I was invited by Mr. Yatimi, one of my students, to visit his home village of Al Ardha, and his nearby ancestral lands in the Asir Mountains, about 80 km. northeast of Jizan. It was January. Jerry, my friend and co-teacher, also came along.
Mr. Yatimi arrived around 8 am. in a Toyota Hilux with his friend Mr. Harisee. Mr. Harisee spoke quite good English; it transpired that he was a second year English student at the university in Abha.
We drove towards the mountains, through nearby Abu Arish and continuing north east on the highway. Along the way, Mr. Harisee pointed out a valley going east. He said djinns lived in there. I asked if he and his friends ever went there. He looked astonished and replied “of course not!”
 |
| Goats on the road |
We reached Al Ardha around 8:45 and turned off into the market area. Today (Thursday) was market day! We spent a wonderful hour wandering around the stalls of herb sellers, farmers selling vegetables, candy makers, knife sellers, it was amazing. Many of the vendors were older women wearing, instead of the full head covering expected in Jizan, broad brimmed straw hats. I’m told this is the local custom.
There were even herds of goats and sheep for sale. An artisan was making flower garlands worn by the local ‘Flower Men’. This custom is of the ancient culture of Asir, more Yemeni than Saudi. We bought some vegetables and Mr. Yatimi insisted on buying some candy and flower wreaths for us.
Leaving the market, we headed northeast further into the hills. Al Ardh is very spread out; at one point, Mr. Yatimi turned right into a house. “Wait here”, he said. Mr. Harisee informed us this was Mr. Yatimi’s wife’s family house, where he was living until he could finish his own house.
Mr. Yatimi returned 20 minutes later with some plastic bags full of containers of something, and greens. This was breakfast, prepared by Mrs. Yatimi. A young uncle and another friend joined us. I didn’t clearly get their names.
 |
| A friend, an uncle, Jerry, Mr. Yatimi, Mr. Harisee |
Onward into the mountains. We passed Mr. Yatimi’s house, half finished, on the left.
The road leads up to a large park, still under construction. We stopped here for breakfast. It was delicious: greens, and a tomato and eggplant mixture, and the local bread, (cooked in a tandoor).
 |
| Breakfast with Mr. Yatimi |
After a while, we headed up into the mountains. The road, though paved, was extremely steep in places – Mr. Yatimi insisted that only a four-wheel drive vehicle could get up here, though we saw a few corollas around!
Interestingly, there were houses all over the place, right up to the peaks. I don’t know how people live up here, in this sere, harsh environment…where do they get their water?
Eventually Mr. Yatimi parked at a pullout. Pointing to a nearby house, he said “That’s my uncle’s house”. “These are my family’s lands”, and, pointing across the steep, narrow valley: “that’s where Yemen starts”. We sat and contemplated the astounding landscape for a while. On the ridge to the left, he pointed out a standing stone, saying it is mentioned specifically in the Koran.
I reached out and took hold of a nearby plant. He explained “If you crush the leaves of that one and put it on your eyes, you will go blind.” I quickly let go of the suddenly menacing stem. Pointing to another, he said “If you eat this, it will kill you.” I decided to keep my hands to myself.
We walked up to the corner underneath his uncle’s house, and looked over the vertiginous bank. There was a brand new road there – and we were looking out towards the Red Sea, whence we had come from! An amazing view.
We dropped back down to the plain, and made our way to Mr. Harisee’s house. We were going to watch a football game with some of his friends and family. Mr. Harisee lived on a farm; we were going to spend our time in a one room cement block building, perhaps 20 feet square, a kind of combination bedroom and clubhouse for the boys. The walls were lined with the traditional platform bench/beds. It was equipped with a TV and a large hookah.
Meanwhile I had wandered off a bit and stumbled into the inner family compound, where a number of children and women were relaxing. They seemed utterly unfazed by, and pretty relaxed about, my presence. I smiled, waved and said hi, then wandered back to the clubhouse. This was not something that would ever have happened in Jizan! Mr. Harisee brought us coffee, tea and dates.
Some few minutes later, Mr. Harisee’s father came to visit us, dressed formally in a crisp white thobe, and curved knife (Janbiya; Khanjar). He looked about 65 or 70. I was quite touched by his politeness. He only stayed for a bit, as he could not converse with us…Later Mr. Harisee told me he was the same age as me (53).
Later a big platter of Kabseh showed up. Kabseh is the most common traditional dish eaten in the kingdom, composed of a mound of oiled, spiced rice, with a roasted chicken on top of it. It is eaten with the hands. Afterwards we made our way to a water pipe outside and washed our hands with powdered dish detergent. This seems to be the norm, as I found the same detergent offered in houses, and at roadside restaurants along the highway.
Mr. Harisee’s uncle turned out to be 23 years old (this is not unusual) and had only two days previously graduated from Abha University with an MA in English – he was now to become an English teacher. I congratulated him, thinking what a long road he had already travelled, from this quiet village to Abha and his new life as a professional…it turns out that his small, dignified uncle (Mr Harisee’s father), who spoke not a word of English, was supporting these young men in their development. It seemed an extraordinary act of generosity on his part.
In the late afternoon we made our way back to Jizan. A wonderful trip made possible by the great generosity of Mr. Yatimi and Mr. Harisee.
