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Nestled in the rugged valleys of Yemen’s Hadhramaut Governorate, Seiyun (or Shibam) is a city where time seems to stand still. Known for its mud-brick skyscrapers and ancient trade routes, Seiyun is a living museum of Yemeni heritage. But beyond its architectural marvels lies a culture deeply intertwined with global currents—from the echoes of the Silk Road to the modern-day struggles of war and displacement.
Seiyun’s skyline is dominated by tarim (traditional mud-brick towers), some soaring over 100 feet tall. These structures, built to withstand the harsh desert climate, are more than just homes—they’re symbols of resilience. The techniques used today are unchanged for centuries, a testament to the ingenuity of Hadhrami builders. Yet, these UNESCO-listed landmarks now face threats from climate change and neglect amid Yemen’s ongoing conflict.
Long before Starbucks, Yemen was the epicenter of global coffee trade. Seiyun’s bustling souqs once overflowed with qishr (coffee husk tea) and mocha beans, shipped from the port of Al-Makha (Mocha). Today, the war has crippled exports, but locals still cherish coffee ceremonies as a sacred ritual. In dimly lit mafraj (sitting rooms), men gather to sip qahwa (spiced coffee) and debate everything from poetry to politics—a tradition that persists despite the chaos outside.
Yemen’s civil war, now in its ninth year, has left Seiyun caught between Houthi rebels and Saudi-led airstrikes. Yet, the city’s cultural fabric refuses to unravel.
In a country where music was once banned by extremists, Seiyun’s mizmar (reed flute) players still perform at weddings, their melodies weaving through bullet-pocked alleys. The hobiyya (traditional dance) endures too, with women clad in sitara (embroidered veils) swaying to rhythms that predate Islam itself. These acts aren’t just art—they’re defiance.
Hadhramaut’s sons have long migrated to Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, and beyond, creating a global network of traders and scholars. Remittances from abroad keep Seiyun’s economy afloat, but they’ve also diluted traditions. Young Yemenis now juggle TikTok trends with bint al-sahn (honey cake) recipes—a cultural tightrope walk.
While guns dominate headlines, climate change is eroding Seiyun’s foundations. Flash floods—once rare—now devastate mud-brick homes annually. The wadi (valley) agriculture system, perfected over millennia, is failing as droughts intensify. Farmers whisper of jinn (spirits) angered by modern excess, but the real culprit is carbon emissions—85% of which come from far beyond Yemen’s borders.
Hadhramaut was the ancient world’s frankincense capital, fueling Roman temples and Biblical rituals. Today, wild luban (frankincense) trees are vanishing due to overharvesting and desertification. Yet, European wellness brands sell "Yemeni incense" at markup prices—a bitter irony for locals who can’t afford bread.
In Seiyun’s conservative society, women are both guardians and prisoners of tradition.
Behind high walls, women run cottage industries—from siwa (palm-leaf weaving) to clandestine schools. The war has forced some to become breadwinners, challenging gender norms. "My husband is at the front; my loom is my rifle," one artisan told me.
Despite restrictions, young women use VPNs to join global feminist movements. Hashtags like #YemeniWomenRise trend secretly, a digital jambiya (dagger) against patriarchy.
Adventure bloggers now tout Yemen as "the last untraveled frontier." But is it ethical to tour a warzone? Seiyun’s few guesthouses host journalists and aid workers, not Instagrammers. "We don’t want pity or selfies," a guide said. "We want our story told right."
From Brooklyn to Berlin, "Yemeni-inspired" fashion and cafes proliferate. Yet, designers rarely credit Hadhrami weavers or share profits. It’s the oldest colonial playbook—romanticizing the East while ignoring its pain.
Seiyun stands at a crossroads. Will it become a fossilized relic or a living culture adapting to the 21st century? The answer lies in its youth—those who code by day and recite classical qasidas (poems) by night.
Graffiti murals of martyrs and mythical hudhud (hoopoe birds) now adorn Seiyun’s ruins. Underground galleries showcase naksh (calligraphy) fused with street art. "Our walls scream so the world might hear," an artist explained.
Tech-savvy Hadhramis are turning to crypto to bypass sanctions. A startup even proposes NFTing Seiyun’s heritage—digital waqf (endowments) to fund restoration. It’s a gamble, but in Yemen, hope is the only currency left.
In Seiyun’s shadowed alleys, every cup of coffee, every flute note, every mud brick is a rebellion. This isn’t just about preserving the past—it’s about fighting for a future where culture isn’t collateral damage.