Defending Itself

Why is the blockade of Gaza and military incursions always compared to the damn rockets? As if they are morally equivalent? As if they are anywhere on the same scale? The New York Times describes the bombing as "retaliation for rocket fire from the area".

"The Palestinian groups again launched barrages of rockets and mortars into Israel on Sunday, extending their reach further than ever before, and the Israeli government approved the emergency call up of thousands of army reservists in preparation for a possible ground operation."

and later: "Israeli military officials said that the airstrikes, which began on Saturday morning, were the start of what could be days or even months of an effort to force Hamas to end its rocket barrages into southern Israel."

That makes it sound somewhat similar! In fact, it's as if the Israelis are only responding or even retaliating for this horrible barrage of rockets.

Currently around 280 Palestinians dead, with at least 600 wounded. "Several Israelis were lightly wounded by shrapnel."

Yup, sounds about equivalent.

Yes! Just Like That!

Did you know every social movement in any other society has an antecedant in American history? No?

I'm sick of seeing articles or hearing events in other cultures place somewhere on the American (or Western European) timeline. This is especially blatant with women's issues, but exists in other contexts, like this article in the NY Times today on "Jordanian Students Embracing Conservative Islam"

Across the Middle East, young people like Mr. Fawaz, angry, alienated and
deprived of opportunity, have accepted Islam as an agent of change and
rebellion. It is their rock ’n’ roll, their long hair and love beads. Through
Islam, they defy the status quo and challenge governments seen as corrupt and
incompetent.

Wow! Our rebellion was so innocent, with love beads and long hair, while theirs is Islam. I assume the journalist is attempting to help Americans understand this phenomenon by relating it something they know. But would that passage really suffer desprived of that reference? I doubt it. Why can't the Jordanians feel angry and alienated and want change without it being related to some American social movement from 40 years ago?

First Name Last Name

This is something I noticed while translating at the UNFPA: first names are formal. When putting out a press release, a person would naturally first be mentioned with their full title and name, but subsequent mentions could be shortened to as-sayed Ahmad (Mr. Ahmad) or ad-docktora Leena (Dr. Leena). In the English versions, of course, I'd have to refer to them by title and last name. So it seems there's none of that awkward "May I call you by your first name?"

That's it. Just an observation.

Not That There's Anything Wrong With That

I was watching al-Jazeera a couple days ago, and caught a report on AIDS. It was a small report, mostly a chat with an expert in the studio. They threw up a graphic on the sources of AIDS transmission (I don't remember if this was supposed to be world-wide or Arab world only). The sources included unknown, blood transfusions, gays (شذوذ), drugs, and by far the largest category: zena (زنا).

First of all, I was surprised that homosexuals were referred to as shuzuz, instead of مثليون, which is usually used in formal writing. The latter word refers to "similar" like the word homo, while shaz means different. Like irregular verbs in grammar are shaz. I thought that word was strictly 'ammiyya, and kind of an insult.

And on the sex. I thought the word zena meant "adultery" but have been told it generally refers to all extra-marital, harram sex. Fornication.

So much for de-stigmitization of HIV/AIDS. Why do you have this disease? Because of dirty, dirty zena, you whore. This despite one of the fastest-growing groups of HIV/AIDS cases is women in (supposedly) monogamous relationships (there's more recent links but I'm lazy).

Shoes update

Two days after letting the store manager send the shoes off to the factory, he called us. Yes, the factory had found a flaw so the Dutchman could get a new pair or his money back. He opted for the cash. To celebrate the improbable victory we went to Vitality, a bar in Jeramana that has to be one of the coolest in Damascus, if it had more business. We played Syrians vs. Ajanab pool, in which I shamed my people.

Afterwards I stopped my Im Tareq's house, where I had left my purse earlier.
"I was just watching the news," she said, "and they were interviewing ajanab in America about the shoes. All of them were laughing!"
I had told her before that a majority of the American people weren't too fond of their leader.

Shoes!

I got shoes on the brain, though I didn't catch the news at all yesterday - I was too busy arguing at a shoe store.

A Dutch journalist friend with a name like a fan manufacturer bought a pair of shoes, workman boot types, from a store in Jeramana. He paid quite a bit, 1200 lira. Within the first day of wearing them, he realized there were problems. The left one had unfinished leather that rubbed against his sock, making holes, and the right one's toe was made improperly and cut into his foot. He hobbled around painfully before calling me up to try to return them and get a less painful pair.

Tariq and Ali, came with, predicting success was a longshot. "But take me and I'll speak Allawi," joked Ali.

The salesman, whose eyebrows were so light I thought he didn't have any at first, took one look at the shoes.
"These have been worn. I can't take them back."
"They were only worn once. This is obviously a flaw in manufacturing. The toe of the left one is fine and the toe of the right one is crap."
"Obviously some one stepped on it."
"THIS from someone stepping on it? It's obviously manufactured differently."

Tariq led the charge, with the Dutchman's and my occaisonal input. Ali mostly hung out in the background, offering mostly moral support. The salesman, and his manager, maintained that someone must have stepped on the toe of the shoe, resulting in it to be a different shape.
"How weak is that shoe? When he bought it the salesman assured him they were the strongest shoes available. One day and it breaks?"
"All the shoes are like that! I can get out other pairs and you can see."
"Ok show us."
"Ya Ahkhi there's nothing wrong with that shoe, it got stepped on. It would happen to all shoes."
"He can't wear the shoe it's so painful."

Tariq challenged the man to prove that it would happen to all shoes. The shoes' twin, for example, held its shape despire being worn for a day. The salesman assured him that, if stepped on, it would hold the same shape. Tariq put the shoe down, stamped on the toe a couple of time, and put it back on the counter. It held its shape, not sharing its brother's fate.
"It must have been stepped on in a different way."

The argument was getting quite dramatic, what with shoe-stomping theatrics. The Dutchman turned to a customer about to buy the same type of shoes and told him, "Don't get them. These broke after one day. They're bad boots." The manager did not appreciate the quality review. He told us to take the shoes to the goverment goods office, or offered to ship the shoes back to the factory. If there is indeed something wrong, it's from the factory and not from me.
"You're responsible for what you sell in your store," the Dutchman maintained.

The manager posited that he had nothing to do with the shoes once they left the store. You could walk out of his store and have a car run over the shoes and that's not his responsibility.

"Do you think he had a car run over his boot? For fun?"

The manager agreed to send the shoes back to the factory. Though we failed, Tariq enjoyed the arguing, so all was not lost.
"It's hard for me to speak when I'm angry," the Dutchman said.
"Oh, just wait. Angry Arabic is the most fun of all," I told him.

Today I was told twice before noon about Bush's shoe incident yesterday, where an Iraqi journalist for al-Baghdadiyya threw his shoes at Bush. First while buying fatayir for breakfast, then at the internet cafe where I am filling in more grad school applications. The guy working there was joking with another about it, then turned to me.
"You don't like Bush, do you," he said, joking. The first time I came into this internet cafe he asked me the same question more seriously. I told him the majority of Americans in Syria don't like Bush, as his supporters are probably scared of Arabs and Syrians especially.
"Bravo to the journalist!" I said.

Getting Down at Eid

I was invited up to Aleppo for Eid by my boyfriend's family. They are no strangers to the draw of ajnabiyyat as his uncle is married to a Russian woman. We went out to dinner all together the first day,a group of more than 20 plus innumerous children running around everywhere (bill was only 8000 lira). Every one thought it was a little weird I don't eat meat, but Abd al-Karim's wife doesn't either so at least I had an ally. I've meet the uncle and his Rusiyya wife before, but this was the first time I had seen her outside of the house and was surprised to see she's muhajiba. Since last summer, she said.

"Maybe you'll be hijabing eventually too."
"Impossible."
"Why?" She and two of the other uncle's daughters leaned in.
"I already have enough trouble matching pants and shirts - match a hijab too? Impossible. I see how all the muhajibas got it going on - matching it all up. Look at me - today I'm wearing blue and black and white and green with a red coat. It's a disaster."


They laughed, and the subject was dropped. I thought this was easier than responding as I had, throughout Ramadan, to inquiries why I wasn't fasting: "I'm not Muslim." This would usually have to be expanded on with reference to Lent.
"Why don't you just try fasting?"
"I did Lent, so I'm good." or "We have our own fasting time." ("We" being Christians).

But this is just dishonest, and slids into that murky grey area where a little lie about being a Christian turns into immense discussions in which I have to defend Catholic theology. Not that I thought a pleasant Eid dinner would turn to dicussions of the divinity of Jesus; but still in awe of Syrian women's ability to put together an outfit, this is more true than professing my devotion to the Christian faith.


But luckily the family's religiosity on hijab did not extend to alcohol, and we were able to enjoy a regular bachanal (well, kind of). The second day of Eid we went to a Saher (staying-up-late) party at the Jalal Sport Club, decked out to look like not a sports club. On the way in I whispered to my boyfriend, asking if there would drink, and if so, would it be alright to drink in front of his family. He said probably, but since we're still on the trying-to-impress them stage, only if others are drinking.

There was a bottle of whiskey waiting for us at the table, with uncles and a cousin already sipping it neat. Most every other table had wine or whiskey as well. The table was overfilling with appetizers, most of which were meatless. A known singer entertained and during particularly engaging songs half the congregation got up to boogie. We ate and drank and danced till well past 2am. It was interesting to celebrate a Muslim holiday with a family where most of the women veil and the whiskey is liberally poured. I think there's a conception in America that Muslims as a rule are very religious and strict, when proponents of any faith vary in adherence to the letter and spirit of the Law.

But glad we're in agreement alcohol is the way to celebrate a holiday.

Internet Cafes and Iraqis

It's easy to forget how many Iraqis are in Jeramana. When I first moved here, I would hear an Iraqi accent while walking down the street at least once a day. But through the summer to now, discounting my Iraqi friends, I don't hear that much random Iraqi. Except on the internet.

I'm applying to grad school, and thus have been spending a lot of time in internet cafes. Since my laptop died last spring, cafes are my only computer resource.

After work, the woman's room fills up. It's much less smoky than the "men's", which is mostly used for playing network games (this is part of the reason for the divide - men say bad words while in the heat of computer battle and heaven forbid one of us hear these words!). The gender divide isn't enforced and seems to be more a function of the rooms' purposes - all the game players are dudes and most of the chatters are ladies, but men too use the ladies' room to chat without the background noise of victory or defeat. Families, old people, children, and young ladies and men chat away with family and friends in Iraq, Europe, America, and Canada. By 8, every computer in the women's room is occupied with the occupant chatting away on skype or hotmail or yahoo messenger. While I try to convey to one school or another why I'm really special, I'm surrounded by Iraqi dialect.
"zayn, zayn"
"gultilich"
"ishtag lich!"

(Besides the tell-tale g and ch sounds, Iraqi dialect is much harsher than Shami. It's hilarious, as every single dialect of Arabic is. Seriously. While some are funnier than others- Lattakian, as spoken on De'ah Diyah, must be near the top- even Shami, which should at this point should be neutral, is hilarious when extra-Shami, as on Bab al-Hara. Lebanese - always hilarious though personally I don't appreciate the limp-wristed effete used with it. In Jeramana, lots of people speak Druzi - hilarious! I know its not only me that thinks this, as, every single person I told today I'm travelling to Aleppo for Eid, said, "Itchbak kheito?" and laughed.)

Parents hold up children to the webcam while boyfriends and girlfriends flirt. Just today, the whole room turned to watch a young man sing to his love. The man next to me helpfully tried to explain the situation to me (as if the language of sweethearts isn't immediately identifiable) by saying, "He sing to his friend." and after a minute "His friend is a girl." I told him thanks in Arabic, but I got that as most dudes don't sing love songs to their men friends (at least not in crowded internet cafes).

It's great to think about how connected technology lets us be. There are some people there everyday when I go in. Despite the distance, they can connect . But it also reminds me how we've (America) destroyed this country and scattered its people to all corners of the globe. We've broken up families and left thousands in limbo, just waiting here in Syria to go back or move to the West. They chat with those left behind and those that have them behind. And then I go back to my essays and write about how my experiences in Syria will enrich my future research.

Telteesh

I happened to catch a program "Red Line" (الخط الاحمر) on the Syrian channel yesterday, when the topic under discussion was catcalling and harrassment التلطيش والتحرش. There was a group of young people and three experts all discussing the problem and if it was a problem and its reasons. I missed the beginning, but did manage to catch a young person asking if girls hold any of the responsibility for catcalling, with their dress and cause, you know, a lot of them like it anyway. Or if it's all the dude's fault. The psych expert rattled off a list of reasons why dudes might be hassling, including economic pressures, family pressures, and sexual repression. But despite all this, he is still a human not an animal and responsible for his actions. The girl is not.

I'm glad the expert said the girl is not responsible, but he still didn't refute that girls like telteesh. I am so sick of this. Everytime this topic comes up with my (male) friends, I'm told that Syrian girls like telteesh, it makes them feel good. Why else would they dress up like that, wear makeup like that? When I tell them, actually some girls don't, like me, I'm told I'm just a weird American. Syrian girls are different. That's strange, as actually I've chilled with Syrians who've told me telteesh annoys the hell out of them too.

The end of the show had some interviews with men, shot outside of the literature college in Mezzeh. "If you a pretty girl, do you catcall her?"
"Well if she's really pretty.."
"Of course"
One said that it's obvious she wants people to comment on her looks by the way she walks, or what she wears, or puts makeup on.

Because of course, if a woman takes the time to look nice she's doing it for the men on the street. She's not wearing makeup because in the workforce looking nice is required for women. She didn't put herself together for a husband or a boyfriend. She's not trying to look nice to show up other women because of the insane competition women are supposed to have with one another over looks. She's not dressing up cause, hell, she wants to. She's doing it for you, man standing near the SANA building.

The last guy interviewed said he never catcalls as it's disrepectful. That's some one's sister or niece, and he wouldn't want people saying that to his sister. While it's nice that he actually thinks of respect, it's strange that it's not disrepecting her he's worried about, but the nearest attached male. But even he agreed that girls dress up looking for comments.

While I don't doubt there exist some girls who live for the thrill of a random man sucking his teeth in appreciation, it doesn't apply to all of us. So shut the fuck up.

Fluency?

Am I fluent in Arabic? It's a question I'm having to ask myself these days for applications to grad school. I don't think I'm perfectly fluent, if fluent is defined as have native-speaker skills. I can live solely in Syrian, love myself some muselel, was working a job where I had to read and write Arabic, but fluent? Not when watching an Egyptian movie means leaning over to my seatmate every minute to ask, "Sho 'al? Sho 'alat?" (What'd he say? What'd she say? What?) or just an exasperated, "Shooo?" That last part is especially annoying as, at one point, I did live 5 months in Egypt and got better at Egyptian than anything else. I even took a class in Egyptian colloquial literature once, and now I'm reduced to embarrassment at how little I understand or their crazy geem-filled dialect. I mean, if it was Moroccan I couldn't understand, that'd be fine as no one here does. Even the Iraqis or Eastern Syrians have Shawam (Damascenes) asking Shoo? every once and in a while. But not understanding Egyptian? ya Batl!

As for MSA, I can watch the news and, especially on reproductive health, read newspapers and stuff, and I was writing press releases at my old job. BUT, I read rather slowly, and pick up a literary novel and crap, I don't actually know this. I once read this novel, the Bleeding Stone, which had a million different terms for types of deserts and stones and plateaus and goats that sent me running to the dictionary every page. And those press releases needed to be edited before being released - there was always some grammar mistake lurking.

But on these applications, there's no place to express the complications of defining my level of Arabic. It's just a 3-level rubric for speaking, reading and writing: Low, Medium, High. High is defined as fluency- accuracy and range of a university-educated native speaker. Considering how often I make grammar mistakes when speaking, especially when excitedly telling a story (though I most often now correct myself immediately), I ain't like no native. The educated Syrian could read laps around my ass.

But Medium? I'm better than that man.

Why can't there be something in between these choices?

A few Syrian friends have told me I'm practically fluent or whatever, just put that one down. I'm putting it down for speaking, as I can hold my own in coversation, but I'm afraid putting it down for reading and writing will produce this scenario:
"Read this 200-page book and write a 5-page paper by Friday in Arabic."
"Shooo!?"
"Thought you said you were FLUENT? FLUENT people could do this easily! Banished from grad school for shameless lying! Banished!"

Towel of Shame

I brought shame upon myself, my family, and all those within a two meter radius last night.

Last week I had no water in my apartment so I went to a friends to shower. I forgot my towel. Last night I visited and was reminded about the forgotten towel. I left with the towel. It is purple and moderately fluffy.

I was walking with a friend. After a minute or so he realized what I was carrying. In my hand, in the street. In front of every body! He told me to hurry up and get a bag for it or something. Hide it away. Quickly!

"Why?" I asked innocently
"It's embarrassing for me."
"Why is it embarrassing?"
"It just it. I can't walk with you if you're going to be carrying that." He stopped and I kept walking. I ducked into a shop to buy something and when I came out he was angry.

"You're still carrying that?"
That's a yes.
"Put it in a bag or something."
"Tell me why."
"I told you. It's embarrassing."
"But why is it embarrassing? Are people going to think something? Are they going to say something?"
"It's not done! When was the last time you saw some one carry a towel in Syria? Have you every seen any one do that?"

I have to admit, I have not seen many Syrian walking around with towels. Then again, it's not like I saw many americans chilling with towels in the streets either. But if some one had reason to, why not? There are many explanations: I could be coming home after swimming. Or I could have an irrational fear of catching lice and thus insist on bringing my own towel when I go to a hair salon. Or I could have showered at a friend's house because I have no water - in Jaramana, where we have problems with the water, this is very likely. I mean, I've never seen anyone walking around Damascus with a ceiling fan but were I to see this I would think: oh, he probably just bought a ceiling fan. No shame whatsoever. And a ceiling fan is much more conspicuous and awkward to carry than a towel.

But my friend refused to walk within two meters of me as long as I carried that shameful, shameful towel. I still don't get it.

I Watch a Play, Am Bored

I am starting to hate the theatre.

I have been fortunate enough to see a couple of plays here, most of 2008's Damascus: Arab Capital of Culture. And with rare exception, I thought every single one blew.

Last night I saw "Tactic," a play that is running this week at Hamra Theatre in downtown Damascus. It's got some famous actor in the title role. I forget his name. It's supposed to be about a broken family, a runaway daughter, an estranged mother, revealed family secrets and drama! Oh yeah! Unfortunately, the "plot" turned out to be little more than a backdrop for a series of dramatic monologues.

While no great patron of the arts (I never understood anything my college roommate's experimental theatre did), I'd appreciate, some, you know, dialogue. And strong characters. That's what I like to see in a play, or in a film: the interaction of different characters and some sort of plot. The kind where secrets and backgrounds are revealed slowly, organically. In film I also like a healthy amount of explosions but understand that the stage has limits.

Within the first five minutes, we know the entire backstory of the mother, her secret, why she fled to Paris, etc. Then after a dance number we see that her daughter has run away to join some sort of casino/nightclub/brothel where the whores/dancers dress like in quasi-futuristic shiny hoodies. We then meet some of them, and the two dudes who work there through one after another monologue about how this happened in their life and how they became whores/dancers. It usually involves a broken family of some sort.

These stories range from a mother's cancer to the Shatila refugee camp massacre. I thought that latter backstory was... odd in the context. It seemed like the writer just wanted to stick in something that would get an emotional rise out of the audience - I'm just sitting there thinking, yes, massacre is bad, but what does this have to do with the play? At the end the father character is talking about love and war - and then veers off into hating on Bush and his wars. The audience appreciated the dig but it felt like a random anti-Bush zinger in almost every New York play I've ever seen: cheap shot. Pandering to the audience. In New York, and Damascus, you know putting in something about Bush being a dick is going to get a clap.

I seemed to be alone in my opinions. The people I saw the play with really enjoyed it and told me I just didn't understand it. Actually, there were parts of it I just didn't understand ("Why was he talking about Russian ladies and is now talking about Suq Hamidiyya?" "He's talking about buying things for their marriage" "Oh"). I know I should have appreciated the go! lady power messages (including one monologue about how boys and girls are treated differently) but part of me was thinking: is the message more effective when delivered in skintight shiny spandex? And are they going into space at some point or is that just a tease?

"What about the acting?" I asked my companions.
"Awesome."
Um, ok. Once again, not that I'm an expert, but I didn't feel like there were any characters. All of the ladies delivered their monologues in the same style, with healthy doses of yelling, screaming, and anguished hair-pulling. I felt like each lady-monologue could have been delivered by the same girl and it would have made no difference. The men also delivered their monologues in the same style, except the famous guy whose character actually seemed to have some.

I've seen plays like this before. Way too much. In Damascus but mostly in New York. I hated them too.

I know that Damascus isn't exactly a hotbed of performing arts and I should be happy with what there is, but shit, is it too much to ask for a play with a plot, characters (who are different from one another) and dialogue?

So afterwards I'm feeling like the grinch because everyone liked the play. The whole audience loved it, my fellow-theatregoers insisted. Though I have a feeling the male potion of the audience would have enjoyed it a lot less without the female cast in those matching miniskirt spacesuits. But anyways, I'm wrong.

Yo, You Fat

Every culture has its own boundaries for polite behavior. There's a lot of horribly rude things in Syria that would be considered normal in America, such as not insisting guests eat until they are unable to move or directing them to the fridge to get their own drinks. Of course, there are also completely normal things in Syria that are unspeakably, horribly rude in America. Foremost in my mind is the nonchalance with which people tell others they are fat:

One morning, I greeted Shaza and Rahaf, coworkers of my age I would often chat with, and after the usual pleasantries, Shaza added, "Samnaneh!" or "You're fatter!"

"What?"

"Samnaneh" She repeated. "Been eating lots lately huh?"

Whoa. In America, you could probably sue some one for that. But here, as she explained to me, that's normal. She and the other young woman said they tell each other all the time, "hey, you're fatter!" or "Hey, thinner!". I told them that would be considered totally rude in America.

"But why? I'm just saying you've gained some weight. It's not a bad thing. You're just fatter. We say it all the time. Hey Rahaf, looking thinner! She'll tell me Hey Shaza, you've gained weight. It's normal."

I'll see friends and they'll let me know Nahfaneh! or Samnaneh! I'm still not used to this. While in America people will tell you if you've lost weight, weight gained is not voiced. If I greet some one I haven't seen for a while at Capoeira, the first words besides shloanik and shu akhbarik will be a commentary on my preceived slimmer-ness or fatter-ness.

In the Turkish baths (hammam) the other day, the other ladies had no reservations telling me "you are fatter than her (my companion)" or pointing to my kirsh (belly).

Maybe I'm just too sensitive. Being fat isn't necessarily a bad thing. The girl in Capoeira that every man is in love with was described to me by my friend Saleh as such: "She is fat and it is good!"

Turkish Baths

I have avoided the Turkish baths. I just don't really feel the need to get all naked and chill with people. I can be naked at home (now that I live alone) for free.

But a recent visitor wanted to experience it, so off we went to al-Bakri in the old city. It was 200 to use the baths and 50 for a massage. Another 50 buys a lady to scrub you, but I thought I could manage scrubbing on my own.

I wasn't sure how naked to get. At the Medinat ash-Shabab swimming pool, the locker room attendent asks naked ladies to kindly not be so naked and step into the small changing rooms during periods of nudity. This during ladies' hours. I wondered if I should use this as a guide or not. I asked the bath attendant and she said as you like. In the bath itself, most ladies were wearing panties but a few were without so I figured either way worked.

We steamed for a while, and chatted with some other women who wondered why I spoke Arabic, why my friend didn't, why she was in such good shape. Two of the women there told me of their plan to lose their bellies by steaming every day and I told them they might want to throw in some exercise as well. That's how she's in shape, I said.
"You're fatter than her," the older woman said.
"Yeah, I don't exercise as much." But thanks for the news.

Then we washed and had a massage in a seperate little room. I'm glad I didn't opt for the scrub, which entailed lying on the floor and just seemed to require a lower bar for intimacy than mine.

I went out to escape the heat and ran into a group of American college girls trying to understand the pricing system. I translated, dressed, and felt like not moving again for the rest of the day. I was super clean but from the steam and the massage all I felt like doing was taking a nap.

There's a hamman in Jeramana that I think I might be using in the future when I don't have water for 6 days or so. It seems more respectable than begging friends to let me use their showers.

Driving in Syria

I don't drive. I like to live in cities where it is not a requirement. Since leaving the familial home, I've lived in New York, Cairo, Washington DC and Damascus, none of which require a car. This is at the top of conditions for future living as well.

But I rented a car last week.

Overall, not as much fun as just taking servees. After a year, I'm down with the servees. I know how to get from A to B and if I don't, I just ask. It's easy. With cars, there's oneways and highways and weird-ass twisty streets. I know my way around pretty well as long as I'm on a servess route I know well. Outside of that, not so much.

There are some mad aggressive drivers here! On the Damascus-Homs and Hom-Tartous highways (yes, we went to Krac des Chevaliers) people drive up on your ass if you are in the left lane, no matter that you are actually passing 3 trucks, making it impossible for you to move over now. At night, they not only honk but flash their brights, as if to say MOVEmoveMOVEmoveMOVEmoveMOVEmoveMOVE. Do you not see this truck I am passing? Or the motorcycle I'm passing? Would you like me to move over immediately and just kill the dude? Even when there were trucks in both lanes, meaning one has to slow down and wait for a lane to clear up, there would be a dude on my ass blinking his brights and honking. Come on!

In the city, lanes lines are apparently suggestions.

Some roads aren't marked all that well, which is how I ended up a bunch of villages when returning from Tartous at night. But on the upside, I got to ask some people for directions and the Tartousi accent is so cute! Really adorable. I could listen to a Tartousi man giving me directions to the autrostrad all day.

Driving is also expensive. Filling up my tank is at least 2000 lira ($40) and that stuff seems to go quick. Servees and inter-city buses are better by far.

But parking in Damascus appears to be mostly free. Except when it's not, like last night around Sahat Arnous. I didn't see any signs, and came back after an hour to find a boot on my car. Turns out a block away there was a small sign about paying 50 lira an hour for parking. The man was very nice, and told me since I didn't know we'll just pretend I paid him for an hour and he'll tear up the ticket. He thought I was Russian (many do) but when I said, no, American he congratulated me on my new president.

Protesting on Cue?

The Syrian nightly news on Thursday night, the day of the protests, was all about the raid. The first segment was a long piece about the protests. There were many, many interviews with protestors: several men, a kid who started crying when talking about how the Americans came in and killed eight innocent people, a teenage girl with a Lattakian accent who said that Syrians can't be quiet, they need to let America know that this is their land and they will defend it.

I was watching the newscast with a friend's family. They agreed that the crying kid was moving, but... c'mon mubaligha shway (little exaggeration)? Tareq said he would understand if the kid was from Albou Kamal, but he's Shami. Effective kid though.

It was especially angering to see the condenscending New York Times write-up of the protests, "As if on Cue, Syrians Protest U.S. Incursion on Their Soil". Would that cue be the U.S. incursion on their soil and the killing of a bunch of civilians? No, no, according to the writer the entire thing is stage-managed by the Syrian Government. It would have to be, because obviously Syrians wouldn't feel real anger about this or anything.

The writer continues, basically saying, "So not that I was there and watched it or anything, but I saw it on the BBC and it (now actual quote) 'seemed likely that the government had orchestrated the protest, which looked precisely timed and organized.'" He then later calls the raid the "boldest" strike by American commandos since the invasion of Iraq. Yippee!

Ok, obviously protests here need the approval of the government, but that doesn't necessarily mean the emotions or anger of the protestors are less valid. Is it too hard to believe that the Syrian people would be, as their government is as well, outraged by the strike?

The rest of the of the Syrian broadcast featured the Minister of Social Affairs and Labor, who had been sent to the village by the president. She offered condolences and hugged children (Um Tareq exclaiming "Olee! So dirty!"). One little boy told what happened, with the two helicoptors landing, and how the soldiers came out speaking foreigner and firing in all directions. His accent was almost unintelligble for me, but then it was for every one else in the room as well. The Minister gave a very nice speak though I can't remember what she said.

And then the next day I bought some shampoo at a little store near my new apartment. "Where are you from?" the woman working there asked.
"America"
"America! Haha, we all want to go there and you come here! Welcome, welcome!"
In the end, she knocked 15 lira off the price of the shampoo because "it's your first time in my store. Welcome!"

I mean, sorry America, but I can't imagine a foreigner getting that kind of treatment in America if their country just attacked it.

Voting

I voted yesterday. The absentee ballot finally arrived two days ago. I did what I usually do during elections, since I have always been outside of my State. I googled the candidates to see their positions. This is especially helpful for the judges' races, which in Michigan are non-partisan. Just names on a ballot. But with a little googling I find their endorsements. "Voters for Traditional Values" supports you? No thanks!

The ballot has to be in by the election, so the regular mail was out (usually takes three weeks). I paid 1000 lira for it to be in American in four days. The guy at the post office asked if it was for the election.
"Did you pick McCain or Obama?"
"Obama, of course!"

He smiled and then asked, "He's the black one right?"
"Yes."
"But aren't you worried he might do things against the whites?"
"No." I laughed. Like do what? "His policy is better than McCain's. He might work for better relations with Syria."
"But you are white. You don't know what some one will do once they get power..."
"He will be better than Bush and that's what's important."

I mean, what do you say to that?

The clerk then asked, "He's Muslim, right?"
"No, he's Christian. But his grandfather was Muslim and he lived in Indonesia when he was younger so he should think more internationally than Bush. And he's not scared of Muslims."

I wonder if he got the same email. With all the questions I get about prejudice in America and about how Americans hate Muslims, I'm actually kind of impressed this dude thought America was on the verge of electing a Muslim president.

Demonstrations

The Cultural Center and I imagine, the school, are not closed yet, but the American Embassy is closed today for security reasons. I was there yesterday trying to get some paperwork and everything seemed normal. I heard there had been demonstrations, but yesterday morning the Embassy was quiet as Abu Romaneh usually is.

Finally saw three demonstrations on the way to Baramke this morning. Mostly school boys holding aloft flags and pictures of the president, chanting as they walk down the street and not to school.

Surprise!

So the American Cultural Center is still up and running. They've received no official word from the government to shut down. I imagine this is true for the school as well. So despite all the press reports on Syrian media, they're not closed. Yet.

Reaction to American Raid

The fallout from the American raid in Syria on Sunday is beginning. It's been announced that the American School and American Cultural Center is going to be closed in retaliation.

The American School, like others all over the world, follows American curriculum and has classes in English. A lot of the teachers are Americans (I've only met 3, who are here for an "adventure" and don't speak any Arabic). The kids of different embassies' employees go there, the kids of multinational corps and orgs employees, plus some well-to-do Syrians. It's got some posh real estate in Abu Romaneh, near al-Jahiz Park and the Air Force building. The Cultural Center is connected to the embassy and does pretty innocuous stuff like advise Syrian students who want to study in the US and have a weekly movie night.

I'm surprised, since I was in the American Cultural Center today picking up my absentee ballot and nobody mentioned anything or seemed flustered.

What's not closing is the American Language Center (where I just took my GRE Saturday), which is generally acknowledged to be among the best places to learn English in Damascus.

About the raid itself, I hear American media saying the dead are militants including some big fish Iraqi named Abu Ghadiya. But of course they would say that (how long does it take American officials to admit to various bombings of weddings in Afghanistan?) The Syrian media is saying the raid took place at a farm and all the dead are civilians, including three children. How much of either can be believed?

The one thing every non-Syrian news source, Arab and American, agrees on is the location being Abu Kamal, despite that the name is actually al-Bou Kamal. It's ok American journalists, I saw al-Jazeera get it wrong this morning as well.

But the one fallback that I'm not expecting, and that the American community in Syria has been advised to keep a lookout for, it the personal. While I would fully expect Americans to bear personal animosity for the nationals of a country that attacked them (just look at the rise in hate crimes against Muslims after 9/11) I don't expect it of Syrians. Today I ate dinner at a friend's house. The topic came on the news and they asked me why America would do that and if I thought it was a bad thing to kill those poor people. But it wasn't like I was being blamed, just that maybe being an American would give me some insight.

But in terms of the reaction for being in a country that is attacked by your country? To me, closing the school and the cultural center isn't all that bad. In Sha Allah they'll open again later. I might need a job teaching at that American school someday!

Pleasant Neighbors

My new apartment is kind of a shithole. It didn't seem that bad when I first moved in, but then I noticed the walls getting worse and worse. The roof of the bathroom began to peel and grow something like mold. My downstairs neighbors came up and told me that water was leaking down into their apartments. They were angry.

I tried to call the owner, but she didn't answer. My friend went up to the crawl space above the bathroom, where the water tank is. There wasn't even a fawasheh, which is the thing that floats up and lets the water pump know when the tank is full (I have no idea what this is called in English). My friend put one in but then no water came for several days. Going down, I found that one of my neighbors had helpfully broken my water pump and disconnected the electricity. I guess they weren't happy about the leaking.

I called the owner. She answered, finally. I told her what was up with the pump and the water tank. Uh-huh, she said. I asked if she could get a guy over to fix it. She then just hung up. I tried calling her back, but she wouldn't answer.

I managed to get a guy myself but he had to fix the water tank and put in a new electric cord down to the water pump. Finally that night the owner answered when I called her from a friend's phone. I asked why she hung up and she said she didn't answer strange numbers (we exchanged numbers when I took the apartment, so unlikely). I asked her why she hung up on me. She said she didn't know it was me, this despite my identifying myself at the beginning, her assenting, my telling her the problem. It wasn't until I asked her to get a repair guy that she hung up.

Whatever. I'm taking it out of the next rent.

Hasan and Marqus

I saw the new Adel Imam film "Hasan wMarqus" last night. I ran into Manar, who had been negotiated a late curfew by having her company be her brother's friend and his sister. We decided to catch a film at Cham Cinema.

We all liked the film. It dealt with relations between Christians and Muslims in Egypt, but was not ponderous or serious. Adel Imam plays a Coptic priest named Boulos (Paul) who is threatened by terrorists so the government sends him and his entire family into hiding as Muslims and changes his name to Hasan.

Meanwhile, a skeikh whose brother was leader of some sort of Islamist terrorist group turns down leadership and derides the movement, leading them to firebomb his house. So he and his family also go into hiding as Christians and his name is changed to Marqus.

The two families end up living across from one another. The fathers become business partners and their college-age kids fall in love, each thinking the other is of their religion. Since Adel Imam's son (real son as well) is thought to be a Muslim, and the sheikh's daughter is thought to be a Muslim, they can go out.

It was intersting because there was a notable progression of animosity. At the beginning, at a religious understanding-type conference, Muslim and Christian clerics whisper among themselves. "We have no power!" the Christians complain, "Look how few ministers we have!" Meanwhile the Muslims complain, "How often do you see a Christian begger?" Everyone in the audience laughed at that, "It's so true!" my friends next to me said.

The animosity builds into a full-out religious riot by the end, but not before much hilarity ensues. In their guise as Muslims, Adel Imam and his son must pretend to pray and are even called upon to give a religious lesson. The son responds to these invitations to pray by fainting. The son also is asked to be a candidate in student government for some Muslim student association, a request he responds to by turning and running. The sheikh pretending to be Christian has it much easier: when visited by a bunch of priests, he can claim ignorance about some of the finer points of worship by saying he had been living in America for many years. The priests understand, because irreligiousity is widespread in America and will infect even the most devout of Coptics.

The two families discover each others' secret when the love-sick kids confess their religions, each thinking the other will be happy.
"I'm Christian, like you!" says the boy.
The girl's face squinches up. "No!" she yells. "I'm Muslima!... Muslima!" She runs away.

Tension builds in the apartment and two families no longer talk. But a fire during that religious riot reunites them and they walk, Muslims and Christians, holding hands, through the fray. Together. Because in the end, we are all Egyptians!

One issue that is not addressed at the end is what's going to happen to the kids' romance. The son, now Christian, cannot marry the girl, now Muslim. That's illegal in Egypt (and Syria) though not the other way around. There's no way the son would convert because he's portrayed as very devoted to his Christian faith.

But despite this oversight, the film is good and it's probably a good time for it considering the tension between Muslims and Christians that have been building in some areas of Egypt.

After the film, my friends agreed that this kind of thing was not possible in Syria. "I've never heard anyone talk like that!" Tariq said people in Syria are scared to talk like that, against other religions. We don't want fitna."
"Look at Iraq!" someone said.

The film was also good in that it finally allowed me to refute crash. One of my friends in attendance has long harangued me about racism in America. Exhibit A is the film Crash. And Bringing Down the House. I tried to explain at the time that these films were exaggerations, hightened to make a point. "Why would they try to make themselves look worse?"

Throughout the film, this same friend criticized the extent of animosity, "It's not like this!" and "It's not this bad!" Afterwards, I asked if relations between Christians and Muslims are like this. "No! It's an exaggeration!"
"Like Crash!" I said. I think he finally got it.

Update and Consequences

Manar ran away the first week of September. For almost a month after she returned home I didn't hear from her. Her phone was off, her family refused to talk to me. Then, last week I ran into her near Rowda in Jeramana. We was alone. We both screamed and hugged excitedly. We talked briefly. She laughed when I told her about her family's insistence she was in Sweida.

"How are you alone?"
She said it had taken some time - the first two weeks she had only left the house if accompanied. But her father had at some point sat down and had a talk with her. He finally told her how he had passed out at the police station, how he had a heart attack. She promised not to run away again.

She also has a new job. She's working security at a foreign embassy in Mezzeh (turns out "security" means carrying a walkie-talkie and checking bags, which is good because the woman must be less than 5'2"). She's making 10,000 lira a month and has a two-day weekend, which is a massive improvement over her old job, where she only had friday off and made 4,000. The new job wanted some one who spoke English as well, but luckily in the interview the only question on this was "Do you speak English?" (in Arabic, naturally)
"Sure"
I met her Thursday after work and we sat at a cafe in Jeramana. We only had two hours because her new curfew is very early. She usually goes home straight from work but is now allowed to stay out until 8pm two or three nights a week.
Her parents are not pressuring her to marry anymore. At first, she said, they tried to get her to reconsider the same one from before. They arranged for him to come over. She told them that she would not get married and if they brought him over she would run away again. The matter was dropped and her mother later came to her and said they would stop pressuring her.

So Manar's life isn't ruined. There's even some good: her parents have stopped pressuring her to marry. She has a better job, with more money. She's thinking about using the money to take some English courses. More time at home means more time to study English with Friends DVDs. Her family hates me, so we have to meet outside of her home secret, but at least I don't have to worry I will never see her again. Her other friends have been able to visit her at her home, even back when she was under house arrest.



But she did tell me that her extended family has turned against her parents. Her father's family, all her uncles and aunts except for one, have informed the family that they will no longer be visiting or speaking with them because of the shame of Manar's having run away. She's back at home, but it doesn't matter. It's too shameful that she did run away for them to have relations with their brother.


It's easy to think of Manar's family as villains. She wanted things that in her words, are completely natural and normal, right? She wants to be able to go out to parties and cultural events, to have some freedom, to study, to travel, to date. To live on her own. To buy a book without being questioned about it and being told she's wasting money. To not feel pressured to hurry the fuck up and get married already at 22. These seem like completely normal things to me, since they were all natural parts of growing up where I'm from.

When Manar's brother was trying to talk her into coming out of the cupboard, he told her to imagine how life would be for him if she didn't come back home. People would laugh when he walked down the street and talk about him behind his back "his sister ran away!" When Manar's mother cradled her, she cried "binti! sharafi!" my daughter, my honor.

The consequences are great, not just for Manar, but for her whole family. Her family has lost their support system. There is no social security in Syria - your family supports you. Family is very important. And now her family has lost that network because of what Manar did - it's understandable why they acted like they did. It's also true that things could have been a lot worse - her uncle wasn't kidding when he told me if they were a different family, Manar would have been killed. They couldn't even consider the suggestion that Manar live with me.

What kind of burden is that to bear? I have been able to live my life knowing that the decisions and mistakes I make will reflect upon me, not have disastrous effects for my family. Though her extended family may come around, especially if Manar gets married someday, I have no doubt her family is blaming her for the estrangement. Her brothers naturally don't have to worry about this, they can move out of the house (one is considering it), stay out all night, travel, fuck and drink without ruining familial ties.

There's a lot of things I would have done differently if I could repeat the episode. It's useless to list these now, and I still would have chosen to help Manar. Despite how many times I got the speech "there is Arab society and Western society" from her family, and told I couldn't understand the implications of her actions as a foreigner, I still would choose to help her. She is a friend, she was in potential danger and she asked for my help. That's universal. However I know that part of the reason I was able to help was because of my situation: being a foreigner. I wasn't scared to accompany Manar with her family because while Syrian law protects a family killing their daughter, it punishes for killing the naive American with her. I'm no hero: when at her uncle's house, I mostly nodded and agreed with what her family said. When they threatened my boyfriend I apologized for helping.


I still don't know what exactly to make of the whole situation. But at the very least, Manar is well and safe and somewhat happy.

More on Attack

Um Tariq and I went to the site in the afternoon. Jaramana is not far from where car bomb went off, which is on my daily work commute. We walked there.

The bomb went off at the Saida Zeinab offramp of the highway, near the big signs for Tariq bin Ziad greeting cards. Even the earliest reports I saw fixated on how Sayda Zeinab is a Shi'i shrine and packed with Iranian tourists. It was early so news items were three short paragraphs, with one describing Sayda Zeinab and its significance and the type of pilgrims that usually come. The NYTimes for example, describes the bombing as "close to a major Shiite shrine". Then again they are reporting from Beirut, not Damascus.

Based on where the bomb actually went off, this doesn't seem that relevant to me. The offramp from the highway is still a couple miles away from Saida Zeinab. Riding a servees to Sitt Zeinab, you still have a good 15 minutes after taking this exit before actually reaching the town, with the shrine a bit further. But perhaps the American news is so used to reporting everything from this part of the world in terms of Shi'i, Sunni they thought it must be significant. The car bomb went off, geographically, much closer to Mughayyam Jeramana (Palestinian) and Jeramana (Druze and Iraqi) but none of that was mentioned in the reports.

At the site, all of the nearby apartments had busted out windows. There were a lot of parked cars around, most of which had busted out windows as well. There was glass everywhere and even little parts of car that had missed being swept up. The bomb warped nearby shops and destroyed part of a wall that apparently is a mukhabarat building, which workers were already rebuilding. The nearby school didn't look that damaged. There was a crowd of people standing around, one guy showing pictures of the smoke and fire afterwards on his cell phone to others. Um Tariq started talking to a woman who lives there. She said they first thought it was an earthquake this morning, then they saw the smoke.

Several people there said they saw the police arresting people on the site soon after the explosion. They said no one was in the car when it exploded.

Despite reading foreign reports that said the explosion happened at 8:45, the woman at the scene and all my neighbors and friends who heard it go off said it happened at about 20 to 8.

Syria news that night had an official statement from the president calling the terrorists cowards, which was repeated often throughout the broadcast. There were also interviews with the wounded in the hospital. One had been on his way to work and described seeing a car drive up onto the sidewalk, which he thought strange, and then it exploded. There were other wounded, one of whom called whoever did it "not human". It is stupid for some (ahem Daniel Pipes) in the West to criticize "moderate" Muslims for not denouncing terrorism. They are freaking denouncing! If your head wasn't up your own ass maybe you would hear! Some of the injured had been praying in the nearby mosque and got hit when leaving. It was Leilat al-Qadr, the celebration of the Quran's first relevation. Many people spend all night in a mosque, praying and reading the Quran (like Um Tariq. She invited me but I was sleepy. And not Muslim).

The report thanked God that it was Saturday, a sentiment repeated often as well. Saturday is weekend, not a schoolday, so the nearby technical and electrical engineering college and the very nearby school was closed. The school would have had something like 1000 students (I forget what the news said). While the damage was not apparent from the outside, TV cameras showed the inside, with doors knocked down, glass all over the floor, walls warped. Almost everyone interviewed, including the injured in the hospital thanked God it was not a schoolday.

Car Bomb

Car bomb exploded this morning in Damascus around 8am, where the highway meets Airport Road. Killed 17 and wounded 14, civilians. While I was sleeping, some of my friends heard it and Sale7 said he saw the smoke from his apartment. The Syrian Interior Minister on Al-Arabiyya blamed it on terrorists.

Runaway

A friend ran away from home last week. She's Druze. She's finally back at home, after a week out, fighting to stay away, and a night in prison. She didn't want to go back. I don't know how much I'm going to write about what happened, I'm still processing it.

Born in the U.S.A.

How to broach a topic like this, littered with landmines? Especially when a woman from the supposedly-enlightened bastion of freedom and equality that is the United States deigns to bestow her help and knowledge upon the poor oppressed masses of the other, chained by their religion and backwards culture and, perhaps, hummus. The portrayal of all Arab women or all Muslim women, or all non-Western women as pitiable creatures draws some of my more exasperated sighs. The falsehoods that are perpetuated, the generalization of the restriction of one country to all, the thought that the hijab might as well be a stamp marked "Please Liberate Me!". The undertone (though not always so under) accompanying much of this hand wringing that "we" are so much better. That we have achieved gender equality. That much of this is insincere is unsurprising: there's a long history of using "Save the brown woman from the brown man" to justify occupying and controlling both. Lord Cromer, the British colonial head in Egypt (1883-1907), decried the treatment of Egytian women and thundered against the veil, then went home and co-founded an anti-women's suffrage group. The sudden sympathy of American government officials for the poor Afghani woman coincidentally arising with the desire to invade brings to mind certain parallels.

And at the same time, I'm glad I was born a woman in America.

Most of the time I can't even comprehend how much privilege I have, and not just from my nationality. I am a white woman born into a middle-class educated family in America. Despite the relative strictness of my upbringing, at 18 there was never a question of my shipping off to college a thousand miles away, in New York City, no less. No sense that the honor of the entire family rested between my legs. And it doesn't in every family - but it does in some.

Just the fact that I'm here in Syria, a woman living by herself, is something. Most weekends I hang out with my guy friends more than girls because a lot of the girls have to be home at 8 or 9, or if lucky, 10.

A lot of my freedom comes from money. I could afford to travel here, can afford to get a place on my own and have no responsibilities other than myself. And sure enough, among the more well-off, daughters go off to college in Beirut or England and stay out late. And there is a contingent of girls who come from other areas of Syria to go to college in Damascus, and live alone or in groups, especially from the Jolan (whose seperation from their families is quite understandable). But I'd say from my Western woman perch that more typical is going back to Jeramana from Capoeira class with a 28-year-old woman, her cell phone ringing every 5 minutes with parents telling her to hurry up and get home, as if she can will the traffic away or the servees faster. It is 8:30 pm.

Even as pharmacists refuse to give out contraceptives, even as rape victims are blamed, even as the worth of a woman is measured in fuckability, even as lifting your t-shirt for a free hat are being trumpeted as "expressing yourself", I thank fucking God that I am woman from America.

Damascus Can Be A Tiny Place

They say there's something like 5 million people in Damascus and its environs, but honestly sometimes I feel like there are 30 with how I keep running into people.

UNFPA and SHABAB (that's an acronym) did some training of kids (15-30) for interactive theatre last week. The week ended with two performances where they did their skits on education and women's rights for youth and NGOs. I covered the training for UNFPA, showing up early and on a Saturday to get photos of the first day.

Soon, I was recognized. A guy came up to me and asked if I was "that girl" at the Danish party in Jeramana the previous Thursday night. "You dance well!" he said, which is exactly how you want people to identify you when trying to be all professional. "To Nancy Ajram - remember?"

All too well. The Thursday evening in question I and several others from Capoeira class went to a party hosted by Danes at a pool in Jeramana. They rented out the entire pool, and we ate meshawi, swam a bit, drank a bit, argeelaed a bit and danced. At one of the later points in the night, for a large group of us debke became booty shaking or raqs sharqi depending on the music. A Nancy Ajram song came on, one of those that my roommates and I back in Cairo 2006 had spent long nights dancing to, and I busted out the raqs sharqi.

For this, I was recognized by two of the interactive theatre actors who did not know each other but both happened to be at the party. Well, nice to meet you too.

Friday I skipped the first performance because of a conflict with my Capoeira class. It got out at eight, and as I was walking on Sharia Baghdad I ran into two of the actors. "Why weren't you at the show??" they demanded. "Tomorrow, in sha Allah" I said, but was a little embarrased because I was wearing a tiara.

It was my birthday, so my capoeria class had surprised me with cake and a tiara, which I was now wearing for all of Shariah Thawra and Baghdad to see.

So I think all of those people in the theatre group think I've crazy and possibly on crack. Which sucks because I know I'm going run into them in the future.

In Sha Allah Mabrouk

I had a weekend just chock-full o' parties, beginning Thursday night when I went to Um Mohammad's daughter's engagement party.

Um Mohammad is a Palestinian woman who cleans the UNFPA and sometimes we ride the servees together. We got to talking, and I no longer lament my Jeramana -Mezzeh commute as she lives in Husayniyya, out past Sitt Zenaib and the airport. It takes her an hour and half to get to work.

She further told me she had 8 girls and two sons. I remarked that it must be crazy with all those kids, to which she replied that oh, all the girls but three are married off so there's not that many. And Iya is getting engaged next week! Would you like to come? You can sleep over! We'll kick the men out so you don't have to worry, it'll just be girls!

I accepted the invitation for the party, which is how I found myself dancing with 50-year-old muhajjibas to reggaeton.

I had been expecting a lot more meat. It's almost shameful that I've been here 11 months without a single Shami wedding, but I had heard what to expect: Ladies be off by themselves, stripping down to impressively gaudy dresses and putting Rotana video to shame. But while the party was predominantly female, there were a few guys so many hijabs stayed on. This however, did not stop the Sexy Dancing. Neither did the heat, which had hit 43 C that day, compounded by the sweaty multitudes dancing inside a concrete room. I thought that I would be able to impress with my ability to bust a move, but I was put to shame by grandmothers and 12-year-olds in belly tops.

The engaged girl, Iya, who is 18, looked mostly bored as she sat on her raised platform above the revelers. She must have spent hours at the salon: makeup heavily done, each strand of hair shackled down, and everything topped off with glitter and stick-on stud rhinestones. Her pink dress had an impressive circumfrence that, when she sat, fanned out behind her. An aunt helpfully stuck a kleenex into the halter bustier to cover up the cleavage.

The groom was brought in with much fanfare and photos. The fiances looked at each other nervously when he walked up to her and took his seat next to her on the platform. For the official photos, the mother of the bride hauled out a matching pink cape to drape over her daughter's bare shoulders. The two awkwardly shuffled a dance, careful with her dress, before retaking their thrones and we, the masses, began to shimmy and debke again. Then the groom left to go back to his party in Mughayyam Jeramana.

The evening ended after 9pm, but the seeminly endless sisters of Um Mohammad and their children and children's children stayed. We sat out in the garden sipping sugary tea and talking. I had to focus a bit more than usual because they are from countryside Palestine and have a different accent: most notably they say gaff for qaff, though a few of them used kaff. They all lamented the tiny size of my family (my brother and I) while boasting of their own. Um Mohammad has her 10, one of her sisters, 13, another 12. "Palestinians love children!" they told me. Um Mohammad's 24-year-old niece has three and one on the way. There were children everywhere during the party, running underfoot, being handed off, staring at me and offering me candy.

A Syrian friend later told me, "Oh the Palestinians. They have children like they're competing against each other."

Yes Palestinians and Irish Catholics! We will breed our way into taking back our lands!

Um Mohammad and her son refused to let me go home alone. "We understand its different in Jeramana, but girls don't walk by themselves in Husayniyya." They came with all the way to Mughayyam Jeramana, despite my protests of knowing the way. Really sweet woman, Um Mohammad - since I didn't stay over I've now promised a sleepover in the near future.

I love how people say, "In sha Allah mabrouk!" (Hopefully congratulations!). It is after all just the engagement, with the actual wedding planned after a year or so. Anything could happen between now and then, so mabrouk, in sha Allah.

Middle Class Refugees

According to an official at UNHCR, one of the problems facing the Iraqi refugees in Syria is their Middle Class-ness. When the money runs out "they don't have the survival skills of most refugee populations."

Oh No You Didn't!

Maybe it's the heat, but I am not putting up with shit.

When there's a bit of harassment in a crowded area, like a servees or a souq, there's always a little doubt about whether that brush-up was intentional or not. If intentional, I want to go off on a mother so he thinks twice before oops! letting his hand wander again. If not, I don't want to be a crazy person going off a poor guy who just got caught up in the crowd. Most women go through this same calculation, I think, and many of us err on the side of "well, maybe it was accidental". Then later we think, "Oh that was totally intentional. Eww." and feel like idiots for not having at least made a scene.

But I am making some scenes.

Last week on my way to work my head was buried in my book (Bab ash-Shams, Elias Khoury) when I felt a hand graze my side. The guy next to me had shifted his weight, and his arm crossed with the other, and the hand rubbed against me a bit. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and kept reading. A little later, he leaned over and whispered something in my ear. I didn't catch but the last of it cause I wasn't paying attention, but intentions were clear.

So I straightened, and very loudly, for all the servees to hear, said "What? What do you want? Don't whisper!" Everyone looked at the dude, who looked deeply embarrassed, and didn't bother me again on the ride.

A couple of days later I was in the Jeramana servees when I relealized there was a hand at my back, on the side. I have no idea how long that hand had been there, but it belonged to the man sitting behind me, who was holding on to the seat in front of him from the side, and just managed to put his hand behind me. I didn't even think, but automatically turned and slapped the hand, which withdrew and immediately signalled for the servees to pull over so he could get his guilty ass out. Guilty as SLAP!

But the latest scene was not made by me. I was riding with some friends when one of them noticed the guy sitting across from us was engrossed by my skirt's hemline. He waved his hand in front of the guy's face, then they got into a shouting match. The other passengers calmed them down, and the man moved to another seat. Perhaps my friends overreacted, but ever since I told them about what happened when that guy attacked me, and other girlfriends jumped in with similar stories, some of the dudes have gotten very protective of us.

Dentistry

I was walking to Capeoira class famished. The UNFPA office in Mezzeh is located in a food desert. There's a little market (baqaliyya) nearby, but the owner is a douche who charges 50 lira for yogurt I can get anywhere else in Damascus for 35 lira. There was no way I could get through two hours (ok, one-and-a-half with the breaks and always-late starts) without something in my gut.

I grabbed some chips from a store outside the sports club, and began to stuff them in. Then, a crack. I spit out a small rock and part of a molar. These weren't the crappiest, cheapest chips you can buy either, but Uncle Chips. I expect no rocks when I spend 15 lira on chips, damnit! My tooth wasn't bleeding or anything so I went to Capeoira class.

Luckily in Jeramana there are a glut of dentists near my apartment on Sahat as-Suyuf. On the way back I got off early, walked into a random dentist's office, and made an appointment. The next day after work I choose tooth-colored over gold fill, and walked out 20 minutes later with a fistful of candy. I asked him why he had candy - trying to get more business? He laughed and then gave me some candy, and for the first time, asked if I was Russian. No, no, American.

It was 1000 lira ($20) total and even comes with a guarantee. Should anything happen with that tooth, he said he'll fix it for free.

Let's Be Culturally Appropriate!

With the summer has come an influx of tourists. There are many Europeans and Iranians, though not at many Gulfis as I would have expected. The Iranians are easy to pick out if I'm in hearing range to realize I don't understand a word they're saying, or if the women are wearing chador, a garment not to popular among Damascenes. Outside Sitt Ruqayya in the old city, massive groups of 30 Iranian grandmothers will sway together, cluchting their chadors and walking like penguins due to the ravages of time on their ankles. These groups move with unstoppable single-mindedness toward their goal, the Mosque, often sweeping up bystanders too weak to fight against the grandmother wave.

The Europeans are naturally easy to pick out. They wear hats to keep the sun off, have cameras around their necks, and when I see them seem to be standing around tired, sick of the heat and somewhat overwhelmed. They also wear tank tops and shorts. While the tank top is a Damascus regular, shorts are not. Even guys don't wear shorts outside of the house except rarely. Tariq was recently chided by Sale7 for wearing shorts all the way to Mezzeh from Jeramana. "You wore shorts? To Mezzeh? Eib, ya zalameh! Eib! (Shame, dude, shame!)"

The tourists wear shorts, and whatever. Not exactly in line with local sensibilities - would it kill you to open a book or ask your tour guide what might be appropriate before you go? I think most people just look at the weather forecast and think "Short weather!" At least its not like in Cairo, where tourists would walk around downtown in tank tops and short shorts (the tank top is NOT a regular in Cairo) and wonder why people were looking at them. Or visit Upper Egypt's ancient tombs in bikini tops.

But sometimes its even better when tourists try to respect local tomes of appropriateness. I see a lot of foreign women wearing hijab, though they tend to let the front of the hair show, which is more Persian or Gulfi. I wonder what they think when they see all the Syrian women walking around without hijab. Unless you are visiting a mosque, there is no reason a foreign non-Muslim needs to be wearing hijab in Syria. You're overdoing it just a bit.

And sometimes attempts to be culturally appropriate fail miserably. I saw a family of tourists in Bab Toma where the women had tried to dress more in line with the locals and wrapped their shoulders, upper arms, and chests in a shawl. However, the women had neglected their bottom halves, and were walking around in short shorts.

The best I've heard is from my roommate who was in a restaurant in Halab when two foreign women walked in. One was wearing hijab - trying a little two hard to fit in anywhere outside of mosque in my opinion - but with shorts and a spagetti strap tank top. According to my roommate the tank was low enough that the bottom of the hijab did not meet the top of her shirt, instead, viewers were treated to cleavage. How so very wrong. It's like 20 times more offensive than just walking around in your tank and shorts.

Seriously, could that lady have thought she was wearing hijab correctly? Did she not notice that no other muhajjiba walking around complemented her wrap with exposed theigh, back, and cleavage? Seriously?

The Arab Version of "Moment of Truth"

There's a few channels here that play mostly American movies and tv shows, with subtitles rather than dubbing like Turkish soap operas. Two of my friends claim to have learned English from Friends. A lot of American shows also get remade into an Arab version: "The Biggest Winner", "Who Wants to Win 2 Million [Saudi Riyal]", "Star Academy" (American Idol), and "Sing For Me a Little" which is apparently based on some American show where people try to get song lyrics correct. I used to watch some of these shows back when I lived with a Syrian family. It was back when I was even worse with accents, and so I would understand the Syrian and Lebanese contest, and then have to turn to the family to ask "Gulfi says what? Morrocan says what?"

I was watching an episode of "Moment of Truth" with some friends when they announced at the end that they are looking for contestants for the Arab version. What? For those unfamiliar, "Moment of Truth" is an American television show where people tell their deeply embarrassing secrets on national TV for money. "Have you cheated on your spouse?" "Have you ever stolen money?" "Do you blame your father for this or that?" The person's family, is seated nearby listening to every questio and answer the truthfulness of which is determined by polygraph. The show is like a horrible car accident that you can not help looking at. I've seen about 3 episodes, and in each you could almost identify the moment at which the marriage is destroyed. It's amazing what these people are willing to tell the world, destroying relationships with their family and friends, for some money. One woman I saw went home with nothing after revealing some pretty personal shit and all you could feel was bad for her. It also makes Americans look like horrible shameless money-grubbers.

And now there will potentially be an Arab version. I couldn't believe it when I first heard, and asked my friends to confirm they said what I think they said. I'm having trouble imagining Arabs going on international TV to reveal their most personal secrets for money.

Americans, I have no trouble imagining this. We take insults to our honor regularly and often joyfully. I used to work as a waitress at a bar and smile nicely at men who told me things like wanting a beer with a side of me, or most eloquently, "They say girls in glasses are good in bed." They really say that, do they? Were I propositioned in this way on the street, I would have fucked a mother up. Verbally. But at work, I smiled and suggested they try chips as a better companion to beer. At the end of the night I was crowing about my $250 in tips, whoo! We have a long history of going on television to make complete asses of ourselves: remember that ancient "Newlywed Game"? And many of us Americans also don't have a very developed sense of honor or shame: Look at the kooky things we will do just for a Klondike bar. Americans also seem less beholden to theirs parents. When confronted with the gift of life bestowed by a mother and the years of care most parents giprovide their kids an American will likely say, "Fuck you. I didn't ask to be born!"

But honor is very important for many in the Arab world. Just look at how many of my girlfriends have to be in at 9 because their neighbors might talk. There are many, especially among the upperclasses, for whom is this not an issue, but those aren't exactly the type to go on a TV show diggin' for cash. If doing something private like putting on makeup (or brushing your hair) outside in the street is weird, just imagine admitting to cheating on your husband or wife on TV. And parents! People generally seem to have them in higher regard. For a lot of Americans, if your family disapproves of your dating choice, that's their problem. They need to get over it. Here, if your family disapproves you likely ain't getting married.

Of course there is no place on earth devoid of people selling themselves. Look at the prostitutes, for a very obvious example. But still, and this is probably really naive, I am having trouble wrapping my head around an Arab "Moment of Truth".

Of course my friends and I asked ourselves if we would go on such a show, with responses from "Hell no" to "Why not? I have nothing to hide." But everyone has something to hide, even if its not the worst thing in the world, there's always something we wouldn't want everyone to know. At least I hope.

Still, I am immensly excited for the this Arab "Moment of Truth", whenever it comes out.

Anything Strange is Shameful

I asked some friends about why a stranger would see the need to call me out about brushing my hair on a micro. Their reaction: "You brushed your HAIR on the MICRO?"
"I was running late."
"Why didn't you just brush your teeth too?"

They confirmed that it is 'Eib (Shameful) to do these things, because no one does them. I asked why no one does them, and was told because they are shameful. I see circular logic.
"So what if I'm brushing my hair?"
"People just don't do that. It's shameful."
"But why?"
"Anything strange is shameful"

Since as a foreigner I am by definition strange, I am therefor by definition shameful.

Capoeira and Crazy Globalization

I've been going to Capoeira class for two weeks now, and it is amazing. I can actually touch my toes now! Class is held 4 days a week, 2 at Theatro, a theatre near suq hamadiya, and 2 in a room behind Nadi Barada (Damascus' most expensive health club).

Capoeira is a Brazilian fighting style/dance that works up a freaking sweat (though almost anything does in this heat). After the first day I was so sore I had trouble moving. It was a vision of being old and getting out of any chair required a groaned "ya rab".

The class is mostly Syrian dudes and foreign girls and NYU alums. There's a few Syrian girls and a few foreign guys, but mostly its the other way around. As for NYU, I don't know how this happened but there seems to be an NYU-Damascus shuttle: there's me, a girl names Kate, a guy named Ben, and another girl just at Capoeira, in addition to the NYU Ph.D I hear is floating around the city and another dude I graduated with.

The instructor is an Algerian guy named Mousa whose Arabic is a little weak having lived most of his life in Germany and being Berber, not Arab. I first went to class with two guy friends who were surprised that an Algerian would be bad at Arabic. "Then again, they all speak French over there," they said. I told them that he doesn't speak Arabic cause he's Berber. He speaks Berber. He told me he learned most his Arabic since moving to Syria.

My friends were shocked to learned that Berbers exist, because they said that sounds like something really ancient. And were shocked to learn that there is a Berber language (actually, several of them).
"Don't you remember that Moroccan kid in my class last fall? He lived in Belgium since he was a kid and learned Berber from his parents."

Americans are always given flack for being complete dumbasses about the outside world, and I sometimes take this flack (how many people told me how they had heard only a third of Americans can identify Iran, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Iraq on a map). The first time I went to Syria, in 2006, I remember a man on a bus asking me if I knew who the president of Syria is. When I answered correctly, he looked genuinely impressed. "Bravo!" And how many times do I get asked about "How can Americans not know what's going on in Palestine!"

But seriously, how can you not know that Berbers exist? I don't think everyone can know everything about everwhere, but this is within the Arab world and a major part of North African countries' (وهي بلدان شقيقة) history and culture and politics. I mean, damn. Perhaps this is a consequence of Syria's focus on Arab Unity, so not much is said about non-Arabs in Arab countries. But still.

But though Mousa's Arabic isn't stellar (but totally workable), he does speak Berber, German, French, English, and Portugese as well so he's no slouch in the language department (I envy him). During class he often gives instruction in Arabic, English, and sometimes French (there's a woman and her mother who come who speak French).

We end most classes with a circle, banging on instruments and trying to sing in Portugese while people spar in the middle. Since no one actually knows Portugese except Mousa, we mostly just try to keep up phonetically, and are probabling singing no words recognizable to any Brazilian. But we have fun. The last two classes I've been dragged into sparring, two weeks being apparently enough time in the womb. There's a group that's been doing this for 9 months or so, and they run circles around me while I jinga back and forth, dropping to the floor with incorrect technique as my bum knee doesn't allow me to make all the movements.

It might be a sign of the times for a bunch of Syrians, Americans, and Europeans to be learning a Brazilian dance from a Berber German Algerian. A fun sign.

Ilhamdulah!

The water finally came!

Last week, the water stopped coming. Usually we just turn on the motor and the water tank fills up, and we're good for the next two days or so. But last week, it just stopped coming. And didn't come back.

The dishes piled up, clothes could not be washed. I bathed using the drinking water. I polled the neighbors, and found out it was at least a building-wide problem. Until the 4th day in, when the across-the-hall neighbors' water magically returned but the upstairs neighbors and I were without.

Then, after six days, just like in the Bible, a miracle happened and water returned.

And the seventh became a day of washing and thanking the Lord and taking showers. There was much cheering and the clanking of dishes.

Thanks for the Advice

I'd have to say that after 10 months of Syria, I do occasionally miss the "I don't give a fuck about you, you don't give a fuck about me" attitude of New York. Especially when strangers feel like they need to give you unsolicited advice.

Yesterday I was riding the micro to work, a little late. The horribly insane heat has made sleeping rather difficult, and thus waking rather difficult as well. On these days I essentially brush my teeth and put on pants, grabbing breakfast for the 45-minute ride ahead. Sometimes I also brush my hair on the micro, waiting until no one is sharing a seat with me. When I got off the micro yesterday this guy got off too, and then started trying to talk to me. It was the usual, where are you from, your Arabic is very good, how long have you been here. Then:
"Can I tell you something without you getting upset?"
"What is it?"
He laughed at the abruptness of my sentence, the exasperation.
"You shouldn't brush your hair on the micro. You're a very pretty girl and it's not good."
Not good how? And is it alright for uggos to brush their hair in public, or was that just mujamale to soften the blow of realizing how wrong my hair brushing had been."
"Oh, it's just that I was late today-"
"No, I see you on this micro a lot and you brush your hair a lot."
"I'm late a lot."

Then at capoeira class, I arrived a little early and had to wait for the boys to finish in the changing room. I chatted a bit with Mousa, the Algerian instructor, while a nearby dude suddenly broke out laughing "She speaks Arabic better than him! You (Mousa) are asli (here meaning of an Arab country) but she is speaking much better. Ha ha! She even speaks Shami!" He then repeated some of the "very Shami" phrases I had said (Mousa, while Algerian, has spent most of his life in Germany and is Berber, not Arab).

There was another dude nearby who started talking to me in fusha, formal Arabic. People do this to foreigners a lot because they we learn fusha, not ammiya, in school. But this guy was asking why I don't speak fusha. He started lecturing me about how I should speak fusha because it is the pure language. When someone goes to America, he said, they should learn real English, not slang. When he learned French, he learned the proper language, he said, switching into French to reiterated la pure langue. Why would you learn the language of the streets?

Because I want to talk to people. Turns out he's Tunisian, not Syrian, but has lived here for 18 years with his Syrian wife.

But, he said, I have not strayed from correct Arabic.

He continued to try to convince me that I should speak fusha. I told him I know fusha, and I write and read fusha, and fusha has its place, but so does ammiya. What's wrong with that. He then dared me to prove I can speak fusha to him, so I did, but not as smooth as the Syrian since I never practice speaking in fusha. I just left the conversation once the changing room was open because I don't need to listen to some asshole go on and on about how every one should speak the correct Arabic, especially foreigners, and how street language is disgusting. Get off it.

Then he told me I should work on my pronunciation. Oh my God really? I got this same advice from a doctor who had lived for 20 odd years in the Michigan a couple of months ago. Do they think I am oblivious to how foreign I sound? Am I supposed to snap up and go "By Jones, you're right! Pronunciation! Why did I never think of that?" Plus, shit isn't all that bad if people understand me and I am occaisonally mistaken for Lebanese or Tunisian (or in Tunis, Syrian). But thanks for the advice: I'm sure I'll start asking the storekeeper for a half kilo of cheese in formal Arabic any day now.

There's certain kinds of advice that are fine. If I'm saying something incorrectly, please correct me. If you can see the money poking out the top of my pants pocket, go ahead and tell me to tuck it down (which happens all the time).

But on other stuff, I wish some people would just stay out of my crap. It's not hurting you, so why you gotta tell me?

Government Hospital

I thought I was having a bad day. Yesterday I was still recovering from my cold, had a pretty frustrating day at work (whoever said that the internal workings of the UN are like seeing sausage made - best avoided, was very true), and only upon arriving in Jerimana, realizing I had left my key in the office on the other side of Damascus. Then I got some chili powder in my eye while making Endomi (like ramen) soup.

By 7:00 I was ready to go to Capoeira, the Brazilian dance/fighting thing that Tariq, Saleh, and I been doing for a week. Tariq's little brother planned to hit up Tariq's work, right next to the class, and all go together. Quarter to seven I call to let him know we're around the corner, but some one else picks up and lets me know "Tariq is very busy, he's doing a lot of work right now."

We go to the office and get greeted by Tariq's boss and a coworker, who are very happy to meet his little brother. "Tariq will be back in 10 minutes" Abu Ous tells us, so we sit and chitchat. 15 minutes later I'm asking, "Where the hell is he?"
"At the hospital or doctor's"
"What?"
"He seperated his shoulder." For the 17th time, I might add.
"When?"
"Oh, about 10 minutes before you guys came in. They rushed off to the doctor."

I like how we were just sitting there for 15 minutes and no one told us what was up, nor had Tariq's coworker who picked up the phone. Even though we said we were on our way to the office, and then waiting for him, apparently no one wanted to make us worry.

Tariq's little brother and I go to the doctor's, where every one has decided to go to the hospital because this doctor is an asshole, anyway. We go to Mushtahid - government hospital.

The emergency room has no orderly checkin, but a collection of green-sheeted gurneys with dividers that can be closed. The gurney Tariq sat on had a few small blood stains and there was bloody gauze on the floor. Groups of people were huddled around each gurney, which mostly contained children with casts. I was afraid this would be a nightmare of trying to get a doctor's attention, but one came over within a minute, assessed the problem, handed him over to a technician for xrays, and within 5 minutes xrays were done.

Returning to the emergency room, the doctor and technician shooed us away, and closed the curtain. Tariq's screams reverberated across the emergency room as they readjusted his shoulder. Then the doctor came out, told us "It's a boy," and revealed a paled Tariq. Tariq's coworker ran off to get some wrap for the arm, and within 5 minutes the second set of xrays to make sure the shoulder was in place were done. Doctor wrapped up his arm, and we were out: no bill, no nothing. The whole thing had taken about a half an hour. We only paid for the arm wrap.

Much better experience than the private hospital we had to go to when Tariq's shoulder seperated last time: cleaner, faster and free. The only pro for private as far as Tariq was concerned was that the private hospital had given him drugs and he hadn't felt a thing during the readjustment.

As we left Tariq's little brother was amazed to find out that we don't have free hospitals in the States. "So if some one's poor they'll just let him die?"
"Well, usually they'll do the surgery and then he or his family will have massive debts."

Grammar SMACKDOWN!

Last week's workshop was pretty cool - I feel like I've learned so much on Syrian media. I was there helping with logistics, mostly doing everything technology as I was the youngest one present. Every time the power point needed setting up or the instructor wanted to play a clip, it was youngest-person-in-the-room to the rescue! We are at one with technology, those who cannot imagine writing a school paper without the internet, the children of the 90s.

But I was also allowed to participate. And while I can understand college-level lecture, I don't know how I'd fare in any class. In exercises for the instructor they would come back covered with corrections but have "mumtaz!" at the bottom, because I'm foreign and at least I'm trying.

It was quite heartening when the instructor spent a session on grammar mistakes and had us correct a text together. I was all over "it's قال إن" not " قال أن". And on the last day the journalists turned in their group reports on subject related to UNFPA's mandate: reproductive health, AIDS, youth, gender equality. On one groups' report the first sentence began "ما تزال ظاهرة " and I was all, "grammar error smackdown!" Even though when I write in Arabic there are still tons of errors, it's nice to know that even trained Arab journalists, who when to school for this, make grammar mistakes, and that grammar is an issue in many publications.

I related this exciting story to a friend later who said there was nothing wrong with the verb as is. I told him you can't negate a present tense with ما so they either need to say ما زالت or لا تزال . He disagreed and told me the ما was not a negation here, but it really is. Seriously. I then asked him was زال means and he told me still or continue, when it actually means to kinda disappear or go away, thus with a negation it means the equivalent of English "still".

I know it's embarrassing when a non-native speaker corrects YOUR language, but it happens to me in English more than I'd like to admit. This is why I don't want to teach English: I'd be afraid of being called out daily. I mean, I can write or speak grammatically correct English and did take one grammer class in high school, but the various explanations behind "this sounds wrong" or "this sounds right" ellude me, so in the nitty gritty questions I'd just prefer to leave the room. This winter, I spent a few good weeks pondering the English equivalent of من اربعة شهور or the like. If the action is continuing, it's not "four months ago", and "from four months" which I found muself using in English conversation is literal and not actually used. I told a Syrian friend who asked "since four months ago, I think. yeah." I guess we don't have an exact match for that phrase, but make do depending on the preceding question.
"When did you start college?"
"Four months ago."
"How long have you been in college?"
"for four months."

I don't know. My head hurts. I also can't spell in any language. When friends ask me what is this word in English and to write it down for them, it's only on the second or third try that I think the word "looks right", and still tell them to go check me in a dictionary cause I'm not sure. I try to tell them that I all my writing on computers who correct me, but they still look at me trying to figure out I am not joking in that I cannot spell my own language.

Speaking of media, Wednesday evening, Syrian TV news incorrectly identified the Israeli knesset as being in Tel Aviv, not Jerusalem. As a friend said of it: If any one should know where the knesset it, we should. They hadn't actually seen the broadcast, nor had I, but heard of it through the office. No one actually watches Syrian TV except during Ramadan.

Sorry to Brag

I've been attending a workshop this week, and thus have not had the usual idle moments at work in which to jot a few thoughts about life and shit, as it is technically known. The workshop has been awesome, the Ministry of Information and UNFPA are conducting it for Syrian journalists.

It's convinced me that I could understand a college-level lecture in Arabic, which is exciting in itself. There are naturally some words I don't understand, but they are few enough I can jot them in a notebook for later, and do not affect my understanding the lecture.

It reminds me of going to a play within my first few months here, and my friends told me to jot down any words I didn't understand. 20 minutes in there were two words on the paper and the dude next to me asked if I understood the play. "No."
"Why didn't you write down words you didn't understand?"
"I don't understand enough to write down words!"

I can now write down words.

It's also exciting because the trainer isn't speaking Syrian, but what I think is part Palestinian (at least in pronounciation) and part Egyptian (there are quite a bit of Egyptian constructions). Of course, he also is speaking in times in fusha, though at this point I understand Syrian more easily than even fusha.

So yeah, sorry to brag but this is exciting for me. And at the end of the course I will get a certificate! Yes!