Do We Feel Safe Yet?

The other day I was heading to work in the Gas Company with my driver, Abdul. In addition to the two of us, the car held a payload about ten boxes of textbooks that were needed for the next class. We got to the gates of the Gas Company (uh, remember as you read this tale that there have been about three attacks on Gas-related industries here in Yemen in the past few weeks) and Abdul honks for the guard to let us in.

The guard came out and had a word with Abdul. I didn't recognize the guard, but that's not saying much as there are a ton of them and they all look alike in their matching guard uniforms. Abdul and the guard had a short argument and the guard eventually waved us in.

I will admit that it was in Arabic and that I didn't know a word that he was saying. Abdul is a sweet man, and he's worked at MALI for years, but he doesn't really know very much about the in and outs of what I am doing. He knew that we were delivering textbooks for MALI and the name of the director of said institute. But in reality, Abdul doesn't really know anything that you couldn't find off the Internet in about five minutes (from my blog alone, in fact.)

So once inside the gates, we quickly unload ten unmarked and very heavy boxes to various floors in the building. The guard even helped us. On the way out, he finally got around to asking me my name. Turns out that he was new and didn't know who I was. I gave my name to him and he went to the office to write it down. He didn’t ask to see any ID, including my "official" gas company ID card. (I put "official" in quotes because after waiting a month for the card I got sick of signing in every morning and swiped a card from a former employee and simply scotch taped—not glued—my name and picture over the old name and photo.) By the time he got to his office, Abdul and I were happily out of the compound and bouncing away down the road as he took me to a different entrance.

It wasn't until afterwards that I realized that ANYTHING could have been in those boxes.