Mustafa Al Houri

Living on Socotra, Yemen, one becomes attuned to the rhythms of nature and the ebb and flow of life. At 79 years old, I've witnessed many changes on our island, but some memories remain as vivid as the day they were made.

I recall a time, many years ago, when the island was abuzz with excitement. A group of foreign scientists had arrived to study our unique flora and fauna. They were particularly interested in the dragon's blood trees, with their umbrella-like canopies and crimson resin. These trees have stood for centuries, dotting our landscape like ancient sentinels. The scientists marveled at them, and I felt a swell of pride knowing that our island held such wonders.

One of the scientists, a young woman named Dr. Elena, took a keen interest in our way of life. She spent days with my family, learning about our traditions, our language, and our stories. In return, she shared tales of distant lands and showed us photographs of places we'd never imagined.

During their stay, a fierce storm swept across Socotra. The winds howled, and the seas raged. Our homes, built to withstand such tempests, stood firm, but the scientists' tents were no match for nature's fury. Without hesitation, our community opened its doors to them. Families took them in, offering shelter and warm meals.

After the storm passed, Dr. Elena expressed her gratitude. She spoke of the kindness and generosity she'd experienced, noting that while they came to study the island's biodiversity, they discovered the true richness lay in its people. Before departing, she gifted me a book—a collection of photographs from around the world. Though I couldn't read the words, the images spoke volumes. That book still holds a special place in my home, a reminder of the connections we forged.

Visitors have become scarce due to political unrest and security concerns. Yet, the memories of those days remain, a testament to the enduring spirit of Socotra and its people.