I had my first full day at the school earlier.  I found myself thrust on short notice before two separate 12th grade girls' classes.  (I'm teaching 7th and 12th grade girls' classes which, it turns out, is great, as the girls are supposed to be more receptive and less disruptive).  Teaching in earnest, with 18 or 24 faces - and, besides the two girls covered from head to toe 'cepting the eyes, faces otherwise completely framed by black cloth are what you are looking at - eager, smiling, challenging, earnest faces awaiting my words and direction.  It was, more or less, great.  I put myself out there, frank but with humor, and it seemed to work.  Of course, it was mostly a getting to know each other kind of day, but even the inexplicably double-length class in a way seemed to fly by too fast.  Lesson plans and grading and assignments and ministry exams will follow, but it certainly was a good start.

It's taken some nerve to go out and about.  Or courage that's been sneakily hard to summon.  A marked lack of Arabic (where English is in short supply) and a feeling that eyes will be drawn to your difference - these and unwanted, wearying wake-up times of 1:30 AM, 3:00 AM, and, today, four or so have not helped me to cheerily descend upon Sana'a.  Earlier, though, I decided I needed a good meal and made my way down Rabat Street to a place I'd been shown on my first day.  A huge round piece of flaky, chewy bread with a great side dish of fazoula, a dipping sauce, and a glass of tea in a largely empty eating place bathed in fluorescent light.  I walked out onto the street in the direction of a large superstore that, again, I'd been to on my first day.  On the way (and the road this time seemed to go and go and go) I thought of how I'd tell you that, as I looked around, I was unsure when the necessary comfort and gall needed to take pictures about the city would come.  Walking down the street required a certain self-possession and aloofness, both largely manufactured, and I ended up realizing I was reaching the end of the terribly long street without (impossibly) meeting the superstore with even one of my self-possessed, aloof eyes.  

Rather than feel silly making my way back down the same side of the street (with light skin, long hair, and no mustache to boot!), and rather than meekly retracing my steps on the other side, I decided to hang a left at the end of Shareya Rabat.  I made another slight left after a while into an area that seemed to contain something like rows of human stables (market stalls?), where impressive, weary, bearded, dagger-waisted men seemed to be reclined in spartan stalls full of great, green bushels (of qat?), the lighting, surrounded by early evening's shades of darkness, much like what you would find in lizard aquariums.  I took a left onto a good-sized street and, after a while, started to hear the quiet, rising sound of so much human noise a fair distance away.  Propelled forward by the fact that that's where I was going, my bag was inspected first by a row of camouflaged military types, and, soon enough, by a link in a non-military human chain further down the road.  I was encouraged by the way a man, sitting on steps near the first row I got through, said, sweetly and simply, "Thank you."  

Soon enough, there were people, many people, a stage, banners, flags.  There was also plenty of energy, but it was very peaceful, almost kind.  The man in the second photo was the first to talk with me - his sign says, in essence, life without freedom is no better than death.  The opposition movement in Sana'a is physically and otherwise based at the site of Sana'a University.  Largely young and intelligent, I was fortunate that a good many had some ability with English.  It was really quite amazing.  I'd be talking with one man, quite intently, and I'd notice another face or two watching from a short distance.  Maybe another man would pick up where the first left off, expounding on some point.  Soon enough, I'd turn back to the first man.  Focused in, I'd eventually look around and find many, many faces looking in on and listening to our conversation.  I tried at times to hold my own, opining, exclaiming, discussing America in contrast, but often would be listening and nodding.  The stage was raucous with imploring gestures, dancing movements and chants and the energy from the surrounding masses was returned many times over.  Chants (translated for me) went from "Walk, Walk" (as in, Saleh, walk your way away from our country) to "Our blood is too expensive to spill".  Two men died thereabouts yesterday in clashes with pro-Saleh men/hired thugs, and their pictures, blown up, were displayed above the stage.  A short, roundish man who works for the finance ministry exclaimed excitedly after seeing on his phone that a prominent government figure had resigned in response to recent developments.  Reports from Taiz, further south in the country, were read aloud.  Word that a governor from up north had resigned.  A Yemeni actor and then a comedian took the microphone.  I felt a bit unsure what to do with myself when the call to prayer came, and hundreds upon hundreds surrounding me lined up, going through the proscribed motions, prostrating themselves, and, in unison, giving release to rich conveyances of sound.  It was all pretty incredible.