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Barely had we paused to talk to the locals when a well-dressed man approached us, curious to know what the fuss was about. A crowd began to gather, eager to hear what the mukhtar, the mayor of this small corner of Old Sana’a, had to tell the tall, pale strangers, with their close-toed shoes and open notebooks; their clicking cameras and endless questions. Of course, it makes sense to use mud rather than cement, declares Abdullah Lutf Zayed, his patterned scarf folded neatly across his shoulders; his ceremonial dagger, the jambiya, tilted at a jaunty angle in his belt, befitting a man of notable means and family. Mud, he explains, keeps the buildings warm in winter by trapping heat inside, and keeps them cool in summer by reflecting the rays, as does the bright, white gypsum that is poured between the cracks of the walls and painted onto the faces of the buildings.
“We have 360 homes that have been evacuated because they are about to collapse,” says local council member Abdel Khaliq al-Akwaa, as we sift through pottery inscribed with Arabic and Hebrew that was discovered buried beneath the foundations of one Old Sana’a house. “The water system is being destroyed and is threatening Old Sana’a. The majority of buildings have damp invading their foundations. We need help to save them.”
At around 1,400 years old, it’s believed to be the third-oldest mosque in the Muslim world. “Ernest Hemingway said Old Sana’a was the most beautiful city he had seen, but if we don’t do anything now the result will be this.” The restorer points to the red bricks and cement of a new home being built close to the mosque; garish against the soft amber tones of the old buildings surrounding it.
“The materials for preserving buildings used to be cheap. Now it is cement that is cheap,” says Jamal Mukred, head of archaeology at the Grand Mosque. “The preservation authority is being careless with our history.” When the damp began rising through the stones and old bricks of what is believed to once have been the palace of Imam Nasser Mohammed Ibn al-Qassem, who ruled Sana’a 750 years ago, resident Saleh Ghotheim called the water authority to report the leak. That was in 2001.
“In 2001 it would have cost 1 million rials (KD1,390) to repair the house. Today, if I restore it in the right way with mud and old bricks it will cost me 80 million rials (KD110,000),” he says. That cost is halved, says Ghotheim, if they use cement and cheaper, thicker bricks. As we clamber up the floors of the former palace, its walls reveal a glorious past: the Seal of Solomon, reputed to give him power over the dreaded jinn, carved into white stone, intricate patterned windows of coloured glass now cracked, faded and covered with dust.
Local council member Akwaa is now pushing for the council to take over responsibility for Old Sana’a buildings, saying it has secured a budget for restoration in 2010 of about US$8.5 million, more than double 2009’s budget. Activists are urging the government to form a specialised committee of architects, scholars and experts, both Yemeni and foreign, to oversee the preservation of the country’s unique national heritage.
Frustrated by the lack of progress through Unesco, the Italian has been lobbying for the creation of a national fund for Yemen’s cultural heritage and environment, as well as a cabinet minister to oversee it, and urges Yemen’s neighbours, as well as the West, to provide money to preserve Old Sana’a.
But time, as Akwaa knows, is running out. “Sana’a is a bright sign in the history of humanity. It is part of an international human heritage. But it is also a living city, constantly in need of restoration. We can’t wait years for standards to come in when people are repairing their homes every month.” |
The ancient homes of Sana’a are wonders of the world, unique to Yemen. But keeping them intact is demanding and expensive. Hugh Macleod meets the men trying to preserve the incomparable beauty of the Old City in the 21st century 
Standing just inside Bab al-Yemen, the last remaining of the seven great gates to the City, he points across the square to the home he inherited from his grandmother, a four-storey tower overlooking the souq, just one of the 7,500 minor miracles of architecture that make Old Sana’a an internationally protected heritage site. They look like towers from a fairy tale, rows of gingerbread-coloured bricks held together with mud and straw, marked out by white gypsum and windows so intricate they seem entirely impractical.
“The ground floor is for the animals, or used to be,” Zayed explains. “First floor is for family things, the second floor has the good rooms, for eating, receiving guests and, of course, for weddings. The third floor is for sleeping, and the top floor, the mafraj, is for chewing qat. The homes have passed down through history and generations, unaltered by modern things. Old Sana’a,” he concludes, “is protected by God.” 
That it may be, but at the end of this first decade of the new millennium, the homes that stand witness to some 2,000 years of habitation in Old Sana’a could do with a little help from man as well. Lack of time, money and care, and dithering by Unesco, the international organisation tasked with ensuring the continuance of building traditions in Old Sana’a, have conspired to threaten Yemen’s unique architectural heritage like never before. 
Akwaa would like to see a more constructive role taken by the Old Sana’a Preservation Authority, led by Abdulla Zaid Ayssa, who recently gave a glowing appraisal of the efforts made by his administration to The New York Times. Others echo his views. “It’s time to ring the alarm. There need to be checks and controls,” says Elena Dicapita, a professional restorer from Italy working on decorations inside the city’s Grand Mosque. 
A shortage of the right kind of mud – a heavy clay mixed with camel dung and straw – as well as the skilled craftsmen needed to apply it, means many residents repairing homes in Old Sana’a are opting to use cement, new bricks and even concrete blocks to save on costs. Even the venerable mukhtar Zayed is doing it, admitting reluctantly that when his uncle’s home collapsed, five years ago, the plan for its restoration centred on new red bricks and concrete. “We can’t get hold of the right mud any more and no one knows how to use it anyway,” he admits.
Today, what remains standing of the building is a confusion of rubble and rooms patched together, some with old bricks, some with new, and with plenty of cement in between. 
“We want to restore the house not just as our home, but as the historical place it once was,” says Ghotheim. “But we don’t have the money and neither does the government. I’ve never met with Unesco, though I have written to them. Why don’t those international organisations who care about history come to help us?”
“Sana’a belongs to the world, to the history of beauty and taste, like Venice, like Bruges, Istanbul, Prague and Rome,” says Marco Livadiotti, an Italian consultant with Unesco who came to Yemen in 1960 and whose love of its architecture has fuelled a tireless campaign to preserve Old Sana’a. He has helped restore many of the area’s buildings, preserving the traditional architecture while installing modern furniture and fittings.
After 25 years of promoting tourism, Livadiotti now sees preserving architecture as integral to Yemen’s development. “Oil is declining, water is running out and the sea is over-fished. But Yemen has one of the richest heritages in the world. If we save it, the country can grow wealthy on the income from tourism.”
Words_Sabah Haider
“Damascus is changing by the day and the political situation is not the only reason,” says Julian Crane, head of marketing at the Four Seasons Hotel in Damascus. “There is a pent-up demand for a destination that has been closed for decades.” In the past, three-quarters of guests have been from the Gulf, but now the pendulum is swinging and he expects that within a year, half his customers will be Westerners. 
Peter and Frauke Mambrey are among the growing army of Western tourists cutting a path to Syria. “Our daughter was in Damascus for four weeks to learn Arabic and she recommended that we visit,” they told me over coffee in a picturesque Old City courtyard. “When we said we were coming here, many of our friends back home in Germany were shocked.”
Trade at the souq is brisk. Gad Syed makes hand-carved brass plates and vases. From his tiny shop behind the grand Ommayad Mosque, he’s practised his art for years but struggled to earn a good living. In recent times, however, things have changed. “For six months a year, in the summer, almost 100 percent of my business is from tourists,” he tells me, adding, “I have been busier over the past year than I ever have before.”
Syria is also attracting more tourists from Lebanon. Widad Abou Diab, a web designer from Beirut, regularly spends her weekends in Damascus, where she can buy goods for a fraction of the price they cost at home. She recently got married and bought everything for the wedding – including the dress, invitations and gifts for guests – in Syria. “I wouldn’t have been able to afford everything in Lebanon,” she says. “It would have cost twice as much.”
A hospice in Kuwait offers ill children a better quality of life
Born in Lebanon and raised in Kuwait, Mohammed Hallak, 38, graduated in computer science from Jordan’s Mu’ta University in 1995 and went straight into business. He now has an MBA and is the owner of Reliable, one of Jordan’s most successful non-franchised car rental firms. He spoke to J Magazine with his wife Lina.
Yamaan Safady, 33, is one of Jordan’s most accomplished adventure guides, regularly leading local and international groups on wilderness treks – notably the stunning four-day route from Dana to Petra. Last October, he won the silver prize at the 2009 Paul Morrison Guide Awards, a global competition sponsored by Wanderlust magazine in the UK.
Ramsey Tesdell, 26, writes and consults on social media. He is also one of the guiding lights behind 7iber.com, a platform for citizen journalism that has gained a reputation for breaking stories and showcasing issues ahead of Jordan’s traditional media.
Producer of Captain Abu Raed, Jordan’s first entry in the Best Foreign Film Oscars category for 2009, Nadine Toukan, 42, organises media workshops, exhibits, forums and events around Jordan linked to cultural affairs. She is also one of the founders of Creative Jordan, a forum devoted to nurturing innovation in the economy. 
Who says Kuwait isn’t cool? At 4 Boutique you’ll find everything from Les Ateliers motorcycle helmets to furniture by Jamie Hayon and CDs handpicked by London’s famed Rough Trade store. You’ll also find books, deli nibbles, gallery space and striking industrial-chic interior design.
We’ve heard of people flying to Dubai just to shop at S*uce. It’s a local success story – the tale of three women who craved cutting-edge boutique shopping in their home town. Supplying fashion by the likes of Phillip Lim, Vanessa Bruno, Anna Sui and top local designers, S*uce is still the hippest store in town.
La CD-Thèque Beirut
The new Beirut branch of this Dubai-based chain is a bit special. Its arresting interior of black metal, stainless steel and a 40m LED wall was designed by Beirut architect Pascal Tarabay, and the stock includes high-end fashion, home accessories and lifestyle books. “Everything must have a distinctive design, some kind of edge,” explains Hala Matar, Boutique 1’s operations director.
No city is immune from the cupcake craze storming the globe. From Jeddah (Munch) to Kuwait (Cupcake Boutique), these sweet treats have conquered the Middle East, too. Sugar Daddy is a cupcake café and deli with charming retro fittings, friendly service, the freshest ingredients, and branches in Beirut and Amman – so there’s no excuse not to get a regular Sugar (Daddy) fix.
With I Love Souk upstairs and the Al-Sabah art gallery downstairs, Sheikh Majed Al-Sabah’s new project on the Corniche is swiftly becoming a cultural centre. Among the clothes, footwear, toys and accessories are items designed in Kuwait, including some created by the Sheikh himself. The centre’s cultural director, Alia Abdal, says that Sheikh Majed wants to remind Kuwaitis of the culture of shopping in a souk. “He does a great job of creating a sense of nostalgia,” she says. “People come here and remember Kuwait 10 years ago.”
“I’ve been into fashion for as long as I can remember,” says Deena Al-Juhani, co-owner of DNA, a groundbreaking lifestyle boutique in Riyadh. “By the time I’d married and had my children, I knew I had more to offer in life.” 
Two years ago, Teddy B was in a Chinese factory. Today, he’s an international traveller, an artist, a stockbroker, an avid Twitter user and a celebrity in his adopted home country. He’s using his fame to raise the profile of several good causes. 
His chaperone and official photographer, who prefers to remain anonymous, returned to live in Kuwait recently, and describes Teddy B as an “alter ego” and a “social experiment”. She lives vicariously through the bear, getting to know her own country and uploading evidence of her furry friend’s escapades to the Year of Teddy website every day. 
A few months ago, kids’ rugby in Kuwait was in disarray. But at the start of the current season, coaches Stewart Cook and Hennie Uys formed a new committee, arranged a sponsorship deal with Jazeera Airways, and transformed the sport for youngsters in Kuwait. 
Long regarded as the Middle East’s most complex, compelling and creative cuisine, with roots in Arabic, Armenian and Turkish cooking, Aleppan food has been attracting a lot of attention recently – partly due to dynamic restaurateur Dalal Touma.
Something of a reluctant restaurateur, Touma entered the business when her husband, Wahid Alfred Touma, died eight years ago. Today, her empire includes Zmorod (+963 21 212 6987), Aleppo’s finest eatery, Touring Club, a 60-year-old private club and restaurant, and Notoraki, a catering company. 
It’s a family business. Dalal’s eldest son, Jean, who handles the management side, transformed Aleppo’s café scene when he opened hip hangout T-Squared two years ago. Dalal’s daughter, Jinane, studied interior design and was responsible for the restoration and decoration of Zmorod’s colossal 17th-century sandstone courtyard house, while her youngest daughter, Joelle, works on various aspects of the business. It must be in the blood. Dalal’s great-grandmother was a cook for the Italian Consul, and 70 years ago her husband’s father started a restaurant in Aleppo. Dalal’s late husband, meanwhile, opened the city’s first fine-dining restaurant, The Strand, in 1975.
Under Dalal’s watchful direction, chef Kamel heads the kitchen team at Zmorod. The Kurdish chef has been with the Touma family for 25 years and works closely with his boss. She’s the creative force behind the restaurant, devising the menu, developing recipes and directing the elegant presentation of the dishes, which she describes as a modern interpretation of home-cooked Aleppan cuisine. “We have special dishes you won’t find in other restaurants,” she explains. “They are dishes we make in our homes and they taste home cooked, yet they are more beautifully presented. It’s Syrian food gourmet-style.”
These dishes include kebbeh with quinces and pomegranate juice, stuffed vine leaves on lamb, and kebabs with nuts and peppers, locally known as Dalal’s kebab. She believes it’s the Aleppan spices (they use seven types of red pepper) that make their dishes unique. 
Touma works seven days a week, spreading most of her waking hours between Zmorod, Touring Club and the catering business. “She’s a superwoman,” explains Joelle. Before her husband died, Touma was a stay-at-home mum. “She wasn’t really involved in the business,” reveals Joelle. “She just loved Dad and helping him. She loved cooking and throwing parties. We’re sociable people. We were born with this in our blood.”