Capoeira and Crazy Globalization

I've been going to Capoeira class for two weeks now, and it is amazing. I can actually touch my toes now! Class is held 4 days a week, 2 at Theatro, a theatre near suq hamadiya, and 2 in a room behind Nadi Barada (Damascus' most expensive health club).

Capoeira is a Brazilian fighting style/dance that works up a freaking sweat (though almost anything does in this heat). After the first day I was so sore I had trouble moving. It was a vision of being old and getting out of any chair required a groaned "ya rab".

The class is mostly Syrian dudes and foreign girls and NYU alums. There's a few Syrian girls and a few foreign guys, but mostly its the other way around. As for NYU, I don't know how this happened but there seems to be an NYU-Damascus shuttle: there's me, a girl names Kate, a guy named Ben, and another girl just at Capoeira, in addition to the NYU Ph.D I hear is floating around the city and another dude I graduated with.

The instructor is an Algerian guy named Mousa whose Arabic is a little weak having lived most of his life in Germany and being Berber, not Arab. I first went to class with two guy friends who were surprised that an Algerian would be bad at Arabic. "Then again, they all speak French over there," they said. I told them that he doesn't speak Arabic cause he's Berber. He speaks Berber. He told me he learned most his Arabic since moving to Syria.

My friends were shocked to learned that Berbers exist, because they said that sounds like something really ancient. And were shocked to learn that there is a Berber language (actually, several of them).
"Don't you remember that Moroccan kid in my class last fall? He lived in Belgium since he was a kid and learned Berber from his parents."

Americans are always given flack for being complete dumbasses about the outside world, and I sometimes take this flack (how many people told me how they had heard only a third of Americans can identify Iran, Saudi Arabia, Israel, and Iraq on a map). The first time I went to Syria, in 2006, I remember a man on a bus asking me if I knew who the president of Syria is. When I answered correctly, he looked genuinely impressed. "Bravo!" And how many times do I get asked about "How can Americans not know what's going on in Palestine!"

But seriously, how can you not know that Berbers exist? I don't think everyone can know everything about everwhere, but this is within the Arab world and a major part of North African countries' (وهي بلدان شقيقة) history and culture and politics. I mean, damn. Perhaps this is a consequence of Syria's focus on Arab Unity, so not much is said about non-Arabs in Arab countries. But still.

But though Mousa's Arabic isn't stellar (but totally workable), he does speak Berber, German, French, English, and Portugese as well so he's no slouch in the language department (I envy him). During class he often gives instruction in Arabic, English, and sometimes French (there's a woman and her mother who come who speak French).

We end most classes with a circle, banging on instruments and trying to sing in Portugese while people spar in the middle. Since no one actually knows Portugese except Mousa, we mostly just try to keep up phonetically, and are probabling singing no words recognizable to any Brazilian. But we have fun. The last two classes I've been dragged into sparring, two weeks being apparently enough time in the womb. There's a group that's been doing this for 9 months or so, and they run circles around me while I jinga back and forth, dropping to the floor with incorrect technique as my bum knee doesn't allow me to make all the movements.

It might be a sign of the times for a bunch of Syrians, Americans, and Europeans to be learning a Brazilian dance from a Berber German Algerian. A fun sign.

Noor and Awkward Moments

There's an almost daily battle now between watching Noor and watching the Eurocup. Noor is a Turkish muselel (Gumus) that's been dubbed into Syrian Arabic, and while I could claim I watch it for the Arabic, the truer reason is probably:


Kivanç Tatlitug is the most attractive man on the entire planet. I should've studied Turkish, at least so I could just pronounce his name.

The problem is its on daily at 10, right during matches. I can watch a match and then rush home after work to catch the 5pm replaying the next day. Truth be told, while I am a fan of football my viewing is along the same lines: though I'm for the Nederlands (having been a fan since living there for a bit as a kid en ik kan nog steeds een beetje nederlands spreken) it becomes "The Italians are playing? Fuck the Dutch!"

Noor's been winning most nights as I can just turn on my TV, while watching a match means going over to a friends house who's bought the al-jazeera special sports channels.

And compared to a draw at zero, Noor is very exciting: Noor is married to Mohanet (pictured), who just discovered that his previous lover didn't die in a car accident years ago but instead is paralyzed AND has a toddler who is his son. Noor just found out and left, with her grandmother who is living in the same house with Noor, Mohanet, and Mohanet's sister, mother, and grandfather, but walking out the door Noor's grandmother had a stroke so Noor couldn't leave and instead she and Mohanet are pretending everything's ok for the grandmother's sake but really Noor wants a divorce. Meanwhile, Mohanet's Aunt remarried secretly after divorcing her douche husband Tariq but her new husband's daughter won't accept her. And there's something about drugs and newspapers.

Watching the episode where Noor has her suspicions after finding out Mohanet wasn't at work when he said he was (instead he was playing with his newly discovered son and sharing shy glances with his wheelchair bound former sweetheart) with roommate Michelle, some friends and their mother, the mother jokingly said, "He should just marry the other one too! Problem solved!"
Her daughter was shocked, "They're Muslim?" The characters don't come across as terribly pious with their penchant for unwinding with some booze in the grandfather's study, but I'm not one to judge.
"Of course they are; they're Turkish."
"But who could share him (Mohanet)?"
"God I know," I added "impossible!"
We all pretty much put in our thoughts that another wife would be unbearable, the son said he thought no one would be able to share a spouse, to which the mom reminded us she is the second wife of a Lebanese man. "I know he's with the other woman, so what?"

Then it was awkwardly silent and we concentrated on Noor's distraught wanderings through the streets of Istanbul.

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).