Syria in bits . . .

The following is a dumper/list of observations that I thought worth mentioning. I just put the beat down on a 24-hour illness/bug and thought this would be part of my rally. I think, once again, I had some food that didn’t quite sit right with me.

1. Whores, Whores, Whores.
I recently found out that Eastern European and Russian women between the ages of 18-30ish are not allowed into Lebanon. I have a friend who is Croatian but her family has been in Germany for over 35 years – but her passport is still Croatian. Recently, she tried for the second time to visit Beirut and like the first time, she was not allowed to enter the country.

The Reasoning: Clearly, any and all women from Eastern Europe and Russia are prostitutes. I think we can all rally around and come to an ill-informed and discriminatory international consensus on this.

The Irony: Just watch music videos from Lebanon and notice how chaste and modest the sweat-covered, half-naked, Lebanese pop-tarts of lust are when they shake their impressive ‘bid-ness’ for the camera . . . and one can clearly see that the government wouldn’t want lewd foreign women to sully their already pristine asexual culture – or perhaps they are afraid of the competition. (Easy now, rude boys)

2. Illness in the Middle East: a difference
When people get sick in the States and I’m guessing Europe as well . . . the rule tends to be that ‘We’ give the person a great deal of personal space and assume they don’t want to be bothered while ill. When I’m sick, I’m not really keen on too many people being up-in-my-business: I prefer to be left alone. Here, things are much different. I had to explain to a Syrian friend of mine that his foreign friends, when sick, just don’t want to be bothered with constant check-ups by every person they know. From what I understand this community/family closeness during illness is fairly standard across cultures in the 2nd and 3rd World.

3. Top recent Syrian Quotes: (sadly these conversations were in English)
1. “If you fart in front of the bedu (Bedouins) . . . . they will kill you.”
2. “The girls in Syria are very beautiful and they don’t have the AIDS”

4. Living Room remodel:
So my host family has been feverously redoing the entire of their already fairly nice (by neighborhood standards) living room. Why? Well, the only daughter of the family is in the process of getting engaged . . . . . and from what I understand ‘process’ is the most appropriate word here. After spending weeks refurnishing they have moved all family business (the TV, all meals, guests, hanging out) to an adjacent bedroom, leaving the new room entirely uninhabited while covering the new furniture with plastic and sheets.
Again . . . why? They have this ‘stage’ set-up and ready for the day wherein the ‘guy’ brings his family over for some kind of formal or preliminary engagement process. (Again, I’m a bit fuzzy on the rules here – I tried to get a Syrian friend of mine to explain it and he said it was too involved and complex and maybe stressful to discuss) Yesterday I thought it was ‘on’ from my barely-lucid, food-poisoned state; however, later on I was reassured that this was merely a false alarm, prompting 30 min of pointless primping and cleaning before discovering that today would not be the day. I’ll keep you, dear reader, updated on this breaking story as information becomes available.

The Script

I’ve found that most of my daily interactions with Syrians that I don’t know – ranging from barber shops, restaurants, taxis, shops, etc – tend to follow a specific protocol, a very loose but predictable script. The following is my attempt to summarize all these interactions into one basic ‘script’ . . . obviously, every conversation is different, often times depending upon the person’s stats: religion, class, gender, etc . . . . as well as the 'location' of the conversation. This does not include Syrian folks that I’ve befriended or know fairly well. So, dear reader, I offer you a translated (from my broken Arabic) approximation of my daily conversations:

Syrian: Hello* (this includes a litany of longer greetings that seem to never end)

Me: Hello* (this also includes a long series of replies and counter-greetings)

Syrian: Are you from Germany? (Or, where are you from?)

Me: No, I’m from America – from Seattle. I’m a studying Arabic here . . .

Syrian: OOH. American. Welcome to Syria.

***I’m very straightforward about my nationality in Syria. I’ve never had anyone attack me personally for being an American. In my experience, Syrians appear to make the distinction between the actions of a government and her people. Actually, I haven’t felt restricted by my American status, but rather I’ve found that after telling them where I’m from, they grow noticeably more interested in talking to me***

Also . . .

*** At this point, the conversation can take several different paths – depending upon various factors. But since this is creative non-fiction, let’s pretend that these conversations all move in the same chronological order****

Syrian: How long will you be in Syria and do you like it?

Me: I’ll be here for the year. And I love Syria. The people are very nice, the food is excellent, and I love the culture. I eat all the time and I will be very fat but very happy when I return to America (This and other ‘stock-jokes’ almost always provoke laughter from the Syrians – they are very serious about the food here and it is amazing)

Syrian: Are you Muslim? (or) Are you Christian?
(Sorry folks - only two choices for this one)

Me: I’m Christian – Latin/Roman Catholic.

Syrian: Are you married? (This question comes up every-once-and-awhile and tends to be asked by older folks more than younger people – also, foreign female students often get asked more often)

Me: No, I’m not married. (I don’t really like marriage talk, so I often deflect this question by asking a question I already know the answer to . . . namely, ARE Syrians getting married much later than their parent’s generation, as is the case in the States? (and the answer is yes) Other times, if a younger guy asks me this question, we tend to congratulate each other for not being married.)

At this point, with basic introductions out the way, my conversations tend to move toward one of two topics.

1. Movies and Music. These discussions tend to be the best in terms of not being ‘touchy’ . .. thus not requiring me to carefully navigate language, culture, politics, religion, and the government. The Syrians I’ve met have often consumed more American films than most folks in the States, learning bits of English from them. Actually, I’ll do a separate post on the ‘pirated’ DVD/VCD industry in Syria – pictures and examples included – sometime in the future. Assuming, of course, that the store clerks will let me photograph their massive load of copyright infringement. Anyway, music is also a good subject – however, this also deserves it’s own post.

2. The Political Discussion: occasionally I discuss politics with people, but very carefully. For politics to enter the discussion, one of four things must occur:

a. They bring up Bush or politics.

b. They specifically ask me why I study Arabic and/or what I want to do for a living. This prompts me to tell them that I want to be a professor who studies the history/politics/culture of the Middle East – of course I’m most interested in politics, but adding these things tends pad my interests a bit. Anyway, this often prompts a political discussion.

c. I can tell from the look on their face, after I say I’m from the States, that some reassurance that I’m anti-Bush might be helpful. So I attack Bush – not that difficult here. I have many stock-jokes and statements that go over very well here. I also find it helpful that I believe in what I saying as well.

d. Finally, if a television is present and the news is on and covering war in Iraq, or replaying Bush saying something totally inappropriate and or threatening, etc. . . . then I tend to call the war a shame and a huge problem.

HOWEVER:
I don’t, however, introduce the political when the news features UN reports or assassinations of, say, major political leaders of neighboring nations; nor do I discuss the political when the President of Syria (hence forth known as the Lion II) is speaking or being spoken about on the TV. Finally, it should go without saying, also, that as a rule I don’t discuss the pieces of land lost in 1967 nor the broader conflict with the New Kids on the Middle East Nationalist Block (1948) . . . (cough)

He's Big in Damascus

So, dear reader, I just had a rather unexpected and wonderful evening. A French friend of mine told me of her Syrian friend who is an actor and wanted to work on his American accent and get a better sense of American culture and arts - and she suggested me for a 'language exchange' with this guy. I agree, not knowing what to expect. Well, I met 'the actor' tonight and slowly during the course of the evening I discovered that he's a very well-known actor on Syrian TV shows - He's BIG in Damascus. While drinking some coffee and sitting in the (first) restaurant, several little girls came up to the table asking for autographs. People were always looking in our direction and pointing. Later, a friend of his showed up and we all went to get a bite to eat - while in traffic, several people rolled down their windows to greet him; while on the street three veiled women asked to pose for a picture with him. I had a great time with 'the actor' and his friend; we went back-and-forth in English and Arabic, covering most every subject imaginable. While at the restaurant, the magazine called "Our Nights" (translated from Arabic) took our picture and will publish it in next month's edition of 'party pictures' (most of the magazine) in Damascus. Actually, a British friend was in "Our Nights" last month, his picture taken while he was at some diplomatic party for one of the Gulf countries - at the same party and on-the-same page, another picture of well dressed men was accompanied by the caption: GUESTS . . . . this is because they were the well-known leaders of Hamas.
Anyway, I had a wonderful time, picked up a fair amount of spoken Syrian Arabic, and I think I made some new friends. All-in-all . . . . a very good evening.

ps: those of you wanting to post comments without joining blogger - I just switched the setting so that anyone can now post. Please, keep it slightly clean and reasonable and if you know me . . . please refrain from using my name. thanks.

Syrian Parlor Games . . .

So this weekend I walk through the living room of my Syrian family to use the bathroom. Although I 'hang' with the family quite a bit - mostly making mistake after mistake with my Arabic - I tend to shy away during the weekends or when they have a lot of guests over and it seems like 'special family time'. Anyway, this weekend was like most weekends,
tons of family are over, drinking coffee, talking, and smoking in abundance. But, unlike my previous weekends here, they have a scale out and are weighing Grandma before launching into a group discussion on her weight. After I finish using the bathroom, I walk back through the living room and they invite me to get on the scale. I get on and because it is the metric system - the numbers mean absolutely nothing to me. However, the family then proceeds to discuss my weight at length with several family members noting that I am very tall - a kind way of saying that I weigh more than all of them. The 'height-factor' prompted a group speculation of my height - I'm unsure of how close they were because, again, the rest of the world and their metric system.

Of course, I find all of this hilarious. Mostly because I try to imagine a similar situation occurring in NEVER DISCUSS YOUR WEIGHT America, wherein a family weekend breaks into a amateur boxing weigh-in/open panel discussion combo platter. I invite friends and family in the States - perhaps those of you planning family reunions for this summer - to engage in this parlor game.

Bizarro World - Syria

Culture(s) Shock!
***Sorry, if this is a scattered post – however, as you will see the content and subject somehow correspond to the style*** (a cop-out)

Has anyone seen these ‘Culture Shock’ books on the Middle East? The book cover features an ominous, slasher-type writing on a black background. In reality, I haven’t experienced all that much culture shock during my first month in Syria. I don’t walk around wondering “who are the crazy, foreign people with their wacky customs” . . . . . rather I’ve often been struck with a dizzying juxtaposition of cultures, a disorienting whiff of globalization that leaves me confused and placeless. I’ve experienced this before, actually, when I was an undergrad and traveling in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I vividly remember walking around the Catholic areas and then the Protestant areas and then somehow turning up in an American style mall. In both the Catholic and Protestant areas a specific sense of ‘place’ is constantly re-enforced – wherein murals are crafted with nationalist iconography, colors are worn that correspond to tribal allegiance, curbs are painted, and flags displayed. Then, I walked into a “MALL” and felt that I was simultaneously everywhere and no-where.
I get a similar feeling when walking around in Syria. The daily Islamic calls to prayer, broadcasted from speakers surrounding Bab Touma, don’t phase me nor do the veiled women or any other event typical of the ‘oriental experience’; however, what rattles me the most, what after a month still catches me off-guard is hearing Bon Jovi “It’s My Life” playing on the streets, then walking into an internet café and half-watching ‘8-Mile’ (staring Eminem) while I’m surrounded by Arab-Roman-Catholic style iconography, then leaving and seeing graffiti concerning ‘Slayer!’ (the band) and 50 cent (fiffiy cent – the rapper). I just don’t expect terrible American culture to follow me everywhere!

America – Exporting Crappy Pop Culture since 1776!

More Evidence: (from today alone)
ONE: I walked into inhouse coffee – the Syrian Starbucks rip-off – ordered a decent latte in a sadly familiar green aesthetic, watched R. Kelly on the TV and then stepped back out into the Middle East. (Note my terrible photographs of ‘inhouse coffee’)
TWO: I’m speaking Arabic with some Syrian guys about Macintosh verses PCs, and one of the guy’s cell phones goes off . . . and of course his ring tone is super loud, insufferable Celine Dion song.

So . . . welcome, dear reader, to the Damascus experience; wherein one can walk to the very old Omayyad Mosque, pray in a place built in the year 709 AD, then walk 100 yards to a shop and pick up a pirated version of Angels in America with Arabic subtitles - a 6 hour mini-series on AIDS, homosexuality, and Regan Politics of the 1980s – and finally return home to catch reruns of Friends or maybe listen to a speech from a major leader in Hezbollah.

AND . . . it is this bizzarro world Syria, dear reader, where I lay the blame for obliterating my sense of place and bulldozing carefully constructed categories of understanding. Of course, it should go without saying that I’m actually delighted by this development.

ps: 'just a perfect day' - the slogan for inhousecoffee (as featured above). Lou Reed might be responsible for the minds behind this slogan, although I'm sure that they didn't hear it until they saw the film Trainspotting - used ironically in an overdose scene. Perhaps this isn't the warm fuzzy assoication the marketing gang at Inhouse Coffee were aimming for?