What do You Think About Islam?

I have been occaisonally asked this question by two broad groups of people: Muslims in the Middle East, and non-Muslims in America.

The question always catches me off guard coming from the former group. It's not an everyday occurance, somewhere around 1/100 of how often I'm asked my marital status. I'll meet some one new, we'll chat, and then, working to maintain the causual ambience, they will ask what I think about Islam. The question is dropped in apropos: "Your Arabic isn't bad. What do you think about Islam?" My answers to this are always awkward. "Oh, Islam? It's... cool." Sometimes the question is worded in such a way to imply that I, as an American, may have a problem with Islam. "Oh no, I don't have any problem with Islam. It's... cool. I like the sweets at Eid."

C'mon, what does one answer to this? "What do you think about Baptists?" Um, I don't really. "What do you think about Hindus?" That they are... fine... and stuff? The question is weird to me because, like "Weren't you expecting us all to be terrorists, what with the lies of your media?" I thought my existance in the country would preclude an affirmative answer. "Thanks for asking. Islam actually scares the shit out of me." I mean, that's why I live here. For the thrill.

Once I've answered that I have no problems with Islam, and that all religions are pretty much the same, the other person is usually happy to have met an unbrainwashed American. Sometimes, they dig to find out what I know about Islam, which is quite a bit, surprising them.

With the second group, non-Muslims in America, the question is usually delivered in a lowered voice, conspiratorally. You can tell me. I got this after going back from Egypt. I considered it the follow up to the warnings that preceded my going to Egypt: Be careful, you know, there's a lot of Muslims there.

I tell these people that Islam is... fine. People are normal. They do their shit. I knew I'd stayed up too late hearing the 4am-ish call to prayer. I don't really know what this group is expecting, maybe something along the lines of "IT'S CRAZY!" Or maybe they really are just curious to hear "what it's like" from someone who has been in a Muslim country.

I'd like to see what would happen if the first group asked the second.

How to Get an Internship in Syria

Getting an internship in the States can be a drawn-out process. Prospective interners want interns' cover letters, transcripts, resumes, writing samples, interviews. All this for work in which one is usually not even paid. At a place like the UN, pretty much forget it as an undergraduate (at least I had to).

In Syria, this is a less formal process. If willing to work for free, the intern market is just about wide open. Getting an internship consists of walking into an office and saying you would like to work. UNHCR (High Commission for Refugees i.e. works with the Iraqis) is from what I hear, desperate for interns. They have an office in Kafer Sousse. You have to fight your way in past the refugees and just press your CV into someone's hands.

I decided to do something more useful for my Arabic than watching soaps, so I sent in a CV and cover letter a week ago to the UNDP (Development Program), and heard nothing. Yesterday I printed out copies of my CV, put on a nice shirt, got on a servees and asked the guy next to me if he knew where the "UN offices in West Villas Mezzeh" are. He did, so I landed in front of the UNDP, asked the guard if he knew who I could talk to about "volunteer work" (after several days of asking around, I have found no translation for internship). He took me to a woman who took my resume, told me she would forward it on. Hearing me speak Arabic to the Syrian dude next to her, she said that would be helpful. Outside again, I asked the guard if he knew where the UNFPA (population) and the UNIFEM offices were ?

Just then another dude walked up. UNIFEM? I work there! I'm the driver for the director. So we went up to the office, the director didn't even read my CV, just chatted with me for a few minutes about what I do here in Syria, if I like it, what I studied in college, and then said "Welcome!". So now I have an internship at UNIFEM, the United Nations Development Fund for Women.

Halter Top

While I ridicule those who asked the inevitable, "Are you going to have to veil?" or some variation of it, of my moving to Syria, I at times am shocked by what ladies be wearing.

Spring came in unseasonably warm, and while it has cooled down to the pleasant, temperate spring that Sham is known for, I grew quite used to the sight of tanktops. I even saw a few short skirts with no leggings underneath. I had understood the general rule of dressing for success in Syria that tight in any form is ok, but showing skin can not be. Thus muhajibbas think nothing of wearing ass-tight jeans and lycra long-sleeved shirts. Like New York, many girls have also arrived to the erroneous conclusion that leggings are pants. I still maintain they are not, and you should go home and put some damn pants on, as I can see camel toe and we're not in the desert.

And then, among the tanktops and above-the-knee skirts, I actually saw a halter top. A halter top! In Bab Toma. She looked like a highschool girl, and was giggling about boys with her tank-top befitted friend.

I don't understand how these ladies go about in this kind of dress. In my rather wide clothes, I get stared at. In terms of looks, I can kindof pass for Syrian, with clothes and accent usually giving up the game, so it's not that I'm the blond foreigner. My friends seem unperturbed by guys constantly checking them out the street, maybe they just get used to it. But in a halter top? I imagine the intensity of staring could reach the point where the object of affection explodes into flames.

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.