Paradoxes and Margins
Yemeni mp
Ahmed Saif Hashe
I enrolled in law school in the last quarter of 1985. Most of my fellow students came from the rural areas of Yemen; we were largely poor and destitute. The state provided housing, food, and a small allowance for those in need, while those with accommodations in Aden were offered free transportation. Education was free for all, and the annual registration fees were minimal. However, this did not mean that the state covered all necessities or that one would not struggle under the weight of circumstances. It simply meant that the state offered significant support to help us learn, though it was not sufficient without the backing or assistance of family or others.
Unfortunately, what was available in the past has become a distant memory. When we compare the state of education then to the current reality, we are left weeping in sorrow and gasping in anguish. The illiteracy that had diminished has returned to engulf half our population, expanding rapidly. Today, dropout rates are rampant, and the quality of education is appallingly low, with cheating becoming the norm. What remains of educational standards is being systematically and relentlessly destroyed. Opportunities for the impoverished and needy in education have become limited and disheartening, at times resembling the impossible or a miracle.
Our people are rushing backward into a future rendered bleak and grim by today’s elites, who have seized control of everything. Every achievement from the past has been struck at its core. I experienced the hardships of the past; despite their difficulties, I learned. If my circumstances from yesterday were present today, I would not be able to learn—not just in university, but even at the secondary or preparatory levels. The reality today has become a monstrous challenge for the poor, exceeding the worst of expectations.
The values of scientific socialism once captivated our minds. We took pride in our poverty, often looking down upon the few students who owned cars and drove them to college. We considered ourselves superior due to our lack of wealth, viewing them as petty bourgeoisie. Some of us even suspected them of being a potential threat to the future and to sound thought.
Yet, despite our poverty and need, we learned and glimpsed a future for a while. However, today’s reality is far removed from yesterday’s, and the situation is at its worst. What was accessible in the past is, unfortunately, no longer available today, including education itself.
Studying at law school was unlike anything I had experienced before. The professor delivered his lectures orally, and we had to scramble to take notes, often without him repeating what he said. My hands felt heavy, sweating due to a gland issue, and in that state, I rushed to capture the professor’s words, resembling a clumsy runner in a cross-country race.
I envied the female students, who seemed to glide through this academic race. Some words would elude me, causing sentences to scatter and phrases to slip away, which made it difficult to write them down. I would sometimes leave gaps when I couldn’t keep up, then, in my free time, I’d reread my notes, trying to reconstruct the missing words or phrases. If that proved difficult, my female classmates became a reference for such gaps.
After each lecture, the professor would assign us a set of references to read, expecting us to familiarize ourselves with everything related to the topic. During seminar sessions, each student would present their understanding. The college was accompanied by a well-stocked library filled with references and books.
Every topic or lesson we encountered followed a complete cycle: beginning with the lecture, followed by reading the relevant references, then the seminar or discussion, and culminating in a final exam that served as the conclusion, with the results being the essence of our learning. Despite the heavy ideology, the university in Aden, with its various faculties, fostered awareness, creativity, thought, and culture.
A desire to read aloud accompanied me throughout my time at the university, reaching a point of obsession. I felt compelled to this habit, unable to break free. I not only needed someone to listen to my studies, but I also craved discussion and questions from others.
My classmates included Mohammed Qasim As’ad from Radfan, Ubaid Saleh, Saleh Al-Qomli from Al-Shuaib, AbduIelah Mashhoor from Yafea, Qaid Hassan Hezam from Al-Mualla, and Mohammed Rabee’ Omairan from Al-Qalou’a. I enjoyed their visits to my home for study sessions, and sometimes one of them would become restless or rebellious, prompting me to replace them with another. When they grew tired of my nature or selfishness and rebelled, I would turn to my aunt “Saeedah,” who couldn’t read or write, and I would declare my victory over my friends.
My aunt would listen as I explained my lessons, discussing the ideas of Marx, Lenin, and Engels. Her illiteracy did not hinder her patience and attentiveness. Drowsiness would often overtake her eyes while she sat listening, and to keep her alert, I would ask her to repeat what I said once, twice, or even three times so that she would engage with me and the material I was reading. I felt as though I was battling her with sleep, an exhausting and urgent struggle that eventually led me to master the art of managing this conflict. Oh, how patient, kind, and affectionate she was!
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