Aden

Our arrival into Aden was almost similar to the sorts of accounts that one reads about in classic Naval Tales or War Histories.

We left behind the convoys on the horizon which follow the recommended “safety route” so that the coalition naval forces can keep an “eye” on them in this pirate risk area. I was amused to think that it took skilled U-Boat packs in the Second World War to force the North Atlantic convoys to be created and yet here just a few lightly armed men in skiffs have caused a fundamental shift in the economies of several countries, changes of sea routings and the assembly of naval forces that would have been the envy of the British Admiralty back in the bleak days of the 1940’s.

Aden is impressive from the sea in the same way that Gibraltar is. It has massive rock formations emerging out of the sea that give protection to a large expanse of water, but there the illusion ends.

The reality of the place is that the signs of “yesteryear” are evident as buildings and infrastructure, but all of which have fallen into decay.

It is easy to imagine men in starched white naval uniforms scuttling from Office to Office with important sheafs of paper while other important men behind closed doors made significant decisions about the future of the British Empire.

Now cats and women dressed in black from head to toe fight for scraps in the rubbish heaps that line the sides of the roads. Faded signs here and there allude to past institutions, like the Seamen’s Club or the Offices of Import/Export.

And yet the people are surprisingly tranquil about their situation, on the surface. It seems that they would like the British to return. They have not fallen into the silly trap that so many Africans have adopted, that the British are responsible for all ills and ailments, past and present. One old man (like me) trundled past in his beat-up truck, carefully navigating past the potholes and asked, “Where do you come from?”

“Zimbabwe” I answered, to be a bit provocative.

“Ha Ha, “he called back, “Mugabe! It is safer here!”

I looked at the broken cars and the bullet holes in the apartment block across the road, and called back, “I think you are right!”

He was delighted to think that there was somewhere worse than Aden. We parted with smiles.

We anchored off what was once called “The Prince of Wales Pier” but now is called, rather misleadingly “Tourist Pier”. Now the sole inhabitants seem to be semi naked fishermen perched on the crumbling stones with hand held lines in the water.

Once on shore we were besieged by “Taxi Drivers” touting for business, and I erringly chose one that spoke Eengleesh. Mazen took us on a series of trips to closed shops in back alleys of Aden in search of “plugs” for engine blocks and spare fuel filters. The up-side was that we saw places that most people would have the good sense not to visit.

There are three statements that are well used in Aden: “What do you need?” “I can help you.” “It is not far.”.

They are all false.

The “I can help you” means I will mislead you in a series of ways to prolong my association with you, so that I can ask for more money. Rather like Lawyers!

The “It is not far” means that it is the other side of bay, when in reality you could find the item you want within a few minutes walk from the port. Again, this is for the same reason as above.

The “What do you need” is also false, because after being messed about all day, you find that you don’t really need the item after all!

We even inspected some firearms in the dark, up a “back alley”, that were owned by out-of work South Yemen soldiers, while street kids made lewd facial gestures that would seem to indicate their usefulness as boy prostitutes. Desperation starts from an early age here.

The reason that the soldiers are out-of work is that the “North” has invaded the “South” and sent all the soldiers and policemen and government workers home, without pay.

This strikes me as a very dangerous development, as Mazen and his friends protest this invasion by painting “Freedom for the South” on buildings and painting the “South Arab” flag on any exposed wall. Most days someone is shot by the soldiers from the North, and subsequently his picture is displayed on banners in the streets. The Freedom Seekers claim that they do not want violence, because they are “better people than the ones from the North”, but the detonator point seems to be close to mass bloodshed to me.

To reflect this, the price of firearms is increasing daily, as locals believe that they will need them, themselves.

Oh to be at sea again with the pirates!

We have to endure two days of “holidays” before being able to get fuel and final supplies before departure. The supplies we obtained from Lulu, a supermarket which is styled on western mall design, which has modern shops and banks. This is in stark contrast to the seedy cellars with strong metal doors that are found in the ghettos where Mazen took us.

One of the signs of British involvement here is the large British Cemetery. It seems to have been looted for all useful bits of building materials. It is interesting to note the lack of care British cemeteries have around the world, except perhaps for the ones of the downed British airmen in France which are being systematically renovated by the British War Graves Commission. Elsewhere the lack of care seems to reflect the lack of care of past soldiers who served the British Causes in various theatres, and then have been studiously ignored.

There is also a German Cemetery that has suffered the same degradation from the locals.

We managed to get fuel before we left, from the fuel bunkering wharf which is usually surrounded by floating pontoons from the Second World War. They were new back then and they have done well, because they have survived to the present day without a lick of paint to detract from their authenticity. We filtered this fuel assiduously, but it still succeeded in blocking our filters later on.

Our departure from Aden was stunning. We sailed out with a following breeze. (We knew the wind had changed because we were now downwind from the sewerage works.) The impressive rock cliffs slowly descended into the sea as we curved our way over the horizon. What wonderful opportunities there are here for so many possible projects, but all never to be realised with the present political realities.

I shall add a few pictures to this blog later, as this edition will be sent while we are enroute on the Satellite Phone, which is now in service. Pictures tend to take a long time to transmit.