maybe an apricot

There are five new teachers this semester at AMIDEAST, and the school director Edward has led us on excursions around Aden three times now. The first was a driving tour to show us the layout and familiarize us with the different subcities followed up with an afterschool special by the sea about the USS Cole and the perils of qat. The second time was a hike of the Tanks which are British built cisterns in the crater canyons and then a walk around the shops in Crater itself. While I don’t particularly like Edward, I do appreciate his company for a couple reasons, the first being that he makes an excellent guide of both the geography and the culture, if a bit jaded.
Whenever I start a new job I like to imagine what it might be like as a career, and this is fairly easily evidenced by looking to the older generation. From my perspective, things generally turn out two ways, each with good points and bad. For instance, while rafting, I looked at Charlie Baldwin and Rob Dees as one outcome. Both guys are happy and make excellent friends, but neither have achieved the kind of stability in life which I desire. The alternative I saw was Dave Slover and Carrol White (although I dreamt of Mark Angel). Both are secure with their lives, but have been embittered by years in the river tourism industry and lack a contentment of place. As I saw it, rafting was not the life for me.
Starting out in the TEFL industry, I am eager to consider my options. The school director Edward is the son of an American emissary in the Levant, came to Yemen on a Fulbright scholarship, and he and his wife have been living in Yemen for the majority of the past decade. I don’t know how they met nor how he came to take her job as the director of the school. As the only western person working within the TEFL industry who hasn’t reverted to Islam, he currently stands as the only guide I know to offer a glimpse into what it would be like should I choose this as a career path. Having said all that, he’s a real fruit.
On Friday, the holy day, the last day of my weekend, Matt and I went on a hike with the school director Edward and his wife in the afternoon. Taryn was sick, the sky was unusually overcast, and I was annoyed for no particular reason, so I let Matt do most of the talking with Edward and his wife as we hiked to a fairly secluded beach. They chatted about Yemeni politics after the civil war, Middle East viewpoints on the Iraq war, the relevance of the recent kidnappings in Sana’a, and (the lack of) contingency plans. Given the setting and considering the company, I was irritated less by the content of conversation than I was by the choice of topic. Everything came to a head for me as I was lounging on the beach staring at the point where sea becomes sky, and Edward, returning from a swim to block my view, asked me, “So what do you miss the most?”
“Uh,” I paused, “that’s sort of a loaded question.”
“No it isn’t a loaded question at all,” he scoffed. “I mean you can’t get a bacon cheeseburger or go see a blockbuster movie here like you could.”
“Sure. I miss bacon… bands, beer, bikes, blues, books, booze.”
What I miss the most though, are my friends. I miss being around people who would never ask me such an impossible question. I miss the rich history I had developed in Oregon, where my intentions could be understood with just a knowing look. I miss the bonds I have made that took years of tiring experiences and which as a result are stronger than I ever thought possible. That is to say, that I’m just impatient to form those connections with people here, and reluctant to do so knowing that my stay is intentionally temporary.