My family doesn't do to much. The father is retired, the one remaining son at home graduated from law school in May and is kind of chilling, and all the other children are married and in Lattakia or in Britain studying. They sleep, they eat, they visit the neighbors and have the neighbors over, but mostly what they do is watch TV.
Al-Jazeera has a documentary channel that shows all documentaries, all the time. Most are obviously bought from America, England, France, and dubbed into Arabic. Any documentary is game, the channel being a uniform only of type, not of subject. Torture and Kidnap: American Style (from England, about rendition), how Airbus planes are made, the Mongol Conquest, and nature documentaries are all fair game.
The latter are quite common, and my family loves them, and I love watching them with my family. Um Mazen gives a running commentary. When a strange looking creature pops up, Um Mazen always proclaims "Subhan Allah!" (used to express awe at God's creation). Weird-ass fish: Subhan Allah! Thousands of penguins all sitting on their eggs: Subhan Allah! A Chameleon shoots its tongue out half a foot to eat a bug: Subhan Allah!
When the predator inevitably catches they prey, Um Mazen intones ya haram! or ya latif! (catch-all phrases for bad things). When lemurs walk up cacti, ya latif! When a baby seal is shown floundering around on the ice, ya haram! so weak!
These are but highlights in the running commentary, which also includes laughing, commands that the rest of us look at something cute, and spoilers if it's a documentary she's seen previously (Now the snake's going to eat him, ya haram!)
Last night was the icing on the cake when, watching one about the Anartic, I learned the word for seal: فقمة. Seems innocent, but when pronounced with the qaff and the Syrian accent on the taa marbuta (turns -ah into -eh) this word becomes fuqme. I started laughing when Iyad first said the word, to which Um Mazen said, "What's so funny? That's his name. Fuqme. Fuqme." And Abu Mazen joined in "Fuqme!"
I cried from laughing.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Talking 'bout the Ladies
Last night I went to the Arab Cultural Center in Adawi, just a few winding alleys away from my home. Tucked back away from the major streets, it is a oddly-placed grand building.
I went for a lecture on the "Cultural Marginilization of Women" led by Lena Mabardi, a TV journalist here with a Dutch kid from my class and Iyad, the mid-to-late 20s law school graduate who is the only remaining son of the family I live with (I don't want to say host brother). The large auditorium was mostly empty, and then the power went out. We located to a more intimite side room, lit by two battery-lamps. There were about 3 old guys, who looked as though they might just go to every cultural event out of boredom, 2 other guys, the female director of the center, 2 other women, Iyad, Marios from my class, and me.
Ms. Mabardi read a piece she had written, of which I caught most. The discussion afterwards was in 'ammiya, and I understood almost everything, leaving me in the strange place where I understand 'ammiya better than fusha. I guess I do get more practice listening to 'ammiya, but still, strange. The discussion was very friendly and laid-back. A muhijaba (veiled woman) questioned Ms. Mabardi about some of the things she had said about Islam's role in this marginilization, and agreed with much of what she said, Ms. Marbadi had spoken about the relative freedom of women in some pre-Islamic Middle Eastern societies such as Egypt. A man who identified himself as an independent studier of culture cited studies in which women themselves treat their boys better than their girls. I wanted to jump in at that point citing my own research on the topic (and how it intersects with the IMF), but that shit took me 30+ pages to explain in English.
The director then called out the obviousness of Marios' and my foreigness, asking us where we were from and what we were doing. This is always when I'm worst at Arabic, when I'm put on the spot and have to speak in front of a room of people.
America? she said. Can you tell us about the situation for women in America?
Uh, in general?
Yes. Is thate equality, for example? Go ahead.
What a wide question. I struggle with this somewhat, between talking about the US as a glorious wonderland of gender equality, which it is not, and denigrating it as comodifier and exploiter of women. For example, were I to wax on how wonderful it is that young women in America live alone and date and fuck with impunity, I would be met with: that's equality? The men are using these women and not marrying them. Aren't they heartbroken? Don't you have problems with teenage pregnancy and abortion? Aren't the women all starving themselves and getting plastic surgery (like they aren't here?). But my friends are a jealous of the freedom with which I travel and live apart from my family. I want to communicate that while not perfect, there has been a lot of progress and as a woman, I prefer it to Syria. The problem isn't the laws, it's the families. My girlfriends here don't have to be home at 10pm because of the state, or Islam (certainly not the Christian and Druze ones) but because of gossiping neighbors.
So I talked about how the feminism of the 60s and 70s achieved a lot of changes in laws, and because of that women of my generation feel like we don't have to fight against anything, and we buy into the image of the perfect woman. We've changed the laws but we still need to change society, I said. This was agreed upon by all present. Yes, said another Syrian woman, like here. Most laws are equal, but it is society that marginilizes women.
After the discussion Ms. Mabardi chatted with me and gave me her contact info. I'm asking her to send me her piece so we can read it in class.
I went for a lecture on the "Cultural Marginilization of Women" led by Lena Mabardi, a TV journalist here with a Dutch kid from my class and Iyad, the mid-to-late 20s law school graduate who is the only remaining son of the family I live with (I don't want to say host brother). The large auditorium was mostly empty, and then the power went out. We located to a more intimite side room, lit by two battery-lamps. There were about 3 old guys, who looked as though they might just go to every cultural event out of boredom, 2 other guys, the female director of the center, 2 other women, Iyad, Marios from my class, and me.
Ms. Mabardi read a piece she had written, of which I caught most. The discussion afterwards was in 'ammiya, and I understood almost everything, leaving me in the strange place where I understand 'ammiya better than fusha. I guess I do get more practice listening to 'ammiya, but still, strange. The discussion was very friendly and laid-back. A muhijaba (veiled woman) questioned Ms. Mabardi about some of the things she had said about Islam's role in this marginilization, and agreed with much of what she said, Ms. Marbadi had spoken about the relative freedom of women in some pre-Islamic Middle Eastern societies such as Egypt. A man who identified himself as an independent studier of culture cited studies in which women themselves treat their boys better than their girls. I wanted to jump in at that point citing my own research on the topic (and how it intersects with the IMF), but that shit took me 30+ pages to explain in English.
The director then called out the obviousness of Marios' and my foreigness, asking us where we were from and what we were doing. This is always when I'm worst at Arabic, when I'm put on the spot and have to speak in front of a room of people.
America? she said. Can you tell us about the situation for women in America?
Uh, in general?
Yes. Is thate equality, for example? Go ahead.
What a wide question. I struggle with this somewhat, between talking about the US as a glorious wonderland of gender equality, which it is not, and denigrating it as comodifier and exploiter of women. For example, were I to wax on how wonderful it is that young women in America live alone and date and fuck with impunity, I would be met with: that's equality? The men are using these women and not marrying them. Aren't they heartbroken? Don't you have problems with teenage pregnancy and abortion? Aren't the women all starving themselves and getting plastic surgery (like they aren't here?). But my friends are a jealous of the freedom with which I travel and live apart from my family. I want to communicate that while not perfect, there has been a lot of progress and as a woman, I prefer it to Syria. The problem isn't the laws, it's the families. My girlfriends here don't have to be home at 10pm because of the state, or Islam (certainly not the Christian and Druze ones) but because of gossiping neighbors.
So I talked about how the feminism of the 60s and 70s achieved a lot of changes in laws, and because of that women of my generation feel like we don't have to fight against anything, and we buy into the image of the perfect woman. We've changed the laws but we still need to change society, I said. This was agreed upon by all present. Yes, said another Syrian woman, like here. Most laws are equal, but it is society that marginilizes women.
After the discussion Ms. Mabardi chatted with me and gave me her contact info. I'm asking her to send me her piece so we can read it in class.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Gaza
Did you know that a few primitive rockets can serve as justification for starving 1.5 million people?
Fortunately, Hamas blew up the border and Palestinians are streaming into Egypt in order to buy... flour.
Fortunately, Hamas blew up the border and Palestinians are streaming into Egypt in order to buy... flour.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Damascus: Capital of Arab Culture 2008
Damascus is the capital of Arab culture for 2008 (as decided by UNESCO). Some one told me that last year it was Riyadh. Really? Why? I thought the point of these designations was to increase tourism, and Saudi doesn't encourage tourism other than to Mecca and Medina (there isn't even a such thing as a tourist visa).
But Damascus knows how to do it right, starting out with a star-studded fireworks-laden celebration outside Dar al-Asad for Culture and Art. I didn't go, but it looked pretty awesome on TV: photos. The President and First Lady of Turkey were in attendance, as well as the Emir of Qatar and Amir Moussa, head of the Arab League. Is there any coincidence between Qatar not being on Bush's itinery last week, though he had time to visit every other Gulfi, and the Emir's gracing the celebration with his prescence?
Coming soon as part of the year-long celebration: Farouz concert!!! Well, Fairouz in a singing play, but still, it's been 30 years since she's sang in Syria. The cheapest tickets cost somewhere between $100-200. Fairouz loves sharing her music with the people!
But Damascus knows how to do it right, starting out with a star-studded fireworks-laden celebration outside Dar al-Asad for Culture and Art. I didn't go, but it looked pretty awesome on TV: photos. The President and First Lady of Turkey were in attendance, as well as the Emir of Qatar and Amir Moussa, head of the Arab League. Is there any coincidence between Qatar not being on Bush's itinery last week, though he had time to visit every other Gulfi, and the Emir's gracing the celebration with his prescence?
Coming soon as part of the year-long celebration: Farouz concert!!! Well, Fairouz in a singing play, but still, it's been 30 years since she's sang in Syria. The cheapest tickets cost somewhere between $100-200. Fairouz loves sharing her music with the people!
It's Snowing!!!
Holy crap it's snowing! AND sticking to the ground. This is a rare event in Damascus, where it snows maybe once a year, and hardly ever accumulates.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Look at the Foreign Freak!
My family had guests over last night (I had spent the day, Ashoura, in Sitt Zeinab, more on that later) from their relatives. They tested in my Arabic, with them deciding that I am "shatoura" (clever). Are you happy here? I was asked about how I could possibly live apart from my family, don't I miss them all the time. It was also suggested that I quickly marry a Syrian and stay here forever. Then they turned to one another and began to talk about me.
"Can she read?"
"Yes, you know, but she can't read the scroll at the bottom of the screen and understand the news at the same time."
"But she speaks alright. Does she understand?" (after a conversation in which I at no point had trouble understanding anyone, granted it was about easy subjects such as: why I'm not married, when I'm going to return to America, what I like about Syria, did you really live alone in America away from your parents, really?)
"Yes she's gotten much better but she can't understand us if we speak quickly, so we have to speak slowly" said Um Mazen. "She only studies fusha."
I cut in, saying, "Actually I can understand you. I study fusha but I know some 'ammiya."
Abu Mazen turned to me and said (in English, slowly) " Yes, 'ammiyya hard. (before switching to Arabic) in fusha, 'matha tureedeen' [what do you want], in 'ammiya 'shou bedik' [what do you want] eh? Shou bedik. (back to english) Change!"
This is not the first time Abu Mazen has illustrated the difference between fusha and 'ammiya. It's like he thinks I live in a bubble, and after over 4 months I have not realized that people around me are not speaking formal Arabic on the street, and have not endevoured to learn this crazy 'ammiya. The son, Iyad, with whom I have stayed up many nights talking about politics and society, has told his father many times, several with me present, that I know. That actually, I'm quite comfortable in Arabic. That he doesn't need to use his knowledge of some English words to help because I already know "egg," "sun," and "spoon." Or, which somehow still manages to surprise people after being informed that I've studied 2.5 years of Arabic, that I can read.
I told a story about how I had trouble understanding a word that one of the Iraqi parents of the kids I teach said, a word that apparently means "home" and doesn't exist in Syrian (he was asking where I lived in Damascus and I was all "Where is my WHAT?" until he finally said "manzilik" and I was all "ooooh" and he laughed) Iyad told me about how a few years ago, when the refugees started arriving, he didn't know what "makou" meant, until some one finally told him that it means "mafi" (there is no/ are none). Abu Mazen once again broke in to explain that Iraqi is different than Syrian, and both makou and mafi mean "la yujid" in fusha. I know mafi, I said.
But thanks.
At least it was better than when I was hanging out at Tariq's house, watching a movie with some friends and his mom came in because her friend was over and wanted to see "the American." I was able to beg off until the end of the film, at which point I was exhibited to the friend, who said, "oh, pretty. Does she speak Arabic?" Then the friend demanded that I marry a Syrian. "Why not Tariq?" she said. "Or come with me to my house and I'll show you some good young men!"
"Can she read?"
"Yes, you know, but she can't read the scroll at the bottom of the screen and understand the news at the same time."
"But she speaks alright. Does she understand?" (after a conversation in which I at no point had trouble understanding anyone, granted it was about easy subjects such as: why I'm not married, when I'm going to return to America, what I like about Syria, did you really live alone in America away from your parents, really?)
"Yes she's gotten much better but she can't understand us if we speak quickly, so we have to speak slowly" said Um Mazen. "She only studies fusha."
I cut in, saying, "Actually I can understand you. I study fusha but I know some 'ammiya."
Abu Mazen turned to me and said (in English, slowly) " Yes, 'ammiyya hard. (before switching to Arabic) in fusha, 'matha tureedeen' [what do you want], in 'ammiya 'shou bedik' [what do you want] eh? Shou bedik. (back to english) Change!"
This is not the first time Abu Mazen has illustrated the difference between fusha and 'ammiya. It's like he thinks I live in a bubble, and after over 4 months I have not realized that people around me are not speaking formal Arabic on the street, and have not endevoured to learn this crazy 'ammiya. The son, Iyad, with whom I have stayed up many nights talking about politics and society, has told his father many times, several with me present, that I know. That actually, I'm quite comfortable in Arabic. That he doesn't need to use his knowledge of some English words to help because I already know "egg," "sun," and "spoon." Or, which somehow still manages to surprise people after being informed that I've studied 2.5 years of Arabic, that I can read.
I told a story about how I had trouble understanding a word that one of the Iraqi parents of the kids I teach said, a word that apparently means "home" and doesn't exist in Syrian (he was asking where I lived in Damascus and I was all "Where is my WHAT?" until he finally said "manzilik" and I was all "ooooh" and he laughed) Iyad told me about how a few years ago, when the refugees started arriving, he didn't know what "makou" meant, until some one finally told him that it means "mafi" (there is no/ are none). Abu Mazen once again broke in to explain that Iraqi is different than Syrian, and both makou and mafi mean "la yujid" in fusha. I know mafi, I said.
But thanks.
At least it was better than when I was hanging out at Tariq's house, watching a movie with some friends and his mom came in because her friend was over and wanted to see "the American." I was able to beg off until the end of the film, at which point I was exhibited to the friend, who said, "oh, pretty. Does she speak Arabic?" Then the friend demanded that I marry a Syrian. "Why not Tariq?" she said. "Or come with me to my house and I'll show you some good young men!"
Yes, Tunisian
I had to go to the far store, a 5-minute walk away, as opposed to the the one in my alley because the latter had no diet coke and I was studying. At the far store, I bought some coke and candy, and the owner asked if I was Tunisian.
Um, what? No, I replied, American.
"American?"
Since this is the second time I have been mistaken for Tunisian, and I am now even farther from Tunisia, I asked why he thought I was Tunisian. "Do I look Tunisian?"
"No, but you speak with a Tunisian accent." I don't even know what a Tunisian accent sounds like, but I'll take it!
Um, what? No, I replied, American.
"American?"
Since this is the second time I have been mistaken for Tunisian, and I am now even farther from Tunisia, I asked why he thought I was Tunisian. "Do I look Tunisian?"
"No, but you speak with a Tunisian accent." I don't even know what a Tunisian accent sounds like, but I'll take it!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I Make a Funny
Humor in a new language is always tricky. While some humor is immediately transferable, i.e. وين شهاتي؟ Where are my sandals?
انت شهاتة\ ابوك شهاتة You are a sandal/ Your father is a sandal*
a lot of the funny takes some practice and lots of failed, lame jokes.
My friends here tell me I am funny. Mostly on accident. For example, saying "I execute" أعدم rather than "I support" أدعم my mother in her attempt to make the Olympics this summer. This statement was met with laughter as no one present thought I actually meant to kill my mother. Other times, like when I mixed up "patience" and "boob" the matter took a few minutes to sort out. ("Why are you talking about her boob?" "Because I like her boob. She never gets exasperated and always corrects my mistakes in speaking." "What?")
The first joke I made on purpose was back the first week I arrived in Syria. I ate dinner at Ra'id's house, and when I complimented his mother on the deliciousness of the food, she replied "Health!". This is the normal thing to say with food, with the meaning "may it give you health." The proper reply, I had learned the day before, is "On your heart." Um Ra'id continuted to wish me good health throughout the meal, throwing in a "sahatayn!" (two healths - the dual is often used as as intensifier) so I replied "3ala 'albaynik" (on your two hearts). Ok, so kind of a lame joke, but the effort was applauded.
Lately, things have been getting better. A few puns here and there. My friend Manar asked me if "the cultural things" are ever hard on my friendships with Syrians. No, I replied, for I am an open girl (بنت مفتوحة). Open in the sense of open-minded is more correctly mutafatteha, not maftouha, which implies that I am a slut (which, as we all know, and overcome any cultural misunderstanding). She thought it was funny, but told me never ever to repeat it again in front of anyone, as they would "get the wrong idea." She made me promise.
Yesterday I also made a pun. In Syrian, "womanizer" is نسوانجي (niswanji). My friend Tariq's brother Tarif hogs the sobia (see: how fucking cold Damascus is right now) of whatever room he is in, so I christened him a sobianji (sobia-izer) yesterday. "That's clever. I'm going to use that," said Tariq. Go me!
*Proceed cautiously with "your mother" jokes, unless you know the person extremely well and insulting one another's family members is no big deal, or you can take them in a fight.
انت شهاتة\ ابوك شهاتة You are a sandal/ Your father is a sandal*
a lot of the funny takes some practice and lots of failed, lame jokes.
My friends here tell me I am funny. Mostly on accident. For example, saying "I execute" أعدم rather than "I support" أدعم my mother in her attempt to make the Olympics this summer. This statement was met with laughter as no one present thought I actually meant to kill my mother. Other times, like when I mixed up "patience" and "boob" the matter took a few minutes to sort out. ("Why are you talking about her boob?" "Because I like her boob. She never gets exasperated and always corrects my mistakes in speaking." "What?")
The first joke I made on purpose was back the first week I arrived in Syria. I ate dinner at Ra'id's house, and when I complimented his mother on the deliciousness of the food, she replied "Health!". This is the normal thing to say with food, with the meaning "may it give you health." The proper reply, I had learned the day before, is "On your heart." Um Ra'id continuted to wish me good health throughout the meal, throwing in a "sahatayn!" (two healths - the dual is often used as as intensifier) so I replied "3ala 'albaynik" (on your two hearts). Ok, so kind of a lame joke, but the effort was applauded.
Lately, things have been getting better. A few puns here and there. My friend Manar asked me if "the cultural things" are ever hard on my friendships with Syrians. No, I replied, for I am an open girl (بنت مفتوحة). Open in the sense of open-minded is more correctly mutafatteha, not maftouha, which implies that I am a slut (which, as we all know, and overcome any cultural misunderstanding). She thought it was funny, but told me never ever to repeat it again in front of anyone, as they would "get the wrong idea." She made me promise.
Yesterday I also made a pun. In Syrian, "womanizer" is نسوانجي (niswanji). My friend Tariq's brother Tarif hogs the sobia (see: how fucking cold Damascus is right now) of whatever room he is in, so I christened him a sobianji (sobia-izer) yesterday. "That's clever. I'm going to use that," said Tariq. Go me!
*Proceed cautiously with "your mother" jokes, unless you know the person extremely well and insulting one another's family members is no big deal, or you can take them in a fight.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Ice on the Ground
It is cold now, a cold that my family, the oldest members of which are mid-60s, claim to never have seen the likes of previous. My family blames me for bringing it with me from America. Yesterday was -1 C at 1pm, an insane temperature here in Damascus, where supposedly the temperature only dips below freezing at night for a week or two total. It is now even colder at night. Riyadh hit a low of -5C yesterday. There was snow in Baghdad. There is ice on the ground here: frozen water! The rarity of this should be evident in the Arabic language itself, while Inuit are said to have something like 40 words for snow, Arabic has one word for both snow and ice.
Before you scoff and stare out your window in Michigan, New York, or any more northern clime at the foot of snow and the thermometer reading -10, you should know that the cold in Damascus is just so much colder. There is no central heating, so instead family members crowd around sobias (gas burning little stove-things) or sleepers try to position the electric space heater close enough to the bed to warm them a bit during the night, but not so close as to set the blankets on fire (so far so good). This is the case in many apartments, where there is only one sobia so everyone gathers together. If you want to hang out in another, sobia-less room, you had better bring some booze or huddle umcomfortably close to your friends.
The cold is even worse in beyt arabis, such as my house. There is no roof, just rooms off a central courtyard, so when I walk in the front door and close it behind me I am still outside. The kitchen too is essentially outside, which means I brush my teeth wearing gloves. The cruelest part is the shower: I must wake up an hour early to turn on the water heater, then an hour later, after the nice, warm shower, I have to get from the bathroom back to my room, walking outside.
My room is also so cold in the morning, leaving those sheets is like leaving the womb every single morning, it makes me want to cry. I don't usually leave the space heater on since I am understandably scared of more fires, I don't really have blankets to spare.
Before you scoff and stare out your window in Michigan, New York, or any more northern clime at the foot of snow and the thermometer reading -10, you should know that the cold in Damascus is just so much colder. There is no central heating, so instead family members crowd around sobias (gas burning little stove-things) or sleepers try to position the electric space heater close enough to the bed to warm them a bit during the night, but not so close as to set the blankets on fire (so far so good). This is the case in many apartments, where there is only one sobia so everyone gathers together. If you want to hang out in another, sobia-less room, you had better bring some booze or huddle umcomfortably close to your friends.
The cold is even worse in beyt arabis, such as my house. There is no roof, just rooms off a central courtyard, so when I walk in the front door and close it behind me I am still outside. The kitchen too is essentially outside, which means I brush my teeth wearing gloves. The cruelest part is the shower: I must wake up an hour early to turn on the water heater, then an hour later, after the nice, warm shower, I have to get from the bathroom back to my room, walking outside.
My room is also so cold in the morning, leaving those sheets is like leaving the womb every single morning, it makes me want to cry. I don't usually leave the space heater on since I am understandably scared of more fires, I don't really have blankets to spare.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Please Jesus Don't Let Giuliani Win
I've been following the election, though from afar, since it turns out a vote in the Michigan democratic primary will be useless (to punish the state for moving up its primary date, all the democrats pulled out). But I absolutely cannot believe the Republicans that have been dredged up this year. Especially Giuliani.
His New Ad:
OH MY GOD! The middle east is full of people who look middle-easternish and they are angry and Muslim!! Poor Pakistan, at whom many of these references appear to be directed. Haven't we had enough of Bush and lumping everyone in the "Middle East" - an ever-expanding region which has almost reached Cambodia, I think - into a scary group of terrorists?
I hope so. Rudy 2008: Fear is More Effective than Policy or Rudy 2008: Let's Just Bomb Fucking Everybody!
Friday, January 11, 2008
Bush Comes to the Middle East
Bush came to the Middle East yesterday morning: I was at Manar's house and we happened to catch the pomp and circumstance of his visit to Israel live on every news channel.
Amid the backdrop of the plane and mixed American and Israeli flags, Bush descended, greating Olmert like an old friend. Children waved American and Israeli flags, and Bush and Olmert both gave speeches about the strong friendship between the two states. Because it wa live al-Jazeera had no translation so I translated a bit for Manar.
Why the show? Everyone who has talked to me about the visit, including Manar, immediately rolled their eyes. "And he's going to achieve peace? Yeah, as if we don't know what side he's on." We already knows what side he's on, so why make a big show about it? It only makes everyone on the other "side" all that more certain of the pun my Arabic teacher has repeated nearly daily since Anapolis - ana bolees - Arabic for "I am the police". Bush isn't interested in real peace or in the Palestinian people, just in control and Empire etc. Do we really need singing Israeli children or the image of six-pointed stars and stripes to reconfirm the suspicions of the non-Israel lovin' world?
But maybe I should give Georgie a little credit. Maybe, just maybe the show is a sign to Israelis that America really really supports them and Bush really really loves them, so when (please let it be when, not if) the American president requests difficult sacrifices - like "stop building those settlements that you've been saying you would stop building since Oslo" - the Israelis will oblige, secure in the knowledge that Bush really really loves them and cares about their security and is only asking because these sacrifices are neccessary.
Or maybe the love-fest is just straight-up love for Israel, no matter how it may play on al-Jazeera.
Amid the backdrop of the plane and mixed American and Israeli flags, Bush descended, greating Olmert like an old friend. Children waved American and Israeli flags, and Bush and Olmert both gave speeches about the strong friendship between the two states. Because it wa live al-Jazeera had no translation so I translated a bit for Manar.
Why the show? Everyone who has talked to me about the visit, including Manar, immediately rolled their eyes. "And he's going to achieve peace? Yeah, as if we don't know what side he's on." We already knows what side he's on, so why make a big show about it? It only makes everyone on the other "side" all that more certain of the pun my Arabic teacher has repeated nearly daily since Anapolis - ana bolees - Arabic for "I am the police". Bush isn't interested in real peace or in the Palestinian people, just in control and Empire etc. Do we really need singing Israeli children or the image of six-pointed stars and stripes to reconfirm the suspicions of the non-Israel lovin' world?
But maybe I should give Georgie a little credit. Maybe, just maybe the show is a sign to Israelis that America really really supports them and Bush really really loves them, so when (please let it be when, not if) the American president requests difficult sacrifices - like "stop building those settlements that you've been saying you would stop building since Oslo" - the Israelis will oblige, secure in the knowledge that Bush really really loves them and cares about their security and is only asking because these sacrifices are neccessary.
Or maybe the love-fest is just straight-up love for Israel, no matter how it may play on al-Jazeera.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
I Cut my Hair
Everytime my hair grows long, I begin to think that I chould cut this shit off. I imagine myself with short hair - it is a glamorous, sexy image, and not me, but a French girl in the 1960s. Then I cut it and I remember - too late - that I look more like a dickonsonian street urchin boy with short hair.
But I had been saying I need to cut my hair for two months now, and finally yesterday I asked Ruba to take me to where she gets her hair cut - her hair is quite nice. I wanted it a bit shorter, and with "sidesweep bangs". Ruba introduced me to the stylist as her Irish friend (why?) and though I know "bangs" I tried to mime "sidesweep". I don't believe I effectively communicated the message.
So now I have heavy blunt bangs like I haven't had since 8th grade. The rest of it awkwardly frames my face with poof. I look 17. I need to step away from the scissors, because everytime I try something they end up raping me.
BUT, the cut was only 100 lira ($2)! I'm thinking maybe the only solution is to cut it shorter, as at that price I'm willing to have my hair maimed every week!
But I had been saying I need to cut my hair for two months now, and finally yesterday I asked Ruba to take me to where she gets her hair cut - her hair is quite nice. I wanted it a bit shorter, and with "sidesweep bangs". Ruba introduced me to the stylist as her Irish friend (why?) and though I know "bangs" I tried to mime "sidesweep". I don't believe I effectively communicated the message.
So now I have heavy blunt bangs like I haven't had since 8th grade. The rest of it awkwardly frames my face with poof. I look 17. I need to step away from the scissors, because everytime I try something they end up raping me.
BUT, the cut was only 100 lira ($2)! I'm thinking maybe the only solution is to cut it shorter, as at that price I'm willing to have my hair maimed every week!
Hey, well, the lights are still up.Saturday, January 5, 2008
Oh, the Love for Syria Grows Evermore
My contact was bugging me last night but I was in Jerimana, far from my home and its contact solution. So I went to a pharmacy across the street from my friend's house and bought a tiny bottle, costing 125 lira. I had a 1,000 note and a 50. She didn't have change.
"Malish, hati al khamees hala' wa al-baqiyya ba'deen" (doesn't matter, give me the 50 now and the rest later).
I blinked. Later? I asked. Ya, she said, later. When you have the rest.
This is not my local pharmacy, my face is not known at this establishment, I don't even live in this neighborhood, and it was my first time in this pharmacy. But still, the trust!
I went back a few hours later when I had change.
"Malish, hati al khamees hala' wa al-baqiyya ba'deen" (doesn't matter, give me the 50 now and the rest later).
I blinked. Later? I asked. Ya, she said, later. When you have the rest.
This is not my local pharmacy, my face is not known at this establishment, I don't even live in this neighborhood, and it was my first time in this pharmacy. But still, the trust!
I went back a few hours later when I had change.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Back Home
After 10 hours at the border, Rachel got the visa and we went home. Home! I love to travel, but there's always a sigh of relief to return to the comfort of home, back to a familiar bed, even if it doesn't have sheets because of a recent electric blanket fire.
Having the other passengers go ahead without us when it was clear we would have a wait awhile, we had to negotiate a ride from the border to Damascus. In Damascus, we all passengers got out somewhere random and shared a taxi into the center of the city, during which the driver repeatedly asked me why I would not marry or at least give my phone number to the nice Jordanian sitting shotgun. How old are you? he asked, guessing 15, maybe 17?
When I got up to go, the bulge in my jeans pocket gave away my excuse that I didn't have a phone (my excuse I don't want to get married until I'm 30 was met with "I would wait, won't you wait?" by the taxi driver and "yes" by the Jordanian student).
At home, I inhaled chicken and dumped heated buckets of water over myself (there's only enough water pressure for the shower in the morning). Abu Mazen and Iyad questioned me about how much I know about the differences between Shi'ism and Sunnism, and Abu Mazen tried to convince me that believing Jesus is the son of God and God himself is kind of silly - I've told the family I'm Christian - my atheism is best not broadcast. I walked to Bab Toma to catch a micro, looking at all the Christmas lights still up. Ah, home.
Having the other passengers go ahead without us when it was clear we would have a wait awhile, we had to negotiate a ride from the border to Damascus. In Damascus, we all passengers got out somewhere random and shared a taxi into the center of the city, during which the driver repeatedly asked me why I would not marry or at least give my phone number to the nice Jordanian sitting shotgun. How old are you? he asked, guessing 15, maybe 17?
When I got up to go, the bulge in my jeans pocket gave away my excuse that I didn't have a phone (my excuse I don't want to get married until I'm 30 was met with "I would wait, won't you wait?" by the taxi driver and "yes" by the Jordanian student).
At home, I inhaled chicken and dumped heated buckets of water over myself (there's only enough water pressure for the shower in the morning). Abu Mazen and Iyad questioned me about how much I know about the differences between Shi'ism and Sunnism, and Abu Mazen tried to convince me that believing Jesus is the son of God and God himself is kind of silly - I've told the family I'm Christian - my atheism is best not broadcast. I walked to Bab Toma to catch a micro, looking at all the Christmas lights still up. Ah, home.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
I Really Really Hate the Fucking Ferry
This having been my fourth time on the Arab Bridge ferry between Egypt and Jordan, I feel I am somewhat qualified to comment on it. It is a living hell.
The trip between Damascus and Cairo need not be the ordeal it is, rendered thusly only because of the ferry. I personally love buses. Bus across the Sinai, followed by bus to Amman, bus to Damascus? Sign me up! But that little stretch between Egypt and Jordan, that little sliver of water the Gulf of Aqaba, usually takes close to a day to cross.
Why the ferry? Oh, Israel, you hateful little slice of a country. Seriously, do you need Eilat? You have another ocean for ports and beaches. But no, Israel decides that they need Eilat, necessitating the Arab Bridge.
Eilat is sandwiched between Taba in Egypt and Aqaba in Jordan. But does the ferry make this short route? No! It goes all the way down to Nuweiba on the Egyptian side. This itself is hardly the source of all the misery, as the actual trip takes an hour (by ferry - three and a half by barge).
There is one ferry and one barge a day. Only. Arrive at the Aqaba port at say, 2am, and you have yourself a good 12-hour wait until you kiss the sweet Egyptian soil. Arrive in Nuweiba at 6am, because it is the only real option from Cairo is the 10pm bus, and you have a good 14-hour wait to greet Jordan's dirt.
This is with the ferry. The barge, only 10 dollars cheaper (out of freaking $50 from Jordan to Egypt, and $70 from Egypt to Jordan) seems to be a lower layer of hell that even my cheap ass refuses to descend into. Arriving at Nuweiba at 5am (our driver was crazy fast) there was a line of men boarding the ferry. At 5pm when we started boarding our ferry, the barge was still in Egypt. I think they were going to leave soon. So those poor bastards were on that damn barge all day before it even took off.
Our ferry was supposed to leave at "oh, about 3 maybe, God willing". So we sat down in a little run-down ahwa after waiting around 2, maybe 3 hours to buy tickets, ordered coffee, tea, ate La Vache Qui Rit cheese and bread, and smoked shisha. Met a kid from freaking Mason, Michigan (right next to the old hometown - I believe we are rivals) who lives in Amman. Hung out with a nice Palestinian boy, and met some British dude who I let remain in his delusion that his Egyptian shisha for 200 guinee was "a steal" (the most expensive of my three had cost 60).
Ladies first: I know I have griped about this in the past, but it is nice getting to cut a whole bunch of men for being a lady. However, I really, really hate the foreigners first rule. We're in Egypt, and all the Egyptians are told to stay back while the foreigners buy their tickets, board the ferry, etc. Even worse, it seems as if the western foreigners are pushed ahead of the Arab foreigners. This trip was the worst I have seen this phenomenon, as literally the first bus (buses take you from the terminal to the boat - no just walking the 200 meters allowed) was all westerners. We had stayed back, cause there's no reason to get flustered - boat's gonna leave when it's gonna leave.
Previous times, there has just been a hustling of ladies to the front: Arab ladies, Egyptian ladies, American ladies. I prefer this as it means I don't have to wait long AND I don't have to feel like a giant shit for getting special "Western treatment". I'm getting regular ol' lady treatment.
We finally got into Aqaba at about 8pm or so, and were saved waiting by Rachel. On the boat they take our passports, and then in the arrivals hall we wait. After 20 minutes, Rachel says fuck this and walks into the office, 5 minutes later walks out with our passports and we get out before the rest of the foreigners. "What did you say?" I ask.
"Marhaba," She says. (Hi).
I hate the boat, especially since there's no alternative. How to get from Egypt to the rest of the Arab world? Israel ain't exactly an option for most people. So the shitty service and exorbidant price of the Arab Bridge continues.
There's more to hate, but I have only so much time to dwell on such unpleasantries. I am at Dera'a, on the Syrian - Jordanian border. Somebody's visa expired and we have to wait while a new one is issued. In Sha Allah.
The trip between Damascus and Cairo need not be the ordeal it is, rendered thusly only because of the ferry. I personally love buses. Bus across the Sinai, followed by bus to Amman, bus to Damascus? Sign me up! But that little stretch between Egypt and Jordan, that little sliver of water the Gulf of Aqaba, usually takes close to a day to cross.
Why the ferry? Oh, Israel, you hateful little slice of a country. Seriously, do you need Eilat? You have another ocean for ports and beaches. But no, Israel decides that they need Eilat, necessitating the Arab Bridge.
Eilat is sandwiched between Taba in Egypt and Aqaba in Jordan. But does the ferry make this short route? No! It goes all the way down to Nuweiba on the Egyptian side. This itself is hardly the source of all the misery, as the actual trip takes an hour (by ferry - three and a half by barge).
There is one ferry and one barge a day. Only. Arrive at the Aqaba port at say, 2am, and you have yourself a good 12-hour wait until you kiss the sweet Egyptian soil. Arrive in Nuweiba at 6am, because it is the only real option from Cairo is the 10pm bus, and you have a good 14-hour wait to greet Jordan's dirt.
This is with the ferry. The barge, only 10 dollars cheaper (out of freaking $50 from Jordan to Egypt, and $70 from Egypt to Jordan) seems to be a lower layer of hell that even my cheap ass refuses to descend into. Arriving at Nuweiba at 5am (our driver was crazy fast) there was a line of men boarding the ferry. At 5pm when we started boarding our ferry, the barge was still in Egypt. I think they were going to leave soon. So those poor bastards were on that damn barge all day before it even took off.
Our ferry was supposed to leave at "oh, about 3 maybe, God willing". So we sat down in a little run-down ahwa after waiting around 2, maybe 3 hours to buy tickets, ordered coffee, tea, ate La Vache Qui Rit cheese and bread, and smoked shisha. Met a kid from freaking Mason, Michigan (right next to the old hometown - I believe we are rivals) who lives in Amman. Hung out with a nice Palestinian boy, and met some British dude who I let remain in his delusion that his Egyptian shisha for 200 guinee was "a steal" (the most expensive of my three had cost 60).
Ladies first: I know I have griped about this in the past, but it is nice getting to cut a whole bunch of men for being a lady. However, I really, really hate the foreigners first rule. We're in Egypt, and all the Egyptians are told to stay back while the foreigners buy their tickets, board the ferry, etc. Even worse, it seems as if the western foreigners are pushed ahead of the Arab foreigners. This trip was the worst I have seen this phenomenon, as literally the first bus (buses take you from the terminal to the boat - no just walking the 200 meters allowed) was all westerners. We had stayed back, cause there's no reason to get flustered - boat's gonna leave when it's gonna leave.
Previous times, there has just been a hustling of ladies to the front: Arab ladies, Egyptian ladies, American ladies. I prefer this as it means I don't have to wait long AND I don't have to feel like a giant shit for getting special "Western treatment". I'm getting regular ol' lady treatment.
We finally got into Aqaba at about 8pm or so, and were saved waiting by Rachel. On the boat they take our passports, and then in the arrivals hall we wait. After 20 minutes, Rachel says fuck this and walks into the office, 5 minutes later walks out with our passports and we get out before the rest of the foreigners. "What did you say?" I ask.
"Marhaba," She says. (Hi).
I hate the boat, especially since there's no alternative. How to get from Egypt to the rest of the Arab world? Israel ain't exactly an option for most people. So the shitty service and exorbidant price of the Arab Bridge continues.
There's more to hate, but I have only so much time to dwell on such unpleasantries. I am at Dera'a, on the Syrian - Jordanian border. Somebody's visa expired and we have to wait while a new one is issued. In Sha Allah.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Tunisian?
It's been a little strange coming back to Egypt, having forgotten most of my Egyptian. Well, not exactly forgotten, because I know what I'm supposed to say: mish instead of mu, delwaty instead of hala, etc, but when I speak naturally the Syrian comes out. I try in Egyptian and sound awkward.
Syrian is mostly understood, so often I say fuck it and speak in Shami. This leads people to think I'm Arab, usually Lebanese (with my coloring - none - Lebanese is the most likely). Everytime this happens I'm super excited.
Man: Are you Lebanese?
Me: No. Thank you!
Man: Thank you?
However, yesterday at the bank, getting dollars for the Nuweiba ferry, I was doing the transaction in Arabic when the teller switched to French. I told him it would be better if we continued in Arabic, since it's better than my French. "You're not Tunisian?" he asked. What?
I'm used to being mistaken for French. At al-Fishawy coffee house the other night, a couple asked me to take their picture in French, and I obliged, asking if they were French. No, Lebanese. I immediately switched to Arabic and was all "I live in Syria!" and they were all "We're in Damascus like every other week!" Awesome!
But Tunisian?
Syrian is mostly understood, so often I say fuck it and speak in Shami. This leads people to think I'm Arab, usually Lebanese (with my coloring - none - Lebanese is the most likely). Everytime this happens I'm super excited.
Man: Are you Lebanese?
Me: No. Thank you!
Man: Thank you?
However, yesterday at the bank, getting dollars for the Nuweiba ferry, I was doing the transaction in Arabic when the teller switched to French. I told him it would be better if we continued in Arabic, since it's better than my French. "You're not Tunisian?" he asked. What?
I'm used to being mistaken for French. At al-Fishawy coffee house the other night, a couple asked me to take their picture in French, and I obliged, asking if they were French. No, Lebanese. I immediately switched to Arabic and was all "I live in Syria!" and they were all "We're in Damascus like every other week!" Awesome!
But Tunisian?
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