Final Flight From Sanaa

By Qais Ghanem

When Tariq Hakim introduced himself to Colin Lawler one night in a quiet pub in Ottawa, Canada, he had no idea that this simple gesture would eventually lead him to imprisonment in his homeland of Yemen. Lawler, a lawyer, has a Libyan client who owns an inspection firm in Ottawa, which has been contracted to inspect much needed medical equipment destined for Sanaa, the capital of Yemen, and purchased from Poland. The Libyan's sister is married to a cabinet minister in Yemen, the two having met while studying at Cairo University.
Hakim, a western trained doctor, who had immigrated to Canada, speaks the language and knows the culture in Yemen, and therefore seems a perfect match to facilitate the transaction. Reluctantly, he accepts the challenge, rationalizing that he would only be away for a couple of weeks.
However, as he is about to return to Canada, he is asked by an old classmate for a favor. He has to examine the classmate's daughter, who developed frequent convulsions which defied diagnosis by many local physicians. His investigations leads him to the conclusion that she was raped by an officer in the security apparatus, who happens to be the nephew of the minister responsible for national security.
Hakim finds himself faced with the dilemma of reconciling his responsibilities to his female patient, while respecting the culture and traditions of his own people, as well as the wrath of the national security apparatus, and its minister, a full general and close confidant of the president, General Yamani.
He refuses to change his medical testimony, and so endures severe torture at the hands of one of his old medical students, who became the chief jailor and torturer after failing his medical exams.
Hakim has no living family members in Yemen any more. However, on the way to Yemen, he has to first inspect x-ray equipment in Gdansk, Poland, where he has one night of passion with a visiting Danish woman, the head of Amnesty International in Denmark, visiting Gdansk with her husband who is busy at a meeting of professional engineers.
Through her contacts with Amnesty International in England, she hears about Hakim's plight. Beautiful Gita flies to Sanaa to attempt a rescue, in the midst of huge conflict, as the Minister of National Security stages a coup d'etat against President Yamani.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Qais Ghanem
• Release date: Nov 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9780991941216

Qais Ghanem

Retired neurologist, author, poet, columnist for several international papers.Promotes peace, dialogue with diversity and gender equality.Previous books:Final Flight from Sanaa - novel, also translated to ArabicTwo Boys from Aden College - novel - also Arabic versionMy Arab Spring My Canada - co-authored non-fictionFrom Left to Right - Arabic and English verseForbidden Love in the Land of ShebaDemocracy, Deity and Death - Discussion by Four Arabs

Book preview

Final Flight from Sanaa

Qais Ghanem

To women

who stand up for their rights,

and to Dr Adel, who made me do it

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © by Qais Ghanem

978-0-9919412-1-6

FINAL FLIGHT FROM SANAA - Electronic Book

This is a work of fiction.

Any resemblance to actual persons, events,

locales or organizations is purely coincidental

© All rights reserved

About the Author:

Dr. Qais Ghanem immigrated to Canada in 1970

Professional:

Graduated in medicine from the University of Edinburgh

Graduate training and teaching at: Queen’s, McMaster, Michigan, Sanaa and finally Ottawa U

Clinical Assoc Professor and President Canadian Society of Clinical Neurophysiologists

Author of:

FINAL FLIGHT FROM SANAA - 2011

TWO BOYS FROM ADEN COLLEGE - 2012

FORBIDDEN LOVE IN THE LAND OF SHEBA - 2014

MY ARAB SPRING MY CANADA – with Elie Nasrallah - 2012

FROM LEFT TO RIGHT - Arabic/English poetry - 2014

HIWAR BIDOON KHISAM – 2017 (Arabic) e-book

DEMOCRACY DEITY and DEATH - 2020

Awards:

-The Canadian Ethnic Media Award (CEMA) x2, 2009, 2010 – Radio Category – for Five Races in a Family of Four, and Three Women Friends: Jewish, Christian and Muslim.

-Ottawa Community Immigrant Services Organization (OCISO) 2010 Media Leadership Award

-The United Way Community Builder Award

-Short List: JS Woodsworth Award 2011

-Yemeni Canadian Community Award 2012

-The Arab Canadian University Gradates Association 2013 award for poets and authors

-Queen Elizabeth Diamond Jubilee Medal 2013

-Short List: Arab Ambassadors Award for Volunteering 2013

-Named among Top 25 Immigrants to Canada in 2014

- Order of Ottawa Medal 2015

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting

Chapter 2: The Reprimand

Chapter 3: Back at the Royal Crown

Chapter 4: Magda

Chapter 5: The Libyan Connection

Chapter 6: Gdansk

Chapter 7: Lubna

Chapter 8: Back in Yemen

Chapter 9: The Inspection

Chapter 10: The Old Classmate’s Daughter

Chapter 11: Abu Bakr

Chapter 12: The Minister of National Security

Chapter 13: The Night Visitors

Chapter 14: Friends to the Rescue

Chapter 15: Gita

Chapter 16: The Prison Visit

Chapter 17: Flight to Freedom

Chapter 1: A Chance Meeting

Colin had a terrible day! He started work at his law office at seven thirty that morning, a whole hour earlier than usual, because he had a lot of catching up to do. He had been dealing with an inheritance case heading for potential litigation involving millions of dollars. So, when by six p.m., he had dealt with the urgent part of the problem he headed for The Royal Crown, his local pub, where he would normally relax with a glass of full-bodied cabernet sauvignon or merlot, or occasionally a beer. But that evening he thought he needed to spend a little longer at the pub because he did not want to go home too early, especially when there was no one there. His wife left him two years before, and moved in with another lawyer whom he detested, more so after that. He did not have many friends either. Sure, he knew most of his office staff well, and lots of lawyers through his work, which frequently placed him in an adversarial relationship with some of them. But he hardly ever met them socially, except at the office Christmas party.

However, he liked his pub. It was tidy, yet cozy and inviting, and that unmistakable smell of alcohol was always in the air. The seats were comfortable with dark red leather upholstery and nicely curved supportive backs. The wooden tables were round to seat four people comfortably, but take on an extra chair or two when necessary. The lighting was somewhat dim, which he liked. The barmaid, Samantha, was nice to him, and always looked up to him, which he really appreciated. Every one called her Sam. She was around fifty, his own age, and divorced, but even at fifty you could tell that she turned a few heads when she was half that age. The proprietor, Federico, was also pleasant, and always treated him with respect, which is what he valued most. Colin wished that he, himself, was as warm and chatty as the Italian. He was always fascinated by how much Federico would waive his arms about while talking, gesticulating even when he held the beer mugs in his hands. How he managed not to spill the beer was a mystery. As Colin walked towards the bar, Sam gave him a warm smile.

What will it be? she asked. The usual?.

He nodded his head and smiled back, taking note, yet again, of that deep cleavage in the plunging neckline and the gentle tremor of her breasts as she reached for the glass. Although he was very careful with his money, especially after his wife took him to the cleaners, it was very different when it came to tips for Sam. She deserved his generosity. He pulled a bill out of his hip pocket which included a generous tip and got her accustomed big smile. He would not usually run a tab, for one or two was usually his limit, especially because he nearly always drank alone. He took the glass from her, lifted it to the light to see how clear it was, then tipped it slightly to his left, then straightened it and watched the legs of the wine run down the inside of the glass. And just to finish the routine that would convince anyone watching that he knew something about wine, he held it up to his nose and half closed his eyes. He took his glass over to a table against the wall from where he could keep an eye on Sam and her cleavage, and see who was coming into the bar. It also reduced the risk that he might have to engage in small talk with anyone at the next table. He did not think much of the customers who frequented The Royal Crown. They were mostly working class, noisy and vulgar, or so he convinced himself, whereas he was a learned man, at least in the laws of the land. He had studied hard, and had to burn midnight oil to pass all those horrible exams. He came from a middle-class family, and while his own father was not a lawyer but a teacher, he did have an uncle, who did well as a lawyer, and to whom he had looked up. He was clearly better off financially than his father. Colin decided early in his teens that he would follow in his uncle’s footsteps, not his father’s. He respected his father a lot, and knew him to be a kind and caring person, not just about his own family, but also about people at large. Indeed, he became a teacher because he felt he could help hundreds of children achieve their potential. But Colin also wanted wealth and prestige, and he knew that he would never get those by becoming a teacher. He certainly looked the part, in his clean nicely pressed striped grey suit, his white shirt with starched collar, held in place by a navy-blue silk tie, decorated with small silver colored embossed squares.

That evening however, there was a new face. Sitting right at the central table was a brown skinned grey haired slightly built man, about five feet, eight inches tall, dressed in dark grey pants, a plain beige shirt with a brown and gold tie, and a light grey tweed jacket, with dark grey leather elbow patches. He estimated his age to be sixty-five. He looked Caucasian; not handsome by any stretch of the imagination but with a halo of respectability around him. On the table he had a glass of red wine, Colin’s own favorite drink, and an open bag of potato chips. He happened to be facing Colin, who avoided eye contact with the foreigner. He never liked those brown or black creatures, yet he convinced himself that he was not a racist. In his law office he had a few colored clients, and found them to be quite pleasant and easy to work with, and far less demanding than his white clients. But these were mostly well-to-do upper middle-class professionals, or business men, or even lawyers. The lawyer for whom his wife left him was one of them, which made Colin like them even less!

Colin sat in his chair looking around at nothing for a full five minutes, although it felt like a lot longer. He wondered what the brown man was thinking about him, and he did not like the idea that he might think him a loser, with no friends to have a drink with. After all, he was the native regular white Canadian, born in the city only one kilometer away from the pub, not like that foreigner who must be from the Middle East, he guessed. At that very moment their eyes met and the brown man said, Sounds very quiet in here. Is it always like this? It was a question that needed more than a yes or no for an answer.

It gets busier later, and very noisy too! Colin said, raising his eyebrows.

For the stranger the response was good enough to continue.

''My first time in this place. Seems pleasant enough. Is it your regular pub?" He knew he was pressing his luck, but he was a pro at initiating conversation.

''Yeah, I come here nearly every day after work, for a drink. But I don't eat much here unless I fancy one of those zapped pies! I like their steak and mushroom pie, sometimes.''

The brown guy was congratulating himself on breaking through the cold shell of the white man.

''I’ve just moved to this area, now that I’m almost retired," he added, calculating that the other man was bound to ask him about his profession.

''Must be nice to be retired. What kind of work were you doing?"

''I'm a doctor ... Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself ... I'm Tariq ... Tariq Hakim, but you can call me Rick," leaning across from his table and extending his arm.

He immigrated to Canada over thirty years before, but was still annoyed by the umpteen pronunciations and spellings of his name from Tariq to Tarique to Tareq to Tareque to Tarik to Tarek!

''And I'm Colin Lawler from the legal firm Weiss, Lawler & Stern, but I can't see myself retiring since my wife left me and took me to the cleaners; and the worst part is that the guy is one of my legal colleagues, and I have to deal with the bastard during my work." It all came out in one torrent of a sentence, and Colin realized that he told this stranger too much.

I am sorry, I had no right telling you all that private stuff about my problems, he added.

"Sometimes it is easier to talk to a stranger. Did he meet her through you?'' asked Tariq.

Colin nodded, with disgust showing on his face.

Tariq was at the last sip of his wine and got up towards the bar. He walked past Colin's table and nonchalantly asked if he could buy him a glass of the same wine, fully expecting a no. But Colin's loneliness that evening provided the lucky break. On that night he would socialize with anyone, even a brown stranger! After all, this was a doctor, and Colin had always thought highly and enviously of that profession, which seemed to command so much public respect, contrasting with the derision his own profession usually received.

Colin hesitated, Um ... um, well yes, thanks.

What are you drinking? Tariq asked.

"Sam, at the bar, she should know,'' came the reply.

Tariq walked up to smiling Samantha and ordered his glass of wine, then added, and your friend there will have another.

''Sure, he must like your company, he usually just has one,'' she said.

Tariq took the wine over, and asked, "May I join you?'' but did not wait for the answer before he sat down. He marveled to himself how sharing food or drink can break down barriers.

Thanks very much, that's very kind of you. And you hardly know me! said the lawyer.

It’s my pleasure … um … Colin? Right? You know, in my culture it’s very common to invite a total stranger to a drink. Of course, it would be tea, not wine! he added with a chuckle.

And what culture is that? asked Colin.

I grew up in an Arab Muslim culture, in Yemen.

That’s where Bin Laden comes from? asked Colin.

Tariq nodded.

Does he have many terrorist friends there?

Tariq tried to suppress his smile and said, ''His family is originally from Yemen, but they moved to Saudi Arabia a long time ago. They’re considered Saudis, but he probably has some supporters or, at least, admirers in Yemen, also in other Arab countries."

Like Iran, you mean? asked Colin.

No, Iran is not an Arab country, but it’s part of the Muslim world.

''It’s all the same to me!'' retorted Colin.

That would be like saying that the French and the Italians are the same. They are both Europeans and Catholics and their languages come from Latin, and although they share many words, the one cannot communicate with the other. explained Tariq.

To his relief, Colin looked up, and seemed interested.

So, what’s the difference then?

There was a very great Persian empire and civilization, in what is now Iran, which in fact extended to what is now Iraq. Then came the Muslim empire which conquered parts of the Persian Empire and in the process the population of Persia converted to Islam, but the majority is Shiite, rather than Sunni, as with the Arabs of mainland Arabia.

We hear about all this fighting between the two groups all the time. What’s all that about? asked Colin.

I suppose it’s like the animosity between the Catholics and Protestants five centuries ago. You remember Henry the eighth and his fight with the Pope?

Yes, of course.

In this case, we have these two major groups of Muslims. The other factions, like the Ismailis and the Druze are very small, by comparison. The Shiites are those who believed one thousand five hundred years ago that their leader Al-Husain bin Ali should have become the caliph of the Muslims.

What’s a caliph? I think I came across that word before. Is that the imam in the main mosque?

Not exactly, although he would also be a religious leader, but a caliph is the ruler, or king if you like, of all Muslims. The Sunnis, on the other hand are those who did not support Al-Husain. They followed the lineage that took over after the last disciple of Muhammad died. They started the Umayyad Dynasty.

But these people are blowing each other up right now, as you say fifteen centuries later. The Europeans stopped doing that ages ago.

Did they really? So, what do you call the first world war, and the second world war? That was only sixty years ago. I was born at the end of it!

I suppose you’re right. But it was not religious.

And what about the long drawn Irish conflict? Is it not between Catholics and Protestants?

Yes, of course it is. You always have an answer, don’t you?

Colin, it was not about religion. But religion was used to foment that war, because it’s easy to label people. In my opinion, it’s a fight between those without privilege against the privileged class which didn’t want to share that privilege, and which in this case happened to be protestant. Just as in the Lebanese civil war, it was the Muslim have-nots against the Christian haves. It’s all about power and money in the end! said Tariq.

Thank goodness we have such peace in Canada. We all get along very well together.

I hope this does not offend you, Colin, but I’d like to disagree a little bit. We can say that, in comparison with some other countries, this is a haven of peace. But having been here for over thirty years, I find that Canadians are sometimes quite smug about their tolerance of the other. What do you call the recurrent attempts of Quebecers to form their own country?

Oh, these are the separatists!

Of course, they’re the separatists. People who want to separate are separatists by definition; just as people who want to unite are called unionists. Isn’t the question, why are they separatists? and what’s in it for them?

You cannot undo history. They were defeated by the English side, and that’s that.

As a new Canadian, with a different mother tongue and culture, I can see why they wish to preserve their own, especially in the face of the most dominant language and culture in the world. But even in Belgium, the French and Flemish cultures are at loggerheads, because neither wants to be dominated by the other. In fact, it would not surprise me if Belgium broke up into two linguistic units. The Czechs and Slovaks did it already. The Kurds are desperately trying to carve out a country they can call their own out of parts of Turkey and Syria and Iraq and Iran. Surely, you can understand that?

Colin paused for a few seconds, then said Don’t get me wrong I’m very tolerant of other cultures. In fact, I appreciate that different cultures enrich Canada.

The word tolerant itself is problematic. We tolerate things that are annoying or a nuisance or frightening, like noise, or the heat or abuse. What people in Quebec, and any other minorities, be they in Australia or Belgium or Trinidad need, is respect and full citizenship and full equality, not just tolerance!