A Recruit’s Journey

Yemenat

Mohammed Al-Mekhlafi

After completing high school, we were summoned to perform our compulsory National Defense Service in 1998.

Excitement filled our hearts as my friends and I headed straight to the recruitment office in Taiz. There, our names were entered onto the enlistment rolls, and the first signs of seriousness began to appear on everyone’s faces.

After completing the registration procedures, we were given the date to report to the reception camp in Al-Hawban, east of Taiz, marking the first steps of our journey into the new life that awaited us.

We were nine young men, aged between eighteen and nineteen, from neighboring villages connected by Al-Husain market.

There, amid the bustle of people and the clamor of vendors, we would sit together, dreaming and imagining what life in the camp might be like. How would the training go? How would we look in uniform? We asked everyone who had served before us, listening eagerly to their stories and trying to paint in our minds a picture of what awaited us.

The Road to the Camp

About two weeks later, we left the village. I still vividly remember the farewell, standing at the foot of the road leading out of our village, waving to my grandmothers and siblings. They stood in front of our house, waving back, their hearts silently whispering prayers for our safety.

We boarded a truck bound for Taiz and arrived around eight thirty in the morning. At the gate of the reception camp in Al-Hawban, we were astonished by the massive crowd of students coming from every corner of the governorate.

Amid the crush of people, some joked and laughed, trying to ease the tension. Then, in an instant, tragedy struck. One young man stepped into the road, and a speeding car hit him. His body flew into the air and crashed to the ground, blood spreading beneath him. Some rushed to help, while the rest of us stood frozen in shock and horror. The scene was terrifying. A heavy silence fell, and fear swept through us all.

Upon entering the gate, we were asked to present the papers issued by the recruitment office. A soldier quickly checked them and then waved us through. We continued until we reached a wide courtyard crowded with new recruits like ourselves, each carrying a small bag and waiting silently under the scorching sun, anticipation etched on their faces.

We remained there for nearly an hour under the hot sun and a light layer of dust rising from the ground. Suddenly, a loudspeaker ordered us to board the trucks.

Six large transport trucks, the type used for heavy equipment, were lined up along the edge of the yard. We jostled to get on, each of us searching for a place to sit or something to hold onto for balance. I sat on the cold metal floor while others clung to the wire mesh and the side rails.

The trucks set off around nine thirty in the morning, heading toward the reception camp in Sana’a. The roar of the engines mixed with clouds of dust swirling around us, and every vibration of the truck seemed to run through my body.

First Experience in the Camp

After about nine hours on the road, we reached the reception camp in Dhula’a Hamdan, northwest of Sana’a, just before sunset. The yard was filled with recruits standing in long lines stretching across the grounds.

We were led into a large hangar, though it could not accommodate everyone, so some of us were sent to a nearby mosque. Our military uniforms, boots, and basic gear were distributed, and about an hour later, dinner was served. We ate quickly, exhausted and hungry, then lay down on the bare ground inside the hangar, our bodies heavy with fatigue after the long journey. We slept closely together, without bedding or blankets, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

At dawn, we were assembled in the camp yard and divided into battalions. We were assigned to hangars equipped with beds, mattresses, and blankets. After placing our belongings on the bunks, we were called back outside to stand in neat, disciplined rows.

Each officer took charge of his battalion, while approximately four thousand recruits gathered in the vast parade ground surrounded by mountains. The scene was imposing, and we could feel the grandeur and discipline of the place pressing upon us.

There was a sense of awe in the air, especially when we performed the military chant “Awoh,” which echoed across the mountains, amplifying the power of our voices.

We spent a week receiving light introductory training. Overcrowding, however, caused many difficulties. I remember standing in a long line under the burning sun, waiting for lunch. Each of six men shared a single plate, and while breakfast and dinner lines were shorter, they still required patience.

At the end of the week, after sunset, large buses arrived from the Military Academy. An officer called us together over a loudspeaker and selected seventy recruits who were taller than one meter seventy. My eight friends from Shar‘ab and I were among those chosen.

Inside the Military Academy

We boarded the buses, which drove us directly to the academy. It was nearly eight in the evening when we arrived. As the wheels stopped, we descended one by one, a strange feeling washing over us—a mix of excitement and apprehension.

We were assembled in the courtyard of the old building that would house us during the forty days of training that followed. We were welcomed warmly, and the battalion commander delivered a short speech about patriotism and the values of commitment, discipline, and responsibility in military life.

We were then led to our rooms on the second floor. After arranging our belongings, we went to the mess hall for our first dinner. We sat at long tables in an atmosphere filled with quiet anticipation and unease.

Returning to our quarters, the biting cold seeped through our clothes. We sat for a while, talking softly. Each of us felt both pride and relief at being assigned to the academy—one of the country’s most prestigious institutions—unlike our fellow recruits sent to remote camps along the Yemeni–Saudi border or to desolate areas far from settlements.

After a short conversation, fatigue overcame us, and we fell asleep until dawn.

At daybreak, we gathered in the training yard, standing in neat rows, and silence filled the air until the officer’s commanding voice rang out, “Attention! At ease!”

We replied in unison, “Allah!”

The training officer ordered us to march behind him with quick, synchronized steps, chanting patriotic songs that filled the air with energy and spirit.

We exited the gate of the academy in Al-Rawdah and marched toward the Daris area. The rhythm of our steps echoed through the streets, blending with the chants and giving the scene a sense of majesty.

When we returned to the academy, we were struck by the sight of the orderly buildings, vast hangars, and the immense parade ground stretching into the distance.

Suddenly, the commander ordered us to run around the conference hall. We rushed forward enthusiastically but without coordination, nearly falling into two large openings meant for vehicle access to the basement. We managed to stop just in time, though some suffered painful muscle cramps—our first lesson in military awareness and discipline.

Our training continued for forty days, from dawn until sunset. In the evenings, we attended lectures on patriotism, the defense of the revolution, the republic, and unity. Each session lasted about an hour.

Every Monday evening, films were shown in the conference hall—documentaries about world wars and the role of military institutions in defending their nations. They lasted about two hours.

We often met academy students at the mosque. They sometimes asked us to buy small necessities for them since they were not allowed to leave the premises. I recall a Palestinian student who once asked me to bring him some Vaseline for his cracked feet caused by the cold.

Unforgettable Experiences and Stories

I remember one occasion, after a lecture had ended around eight thirty in the evening, when the battalion assistant sent me to stand guard at the southern gate. I headed straight into the darkness, and the path was silent except for the sound of my footsteps on the ground.

Halfway along the way, I heard a voice calling from a distance, “The word, the word! Stop!” I froze for a moment, gripped by tension. The voice drew closer, and suddenly a person shone a flashlight toward me. He ordered me to place my hands behind my back and lie on my stomach. He then aimed his weapon at me and asked sternly, “Who are you?”

I explained that I was a member of the academy’s security battalion and that I had been sent to the southern gate by the assistant commander, but I had not been given the password. He looked at me sharply, scolded me, and said, “Be careful, do not repeat this again.” After a moment of silence, he gave me the password and allowed me to proceed.

After completing our training, we were assigned to guard shifts along the academy walls, and we continued to undergo training from time to time.

My comrades and I were assigned to the horse stables. We would wake up early in the morning to watch the horse groom and trainer skillfully care for and train the horses. Each horse had its own name and stall, and we took great pleasure in observing them run with grace and elegance.

One cold night, I was on guard duty on the rooftop. My comrades returned from watching a film in the hall around ten o’clock in the evening, and I went down to ask them about it. At that moment, the duty officer arrived and discovered that I had left my post.

We were removed from our duty, splashed with cold water, and ordered to stand outside in the open for a full hour as punishment for leaving our positions during guard duty.

That experience was harsh, yet it became a lesson I would never forget. From that night onward, I became extremely alert and focused. My comrade no longer needed to call my name when waking me for guard duty. A gentle touch was enough to rouse me instantly, and I would immediately reach out to take hold of my weapon.

We were stationed near a girls’ school, and my comrade Khalil Al-Omda was a tall, well-built young man with a cheerful disposition and a lighthearted spirit. He loved jokes and playful banter. He would jokingly call me “Shakespeare,” and his humor brought joy and laughter to our long hours on duty.

When the students left the school, we would stand by the windows of our post and wave to them. Khalil would laugh and raise his voice, saying, “Hold your ground, hold your ground just like we do in training.”

Until lunchtime, we were served a plate with rice and beef, and sometimes chicken or fish, along with salta, salad, and kudam bread. Khalil was responsible for dividing the meat. He asked us to turn our backs, then carefully portioned it, and finally rotated the plate so that each person could take their share from in front of them without objection. We could not refuse his instructions.

One of the stable workers was with us. On one occasion, he came up with the idea of stealing a young horse and asked for our help.

We hesitated at first, but eventually agreed. He waited until the area was clear, then brought the horse over to us. We tried to lift it over the wall, but the wall was too high, and there was no one outside to help us. After several failed attempts, we gave up and apologized to him. He then returned the horse to its stall.

We continued like this for nearly a year, and my relationship with all my comrades and even the officers was good. I would sit with them, and sometimes we chewed qat together in Al-Tayramana, a room located at the top of the building.

However, on one occasion, while I was on guard duty at the horse stables during the dawn prayer, a comrade approached carrying a bundle of blankets he had stolen from our fellow recruits’ quarters while they were at prayer.

I tried to stop him, but he refused and continued. He then jumped over the wall carrying the blankets. Later, the theft was discovered, and it became known that he had escaped from the horse stables. The officer of the academy’s security battalion issued orders to bring me in.

At six in the morning, the battalion assistant came and took me to the battalion officer who interrogated me. I explained that I had tried to stop him, but he refused. I was then transferred directly to the underground prison, where I remained for three days.

When the academy director learned of the incident, he came in person and gathered the entire battalion, including officers, enlisted men, and recruits. He ordered them to enter the swimming pool while wearing their military uniforms. After they exited, he forced them to crawl over a thorny Qotaba tree as punishment for everyone.

I was released from prison and returned directly to my post at the horse stables. I quietly gathered my belongings and climbed over the wall, leaving the military academy without looking back.

I was discouraged at the time and returned to the village feeling broken. People blamed me and made me uneasy with their looks, asking, “Why did you leave the camp?”

A few days later, however, fate prepared a new path for me, a path that led me to Aden, where a different chapter of my life began. This is what I will reveal in detail in my next article.