Qat (5) A Qat Chewing Gathering Beyond the Bounds of Reason

Yemenat

Ahmad Saif Hashed

I opened the door to see who was knocking, and there stood my dear friend and colleague, Saleh Abdullah, known since 1986 by the nickname (Legitimacy). He was upright in stature, wearing a smile that overflowed with gentle warmth and generous waves of affection.

A friendship bound us, one not without intimacy, marked by a harmony of spirits and temperaments. I had always been drawn to him by his kindness and purity of heart.

Saleh is from Abyan Governorate, where I once lived for two years without our paths ever crossing. Fate did not bring us together in Aden either, though the city lived in me as I lived in it. Instead, destiny saved our meeting for Sana’a, where we became neighbors and colleagues, and where I found comfort and companionship in his presence.

At the time, Saleh held the position of Chief Military Prosecutor for the Eastern Region, a jurisdiction encompassing Hadramawt and Al-Mahra. I, for my part, was presiding over the Central Military Court in Sana’a. This was in 1997, or perhaps the year that followed.

Saleh surprised me with this sudden visit, unannounced. He had come seeking Al Maqyal, an afternoon qat session, to share with me, though my relationship with qat at the time was still a troubled one. I rarely yielded to it except under the pressure of embarrassment or pressing necessity, only to be left afterward with feelings of discomfort, revulsion, and gloom.

The importance of this meeting with Saleh lay in the fact that it came after months of absence and in the news he carried from distant governorates, news worthy of Al Maqyal in its own right.

Above all, he was a treasured friend and a fine companion, and between us lay a shared emotional bond deserving of warmth, welcome, and care.

I declined his generous offer to share his qat or what remained of it. The market was not far from us, no more than a stone’s throw away. I hurried toward it without hesitation, ready to endure the ordeal of qat for the sheer joy of the meeting.

At the time, I was living in a house situated between the end of Mazda Street and the wall of the General Authority for Water, near the Maintenance Depot in the Al-Hasaba district.

It was already past half past four in the afternoon, and when I arrived, the qat was gone and the vendors had already dispersed.

I noticed a man huddled in a corner of the pavement near the roundabout where qat was usually sold. I assumed he must be one of the latecomers. I told myself that luck would not fail me, that I would not return empty-handed.

In front of him, I spotted a dark nylon bag, swollen with qat leaves. I moved toward him quickly, accompanied by the feeling that fortune still had something in store.

I squatted down and said hastily,

(Pick it—how much is this,)

He replied just as quickly,

(Seventy.)

I did not think of bargaining. At seventy riyals, it was practically a giveaway. Haggling would have been an exercise in futility. I handed him a hundred riyals. He slipped it into his pocket without returning the change, so I said, (Keep the rest.)

We began Al Maqyal, my friend and I, bridged by warmth and a shared melancholy.

 The sheer bulk of the bag caught his attention, yet out of politeness he chose to remain silent.

I began extracting the leaves one by one—flattened, broad, thick.

 I spread them over my trousers, brushed off the dust, folded them as if folding a garment or a treasured item, and then stuffed them into my mouth.

The moment drew me to a distant memory: a man from Tur Al-Baha collecting banana leaves to feed his camel. Yes, the same scene—but in that moment, I was both the man and the camel. I nurtured the leaves, and I stuffed them into my own mouth.

Saleh began to notice the strangeness of my actions. He listened, then fell silent, gazing at me with a muted astonishment before returning to his own conversation. His quiet observation spoke louder than any question could.

As for me, I watched him in turn with interest and affection, indifferent to my own behavior, acting as if what I did were perfectly natural.

I rummaged through the bag, finding straps, covers, and scraps of paper, tossing them to the ground, only to return to chewing the qat.

I compounded my eccentricity with every discovery; surprises kept coming, and my antics seemed endless. Everything that happened before him provoked his curiosity, yet he restrained himself with a composure seeking dignity and steadiness.

Finally, after a long labor of patience and endurance, my friend’s restraint snapped, and he released his question, letting it fly straight at me:

(How much did you pay for the qat?)

I answered with cold spontaneity,

(He asked seventy, so I gave him a hundred riyals. I found no qat in the market except with him.

 By God, it was a steal. If it had been with anyone else, they would have asked something else entirely.)

He said nothing. Suddenly, he reached out, snatched the bag from in front of me, and began inspecting it. Every time he pulled something out, he muttered, (Allah Allah,) tossing it aside.

Finally, he threw the bag toward the council’s doorway and said, (Everything is here,. Only the snakes remain!)

Then he divided his own qat, swearing an oath that I should only store from his stash, as if to save what could be saved.

I respected his oath and avoided any argument, yet my laughter kept escaping, like that of a madman, now and then, especially as I began to grasp the depth of my folly and the mischief I had caused.

Two days later, my friend insisted that we pass by the market so I could see the man who had sold me the qat. When we arrived, I spotted him on the pavement, gathering the remaining leaves into a nylon bag.

I gasped and said, (That’s him! That’s the one who sold me the qat!)

My friend, astonished, said,

(He’s insane! Don’t you see the bags on his head?)

His head was wrapped in colorful nylon bags, tightly bound with cords, interlaced with strips of local cigarette cartons and other items.

I realized the magnitude of my folly even more and smiled sheepishly,

(My brother, I wasn’t even looking at his head. I was focused on the qat.)

And so our laughter burst forth, unstoppable, like a machine gun, attracting the attention of passersby. Some turned toward the sound in surprise, while others stopped, searching for the source of our uncontrollable mirth.