My family doesn't do to much. The father is retired, the one remaining son at home graduated from law school in May and is kind of chilling, and all the other children are married and in Lattakia or in Britain studying. They sleep, they eat, they visit the neighbors and have the neighbors over, but mostly what they do is watch TV.
Al-Jazeera has a documentary channel that shows all documentaries, all the time. Most are obviously bought from America, England, France, and dubbed into Arabic. Any documentary is game, the channel being a uniform only of type, not of subject. Torture and Kidnap: American Style (from England, about rendition), how Airbus planes are made, the Mongol Conquest, and nature documentaries are all fair game.
The latter are quite common, and my family loves them, and I love watching them with my family. Um Mazen gives a running commentary. When a strange looking creature pops up, Um Mazen always proclaims "Subhan Allah!" (used to express awe at God's creation). Weird-ass fish: Subhan Allah! Thousands of penguins all sitting on their eggs: Subhan Allah! A Chameleon shoots its tongue out half a foot to eat a bug: Subhan Allah!
When the predator inevitably catches they prey, Um Mazen intones ya haram! or ya latif! (catch-all phrases for bad things). When lemurs walk up cacti, ya latif! When a baby seal is shown floundering around on the ice, ya haram! so weak!
These are but highlights in the running commentary, which also includes laughing, commands that the rest of us look at something cute, and spoilers if it's a documentary she's seen previously (Now the snake's going to eat him, ya haram!)
Last night was the icing on the cake when, watching one about the Anartic, I learned the word for seal: فقمة. Seems innocent, but when pronounced with the qaff and the Syrian accent on the taa marbuta (turns -ah into -eh) this word becomes fuqme. I started laughing when Iyad first said the word, to which Um Mazen said, "What's so funny? That's his name. Fuqme. Fuqme." And Abu Mazen joined in "Fuqme!"
I cried from laughing.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Talking 'bout the Ladies
Last night I went to the Arab Cultural Center in Adawi, just a few winding alleys away from my home. Tucked back away from the major streets, it is a oddly-placed grand building.
I went for a lecture on the "Cultural Marginilization of Women" led by Lena Mabardi, a TV journalist here with a Dutch kid from my class and Iyad, the mid-to-late 20s law school graduate who is the only remaining son of the family I live with (I don't want to say host brother). The large auditorium was mostly empty, and then the power went out. We located to a more intimite side room, lit by two battery-lamps. There were about 3 old guys, who looked as though they might just go to every cultural event out of boredom, 2 other guys, the female director of the center, 2 other women, Iyad, Marios from my class, and me.
Ms. Mabardi read a piece she had written, of which I caught most. The discussion afterwards was in 'ammiya, and I understood almost everything, leaving me in the strange place where I understand 'ammiya better than fusha. I guess I do get more practice listening to 'ammiya, but still, strange. The discussion was very friendly and laid-back. A muhijaba (veiled woman) questioned Ms. Mabardi about some of the things she had said about Islam's role in this marginilization, and agreed with much of what she said, Ms. Marbadi had spoken about the relative freedom of women in some pre-Islamic Middle Eastern societies such as Egypt. A man who identified himself as an independent studier of culture cited studies in which women themselves treat their boys better than their girls. I wanted to jump in at that point citing my own research on the topic (and how it intersects with the IMF), but that shit took me 30+ pages to explain in English.
The director then called out the obviousness of Marios' and my foreigness, asking us where we were from and what we were doing. This is always when I'm worst at Arabic, when I'm put on the spot and have to speak in front of a room of people.
America? she said. Can you tell us about the situation for women in America?
Uh, in general?
Yes. Is thate equality, for example? Go ahead.
What a wide question. I struggle with this somewhat, between talking about the US as a glorious wonderland of gender equality, which it is not, and denigrating it as comodifier and exploiter of women. For example, were I to wax on how wonderful it is that young women in America live alone and date and fuck with impunity, I would be met with: that's equality? The men are using these women and not marrying them. Aren't they heartbroken? Don't you have problems with teenage pregnancy and abortion? Aren't the women all starving themselves and getting plastic surgery (like they aren't here?). But my friends are a jealous of the freedom with which I travel and live apart from my family. I want to communicate that while not perfect, there has been a lot of progress and as a woman, I prefer it to Syria. The problem isn't the laws, it's the families. My girlfriends here don't have to be home at 10pm because of the state, or Islam (certainly not the Christian and Druze ones) but because of gossiping neighbors.
So I talked about how the feminism of the 60s and 70s achieved a lot of changes in laws, and because of that women of my generation feel like we don't have to fight against anything, and we buy into the image of the perfect woman. We've changed the laws but we still need to change society, I said. This was agreed upon by all present. Yes, said another Syrian woman, like here. Most laws are equal, but it is society that marginilizes women.
After the discussion Ms. Mabardi chatted with me and gave me her contact info. I'm asking her to send me her piece so we can read it in class.
I went for a lecture on the "Cultural Marginilization of Women" led by Lena Mabardi, a TV journalist here with a Dutch kid from my class and Iyad, the mid-to-late 20s law school graduate who is the only remaining son of the family I live with (I don't want to say host brother). The large auditorium was mostly empty, and then the power went out. We located to a more intimite side room, lit by two battery-lamps. There were about 3 old guys, who looked as though they might just go to every cultural event out of boredom, 2 other guys, the female director of the center, 2 other women, Iyad, Marios from my class, and me.
Ms. Mabardi read a piece she had written, of which I caught most. The discussion afterwards was in 'ammiya, and I understood almost everything, leaving me in the strange place where I understand 'ammiya better than fusha. I guess I do get more practice listening to 'ammiya, but still, strange. The discussion was very friendly and laid-back. A muhijaba (veiled woman) questioned Ms. Mabardi about some of the things she had said about Islam's role in this marginilization, and agreed with much of what she said, Ms. Marbadi had spoken about the relative freedom of women in some pre-Islamic Middle Eastern societies such as Egypt. A man who identified himself as an independent studier of culture cited studies in which women themselves treat their boys better than their girls. I wanted to jump in at that point citing my own research on the topic (and how it intersects with the IMF), but that shit took me 30+ pages to explain in English.
The director then called out the obviousness of Marios' and my foreigness, asking us where we were from and what we were doing. This is always when I'm worst at Arabic, when I'm put on the spot and have to speak in front of a room of people.
America? she said. Can you tell us about the situation for women in America?
Uh, in general?
Yes. Is thate equality, for example? Go ahead.
What a wide question. I struggle with this somewhat, between talking about the US as a glorious wonderland of gender equality, which it is not, and denigrating it as comodifier and exploiter of women. For example, were I to wax on how wonderful it is that young women in America live alone and date and fuck with impunity, I would be met with: that's equality? The men are using these women and not marrying them. Aren't they heartbroken? Don't you have problems with teenage pregnancy and abortion? Aren't the women all starving themselves and getting plastic surgery (like they aren't here?). But my friends are a jealous of the freedom with which I travel and live apart from my family. I want to communicate that while not perfect, there has been a lot of progress and as a woman, I prefer it to Syria. The problem isn't the laws, it's the families. My girlfriends here don't have to be home at 10pm because of the state, or Islam (certainly not the Christian and Druze ones) but because of gossiping neighbors.
So I talked about how the feminism of the 60s and 70s achieved a lot of changes in laws, and because of that women of my generation feel like we don't have to fight against anything, and we buy into the image of the perfect woman. We've changed the laws but we still need to change society, I said. This was agreed upon by all present. Yes, said another Syrian woman, like here. Most laws are equal, but it is society that marginilizes women.
After the discussion Ms. Mabardi chatted with me and gave me her contact info. I'm asking her to send me her piece so we can read it in class.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Gaza
Did you know that a few primitive rockets can serve as justification for starving 1.5 million people?
Fortunately, Hamas blew up the border and Palestinians are streaming into Egypt in order to buy... flour.
Fortunately, Hamas blew up the border and Palestinians are streaming into Egypt in order to buy... flour.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Damascus: Capital of Arab Culture 2008
Damascus is the capital of Arab culture for 2008 (as decided by UNESCO). Some one told me that last year it was Riyadh. Really? Why? I thought the point of these designations was to increase tourism, and Saudi doesn't encourage tourism other than to Mecca and Medina (there isn't even a such thing as a tourist visa).
But Damascus knows how to do it right, starting out with a star-studded fireworks-laden celebration outside Dar al-Asad for Culture and Art. I didn't go, but it looked pretty awesome on TV: photos. The President and First Lady of Turkey were in attendance, as well as the Emir of Qatar and Amir Moussa, head of the Arab League. Is there any coincidence between Qatar not being on Bush's itinery last week, though he had time to visit every other Gulfi, and the Emir's gracing the celebration with his prescence?
Coming soon as part of the year-long celebration: Farouz concert!!! Well, Fairouz in a singing play, but still, it's been 30 years since she's sang in Syria. The cheapest tickets cost somewhere between $100-200. Fairouz loves sharing her music with the people!
But Damascus knows how to do it right, starting out with a star-studded fireworks-laden celebration outside Dar al-Asad for Culture and Art. I didn't go, but it looked pretty awesome on TV: photos. The President and First Lady of Turkey were in attendance, as well as the Emir of Qatar and Amir Moussa, head of the Arab League. Is there any coincidence between Qatar not being on Bush's itinery last week, though he had time to visit every other Gulfi, and the Emir's gracing the celebration with his prescence?
Coming soon as part of the year-long celebration: Farouz concert!!! Well, Fairouz in a singing play, but still, it's been 30 years since she's sang in Syria. The cheapest tickets cost somewhere between $100-200. Fairouz loves sharing her music with the people!
It's Snowing!!!
Holy crap it's snowing! AND sticking to the ground. This is a rare event in Damascus, where it snows maybe once a year, and hardly ever accumulates.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Look at the Foreign Freak!
My family had guests over last night (I had spent the day, Ashoura, in Sitt Zeinab, more on that later) from their relatives. They tested in my Arabic, with them deciding that I am "shatoura" (clever). Are you happy here? I was asked about how I could possibly live apart from my family, don't I miss them all the time. It was also suggested that I quickly marry a Syrian and stay here forever. Then they turned to one another and began to talk about me.
"Can she read?"
"Yes, you know, but she can't read the scroll at the bottom of the screen and understand the news at the same time."
"But she speaks alright. Does she understand?" (after a conversation in which I at no point had trouble understanding anyone, granted it was about easy subjects such as: why I'm not married, when I'm going to return to America, what I like about Syria, did you really live alone in America away from your parents, really?)
"Yes she's gotten much better but she can't understand us if we speak quickly, so we have to speak slowly" said Um Mazen. "She only studies fusha."
I cut in, saying, "Actually I can understand you. I study fusha but I know some 'ammiya."
Abu Mazen turned to me and said (in English, slowly) " Yes, 'ammiyya hard. (before switching to Arabic) in fusha, 'matha tureedeen' [what do you want], in 'ammiya 'shou bedik' [what do you want] eh? Shou bedik. (back to english) Change!"
This is not the first time Abu Mazen has illustrated the difference between fusha and 'ammiya. It's like he thinks I live in a bubble, and after over 4 months I have not realized that people around me are not speaking formal Arabic on the street, and have not endevoured to learn this crazy 'ammiya. The son, Iyad, with whom I have stayed up many nights talking about politics and society, has told his father many times, several with me present, that I know. That actually, I'm quite comfortable in Arabic. That he doesn't need to use his knowledge of some English words to help because I already know "egg," "sun," and "spoon." Or, which somehow still manages to surprise people after being informed that I've studied 2.5 years of Arabic, that I can read.
I told a story about how I had trouble understanding a word that one of the Iraqi parents of the kids I teach said, a word that apparently means "home" and doesn't exist in Syrian (he was asking where I lived in Damascus and I was all "Where is my WHAT?" until he finally said "manzilik" and I was all "ooooh" and he laughed) Iyad told me about how a few years ago, when the refugees started arriving, he didn't know what "makou" meant, until some one finally told him that it means "mafi" (there is no/ are none). Abu Mazen once again broke in to explain that Iraqi is different than Syrian, and both makou and mafi mean "la yujid" in fusha. I know mafi, I said.
But thanks.
At least it was better than when I was hanging out at Tariq's house, watching a movie with some friends and his mom came in because her friend was over and wanted to see "the American." I was able to beg off until the end of the film, at which point I was exhibited to the friend, who said, "oh, pretty. Does she speak Arabic?" Then the friend demanded that I marry a Syrian. "Why not Tariq?" she said. "Or come with me to my house and I'll show you some good young men!"
"Can she read?"
"Yes, you know, but she can't read the scroll at the bottom of the screen and understand the news at the same time."
"But she speaks alright. Does she understand?" (after a conversation in which I at no point had trouble understanding anyone, granted it was about easy subjects such as: why I'm not married, when I'm going to return to America, what I like about Syria, did you really live alone in America away from your parents, really?)
"Yes she's gotten much better but she can't understand us if we speak quickly, so we have to speak slowly" said Um Mazen. "She only studies fusha."
I cut in, saying, "Actually I can understand you. I study fusha but I know some 'ammiya."
Abu Mazen turned to me and said (in English, slowly) " Yes, 'ammiyya hard. (before switching to Arabic) in fusha, 'matha tureedeen' [what do you want], in 'ammiya 'shou bedik' [what do you want] eh? Shou bedik. (back to english) Change!"
This is not the first time Abu Mazen has illustrated the difference between fusha and 'ammiya. It's like he thinks I live in a bubble, and after over 4 months I have not realized that people around me are not speaking formal Arabic on the street, and have not endevoured to learn this crazy 'ammiya. The son, Iyad, with whom I have stayed up many nights talking about politics and society, has told his father many times, several with me present, that I know. That actually, I'm quite comfortable in Arabic. That he doesn't need to use his knowledge of some English words to help because I already know "egg," "sun," and "spoon." Or, which somehow still manages to surprise people after being informed that I've studied 2.5 years of Arabic, that I can read.
I told a story about how I had trouble understanding a word that one of the Iraqi parents of the kids I teach said, a word that apparently means "home" and doesn't exist in Syrian (he was asking where I lived in Damascus and I was all "Where is my WHAT?" until he finally said "manzilik" and I was all "ooooh" and he laughed) Iyad told me about how a few years ago, when the refugees started arriving, he didn't know what "makou" meant, until some one finally told him that it means "mafi" (there is no/ are none). Abu Mazen once again broke in to explain that Iraqi is different than Syrian, and both makou and mafi mean "la yujid" in fusha. I know mafi, I said.
But thanks.
At least it was better than when I was hanging out at Tariq's house, watching a movie with some friends and his mom came in because her friend was over and wanted to see "the American." I was able to beg off until the end of the film, at which point I was exhibited to the friend, who said, "oh, pretty. Does she speak Arabic?" Then the friend demanded that I marry a Syrian. "Why not Tariq?" she said. "Or come with me to my house and I'll show you some good young men!"
Yes, Tunisian
I had to go to the far store, a 5-minute walk away, as opposed to the the one in my alley because the latter had no diet coke and I was studying. At the far store, I bought some coke and candy, and the owner asked if I was Tunisian.
Um, what? No, I replied, American.
"American?"
Since this is the second time I have been mistaken for Tunisian, and I am now even farther from Tunisia, I asked why he thought I was Tunisian. "Do I look Tunisian?"
"No, but you speak with a Tunisian accent." I don't even know what a Tunisian accent sounds like, but I'll take it!
Um, what? No, I replied, American.
"American?"
Since this is the second time I have been mistaken for Tunisian, and I am now even farther from Tunisia, I asked why he thought I was Tunisian. "Do I look Tunisian?"
"No, but you speak with a Tunisian accent." I don't even know what a Tunisian accent sounds like, but I'll take it!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
