The Middle East and More!

From the BBC - Egyptian women learn to fight back

2009-03-22T11:50:00.003+02:00

Awesome! Particularly satisfying in light of my senior thesis last year on honor crimes in Syria and women's movements which address them, I am thrilled to see women taking matters into their own hands when it comes to sexual harassment on the streets.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7936071.stm

Egyptian women learn to fight back

By Christian Fraser
BBC News, Cairo

The women's practice can even include contests against male colleagues

In a dojo, or martial arts training area, in a poor working class suburb of Cairo, women in karate uniforms and tracksuits are learning to fight off an assailant.

In this male-dominated society it is unusual to see these women in their headscarves sparring with men, but such is the concern here at the rise of sexual harassment cases that the number attending this class grows every month.

Shaza Saeed, 14, is one of the new recruits.

"I was on my way home from school and I was attacked - I didn't know what to do," she said.

"But now I have learnt how to defend myself so I am not afraid any more. I think every girl should go to self-defence classes like this."

At the back of the gym, the mothers, some in all-covering Islamic dress, look on with admiration.

In the past some of have even joined in. There are women of all ages taking part. They fight each other and sometimes they fight the men.

Restraint technique

The instructor Redo Fathy says it is now incumbent on every woman to protect herself from the unwelcome advances of Egyptian men.

"The girls face a lot of problems," he said. "Especially the teenagers that attend high school. Some of them have long distances to travel."

Modest Islamic dress may be less of a deterrent than an expert karate move

"Our job is to give them the skills they need to protect themselves should something happen.

"One of our girls was attacked on the way home. A boy on a bus grabbed her from behind. She used a technique we had taught her to restrain him, until other people on the bus gathered around to help. He was later handed over to the police."

SEXUAL HARASSMENT IN EGYPT

Experienced by 98% of foreign women visitors

Experienced by 83% of Egyptian women

62% of Egyptian men admitted harassing women

53% of Egyptian men blame women for 'bringing it on'

Source: Egyptian Centre for Women's Rights

Sexual harassment is not usually a subject openly discussed here. But a recent survey carried out by the Egyptian Centre For Women's Rights has lifted the lid on an alarming trend.

Of just over 2,000 questioned 83% of Egyptian women said they had suffered some form of harassment.

Even more startling, nearly two thirds of the men they surveyed freely admitted they had abused a woman at one time or another.

Landmark case

The author of the report, Nihad Aboul-Qumsan, says too often it is the woman who is blamed for dressing provocatively.

"Most of the people we questioned said there wouldn't be such harassment if women dressed in a modest way. But when we questioned women on what they were wearing when they were abused more than 70% said they were wearing a headscarf.

Noha Ostadh fought back and then went public about her ordeal

"It is no longer acceptable to blame the victim."

Egyptian women rarely report these attacks to avoid the public embarrassment or dishonour to their family. In any case there is usually very little sympathy shown by the police.

But in a landmark case last year a judge handed down a three-year sentence to a man who had repeatedly groped a woman pedestrian as he drove alongside her in Cairo.

The victim, Noha Ostadh, initially held onto her assailant's vehicle and finally succeed in dragging him to a police station.

Since that case came to light the topic has been more openly discussed in the media.

The government belatedly has recognised they have a problem. There is new legislation passing through parliament that would define sexual harassment as a crime and make it easier for women to report it.

But the women in the karate class say it will require a more concerted effort from Egyptian society, and a backlash from men themselves, if they are to win on the street the honour and respect they are afforded in the dojo.

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Arabic word of the day: فنون الدفاع (funuun ad-difaa') martial arts, or the arts of defense

From USA Today - Struggling to learn Arabic in Egypt

2009-03-22T11:10:00.004+02:00

Uff, I know that it's been ages since I've written anything and there are probably few individuals who even bother reading this anymore (my utmost gratitude and respect to those who still occasionally open this up after a quarter-year hiatus). At any rate, a friend forwarded this USA Today article to me, and I think it neatly captures the linguistic frustrations that many foreign students of Arabic experience while abroad - hope you enjoy!

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Struggling to learn Arabic in Egypt


	By Peter Prengaman, AP Photo

Egyptians sell trinkets to tourists in front of the Sphinx outside Cairo. Tourism is a large part of Egypt's economy, and as a result many Egyptians speak English.

By Peter Prengaman, Associated Press Writer

CAIRO — It was a simple question that I know I posed correctly in Arabic.

"What time does the movie Stolen Kisses begin?" I asked the guy at the ticket booth in my best Egyptian dialect.

"At 7 o'clock," he responded in heavily accented and barely understandable English, as if I hadn't just spoken to him in Arabic.

"How much are the tickets?" I said in dialect, refusing to speak to him in English.

"Twenty Egyptian pounds," he answered, again in English.

I had come to Cairo for a month to do an intensive Arabic course after studying the language three years at UCLA, and had become accustomed to such linguistic battles. With a small group of men hovering to watch this ridiculous conversation unfold, it was time to employ a surprise maneuver that would be my best chance for linguistic triumph.

I shook my head in disbelief, and then, switching to Modern Standard Arabic, and speaking louder, asked the man in a sarcastic tone: "Do you even speak Arabic?"

The question produced laughter from him and the audience, but it had the desired effect: By asking in the written and more formal Arabic that only educated Arabs are truly versed in, I had changed the equation. Instead of trying to show me he spoke English, he was now on the hook to show me he had a good level in standard Arabic — in essence, that he had a certain level of education.

"Yes, of course," he said in Arabic, the standard variety, no less. "You are funny."

I told him that since we were in Egypt I figured we might as well speak Arabic. We both had a laugh, and after a few more exchanges we shook hands. I told him I would come back later to see the movie.

When it comes to culture, history and even Arabic, Egypt is arguably the center of the Arab world. Egypt strikes a middle ground, both philosophical and geographical, between the more liberal Arabic-speaking countries like Morocco to the west and conservative Gulf nations like Saudi Arabia to the east. And as Egyptians will proudly tell you, their dialect is the most widely understood worldwide thanks to Egyptian movies and music that for decades have been beamed into Arab households across the Middle East.

Despite all that, trying to learn Arabic in an Arabic-speaking country can be difficult. For one thing, Egyptians jump on any chance they get to practice English, even if they only know a few words. And spoken Arabic dialects are hard to master no matter which country you try to learn them in, because they're often so wildly different from standard Arabic that they seem like a different language.

Most universities in the United States and other English-speaking countries only teach standard Arabic, and not the dialects of particular countries. Standard Arabic is the written language of schools, diplomacy, banking and news. It's not, however, a language that anyone outside of those circles speaks on a daily basis.

So does it make sense to learn it? Wouldn't it just be better to study a dialect? These are questions that perplex every student of Arabic. My short answer is that if you just learn a dialect (likely on your own, because few places teach them), you may be limited to that one country. Also, dialects are not widely written. You might be able to read a street sign, but not a newspaper or magazine if you don't know formal Arabic.

The reality is that the Arab world has a standard written language and then several spoken dialects (so as not to offend Arabic purists, I should also mention Classical Arabic, the language of the Quran and Arabic's highest written form).

When I arrived in Cairo and got in a taxi, I thought I was in the wrong country. Because I had had very little training in Egyptian dialect before arrival, I spoke to the driver in standard Arabic. He understood me — most Egyptians comprehend it but can't converse in it — but I had no clue what he said in reply.

Eleven terms of high-level Arabic at UCLA, including advanced courses with poetry, Quranic verses and full compositions, and I couldn't even shoot the breeze with this guy!

Within a few weeks, I was more comfortable with the dialect, in large part thanks to an intensive course at the International Language Institute that focused on helping advanced students morph their standard Arabic into something they can use on the street.

One of my coolest experiences in Cairo happened at a kiosk. Buying a newspaper in Arabic, I struck up a conversation with the guy working at the kiosk, Ahmed. An avid reader, Ahmed had a very good level of standard Arabic and was proud to use it. A few minutes later, his friend Mohammed arrived.

Mohammed saw my newspaper and told me he couldn't read or write since he had never gone to school. Curious about the United States, as many Egyptians are, Mohammed had question after question. But I struggled to understand a lot of what he said because he of course spoke in dialect.

So Ahmed jumped in, translating for me Mohammed's questions into standard Arabic. I would then respond in standard Arabic, and if Mohammed didn't understand, Ahmed would then translate what I said back to dialect. The fascinating 45-minute conversation hit home for me just how complex Arabic can be, even for native speakers.

The second challenge in Egypt is communicating in English. As in many foreign countries, there are a handful in Egypt who speak it amazingly well, while the vast majority have a level somewhere between zilch to intermediate.

The difference is that so many Egyptians seem to believe they need to use what they know with foreigners. Of course, so few foreigners speak Arabic that Egyptians assume it's better to use English — and getting them to change that assumption can be tough.

"Speak to me in English," the guy at the train station in Alexandria told me when I asked for a ticket in Arabic.

I did just that, responding in unfiltered and normal-speed English just to test this guy's chops (after all, he had questioned my manhood, in linguistic terms).

The result? He stared at me blankly, and we were reduced to gestures and grunts.

This passion for English may have several roots. Egypt is a former British colony. English-language movies, TV and culture are ubiquitous. Plus, English is the worldwide language of business, and Egyptians are some of the toughest negotiators you'll ever meet.

On the street, it comes down to this: An Egyptian man who knows 10 words of English will often, literally, use them over and over in conversation, even if you both are speaking in Arabic and it's clear you understand. For example, while speaking Arabic, when he comes to a place where the word "good" could be used, and he knows that word in English, he'll insert it.

That can be disorienting. When you don't understand something, it's hard to know if he used a few words in English that you didn't recognize because of poor pronunciation, or if you simply just didn't understand the Arabic.

Attempting to avoid English, by week two I was telling taxi drivers and others I came across that I was Spanish or French, and that I didn't speak English. That neutralized English somewhat, but pretending that I didn't understand my native language felt strange.

Of course, studying Arabic in Egypt will help students develop a much better grasp of the language than anything they could do in the United States.

Egyptians may be enamored of English and have a hard-to-master dialect, but Arabic is the national language and it's alive and well. Add to that fun and very social people — not long after meeting someone, you often find yourself at a cafe sipping tea and smoking flavored tobacco out of a hookah pipe — and you've got a formula for what any stint abroad should be: an adventure.

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Everyone I know has had run-ins like this across the Arab world - one of my friends in Syria referred to those who insist on using their limited English as "free-loaders", i.e. "I paid for my ticket to come all the way over here and they just wanna free-load off of me because I'm white!" In general, I have found that when I politely explain to the person how I am here to speak Arabic (usually delivered with compliments lauding my respect for the language and its people to ensure that I have only the best intentions in my linguistic insisting) they are willing to keep the conversation in Arabic. There are, of course, many people who speak English much better than I do Arabic (and probably much better than I do English, for that matter). Judging which language to conduct your conversation often becomes a subtle exercise in instantaneous assessment - does this person appear to speak enough English that my refusal to do so is embarassing or perhaps even insulting? Do I speak enough Arabic that their insistance to use English is insulting to me? I, as a general way to maintain my cool and defuse my frustration, try to keep it in mind that 99% of the white people that most Egyptians encounter do not speak Arabic and are somewhat conversational in English - why should I be offended that they assume so with me? With that attitude in mind, I can usually manage be pleasantly surprised when people are excited to speak to me in Arabic and brush off the rest...

Arabic Word of the Day: الاحباط (al-iHbaaT) Frustration, having been thwarted

Please Watch This Interview

2009-01-25T07:28:00.002+02:00

This is an interview which my friend Amer Shurrab gave on Democracy Now talking about his family coming under attack in Gaza. There is also an excellent analysis of the legality of the situation by a fellow at the Institute for Policy Studies in D.C.

http://www.democracynow.org/2009/1/22/part_ii_palestinian_us_college_grad#

Please help the Shurrab family

2009-01-20T04:59:00.002+02:00

Hello all,

This is for anyone with media connections, HR links, associations with advocacy groups, or blogs.

3 days ago, my friend from Khan Younis, Amer Shurrab, lost two brothers and his father was seriously injured when they came under Israeli fire in Gaza. The Israeli forces denied medical relief agencies clearance to reach them for 23.5 hours. The three were shot during a so-called "lull" in Israeli ground operations. A daily three-hour lull was agreed to by Israeli forces on Wednesday, 7 January 2009 and is meant to allow humanitarian relief to enter and be distributed in the Gaza Strip. Targeting unarmed civilians and shooting them during a ceasefire is illegal and a war crime.

At this point, we want the Shurrab's family tragedy - which shows a clear violation of international law - to receive the attention of more HR and advocacy groups and media outlets. You can help by forwarding Al-Haq's press release (available below) and the news articles to people you know, and post them on your own blogs and profiles.

* Link to Al-Haq's press release: http://www.alhaq.org/etemplate.php?id=419

* Link to the story covered in the LA Times: http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/world/la-fg-gaza-sons18-2009jan18,0,2355988.story

* For more information, please contact Adriana Qubaia at aqubaia@gmail.com or visit the facebook group titled "Shurrab Family - urgent help - Gaza".

BEEP BEEP

2008-11-16T18:13:00.004+02:00

The Al-Ahly Club, Egypt's most beloved club soccer team (apologies to the Zamalek fans), has just beat out Cameroon to win the Africa Cup for the 6th time! My neighbors on all sides are screaming loudly "Allaaaaaah!" and "We are ze champions!", while car after car drives past with a cheerful "beeeeep beeeeeep beep-beep beeeeeeep", Arabic morse code for "Take that Africa! Soccer is what Egypt does best!" I can hardly hear the call to prayer over the noise!

Arabic Word of the Day: أهلاوي ولازمالكاوي؟ (Ahlawy wela Zamalakawy?) Are you an al Ahly Fan or a Zamalek fan?

Thank you America!

2008-11-05T07:11:00.010+02:00

I kid you not, the entire world was watching the US presidential elections. Over here in the Arab world, it was quite literally impossible to turn on the news and NOT see another report on polling indicators, Sarah Palin's latest slip, or a discussion on whether or not America is ready for a black man, a woman, or an almost-octogenarian to occupy the most powerful positions in the country. I took a couple of snapshots of the front pages from some of the most widely read new sources in the Arab world this morning to show just how pivotal this election was seen in my current neck of the woods.

The BBC's Arabic Site

Al-Arabiya

Below: Al-Jazeera

CNN's Arabic News Source

Okay, more later, I must go eat my celebratory freedom omelette which my roommate Zoe is kindly concocting for us while we listen to strains of "We Are the Champions" and "God Bless America" in the background . . .

Arabic Word of the Day: الفخر القومي (al-fakhr al-qawmi) national pride

Pathetic

2008-10-27T07:28:00.003+03:00

This picture, as most of my pictures on the blog, clearly has nothing to do with my post. I just wanted to document that I found our Arabic 301 Bible at the Alexandria Library - Professor Liebhaber would be so proud of me!

It's 6:30 am here, and finally getting cold. I am sitting at my computer, attempting to finish my listening homework before the bus comes in an hour. I just wanted to point out two things:

1) My outfit: wool socks, long pants, t-shirt, Midd track & field warm-up jacket, Pakistani shawl from Sindh, i.e. a fair amount of clothing was put on to keep me from getting a chill.

2) The temperature: I keep the thermometer set to Celsius in a (weak) attempt to better my understanding of the elusive metric system. When I first checked the temperature, it said 18, which is a good deal down from the 35-40's it was all summer. When I switched over to Fahrenheit just to double check my conversion, I saw that it's actually only 64 right now. A mere 64 and I'm bundled up in multiple layers head to toe? Egyptian Lizz sees 18 and thinks "brrr!" and puts on more clothing . . . but Iowa/Vermont Lizz sees 64 and thinks, "criminy, what happened to 23 years of growing up in snow-infested lands?" My Russian ancestors are probably turning over in their graves as I type . . .

And point 2.a) I promise to write more soon!

Arabic Word of the Day: َتجمُّد (tajammud) to become frozen or solidified; to frost over

The Huntley Dıaspora

2008-08-11T21:00:00.003+03:00

Thıs wıll be short because I am currently ın Turkey (hence the funny ı's), but I just wanted to announce that at thıs moment ın tıme my brother ıs ın Ecuador, my father ıs ın Canada, and my mother ıs now ın Indıa. The only Huntley left ın Iowa ıs my dog theBoon! Holy buckets!

What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?

2008-07-27T15:33:00.002+03:00

Me telling the only two Arabic jokes I know to a blissfully patient crowd of Egyptian boys at the Fayoum oasis waterfall.

I realized that many people reading this probably don’t have much of an idea of what I’m doing here. That’s okay, most days neither do I. But in absence of a logical explanation, I thought it might be helpful to provide an overview of a typical day for me here in Cairo (a city known locally as “The Mother of the World”, although how many actually believe that is to be determined).

7 am: Wake up. Forget where I am. Remember where I am, and find a reason to get out of bed. I usually begin my morning with Pakistani-style tea, a fond hearkening to my Karachi and Damascus mornings two years ago, and sip it while I check my email in my roommate Max’s room to enjoy the breeze.

8:30 am: Walk to school. It’s a pleasant enough trip from Garden City (don’t let the name fool you) to the American University of Cairo’s campus downtown, although the traffic and noise pollution gets noticeably louder as I near my destination. I’ve heard tales of studies on downtown Cairo’s air quality which found that merely breathing there for a full day has the equivalent effect on your lungs of smoking 20 cigarettes (only cheaper and less stress-reducing). On the 23rd of July, a holiday here, a friend of mine spotted a 20 Egyptian pound note on the sidewalk as we walked to school. After much debate, we decided that the most sensible solution was to take the note to the nearest bakery and purchase as many Egyptian desserts as we could for our classmates. It was the most delicious 23rd of July I have ever celebrated in my life!

9 am: Classes begin. I am one of 30ish lucky students awarded the opportunity for a year long study of advanced Arabic through a program known as the Center for Arabic Studies Abroad, or CASA (http://www.utexas.edu/cola/centers/casa/). We sit in air-conditioned classrooms equipped with laptops (air conditioning unit and laptops tastefully decorated with oversized “USAID” stickers on the front) and absorb as much colloquial and classical Arabic as is possible for the human mind without exploding. I’m not going to lie, I think it’s pretty awesome.

12 pm: Lunch! Lunch-ity lunch-y lunch lunch. I love lunch. This year’s CASA crew has developed a cult-like following of a particular nameless joint known as al-hufra fil-hayta (which is a nerdy literal translation of the phrase “the hole in the wall”), or al-hufra for short. Al-hufra is literally a hole in the wall: three feet of counter space wedged in between a coffee shop and a window-less office building. It sells the most delicious taamiya (a lower species of the falafel) sandwiches and for only one Egyptian pound! According to today’s exchange rate, that’s only 19 US cents and it's so filling! We take our cheap cheap delicious pseudo-falafels back with us to the university and eat in one of the interior shaded courtyards there. Almost every day without fail one of us is pooped on by those scheming Egyptian birds perched in the trees above us, although luckily the fecal matter tends to land on our bodies rather than our food. On the day that I was targeted, an Egyptian friend told me that in his culture, getting bird poop on you is a sign that you’ll get new clothes soon . . . I can’t tell if he’s joking but those new clothes have yet to come my way . . .

2 pm: Classes end. After having spent 5 hours in USAID-powered air conditioning, the walk back home in the Cairene heat is actually a welcome climate change. When I get home I usually run to my room and put on shorts and a t-shirt, since we don’t have ac in our apartment, and then either watch the news or nap. Cairo is the only city I’ve been in where I’ve fallen asleep because I’m too hot to stay awake, yet woken up 20 minutes later because I’m too hot to stay asleep! Luckily our apartment gets some nice breezes if you position yourself strategically (Max’s room yet again – you’d better believe that’s where I am right now) and hole up to do your homework.

8 pm: Dinner time (or supper, as we Iowans are prone to say)! Dinner/Supper is normally a fun affair of sorts. Some nights I end up cooking for myself and make up random combinations of flavors from the bag full of South Asian spices left by a former roommate. Other nights I dine at the apartment of two fellow students and friends who live near by. One of them is Malaysian and has taught me how to say, “I’m a white person, yo!” in Malay (“saya orang putihlah!”). I used to think that it would be nice to know how to say “Hello” or “I love you” in as many languages as possible, but I’ve now seen how much more useful it would be to state the obvious as a conversation starter anywhere around the world. The other student who lives there is the finder of the 20 pound note, so you know that they’re both good people!

12 pm: Bed time. I usually try to study or finish my reading before falling asleep, but those activities often hasten the onset of sleep so I might try a different system when the fall semester rolls around.

?? am: Wake up from screaming cat fights in the courtyard below. They sound like small gangs of violent child vikings waging an all out battle, an image so ridiculous that I can’t help but laugh when I wake up from the din of it all. Getting back to sleep is thank goodness never a problem for me!

That's my day, I repeat it as necessary to get me through the summer session of classes!

Arabic Word of the Day: نسيم (naseem) a fresh and pleasant breeze

Hometown News

2008-06-27T15:23:00.006+03:00

This picture was taken at al-Ain as-Sukhna, a beach on the Red Sea that looks out into Sinai if you squint reeeeeally hard.

From my local newspaper, courtesy of my my dearest, darlingest mother:

'First Muslim country singer' got start in Iowa City

Brian Morelli • Iowa City Press-Citizen • June 23, 2008

A man being tabbed as the first known Muslim country and western singer got his start in Iowa City.

After self-releasing two albums through an Iowa City recording studio, Kareem Salama is starting to catch on, and people are telling him he is one of a kind.

“That’s what they say, that he is the first Muslim country music singer. But, I don’t know that for a fact,” the 2007 University of Iowa College of Law alumnus said.

The son of Egyptian immigrants, Salama was raised in Oklahoma and Texas where twangy rhythms are the norm. With a thick Southern accent, the devout Muslim said the country sound is a natural fit for him.

“I sing country music and since I am a Muslim it surprises people, but it shouldn’t be a surprise because a lot of people where I grew up like country music,” the 30-year-old who currently resides in Southeast Texas said.

He graduated from University of Oklahoma with a degree in chemical engineering, and came to UI in 2004. Salama’s interest is intellectual property law, something he said he will eventually practice.

Writing music and poetry has been a hobby since he was a child, but after receiving positive feedback performing at a Muslim-American conference, Salama decided to push it a little further.

He returned from the conference and connected in 2005 with Aristotle Mihalopoulos, a producer who has a music studio called Inner Light Records on Benton Street.

Salama released albums Generous Peace in 2006 and This Life of Mine in 2007. He has a European tour scheduled this summer.

“I didn’t do any shows while I was in Iowa, but Iowa was where my interests and meeting the right people came together,” he said.

Salama returns periodically to work on his music with Mihalopoulos. In fact, he is in Iowa City presently.

“He is honest and sincere in his music,” Mihalopoulos said. “I think the reception to the material has been very accepting. People seem to really get it, which is great.”

Salama writes positive songs about virtues, chivalry and nobility, he said. He is a fan of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and said he brings a philosophical approach to his music.

Attention has been pouring in. New York Times and Christian Science Monitor each had pieces, and he appeared on Fox News.

“I don’t know how they feel about Muslims, but they seem to be alright with me. I am judged based on the beauty or lack there of in my music,” he said.

(accessed online at .)

Is this news? Is this good news because we are proving ourselves to be open-minded individuals who encourage artistic expression from all people irrespective of their backgrounds? Is this actually bad news in that ultimately we are essentializing somebody, taking his most "controversial" feature and using it as our primary tool for interpreting this man's actions? Is this just stupid news because who really cares what religion your country singer prefers (and who really cares about country music at any rate)?

Editor's Remarks

2008-06-27T15:07:00.003+03:00

The view from one of my balconies. Isn't Garden City (the name of my neighborhood) pretty?

From my brother in Ecuador:

"Your blog cites the 7a temp as 35C/100F... but 37C=98.6F (a handy conversion commited to memory for purposes of health care - deviations off which equate to illness of some form). Therefore 35C must be less - and in fact is closer to 95F".

My oversight leads us to two conclusions:
1) I was never meant to be a doctor.
2) I was never meant to live in the metric system.

Arabic Word of the Day: الدنيا حار (ad-dunya Haarr) It's really freakin' hot!

Slices of Life

2008-06-24T16:30:00.005+03:00

Regarding the question of whether or not Cairo stretches on forever, the answer is yes, yes it does. Please see the picture to the left for further consultation. By the way, the tan box decorated with diamond shapes in the foreground is a roof-top pigeon coop. Apparently people race pigeons from Cairo to Alexandria as a sport.

Yesterday I made the mistake of forgetting to wash my hands after dicing a chili pepper. Two minutes later there was an itch on my face which I absentmindedly scratched while doing my homework. Two and a half minutes later my face started tingling, and a mere three minutes after the fateful forgetting of the hand-washing my entire visage was figuratively aflame. Ouch. While I was nursing my wounds (and my injured culinary pride), I put my homework aside to watch some tv with my roommates. On the Iraqi news channel al-Sharqiyya we stumbled across an interview with an American official speaking on behalf of the U.S. administration in Baghdad. In Arabic. First time I've ever seen anything like it. And ¡WOW!, it was painful to see. Or rather, painful to the ears more so than the eyes. On one hand, it is a relief to know that the U.S. government is finally recognizing that its politics require linguistically competent ambassadors, especially in a region where we have so forcibly inserted ourselves. However, the Arabic coming out of this official's mouth was embarrassing to say the least. I can handle the poor accent, and I know that many foreigners are equally guilty of mixing their modern standard and colloquial dialects (picture a recitation of Shakespeare but replace every other word with "um" and then throw in some slang when you can't remember your SAT vocab zingers). However, this official's sentences left his mouth at a rate normally used to describe how fast paint dries ("Zee Umarikeen . . . udminister . . . umm, udministration . . . vould like to . . . peace out of here"). I was so embarrassed by what I saw that I renewed my commitment to diligent studying while I'm here. Not that I have designs on working for the government any time soon . . . but just so I won't ever be that guy. It's like training extra hard just so that you won't be the kid that comes in last place, the one everyone claps for out of feigned respect in a thinly veiled attempt to hide their pity. Because I'm pretty sure that's metaphorically equivalent to what the Iraqi interviewer was thinking when he posed his questions extra-sloooowly . . .

Arabic Word of the day: خجلان (khajlaan) embarrassed

* * *

Speaking of running, I went running outside for the first time ever in the Middle East! My roommate and I thought that if we left at 7 a.m. we might be able to avoid both the heat and the inquisitive stares from people in the streets. Unfortunately we encountered both: not only was it 35 c /100 f degrees outside, but every single man in our neighborhood leaves for work at exactly 7 am as well. Tomorrow we will leave at 6 and see what happens.

* * *

أنا أعتذر من الكلام عن موضوع الصحة الهضمية لكني كنت أريد أن أحكي هذه القصة القصيرة! فللأسف معظم زملاء غفتي يعانون من الإسهال ولسوء الحظ قد استسلمت أيضا إلى الجراثيم الطفيلية. لما قلت لزميلي إنني أصبحت مريضتا مثله لاحظ "إحنا إخوان!" ورددت له "نعم في مصر إحنا إخوان المسهلين!"ي

Quick Update

2008-06-19T18:09:00.004+03:00

* First of all, I want to let everyone know that my dear older brother Ben (skyping with me in the picture) is in Ecuador for the summer volunteering at a hospital. His experiences are absolutely incredibly and probably much more redeeming than my intellectual ramblings, and he documents them with a commendable regularity at http://benhuntleyecuador.blogspot.com/

* Second on the update list, I would like to express my gratitude for everyone's concern and condolences about all of the flooding in Iowa. Luckily everyone in my immediate family is safe, but a few of my oldest and dearest friends have been very badly hit (err, well, figuratively) by the deluge. I must admit, it has been quite jarring to be sitting in my apartment in Cairo and see little 'ol Iowa pop up on the BBC World News (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7453323.stm) three times in a week and a half (Ben and I were actually discussing the matter on skype - note the look of shock on my face).

Word of the day: فيضانات (fayaDaanaat) floods

Day Two in Cairo

2008-06-03T22:27:00.005+03:00

Me in Cairo on Skype with my mother, holding up my half-inflated soccer ball

Tuesday 6/3/08

There’s a lizard in my room. On my ceiling, to be exact. I think it crawled in while I was hanging up my laundry . . . all I know is that I came back from the balcony and a fleshy three-inch piece of wiggle was scurrying around my light fixtures. After attempting to scare it by smacking the ceiling with a roll of garbage bags (the largest thing I could find in the house to extend my somewhat lacking wingspan) I think it realized the truth of the old adage “don’t worry honey, it’s more scared of you than you are of it”. So we are having a stand-off right now, the lizard and I. Although he seems fairly content up there by the water stains, I have plenty to write about. Let the sit-in begin!

So, Cairo. Wow! That’s really all I can say in one word (and yes, that exclamation is both positive and pejorative) (the Lizard has moved to the wall!) (Oh darn! In typing my observations I have lost sight of the lizard! No wait, he’s just peaking out from behind a corner . . . I’m on to him). When we landed yesterday in the Cairo airport, I noticed an elephant graveyard of broken planes sitting off to one side of the landing strip. Prominently featured among them was a dusty and decapitated “Midwest” plane – foreshadowing? Metaphor? Laughable? I shrug my shoulders with a non-committal lack of judgment.

As we drove from the airport to my apartment, I took in the familiar sights and smells of the Middle East: the smell of hot dusty heat, the light fruity scent of hookah wafting as you pass by the street side café, a flurry of cars and people all moving in opposing directions on the same small patch of road. New to me, however, are the brighter colors of women’s clothing here, the zest of spicy tomato paste found in the street food koshary (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Koshary) (my apologies in advance to the professors of Middlebury’s history department for my citation of Wikipedia), and the gutteral “ga” consonant of Egyptian colloquial which has replaced the that lovely Levantine “zja” I so adored. As we walk around the streets I admit to feeling the slightest bit of intimidation, possibly brought on by jet lag. Coming to Egypt from Syria is a bit like coming to New York City from, well, Iowa City. SO MANY PEOPLE! SO MANY NEW SIGHTS TO TAKE IN! SO MUCH ALL THE TIME! As we drove across the al-Gamia bridge last night to buy fans however, a smooth breeze blew across my face. I looked out the taxicab window to see throngs of content people taking advantage of the night’s coolness. Walking, smiling, enjoying the city. As if somehow reassured by this glimpse of humanity that was always around me, I leaned back against the vinyl seat and thought to myself, “Okay Lizz, we can make this happen . . .”

Note: the lizard won. It crawled under a dresser when I wasn’t looking and hasn’t been seen since.

Word of the day: (Dabb) ضبّ Lizard

Updates, links, and general small tokens of fun

2007-01-28T12:01:00.000+02:00

A couple of items of housekeeping . . .

1) For those of you interested, my brother Ben is spending this semester in Rwanda and Kenya volunteering and rounding out his pre-med skills. His stories and experiences are much more interesting and real than my own, so I encourage you to check them out at:

http://benhuntley.blogspot.com

And at the very least, he wrote a couple entries about his visit to Damascus before coming here, and it's definitely worth seeing what his fresh eyes have to say about life in Syria! (the above picture is us in the countryside of Aleppo, soaking up the ridiculous amounts of history tucked within these stones)

2) Owais, who is much more on the ball and technologically savvy than myself, has been kind enough to load up pictures from this semester (Syria, Turkey, Jordan, Pakistan, etc.). You can access them at: http://community.middlebury.edu/~ogilani/

Home Sweet Home

2007-01-28T11:43:00.000+02:00

When I envisioned my study-abroad experience in Syria pre-departure, pretty pictures of cross-cultural-communication wafted through my head: haggling at the textiles market for a cheaper carpet, sipping bitter Turkish coffee while discussing the meaning of the hijab, etc. What I did NOT imagine, however, was that this morning I would find myself crouching in front of a refrigerator, scrubbing furiously with the few cleaning supplies I had available at a mysterious black mold. That’s right, Damascus has made me domestic.

Allison and I, upon return from our winter vacation in Pakistan, decided that we’d had quite enough of the “authentic home-stay!” experience and so opted for the “let’s-try-to-find-an-apartment-in-a-foreign-language!” experience. Suffice it to say that it has been rewarding. For example (and this is unfortunately the way that I’ve starting evaluating all of my activities here), it forces you to learn entirely new sets of vocabulary previously inaccessible to your fledging Arabic tongue! There’s only so many times that I can go to the store and mimic scrubbing a floor before the word for mop is solidly wedged into my brain.

But by far the most rewarding experience has been realizing the benefit of chores. Yes folks, it’s the moment of clarity that every parent prays their children will find one day . . . and mine came while crouching in front of the moldy refrigerator. I stared at that black crust creeping out from the egg shelf long and hard, confused as to what the landlord meant when he said he’d “cleaned” the apartment, when the conviction set in: a soothing inner voice told me that I was to find the nearest home supplies store, purchase their bleach and detergent set, and pick up some steel wool on the side because those olive oil spills weren’t going to scrub themselves. Thank you oh soothing inner voice for guiding me during my times of need! I loaded up on household cleaners and returned home with an air of confidence in my step. Back in front of the fridge, however, I still felt a deep unease stirring within me. What the devil was the soothing inner voice trying to tell me now? Think Lizz, think for heaven’s sake! Kneeling in the kitchen, my loyal troop of cleaning supplies at my side, I furrowed my brow and waited for inspiration to hit again. Slowly, an image of my mother popped into my head (Hi Mom!) . . . as the picture became clearer, I saw her in our Iowa kitchen, kneeling before our refrigerator . . . reaching deftly behind it and . . . pulling out the plug! Yes! That’s it! I must unplug this abominable contraption before I can tame its inner beasts! Avast ho ye scurrilous microbes, we’ve come to topple your throne of terror and put an end to your fascist, freedom-hating ways!!!!!!!!!!!

Ah, isn’t my life exciting? But seriously, I realized that the soothing inner voice was actually just a manifestation of my childhood chores’ skills, resurfacing in the form of divine inspiration. I actually got warm fuzzy feelings as I recalled those countless Saturday mornings during which we’d scrub down the house and, upon completion, drive to the donut store for a delicious and sprinkle-topped reward. These are the life skills that we pass on from parent to child. Like a beast in the wild that teaches its cub how to hunt, we were instructed in the art of cleanliness and how to behave, well, like human beings. Perhaps my mental faculties of logic and deduction would’ve eventually helped me unlock the mysteries of how to clean our refrigerator, but without a doubt my childhood lessons have provided me with priceless guidance. Did instinct tell me to hang these blankets out in the sun to get rid of their musty odors? Certainly not! It was years of returning from summer camp and watching my father assemble our sleeping bags on the clothesline which showed me the way. I could enumerate countless other tips absorbed from childhood, but I wish to avoid boring you and sounding too much like Martha Stewart. So instead, I wrap this entry up with the several conclusions I have reached from this experience:

1) My children are definitely going to do weekly chores.

2) I must sincerely thank my parents for raising me to be self-sufficient (I love you t.Some and d.Some!).

3) I’ve leaving the bathroom for Allison to tackle . . . this fridge has provided me with more than enough food for thought!

(caption for above picture: Me in furious house-cleaning-mode! [Owais, Zoe, and Lena - note my excellent t.w.s position . . . I can hear the t.w.s. theme song playing as I type!]

Happy New Year

2007-01-22T19:48:00.000+02:00

Happy new year to you all! My deepest apologies for not putting any entries up lately. We went to Pakistan for an extended winter vacation (see picture above of me getting henna on my hands!), then returned to Damascus and undertook the overwhelming task of moving to a new apartment. Trust me, several new entries are slowly forming in my head, and now it's just a matter of sitting in front of my computer long enough to turn these loose ends into something half-palatable.

In the mean time, here is a little essay that was published in the Middlebury Campus (my college's student newspaper) about a month ago - hope you all enjoy!

Overseas Briefing

After two months of living in Damascus, I don’t think I can comfortably say that my study abroad experience is “awesome!”. I had these crazy notions that living in a foreign country would be a mind-blowing experience in which I, through making many Arab friends and using my finely-honed language skills, would carve a comfy niche into Syrian society and gain a profound understanding of the Middle East.

Well, I’ve made a couple of really close buddies and my Arabic has definitely improved, but the rest of my checklist remains blank. Bizarrely enough, what I have gained is a deeper understanding of my own culture. Prior to leaving the United States, I was always convinced that we were a nation without real values and traditions tying us together. Given our current foreign policies, as a high school and college student I was even embarrassed to call myself an American (although fear not, for I never went so far as to threaten moving to Canada).

Being thrown into a new society, however, is like having a giant flashlight shined on your insides. Every interaction that I have here elicits an immediate reassessment of my own background and what I consider to be “normal” or “right”. What does it mean when a man declines to shake my hand because he considers it improper to touch women other than his wife? How can I explain to a Syrian that we don’t really consider the phrase “that sucks” to be a swear word, in spite of its derogatory connotations? Why do I find it weird to stick a beef patty, french fries, cole slaw, and a sunny-side-up egg in a bun and call it a “hamburger? Why do they find it weird that I wanted to learn how Muslims pray without actually converting to Islam?

Most of the people that I’ve met here are curious about the United States, but many have a hard time accepting that the “western” lifestyle has any real benefit to it. Sometimes I find myself defending the craziest things, if only for the sake of showing people that there is more than one valid way to live in this world. When Arabs here criticize the moral decay of American society, I throw on some words about cultural relativism and the right to live as you personally see fit, and end up arguing for pre-marital sex and abortion (these solutions don’t usually fly in Syrian society). Another time my land-lady helpfully explained to me that Jews are the source of all wars in the world. I in return ended up defending America’s support of Israel, a stance never adopted by me before, as yet another player in the bloody game of power politics that affects this entire region and leaves no one blameless.

I was never a staunch supporter on either side of these issues back in the United States, but mostly because I never really had to think about them – they were just kind of always, well, there. Now that they’re being called into question every day, I feel the need to embrace them simply because they make up my background. My heritage, my identity, my understanding of the world - these facets of Lizz-ness are constantly brought to mind when contrasted with what is in front of me. For the first time in my life, I’m actually pleased with what I see. I’ll admit, the United States has some weird identity complexes (a secular country that recalls God on its currency? Half-naked pop stars claiming to be the proprietors of virginity?), and without a doubt our foreign policy needs to be seriously reevaluated before we lose all credibility on the international level. Yet in spite of these drawbacks, I am finally proud to call myself “American”. All it took was leaving the country for me to realize it . . .

Hanging out in Istanbul on Eid (and this picture has nothing to do with my post, sorry folks)

2006-11-13T10:28:00.000+02:00

“I’ve Got a Secret”

Wednesday, November 15, 2006 11:20 pm (3:20 pm Iowa)

Amazingly enough I’ve hit the two-month point in Syria, without instant death by terrorist or amoeba. Looking back on my first entry, I’d say that things are startin’ to shape up and fit into place around here. Milk-stand man sometimes slips me chiclets on the sly when he gives me back my change, and even the fruit-and-veggie sellers starting talking to me today (well, they asked me if I’m Russian. A small aside: it has been noted that Syrian men like to joke about Russian women, insinuating that they’re all trafficked for lascivious purposes. Quite a few people stop me and ask if I’m Russian . . . I’m not sure if my Eastern European genes are showing through or if people are trying to pull a fast one . . .).

I might even go so far as to say that my culinary skills have slightly developed, in the sense that now the foods I watch Sayyida make are slightly more complicated than lentil soup. I like to pretend that we are an avant-garde pair of physicians attempting to perform the most daring of medical operations. She is, of course, the head surgeon, but at least I get to play the role of the adroit physician’s assistant. Dr. Sayyida calls for the frying pan, and I instantly leap across the room to fetch it. She shouts out “CORING KNIFE!”, and I bring our entire cutlery collection pronto (since I can’t ever remember which one is the coring knife). I’m also in charge of vegetable triage, adeptly sorting the rotten from the still-good and skinning off the inedible parts before we add them to the plat principal. The other day I was “helping” her prepare stuffed zucchini. We were laughing and making small talk when she announced out of the blue, “I’ve got a secret”. She then proceeded to tell me about how upset Syrians are that the American government brands them as terrorists. “George Bush always claims to the world that we are terrorists, when we’re just ordinary people. Don’t you realize that Americans are the original terrorists!? They dropped the atomic bomb on Japan, and yet don’t think that Iran have the right to nuclear weapons!!”. She then veered off into a description of the last (and only other) American student that she hosted, who I understood to be some cross between a pathological liar and a harpy. With an introduction like this, it wasn’t hard to guess what was coming next. Sayyida told me that after her last American student, she swore off ever dealing with Americans again, much less having one stay in her house. Flash forward 16 months when the housing office we worked with called, begging her to take me in as there were no other available rooms for me. Sayyida begrudgingly agreed, albeit only on a trial-basis. “But you came”, she concluded, “and you were very sweet. Every day my friends and family called and asked, ‘how’s the American? Any problems yet?’ And there kept on being no problems . . . so you see, I changed my mind about Americans: just because your government hates Muslims doesn’t mean that the American youth do!”.

I wasn’t quite sure what to make of this confession. I suppose I should be happy that through daily living and open dialogue two people from such different backgrounds could learn to respect each other on mutual grounds . . . but that’s a little too cheesy for my tastes. Plus the overwhelming reaction I felt was in some indefinable degree of anger tempered by sadness and frustration. I am shocked at the political atrocities that the US government commits, and by the bloody crimes that it passively supports. It saddens me to no extent how tarnished the American image is abroad, both as a legitimate country and as a group of people embodying common ideals. And every day is filled with frustrations, the weight of cultural stereotypes and political misunderstandings hindering my normal gait like wet socks in snow boots.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not unhappy in Damascus (although my sob-story blog entries might give you a different impression). It’s just that living here is a heck of a lot more challenging than I’d expected. As my good friend Lisa (who is studying in Jordan) put it, it is hard to love a place that’s so different at first, but that doesn’t mean you’re fundamentally dissatisfied or dejected. If anything, it gives you a deeper appreciation life’s more subtle features (like the joy that comes from finding a cup of coffee that doesn’t reek of cardamom. Or that explosion of bliss when you stumble across an upright commode – triple points if there’s toilet paper on the side!). And of course, there’s no comparison to bigger picture: I am lucky enough to be living in a foreign country, expressing and comprehending in an entirely differently language, and partaking in a completely new way of living. There’s nothing quite like standing outside the sweets shop on a chilly night, sipping on milk-and-cardamom pudding that the owner dispenses to passersby, and being able to thank him in his own language for the hospitality.

A little touch of home . . .

2006-10-19T11:02:00.000+02:00

This post will not be full of deep thoughts or half-hearted attempts at profundity. I simply wanted to point out that out of all the delicious restaurants in Damascus, Owais wanted to go to KFC for his birthday dinner.

(Surprisingly, KFC is the sole American chain that I have seen anywhere in Damascus. And perhaps even more of a shock - halal fried chicken is pretty darn tasty!).

Photo (left to right): Colonel Sanders, Owais, Colonel Sanders, Zoe, and Allison.

Where I Live

2006-10-11T13:21:00.000+02:00

Tuesday, October 10th 8:30 pm Damascus (1:30 pm Iowa)

Happy middle of Ramadan to you all! As I type from my bed (the lounging area of choice), the strains of Qur’an recitation from the neighborhood mosques compete with the steady voice of Al-Jazeera news blaring out from the television - welcome to the Westernized district of Damascus! I live in an apartment about a half hour’s stroll from the university and at least 45 minutes (combo walking and public transportation) from my friends. This relatively new district, known as Mezze, has its ups and downs that reveal themselves to me with each passing day:

* Positive: I live right across the street from a park! Hooray for city planning! (park featured in the picture above - please also noticed the smiling portraits of famous Syrian leaders adorning the soccers stands on the bottom)

* Negative: The men in this park think that it’s okay to hit on me when I walk past them on my way to class (The combination of “Hey baby! Hello babe!” followed by a whistle never fails to make my little heart flutter).

* Positive: Because the streets are wider and buildings bigger, there is relatively less pollution and traffic out here. Hooray for breathing!

* Negative: There is also relatively less charm than in the older historic districts. Sometimes I forget that Damascus has more than just dust-colored buildings whose sole architectural inspiration was the 90-degree angle.

Of course, I am not alone in this apartment – the owner is a colorful character who I shall refer to as Sayyida. Living with Sayyida is kind of like living with your estranged grandmother. Some days I want to hug her, and other days I can’t fall asleep without calling up somebody to vent my seething frustration (seeing as it is undoubtedly inappropriate to unleash your anger on your dearest sweet and aging grandmamma). Let me be quite clear that I take all the blame for these frustrations – differences and misunderstandings are bound to arise in communication between two people from such different generations and cultures. Imagine, for a moment, a crisp Damascus evening. Sayyida and I are standing out on the balcony that overlooks the park, casually discussing an article that I read in class about divorce in Saudi Arabia. The conversation bounces along sweetly enough –from divorce to Muslim marriage to Christian marriage to Christians in the Middle East to Lebanon to THE ISRAELI SUMMER INVASION WITH AMERICAN FINANCIAL AND MILITARY SUPPORT WHEN THOSE POOR LEBANESE AND PALESTINIANS HAVE NEVER DONE SO MUCH AS THROW SMALL PEBBLES ACROSS THOSE ILLEGAL ISRAELI BORDERS (if i'm brave i might try to ask about iran’s support for hizbollah) A SUGGESTION WHICH IS NONSENSE SINCE IRAN HAS NO CONNECTION WHATSOEVER WITH HIZBOLLAH AND IF YOU FOLLOWED THE NEWS YOU WOULD KNOW THIS BUT PROBABLY NOT BECAUSE YOUR GOVERNMENT CENSORS THE TRUTH AND SO EVEN THOUGH YOU CLAIM TO STUDY THIS REGION YOU REMAIN BLISSFULLY IGNORANT AND AMERICA GETS AWAY WITH CALLING EVERY INNOCENT MUSLIM A TERRORST WHEN IN FACT YOU AMERICA, YOU ARE THE TERRORISTS!!! At this point she’s jabbing her index finger towards my face and I realize that sometimes it’s just better to listen and not play devil’s advocate.

Don’t get me wrong, we have good days as well. Our most pleasant interactions occur when I’m willing to put my opinions and politics aside in order to simply absorb her wisdom. Sayyida is instructing me in the art of home-making, which started with bed-making (and apparently is supposed to occur every day). She was moderately horrified when I washed my colored clothes with my whites, and continued to tease me about my laziness as she gently helped me to hang my laundry on the line. Another small shock was finding out that I can’t cook (“how are you supposed to find a husband?!”). Luckily she’s more than happy bestow some kitchen basics upon me. We’ve developed a nice routine of cooking together, which means that she’s preparing three main dishes over the stove while helping me fumble through the process of cutting a up a tomato. I’ll set the table and put out the dates just in time for the sunset, so we sit and break our fast together. I am dually proud of both my budding cooking skills and the fact that they were gained in Arabic, and for the first time all day feelings of contentment and belonging start to sink in. With this newfound sense of confidence the Arab world seems as if it really is at my fingertips and all it takes is a little asking. People are willing to help if you’re willing to listen, whether you want to know where to buy hummus or why someone converted to Islam. Willing, that is, unless they’ve had a long day, in which case Sayyida simply counters my questions by asking, “Why are Westerners so fond of ruining a good meal with ceaseless chatter?”. But I can’t complain – it’s just another up-and-down day in Mezze. If today was unpleasant, tomorrow is always undoubtedly better.

Ramadan, Ramadan / Ana jau’an wa ‘atshan (credit to Haroon)

2006-09-30T16:30:00.000+02:00

Saturday, 9/30 9 am Damascus (2 am Iowa)

Kul ‘aam wa antoom bi khayr! Yes indeed, the month of Ramadan is in full force here in Damascus. After much waiting for the new moon to show itself, fasting officially began last Sunday morning. The city has taken on a festive feel, with a charge of excitement in the air that I haven’t really experienced since I was a child anxiously waiting for Christmas to approach. Sweets sellers have overpacked their shops with trays of desserts arranged into towering pyramids. If you linger for more than half a second in front of their stores, they will shove a complimentary baklava or ma’moul into your mouth (an accosting which I really don’t mind!). I think that my favorite element of the Ramadan atmosphere is the lights. At first, they appeared so slowly that I didn’t really know what to make of them: green, white, and red strands of bulbs adorning people’s decks and front gates. Like the bad little orientalist that I am (or perhaps this makes me a very good one?) I asked myself, “What on earth are all these Christmas lights doing here?!?” Then they became more grandiose, draped across the front of mosques saying “Ramadan Kareem” (“Noble Ramadan”) with the names of Allah and Muhammad (S) buttressing the sides. The whole city glitters as its citizens take part in this holy month.

I have decided to fast along with everyone else, for the well thought-out reasons of “why not?” and “everyone else is doing it”. My friends Zoe and Allison are also fasting, in the spirit of team camaraderie with Owais who, as a Muslim, doesn’t really have the option not to. Thus, my schedule now revolves around the two feeding-times of the day: sahoor and iftar. Sahoor is the meal that must be eaten before the sunrise prayer (fajr), so I set my alarm for 3:20 am. The alarm setting really isn’t necessary because there are designated people who roam through the streets banging drums to wake people up, an ancient tradition in Muslim societies (note to my Al-Kitaab buddies: book 2 chapter 2 – these people really do exist!). I stumble into the kitchen and auto-pilot feed myself. It’s sort of a race against time, because you have to finish eating, drinking, and brushing your teeth all before the call to prayer sounds at 4. I both hate and love this nighttime hour. I love sitting at the kitchen table and looking out over the city, seeing various kitchen lights in other apartments turned on and knowing that we are all participating in the same ritual. With the porch door open, you can hear the recitations of the Qur’an floating all the way from the Umayyad Mosque in the old city. I hate it because I always eat alone, and there’s nothing like a little loneliness during the holidays to make you miss home.

The second meal of the day comes around 5:30 in the evening, after the maghrib call to prayer has sounded. It is known as iftar, which literally means breaking the fast. The recommended way to break your fast is with a date, in line with the Prophet (S), and a huge glass of water because you are unbelievably thirsty! The worst iftars are when you’re eating by yourself. As you may have guessed from the last entry, I have yet to reach competency in the Arab grocery store, so cooking is out of the question. Hence, my friends and I roam the streets to find that lone shawerma stand that remained open while every one rational being is at home with their families, enjoying a meal together. However, there are redeeming iftars to make up for the lonely ones. The best thing is to be invited over to someone’s house to dine. Soup course, rice dish, baked chicken piled on top, lamb-filled eggplants decorating the sides – it’s almost more than we can handle after letting our stomachs shrink all day! Luckily, the tea and coffee come right along with the desserts and give you a little digestive help after such a sumptuous feast. It is such a joy to sit with our Syrian friends and their families during this holy month and share food and stories with them. Somehow through the language barrier we manage to make jokes and laugh, and it always surprises me that I’m actually communicating with “real” people (translation: outside of a classroom setting, where they’re not trained to understand our common linguistic blunders). It’s times like these that I also miss home. Not because I’m alone, and certainly not because I’m lacking companionship. I suppose it is the feeling of connection and togetherness that comes with sitting down together for a meal. It is such a basic and satisfying feeling that resonates with my earliest memories of family dinners. To experience the same harmonious tones of hospitality in such a vastly different setting produces somewhat of a disorienting effect on me. It always takes me half a second to realize that I’m not going back to my dorm or my Iowa living room after dinner. Instead of sitting on my friends’ couches or in my professors’ offices to recount my latest dealings, I sit on my bed in western Damascus, type to you all, and hope that this suffices.

Ahlan bikum!

2006-09-20T15:53:00.000+03:00

Us (i.e. Zoe, Allison, Owais, me, and our Arabesk buddies) enjoying lunch at a cafe in Bosra as we partake in deep intellectual conversation
Tuesday, September 19, 2006 9:45 p.m. Damascus (1:45 p.m. Iowa)

Greetings everyone! Welcome to my very first blog entry! There is so much to be said after only spending a week here, but first I must provide the boring background details so that you all know where I am and what on earth I’m doing.

Premise: One girl’s misadventures in the Arabic language during her junior year of college.

Setting: Damascus, capital of Syria. Specifically, in the Mezze district
(a.k.a. the westernized area, I’m so coddled)

Characters: • Zoe, Allison, and Owais - friends in Damascus with me
•Arabesk – company assisting us with registration and apartments
(if anyone is ever thinking of studying in Damascus, I highly highly recommend their services! www.arabeskstudiesindamascus.com)
• innumerable Arabs

Thus far we’ve spent this first week registering with the University of Damascus and getting acquainted with the city. The company that we’re using, Arabesk, has been exceptionally knowledgeable and helpful in accomplishing this maze of tasks, which include an AIDS test, a 3 hour entrance exam, a letter of recommendation from the American embassy, and at least 3 visits to all of these places in order to execute these endeavors (Sean Lena, I give you credit for braving it on your own – you truly are a competent individual!).

Since I mentioned the embassy, I may as well confess that Allison and I were actually in the building when the thwarted bombing attempt occurred about a week ago. How painfully cliché that on our very first day in the Middle East we found ourselves in a terrorist attack. Rest assured, nothing happened and we are completely fine. In fact, while waiting in an adjacent building for the remaining bombs to be defused, we even made a couple of Arab friends! This latter phenomenon (friendship, not bombs!) I find to be more typical of Syria – I have found that this is a country of warm and inviting people. I literally cannot pause in the street without someone coming up to and ask if we need help, offering to take us our to lunch, inquiring about language exchange (trading Arabic tutoring for French or English tutoring), etc. I’ve made friends at the ATM, while registering for classes, even on the airplane when I was waiting to use the restroom!

So how is life in the Middle East thus far? It is funny that what shocks me most about here are the small differences, the things that you just didn’t expect. For example, grapes: not seedless. Big surprise when I first bit into one. Almost as surprising as the tiled hole in the ground and small hose, who have replaced the upright toilet and its accompanying paper we are so fond of in America. I am still learning to stop instinctively grabbing for seatbelts. It is also bizarre to suddenly become so non-proficient in life. Allow me to pose, for example, the problem of being out of milk. Normally, I would grab a set of keys and drive to the store, or in the direst of circumstances set out on my bike. Either way, milk would be purchased and happily restocked in my refrigerator. Here, however, the process of getting milk has become a terrifying multi-stage process, each level filled with new horrors and possibilities of failure. First, I have to take a microbus to get to the store. The micros are Damascus’ public transportation at its finest: small retro vans that weave about the city on unfathomable loops, 5 syrian pounds a ride (about 10 cents U.S.). On a good day I am with my friends who are much more confident and competent than myself in these matters, but most likely I am by myself standing far enough into the road that buses can see me furiously attempting to flag them down, but not so far that I face imminent death from the cars that careen past. Once I have successfully secured a bus, it is a matter of recognizing where it is that I’m supposed to get off. This is a complicated matter because 1) everything in Damascus looks the same to me (brown and dusty) and 2) usually I’m not paying attention because I’m trying to remember how to say “Would you please be so kind as to stop up here on the right?” in colloquial Arabic. By the time that I have both remembered my Arabic and seen the stop, I’m usually about a 10 minute walk from where I actually wanted to be. No harm done though, because I look forward to the next step: buying from the milk guy. Unlike Mr. Fruit-and-Vegetable seller, Milk Guy is very patient with me and doesn’t yell when I forget to bring smaller bills. I can take as much time as I want to browse the options, making sure that I don’t get the “low-fat” and “high-cream” labels confused again. After careful selection, I timidly walk up to the counter and ask “’Addaysh?” even though I know it costs 35 lira (about one hour of internet give or take the location). After the transaction is completed and I have successfully returned home, relatively unscathed, I can’t wait to open up my new purchase and sip upon that thirst-quenching nectar of the bovine gods. Of course, it is always a shock when I take that first gulp and get not the overly pasteurized skim milk of my childhood, but the thick Middle Eastern variety that tastes like corn. This shock is a pleasant one, however, because I am reminded that I am finally here. After two years of Arabic, innumerable history and culture classes, war in Lebanon and Iraq, and many nights spent awake wondering what on earth I was getting myself into, I am finally in Syria. And I know how to buy milk.