Arab Summit

The Arab Summit dominated the news this past week here. Who would be attending, who wouldn't. Friday all the news channels documented Bashar Al-Assad's welcoming different heads of state, and Saturday was all the opening speeches. The airport was close Friday for all the delegations, and this Saturday English lessons in Sitt Zeinab were canceled because roads were closed. It was big! BIG!

Then I look at international coverage (BBC, NYT) and there's nothing but a small, hidden articles saying "oh yeah, there was a conference, or something. People said things, blah blah blah".

عيب!

I don't really care that much about عيب (shame), which is good because I am always doing things deemed عيب. Walking around with wet hair, which apparently means you just had sex( even at 10am), leaving my apartment in my pjs (longs pants and t-shirt) to buy bread for breakfast, even laughing loudly in the street: these are all عيب and I am guilty of all of them. Even after hearing about the sex-wet-head thing, I still don't take the time to dry my hair after the gym or when rushing out of the house.

My friends both love and hate this about me. I have the guys in laugh riots when I swear, since it is rare to hear girls swear here, but I say those same words in the micro, as I have heard many guys do, and hands race to cover my scandelous mouth. This also happens when I laugh. My friends desert me, backing way, whispering, "People are looking!"

Maybe its the effect of New York, where people will loudly discuss their sex lives, medical ailments, politics, and bowel movements in public, but I could care less what the people of this micro or that random street in Mezzeh think of me.

A lot of the عيب concern has to do with الجيران, those nefarious busybodies who could ruin your life, the neighbors. This I understand. The neighbors have a big effect on your life, since traditionally and still, they are your social circle, and a bad reputation could limit who you marry, whether your shop is patroned, and whether anyone will help you when bleeding on the side of the road.

But I don't understand why people freak out when we are in a completely different part of town where the chances of someone they know in the city of 5 million happening to be in the same place are slim. Drinking juice with friends, in an area of town 2 micros away from Jerimana, I was describing my role in the muselel with Basil Khayat: "So we flirt in this bar, and dance, and then I'm in his apartment drinking wine. So basically, I'm a whore." Ruba freaked out, and didn't want to let me finish my drink. "No one's even looking," I said, as indeed those nearby were much more interested in their drinks than my declared whoredom. I probably didn't allay her concerns by saying, loudly, "I'm just a whore in the muselel. Not in life, the role in a muselel. In life, I'm free."

I am a Star

I am now in three different Syrian muselels (serial dramas). In one of them, I even have a role opposite Basil Khayat, one of the hunks of Syrian television. It's a small role, but still. I don't really know how this happened. A month ago I jokingly told a friend that my dream is to be in a Syrian muselel - perhaps an an extra, perferrably as a foreign journalist or tourist or somthing else foreign (there's no getting around my accent. yet). This led to a role as an extra in a disco scene.

Then, as I was finishing up negotiations with my apartment broker (quite heated). I got a call from my friend Sali7. He was at some filming, and I should hurry over quick because they wanted me to have a role in a second muselel. A role in which Basil Khayat has a crush on me. So I came over, production did my hair and makeup, and Basil and I flirted on camera. Seated across from one another at the bar, I was instructed by the director to look at him flirtingly, so instead I grinned like a big idiot as I can't act and this is what I do when trying to flirt in real life.

Then I got a call about filming a scene at a restaurant in Bab Touma, and thinking it was for the Basil Khayat muselel, I went with my friends and found myself in a third muselel, where one of the actresses asked if I was a professional dancer.

Finally, I got called back to finish filming with Basil, which happened yesterday. We're hanging out in his apartment drinking wine (actually grape juice), and he asks me how long I've been in Syria. The first take I didn't answer, since no one told me what I was supposed to say, I thought there are you know, scripts for things like this. I gaped, the director cut the shot, and told me just to say something like "not yet four weeks, and I'll be coming home soon" and to add in a few English words so that it's clear to the audience that I am foreign. So I did. I've earned 5,000 Syrian lira ($100) from my "acting".

I've also turned down two other TV projects because I don't actually like it all that much. It's boring. I don't need money. But my friends are loving it and begging me to go with them to film a fourth muselel Thursday and a music video next month, and a little jealous I'm the only one who has gotten a speaking role. Bla. Having an actual role is a little more fun in that you get to walk around the rest of the day with a professionaly done hair and layers of stage makeup, which makes me look more Syrian (the natural look isn't very popular here).

I Love Jerimana

I am in love with my new apartment in Jerimana. Jerimana is technically outside of Damascus, but it's a little like Damascus' Brooklyn. It has everything: restaurants, Bouza Umaya (the best ice cream in Syria), even trendy little cafes now, plus at least once a week I get to see a man chase another down the street with a beating stick. I live at Sahat as-Suyuf, which is always bustling, day or night. Boredom does not exist since I can sit on the balcony and watch the proceedings below. The tea man serving every passing bar, the workers waiting to be hired like Mexicans outside Home Depot, the men chasing one another with beating sticks, the kids flirting surreptiously.

I wake up with the morning sun shining in my window, make breakfast, and eat it on the balcony. I then usually get a little studying done on the balcony before going into Damascus for lesson, teaching, or other little commitments. Studying on the balcony is awesome, especially now as I'm supposed to be starting my research grant (I have been here 6 months! I can't believe it) now. And if I don't go onto the balcony, I don't even have to wear pants to study; already, the new apartment is better than my old house with the family by several levels.

Dinner is on the balcony at well. Damn I love that balcony. And did I mention that it suddenly became spring 2 weeks ago? The sun is shining, weather is sweet, makes you want to move your dancing feet.

I Like Stories

I didn't go to Latakia. As a former Catholic, I'm working on not being controled through guilt, and one step on this long road was to call the family and lie. Lie about being busy. White lie, as I am busy, busy with culture.

As part of the Damascus: Arab Capital of Culture 2008, there is a week-long theatre festival. Every night a different play (foreign plays translated into Arabic) at the Hamra Theatre for free. I missed the first two nights, but caught the third. After settling into the theatre, the play began and it seemed very familiar to me. Then I remembered that I read a roommate's lent copy of this play (in the original English) back freshman year of college. It was Death and the Maiden by Ariel Dorfman, about a woman confronting her toturer years after the regime under which she was tortured has changed to democracy. It's an awesome play and the actors, particularly the woman playing Paulina, were good. For some of my friends it was their first time at a play, ever, and a good introduction. For me, it was awesome since I understood a great deal (no doubt aided by hazy memories of reading it).

So we went the next night, to Women of Lorca, which isn't the real name of the play, but that's what was in the program. I still don't know what the fuck this is. I think the play would have been easier to understand had there have been a coherent story. I would understand the monologue of a character about how she is free to use her body as she likes, and then be completely lost as she writhed around on the stage, a woman in red came out and danced around, and the actresses started chanting "Open the doors! Open the windows!" Huh? I don't understand experimental theatre in English - add Arabic and I'm done for.

Going tonight again, in sha' Allah there will be a story.

Guilt Trippin'

The family has been away in Lattakia for a while, during which time I found an apartment in Jerimana and moved my stuff (clothes and books). I waited for them to come back, as they said they would only be gone a week, and I wanted to inform them in person, before finally calling them Friday night 8ish to ask when they were coming back. "Oh, about another week," said Iyad. Crap. So I told him that my friend had found an apartment and invited me to live with her, and I agreed, what with my being homesick and all (as they have assumed for a good 2 months), and I was in the process of moving. "When will you be finished?" he asked, and I said, "oh, probably tomorrow."

After 11 I got a call from Iyad. Where are you? he said, and where is all your stuff. He had made the 3-hour trip straight from Lattakia. Strange. I said, Oh, it turns out I didn't have that much stuff and I was able to do it all today. I made an appointment to see him the next day, and hand over the key which I had unfortunately lost in the limo.

The next day I went to the house and saw Iyad. "Did we do something to upset you?" He layed the guilt trip on heavy. They were planning to not even have me pay for the last three months I would be here, he said, and they were planning to take me along to their relative's wedding next month in Lattakia, and they were planning a trip to Turkey in the summer. He asked if I was upset by the political talks we had, and said no, certainly not. I did not mention that I did get peeved by the talks by the overt interest in my past dating life. I said I wanted to maintain the relationship with the family, have them visit me in Jerimana, come see them.

Today I went back again to pay for the damage to the bed when I accidently set fire to it. Again he asked me what the reason was I moved, and moved so quickly like I was escaping. I said it was pure coincidence that this happened while they were in Lattakia. He asked if I wa moving because of a friend they have named Basil who professes to hate all things American: the government, the people, the films, even the food. "I don't eat pizza" he said, to which I protested that that food is actually Italian. He asked if it is because they don't allow me to have male friends in the home. No, no, I said.

No, no, nothing like that. But Iyad also invited me to come to Lattakia for a day or two, I think to prove to the family that I'm not moving because I hate them. I agreed. So tomorrow, guilt trippin' to the sea, where I can be sure to enjoy lots of awkward conversations attempting to penetrate into the reasons I left. Fun.

Got to be Moving On

I am moving. While living with the family has been nice these past four months, it's time I had my own apartment and little more freedom. Confining my search to furnished apartments in Jerimana, I found some 2-bedrooms for 10,000 Lira/month ($200) and 12,000 Lira, and some 1 bedrooms for 8,000 Lira, but ultimately settled on an 18,000 ($360) 2 bedroom because it is right on sahat-alsuyuf, rather than a 10 minute walk off the main road, has a balcony overlooking the square, airconditioning, and was the only apartment I saw with a full kitchen rather than an electric burner or two. I'll be living with an American girl Michele I met my 2nd day in Damascus when we moved into Um Zahir's house in the old city. Her condition is that we speak only Arabic, something I'm fine with, and if yesterday's seeing the place and negotiating with the owner and broker are any indication, we should be able to do.

I haven't told the family I'm leaving yet. I love Um Mazen and Abu Mazen, and would gladly stay in the house for several more month, but the problem is Iyad, the son. Iyad, though graduated from law school last May, doesn't work and doesn't study, so an inordinate amount of interest in my life seems to be how he's passing the time. He also seems to think America is a drug and sex orgy of sin, leading to situations where an American movie is on TV, characters are doing coke or something, so he asks me "Have you ever tried cocaine?". I laugh, saying "Are you kidding? It's so expensive!" and the rest of the family and his two friends laugh. He however, very seriously raises his eyebrows and says "Really, that's why? If it wasn't expensive, no problem?"

Or after filming the muselel, I was approached to be in another one, where I and 5 other girls would dance behind a singer in a scene. I was told I would have to wear a belly shirt, low-cut, etc, so I told them no thanks. I told the story to the family and Iyad asked why I refused. "When I'm the secretary of state, I don't want pictures of me out like that," I joked.
"So you really think you're going to be secretary of state? And that's why?"
"C'mon, I really don't need to be on TV like that."
"So the problem is just TV? But in life, in the street, no problem with belly shirts, right?"
Sure, just like the ones I wear everyday? My wardrobe consists of football jerseys and ankle-length skirts (a combination that has had my look called "homeless" on more than one continent).

These may seem like small complaints, but their continuation creates an atmosphere where I feel like I'm constantly under surveillance. Plus, I'm tired of questions like, "I happened to accidently see tampons in the trash. Are you a virigin?"

"Gaza Bombshell"

With crimes being committed daily in Gaza, there is an article in the April "Vanity Fair" about how we got here. Claiming the Bush Administration sparked the 2007 fight between Fatah and Hamas in Gaza, it says the US supported Muhammad Dahlan, former head of security in Gaza for Fatah, and provided him with weapons to overthrow the democratically elected government. So not only did the Bush Administration undermine its "democracy agenda" by withdrawing financial support for the new government, they actually tried to mount a coup against it.

If this article is true, Bush truly is fucking insane.

Shaming my Nation With Each Missed Kick

I have joined a womens' football (soccer) team last week, and I am shaming my nation with my subpar skills twice weekly at practice. While in my youth I played quite a bit and was rather good, the last time I touched a football was 13, and in the intervening years I focused on running, which though requiring less coordination, I still managed to injure myself, necessitating 4 knee surgeries over the past four years.

The two teams of women, one of teens and one of 20-year-old practice, once a week at Tishreen, Damascus' biggest sport club, and twice at a field out in Kafer Souse. When I first heard about it from Maureen, a Chinese girl learning Arabic here, we were under the impression that it was an informal lot of women playing together. Instead, the teams represent Damascus in nation-wide tournaments and are traveling to Dubai in a month for a tournament. They are actually quite good.

The first practice the coach asked us if we had ever played before. Maureen isn't bad, a credit to China, but between my slowness and lack of skills America's already questionable football reputation has only suffered further.

While fierce on the field, fighting about calls and injuring their best goalie's ankle today, off they are really nice and have promised trips to the mountains in spring. Nobody seems to mind my shittiness, and both they and the coach even seem disappointed by my inability to join them Saturdays as well (conflicts with English teaching).

A Dream Realized

I am in a Syrian muselel! And one starring Sulaf Fuwakharji, no less. Like my dream of being a French singer in the 1960s, my dream of being an Arab pop star soon fell to that cruel bitch, reality. But another, perhaps more realistic dream took its place: to be in a Syrian muselel (TV series). Muselels run for an set length, like a telenovela, and while Egypt may make all the movies and Lebanon the music videos, Syria has the market on muselels. Months ago when I first arrived, I announced my intention. I will be anything: a lost tourist, a reporter, a slutty foreigner (cause we all are). I will speak English or accented Arabic.

And now, يوم ممطر اخر (Another Rainy Day) is enriched by my presence. Saturday night I was hanging with friends and Abud asked me if I wanted to be an extra in some muselel, and my enthusiastic response scared several people. Sunday some friends and I got up extraordinarily early to be on set at 9am. The scene was a club, and we were the crowd. Since there were way less girls than boys, and I look foreign (good clubs, like almost all highclass establishments, have foreigners), I got to be in the front of the background in many scenes, dancing on tables, dancing on chairs, even dancing on the ground. We had to change clothes a few times in hopes that people won't realize that the crowd dancing in the background is the same on both sides of the bar.

I even got a speaking role! Okay, so in one scene I walk into the club, turn to one of the actors and say "Hi Selim." But still, my voice in addition to my likeness and awkward dancing to techno (who can dance to that shit) is preserved forever in muselel history.

Today was Day 2 of filming, and we got to see a lot of Ms. Sulaf, who is the biggest muselel star in Syria. It is a big deal. For two days of our time, we were paid about $20, which isn't too bad, but I heard the foreigners who only came in for day 2 (tourists playing "foreigners") get twice that. I don't know if I'll actually get my share, having skipped out early today because of a prior commitment.

But fuck it. I am a star.

Food Poisoning = No Fun

Have been out of commission recently as Wednesday I ate a Greek salad at Flamingo, a restaurant near my home where I often have lessons with my professor. About 45 minutes later, I started to feel bad: upset stomach, hot, tired. Went to the bathroom and revisted dinner, went home and spent the night in agony. The family tried to help, but my stomach unfortunately did not appreciate Um Mazen's remedies. A tea made of natural grasses was puked back up, and a glass of rose water unfortunately met the same end. I then spent about two days lying on my bed in the fetal position. Thursday night I went to the doctor to find I had gastrointestinitis, and he gave me some medecine. Today, feeling better, so I went and taught English is Sitt Zeinab, but did a lot of activities where teacher can sit down.

I miss food other than boiled pototoes and lentil soup.