the first half of the drive. The buildings were dark, shuttered, and somewhat decrepit. It certainly fit the image of a fragile state beset by a raft of socio-economic challenges.
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Sean Carberry Sanaa, Yemen
As I was sitting here in my hotel room in Sanaa, jousting with the Internet in an effort to upload an audio slideshow about illegal gold mining in Peru (to accompany our new program on reducing carbon emissions), and preparing to write a blog post about my observations during my first 24 hours in town, I heard the distinct sound of a ruckus outside. I peered out my window, and saw a small mass of people marching down the street singing songs and carrying signs (ok, they weren’t so much singing songs as chanting, but couldn’t resist the Buffalo Springfield reference).
Journalists are drawn to demonstrations/marches like moths to a flame, so I grabbed my camera and recorder and ran outside. The crowd had stopped in the middle of the street outside my hotel and people began delivering speeches over the battery-operated PA system they were carrying. Many of the signs had the picture of the same man. One of the pictures showed him severely injured and in a medical facility. One sign had the words “Women Journalists Without Chains” written in English at the bottom.
I was unsure what this was all about, but one thing was clear – it was peaceful. There were a number of police/military men wandering around and none looked threatened or concerned. In fact, on of them helped me up onto a small wall so I could take better pictures, so there didn’t seem to be any concern about violence or security.
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Sean Carberry press freedom, Sanaa, Women Journalists Without Chains, Yemen
I applied for my press visa about three weeks before my planned departure to Yemen. I met with an assistant media affairs officer in the Yemen Embassy in Washington to discuss the purpose of my trip and go over any necessary details in order to get approval. She looked through my letter of intent and my materials and said that everything looked to be in order and that ideally I would receive my visa in about two weeks.
