Saturday I was again at Saida Zeinab teaching English, and during a short break during a marathon of children, I ran out to quiet my stomach. Walking down the street, I really felt like everyone was staring at me. The boys I had just taught were all smiles, yelling "Hello Teacher!", but so were the older boys (men), whose smiles were just a bit less innocent. I bought some bread at the bakery, where the man tried to give me the bread for free.
"It's on me"
"No, no I'd rather pay."
"It's on me. You can pay next time."
"I'm not going to be here for another week."
"It's all right."
"Please just take it." I held out the coin, and finally he asquiesed, looking defeated.
Then on the ride home I was a little late so I jumped in a cab instead of walking from the garage to Shariah Baghdad. The driver and I chatted, but at my stop he refused payment. I insisted, and he accepted.
Then I was waiting to meet my teacher, and stomach hungry once again, I bought some peanuts from a dude on the street. "How much do you want?" I asked (this actually sounds polite in Arabic).
"Whatever you would like."
"Um, I want the price?"
"On my head."
"It's 10 right?"
"Yes, 10." he took the coin.
Is this supposed to be come opportunity to flirt? Seriously, just take my money.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Flying to Pakistan
I got to the Damascus Airport rather early, after being offered a ride by Anas and Mohammad, relatives of the people I used to live with (have I mentioned I moved the day after I got back from Pakistan?). Waiting, I read a bit of my short story collection, which drew the curious to ask if I was foreign, and then, how I could read Arabic.
"Can you read that?" They would ask, pointing to the open book in my hands. No, I just really like to stare at Arabic and flip pages.
One man was considerably hard to shake. After complimenting my Syrian Arabic, he attempted to get my number. Dude was mad old, by the way. I asked and found out 38 to be exact. Sorry, no number possible.
He didn't give up (all in Arabic, naturally):"Just for friends. Isn't that common in America? Boys and girls are friends in America."
"Usually they are about the same age though."
"How old are you?"
"How old do you think?"
"You look about 17." Ok, so now its even creepier. "So can I have your number? Just for friends."
"No, I have friends. Of my same age."
"What's the problem? Here, it's not weird for men of 38 to marry 20 year old girls."
"Yeah, I'm going to go to my gate now."
"Can I have your number?"
"No."
"If I ask again, will I get a different response?"
"No, same response. Bye." The last question was asked with a twinkle in the eye, as if we had been flirting and my previous no's had hints of a future yes for the persistant. I assure, there were no hints of any other answer.
At the gate I chilled with all the Saudis, many niqabis. Some women talked to me, shaking their heads when they found out that I was going to Pakistan by myself. The pity in their eyes was clear when they found out my parents live in America. When they inquired and were informed of my age (22), one said, "by God, so young!" Old enough to marry, not old enough to live far from my parents or travel by myself.
In Saudi, those going to Pakistan stayed on the plane while most deplaned, and a few joined us. So all I've I've seen of Saudi is through a plane window. Now event the airport. Back in the air, the plane was very empty. The flight attendents had all heard me speak before and now bored, a few wandered over and chatted.
In Karachi as I got off the plane, an airport employee met me and asked if was "the American." Um, yes. "Go with him, he said, pointing to another man.
"Why?" I asked with palatable fear.
"I got a call from my manager in Damascus. You are American? Go with him."
"Where are we going??"
The employee hustled me to the front of the immigration line, and I sailed through protocol. Hadi's father and sister were there to meet me, when I found out that Hadi's mom, being Syrian, is friends with the few other Syrians in Karachi, including the manager of Syrian Air in Pakistan. He had put in the call.
"Can you read that?" They would ask, pointing to the open book in my hands. No, I just really like to stare at Arabic and flip pages.
One man was considerably hard to shake. After complimenting my Syrian Arabic, he attempted to get my number. Dude was mad old, by the way. I asked and found out 38 to be exact. Sorry, no number possible.
He didn't give up (all in Arabic, naturally):"Just for friends. Isn't that common in America? Boys and girls are friends in America."
"Usually they are about the same age though."
"How old are you?"
"How old do you think?"
"You look about 17." Ok, so now its even creepier. "So can I have your number? Just for friends."
"No, I have friends. Of my same age."
"What's the problem? Here, it's not weird for men of 38 to marry 20 year old girls."
"Yeah, I'm going to go to my gate now."
"Can I have your number?"
"No."
"If I ask again, will I get a different response?"
"No, same response. Bye." The last question was asked with a twinkle in the eye, as if we had been flirting and my previous no's had hints of a future yes for the persistant. I assure, there were no hints of any other answer.
At the gate I chilled with all the Saudis, many niqabis. Some women talked to me, shaking their heads when they found out that I was going to Pakistan by myself. The pity in their eyes was clear when they found out my parents live in America. When they inquired and were informed of my age (22), one said, "by God, so young!" Old enough to marry, not old enough to live far from my parents or travel by myself.
In Saudi, those going to Pakistan stayed on the plane while most deplaned, and a few joined us. So all I've I've seen of Saudi is through a plane window. Now event the airport. Back in the air, the plane was very empty. The flight attendents had all heard me speak before and now bored, a few wandered over and chatted.
In Karachi as I got off the plane, an airport employee met me and asked if was "the American." Um, yes. "Go with him, he said, pointing to another man.
"Why?" I asked with palatable fear.
"I got a call from my manager in Damascus. You are American? Go with him."
"Where are we going??"
The employee hustled me to the front of the immigration line, and I sailed through protocol. Hadi's father and sister were there to meet me, when I found out that Hadi's mom, being Syrian, is friends with the few other Syrians in Karachi, including the manager of Syrian Air in Pakistan. He had put in the call.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Before Pakistan
Getting to Pakistan was a bit of a hassle, and the reason I didn't write anything about my planned trip beforehand was that I didn't want to jinx it.
I had to find a flight, and there are very few Damascus-Karachi flights. There are none direct, in fact. Luckily Syria Air has a twice a week flight that stops in Dammam in Saudi Arabia with a less-than-an-hour layover, versus the 8 hour layovers in Doha or Abu Dhabi I was looking at if I flew another airline. I bought a ticket to leave on a Tuesday and come back on a Saturday, only missing two days of class. Yes.
Then, visa. The Pakistani embassy in Damascus requires a letter from your embassy stating that you are indeed the person your passport says you are, that you are an American citizen, and that you are allowed to travel. The American embassy refuses to do this letter since possession of a passport means all of these things. So I had to go to the American Embassy and get a copy of a letter that says they don't do letters, and give that to the Pakistani Embassy, who refused it. "We need the letter."
"Look, it says they don't do letters."
So to ease the situation along I squeezed out a few tears and wailed that it was my sister's wedding and I have to go to Pakistan. The man led me inside to talk to his boss, who asked if I was Syrian, then if my parents were Syrian, then why I spoke Arabic. But he decided to go ahead and give me a visa, as I knew they would, since Lindsey (my friend who got married) had gone through the same letter ordeal two weeks previous, and emerged with a visa.
Then I was almost all set, when Lindsey told me the wedding date changed because of all the trouble she had with the Pakistani embassy in Kuwait, and then DC. I took my ticket with "non-refundable, non-exchangable" stamped on it to the office and got it changed, without a penalty or fee or trouble.
Then I just had to convince everyone around me that I would be ok. When I told people I was going to Pakistani, they reacted, well, much the same way people in the States reacted when I told them I was going to Syria.
"Oh my god!"
"Are you going to be safe?"
"Why?"
"But its so backwards!"
"Will you have to wear hijab?" - the last question was especially ironic.
True, Pakistan has been dominating the news lately, what with the Emergency Laws and suspencion of the constitution following on the heels of Benazir Bhutto's return and two suicide bombs that killed around 150 people. But most of the protests happen in Islamabad or Lahore, it seemed, and I was going to Karachi (oh wait, the bombs were there). I actually did call Lindsey, told her I was a little nervous, but she told me it was all good. Plus, I got to stay with Hadi's (her now-husband) aunt.
But I figured it would be fine as long as I stayed away from any political rallies. And it was.
I had to find a flight, and there are very few Damascus-Karachi flights. There are none direct, in fact. Luckily Syria Air has a twice a week flight that stops in Dammam in Saudi Arabia with a less-than-an-hour layover, versus the 8 hour layovers in Doha or Abu Dhabi I was looking at if I flew another airline. I bought a ticket to leave on a Tuesday and come back on a Saturday, only missing two days of class. Yes.
Then, visa. The Pakistani embassy in Damascus requires a letter from your embassy stating that you are indeed the person your passport says you are, that you are an American citizen, and that you are allowed to travel. The American embassy refuses to do this letter since possession of a passport means all of these things. So I had to go to the American Embassy and get a copy of a letter that says they don't do letters, and give that to the Pakistani Embassy, who refused it. "We need the letter."
"Look, it says they don't do letters."
So to ease the situation along I squeezed out a few tears and wailed that it was my sister's wedding and I have to go to Pakistan. The man led me inside to talk to his boss, who asked if I was Syrian, then if my parents were Syrian, then why I spoke Arabic. But he decided to go ahead and give me a visa, as I knew they would, since Lindsey (my friend who got married) had gone through the same letter ordeal two weeks previous, and emerged with a visa.
Then I was almost all set, when Lindsey told me the wedding date changed because of all the trouble she had with the Pakistani embassy in Kuwait, and then DC. I took my ticket with "non-refundable, non-exchangable" stamped on it to the office and got it changed, without a penalty or fee or trouble.
Then I just had to convince everyone around me that I would be ok. When I told people I was going to Pakistani, they reacted, well, much the same way people in the States reacted when I told them I was going to Syria.
"Oh my god!"
"Are you going to be safe?"
"Why?"
"But its so backwards!"
"Will you have to wear hijab?" - the last question was especially ironic.
True, Pakistan has been dominating the news lately, what with the Emergency Laws and suspencion of the constitution following on the heels of Benazir Bhutto's return and two suicide bombs that killed around 150 people. But most of the protests happen in Islamabad or Lahore, it seemed, and I was going to Karachi (oh wait, the bombs were there). I actually did call Lindsey, told her I was a little nervous, but she told me it was all good. Plus, I got to stay with Hadi's (her now-husband) aunt.
But I figured it would be fine as long as I stayed away from any political rallies. And it was.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
So I've Been in Pakistan...
I just got back this morning from Karachi, where I went to Lindsey and Hadi's wedding. I had left Friday. Much, much more on this later, but today I have to study for my test tomorrow.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Going Private!
I'm going private with the blog in a couple of days. If you would like to continue reading the my adventures in Syria and struggles with Arabic, email me at filledepaille@gmail.com or facebook me and I'll add you!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Moving, moving
I found a place. It's on Shariah Baghdad, close to everything. It's a family of a mother and a father and a 26-year-old son, who just graduated from law school, and is a midget. The father is a professor of law. I met the son and the father yesterday. I get the bedroom of their son who is away in Manchester.
Right now, where I am, I have pretty much complete freedom. Because there are (now) 8 girls, the family can't possibly keep track of our movements and I am able to come home whenever I want - 3am, 7am, whenever. But living with the new family, though I asked them about staying out late and they said, you know, not all the time, but sometimes, ok. As the only foreigner, I can't come and go as I please. Well, I expected that when I first came to Syria, but then I set up with my current situation. Am I ready to give up staying in Jerimana until daybreak? Old Maid marathons and movies until the sun comes up? Clubs until the wee hours? (okay, as I've done the latter twice in two months, I can safely say that will not be missed much).
But the benefit to my Arabic! All Arabic, all the time will be my new home. I'll miss the family I'm with now, but looks like I have to go ahead with it. Even if it is a whole 500 Syrian lira more a month ($10)!!!
Right now, where I am, I have pretty much complete freedom. Because there are (now) 8 girls, the family can't possibly keep track of our movements and I am able to come home whenever I want - 3am, 7am, whenever. But living with the new family, though I asked them about staying out late and they said, you know, not all the time, but sometimes, ok. As the only foreigner, I can't come and go as I please. Well, I expected that when I first came to Syria, but then I set up with my current situation. Am I ready to give up staying in Jerimana until daybreak? Old Maid marathons and movies until the sun comes up? Clubs until the wee hours? (okay, as I've done the latter twice in two months, I can safely say that will not be missed much).
But the benefit to my Arabic! All Arabic, all the time will be my new home. I'll miss the family I'm with now, but looks like I have to go ahead with it. Even if it is a whole 500 Syrian lira more a month ($10)!!!
Saturday, November 3, 2007
Loves the Music
Unlike previous weekends, in which I was a loser and stayed home or came home early(I'll blame the sniffles) I actually got out. Thursday night I went out clubbing with a few friends, Tariq, Salih, and the kickboxing champion of Syria, Abud. I failed to bring my foreign girl friends along (sniffles). Three guys and a girl is not good math for getting into clubs. I asked why this was all on me, don't they know any girls?
"Yeah, but you know Syrian girls. They have to be home by 10 or 11."
We did manage to get in free at a club in one of the fancy hotels near Cham Palace (not Jetset). I have yet to pay to dance. The club was on the fourth floor, dance floor outside overlooking Qasloum Mountain. The music - occaisonally there was a respite from incessant techno, but most (not all- no one fucked with Shakira) rap or latin or Arab song was mixed with a techno beat, rendering it undanceable to me. Not to every one else there, though. What is it with Americans? The world loves techno. The Europeans students love it. Elizabeth from Zimbabwe loves it. Syrians love it. But every American, before heading out to the club goes, "Wait, is it techno?" Football and techno, two things the world loves that America just doesn't. Mindy hypothesises that, as the birthplace of rock, soul, jazz, etc., Americans just can't get down without that soul. Even the white ones.
I did get to hear some music with soul the next day at the Layna Shamyan concert. A Syrian-Armenian (when I said, really? She's Armenian? I was told: with a name like Shamyan? Are you kidding, of course!) singer with an incredible voice. It was in a theatre off Sharia Sawra not far from Souq Hammidiya. Packed to standing room. Afterwards, I bought her two CD's over Tariq's protests that I should just burn his. I like to support an artist every once in a while, especially when four cds (2 Layna, 2 promos of other artists from the label) cost the equivalent of 8 bucks. I got to sit right up in front - it was pretty amazing.
"Yeah, but you know Syrian girls. They have to be home by 10 or 11."
We did manage to get in free at a club in one of the fancy hotels near Cham Palace (not Jetset). I have yet to pay to dance. The club was on the fourth floor, dance floor outside overlooking Qasloum Mountain. The music - occaisonally there was a respite from incessant techno, but most (not all- no one fucked with Shakira) rap or latin or Arab song was mixed with a techno beat, rendering it undanceable to me. Not to every one else there, though. What is it with Americans? The world loves techno. The Europeans students love it. Elizabeth from Zimbabwe loves it. Syrians love it. But every American, before heading out to the club goes, "Wait, is it techno?" Football and techno, two things the world loves that America just doesn't. Mindy hypothesises that, as the birthplace of rock, soul, jazz, etc., Americans just can't get down without that soul. Even the white ones.
I did get to hear some music with soul the next day at the Layna Shamyan concert. A Syrian-Armenian (when I said, really? She's Armenian? I was told: with a name like Shamyan? Are you kidding, of course!) singer with an incredible voice. It was in a theatre off Sharia Sawra not far from Souq Hammidiya. Packed to standing room. Afterwards, I bought her two CD's over Tariq's protests that I should just burn his. I like to support an artist every once in a while, especially when four cds (2 Layna, 2 promos of other artists from the label) cost the equivalent of 8 bucks. I got to sit right up in front - it was pretty amazing.
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