Category: Janapar

‘What was it Mark said three and‑a half years ago?’ I joked to Tenny. ‘Cycle on the left, cycle on the left, cycle on the left … or die!’ And with that we rolled off the ferry and onto the British mainland. There was no turning back now: we had escaped the Continent and set foot and rubber on the soil of England, five days short of my parents’ driveway in Middleton, Northamptonshire. The late afternoon autumn air felt chilly and damp as we rode alongside the Victorian terraces of the Dover seafront. Looking for a grocer’s, we were befuddled… Continue reading →

I return from the quiet spot at the far end of the beach with my video camera. It is almost completely dark, and the soldiers have set up camp in one of the huts. Unpacking my sleeping gear on one of the beach loungers some distance away, I notice a figure walking towards me. I’m surprised, and a little confused, when I see a Chinese-looking face emerging from the darkness on this abandoned beach in the middle of Yemen. And I am even more surprised when he greets me in perfect, Canadian-accented English. ‘You must be the cyclist I’ve heard about!’… Continue reading →

Aden is a nice place, I think, as we race along the cliff-hugging roads in and around the crater of the extinct volcano that houses the city. This upwelling of rock off the south coast of Yemen is connected to the mainland by a narrow strip of land. Without this isthmus, Aden would just be a curious-looking island poking out of the sea. But the remarkable configuration of land and water once made it one of the old Empire’s main shipping stop-offs between Britain and India, poised halfway between the Suez Canal and Bombay. We drive through the old town,… Continue reading →

Mokha isn’t my ideal destination, but it ends up being the first available boat ride. The port once gave its name to a variety of coffee bean which was exported from its harbours before more profitable crops like qat took prominence in Yemen. Five crewmen, a handful of passengers and six hundred cows watch the twinkling lights of this port float towards us through the darkness, and suddenly – as if to welcome our humble vessel – a firework display bursts into life above the faraway string of streetlights. I’m transfixed by the pink and green airbursts, the rockets and… Continue reading →

I was wrong about Hassan. On first impressions, I thought that he was just a particularly friendly vagrant who’d hopefully refrain from pinching my stuff. But I realise I’ve underestimated him when he reappears the following day and offers me a place to stay. Yesterday’s promised boat ride didn’t exist, and nor will there be a sailing today, so I’ll clearly need somewhere to spend another night, and I am more than welcome to come with him to his home. But out of the blue comes a distant memory – of Sebeş, of the dreary post-communist decay and rain and mud,… Continue reading →

Djibouti City is a bizarre place indeed. On first impressions, it seems to exist for two reasons – firstly because every country needs a capital and a seat of government, so this might as well be it; secondly because the landlocked nations of East Africa need a seaport for trade. Under different circumstances this might have been the recipe for a thriving city of zeal and commerce. But, as I nose my way through the dusty sprawl, this is not what the place appears to be. It reminds me of Khartoum; a low, whitewashed colony of fenced compounds and street-sellers and… Continue reading →

Later I spot another group of figures in the distance: a dozen adults walking towards me along the track. Judging by the hairstyles on display they’re not road-building engineers, and since they’ve had plenty of time to see me coming, I put on my harmless passer-by act, smile nonchalantly at them as I approach, and call: ‘Hello!’ just as I pass, which gives me enough time to clear the group and recede down the track before anyone can decide whether they have anything further to contribute. I immediately curse myself for being a coward and not stopping to try having… Continue reading →

I look out across the dusty plain from my vantage point. Beside me is a rickety watchtower in which a soldier is slumped, dozing, wrapped in a blanket. He and the rest of his squad have been posted here to look after yet another crew of road-builders – all native Amharans this time. They’re surveying the area, hoping to lay another streak of asphalt across a landscape which looks like an artist’s rendering of some prehistoric savannah. The sun has not yet risen, and the air is a hazy grey. The headlights of a pick-up truck nose slowly through the… Continue reading →