Exercise!

I recently extended my visa, which is always fun. Some people complain about the bureaucracy here, but as a graduate of NYU I don't find it all that bad.

I went to the farther Office of Immigration and Passports so I could extend it for a whole two months. I woke up super early (7 on Saturday!). First, I had to get extra passport pictures, which took ages as the only shop in sight did not have a camera. Instead, they scanned my passport and printed copies of that picture. Whatever, it worked.

Then to the office. On the third floor I got four copies of the same form to fill out, then went back downstairs to buy a stamp that needs to be on each of the forms, then filled them out on the hood of a car. Then back to the third floor, a short wait, to a different office on the third floor, up to the fourth floor, back down to the third floor, back up to the fourth floor, and back down to the third floor.

See, that wasn't so hard.

I Get Off My Lazy طيز

So I've decided to stop being a leech on society. A fellow Fulbrighter put me in touch with a woman who runs a weekend school for Iraqi children, so now I volunteer teaching English there. Friday was my first day.

The school is in the woman's one-room apartment in Saida Zayneb, an area outside of Damascus which is very poor, has quite a lot of Iraqi refugees, and is famous for the Saida Zayneb mosque, the main attraction for Iranian pilgrims to Syria. It takes less than an hour to get there. Saturday I went back and taught the same group of girls from before, plus two more classes. 6 hours after I had arrived, the woman who runs it was thanking me profusely as I left and I felt, well, good. "Skukran jazeelan" (thank you very much) said the woman, to which I replied "Skukran lilforsa" (thanks for the opportunity).

The students were divided among the teachers haphazardly, and I had no idea of their levels prior to beginning class so everthing was completely off-the-cuff. Their English was also so poor that I had to speak almost entirely in Arabic, following up every English sentence or word with the meaning in Arabic. The students are harder to understand than most people I interact with since I'm so unfamiliar with the Iraqi dialect and accent, but I expect this will improve. Both days, there were some French journalists buzzing about taking pictures and talking to the main woman.

Most of the girls are from Baghdad. One of the lessons on Saturday I worked one-on-one with a 14-year-old girl, who is very behind in English. Most of the students are, as Syrian schools start English a full two or three years before Iraqi schools, plus many missed a lot of school because of the war. The girl asked me if I spoke "logha ajnabia" (foreign language - English) well, and how I knew it, so I told her I was from America. Really? She asked. Is America nice? Do your parents live there? Is America pretty?

I'm never embarrassed or reticent about telling people I am from the US, except in this situation. I know they know that I am not the US government, and are obviously not going to turn on me because of my blue passport, but still I feel somewhat responsible. My friends, my neighbors, some of my family supported Bush or the war, and I don't think I can absolve myself of all responsibility just by the fact I didn't vote for Bush.

The last class on Saturday was for older girls more advanced in English. The way English is taught in school here drills the grammer but skips over conversation and listening, so I was trying to get them talking. They told me about their families. The girl who is the best in English informed me, "My family from Baghdad, and I have four brother- no, three brother now, one died, and a sister." I didn't ask how.

Even More Syria to Love

I applied for, and received an extension on my grant! Now, at the least, I will be here until December 2008. Kick-ass!

I Swear I'm Not Going to Get Married

As I was preparing to go to Egypt, oh so long ago at the tender age of 20, my family expressed their dissatisfaction with my chosen study abroad site. My grandmother revoked her annual birthday gift to my tuition fund. My father just got quiet when "Egypt" was discussed, as he did around discussions of "Syria" for the past four months. "Why not France?" my mother begged, having made her opposition to my being in the Middle East known from the first time, a year previous, I had told here I was going to major in Middle Eastern Studies. "You're not studying abroad."
"Of course not Mom. NYU doesn't even have a program there."

Right before I left, resigned to reality, my mom imparted one last warning: "Do not get married." I laughed, as my mother knows my thoughts on marriage on any level other than the theoretical are similar to my thoughts on heroin. No thanks. Looks like fun maybe, but not for me. I understand from where her fears came, as I had never expressed any desire to marry at my still-to-young age in America, so what would compel me abroad?

Now I understand. I have met so many American and European women married to Syrian men. At my house, the family proudly speaks of their past tenants, with special admiration for those who have gotten married. Flipping through their goodbye notes and passport photos in the house's log, Um Zahir stops to point out "She's living here in Damascus with her husband... Oh! She got married just last year. We had the wedding right here in the house... Oh! She's married to a Jordanian... Her husband is Lebanese - too bad they got divorced."

Then one of the girls staying in the house got engaged and is getting married on November 9th in Pakistan. Her fiance is half-Syrian, half-Pakistanti.

Then I met an Australian girl (22ish) who just moved here to live with her Syrian husband, who I have been informed leers at other women and told my friend, in Arabic, right in front of his wife "I wish I had met you before I met her," as the Australian does not speak Arabic. Ok, that's just a douchy guy.

Shit, then I was going home from my friend Rasha's house on Eid and I was having trouble finding a microbus. I asked a man also waiting with a woman, who could be foreign or just light if he knew whether any of the other micros went by Bab Toma. No, but I'm trying to get there myself he said. Where are you from? America.

The woman broke in, "I guess we could just talk in English then." She was British, married to the Syrian man. She had met him while studying here for a year. "How are the university classes now?" she asked. "Still tons of Italians?" She assured me her Arabic was very good now. "Marry a Syrian and it happens." We shared a taxi to Bab Toma.

Rachel, who had been in Nicaragua a year and a half and saw the same phenomenon there, told me these women fall in love with the culture, then marry a piece of it. I do love Syria, but I think I'd rather just return with an argileh and an oriental rug.

Circus!

The last night of Eid I went with some friends to the Ukrainian Circus in Jerimana.It was a modest circus, a small tent in a usually empty field, filled with plastic chairs. Most the performers did double- or triple-duty, as clowns, contortionists, acrobats, tightrope walkers, jugglers, and animal handlers - they had a baboon.






It was enjoyed by the mostly all-child audience, except for the part where a magician turned a burning piece of paper into a kitten. The kitten jumped out of his hands and ran towards the crowd, causing women to scream and throw their chairs in their attempt to run away. Women are strangely scared of cats here. Some of the acts weren't bad, though my friends bitched about the quality.











But I did get to hold a snake!

Too Many Bitches

I need to move.

Last week, there were 5 girls. There are now nine girls living in the house with the family, though there are only 7 rooms. One is camped out in the living room, rendering it unavailable for everyone else. The other is sleeping downstairs with the family in Um Zahir's room, where Samar and Said sleep as well. What the fuck? Why did the family accept more girls than they had room for? I would understand if someone was leaving soon, but no one's leaving for two months! Furthermore, a lot of the girls who moved in don't speak any Arabic (yet), so all conversation not with The Family is in not Arabic - mostly Enlish, but also Italian or German.

I started asking around to find a place to live with Syrians outside of the old city. I could just get my own apartment, but I don't really want that. Family or Syrian students (girls) would be nice. My language exchange partner Kenaz is looking at Muhajireen for me, and of course I've got the Jermimana crew looking there. I don't know if anything will come of it, as nothing has yet.

So I've been peacing out of the house a lot, eating iftar with friends instead of with the family. Iftar is Arabic Time with The Family, and now English is flying across that table like nobody's business.

Upswing

Much like a sine curve, learning a language is a series of ups and downs. I had been feeling rather down about my Arabic, especially last week. Jesus Christ, I will never learn this fucking language.

Then, the clouds parted (metaphorical clouds, there aren't that many literal clouds here). This past Friday I went to Jeramana to meet friends. I had planned to go home somewhat early, around midnight. But as we were hanging out the power went out in Jeramana, so I had an excuse to stay. Blackouts in different areas of the city is not rare, though I hear this summer it was happening all the time. We got candles and all sat around talking - rules: no English, which was surprising challenging for Ra'id but not the two Americans. Two candles later it was sohour, after which I finally left Jeremana to sneak in to my house with the risen sun.

Since, I've felt much better about my Arabic, not that I was rocking the candle circle, but I feel I'm getting better. I had a language exchange with my friend Monar, who doesn't speak much English - three hours of pretty much all Syrian. I even contributed quite a bit to a class discussion about drugs and addiction (I feel as though having been a resident of the Netherlands gives me liscense to weigh in on legalization), breaking the silence that had fallen over me since defending America.

Also, I'm mad popular. For language exchanges. Even my Arabic professor at school, yesterday she asked to see me after class. What did I do? Nothing, she just wants to have a languages exchange after al-eid. That's like free private lessons, with the only payment my status as a native speaker of English with a cool, sought-after American accent. Did she ask the Australian in my class? Hell no.