Hey those of you out there still with me – it is good to hear from some of you. Thanks for staying with me. I wanted to write on Father’s Day – but was simply too tired. Saturday night I was up until the wee hours making cinnamon rolls, as this is tradition for Father’s Day at church. Then, last night I planned to write, and a Great Storm blew through – it lasted the night. The electricity was off for hours – so, thank goodness, had an excuse to simply go to bed. I slept through the entire storm, which downed many trees and power lines. Today, in some areas of town, things are a real mess.

I was thinking about Henry, how when I would wish him happy Father’s Day, he would always remind me that he is not my father! Then we would go into our standard routine, along the lines of he would not have been a father without a bit of assistance from me, his first wife…he loved saying that, and sometimes it would really confuse people who didn’t know him. You could see the double take. So? Is there a second wife?

I was thinking about each of the kids coming along – Henry was astounded at each one of them - what hath God wrought? I remember his looking down at Peter in amazement, and finally Henry managed to say,

“Just think. In ten years from today I will have mowed my last lawn.”

Peter was the only one for whom we sent out birth announcements. We just never got to it with the other two. I know, this is inexcusable, but that is the way it was. For the first child, Henry, on his own, went to a printer in Hobbs and had elegant cards made up in flowing script:

The Los Angles Dodgers

Wish to announce the signing of a $100,000,000.00 bonus baby

Mr. Peter Sherman Cook born to Henry and Bonnie Cook

August 21, 1962

Currently weighing in at 6 lbs 8ozs.

Will report for the 1982 season.

Three years later, Allison was born. Ah, a most beautiful girl. Henry was thrilled. With trepidation we took this lovely little bundle home, in a yellow dress that was, many years later, too small for Anne’s doll. Alllison was so very teeny tiny, there was some question about how she would do. She was fine. It did take some convincing three year old Peter that he was not in charge of cutting those tiny little fingernails. We sold the house in Hobbs, and gave our original child, Beauregard Frontenaque de Montmingle Bugleboy, (is there a Pogo fan still alive? If so, please check that spelling. A note here, Henry was an authority on the Pogo comic strip, much as he was an authority on the Dodgers. When the strip’s creator, Walt Kelly died, Henry took it hard and personally) – we tearfully gave Beau, a huge but gentle Doberman Pinscher, to the house buyers for a dollar, and Henry moved us to Cedar City, Utah, all in about a month’s time, where we waited at my folks’ place while he went on to Libya to start his new job and scout out housing. He sent for us in about two months.

Anne was born in Ras Tanura, some time later! This event descended into a Three Stooges routine: Henry was to play in a tennis tournament in Dhahran, and after some discussion that “the time is close but evidently nothing is going to happen today,” he drove away. Virtually immediately the situation changed. No one could contact Henry although Lloyd Elkins valiantly tried to get him on his car radio. Allison was at the horse stables – locally known as The Hobby Farm. Peter showed up from his job at the Scuba Club, and drove me to the RT clinic. The decision was to send me to Dhahran, an hour away. Ten minutes into the trip things were progressing to the point that Dhahran was no longer an option; back to the RT clinic where Dr. Philip Stokoe was waiting, baby Anne arrived within a very few minutes. Dr. Stokoe, he who played with the U Drives Baseball Team, and at the first office visit some months before, nearly fell out of his chair laughing when I told him I was pretty sure we were pregnant. Actually, Philip was very nice about Henry’s concern that we were “too old.” He said his mother was 42 when he was born, and there is nothing wrong with him! (Some guys on the team would teasingly question that!) I was informed in no uncertain terms by the head of nursing in RT that babies are NOT to be born in the Ras Tanura Clinic, that is what the hospital in Dhahran is for. However, since I broke the rules, they would take care of the baby and feed me breakfast anyway! Someone finally contacted Henry, who drove considerably over the speed limit back to RT, where he was again, for the third time, absolutely astounded at the miracle. Watching his face as he first looked at the baby was, well, indescribable tenderness. He could hardly comprehend what had happened. I was watching a new father at church yesterday, holding his two month old little girl, and watching him gaze at his baby, he could not take his loving eyes off that little thing, it was if watching Henry all over again. This thrill of awe and amazement is universal.

***

How to segue into a continuing account of the Yemen trip? This is an abrupt switch from Fathers Day. Jump in and take off, I guess. Have been thinking, how to describe the second day? The first day was so intense – meetings with the Foreign Minister, with the American Ambassador, with Dr. Al-Eryani ( The Brain of Yemen), the trip to the great souk, the fabulous food, the jet lag – and the dust. I no longer am accustomed to the dust and the all pervading smell of dirt hanging in the air.

The second day, it was again into heels and hose, suits and ties, notebooks in hand, back in the van, on the way to somewhere, I was confused. Sabri, president of the Yemen College of Middle Eastern Studies, and our host and guide and interpreter and entertainer, stood in the front of the van, speaking into his cell phone. Suddenly he snapped that phone shut and triumphantly announced that Ali Abdullah Saleh, the President of Yemen, agreed to receive us - right now! The van served and backtracked, our Guys with the Guns in their RV caught up and lead the way with that forest of brown arms waving from the windows, motioning traffic away from us. At the presidential compound, we were a subdued group, just beginning to realize the enormity of our good fortune. We walked through great metal gates with the stylized eagle in black and bronze – harking back at least to the Romans; they too used the eagle as a symbol of might and power.

We walked across the grounds up to the steps of the president’s residence, and I noticed:

1. Secret service type men in dark suits, with earpieces and protruding wires standing “everywhere” – at the corners of the building, stationed in the gardens, along the compound walls, silently watching us, moving along as we moved along – just like in the movies.

2. The lawns. The lovely flowers. The shrubs. The sprinkler system was merrily chugging away. The sprinklers!!!! The lawns were a fertilized intense blue green - in this city of no water, this country gripped in a terrible drought. Hmmm. To the conqueror go the spoils. Or, we should say, the water.

In the course of this trip, I became intensely concerned about the Yemeni water situation – I could identify, as I grew up in Southern Utah where we prayed sincerely for rain at church services, and, to cover all bases, (God helps those who help themselves) the city fathers paid an airplane company to seed the clouds with – what was it? – some compound, a scientific idea of the early 1950s, that they hoped would produce rain, despite nature’s reluctance. I remember the planes in the sky. A few clouds. I don’t remember much success.

We were welcomed into the President’s reception hall – lovely but not opulent, tastefully decorated in bronze and beiges and browns, with a huge map of Yemen on the wall behind the president’s chair. Dr. Anthony presented us, one at a time, to President Saleh, who smiled and shook our hand. We were seated in chairs lining the room, again balancing notebooks, glasses of juice and little plates of cookies. President Saleh is of medium height, has maintained his military fitness, does assume a regal bearing, and is quite handsome. He was born in 1942 in a small village, attended a primary Koranic school, and joined the army in his extremely early teens. Through the years he rose through the ranks, fought in many battles, was involved in Yemen’s very turbulent military history, and through a series of events became president of North Yemen in 1978. In 1990 he was installed president of a unified Yemen and has been elected twice since then. He has ruled nearly thirty years and has survived through a combination of shrewdness, intelligence, luck, military might, and nepotism - putting his seven brothers in key government positions.

He sat easily in this large chair – not a throne – but it seemed like a throne as he held court. He did not attempt English; all conversation was through an interpreter. There was quite a lovely preamble by Dr. Anthony, outlining who we are and our reason for visiting Yemen – we come as teachers and advisors, seeking understanding. What message would the President like us to take back to America, concerning the issues of terrorism, the economy, social issues, political issues, what Yemen is doing to contribute to the solution.

First, the translator smiled and volunteered that our being there was a victory against the American travel advisory. Everywhere we went on this trip, the Yemeni were thrilled that we defied the travel advisory, and that we trusted them as gracious hosts who are not terrorists.

His Excellency, the President, responded at some length. My summary here, as I read my scrambled notes and remember the tone in that room:

1. Terrorism exists everywhere, and travel advisories should not be directed at just one country.

2. The economy suffers from high prices and unrest in Yemen. The people are making use of their democracy by using the privilege of protesting – democracy is their strength.

3. The Yemeni people are saying why? Why is the USA not aiding us?

4. The regional situation is not good – Palestine, Iraq, Somalia, Iran, Kenya, Sudan, Afghanistan. The USA has a failure in policy and is not able to put out any fire. We are friends with the USA, but the American advisors to the government do not take into account our advice.

Dr. Anthony asked what help from other countries have impressed the President, and how could we build on what others have done. The response was basically that the British are more clever and more experienced in the region, and although they are no more a superpower, the Yemeni government believe the British wield an influence on American policy. The Yemeni government thinks of the Americans as a big Russian Bear that wants to fight everywhere!

This was a short visit. The President did make time for us, but when he was finished it was very evident. He stood up. We stood up. We all posed for a group picture. Did I mention that throughout the meeting great bright lights were set up on tripods in the corners of the room, and men with huge cameras on their shoulders were walking about. I was so busy trying to listen, to write, not spill the juice and drop cookie crumbs into the carpet, I hardly realized what was going on. For days after this interview, everywhere we went, and I mean absolutely everywhere, people recognized us, stopped us, and would comment: “We saw you on television! You met with President Saleh!” We WERE the news of the week, and evidently there is precious little else on Yemeni televison, as our fame was universal – a group of American educators and advisors, defying the travel advisory and in conference with President Saleh. We had our 15 minutes of fame, it lasted for days.

A word about the political parties. When Yemen was ready for elections in 1990, the political parties were formed, and each given a symbol. Actually, the symbols were decided by (some committee), and a representative of each party drew one out of a hat. Much of the population is illiterate, so they voted for symbols rather than people. Dr. Anthony is the only American ever given a Fulbright scholarship to study in Yemen, and also was the only American serving as an observer for the two elections Yemen has had in “modern” times. I understood him to say that these symbols were arbitrarily decided. The parties who drew a cell phone symbol and (something else – what did he say? An umbrella I think) did not fare well, as who would vote for something with which they had no connection? Or never seen? The parties who do the best are the President’s party, which has the symbol of a rearing horse (it helps that the rearing horse is also a symbol of a popular sport drink) and the rising sun symbol (for the Islah party – the Islamic party) fare best at the polls. For the life of me, I cannot remember the symbol of the Marxist party, now they are known as Socialists, the third most popular party in Yemen. In our travels, we saw the horse and the rising sun symbols everywhere: stenciled on walls and buildings and into the sides of mountains and hills done in white rocks. They were not a few. These two symbols were so prevalent and “in your face” at every turn, they came to look like sloppy graffiti. Or, one could say, this intense campaigning where the symbols are painted and permanent, they will not disappear in our lifetime, is quaint, and very uniquely Yemeni.

Stopping here for now – thanks to you who stay the course!

Much love, Bonnie and the Cook Family