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!"