The Yemeni Honey | عسل اليمن
"The finest honey in the world comes from Yemen. She smuggles it out. He wants to buy her entire supply. What he offers in exchange is unexpected."
The Yemeni Honey
عسل اليمن
Sidr honey is liquid gold.
From the drought-resistant sidr trees of Yemen. The war makes it nearly impossible to export.
I make it possible.
I'm Amani.
Forty-one, Yemeni, doing what I must to survive. The honey pays for medicine, for bribes, for family to eat.
Naseem wants all of it.
He's fifty.
Saudi, based in Jeddah. He runs a luxury food business. Yemeni honey is his holy grail.
"Name your price."
"You can't afford it."
"Try me."
"Fifty thousand dollars. Per shipment."
"Done."
"That was too easy."
"Quality is never too expensive." He studies me. "Why do you do this?"
"Because my country is dying and someone has to feed the pieces that remain."
Our meetings are clandestine.
Border crossings, coded messages. Each shipment is risk.
"You're incredibly brave," he says.
"I'm incredibly desperate. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Why do you buy from me? Others would charge less."
"Others don't have your quality. Or your..." He pauses. "Your integrity."
"Integrity is expensive in Yemen."
"I can afford it."
"What else do you want from me?"
"Partnership. Long-term. I want to help you scale."
"Scale a smuggling operation?"
"Scale a survival operation. Make it sustainable."
The first kiss is in a safe house.
Between shipments, between danger. He tastes like risk and reward.
"This complicates things," I say.
"Everything is already complicated."
"I can't leave Yemen."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Then what are you asking?"
"To be part of what you're building. However that looks."
He invests.
Not just money—infrastructure. Safe routes, medical supplies, legitimate businesses.
"Why?" I ask.
"Because you're worth investing in."
He undresses me in a Jeddah hotel.
The first time I've felt safe in years.
"Beautiful."
"Naseem—"
"Let me show you what you're worth."
We make love far from war.
His hands erasing years of tension.
"Ya Allah—"
"Right there?"
"Aiwa—don't stop—"
Three years later
The honey business is legitimate now.
Exported properly, profits funding hospitals in Yemen.
"Happy?" he asks.
"My people are eating. That's happy."
"And us?"
"We're the sweetest part."
Alhamdulillah.
For honey that heals.
For buyers who become partners.
For sweetness found in war.
The End.