Day 318 - Children

 by  CharlesFred 

Children were everywhere in Yemen. They were in the souq, at parking lots, outside of shops, they were wherever we went. It isn't that I saw them playing on the streets, at least not the way we played on the streets. It was more like they were working, at least when foreigners were around. But their work involved one of two things - asking for something or offering something.

The children around gasoline stations out of town all asked for pens, qalam in Arabic. Pens seemed more popular than gum or candy, the two things I thought they would want.

On one trip, we were surrounded by kids. It was a challenge to keep track of them as we handed out pens. One boy kept coming back for more. Each time he came back, I asked him if he hadn't already gotten one from me, and he shook his head insistently. I think I gave in once more, but I told him more often that I remembered giving him pen already. Still he smiled and shook his head with his hand still outstretched.

Children were also at intersections and in the dividers between lanes of the largest streets. Most often these children were there to ask for money, usually pointing to their stomachs or mouths to indicate they were hungry. Some people carried apples or oranges in the car to hand out to the children. We all heard that some of the children were sent out to beg by their parents who would beat them if they didn't come home with enough money. Maybe poverty would lead parents to mistreat their children, but what I saw of families was much love and care of children.

by  Kate B Dixon 

After the Thanksgiving iftar, one of the local employees, Abdul Ghani*, invited me to join his family the following Friday. It was still Ramadan, so we didn't have a meal. We sat around the living room as the children introduced themselves to me one at a time and then sat down near their mother. As each child joined the others, I saw how they leaned over to rest on their mother, some sitting on cushions at the back behind her so that they could all sit right next to her, the youngest laying his head in her lap. Abdul Ghani's wife brought out some henna and she and I, as well as the girls, dyed our hands with henna. We ended the day by taking a drive out of town in the direction of the mountains. Because we knew we might run into a police check point, Abdul Ghani's wife gave me one of her veils and abayas to wear so that the police would not realize there was a foreigner in the car with them. On that trip, the children sat with me and their mother in the back of the car, more across each seat than the cars were designed for, exactly like the road trips I recalled our family took in Dad's sedan - four kids in the back, Mom and Dad and the twins in the front.

There were adults as well as children at intersections, selling products to drivers as the cars passed, anything from soap and shampoo to boxer shorts for men. I always got a kick out of seeing Yemeni men in their dresses, scarves, sports coats and jambias hawking underwear along the streets. I bought a bug zapper from one of these vendors. It ran on batteries and looked like a badminton racquet. I threw it away, however, when I got a bigger belt of electricity myself when I touched it without knowing I had it turned on.

by  kgbbristol 

In the souq, whenever a camera appeared, and the sights were all begging for a photograph to be taken, children would appear and jump into the frame, always smiling. Whenever I carried bags in the souq, children, boys of course, would come up to offer to carry them. Sometimes the bags were as big as they were. They would follow me whereever I went and for however long I stayed, trading phrases in English they had picked up. The supply of children seemed unlimited. I don't recall seeing the same one twice. When we reached my car, I would give them a tip for their trouble.

There was one area where the children were the same each time I was there - outside the grocery store I shopped at most often. I saw them so often I got to know their names. The one I recall most was Sadam. Sadam and the others would approach cars as we parked them and ask for money. I used to slip them small bills most times. Then I learned that instead of giving money many Yemenis would point up to the sky to indicate that Allah would take care. When I did that when Saddam came up to my car, he replied by pointing down to his feet. He was extremely pigeon-toed, with his toes touching and his heels pointing completely the opposite direction. I never pointed to the sky again.

*a name, not necessarily the right one