Buck continued, “Some people say khat is a mild aphrodisiac, or at least it makes people uninhibited, which may account for the high birthrate.”
Triple wow. Lose weight, get high, get laid. Does it get any better than this?
“Mr. Corey? I seem to have lost you.” He brandished his dagger playfully.
“Oh… sorry. I was just thinking about… any downside to khat?”
“I just told you. Loss of appetite, erratic behavior, plus it turns your teeth green.”
“How green?”
“Long-term use can cause male impotence.”
“Viagra.”
“And the withdrawal symptoms are very unpleasant.”
Why stop? Anyway, every drug has a few side effects, and that never stopped Big Pharma. Let’s focus on appetite suppressant. Thirty days, thirty pounds. America can be thin again.
Buck broke into my reverie and said to me, “I don’t know if you tried khat when you were there, but I warn both of you, khat has been the downfall of many a Westerner in Yemen.”
I observed, “But if you’re thinner, you make less of a target.”
He smiled, then got serious and said, “Khat will get you through a bad day in Yemen, but it will not get you through the year.”
“Day at a time.”
I had the thought that Buck must have been a good American diplomat-Arabic speaker, cross-dresser, khat chewer, culturally sensitive. I asked him, “What was your job with the embassy?”
He replied, “Cultural Affairs.”
Right. And I’m going there to gather evidence on the
The khat chat was finished, and Buck moved on to climate-sucks. Geography and topography-empty beaches, lethal deserts, dangerous tribal highlands. Health concerns-every disease known to man, plus some. Medical facilities-get evacuated to someplace else. Relations with neighboring Oman and Saudi Arabia-pretty bad. Boating on the Gulf of Aden or the Red Sea-pirates. Food-tastes good, but you might get sick. Local water-tastes bad and you will get sick. Security concerns-not much petty crime; just kidnapping and getting whacked. Tourist attractions- lots of good ones, but that’s where you’ll get kidnapped or whacked. Agriculture-eighty percent khat, twenty percent wasted on food. Manufacturing-incense, perfume, and AK-47 knockoffs. Entertainment-khat and kidnapping. Sports-soccer and shooting. Tourism-down slightly from none. Leisure activities-khat. Arts and crafts-daggers. Government-dysfunctional and oppressive, except where non-existent.
There were a few other areas that Buck covered, and basically I was getting the impression of a country that had lots of problems and no solutions.
Buck, in fact, had painted a picture of the land and the people that didn’t look like the tourism website. And yet I had the impression that Yemen historically had once been part of the world, an important center of trade and commerce between East and West, a center of learning, and a happier land than it was in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It had, unfortunately, devolved into a hell on earth. Shit happens, but in Yemen it happened hard.
Buck was finished with the required tutorial, and he said to us, “I’m aware that your mission to Yemen is not entirely diplomatic, and I hope you learned something this morning that could be useful to you-though you may not recognize it at this time.”
Neither Kate nor I replied to that leading statement, and Buck concluded with what was probably his standard wrap-up. “Yemen is an ancient land where time has stood still, and where you can see glimpses of an almost biblical civilization. It is where the Arabs are thought to have originated, where the people practice customs and rituals that are rooted in a forgotten, pre-Islamic past. Whatever you know or think you know about the Mideast is not necessarily true in Yemen. So keep an open mind, and think of your time there as a unique and incomparable experience. And good luck.”
Eleven A.M. Not bad.
We stood and shook hands with Buck, who gave Kate his card and said to her, “If you think of any questions, don’t hesitate to call or e-mail me, even after you’ve arrived in country.”
To me, he said, “I would strongly advise you, Detective, not to underestimate these people. They may be backward, but they’re not stupid, and they will use your Western arrogance and disdain to play you like a lute.”
“I’ve figured that out.”
“Good. You’re intelligent.” He said to both of us, but really to Kate, “And don’t go the other way, as some Western people do, and patronize them, or try to find excuses for their sometimes unacceptable customs and practices.” He advised us, “Remember who you are, why you’re there, and what you believe in, and they will respect that.”
“Good advice,” Kate agreed.
He concluded, “You will have no natural allies there, but neither will you have natural enemies-except Al Qaeda. With everyone else, it’s very situational. Learn to read the situation. And above all, learn how to make a good deal. It’s all about the deal. But don’t promise what you can’t deliver. And keep in mind, the Yemenis can’t always be bought with money. As with the Italian Mafia, it’s often about favors. If you can help a group or an individual in a vendetta against another group or individual, they will help you in your mission.” He looked at us and said, “For instance, the Sana’a government helps us locate Al Qaeda targets for our Predator drones and Hellfire missiles. In exchange, the government tells us which tribal chieftain or political opposition leader they’d like to see dealt with in a similar manner.” He added, “It’s all about quid pro quo.”
Neither Kate nor I responded to that, and Buck told us, “You didn’t hear that from me.”
The post-class chat seemed to be finished, so we thanked him, said our good-byes, and Kate remembered to take the handouts.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Out in the hallway, Kate remarked, “An interesting man.”
“Especially at the end.”
“CIA?”
“No. He was too nice. Maybe State Department Intelligence.”
She nodded. “That would fit.”
“Right. Hey, do we get a certificate for this course?”
“Just a note in our file so we don’t have to take it again when we do another tour in Yemen.”
Not funny. We got on the elevator and rode up to the 26th floor. I said, “I think we just got a mission briefing-a glimpse of how we’re going to find and eliminate The Panther.”
She nodded.
And did I have a problem with that? “That” being a promise to the corrupt and nasty Yemeni government to vaporize some poor tribal leader or political opponent if the government gave us the location of Al Qaeda targets, including, hopefully, The Panther.
And how did Kate and I fit into this? Maybe we were on the team that would coordinate this with the Yemeni government, and/or we would be on the waste collection team, i.e., going out to the hills or desert where a Hellfire missile just turned some guys into hamburger, then collecting fingers for a print match or a DNA analysis to make sure we got The Panther.
Well, no use speculating. We’d know when we got there.
We got off on the 26th floor and Kate said to me, “I’m feeling a little more prepared for the country, but still not sure about the job.”
“Cultural awareness is ninety percent of the job.”
We returned to our desks and got some work done. I love reading memos and electronically checking that I’ve seen them. Plus, some e-mails needed a response. It occurred to me that none of this had anything to do with me anymore. I was going to the front. I was free.
