I finally really went out last night after three weeks here. The occasion is Lindsey's (a housemate) impending move to Kuwait to do her research. The day started with a horribly difficult midterm exam in Arabic, in which the reading section was about carrier pigeons. Luckily I knew the word "carrier pigeon" because of random events last week.
After iftar Mindy, Michele, and I met Lindsey at the botanical gardens next to the citadel (we could only smell the river a bit) and had chocolamou, a delicious ice cream/mousse hybrid. Then it was onto a cafe, where Jihan (an Algerian friend of Lucy, a SOAS student. Jihan's been staying in the house for two weeks, having moved to Syria to get the hell out of her parent's house - she works in a salon here) was singing. Hung out with the SOAS girls and some sketchy/nice guys who work in the souq (just like Egypt!). She sang only one song, but got the crowd going with her hips as well. Good voice.
A strawberry shisha (it's so hard to remember to call it argileh here)later we made our way in a big group to Domino, a restaurant by day/club by night. We got there a little before 1, demanded that the DJ change the Eurotechnoshit that was playing (though Lilia, German, was loving it), and got our requested mix of Arabic, Latin, and hiphop. One guy, who was actually quite good at dancing, kept wanting to dance with me but he also came up to my chin, which made dancing a bit awkward. Ramy, the guy who got us all in Domino for free, was seen in the middle of the dance floor making out with and dry humping a huge foreign girl. Some drunk foreign man kept staggering around the dance floor, while the Syrian girls (heavy eye makeup and belly shirts) worked to show up the foreigners. Tariq tried to spin me at one point but instead I accidently smacked his nose with my arm. There was a little blood, very little.
Before 4:00, having sweat my hair wet and beaten the shit out of a nice boy, the four of us who stayed to the end made out way back to the house. On the way back we ran into Abu Tabla, the old man who during Ramadan walks into the all the alleys beating a drum to wake people up for sohour. He went into our alley at the same time as us, so we had to hurry. Luckily we could use Lucy's key to the side door and sneak in. We changed into our pajamas, then went down to sohour with the family, who thought we had just woken up.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Danger Danger Danger
I finally got to go back to class today after two days of Fulbright orientation. There's 10 of us here, some doing research, all but one with Language grants, though many are doing straight language training for their Fulbright grant as well. Two more will be joining us much later in the year.
We had briefings with the economic officer about sanctions, with the consular officer about how doing drugs will get you thrown into a pit and kicked for 14 years without your family knowing where you are, with the security officer about how terrorism, like last year's attack on the US Embassy here, or regional conflict is a very real possibility and to keep alert, and with the medical officer on how to boil everything before you eat it and soak it in chlorine and you know what why don't you just ship in all your food from Sweden. She also warned us that the sun is stronger than we might think and that we should consider investing in some sunscreen, especially as some of you (motion in my direction) are quite fair. That was the first day.
On the second we got to hear the political officer sigh and explain "the United State's official position" on everything. He didn't have any info to tell us (swearing his own ignorance) on the Syrian nukes? that's blowing up the news here. Every one here I've talked to laughs at the idea of Syria pursuing nuclear technology. Why North Korea anyway when Iran is so much closer? The US hasn't corroborated what the Israelis are saying. Could this turn into a conflict? The political officer said we have no idea, but we hope not. He also ventured that the Syrian-US relationship is more tense that it has been at any point in the past couple of years. Hopefully that won't mess up my getting an iqama! But meeting the political officer once again gave me pause about a possible career at DOS. He seemed so disheartened, schilling the same lines about US policy in the region, most of which he didn't seem to believe. Fun.
The other news is that Syria will be invited to the November peace conference. Will they RSVP? Speaking of respondez-vousing, I'm going to an iftar at the ambassador's residence tonight - there is no ambassador, but the charge d'affaires will be there, taking questions from those gathered, about any old thing.
We had briefings with the economic officer about sanctions, with the consular officer about how doing drugs will get you thrown into a pit and kicked for 14 years without your family knowing where you are, with the security officer about how terrorism, like last year's attack on the US Embassy here, or regional conflict is a very real possibility and to keep alert, and with the medical officer on how to boil everything before you eat it and soak it in chlorine and you know what why don't you just ship in all your food from Sweden. She also warned us that the sun is stronger than we might think and that we should consider investing in some sunscreen, especially as some of you (motion in my direction) are quite fair. That was the first day.
On the second we got to hear the political officer sigh and explain "the United State's official position" on everything. He didn't have any info to tell us (swearing his own ignorance) on the Syrian nukes? that's blowing up the news here. Every one here I've talked to laughs at the idea of Syria pursuing nuclear technology. Why North Korea anyway when Iran is so much closer? The US hasn't corroborated what the Israelis are saying. Could this turn into a conflict? The political officer said we have no idea, but we hope not. He also ventured that the Syrian-US relationship is more tense that it has been at any point in the past couple of years. Hopefully that won't mess up my getting an iqama! But meeting the political officer once again gave me pause about a possible career at DOS. He seemed so disheartened, schilling the same lines about US policy in the region, most of which he didn't seem to believe. Fun.
The other news is that Syria will be invited to the November peace conference. Will they RSVP? Speaking of respondez-vousing, I'm going to an iftar at the ambassador's residence tonight - there is no ambassador, but the charge d'affaires will be there, taking questions from those gathered, about any old thing.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Damascus: City of Freaks
So it's been quite an eventful weekend. I turned down a date with a friend (because "I'm just not ready to date now") on Thursday evening and on Friday evening the whole family and a few of the girls went up into the mountains to have iftar with some of Um Zahir's family. They were up in a village in the mountains about 30 minutes away. The family was happy because they had two engaged girls, sixteen and fourteen. "Do you think that's young?" we foreigners were asked, and replied in the affirmative. "It's common in ar-reef (the country)". The "older" one is getting married not long after Ramadan, the younger one in about a year. We oohed and ahhed over the pictures from their engagement parties, but the older one had about 30 professional pictures, with classic wedding and senior pic poses, in which she had professional hair and makeup and a massive dress. The younger one had 3 dark, crappy pictures. We're not sure why the disparity. Both girls are cute, and their finances are, um, less so. They're both marrying cousins.
Back at home, we the foreign girls sat around talking about how young these girls are. Huda, Zahir's wife, is only 24 and has two kids, 6 and 4. She was engaged at 16, married at 17, gave birth at 18. Mindy has a theory that marrying cousins has caused a great rift between the attractive and nonattractive. "In America, most people are in the middle, from the top side of average to not that attractive, but still not horrible. Here is seems like people are either gorgeous or hideous."
"Plus, have you notices all the congenital diseases people have, or how many deformitites? You see lots of albinos, people with club feet, humps on their back..." She continued to list types, including types of short people "... some are perfectly proportioned, some have long arms, some have short legs, some have big heads. And this one time I was at Dar Musa (a Christian monastary) talking to this monk you was young and looked normal, but then I looked down at his feet and he had a sixth toe growing out the top of his little toe." Lindsey burst out: "You make it sound like Damascus is a city of freaks!" which is just a hilarious mental image. See the postcards: Visit Damascus, City of Freaks.
The Fulbright orientation starts tomorrow and I'm not very happy because it means I have to miss two full days of class! That's eight hours, and the midterm at the end of this week. And soon I promise to write about the shit that's been going down here: nuclear Syria? and bombs in Beirut.
Back at home, we the foreign girls sat around talking about how young these girls are. Huda, Zahir's wife, is only 24 and has two kids, 6 and 4. She was engaged at 16, married at 17, gave birth at 18. Mindy has a theory that marrying cousins has caused a great rift between the attractive and nonattractive. "In America, most people are in the middle, from the top side of average to not that attractive, but still not horrible. Here is seems like people are either gorgeous or hideous."
"Plus, have you notices all the congenital diseases people have, or how many deformitites? You see lots of albinos, people with club feet, humps on their back..." She continued to list types, including types of short people "... some are perfectly proportioned, some have long arms, some have short legs, some have big heads. And this one time I was at Dar Musa (a Christian monastary) talking to this monk you was young and looked normal, but then I looked down at his feet and he had a sixth toe growing out the top of his little toe." Lindsey burst out: "You make it sound like Damascus is a city of freaks!" which is just a hilarious mental image. See the postcards: Visit Damascus, City of Freaks.
The Fulbright orientation starts tomorrow and I'm not very happy because it means I have to miss two full days of class! That's eight hours, and the midterm at the end of this week. And soon I promise to write about the shit that's been going down here: nuclear Syria? and bombs in Beirut.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Mad Props
No disrepect to Ramadan or Islam is intended on my part. Fasting during Ramadan is mad hard, hard enough that I couldn't keep it up for long. I was more making fun of myself for fasting because unlike Muslims I don't have any religious or spiritual reasons behind it, and I'm a pussy who couldn't do it. I was really just doing it for the experience, but when I realized I was looking forward to my period for the first time ever (women can't fast during that) it was clear that Ramadan isn't for me. So I don't know which is really more offensive: my complaining about how hard Ramadan is or fasting as an atheist "trying out something new!" I'm done fasting now since never getting sick or having a digestive problem when I was in Egypt is catching up with me (what happened to my stomach of steel?).
"Dude, fasting is hard. How long till iftar? I want some water."
"Why are you doing it if all you do it complain?"
"..."
And here's a random fun quote from a friend: "In Syria, we worship the moustache."
"Dude, fasting is hard. How long till iftar? I want some water."
"Why are you doing it if all you do it complain?"
"..."
And here's a random fun quote from a friend: "In Syria, we worship the moustache."
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Classes Classes
I've had three days of classes thus far, and it's not so bad (when you drink water). Today I didn't even wake up for sohour, so I feel incredibly well-rested, and I've already had a bottle of water and a date so I feel incredibly fucking incredible.
Classes aren't bad. 9am-1pm 5 days a week. I have 14 in my class, Germans, Swiss, French, Koreans, Spanish, Danes, a Norwegian, and another American. You can hear their accents through the Arabic, which is quite funny. Especially the French and the Koreans. But I've already hooked up a language exchange with a medical student twice a week to really learn the Syrian ammiya, as class is straight fusha.
Yesterday after class I went to Yarmouk, a Palestinian refugee camp on the outskirts of Damascus to help my friend Colin teach an English class. There wasn't a great turnout because of Ramadan, but once this month is over there should be a lot more coming. It's sad - we were at a Palestianian Cultural center and the walls were covered with murals drawn by the children. While the situation is obviously more dire for Palestinians in the occupied territories its hard to believe that in all the negotiations the only mention to the refugees is that there should be "a just settlement". Class was on the roof under a large curtain to shield the sun, and looking over Yarmouk (which is huge) I thought, "These people will never return to Palestine." It's really fucking sad.
After class I accompanied Colin to his friend Ra'id's house for iftar (where we all had hung out playing cards last Thursday night). It's really fun hanging with those guys, but Ra'id is hitting on me and I really don't need that. I just wanna hang, yo. He called me Saturday to invite me to an art gallery on Sunday morning, but I had class. Then last night he's asking me if we can go out sometime this week to talk, so he can "get to know me better." Jesus. The food was delicious though, and Ra'id and Ruba's (his 20 year old sister) mom loves me and my laugh and jokingly told me I had to move in.
Classes aren't bad. 9am-1pm 5 days a week. I have 14 in my class, Germans, Swiss, French, Koreans, Spanish, Danes, a Norwegian, and another American. You can hear their accents through the Arabic, which is quite funny. Especially the French and the Koreans. But I've already hooked up a language exchange with a medical student twice a week to really learn the Syrian ammiya, as class is straight fusha.
Yesterday after class I went to Yarmouk, a Palestinian refugee camp on the outskirts of Damascus to help my friend Colin teach an English class. There wasn't a great turnout because of Ramadan, but once this month is over there should be a lot more coming. It's sad - we were at a Palestianian Cultural center and the walls were covered with murals drawn by the children. While the situation is obviously more dire for Palestinians in the occupied territories its hard to believe that in all the negotiations the only mention to the refugees is that there should be "a just settlement". Class was on the roof under a large curtain to shield the sun, and looking over Yarmouk (which is huge) I thought, "These people will never return to Palestine." It's really fucking sad.
After class I accompanied Colin to his friend Ra'id's house for iftar (where we all had hung out playing cards last Thursday night). It's really fun hanging with those guys, but Ra'id is hitting on me and I really don't need that. I just wanna hang, yo. He called me Saturday to invite me to an art gallery on Sunday morning, but I had class. Then last night he's asking me if we can go out sometime this week to talk, so he can "get to know me better." Jesus. The food was delicious though, and Ra'id and Ruba's (his 20 year old sister) mom loves me and my laugh and jokingly told me I had to move in.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
دعيفة وسعيدة
That didn't last very long. Yesterday, the third day of Ramadan, I broke my fast. I had run a shitload of errands, and was hanging with my friend Colin deciphering a newspaper (he's working on Jahin). The sun was brutal. Fuck it, I bought some water. ya haram! But it was delicious. Maybe with the promise of heavenly rewards I could have held out. Food, that's not so hard but water? That's just cruel. So I drank. I was weak and happy- دعيفة وسعيدة . But I guess that's quite common for me ever since I lost my religion, whereas in my younger, religious years I would have savoured suffering for god. I'm weak and hedonistic, and loving it!
My I-need-some-water position was reconfirmed today during the first day of classes. I actually tested into level 5, though with how the test went I had been readying myself for 3. Four hours a day - I can't get through that without something to drink. Food in my belly from a more recent time than 4am suhour would also be nice. Also, suhour makes me dead tired. Iftar at 7 means I'm not that tired until 11 or 12. Suhour at 4am. When suhour is over before 5 (after helping clean up and all that) It takes me a while to get to sleep, what with having just eaten and the tea forced upon me each morning. Another girl in my house also broke fast today with Coke and juice. I'll still not eat during the day (for however long that lasts on this, the fourth day of Ramadan) but give me that water.
My I-need-some-water position was reconfirmed today during the first day of classes. I actually tested into level 5, though with how the test went I had been readying myself for 3. Four hours a day - I can't get through that without something to drink. Food in my belly from a more recent time than 4am suhour would also be nice. Also, suhour makes me dead tired. Iftar at 7 means I'm not that tired until 11 or 12. Suhour at 4am. When suhour is over before 5 (after helping clean up and all that) It takes me a while to get to sleep, what with having just eaten and the tea forced upon me each morning. Another girl in my house also broke fast today with Coke and juice. I'll still not eat during the day (for however long that lasts on this, the fourth day of Ramadan) but give me that water.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Ramadan is Easier if You Sleep All Day
Thursday night after iftar I went to visit my friend Colin in Jeremana, an area of Damascus that used to be heavily Druze but now there's lots of Iraqis too. Not only was it the first of Ramadan, but it was also a Christian holiday عيد الصليب (festival of the cross). I don't think we have anything similar here, and I don't really know what it celebrates. I found out about it during iftar when we heard booms from outside. "That's the Christians celebrating." We went up to the roof and could see where people were shooting up fireworks into the sky. Bab Toma was quite busy as well.
In Jeremana, Colin, the guy he's living with Tariq, and I walked around before going At Raid's we mostly talked, shishaed, and played Old Maid. Tariq expressed admiration for Hitler. Why? Because he killed Jews, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Tariq admitted that he knows Jews and Israelis are different, and that the Holocaust was instrumental in gaining support for the state of Israel, and that it's bad when innocent people die. "Still," he said, "you have to admit that he is better than Stalin." Raid's sister joined us for cards. At around 11 I texted Huda to let her know I would be late. At 12:30 I thought I should go, but was convinced to stay. So I stayed until sohur (the meal before sunrise), getting home after 5am.
Woke up Friday at noon. Apologized to Um Zahir and Huda cause everyone told me they had been worried about me when I didn't show up for sohur. Turns out Huda's number in my phone was off a digit. Took a nap later in the day. This makes waiting for iftar much more bareable, but I won't be able to do this when I have class 9-12:30 tomorrow.
In Jeremana, Colin, the guy he's living with Tariq, and I walked around before going At Raid's we mostly talked, shishaed, and played Old Maid. Tariq expressed admiration for Hitler. Why? Because he killed Jews, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Tariq admitted that he knows Jews and Israelis are different, and that the Holocaust was instrumental in gaining support for the state of Israel, and that it's bad when innocent people die. "Still," he said, "you have to admit that he is better than Stalin." Raid's sister joined us for cards. At around 11 I texted Huda to let her know I would be late. At 12:30 I thought I should go, but was convinced to stay. So I stayed until sohur (the meal before sunrise), getting home after 5am.
Woke up Friday at noon. Apologized to Um Zahir and Huda cause everyone told me they had been worried about me when I didn't show up for sohur. Turns out Huda's number in my phone was off a digit. Took a nap later in the day. This makes waiting for iftar much more bareable, but I won't be able to do this when I have class 9-12:30 tomorrow.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
لن اتعلم العربية ابدا
متى ساصنح جيدا بالعربية؟ درستها اكتر من سنتين لكن من رجعت من مصر الى امريكا اشعر بانا في نفس الدرجة. جاءت الى سورياواعيش مع اسرة سوري تعلما وتكلما كثيرا لكن في بنات امريكيات في البيت. ممكن لازم انسي العربية و ابدء بالروسية او فارسية او هستمرمع فرانسية , وحدة من اسهل الاغان. ساحاول
Ramadan Karim
Ramadan began today. This meant Um Zahir woke us all up at quarter to 3:00 am for the morning meal. She knocked on my door and asked "Aneet, tasoumee?" (Are you fasting?) Well, once I'm awake, why not. We groggily went downstair and ate, before going back to bed at 4:00am. While we were eating the family recieved calls and made call wishing people a happy Ramadan, and found out that we were an hour early. The Ramadan calendar Sandra bought yesterday was off my an hour - ouch.
So I've decided to fast. Everyone's doing it, except Mindy who's been too sick to leave the house. Why are we all doing it? None of us are Muslim. But by fasting I'm adding to my white girl foreigner experience of this crazy different culture! What other reason do I have? My excuse is that fasting means meals with the family, meaning more Arabic. Sigh... only 3 more hours until I can eat (7pm). What am I saying? I can eat anytime I want. 3 more hours until I allow myself to eat.
I had my placement test at the University today, which just about raped me. Two hour test of four thirty minute sections: listening, reading, grammer, writing, and then an oral portion. I fucked up, but I hope not bad enough to be put in a horribly low level, at which point I should just give up.
I started talking to this Syrian girl while I was waiting for my oral, and I was telling her how I find Arabic hard. "I think it's beautiful," she said. Beautiful, I concurred, but still hard. "Language is not hard if you really love it and commit yourself to it. I'm learning Japanese right now and it's supposed to be a hard language but because I love it and the sound of it I love to study and so it's not hard."
Thanks. Arabic isn't hard, I just don't love it enough.
So I've decided to fast. Everyone's doing it, except Mindy who's been too sick to leave the house. Why are we all doing it? None of us are Muslim. But by fasting I'm adding to my white girl foreigner experience of this crazy different culture! What other reason do I have? My excuse is that fasting means meals with the family, meaning more Arabic. Sigh... only 3 more hours until I can eat (7pm). What am I saying? I can eat anytime I want. 3 more hours until I allow myself to eat.
I had my placement test at the University today, which just about raped me. Two hour test of four thirty minute sections: listening, reading, grammer, writing, and then an oral portion. I fucked up, but I hope not bad enough to be put in a horribly low level, at which point I should just give up.
I started talking to this Syrian girl while I was waiting for my oral, and I was telling her how I find Arabic hard. "I think it's beautiful," she said. Beautiful, I concurred, but still hard. "Language is not hard if you really love it and commit yourself to it. I'm learning Japanese right now and it's supposed to be a hard language but because I love it and the sound of it I love to study and so it's not hard."
Thanks. Arabic isn't hard, I just don't love it enough.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
To Fast or Not to Fast?
Ramadan might start tomorrow if the moon is visible tonight. Should I fast or not? Zahir asked me today after my marathon with the bureaucracy whether I was planning on fasting. I hadn't really considered it... after all I'm not Muslim. I told him maybe, but I like food. He and Um Zahir laughed at this, but said I should think about fasting.
Lindsey is planning to fast. Initially, for solidarity with her Muslim husband. When she told him, he got mad, and told her that she shouldn't fast for him, fasting should be only for God. She set off to the Bible and a translated Qur'an to find out whether she could theologically justify her fast. She's fasting, she decided, for God. It's the same God.
I feel as though I shouldn't fast, despite Jolianne's "Ramadan Diet" success (this was just a good side effect, not her aim in fasting last year). I am, after all, an atheist and fasting for God is therefore not a possibility. Would it be wrong of me to fake piety? Or worse, fast for the aesthetics, meaninglessly attaching corporal and temporal concerns to what is supposed to be a religious act?
I won't be eating or drinking in public, which is rude when everyone around you is fasting. But what will I say when the family invites me down for iftar (the meal to break fast), and asks me whether I fasted?
Also, it's really hot and I can't imagine making it from 8am (classes at 9) to sundown without water. And a month is a long-ass time.
Lindsey is planning to fast. Initially, for solidarity with her Muslim husband. When she told him, he got mad, and told her that she shouldn't fast for him, fasting should be only for God. She set off to the Bible and a translated Qur'an to find out whether she could theologically justify her fast. She's fasting, she decided, for God. It's the same God.
I feel as though I shouldn't fast, despite Jolianne's "Ramadan Diet" success (this was just a good side effect, not her aim in fasting last year). I am, after all, an atheist and fasting for God is therefore not a possibility. Would it be wrong of me to fake piety? Or worse, fast for the aesthetics, meaninglessly attaching corporal and temporal concerns to what is supposed to be a religious act?
I won't be eating or drinking in public, which is rude when everyone around you is fasting. But what will I say when the family invites me down for iftar (the meal to break fast), and asks me whether I fasted?
Also, it's really hot and I can't imagine making it from 8am (classes at 9) to sundown without water. And a month is a long-ass time.
I Rock the Bureaucracy
I finally registered for classes Jama'at Damasq! This may seem like a small victory, considering I'm here to take classes, but it was hard, man. I had to get a letter from my embassy saying that they have no problem with my registering at the University, the AIDS results, and go to the University, with all three of these things on opposite sides of town.
First, the embassy, which has consular open hours from 8am-10am, and a long line. Michelle from my house and I took a taxi to the embassy (I know where it is now, since I walked there and back yesterday) and were there by 20 to 8. Waited on line outside. Waited on line inside. Sat around in a big room with tons of Syrians who want to come to America. Got out by 9am, went back to Hafes al-AIDS. Michelle had yet to get the test, whereas I just needed results. I tried to push her forward (students to the front of the mass of people). Michelle only arrived one day before me. I went over to the results window, and had to wait for it open. There were Koreans, Somalis, Italians, some Syrians, and mostly Iraqis. When he found out I was American, the guy sitting next to me pretended to shoot me with his gun-finger and said "Your country did this, you know?"
"I know."
"Ah but people are different than the administration right?"
"I voted for Kerry."
That got a laugh. Another guy heard I was American and wanted to speak English to me, telling me he had wanted to continue his university studies in America but, you know, the political situation.
"Is it true that if you marry an American girl you can get citizenship?"
"Um, after some years."
"Some American girls like to marry foreigners, right?"
"Some."
"And you, you are single or married?" He was looking at my obviously empty ring finger, so I couldn't lie.
"Single, but not looking to get married."
"Really, how old are you?"
"Too young." I mean, aren't you going to at least pretend it's my eyes?
By the time I got the results, it was past 11, but I managed to find the Bab Sharqi bus to the university. 5 lira later, I was in mezza. Registration took about 5 minutes. I did it! And with a day to spare. Placement test is on Thursday - I hope I don't bomb.
First, the embassy, which has consular open hours from 8am-10am, and a long line. Michelle from my house and I took a taxi to the embassy (I know where it is now, since I walked there and back yesterday) and were there by 20 to 8. Waited on line outside. Waited on line inside. Sat around in a big room with tons of Syrians who want to come to America. Got out by 9am, went back to Hafes al-AIDS. Michelle had yet to get the test, whereas I just needed results. I tried to push her forward (students to the front of the mass of people). Michelle only arrived one day before me. I went over to the results window, and had to wait for it open. There were Koreans, Somalis, Italians, some Syrians, and mostly Iraqis. When he found out I was American, the guy sitting next to me pretended to shoot me with his gun-finger and said "Your country did this, you know?"
"I know."
"Ah but people are different than the administration right?"
"I voted for Kerry."
That got a laugh. Another guy heard I was American and wanted to speak English to me, telling me he had wanted to continue his university studies in America but, you know, the political situation.
"Is it true that if you marry an American girl you can get citizenship?"
"Um, after some years."
"Some American girls like to marry foreigners, right?"
"Some."
"And you, you are single or married?" He was looking at my obviously empty ring finger, so I couldn't lie.
"Single, but not looking to get married."
"Really, how old are you?"
"Too young." I mean, aren't you going to at least pretend it's my eyes?
By the time I got the results, it was past 11, but I managed to find the Bab Sharqi bus to the university. 5 lira later, I was in mezza. Registration took about 5 minutes. I did it! And with a day to spare. Placement test is on Thursday - I hope I don't bomb.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Hafes Al-AIDS and more!
I have to run all around to get registered for classes at the university - I have until September 12. Yesterday, Sunday, first day of the week, I tried to find my way to Damascus University, which I was warned was a difficult journey. Zahir in my house offered to help me, but a typical American I refused. I should figure this out myself, I thought. At Bab Touma I got a taxi to Jama'at Damasq, which was the event recounted before, with the fake fiance. But he dropped me off at Jama'at Damasq the campus for sciences, not the one I need. I wandered to street with a lot of students waiting for microbuses and two women said they were going to Kuliyat al-Adab (College of Literature) in Mezze where I needed to go. So they directed me to the right micro, paid my fare despite my protests. Finally, the Mahhad for Arabic.
I have to be back in a few days with my AIDS test, passport photos, a letter from my embassy stating they have no problem with my taking classes, copies of my passport and Syrian visa, and an application form.
This morning I went to Hafes al-AIDS, which is close to Bab Touma, with the two women from SOAS (School of Oriental and Asian Studies) at London University - there's an exchange program with Damascus University. I wanted to get out early, and actually woke up before 9 (yesterday it was 12:30pm - let's blame jetlag, and last night I couldn't get to sleep til after the 4am-ish call to prayer). The girls got moving a little slowly.
It was a zoo at Hafes al-AIDS. It looks like everyone has to get AIDS tests to do anything. I was waiting with a bunch of High School kids before I found out there was a seperate entrance for student and others. With the letter from the University we skipped the massive line out front and went to the "Students and Domestic Workers Testing Room". Others insisted I sit because of how pale I was, though I tried to assure them that I really am just that pale. "Domestic Workers" was khadimaat meaning only females. Next to our testing room was one for several groups, inclduing "Entertainment Workers". Now what is that a euphanism for?
I have to be back in a few days with my AIDS test, passport photos, a letter from my embassy stating they have no problem with my taking classes, copies of my passport and Syrian visa, and an application form.
This morning I went to Hafes al-AIDS, which is close to Bab Touma, with the two women from SOAS (School of Oriental and Asian Studies) at London University - there's an exchange program with Damascus University. I wanted to get out early, and actually woke up before 9 (yesterday it was 12:30pm - let's blame jetlag, and last night I couldn't get to sleep til after the 4am-ish call to prayer). The girls got moving a little slowly.
It was a zoo at Hafes al-AIDS. It looks like everyone has to get AIDS tests to do anything. I was waiting with a bunch of High School kids before I found out there was a seperate entrance for student and others. With the letter from the University we skipped the massive line out front and went to the "Students and Domestic Workers Testing Room". Others insisted I sit because of how pale I was, though I tried to assure them that I really am just that pale. "Domestic Workers" was khadimaat meaning only females. Next to our testing room was one for several groups, inclduing "Entertainment Workers". Now what is that a euphanism for?
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Syrians Don't Try to Rip Me Off
I had a busy first day in Damascus. I woke up without knowing what time it was, so I just got up and went to breakfast in the hotel. Oh, 7:30 am. Awesome. I asked at the front desk about how to find a family to live with. "Wait for the manager, he knows a family." He'll be here 10.
So I went around looking for the other items on my to-do list: watch, Syrian SIM card, passport photos. At 8 everything was closed but I managed to buy a watch on the street. At 9 I bought a new charger for my Egyptian cell phone. The guy had to dig in the back to find something that worked with "such an old model". I bought it a year and half ago! He sold it to me for 100 lira, ($2) because of my eyes. I also bought a sim card off of him for 600 lira. I have a crap load of lira, and I was counting out when he stopped me, took one of my bills, and told me I was counting out thousands. Oops. I put them back in my bag, took my change. Now I have a friend, Khalid, albeit a friend that wants to marry me.
That's the problem with making guy friends here. First they want to get with you, then when you tell them you're married (I need to get a ring to make this believable), or otherwise taken, or not looking (this is not understood, after all I am old) they want to just be your friend. The taxi driver who took me to the Damascus University today (god that was hard) was singing my praises so I concocted a fake potential husband in New York, an Iranian-American named Amir (thank you Shadee for your brother). Why don't I have a ring? They are expensive in America, I said, and he's working to buy one. He'll visit me here and give me the ring. The driver, Muhammad, was particularly interested in knowing if we go out together. To restaurants? To movies? Sure we do. Do we live together? No, I live with a friend and he lives with his brother. We can't live together until we are married (I don't want the driver thinking I'm some libertine American whore)!
Back to yesterday I went back to the hotel and met the guy, Zahir, in whose house I am now living. He took me to the house, I saw the room (I get to move in September 25 - until then I am on a couch in a living room which is now off limits to everyone else). It's $150 a month - not too shabby. It's off the main street between Bab Touma and Suq al-Hammadiyya in the old city. By 2pm I had paid off the hotel and moved my stuff. There's Zahir, his mother, his wife Huda (24!) and two kids, Said 6 and Samar 4, who are Muslim, plus the foreign girls. It's an old house with an open courtyard in the center and 3 floors (plus two bedrooms on the roof). There's a Polish girl, German, British, and four Americans including myself. I met all of them, with varying degrees of better-than-my-Arabic, except the Brit who arrived five days ago. I don't think I heard her speak Arabic. There's a 33-year old American who is "miserable."
One of the Americans is my parent's worst fear: she arrive two months ago on a CLEO (what I'm on right now too). She met a half-Syrian, half-Pakistani, first language English, and they... got fucking married. She just returned from her honeymoon in Turkey. She's going to Kuwait on Fulbright and he's supposed to join her. At some point she's going to Pakistan for the traditional 400 hundred of his closest friends and family Pakistanti wedding. She's 22.
I did speak a lot of English with Mindy, the miserable American, but after a day of being really good, and speaking a lot of Arabic, I swear. I'm a bit frustrated with where my Arabic is, how much less I comprehend compared to a year ago right after Egypt. But I have to remind myself today is only my second day. Maybe I'll understand more at the dinner table tonight.
So I went around looking for the other items on my to-do list: watch, Syrian SIM card, passport photos. At 8 everything was closed but I managed to buy a watch on the street. At 9 I bought a new charger for my Egyptian cell phone. The guy had to dig in the back to find something that worked with "such an old model". I bought it a year and half ago! He sold it to me for 100 lira, ($2) because of my eyes. I also bought a sim card off of him for 600 lira. I have a crap load of lira, and I was counting out when he stopped me, took one of my bills, and told me I was counting out thousands. Oops. I put them back in my bag, took my change. Now I have a friend, Khalid, albeit a friend that wants to marry me.
That's the problem with making guy friends here. First they want to get with you, then when you tell them you're married (I need to get a ring to make this believable), or otherwise taken, or not looking (this is not understood, after all I am old) they want to just be your friend. The taxi driver who took me to the Damascus University today (god that was hard) was singing my praises so I concocted a fake potential husband in New York, an Iranian-American named Amir (thank you Shadee for your brother). Why don't I have a ring? They are expensive in America, I said, and he's working to buy one. He'll visit me here and give me the ring. The driver, Muhammad, was particularly interested in knowing if we go out together. To restaurants? To movies? Sure we do. Do we live together? No, I live with a friend and he lives with his brother. We can't live together until we are married (I don't want the driver thinking I'm some libertine American whore)!
Back to yesterday I went back to the hotel and met the guy, Zahir, in whose house I am now living. He took me to the house, I saw the room (I get to move in September 25 - until then I am on a couch in a living room which is now off limits to everyone else). It's $150 a month - not too shabby. It's off the main street between Bab Touma and Suq al-Hammadiyya in the old city. By 2pm I had paid off the hotel and moved my stuff. There's Zahir, his mother, his wife Huda (24!) and two kids, Said 6 and Samar 4, who are Muslim, plus the foreign girls. It's an old house with an open courtyard in the center and 3 floors (plus two bedrooms on the roof). There's a Polish girl, German, British, and four Americans including myself. I met all of them, with varying degrees of better-than-my-Arabic, except the Brit who arrived five days ago. I don't think I heard her speak Arabic. There's a 33-year old American who is "miserable."
One of the Americans is my parent's worst fear: she arrive two months ago on a CLEO (what I'm on right now too). She met a half-Syrian, half-Pakistani, first language English, and they... got fucking married. She just returned from her honeymoon in Turkey. She's going to Kuwait on Fulbright and he's supposed to join her. At some point she's going to Pakistan for the traditional 400 hundred of his closest friends and family Pakistanti wedding. She's 22.
I did speak a lot of English with Mindy, the miserable American, but after a day of being really good, and speaking a lot of Arabic, I swear. I'm a bit frustrated with where my Arabic is, how much less I comprehend compared to a year ago right after Egypt. But I have to remind myself today is only my second day. Maybe I'll understand more at the dinner table tonight.
Flights to Damascus
I got here Friday night after an overnight flight to Paris and an overday flight to Damascus. The Paris plane was filled with middle aged American couples going abroad for the first time (well, there were two of these next to me). One couple had won there trip from a furniture store drawing. The other had just decided to up and go. "Where are you going?" they asked when I said I was connecting. "Syria," naturally got a stunned reaction. I've been told to be careful.
The Damascus flight left midday Paris. At the gate there were two American women dragging kids. One woman had four, from sullen, angry teenager to chubby four-year-old. The other looked like Nancy on Weeds and had two small girls. They chatted about how the kids liked Syria, how the older ones were pissed off to be returning, how the younger ones where fine with it, how maids have such disloyalty.
"I brought mine to the State in May and she ran off within the first month!"
"Are you serious? Will you get in trouble?"
"No, no, I reported her as soon as it happened."
"Let me tell you, they are not loyal. I've had a maid in Damascus 5 years and she's looking for another job! She's signed on for another year with me but is looking for another job during the year! No loyalty!"
"I know. If mine was planning to run off she could have at least stayed for most the summer!"
Oh, don't I know it. We landed late, bags took forever, the embassy driver took me to Sultan Hotel where the embassy had booked me a room ($22) a night. It was nine so I went wandering off in the streets to find an internet cafe and email my parents that I was alright. I'm alright.
The Damascus flight left midday Paris. At the gate there were two American women dragging kids. One woman had four, from sullen, angry teenager to chubby four-year-old. The other looked like Nancy on Weeds and had two small girls. They chatted about how the kids liked Syria, how the older ones were pissed off to be returning, how the younger ones where fine with it, how maids have such disloyalty.
"I brought mine to the State in May and she ran off within the first month!"
"Are you serious? Will you get in trouble?"
"No, no, I reported her as soon as it happened."
"Let me tell you, they are not loyal. I've had a maid in Damascus 5 years and she's looking for another job! She's signed on for another year with me but is looking for another job during the year! No loyalty!"
"I know. If mine was planning to run off she could have at least stayed for most the summer!"
Oh, don't I know it. We landed late, bags took forever, the embassy driver took me to Sultan Hotel where the embassy had booked me a room ($22) a night. It was nine so I went wandering off in the streets to find an internet cafe and email my parents that I was alright. I'm alright.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Last post from the U.S. of A.
After two days of driving around to do errands and crap I'm just about ready to go. Almost packed, I swear. I'll land in Damascus tomorrow night after a brief layover in Paris. Still no update on where I'll be staying - I called numerous times only to have it ring over and over, and emailing only prompted one response: full at AlHaramain. So this will be interesting!
Of course, it will be interesting anyways. Today there was a a fun little altercation between Syria and Israel. This is making my parents really thrilled to drop me off at the airport. Wish me luck!
Of course, it will be interesting anyways. Today there was a a fun little altercation between Syria and Israel. This is making my parents really thrilled to drop me off at the airport. Wish me luck!
Things I am Not Going to Miss About New York
Well now that I'm leaving, I'm also going to leave the pity party. So here's some shit I'm not going to miss about New York:
- prices: movies, drinks, food, every fucking thing
- dodging asshole cars who don't want to share the road with bikes; dodging asshole pedestrians who neglect to watch for bikes
- the ubiquitous creepy/voyeuristic/increasingly porny American Apparel ads:
No thanks, I really don't want to see a 5-foot cooch.
- getting yelled at by construction workers on my bike - really, what reaction do they expect? Am I going to get off my bike, fuck them, and then continue on my way to work? I really don't budget that kind of time into my commute.
- the person who stole my bike seat
- the hotdog guy who was right next to my bike but apparently didn't say a word while a guy stole my fucking bike seat
- Flight of the Conchords - because the season actually ended so there is nothing to miss
- did I mention the price of shit in New York?
- if I have to hear "Umbrella ella ella" once more time the stabbing begins
- shitty clubs where the focus, instead of on the dancefloor, is on assholes with AmEx cards who reserve the privilege to drink Grey Goose for $300 a bottle
- I-bankers who have to make up for a 70 hour workweek by being the biggest douches at the bar
- handbags and shoes - why do people give a shit about this shit?
- hipsters
- those Sunday mornings when you think "I should go work out or go outside because it's so nice" but then its 3:00pm and the store is too far away and you're very hungry so you scrounge for leftover forgotten soup crackers from your roommate's takeout last month
- beauty standards - people in New York be so pretty!
But of course, I'm going to be about three times prettier when I step off the airplane in Damascus on Friday night. Ahh, for once my pasty skin is a blessing, not a burden.
- prices: movies, drinks, food, every fucking thing
- dodging asshole cars who don't want to share the road with bikes; dodging asshole pedestrians who neglect to watch for bikes
- the ubiquitous creepy/voyeuristic/increasingly porny American Apparel ads:
No thanks, I really don't want to see a 5-foot cooch.- getting yelled at by construction workers on my bike - really, what reaction do they expect? Am I going to get off my bike, fuck them, and then continue on my way to work? I really don't budget that kind of time into my commute.
- the person who stole my bike seat
- the hotdog guy who was right next to my bike but apparently didn't say a word while a guy stole my fucking bike seat
- Flight of the Conchords - because the season actually ended so there is nothing to miss
- did I mention the price of shit in New York?
- if I have to hear "Umbrella ella ella" once more time the stabbing begins
- shitty clubs where the focus, instead of on the dancefloor, is on assholes with AmEx cards who reserve the privilege to drink Grey Goose for $300 a bottle
- I-bankers who have to make up for a 70 hour workweek by being the biggest douches at the bar
- handbags and shoes - why do people give a shit about this shit?
- hipsters
- those Sunday mornings when you think "I should go work out or go outside because it's so nice" but then its 3:00pm and the store is too far away and you're very hungry so you scrounge for leftover forgotten soup crackers from your roommate's takeout last month
- beauty standards - people in New York be so pretty!
But of course, I'm going to be about three times prettier when I step off the airplane in Damascus on Friday night. Ahh, for once my pasty skin is a blessing, not a burden.
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
Reservations
I don't think the American Embassy is very happy with me. They offer to pick Fulbrighters up from the airport, a service of which I plan to make use. They also offer to book a few nights in the Sultan Hotel for us, a service I declined. I'll be staying at al-Haramein, I told them (much cheaper). Then I packed and went to California and didn't go on the Internet for a few days.
Pandemonium! Well, not really. The woman at the embassy had sent me emails making sure I had reserved at al-Haramein because it's very busy now and lots of hotels are all booked up, then emailed my contact at IIE who emailed me asking the same thing. I told them no, told her she could go ahead and book me Sultan, to which she replied that Sultan is full!!! Holy crap!
I'm not very worried. Last time I went to Syria I rolled up in a bus and had no trouble finding a room. If al-Haramein is full I'll go next door. If that's full, go to another hostel. I'll find a bed. But apparently the embassy does not find this comforting, so I'm trying to call ahead and reserve.
So close to Thursday. Packing is a bitch.
Pandemonium! Well, not really. The woman at the embassy had sent me emails making sure I had reserved at al-Haramein because it's very busy now and lots of hotels are all booked up, then emailed my contact at IIE who emailed me asking the same thing. I told them no, told her she could go ahead and book me Sultan, to which she replied that Sultan is full!!! Holy crap!
I'm not very worried. Last time I went to Syria I rolled up in a bus and had no trouble finding a room. If al-Haramein is full I'll go next door. If that's full, go to another hostel. I'll find a bed. But apparently the embassy does not find this comforting, so I'm trying to call ahead and reserve.
So close to Thursday. Packing is a bitch.
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