Contractorgrad
13th Jun 2023, 20:47
A carrier which is very rarely mentioned on here, I’m going to give you an insight into what it is like to work for them under one of those famous expat contracts that have floated about here and there in the past. I understand 99% of you will see the advert and simply move on, perhaps with an amused exhale while you scroll down to the flag carrier DEC jobs, but for the 1% of you looking for answers, here you go!
I’ll start from the beginning:
Background:
So, you made some silly choices in your aviation career, and have found yourself fallen into the contractor bubble, jumping between contracts with various contractors. You don’t see your family as often as you’d like, and it’s far from stable, but the money is great and there is a large variety of flying.
Your previous contract blew up after just a few weeks and you find yourself now unemployed, bills to pay and a family to look after, when by miracle, a contractor rolls across your path offering a starting-6 month contracting role with Yemenia, LHS of the 320, a high roller 6 figure salary, accommodation, a joining bonus, and all the addons one might expect from this sort of contract. You know that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are, but hindsight is always 20/20, and you reassure yourself at the time that it is a reputable contractor, so don’t think twice about it.
Application:
You throw in a fairly straightforward application, not really expecting to hear back. As with all of these types of contracts, they often die out before they start, and the ones that do get up and running with high salaries are often competitive, so you don’t expect to hear anything back. A few weeks pass, and you’re invited to a few unsociably timed zoom interviews which take place with cameras off and audio that sounds like a 2007 era Call of Duty microphone. The interview process was inexplicably easy, with questions more evolving toward “when can you start” than anything more bus or career specific. Red flags, but it’s all good, you’ve crossed these bridges before when you joined other random carriers in the past and they turned out OK. Eventually they contact you and send you flight details for a trip to Cairo to complete an assessment, no say in the dates, they’ve already made the bookings. Your journey to Cairo involves 2 stops via Frankfurt and Istanbul on an Economy Basic ticket, not exactly an Emirates Suite, but you are grateful that they pick up the tab. They whisk you into the Sofitel Cairo with a blank cheque to drown your sorrows, and where you can socialize with the other 7 expats here for the job, 2 Americans, a Brit, and a handful of continental Europeans, a few faces you’ve seen before too which is always reassuring.
The sim follows the usual rigmarole, and everybody passes with flying colours, in part due to the Egyption “assessor” not paying attention for 90% of it. A tick in the box, a shake of the hand and you’re sent packing back to Europe with nothing but a verbal promise of being contacted. A few weeks pass by, and eventually you are contacted once again, this time offering you a training start date in just a matter of days, once again taking place in Cairo. Alongside this wonderful news, they will essentially ask you to share a generations worth of info with them, from your stamped logbook pages, to bank statements. Odd, but what do you know. Still no word on signing a contract though, so you hope that will be completed in training, and head on your merry way.
Training:
You kiss the wife and kids goodbye and tell them you’ll see them when you’re back from Yemen in 6 months time. Painful, but it’ll be worth it when you come back with pockets full of cash eh?
Not best pleased, at least the better half knows you’ll not get up to any funny business in that part of the world.
So you arrive in Cairo, alongside the other 7 expats who managed to navigate the gruelling selection process and sim assessment, and tuck into a few weeks of training.
Now, you are reminded of the fatal Yemenia Flight 626 crash back in ‘09, where the investigation blamed poor crew training, inappropriate actions, and training programmes “riddled with gaps and flaws” for the loss of 152 souls, and reassure yourself that they will have modified their training appropriately.
Ha!
What I can only describe as a serious box ticking exercise, interspersed with Death by Powerpoint in what I can only assume was English that had been smashed through Google Translate 6 or 7 times before being released. A few courses that should have been completed at the Yemenia Training Centre in Sana’a are completed virtually due to security reasons, and eventually you finish the course having learned next to nothing, in fact you are convinced you have left with less knowledge than you arrived with, you get some shiny gold wings stamped to your chest, and sent packing to the ancient city of Aden, your new home for the next 6 months. Contract remains non-existent.
Relocating:
Now the fun begins.
As we haven’t signed contracts yet, we cannot be loaded onto a GENDEC or be provided with company tickets, so they ask you to purchase your own ticket to Aden and it will be reimbursed in your first salary. Oh well, seems like bs but you’ve got this far, how much could it hurt.
So $130USD later, you find yourself sitting on the 2R Cabin Crew jumpseat of an overbooked 17 year old A320, the inop APU means you are really getting a sweat on in your fancy new uniform which you were forced to wear during the unexplained 5 hour ground delay, and the all male cabin crew who refuse to acknowledge you prefer to smoke Camels in the back galley than do anything productive, thus adding to the already wonderful ambiance.
Overbooked you say? Wow, they must be doing quite well! No, there are 45 seats with INOP taped on them. No explanation though.
You peer into the open flight deck to say hello and try to get an understanding on the delay, but the local crew don’t acknowledge you and continue to dab out their cigarette ends into a Coke can jammed in front of the engine master switches. Oh well, must be a bad crew today.
Eventually though, you land in the historic city of Aden a few hours later than expected.
Now, Yemen is a country that nearly ALL countries advise against travel too, hell, even the Taliban recommend Afghan nationals don’t travel to Yemen right now. Oh well, the armoured G Wagon that will pick you up from the airport will keep you safe.
Ha!
They don’t provide transport, only for duties, so you hail a local 1980’s Toyota Landcruiser and the driver fleeces you for $50USD to drive you 15 minutes to your luxury accommodation. The technology of SAP Concur hasn’t reached these parts yet, so you convince yourself that you’ll talk to somebody in the office about claiming it back.
You arrive at the accommodation and realise the sh*t sandwich you’ve got yourself into.
Oh and by the way, you’ve still not signed a contract, so as far as anybody is concerned you’re just a random bloke going for a jolly to a war zone. Nothing like a bit of war tourism to boost the local economy.
Accommodation:
“Luxury accommodation, with fully functioning Air Conditioning, a pool, plentiful local attractions and amenities, and 24/7 Private Military Contractors providing security for your safety”.
Now you see they are really playing fast and loose on the word luxury. 10 expats now reside in this 10 room compound out in the middle of nowhere to the NW of the city. High walls and a single gate for entry, it looks like something out of Ross Kemps ventures into Helmand Province.
But oh well, you crack on anyway, and you’re shown to your room by the first Yemenia rep you’ve met throughout this whole process. Your room consists of a very small single bed, with an old CRT Television propped on a wooden shelf and a mirror on the wall. A single square window with a net protects you from the elements. The washrooms are located in a separate building, as is the kitchen. There’s a single plug socket in the room which is used to power the TV, so you must decide between Yemeni MTV or charging your phone. The kitchen is at least well equipped, and is restocked 3 times per week with all kinds of western goods, like the fridge full of “Orange Mirinda” and “Shani”. There were even a few cans of Budweiser hidden in there, although whether these were officially provided, or sourced by a few of the more experienced expats, you’re not sure.
Copious amounts of bottled water were provided too, gratefully.
The washrooms were basic, a few cubicled bogs with a shared shower, alongside a couple of sinks to shave or have a wh*res wash in, very similar to something you’d find at some old relic summer camp. There is a pool, but it’s empty. You come to the conclusion that they didn’t lie, they never said it would be full of water, so they can have the benefit of the doubt on that one.
There were security guards too, but the term Private Military Contractors has you thinking of the high speed, low drag door kickers whose past lives had them on 22 SAS or one of the SEAL teams. That, they were not. They were the 2002 Manchester United shirt, jeans and flip flops with an AK47 slung over the shoulder kind of contractors. Oh well, they are there, sleeping and high on khat at the gate, but there nonetheless.
Now for those local attractions and amenities, you soon realise that the nearest civilisation is a petrol station, around 20 minutes walk away, or a 5 minutes drive.
Since you don’t have a car, your only way of getting anywhere is on foot, and given the dirty civil war waging sporadically in the region, you decide it’s best to forfeit your Chocolate Bar given the risk that you might end up in an orange jumpsuit on Al Jazeera just trying to get it.
Contracts:
After your guided tour of the Love Island villa, the Yemenia rep brings you into a room where he chucks a contract and a biro at you. Once again, the backwards English throws you off, but you see the numbers add up to what was promised and you sign.
Your 13,500 joining bonus is on the way mister captain. They don’t tell you that it’s 13500 Yemeni Rial, the equivalent of about $50USD though.
But at least the important figures, salary and duty pay, are clearly in $USD on the contract.
Oh well! Payday is on the 2nd of each month, so only a week left.
How Yemenia Works:
So there is a 320 crew base in Aden, and one in Seiyun, in addition to a 330 skeleton crew based in Sana’a.
Aden is the largest base, and the only one with an expat community, this includes cabin crew who are drafted from places such as the Philippines, Venezuela, Ukraine, Cambodia, and other random parts of the world.
The head office of Yemenia is in the city of Sana’a, which is essentially off limits at the moment due to an escalation in the conflict. This includes the Operations Control Centre and all other relevant teams. In Seiyun there is no Yemenia hard presence, and in Aden there isn't either, but there is a ground team and a station manager.
The postal system is entirely unreliable in Yemen, so anything that needs to come from Sana’a is generally delivered in person, this includes stuff that could be sent by email because the internet here is also incredibly unreliable. Unfortunately, this does come with risks, one of the couriers had his car blown to bits by a Saudi drone a few weeks back.
Financially, the company is a bit of mess, nobody really knows where it sits, it hasn’t updated any technology for many centuries, ground staff often need to be negotiated with at outstations to get them to service the aircraft, but the airline say they want to buy some new Airbus’, so who knows.
Rostering:
Like many airlines, Yemenia use one of the major rostering apps, and rosters release 15 days before the end of the month. Even despite the rocket attacks, car bombs, mortars, and intermittent electricity and wifi, they do still manage to get the roster out on time, which is more than I can say for the few European carriers I worked for.
For expats, the roster is 5/2/5/3, however with regular lengthy delays, you’ll often find yourself flying into your days off with no extra cash or days off in lieu offered. Flying is a mix of 2 and 4 sector days, rarely you’ll get a 3 sector with a stop in Seiyun, but more often than not it’ll be 2 sectors. Becoming AOG is a daily occurrence, but AOG nightstops are not a thing here, you’ll fly back to Aden regardless of duty hours completed, and you’ll be expected to give up your min rest on occasions where you return late. Your 2000 check out and 0800 report will often become a 2300 check out and an 0800 report because Crew Control/Ops don’t have the facilities to make changes. Sometimes, they won’t even know you’ve arrived, and you’ll be woken up at 0130 to a phone call from Ops asking if you’ve landed in Aden, a duty you completed at 1700.
Roster changes are regular, however, you don’t often actually see any changes because either Crew Control don’t have any internet or electricity to update your roster, or you’ve not got the internet to receive it. Given the situation in Sana’a, the OCC is generally unreliable, and so major flight info such as delays will often be sent by text from the Aden station manager.
There is no bidding system of course, and expats are strictly forbidden from flying with each other unless it’s for the purpose of line training. No no, we get to fly with the locals and the EagleJet p2f goons. Don’t get me wrong, some of the locals are really good at their jobs, especially some of the younger FOs who trained abroad, but they are more the exception than the rule.
If you need to call sick, you try Crew Control, but you’ll likely not get through, so you phone the Aden station manager and just arrange yourself with another pilot to take your place.
Aden:
The safer of the 3 major cities in Yemen, Aden is still home to sporadic fighting. While currently “peaceful”, this isn’t the definition you would find in the West, it’s certainly peaceful compared to 2 years ago, but I wouldn’t say peaceful. The click-clacking of AKs and explosions can still be heard rolling across the city on some days. The city is riddled with checkpoints from various factions. To get to work, your driver takes you on a longer route so you pass only through police and military checkpoints where you’re essentially granted a free pass as you work for Yemenia. Other checkpoints especially heading North, or into the centre of town are less friendly, with different militias setting up their own, and as an employee of Yemenia, and therefore a representative of the Yemeni Government and a Yemeni flag flyer, you’ll quickly be hooded and scooped up for a fun interrogation. Like most towns in these parts of the world, 80% of the locals are lovely people who just want to get on with their lives, some of the older women will treat you as one of their own while you’re so far from home, but despite that there is still a very present and serious danger if you decide to venture out without protection. The airport, the port and Little Aden and At-Tawah which guard the mouth to the port have a heavy military presence which seems, recently, to be working. If you’re in uniform, the police and military will leave you alone, sometimes even escort you where you need to go, if you’re out of uniform, expect some potentially heavy handed questioning.
There are no consular services from any nation available in Yemen, Sana’a was once home to various embassies including the U.S. and U.K., but these are now closed and operate remotely from Djibouti. If you need consular support, you lose your passport or something, well, quite frankly, you’re f*cked.
Life outside of flying:
There isn’t much of one. You can’t really venture out of the compound so you find the best spot in the compound for wifi, crack open a few beers and sit in the 40 degree sun doing nothing for 3 days. Sounds good, and it is at first, but the novelty soon wears off. The expat cabin crew compound is about 25 minutes away and they regularly find their way here, since we have the cold amber nectar they desire.
Some people try and get home for their 3 days off but it is seemingly next to impossible, largely because trying to get on flights out of Aden is like trying to get blood out of a stone, and if you manage, it’ll cost you an arm and a leg. There’s no ID90 around here, just crisp USD that must be dished out to multiple people before you get your ass on a crew jumpseat. Some days you might get lucky, if it’s an expat captain, we all have a gentleman’s agreement that we will let fellow expats jumpseat in the flight deck if they’re on their way to/from home to save any hassle. There’s only way out of Aden for most, and that’s to take a company flight to Cairo and travel onwards from there, alternatively you can fly into Jeddah and go onward from there, but factor in a few extra hours into your connection for a very uncomfortable interrogation in a bright white room about your time in Yemen. Royal Jordanian previously operated an E190 down here but it stopped due to security reasons. Be aware, everytime you leave Yemen, you’ll need an “exit visa”, this is relatively straightforward to obtain though, if you carry your Yemenia ID with you, if all else fails, the Aden station manager will sort you out. While straight forward, it can be a painstakingly long process lasting a few hours sometimes, so consider this before making your way to the airport.
I’ll start from the beginning:
Background:
So, you made some silly choices in your aviation career, and have found yourself fallen into the contractor bubble, jumping between contracts with various contractors. You don’t see your family as often as you’d like, and it’s far from stable, but the money is great and there is a large variety of flying.
Your previous contract blew up after just a few weeks and you find yourself now unemployed, bills to pay and a family to look after, when by miracle, a contractor rolls across your path offering a starting-6 month contracting role with Yemenia, LHS of the 320, a high roller 6 figure salary, accommodation, a joining bonus, and all the addons one might expect from this sort of contract. You know that when things seem too good to be true, they usually are, but hindsight is always 20/20, and you reassure yourself at the time that it is a reputable contractor, so don’t think twice about it.
Application:
You throw in a fairly straightforward application, not really expecting to hear back. As with all of these types of contracts, they often die out before they start, and the ones that do get up and running with high salaries are often competitive, so you don’t expect to hear anything back. A few weeks pass, and you’re invited to a few unsociably timed zoom interviews which take place with cameras off and audio that sounds like a 2007 era Call of Duty microphone. The interview process was inexplicably easy, with questions more evolving toward “when can you start” than anything more bus or career specific. Red flags, but it’s all good, you’ve crossed these bridges before when you joined other random carriers in the past and they turned out OK. Eventually they contact you and send you flight details for a trip to Cairo to complete an assessment, no say in the dates, they’ve already made the bookings. Your journey to Cairo involves 2 stops via Frankfurt and Istanbul on an Economy Basic ticket, not exactly an Emirates Suite, but you are grateful that they pick up the tab. They whisk you into the Sofitel Cairo with a blank cheque to drown your sorrows, and where you can socialize with the other 7 expats here for the job, 2 Americans, a Brit, and a handful of continental Europeans, a few faces you’ve seen before too which is always reassuring.
The sim follows the usual rigmarole, and everybody passes with flying colours, in part due to the Egyption “assessor” not paying attention for 90% of it. A tick in the box, a shake of the hand and you’re sent packing back to Europe with nothing but a verbal promise of being contacted. A few weeks pass by, and eventually you are contacted once again, this time offering you a training start date in just a matter of days, once again taking place in Cairo. Alongside this wonderful news, they will essentially ask you to share a generations worth of info with them, from your stamped logbook pages, to bank statements. Odd, but what do you know. Still no word on signing a contract though, so you hope that will be completed in training, and head on your merry way.
Training:
You kiss the wife and kids goodbye and tell them you’ll see them when you’re back from Yemen in 6 months time. Painful, but it’ll be worth it when you come back with pockets full of cash eh?
Not best pleased, at least the better half knows you’ll not get up to any funny business in that part of the world.
So you arrive in Cairo, alongside the other 7 expats who managed to navigate the gruelling selection process and sim assessment, and tuck into a few weeks of training.
Now, you are reminded of the fatal Yemenia Flight 626 crash back in ‘09, where the investigation blamed poor crew training, inappropriate actions, and training programmes “riddled with gaps and flaws” for the loss of 152 souls, and reassure yourself that they will have modified their training appropriately.
Ha!
What I can only describe as a serious box ticking exercise, interspersed with Death by Powerpoint in what I can only assume was English that had been smashed through Google Translate 6 or 7 times before being released. A few courses that should have been completed at the Yemenia Training Centre in Sana’a are completed virtually due to security reasons, and eventually you finish the course having learned next to nothing, in fact you are convinced you have left with less knowledge than you arrived with, you get some shiny gold wings stamped to your chest, and sent packing to the ancient city of Aden, your new home for the next 6 months. Contract remains non-existent.
Relocating:
Now the fun begins.
As we haven’t signed contracts yet, we cannot be loaded onto a GENDEC or be provided with company tickets, so they ask you to purchase your own ticket to Aden and it will be reimbursed in your first salary. Oh well, seems like bs but you’ve got this far, how much could it hurt.
So $130USD later, you find yourself sitting on the 2R Cabin Crew jumpseat of an overbooked 17 year old A320, the inop APU means you are really getting a sweat on in your fancy new uniform which you were forced to wear during the unexplained 5 hour ground delay, and the all male cabin crew who refuse to acknowledge you prefer to smoke Camels in the back galley than do anything productive, thus adding to the already wonderful ambiance.
Overbooked you say? Wow, they must be doing quite well! No, there are 45 seats with INOP taped on them. No explanation though.
You peer into the open flight deck to say hello and try to get an understanding on the delay, but the local crew don’t acknowledge you and continue to dab out their cigarette ends into a Coke can jammed in front of the engine master switches. Oh well, must be a bad crew today.
Eventually though, you land in the historic city of Aden a few hours later than expected.
Now, Yemen is a country that nearly ALL countries advise against travel too, hell, even the Taliban recommend Afghan nationals don’t travel to Yemen right now. Oh well, the armoured G Wagon that will pick you up from the airport will keep you safe.
Ha!
They don’t provide transport, only for duties, so you hail a local 1980’s Toyota Landcruiser and the driver fleeces you for $50USD to drive you 15 minutes to your luxury accommodation. The technology of SAP Concur hasn’t reached these parts yet, so you convince yourself that you’ll talk to somebody in the office about claiming it back.
You arrive at the accommodation and realise the sh*t sandwich you’ve got yourself into.
Oh and by the way, you’ve still not signed a contract, so as far as anybody is concerned you’re just a random bloke going for a jolly to a war zone. Nothing like a bit of war tourism to boost the local economy.
Accommodation:
“Luxury accommodation, with fully functioning Air Conditioning, a pool, plentiful local attractions and amenities, and 24/7 Private Military Contractors providing security for your safety”.
Now you see they are really playing fast and loose on the word luxury. 10 expats now reside in this 10 room compound out in the middle of nowhere to the NW of the city. High walls and a single gate for entry, it looks like something out of Ross Kemps ventures into Helmand Province.
But oh well, you crack on anyway, and you’re shown to your room by the first Yemenia rep you’ve met throughout this whole process. Your room consists of a very small single bed, with an old CRT Television propped on a wooden shelf and a mirror on the wall. A single square window with a net protects you from the elements. The washrooms are located in a separate building, as is the kitchen. There’s a single plug socket in the room which is used to power the TV, so you must decide between Yemeni MTV or charging your phone. The kitchen is at least well equipped, and is restocked 3 times per week with all kinds of western goods, like the fridge full of “Orange Mirinda” and “Shani”. There were even a few cans of Budweiser hidden in there, although whether these were officially provided, or sourced by a few of the more experienced expats, you’re not sure.
Copious amounts of bottled water were provided too, gratefully.
The washrooms were basic, a few cubicled bogs with a shared shower, alongside a couple of sinks to shave or have a wh*res wash in, very similar to something you’d find at some old relic summer camp. There is a pool, but it’s empty. You come to the conclusion that they didn’t lie, they never said it would be full of water, so they can have the benefit of the doubt on that one.
There were security guards too, but the term Private Military Contractors has you thinking of the high speed, low drag door kickers whose past lives had them on 22 SAS or one of the SEAL teams. That, they were not. They were the 2002 Manchester United shirt, jeans and flip flops with an AK47 slung over the shoulder kind of contractors. Oh well, they are there, sleeping and high on khat at the gate, but there nonetheless.
Now for those local attractions and amenities, you soon realise that the nearest civilisation is a petrol station, around 20 minutes walk away, or a 5 minutes drive.
Since you don’t have a car, your only way of getting anywhere is on foot, and given the dirty civil war waging sporadically in the region, you decide it’s best to forfeit your Chocolate Bar given the risk that you might end up in an orange jumpsuit on Al Jazeera just trying to get it.
Contracts:
After your guided tour of the Love Island villa, the Yemenia rep brings you into a room where he chucks a contract and a biro at you. Once again, the backwards English throws you off, but you see the numbers add up to what was promised and you sign.
Your 13,500 joining bonus is on the way mister captain. They don’t tell you that it’s 13500 Yemeni Rial, the equivalent of about $50USD though.
But at least the important figures, salary and duty pay, are clearly in $USD on the contract.
Oh well! Payday is on the 2nd of each month, so only a week left.
How Yemenia Works:
So there is a 320 crew base in Aden, and one in Seiyun, in addition to a 330 skeleton crew based in Sana’a.
Aden is the largest base, and the only one with an expat community, this includes cabin crew who are drafted from places such as the Philippines, Venezuela, Ukraine, Cambodia, and other random parts of the world.
The head office of Yemenia is in the city of Sana’a, which is essentially off limits at the moment due to an escalation in the conflict. This includes the Operations Control Centre and all other relevant teams. In Seiyun there is no Yemenia hard presence, and in Aden there isn't either, but there is a ground team and a station manager.
The postal system is entirely unreliable in Yemen, so anything that needs to come from Sana’a is generally delivered in person, this includes stuff that could be sent by email because the internet here is also incredibly unreliable. Unfortunately, this does come with risks, one of the couriers had his car blown to bits by a Saudi drone a few weeks back.
Financially, the company is a bit of mess, nobody really knows where it sits, it hasn’t updated any technology for many centuries, ground staff often need to be negotiated with at outstations to get them to service the aircraft, but the airline say they want to buy some new Airbus’, so who knows.
Rostering:
Like many airlines, Yemenia use one of the major rostering apps, and rosters release 15 days before the end of the month. Even despite the rocket attacks, car bombs, mortars, and intermittent electricity and wifi, they do still manage to get the roster out on time, which is more than I can say for the few European carriers I worked for.
For expats, the roster is 5/2/5/3, however with regular lengthy delays, you’ll often find yourself flying into your days off with no extra cash or days off in lieu offered. Flying is a mix of 2 and 4 sector days, rarely you’ll get a 3 sector with a stop in Seiyun, but more often than not it’ll be 2 sectors. Becoming AOG is a daily occurrence, but AOG nightstops are not a thing here, you’ll fly back to Aden regardless of duty hours completed, and you’ll be expected to give up your min rest on occasions where you return late. Your 2000 check out and 0800 report will often become a 2300 check out and an 0800 report because Crew Control/Ops don’t have the facilities to make changes. Sometimes, they won’t even know you’ve arrived, and you’ll be woken up at 0130 to a phone call from Ops asking if you’ve landed in Aden, a duty you completed at 1700.
Roster changes are regular, however, you don’t often actually see any changes because either Crew Control don’t have any internet or electricity to update your roster, or you’ve not got the internet to receive it. Given the situation in Sana’a, the OCC is generally unreliable, and so major flight info such as delays will often be sent by text from the Aden station manager.
There is no bidding system of course, and expats are strictly forbidden from flying with each other unless it’s for the purpose of line training. No no, we get to fly with the locals and the EagleJet p2f goons. Don’t get me wrong, some of the locals are really good at their jobs, especially some of the younger FOs who trained abroad, but they are more the exception than the rule.
If you need to call sick, you try Crew Control, but you’ll likely not get through, so you phone the Aden station manager and just arrange yourself with another pilot to take your place.
Aden:
The safer of the 3 major cities in Yemen, Aden is still home to sporadic fighting. While currently “peaceful”, this isn’t the definition you would find in the West, it’s certainly peaceful compared to 2 years ago, but I wouldn’t say peaceful. The click-clacking of AKs and explosions can still be heard rolling across the city on some days. The city is riddled with checkpoints from various factions. To get to work, your driver takes you on a longer route so you pass only through police and military checkpoints where you’re essentially granted a free pass as you work for Yemenia. Other checkpoints especially heading North, or into the centre of town are less friendly, with different militias setting up their own, and as an employee of Yemenia, and therefore a representative of the Yemeni Government and a Yemeni flag flyer, you’ll quickly be hooded and scooped up for a fun interrogation. Like most towns in these parts of the world, 80% of the locals are lovely people who just want to get on with their lives, some of the older women will treat you as one of their own while you’re so far from home, but despite that there is still a very present and serious danger if you decide to venture out without protection. The airport, the port and Little Aden and At-Tawah which guard the mouth to the port have a heavy military presence which seems, recently, to be working. If you’re in uniform, the police and military will leave you alone, sometimes even escort you where you need to go, if you’re out of uniform, expect some potentially heavy handed questioning.
There are no consular services from any nation available in Yemen, Sana’a was once home to various embassies including the U.S. and U.K., but these are now closed and operate remotely from Djibouti. If you need consular support, you lose your passport or something, well, quite frankly, you’re f*cked.
Life outside of flying:
There isn’t much of one. You can’t really venture out of the compound so you find the best spot in the compound for wifi, crack open a few beers and sit in the 40 degree sun doing nothing for 3 days. Sounds good, and it is at first, but the novelty soon wears off. The expat cabin crew compound is about 25 minutes away and they regularly find their way here, since we have the cold amber nectar they desire.
Some people try and get home for their 3 days off but it is seemingly next to impossible, largely because trying to get on flights out of Aden is like trying to get blood out of a stone, and if you manage, it’ll cost you an arm and a leg. There’s no ID90 around here, just crisp USD that must be dished out to multiple people before you get your ass on a crew jumpseat. Some days you might get lucky, if it’s an expat captain, we all have a gentleman’s agreement that we will let fellow expats jumpseat in the flight deck if they’re on their way to/from home to save any hassle. There’s only way out of Aden for most, and that’s to take a company flight to Cairo and travel onwards from there, alternatively you can fly into Jeddah and go onward from there, but factor in a few extra hours into your connection for a very uncomfortable interrogation in a bright white room about your time in Yemen. Royal Jordanian previously operated an E190 down here but it stopped due to security reasons. Be aware, everytime you leave Yemen, you’ll need an “exit visa”, this is relatively straightforward to obtain though, if you carry your Yemenia ID with you, if all else fails, the Aden station manager will sort you out. While straight forward, it can be a painstakingly long process lasting a few hours sometimes, so consider this before making your way to the airport.