By Ginny Hill, for BBC News
The day I was stoned in public happened to be my birthday.
I was walking along a quiet side street, close to the parliament building in Yemen's capital, Sanaa.
I was alone, but I did not think twice when a battered old pick-up truck drove towards me. 
It was just like hundreds of other pick-up trucks that I saw every day in Yemen. There were two tribesmen in the driver's cabin and a handful of young men standing in the flat-bed, holding onto the side rails to keep upright.
They wore long white robes, curved daggers on belts around their waists and red and white head-dresses. Normal day wear for the average Yemeni man about town.
The truck had almost travelled past me when a rock hit me in the stomach, hurled from the back of the vehicle as it passed.
Indignant and furious, I whirled round on the spot and shouted after them: "Laish?" - an Arabic word for 'why'.
But the truck was already out of earshot and there were no witnesses to answer my question. So I dusted myself down and carried on...
