Female Solo Travel Through Yemen-- Done the Wrong Way

Travel to Yemen Made Easy?

“We want you to have a good time and be safe too.” -- “The situation is completely different than what is shown on media. You will see the reality.” -- “We have been working in tourism for many years.”

These are a few of the things Abdulhameed Ghanima of Easy Travel To Yemen would repeat over and over to me when I started talking to him about booking a trip to mainland Yemen in May 2019.

Despite my better judgment, I ended up booking a trip with him for November of that year even though I read mixed reviews, some of which spoke of extortion and some of his tourists being kidnapped. Many of these bad reviews have been slyly removed, as the company changes its name and page slightly every so often.

I booked a trip with him even though I was a female solo traveller with no prior experience travelling through Yemen. I also kept the trip with him even though I found someone better a month before arriving in the country. I was cheap and didn’t want to lose my deposit. 

This wasn’t brilliant thinking on my part, and anything could have gone wrong, but at least now, I write this hoping that the next ‘me’ will not put down a deposit or give up the deposit and go with a better option.

I always felt a bit of sinking fear every time we spoke on WhatsApp. But, for personal reasons, I really wanted to go to Yemen, so I decided to trust my gut. Lucky for me, I never stuck to my original plan – to go to Sana’a. Abdulhameed made it seem like anywhere was possible to visit in Yemen, and I almost wanted to believe him. I was stupid enough to say yes to it on an itinerary, but luckily other plans came up, and I never went. I only went to the South. I was told after the fact that if I had gone to Sana’a, I would have ended up in trouble – perhaps interrogated, deported, who knows.

The journey started with a horrendous series of flights that began in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia at 7 am and rolled me into Oman at almost 1 am the next day. When I arrived in Muscat, I was questioned a bunch about what I would do in Salalah. I was honest about going to Yemen, but that led to more questioning. If a passport officer honestly looks at a passport in-depth like this one did in Oman, I get it – there will be questions about why I would ever want to go to Yemen.

When I got to Oman, nobody was at the airport even though Abdulhameed said he had arranged a pick-up for me. I felt worried already even before getting into Oman because Ghanima never answered any of my days of messages leading up to the trip. The last time he responded to me was two weeks prior. When I landed, I felt panic but tried to stay calm. I found an internet connection and began to barrage him with messages. He never ended up responding.

I contemplated a taxi, but somehow a driver found me. The only way I knew he was my ride was because he chased after me and flashed a picture of my passport photo on his phone. He didn’t really speak to me at first, even though I figured out he could speak fluent English afterwards. He preferred to communicate with me through grunts and hand gestures. 

The ride to the hotel was odd and tiring. His driver suddenly knew how to speak, and kept on upselling me on a different trip around Oman. I said I was leaving for Yemen the next day, and he didn’t seem to believe me. It was nearly 2:30 am at this point, and I was tired, frustrated, and exhausted. By the end, I didn’t even respond to him anymore.

We rolled up to a ‘hotel’ – the Alandalus Furnished Apartments. The guy at the front with the keys barely looked up from his phone. He gave me a bit of a scowl when he did look up, literally threw a pair of keys at me and pointed me towards the second floor. The unit was a shit hole probably meant for a family of six. There were many bedrooms, but it was dusty and dirty, as if someone had not walked through the unit in years. I worried about being murdered but knowing that I wouldn’t deal with this, if at all, until at least the morning, I forced myself to sleep.

Crossing the Border, Groping and Thigh Rubs Included

The drive from Salalah to Al Ghaydeh was quite frankly a nightmare.

A different man rolled up to the hotel in a nondescript pick-up truck with no license plate. He did not speak a word of English. He flashed my passport photo to me on his phone, and that was my only connection again that this was my ‘ride’. I managed to find out his name was Saeed, all the while chastising myself silently for not learning more Arabic before deciding to go to Yemen all alone. Abdulhameed had promised me local clothes, but there was nothing on the truck. Luckily I had just come from Saudi Arabia and had a niqab and abaya with me. I’m not sure what the backup plan would have been.  

Leading into Yemen, there were two military checkpoints that were quick and easy to get through. I waited nearly an hour at the Omani border to get a clear passage to Yemen. They asked simple questions about my agenda and how long I planned to stay. They checked my face underneath my niqab to match the passport photo. I also had to fill out a form about my passport and sponsor, in addition to providing my invitation letter of approval. I arrived around 9:20 am and left around 10:30 am.

Once I crossed into the Yemen side, it was just 10 minutes to clear the remaining paperwork. Later, I was told that some groups and individuals had taken up to four hours to cross the border based on their passports. I was told explicitly by Abdulhameed to say I was going to Socotra only and not to ‘visit’ the mainland per se (i.e. just drive as directly as possible to get to Seiyun airport). In the past, if travellers mentioned going to the mainland, they got further interrogated or were convinced not to go. Apparently, he also applied for all of my papers, saying that I was a humanitarian aid worker in one instance and a journalist for CBC on other documents.

As soon as we left the Yemen checkpoint, Saeed tried to take off my niqab as if I needed him to de-veil me. This was the first clue I got that this would not be the easiest drive as a female passenger.

Throughout the entire drive to Al Ghaydeh, Saeed mumbled a lot to himself with weird hand gestures. Suddenly, he would burst some words out loud in Arabic while intensely staring at me instead of the steering wheel. I would later figure out when I learned more Arabic words that he was talking about food and blessings to God.

Occasionally he stroked my head really aggressively. Gradually, as the drive went on, these ‘interactions’ became more and more inappropriate. He rubbed my thigh, which I had to push away aggressively. Then, he clasped my chest to cop a feel of my breasts.

We stopped for the bathroom at one point, and he nearly followed me into the bathroom before I turned around to stare at him. And, as we were walking back to the car, he bent down to pick up my dragging abaya, lifting it enough to let some of my legs show. I’m not sure if he thought he was being a gentleman or that he thought he could get away with murder because I had no other option. It was either his ride, or I scream and run away, leaving me stranded in the middle of Yemen.

During these moments, I would hold up my hand to say no and push him away. Some past experiential memories and nightmares flashed through my brain, and I tried to put myself into a ‘happy place’ throughout the entire ride. I had to trust this person. If I lost this ride, I would have no familiarity with where to go or even a connection to find help. 

For the most part, travelling between villages, we were on long stretches of empty roads with little to no cars. He could have stopped the vehicle at any time to assault me. There were moments where I wondered if this was it for me in life – had my stupidity not gotten the better of me.

But, despite the pervert that was my driver, the coastal drive along the countryside was beautiful. I saw bright turquoise beaches and looming mountains intermixed with rolling dunes. Occasionally, I caught glimpses of fishermen gathering in their catches. They used material and walked in a circle together to drag fish in. It looked like streams of rhythmic ribbon. From afar, all the colourful clothing made me think the fishermen were women, but they were all men.

The air smelt of the sea and provided a humid rush. We drove through many beautiful little villages, some with houses of different colours and character. Surrounding the villages were little streams and oases. We ended up in Al Ghaydah, one of the bigger villages along the South, where I would spend the night.

It is here where I met Abdulhameed.

A Conversation with the Owner

I told him right out of the gate that Saeed was aggressive and had his hands all over me. He brushed my complaints aside dismissively and diverted the conversation immediately.

“Saeed’s new. I don’t use him that much. Are you hungry?” – were his words to my complaints that his driver had touched me inappropriately. 

He then took me to eat at a chicken and rice stall, where he talked about his wife and being busy. I expected him to stay with me during the entire trip, but he said he had to head to Europe. His wife, a Czech national, was expecting him. 

When I asked who was going to be with me, he said his brother– Majdi. He assured me that Majdi was great before dropping me off at a hotel for the afternoon. Once again, Abdulhameed put me in an apartment for five or six people. There were three bedrooms. Two of them had dead bugs inside. I settled with the third.

A New Guide and Driver

Majdi and a driver, Mortada, came to pick me up from the hotel in the evening. His brother was not as chatty at first. He answered all my questions, but the answers were blunt and a bit curt. He spent most of his time scrolling through his phone. Mortada took us to a restaurant where I was taken to a private room in the back, meant for women and families.

Mahdi ordered me a fish stew with beans (Galaba), a spicier, saucier version of Mandi chicken, piles of freshly baked bread, and mango juice. I expected him to eat with me, but instead, he awkwardly sat across from me while continuing to scroll on his phone. I felt like I was on a bad one-sided date, where the other person really has no interest in talking to you. He asked me if I watch basketball, to which I said no. He continued scrolling his phone while I ate by myself.

After dinner, I explored Al Ghaydah for a little bit. It is a small town, but it has a central town souq or bazaar area that bustles after 7 pm. There were packs of women shopping together. I felt a little wistful, and I messaged my friend wishing she was there with me too. Even after being in Saudi with friends, I still felt the heavy weight of travelling alone. The loneliness certainly catches up to you.

The drive was equally spectacular on the second day –mountain ranges intermixed with rolling desert dunes and turquoise coastal views. It is like everything I ever loved about being outdoors rolled into one place. Majdi was in a better mood today and way more engaging. We talked a lot more about Yemen – historically, politically, socially - and for the first time, I felt more optimistic about learning something about the country in more depth.

We stopped first in Nishtun, a port village. Little boys were swimming happily by the beach. We talked to them for a little. It turns out they were all from different villages in the north. They defected from these other villages to find a peaceful place in Nishtun, and now they all became friends.

I headed out with a fisherman to ride a bit around the coast. To my luck, we got flagged over randomly by a whole bunch of seamen who invited us onboard their tugboat ship for snacks and drinks. The hospitality was endless, and it was just neat to explore the boat. 

A majority of the crew was Yemeni, but the principal engineer and captain were Indonesian. Everyone spoke some English, and it was nice just to hang out and enjoy this friendly invitation of hospitality for a while. This happens a lot throughout the travels. Everyone wants you to visit their house and at the very least have a cup of tea.

Adopting the Third Gender Persona

Following this, it was a long drive to the more conservative region of Hadhramaut – specifically Al Mukalla, where I would stay the night. My senses were given a beating today as I experienced all the mesmerizing landscapes during the drive against a background of upbeat Arabic music. I remained apprehensive because every time I put down my guard and bobbed my head a little, Mortada became a bit aggressive and grabbed my hand to dance with him. I had to repeatedly tell him that I did not want to hold his hand.

Throughout the trip, I used the same aggressiveness because I found that some of the men here (Mortada and Saeed) thought it was okay to ‘have their way’ with me as a foreign woman. Mortada also repeatedly took pictures of me on his phone, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable. I would later learn that there were numerous pictures of me in random poses posted on his Facebook.

I had a conversation with friends later about adopting the third gender persona while in the Middle East. Being a foreign woman is different because you are not a man, but the men also know you are not like the women there, even if you are dressed up in a niqab and abaya. 

For them, the only women they can ever see are their mothers, wives and sisters, so while I am not going to generalize that all men think they can ‘have their way’, some men think they can have their way. So, the only thing a foreign woman can do to fit in and try to assert herself to comfort is to pretend she is a man. And, for the few days I was there, I tried my best to think and believe I was a man in the room. It was all I could do, aside from keeping a stiff upper lip. In some ways, it did allow me to connect with the male community and ‘sit in the room’ and ask any of the questions I needed.

As we approached Al Mukalla, there were more and more checkpoints. The female checkpoints were pretty straightforward. I handed my passport over, and the groups of women at each checkpoint smiled at me with warm smiles. They were primarily interested in where I was from and why I was in their country. They would laugh and smile warmly, and it was endearing. And then, outside, the police only checked my duffle bag once.

I enjoyed the female checkpoints because they allowed me to interact with Yemeni women without their niqabs, and some of them even spoke English. I would meet more Yemeni women and even talk to one completely unveiled later throughout the trip. For me, understanding women's perspectives in a culture so completely different from mine is essential to me.

Exploring Al Mukalla

Once we entered Al Mukalla, I was a bit excited. Al Mukalla is the capital of the Hadhramaut Governorate. I was told it is a bit like Sana’a and Aden in aspects of big-city culture and character, though Sana’a is twice as large.

It was also Friday, and so because it was the weekend, lots of families were out and about. Majdi and I walked for a little while along the beachside. We were opening up to each other.  We ended up at this huge pathway where several families had set up picnics. The path led to a gate to the city just built and unveiled earlier that year.

I was a bit disappointed because none of the lights were turned on in the area, so I could only observe families mingling and hanging out in the dark. But, as it has been in the rest of the Middle East, it was nice to see all this familial closeness. And, just to see Yemenis living out real life. After all, to the rest of the world, Yemen is a conflict zone. But here, I saw real people living peacefully. I saw people singing and dancing and taking photos. Men congregated on some mats, whereas children and women would gather in adjacent mats. It just made me feel really warm inside.

After our walk, Mortada drove us back to the city. He dropped Majdi off in a different area because he had to ‘run errands.’ I expected to be dropped off at my hotel, but Mortada insisted on us ‘having a drink.’ I was confused and a bit alarmed. He drove right past our hotel, and I had no idea where we were going. He could sense my frustration but insisted in fractured English that I “calm down… it’s just a drink.”

We ended up at the riverside surrounding the central city. What bothered me most was that it was a men’s area. Men were drinking tea, playing pool and sitting around on chairs. There were no other women around. Usually, this would be fascinating as an outsider observer, but I had said no to the offer. I didn’t want to be paraded around as a foreigner.

It was a bit odd walking through and sitting in an area comprised entirely of men. But, I just took a deep breath and ignored the stares; I had no choice. It was either this or attempt to walk a long way back to my hotel, so, once again, I adopted the third gender persona. I decided instead just to observe them– men were watching soccer, playing pool and checkers. Everything was just in the open and interesting just to wander through. I let go, and after that, it was easy to just hang out in the men’s area.

I woke up to an epic sunrise facing Al Mukalla. I opened my windows and let the sun and coastal air flow through the room gracefully. I was in a higher-up room, which looked at all the colourful buildings of the city. The city is set against high mountains and a river. I could not move for a while because I wanted to take it all in and listen to the subtle sounds of cars and the city starting to bustle.

Majdi picked me up for breakfast, and after we walked around the old town, looking at the intricate historical buildings intermixed with newer architecture. The old town leads to both the port and the central bazaar. The port was bustling full of families swimming with their kids and young children diving for squid. We continued onwards until we reached the large fish market with all the fish and fishmongers you could imagine. It was the sea on a chopping board.

Everywhere I turned, people were smiling at me. Everyone just wanted to speak with me and have their picture taken - fishmongers, honey producers, bread makers; even a father teaching his daughter to swim. People here appreciated outside visitors.

Majdi and I walked through the central bazaar. The bazaar was fairly clean and quiet still when I went, perhaps because it was early. It was fascinating to walk up and down the winding alleyways leading up to different viewpoints and more interesting olden architecture - the spiritual mosques, the palace, all the old buildings, watchtowers - making up this ancient city. I took in the fresh produce, experimented with some honey, and took endless pictures. I ended up going back to the new city gate from the evening prior. I imagined this pathway from the evening before and how wonderful it was to see all these Yemeni families peacefully picnicking together.

Majdi then took me for coffee at one of the more modern coffeehouses in the ever-expanding areas of Mukalla. He told me the coffeehouse was frequented by a lot of students at the nearby university. At this point, I felt like we were becoming friends. He showed me pictures of his family and travels. He told me he was part of a young professional group – of lawyers and doctors – in Hadhramaut who wanted to change how the outside world perceives Yemen.

During these conversations, I cautiously asked about Sana’a, where he and his brother, Abdulhameed, are from, and life after leaving. There was apprehensiveness in the answers– he missed home and the people that chose to stay in Sana’a. He lost people in the war, and he hadn’t been back there to live in a few years. They had to re-start life down south, and life is not all that easy economically. Before the war, Yemeni currency was pegged to the USD around 200. When we spoke, he said it fluctuated up and down around 550 to 600.

I felt for him, especially for opening up, and for a split second, I felt like forgiving Abdulhameed for the uncomfortable experiences and for exposing me to dangers from his own team.

At this point, Majdi said he needed to run errands in Al Mukalla, and he would see me the following day in the valley. He left with Mortada, and we separated from there.

Feeling Abandoned and Finding Friends in Yemen

The drive to Wadi Dawan was long and not as enjoyable as the days before. The landscape was full of vast rocky plains, rock structures and canyons, but it kind of blended all together. Along the way, I did see spots of Bedouin camps and houses. Every so often, I saw a few women herding goats around in these very iconic conical straw hats -circa 1990s Nat Geo. Every so often, I would see a truck full of them – some in conical hats, others in baseball hats, some holding scythes.

I reached Wadi Dawan just as the sun started to set. This area is hard to describe in words because it is that magnificent. It is one of the largest Southern valleys full of date palms and plantations. On both sides of the dried-up river, there are small villages. One little ‘village’ rises up on a rocky plateau, and it just looks out of this world. Just this once, I kind of wished I was not experiencing this type of breathtaking setting alone.

I felt confused the next day as Majdi was unreachable. His phone was turned off. I was supposed to meet him in the morning, but he never showed up. Mortada did not speak proper English, and quite frankly, I was uncomfortable with him because of his aggressiveness and touchiness towards me. Mortada didn’t know where he was. I messaged Abdulhameed, and there was no response either.

At this point, I was not sure what to do, but I was adamant that this would not ruin my trip. Using Google Translate, I asked Mortada to take me around the Hadhramaut region. It was a blank drive from a guiding perspective, but at least I could appreciate the sights and sounds of this spectacular area. Everywhere I looked, I saw tall, colourful olden houses made out of mud. I tried to release my frustrations and keep myself distracted through photography.

But, Majdi’s absence bothered me because I always need context when trying to learn a new place, not to mention the security of having a guide in Yemen. I knew there was a possibility that at a school, there may be teachers who knew English and who may know the area. So, I encouraged Mortada to try and help me to find a school using the translator.

We ended up at a boy’s school in a village called Seif, and we indeed found a teacher named Abdulkarim who spoke fluent English. He agreed to spend the afternoon with me. He took me to his school classes, and then we visited the final English classes of the day at a girl’s school. The chance to converse with some of the female English teachers was a remarkable experience. I could tell they just loved practicing what they have learned as part of their career and sharing what they know with children that they adore.

I ended up talking for a while with this one teacher named Dalia. She taught grades 7 to 9, and we exchanged contacts. We have been speaking on occasion ever since I left Seif. Teachers in Yemen do not make very much and only work until about 1 pm. So, later in the afternoon into the evening, they will often find a second or third job to make ends meet; this, on top of the heavy load of planning curriculum and programs for the next day, week, school year. These teachers dream of leaving and finding opportunities elsewhere, whether becoming translators or just finding teaching jobs in different countries.

Abdulkarim showed me around the valley. We walked through some of the old villages, and he took me to some remarkable viewpoints overlooking the valley. We visited a honey producer where I sampled some of the best honey I have ever tasted.

We finished the day by visiting the upper left valley, a part of the valley that is not so traversed anymore because the roads leading there are not so great. Funnily enough, I think we passed the village of the first generation bin Laden. What started as a tough day somehow made a complete turnaround. The day ended on an absolute high. I am grateful to have met this teacher, and I will never forget my day with him and the other teachers in Seif.

This still does not discount the fact that I still could not contact Majdi or Abdulhameed. By the time we returned to the hotel, Majdi’s phone was finally reachable. He lied and said he was in a room in the hotel, but he was clearly not there. He laughed casually when he heard my frustrations around the fact that he disappeared for a day and a half. I refused to talk to him at this point.

When I asked Abdulhameed what to do next and whether I would have another guide, he was full of apologies. He said that another guide would make his way to where I am. At this point in the trip itinerary, I should have moved on further in the valley to somewhere different, but I was stuck in the same place for another night. I felt a sense of constant worry. I was not sure if Abdulhameed would actually send someone. At this point, even Mortada had disappeared. I felt anxiety and panic, and I ended up pacing frantically around the hotel grounds.

When I was absolutely at my lowest, I heard a familiar voice, and I thought for a second that I was experiencing some sort of mirage. My friend Matt walked through the door, and I just burst into tears when I saw his face. I had wanted to go with his group and his fixer Kais Al-Qalisi when I found out that their trip was arranged, but I had already booked my trip through with Abdulhameed and decided that I could not reverse my plans. Anyhow, needless to say, when I needed someone familiar that day, Matt was there.

The next day, I experienced the view of Wadi Dawan with people I was familiar with, and it was a good feeling. Abdulhameed sent a new guide, Jamal, to continue with me for the remaining duration of the trip. Jamal was much more responsible and knowledgeable, but I was still wary. 

Following A Different Path

I decided for myself that I wanted to mirror the rest of Matt’s agenda, so I was near to people I knew, even if I had to slug out parts still by myself with people who still made me feel a bit scared. I am not going to let Jamal off the hook. Like Mortada, he too, got aggressive at times. He at one point asked me if I wanted to sit on his lap, and things like that are just uncalled for.

I continued to a few more beautiful places - Tarim, Shibam, Al Hajrain -- before reaching Seiyun for my flight to Socotra, where I experienced some great moments as well. I caught this stunning and spiritual sunset overlooking Shibam – a surreal, vivid picture of tall mud buildings – with prayer calls hitting every sense in your body.

I took part as a female observer in a Sufi dancing ceremony. I visited one more girl’s school in Seiyun, and I got bombarded with questions from teenage girls about life in Canada. I had some great bonding moments with Matt, Kais and his group.

Lessons Learnt

After a few days of unease, I experienced moments of happiness.

And that’s the point. Abdulhameed Ghanima doesn’t create ease overall for his travellers. I cannot vouch for male travellers or even a group experience, but I believe he doesn’t know how to create a female experience where women feel comfortable. He couldn’t care less if a woman felt harassed or unsafe. He couldn’t care less if she ended up being deported for going to Sana’a.

I realize that I could have made better decisions, and I was never forced to go on this trip. I could have backed out in Oman. I could have backed out way before. I experienced an uncomfortable trip, but because of that, and despite any stupid decisions, I just want to warn the next person who might make a foolish gut decision. If you are thinking of travelling to Mainland Yemen, consider other options.

Yemen will always still be such a special country for me – not only because it was unlike any place I had ever seen or experienced, but because it tested me intensely. I hope to go back soon under different circumstances. I have so much more to learn.

*Note: If you are thinking of travelling to Mainland Yemen, please consider travelling with Kais Al Qalisi from Radfan Tours. They are your safest option.

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