Hasan and Marqus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Did My Laundry!!

I wouldn't normally consider the above to be anywhere near exciting, but Um Mazen and Abu Mazen cheered this morning when I returned from the roof where I had hung my clothes to dry. The water is only strong enough to wash clothes in the morning, and until recently I have had class until 1 or 2pm, so Um Mazen has been doing my laundry. Last night I asked her to show me how their machine works: there are no instructions in any language on it, and the numbers on the dial have long worn off. She replied, oh, just put your clothes here and I'll do them in the morning. I convinced her that I wanted to wash my own clothes since I had time, so she said in the morning she would show me how to do work the machine and then I could hang them on the line. Oh goody!

I don't know exactly why, but Um Mazen and Abu Mazen seem to think I am amazingly incompetant at all things. They know that I've been living on my own for some years now: clearly I managed to keep myself alive, somehow. Searching for a laugh sometimes, Um Mazen sometimes asks me to repeat the short list of things I can cook. Most of these items are met with "That's not really cooking!" but the largest laugh comes with "toast".

I also am assumed to be fragile. When Um Mazen suggested I switch the table in my room for a bigger one, she told me to wait until Abu Mazen was done bathing so he could take it up for me. I carried it up myself and 30 minutes later was called downstairs. "Where's the table!"
"It's in my room."
"Did you take it up yourself?"
"Yes"
"Bravo!"
I don't know why it is assumed that I would need the help of a 70-year-old man, but it is.

Um Mazen and I put my clothes in the laundry machine this morning, and she turned the dial. "So, there's no numbers, but there's this kind of red spot here." The second cycle is marked by a kind of bigger red spot. I was climbing the ladder to get to the roof with my basket of clothes but Um Mazen insisted that she hold the clothes then pass them to me once I was up. "Don't do this when someone isn't around to pass it to you." I appreciate the concern, but she gets her 65-year-old self up this ladder every other day with a basket of clothes, I don't understand why my early-20s self wouldn't be able to.

I came down from hanging to cheers. "Shatura!" Um Mazen looked at the roof and told me I did a good job hanging. "You learn quick!" I told her this was no where near the first time I have done laundry in my life, but this was ignored

"We're going to teach you everything," said Abu Mazen.

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.