- getting stopped (twice!) by the armed guard (by armed I mean AK 47 armed and by guard I mean young man in street clothes, which sometimes means a purple sequined shirt, or something else equally in line with men’s fashion here) because he thought I was a local and therefore needed to show my student ID (foreigners don’t need to show anything)
- not getting lost, neither on the way there or the way back, for the first time, going to my tutor’s house Wednesday
- a new yoga class—same place, new teacher (this time an Indian woman), new price (about $12 per class) and a lot more people. So much for my $5 private lessons…although the legitimacy level of the class certainly corresponds with the price
- and my walks to yoga, now in the evenings, past the overflowing gardens of every apartment block, branches of blossoming trees reaching into the sidewalk, whose scents gladly overpower the diesel fumes from the busy road on which I walk. Women walking stop and sniff their neighbor’s bushes, break off a twig to bring home or give to a friend, old women puttering around their rose gardens, endlessly washing and cleaning and trimming. It is spring! and the weather is in the seventies and eighties every day and forties and fifties in the evening
- spring also means spring cleaning; every house with their winter rugs out to dry, then rolled up and stored away til next year
- it also means buying boxes and boxes and kilos and kilos of fool (beans), which is now in its agricultural prime, to cook and freeze for the year, and kilos and kilos and kilos of bazila (peas), for the same reason, and hours and hours and hours of shelling them (my host mother had been doing it all day Tuesday, then at night they invited our Finnish neighbors over for knafe dessert and everyone helped out, then they left and the shelling continued til 1 am)
- walking back from yoga to night games in the soccer stadium across the street from my house: taxis pulled over on the side of the road, their drivers clinging to the fences trying to get a glimpse of the game, two men watching from a broken bed frame abandoned on the side of the road, huddled under a blanket, and the stadium lights glaring directly into my bedroom
- a midterm this past Sunday, which means the class is now more than half-over
- reading Syrian authors in our new unit on short stories and poetry
- and a holiday on Wednesday for the Shohodah (martyrs executed in Beirut and Damascus in 1916 by Ottomans); celebrated by my family with everyone off from work and school and a lunch in the garden of grilled kibbe patties and tabbouleh.
- Also, it’s May! How and When did that happen? Six more weeks…
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Friday, May 8, 2009
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Yuthir-ing Al-Jadl
This past week of class has been typified mostly by the Arabic phrase “yuthir al-jadl” (to stir up debate). When it was first introduced in a vocabulary lesson, one of the students gave the example, “The differences between Syrians and Lebanese stirs up debate.” Immediately our professor jumped in and argued that there are no differences between the Syrians and Lebanese and thus there is no debate. We then spent the next 15 minutes arguing about if there are differences, what they are, and whether or not Syria entered Lebanon lawfully and orderly in order to protect their neighbor (and their own former citizens) in distress. Henceforth the issue, did indeeed, stir up debate.
In the same way, it seems that there is no issue we can talk about in class, no matter how benign, that doesn’t lead to some animated discussion about Israel/Palestine, Middle East v. West, or the Media. One morning there were only three of us in class, so we spent the first hour talking about the news. I mentioned that I had had a conversation with my private tutor (p.s., I have a private tutor now, more on that later) about how Western news channels will all broadcast the same inane news items about the president or other celebrities/public figures (the example at hand was a bird that was loose in the White House, or from the past, the death of Pres. Bush’s cat), whereas from an Arab perspective (such as that of my tutor’s) it was incredibly stupid and meaningless. I tried to explain that Americans like to feel like the people that they put on a political or social pedestal are sometimes just like the rest of us and that they can relate to them as individuals. My professor in class then turned that discussion into how CNN/BBC may broadcast news about birds in the White House but not footage from the Israeli invasion of Gaza this past winter. Or on the other hand, how Arab stations may not have personal information about their heads of state but they did enter directly into the place of conflict and many correspondents lost their lives capturing the events that took place. So which one is free media?
Or another favorite topic: Racism! Our reading for this unit was about Arab immigrants in European countries and the prejudices they endure, particularly in the job market and particularly when Arab = Muslim = Terrorist in the minds of the local people. Our conversation then turned to our professor’s experiences in Italy and the kind of disrespect that she encountered for wearing a hijab, and the kind of disrespect she has encountered working in language institute from (the few) foreign students who have no interest in the local culture, but only want to learn the language for work reasons, and throughout their stay maintain significant prejudices against Arab culture and Muslims in particular. I was surprised to know that someone would actually choose to live here and study in a local institute in a country that is 90% Muslim and the whole time be walking around with hatred and prejudice for just about every person s/he met. What a torturous way to spend six months.
So although these lessons have been somewhat enlightening, or at the very least, entertaining, it has already gotten a little old and a bit frustrating when you can’t even get through a single lesson without stumbling onto some controversial tangent that you didn’t even know you were bringing up. While its good to learn how to defend yourself in a heated argument, the problem ultimately lies in the fact that our professor always has the upperhand of language, and we are always limited by our ability to articulate our own ideas and are always forced to make blatant generalizations that we would never make in English. Last example: today in class, one student was giving a presentation on the Barbary pirates and he referred to part of Northern Africa as the Barbary States (doul barbary) and our professor immediately called him out on being prejudiced. She thought he was referring to them as Barbarian states, i.e. without a legitimate culture or civilization (and the word ‘barbarian’ is derived from the Berbers). However the problem lay in the translation from English to Arabic and not in his prejudicism, because in English there is a difference between Barbary and Barbarian, but in Arabic apparently they refer to the same thing. Another student pointed out that it is the same problem with the name “Sudan,” which comes from the Arabic word for black and literally means “country of the blacks.” Eventually we moved on but the presenter dug himself into another hole when he said that the pirates found religious justification for their actions in the Q’ran and our prof. demanded to know where it was written that it is justified to kidnap and ransack your non-Muslim neighbors on the basis of religion (and thus you see the same problem with terrorists today, it lies in the varied interpretations of the text).
--
So. I have a tutor now! I found her through a friend from Georgetown who was in Damascus last year and who worked with her studying Arab Media. Since I’m supposed to be doing the same thing for the class that I am missing at Georgetown, I figured that the best way to keep up would also be with a tutor and some sort of structured lessons involving practicing discussion (since I don’t get enough of it in class). My friend warned me that she wasn’t great at grammar (which I have now learned for myself once we had something of a standoff over a simple grammar exercise in my first lesson). So now twice a week in the afternoons I’ll be making my way out to the suburbs of Damascus to meet with Leila at her house.
The first time I went, I thought it would be easier to take a taxi directly there, rather than deal with the service (minibus) and having to figure out when to get out. But unfortunately my taxi managed to get into a (minor) car accident and had to pull over to sort it out with the other driver, so I gave up and decided to take a service anyway (it only costs 7 lira compared to the usual 10 and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a 1 lira coin). I told the driver the name of the stop and that I didn’t know where I was going, so he told me where to get off and Leila’s son came out to meet me and show me the way to her house.
The next time that I went, aka yesterday, I thought I had perhaps seen enough of the way to her house to figure it out on my own, so I tried to keep a lookout and figure out when to get out. However the first time the drive seemed much longer, so I was completely disoriented and it was only when we crossed a highway and I saw the driver giving me funny looks that I looked up and realized that we were already on our way back to Abbasiyin Square, where I live. He let me down and I took a taxi. But even then I couldn’t find the house and I walked in and out of little alleyways trying to recognize something, until I finally called her and realized that I was looking on the wrong side of the street. Her son came out again to get me and eventually I made it up to her house on the third floor where she greeted me warmly in her pajamas (it was about 5 pm, but my host family does the same thing where as soon as they get home from work they put on their pjs).
Our first lesson was disrupted by a disagreement in a simple grammar exercise where unfortunately I was right and she was mistaken, and then I decided (mentally) that perhaps it would be better to focus on media and leave my grammar studies for home. After the lesson we turned our attention to the television, which was covering demonstrations in Lebanon celebrating the release of four wrongly-jailed suspects in the assassination of Lebanese PM Rafiq Hariri over four years ago.
In the same way, it seems that there is no issue we can talk about in class, no matter how benign, that doesn’t lead to some animated discussion about Israel/Palestine, Middle East v. West, or the Media. One morning there were only three of us in class, so we spent the first hour talking about the news. I mentioned that I had had a conversation with my private tutor (p.s., I have a private tutor now, more on that later) about how Western news channels will all broadcast the same inane news items about the president or other celebrities/public figures (the example at hand was a bird that was loose in the White House, or from the past, the death of Pres. Bush’s cat), whereas from an Arab perspective (such as that of my tutor’s) it was incredibly stupid and meaningless. I tried to explain that Americans like to feel like the people that they put on a political or social pedestal are sometimes just like the rest of us and that they can relate to them as individuals. My professor in class then turned that discussion into how CNN/BBC may broadcast news about birds in the White House but not footage from the Israeli invasion of Gaza this past winter. Or on the other hand, how Arab stations may not have personal information about their heads of state but they did enter directly into the place of conflict and many correspondents lost their lives capturing the events that took place. So which one is free media?
Or another favorite topic: Racism! Our reading for this unit was about Arab immigrants in European countries and the prejudices they endure, particularly in the job market and particularly when Arab = Muslim = Terrorist in the minds of the local people. Our conversation then turned to our professor’s experiences in Italy and the kind of disrespect that she encountered for wearing a hijab, and the kind of disrespect she has encountered working in language institute from (the few) foreign students who have no interest in the local culture, but only want to learn the language for work reasons, and throughout their stay maintain significant prejudices against Arab culture and Muslims in particular. I was surprised to know that someone would actually choose to live here and study in a local institute in a country that is 90% Muslim and the whole time be walking around with hatred and prejudice for just about every person s/he met. What a torturous way to spend six months.
So although these lessons have been somewhat enlightening, or at the very least, entertaining, it has already gotten a little old and a bit frustrating when you can’t even get through a single lesson without stumbling onto some controversial tangent that you didn’t even know you were bringing up. While its good to learn how to defend yourself in a heated argument, the problem ultimately lies in the fact that our professor always has the upperhand of language, and we are always limited by our ability to articulate our own ideas and are always forced to make blatant generalizations that we would never make in English. Last example: today in class, one student was giving a presentation on the Barbary pirates and he referred to part of Northern Africa as the Barbary States (doul barbary) and our professor immediately called him out on being prejudiced. She thought he was referring to them as Barbarian states, i.e. without a legitimate culture or civilization (and the word ‘barbarian’ is derived from the Berbers). However the problem lay in the translation from English to Arabic and not in his prejudicism, because in English there is a difference between Barbary and Barbarian, but in Arabic apparently they refer to the same thing. Another student pointed out that it is the same problem with the name “Sudan,” which comes from the Arabic word for black and literally means “country of the blacks.” Eventually we moved on but the presenter dug himself into another hole when he said that the pirates found religious justification for their actions in the Q’ran and our prof. demanded to know where it was written that it is justified to kidnap and ransack your non-Muslim neighbors on the basis of religion (and thus you see the same problem with terrorists today, it lies in the varied interpretations of the text).
--
So. I have a tutor now! I found her through a friend from Georgetown who was in Damascus last year and who worked with her studying Arab Media. Since I’m supposed to be doing the same thing for the class that I am missing at Georgetown, I figured that the best way to keep up would also be with a tutor and some sort of structured lessons involving practicing discussion (since I don’t get enough of it in class). My friend warned me that she wasn’t great at grammar (which I have now learned for myself once we had something of a standoff over a simple grammar exercise in my first lesson). So now twice a week in the afternoons I’ll be making my way out to the suburbs of Damascus to meet with Leila at her house.
The first time I went, I thought it would be easier to take a taxi directly there, rather than deal with the service (minibus) and having to figure out when to get out. But unfortunately my taxi managed to get into a (minor) car accident and had to pull over to sort it out with the other driver, so I gave up and decided to take a service anyway (it only costs 7 lira compared to the usual 10 and it’s the first time I’ve ever seen a 1 lira coin). I told the driver the name of the stop and that I didn’t know where I was going, so he told me where to get off and Leila’s son came out to meet me and show me the way to her house.
The next time that I went, aka yesterday, I thought I had perhaps seen enough of the way to her house to figure it out on my own, so I tried to keep a lookout and figure out when to get out. However the first time the drive seemed much longer, so I was completely disoriented and it was only when we crossed a highway and I saw the driver giving me funny looks that I looked up and realized that we were already on our way back to Abbasiyin Square, where I live. He let me down and I took a taxi. But even then I couldn’t find the house and I walked in and out of little alleyways trying to recognize something, until I finally called her and realized that I was looking on the wrong side of the street. Her son came out again to get me and eventually I made it up to her house on the third floor where she greeted me warmly in her pajamas (it was about 5 pm, but my host family does the same thing where as soon as they get home from work they put on their pjs).
Our first lesson was disrupted by a disagreement in a simple grammar exercise where unfortunately I was right and she was mistaken, and then I decided (mentally) that perhaps it would be better to focus on media and leave my grammar studies for home. After the lesson we turned our attention to the television, which was covering demonstrations in Lebanon celebrating the release of four wrongly-jailed suspects in the assassination of Lebanese PM Rafiq Hariri over four years ago.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Oh Right, School.
On Monday, after the national holiday, I returned to the university to begin another month of class. I am definitely grateful to be back in school after a long break, and this class in particular looks promising. It started out with eight students and has now shrunk to six (two opted to advance to level seven); our professor, Huda, is firm and a good teacher with a lot of personality and a good sense of humor, and even our sessions with the listening professor, Abdurabuh (his name means ‘worshipper of his god’), are off to a good start.
Our class is made up of two Korean girls, one British guy, two Americans (myself and a graduate from Yale) and one Swiss woman. The students who left were American and British as well, and I was not sad to see them go since they were both a little bit of know-it-alls, though I still can’t understand how the American kid knows so much (Liz, he’s another Spokaner! so no wonder he is crazy) because this is the first time he has ever studied Arabic in a university/classroom setting, or even with a professor, or even with anyone he can actually speak Arabic with. Instead he studied on his own for three years (on the side, while he got his degrees in computer science, political science and Islamic studies), making it through all three Al-Kitaabs (the standard Arabic textbook in the US), and apparently learned to speak from listening to internet programs—all of which are seemingly impossible.
Class usually begins with a discussion about the news, so yesterday Huda started class by asking us about Ahmedinijad’s speech at the racism conference that singled out Israel and caused attendees to walk out of the room and others to boycott the conference altogether. She noticed that Sammy and myself (the two Americans) stayed quiet for the conversation so she called us out on it and asked if it was because Americans are afraid to talk about politics here. I told her I just don’t like to participate in a discussion, especially in Arabic, if I don’t know what I am talking about, but regardless it started another conversation about the way this country is portrayed in the media as a religiously conservative and closed society and Western perceptions of muhajibeen (women who wear the headscarf/hijab); and although I didn’t suffer from too much culture shock when I arrived due to these misconceived notions, it was nonetheless refreshing to have this kind of conversation with a woman here who dresses conservatively and wears a white hijab and is strong, intelligent, opinionated and well-informed.
She also informed us that we would be responsible for two ! presentations this month, and that since my name was on top of the class list, I would be first to go. Therefore I gave my presentation this morning and used the same subject that I used in my last class (about America’s cultural food crisis) as I never had the chance to finish my presentation last time or open it up to any kind of discussion. This time I had 15 minutes to talk and 30 minutes for discussion and I survived and the class participated and all was well with the world. Then I came home after class and had lunch with my host mother (leftover stuffed grapeleaves from yesterday’s lunch and green beans in tomato sauce) and we were talking about how good the green beans were and how she cooked them with the tomatoes and garlic without boiling them in water in order to retain the flavor and how she used tomatoes that she preserved from last summer because the tomatoes now aren’t any good, and then I turned on CNN afterwards and there was a news story about Japan’s declining economy and how that is pushing more people to eat McDonald’s rather than the traditional healthy (though expensive) Japanese diet and how McDonald’s had record profits in 2008 while the rest of the country/world was falling to pieces. And it all comes together like so.
Our class is made up of two Korean girls, one British guy, two Americans (myself and a graduate from Yale) and one Swiss woman. The students who left were American and British as well, and I was not sad to see them go since they were both a little bit of know-it-alls, though I still can’t understand how the American kid knows so much (Liz, he’s another Spokaner! so no wonder he is crazy) because this is the first time he has ever studied Arabic in a university/classroom setting, or even with a professor, or even with anyone he can actually speak Arabic with. Instead he studied on his own for three years (on the side, while he got his degrees in computer science, political science and Islamic studies), making it through all three Al-Kitaabs (the standard Arabic textbook in the US), and apparently learned to speak from listening to internet programs—all of which are seemingly impossible.
Class usually begins with a discussion about the news, so yesterday Huda started class by asking us about Ahmedinijad’s speech at the racism conference that singled out Israel and caused attendees to walk out of the room and others to boycott the conference altogether. She noticed that Sammy and myself (the two Americans) stayed quiet for the conversation so she called us out on it and asked if it was because Americans are afraid to talk about politics here. I told her I just don’t like to participate in a discussion, especially in Arabic, if I don’t know what I am talking about, but regardless it started another conversation about the way this country is portrayed in the media as a religiously conservative and closed society and Western perceptions of muhajibeen (women who wear the headscarf/hijab); and although I didn’t suffer from too much culture shock when I arrived due to these misconceived notions, it was nonetheless refreshing to have this kind of conversation with a woman here who dresses conservatively and wears a white hijab and is strong, intelligent, opinionated and well-informed.
She also informed us that we would be responsible for two ! presentations this month, and that since my name was on top of the class list, I would be first to go. Therefore I gave my presentation this morning and used the same subject that I used in my last class (about America’s cultural food crisis) as I never had the chance to finish my presentation last time or open it up to any kind of discussion. This time I had 15 minutes to talk and 30 minutes for discussion and I survived and the class participated and all was well with the world. Then I came home after class and had lunch with my host mother (leftover stuffed grapeleaves from yesterday’s lunch and green beans in tomato sauce) and we were talking about how good the green beans were and how she cooked them with the tomatoes and garlic without boiling them in water in order to retain the flavor and how she used tomatoes that she preserved from last summer because the tomatoes now aren’t any good, and then I turned on CNN afterwards and there was a news story about Japan’s declining economy and how that is pushing more people to eat McDonald’s rather than the traditional healthy (though expensive) Japanese diet and how McDonald’s had record profits in 2008 while the rest of the country/world was falling to pieces. And it all comes together like so.
Friday, March 6, 2009
You Georgetown Kids May Have Just Had Your Midterms, But It’s Finals Time In Damascus
Thursday morning, bright and early, our exam began at 9 am. 1 ½ hours of writing/reading/grammar with a 30 minute break of a listening exam thrown in the middle. The exam wasn’t that bad—it included an article about obesity in America, another about addiction to smoking that was read aloud for the listening section and an essay question on whether the Internet would/already has replaced the need for books—though you wouldn’t know it as every time the professor left the room half the class would turn to their neighbor, their notes or their textbooks for the answers. The attitude of the other students in my class throughout the month had surprised me and it was probably the only downside of my experience thus far at the language institute.
Before I came other students that I talked to who had studied at the institute warned me it was the professor who was the determining factor in how successful your class was, but in this case the students definitely brought it down. Some of them genuinely wanted to learn and had many valid questions, but overall we probably did about 1 ½ hours of actual work every day with the other hours tied up in answering endless repeated questions for each of the 16 other students in the class and addressing their repeated complaints about the exam and how difficult everything was and blah blah blah. So although it would be nice to go on to the next level in a week or so and have some familiar faces in my class, perhaps its not such a bad thing that I will be taking the next month off and getting a little off track.
After the written exam we waited around for the conversation section. Students went in two at a time and had to pick a random topic, then debate it between the two of them. The topics were based on our class discussions with Hassan and included: What is the most important relationship between men and women and why (mine)? Is the Internet good or bad and why? Is the study and preservation of ancient sites good or bad and why (maybe the worst question of them all)? I was towards the end of the list, so by the time it reached my and Wan-Jin’s turn to be tested, Hassan was completely bored and let us go after about five minutes of discussing why its important for men and women to have friendships.
With the exam and level 5 behind us, I went with Katherine and Jack (20 year-old taking a semester off from university in Australia) to find a book for Katherine in a particular neighborhood based on a handdrawn map. One of her Syrian friends had recommended the book to her, it is a collection of stories aimed towards children written in fus’ha and about the lives of the 16 prophets (of which Muhammad is the last). The map led us to a back-roads street with two Islamic bookshops on it. It seemed a little random that her friend would direct us to this exact spot, especially once Katherine asked for the book at both shops and neither one had it, though one told her to wait for 10 minutes and someone would bring it. While we waited we walked a little in the area to see if we had missed another more obvious street of bookshops but there was none. When we returned the book still wasn’t there so we sat on the steps and ate from a bag of mixed nuts and decided that someone was probably frantically biking around the city trying to buy this book for her for a third of the price she will be charged.
Book in hand, we walked in the general direction of Katherine’s gym, where she gladly pays $100 a month to work out 2-3 hours a day, including shower (the house that she lives in doesn’t have a shower, only bucket baths), and she said it’s the only gym that she visited where the men didn’t stop working out to stare at her when she walked inside. On the way we got into a discussion about Islam, about various aspects of the religion and particularly how it is expressed here. Katherine met a student in her level 4 class who is British and lives here with his Pakistani-British wife, and who converted to Islam for their marriage. Somehow she feigned enough interest in being converted herself to get invited to their daily Qu’ran lessons and so she sits and listens (not exactly a discussion-based lesson) to the lectures geared towards Western converts. Pretty sweet deal if you ask me and definitely great insight into the basic teachings of Islam.
Still, I don’t know if it is best to study Islam from the perspective of your average local Muslim, considering the fact that there seem to be infinite ways (probably as many as there are in other religions) to interpret and internalize the religion—from perspectives on heaven and hell, relationships with nonbelievers, family life, wearing the headscarf, gender roles, perspectives on other religions, ideas about the origins of Islam and its current form, etc. Maybe it is better to study it from an outsider-academic-historic-comparative religion-perspective, trying to make sense of all these seemingly contradictory interpretations and what they have to do with the rest of the world. Obviously a combination of both is best, but these personal Qu’ran lessons seem to be pretty exclusive and besides, listening to one teacher doesn’t tell you anything about all the other ways people understand their religion. And perhaps, neither does sitting in a class at Georgetown on Islamic Studies, 1000s of miles away from the Muslim world, listening to a professor who would probably be condemned if s/he taught this way here. Or what about the g’town counterpart to Katherine’s lessons in the Ummayad Mosque, studying the Qu’ran with the Muslim Students Association?
Anyway, of course none of us really know anything about the topic in reality, but we stood for about 20 minutes talking on a street corner between her gym and the direction of where Jack and I live, before we decided to just sit in a restaurant and get some lunch instead. We walked to a nearby restaurant (the first actual restaurant I’ve been to in Damascus!) on the upper floor of a building at a table that overlooked a busy central square in the city and ordered a few small dishes, sitting for a while longer and enjoying the end of our class and the beginning of our weekend.
Before I came other students that I talked to who had studied at the institute warned me it was the professor who was the determining factor in how successful your class was, but in this case the students definitely brought it down. Some of them genuinely wanted to learn and had many valid questions, but overall we probably did about 1 ½ hours of actual work every day with the other hours tied up in answering endless repeated questions for each of the 16 other students in the class and addressing their repeated complaints about the exam and how difficult everything was and blah blah blah. So although it would be nice to go on to the next level in a week or so and have some familiar faces in my class, perhaps its not such a bad thing that I will be taking the next month off and getting a little off track.
After the written exam we waited around for the conversation section. Students went in two at a time and had to pick a random topic, then debate it between the two of them. The topics were based on our class discussions with Hassan and included: What is the most important relationship between men and women and why (mine)? Is the Internet good or bad and why? Is the study and preservation of ancient sites good or bad and why (maybe the worst question of them all)? I was towards the end of the list, so by the time it reached my and Wan-Jin’s turn to be tested, Hassan was completely bored and let us go after about five minutes of discussing why its important for men and women to have friendships.
With the exam and level 5 behind us, I went with Katherine and Jack (20 year-old taking a semester off from university in Australia) to find a book for Katherine in a particular neighborhood based on a handdrawn map. One of her Syrian friends had recommended the book to her, it is a collection of stories aimed towards children written in fus’ha and about the lives of the 16 prophets (of which Muhammad is the last). The map led us to a back-roads street with two Islamic bookshops on it. It seemed a little random that her friend would direct us to this exact spot, especially once Katherine asked for the book at both shops and neither one had it, though one told her to wait for 10 minutes and someone would bring it. While we waited we walked a little in the area to see if we had missed another more obvious street of bookshops but there was none. When we returned the book still wasn’t there so we sat on the steps and ate from a bag of mixed nuts and decided that someone was probably frantically biking around the city trying to buy this book for her for a third of the price she will be charged.
Book in hand, we walked in the general direction of Katherine’s gym, where she gladly pays $100 a month to work out 2-3 hours a day, including shower (the house that she lives in doesn’t have a shower, only bucket baths), and she said it’s the only gym that she visited where the men didn’t stop working out to stare at her when she walked inside. On the way we got into a discussion about Islam, about various aspects of the religion and particularly how it is expressed here. Katherine met a student in her level 4 class who is British and lives here with his Pakistani-British wife, and who converted to Islam for their marriage. Somehow she feigned enough interest in being converted herself to get invited to their daily Qu’ran lessons and so she sits and listens (not exactly a discussion-based lesson) to the lectures geared towards Western converts. Pretty sweet deal if you ask me and definitely great insight into the basic teachings of Islam.
Still, I don’t know if it is best to study Islam from the perspective of your average local Muslim, considering the fact that there seem to be infinite ways (probably as many as there are in other religions) to interpret and internalize the religion—from perspectives on heaven and hell, relationships with nonbelievers, family life, wearing the headscarf, gender roles, perspectives on other religions, ideas about the origins of Islam and its current form, etc. Maybe it is better to study it from an outsider-academic-historic-comparative religion-perspective, trying to make sense of all these seemingly contradictory interpretations and what they have to do with the rest of the world. Obviously a combination of both is best, but these personal Qu’ran lessons seem to be pretty exclusive and besides, listening to one teacher doesn’t tell you anything about all the other ways people understand their religion. And perhaps, neither does sitting in a class at Georgetown on Islamic Studies, 1000s of miles away from the Muslim world, listening to a professor who would probably be condemned if s/he taught this way here. Or what about the g’town counterpart to Katherine’s lessons in the Ummayad Mosque, studying the Qu’ran with the Muslim Students Association?
Anyway, of course none of us really know anything about the topic in reality, but we stood for about 20 minutes talking on a street corner between her gym and the direction of where Jack and I live, before we decided to just sit in a restaurant and get some lunch instead. We walked to a nearby restaurant (the first actual restaurant I’ve been to in Damascus!) on the upper floor of a building at a table that overlooked a busy central square in the city and ordered a few small dishes, sitting for a while longer and enjoying the end of our class and the beginning of our weekend.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Listening sessions with Hassan
Since this is the last week of class for level 5, yesterday we had our last day of listening with our listening teacher, Hassan. He meets with us 4 hours a week and we have discussions and listen to texts and such. In general it is for many students their least favorite part of the week and will conveniently come to class at 11 if we have him in the morning. I didn’t like him at first but then I realized what bothered me about him was that he speaks like the religious preachers on the TV and radio (which I hear every morning on the bus on my way to school). I don’t know if this is because he personally emulates them, or this is what he associates fus’ha with or what else, but once I recognized this assocation I got over it and I enjoyed the class discussions and some of the cultural nuances that it is possible to glean from them.
They can sometimes be very painful because the discussions are framed in black and white terms and usually directed towards a certain resolution; we discussed things like: The Internet, good or bad? Today’s Youth with too much Free Time. Drug Addiction, why? Immigration and the Brain Drain, good or bad? The function of Dance in a society. Relationships between men and women: what kinds and what do they look like? (This led to an interesting question of whether it was better to have multiple wives and be faithful to all of them or have only one but multiple girlfriends. Polygamy is not accepted in cities but is not uncommon in the countryside and therefore is considered (by some) an unfortunate but inevitable part of the culture.)
One particularly awkward moment was during one of our first sessions about the origin of the alphabet (apparently originated in a coastal town in Syria) and we were discussing the development of written language from hieroglyphics to characters to distinct letters/alphabet. We were all a little confused what he meant by the Arabic term for characters and he tried to explain by writing something resembling Chinese or Japanese on the board, but of course he didn’t know any of it so instead he pointed to the one Asian student in the room, Wan Jin from Korea, and asked him to demonstrate for the class. Besides being incredibly awkward and embarrassing for Wan Jin to be singled out, it was also fruitless because Korean language is possibly closer to Turkic languages than it is to the languages of the Far East (we talked about this in class a little and I just fact-checked it on Wikipedia, uncensored by the gov't in just the past week!).
They can sometimes be very painful because the discussions are framed in black and white terms and usually directed towards a certain resolution; we discussed things like: The Internet, good or bad? Today’s Youth with too much Free Time. Drug Addiction, why? Immigration and the Brain Drain, good or bad? The function of Dance in a society. Relationships between men and women: what kinds and what do they look like? (This led to an interesting question of whether it was better to have multiple wives and be faithful to all of them or have only one but multiple girlfriends. Polygamy is not accepted in cities but is not uncommon in the countryside and therefore is considered (by some) an unfortunate but inevitable part of the culture.)
One particularly awkward moment was during one of our first sessions about the origin of the alphabet (apparently originated in a coastal town in Syria) and we were discussing the development of written language from hieroglyphics to characters to distinct letters/alphabet. We were all a little confused what he meant by the Arabic term for characters and he tried to explain by writing something resembling Chinese or Japanese on the board, but of course he didn’t know any of it so instead he pointed to the one Asian student in the room, Wan Jin from Korea, and asked him to demonstrate for the class. Besides being incredibly awkward and embarrassing for Wan Jin to be singled out, it was also fruitless because Korean language is possibly closer to Turkic languages than it is to the languages of the Far East (we talked about this in class a little and I just fact-checked it on Wikipedia, uncensored by the gov't in just the past week!).
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Hooray I made it back!
Every day this week has started out gray and cold (high 50s low 60s), turning into rain. Each morning I pack my raingear and double up on my layers, but by the time I get out of class the streets are wet but the sky is clearing and the weather has turned. The first week or so that I was here the weather was unseasonably warm, pushing upwards into the 70s and all I could think about was—if this February, what will June be like? So I am thankful for the cold, at least for now, because it means summer is still a ways away.
Though clearly winter here is very different from winter at home. So although the snow this past weekend changed my plans a little bit, it was a nice change of scenery to drive through snow-covered mountains on the way home and a good reminder that it is actually winter somewhere in the Middle East.
For all the worry and stress of closed roads and images of missing my midterm and failing my first class danced in my head, the ride home was fairly painless. The roads were cleared Sunday morning so Josyan called for a taxi to the house and I rode with Nilda to the station, who was on her way to church. Nilda is great—she has worked for Josyan and Eli for 18 years! She has grandchildren back in the Philippines and she tries to go back every 3 or 4 years, in time for the next kid’s graduation, as she said. But after a string of sketchy incidents involving deaths of Filipino maids that I didn’t fully understand, the Philippines banned issuing visas to Lebanon for the time being, meaning she can go home but then cannot return. She barely speaks any Arabic—one, because she doesn’t care to learn and two because the family speaks to her in English and she spends all day working in the house. Still she seems to have a relative amount of independence—I’m sure because she’s lived there for so long—and knows her way around town by bus, talks about seeing different parts of Lebanon on trips organized by her agency and watching Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies all day when Madame and Mister are on vacation….Of course my only basis for comparison is Ketes who has only been with my aunt Nagibe for a year or so and rarely leaves the house.
But back to the journey. I rode in the back of the car with a French couple, a little older than myself, who work at a French high school in Damascus and have been there for a year and a half. The roads were slushy and wet but not icy, so we made good time and I was back at the university by noon. The only issues we had on the way were at the border and once we arrived in Damascus.
At the border we went up to the immigration desk as usual and I noticed a woman’s wallet sitting on the counter, with no other women to be seen. I didn’t know what to do with it—was it safer with the immigration officer or to be left on the counter for someone to come back for? Or should I take it and figure out whose it is and return it to them? I opted for non-involvement and left it on the desk, unsure how honest the guards were and decided someone had to notice they lost their wallet and would soon return. We were almost through the border gate when someone came up to our car and said we had lost one of our bags. We opened the trunk and counted, no they are all here. Which one is the American? That’s me! So I soaked my feet in the slushy puddles on the way back to the immigration office and realized on the way that they thought the wallet was mine. The confusion was sorted out and I felt guilty for doubting their honesty in the first place.
Then once we arrived to Damascus, the driver stopped and explained his car wasn’t allowed within city limits so he would have to drop us on the outskirts and we should take a taxi. But he didn’t leave us somewhere convenient, like the Someria garage where I found my taxi to Beirut and which was just around the corner, he simply dropped us on the side of the highway. A taxi picked us up and asked us how much we paid to come from Beirut. $20, or 1000 Syrian Lira. And so we learned the real price, 600 lira. So the Syrians’ score on the honesty scale dropped a few points, or maybe taxi drivers deserve their own rating system. Then our sympathetic driver proceeded to ask for 300 lira to take the three of us into town, which we firmly refused. Within the city, during the day, taxis run on meters and the most I’ve ever paid is about 80 lira (for the car, not per person). We got out of the car and refused to ride with him and instead we found a driver for 150.
Back at the university, Hajer, my professor, ever easy-going, offered that I should take the test on Tuesday morning, since I had just arrived that day. Alhumdulillah all that worry was for nothing. She also told me that I hadn’t missed anything, they had spent most of the morning discussing/complaining about the midterm and reviewing homework and grammar. Since I didn’t have to take the test after school, I headed home.
I waited for a bus for maybe 20 minutes but they were all full, with crowds of people waiting for each bus and swooping in on them as soon as they pulled to the curb. I’m not much of a pusher and shover so I opted to go to the other side of the road and take a different bus that I’d never taken before, but had seen pass through Abassiyin Square (where I live). Unfortunately the bus dead-ended soon after I got on and I had to wait on a street corner with about 100 other people for the next one. I had never been to the part of town that this bus drove through, so just to be sure I marked the journey by checking (through the bus window that I was smushed up against) the city maps that are on every bus stop, with a convenient red arrow that says “Anta Huna” aka You Are Here. The arrow traveled south-east, swooping around the old city and back up to my neighborhood where I gladly returned to my room, dropped my bags and brushed my teeth.
--
Later, eating lunch in the tv room with the father, Philip, he told me, you are part of our family now and when are you gone, there is a big emptiness in the house.
Though clearly winter here is very different from winter at home. So although the snow this past weekend changed my plans a little bit, it was a nice change of scenery to drive through snow-covered mountains on the way home and a good reminder that it is actually winter somewhere in the Middle East.
For all the worry and stress of closed roads and images of missing my midterm and failing my first class danced in my head, the ride home was fairly painless. The roads were cleared Sunday morning so Josyan called for a taxi to the house and I rode with Nilda to the station, who was on her way to church. Nilda is great—she has worked for Josyan and Eli for 18 years! She has grandchildren back in the Philippines and she tries to go back every 3 or 4 years, in time for the next kid’s graduation, as she said. But after a string of sketchy incidents involving deaths of Filipino maids that I didn’t fully understand, the Philippines banned issuing visas to Lebanon for the time being, meaning she can go home but then cannot return. She barely speaks any Arabic—one, because she doesn’t care to learn and two because the family speaks to her in English and she spends all day working in the house. Still she seems to have a relative amount of independence—I’m sure because she’s lived there for so long—and knows her way around town by bus, talks about seeing different parts of Lebanon on trips organized by her agency and watching Jackie Chan and Jet Li movies all day when Madame and Mister are on vacation….Of course my only basis for comparison is Ketes who has only been with my aunt Nagibe for a year or so and rarely leaves the house.
But back to the journey. I rode in the back of the car with a French couple, a little older than myself, who work at a French high school in Damascus and have been there for a year and a half. The roads were slushy and wet but not icy, so we made good time and I was back at the university by noon. The only issues we had on the way were at the border and once we arrived in Damascus.
At the border we went up to the immigration desk as usual and I noticed a woman’s wallet sitting on the counter, with no other women to be seen. I didn’t know what to do with it—was it safer with the immigration officer or to be left on the counter for someone to come back for? Or should I take it and figure out whose it is and return it to them? I opted for non-involvement and left it on the desk, unsure how honest the guards were and decided someone had to notice they lost their wallet and would soon return. We were almost through the border gate when someone came up to our car and said we had lost one of our bags. We opened the trunk and counted, no they are all here. Which one is the American? That’s me! So I soaked my feet in the slushy puddles on the way back to the immigration office and realized on the way that they thought the wallet was mine. The confusion was sorted out and I felt guilty for doubting their honesty in the first place.
Then once we arrived to Damascus, the driver stopped and explained his car wasn’t allowed within city limits so he would have to drop us on the outskirts and we should take a taxi. But he didn’t leave us somewhere convenient, like the Someria garage where I found my taxi to Beirut and which was just around the corner, he simply dropped us on the side of the highway. A taxi picked us up and asked us how much we paid to come from Beirut. $20, or 1000 Syrian Lira. And so we learned the real price, 600 lira. So the Syrians’ score on the honesty scale dropped a few points, or maybe taxi drivers deserve their own rating system. Then our sympathetic driver proceeded to ask for 300 lira to take the three of us into town, which we firmly refused. Within the city, during the day, taxis run on meters and the most I’ve ever paid is about 80 lira (for the car, not per person). We got out of the car and refused to ride with him and instead we found a driver for 150.
Back at the university, Hajer, my professor, ever easy-going, offered that I should take the test on Tuesday morning, since I had just arrived that day. Alhumdulillah all that worry was for nothing. She also told me that I hadn’t missed anything, they had spent most of the morning discussing/complaining about the midterm and reviewing homework and grammar. Since I didn’t have to take the test after school, I headed home.
I waited for a bus for maybe 20 minutes but they were all full, with crowds of people waiting for each bus and swooping in on them as soon as they pulled to the curb. I’m not much of a pusher and shover so I opted to go to the other side of the road and take a different bus that I’d never taken before, but had seen pass through Abassiyin Square (where I live). Unfortunately the bus dead-ended soon after I got on and I had to wait on a street corner with about 100 other people for the next one. I had never been to the part of town that this bus drove through, so just to be sure I marked the journey by checking (through the bus window that I was smushed up against) the city maps that are on every bus stop, with a convenient red arrow that says “Anta Huna” aka You Are Here. The arrow traveled south-east, swooping around the old city and back up to my neighborhood where I gladly returned to my room, dropped my bags and brushed my teeth.
--
Later, eating lunch in the tv room with the father, Philip, he told me, you are part of our family now and when are you gone, there is a big emptiness in the house.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Classes begin (2/8-2/12)
Sunday morning I woke up around 7 am. I think the last time I had to wake up so early for classes was in high school—though the university is only about 20 minutes by bus, I had to get there early to check the level that I was placed into and allow for some time to get lost on the way. Class begins at 9 am every morning, and I found my room on the lower floor of the language center with a little help from the other students. Most of the students (about my age or older, a few of another generation) were gathered in the hallway, smoking their last cigarettes, catching up with each other about their travels over the break, crowding the small shop at the end of the hall for Nescafés and croissants.
Most of the other students in my class have been here for at least one previous class, some for many months or even over a year. There are 15 other students, though the number seems to change every day, from Australia, Korea, Turkey, Germany, Canada, Poland, Greece, Malaysia, Spain, Iran and Russia. From what I can tell, most of them seem to be taking Arabic to boost their careers—e.g. they are students in Middle East studies and want to find a job in politics, etc. or they have jobs where they need to be able to read the Arabic press. Some have moved here from other parts of the Middle East (Jordan, Israel/Palestine) and overall they are a thrifty, well-traveled group. There is a range of living arrangements to choose from for foreign students, and many are on a tight budget, even for Syria. I am grateful to have the luxury of my own room, in a clean house with a nice family, who cooks for me!, without having to support myself by making $5/hour teaching or working at a desk in a tourist company, and still the cost of 1 month of tuition + room and board is less than a month’s rent in DC.
I was placed into level 5 (of 8), mid-intermediate, just about where I should be, halfway through my third year. Though we are in class for four hours a day (from 9-1), so far it doesn’t drag on too much, especially with 10 minute breaks every hour. I like my professor a lot—she is Syrian, very friendly and a good teacher, which is important because the classes have a reputation of being hit or miss according to the professor’s teaching skills. She offered to help me by grading any additional work I do from my Georgetown textbook, which is great because I still have to keep up with the classes I am missing back at school.
The first day was a lot of review and I was surprised not to be overwhelmed with pages of vocabulary to memorize and packets of readings to translate, as I am used to at school in the US. The work is very manageable, especially since I have nothing but time in the afternoon. It is a nice relief from the pace at Georgetown where it was enough just to sit for a few hours and complete the assignments, let alone take the time to go back and review vocabulary, study grammar, re-read texts, watch the news, read the newspaper, look up endless amounts of words in the dictionary, listen to the cd-rom, and so on and so forth. In the back of my head I’m not thinking about all the things I would rather be doing with my time: reading for another class, working on a paper, catching up with a friend, cooking dinner, doing my laundry, taking a nap, going out into the city… It also doesn’t hurt that I can ask any of the members of the family here to define a word or explain something in Arabic, and its nice to study in the late afternoons, working on the dining room table next to Farah, doing his homework, Oubai studying law or the parents studying their Bible—especially since I haven’t found a good library or another place to work except for the wi-fi café of frequent electricity shortages (though this happens at home too, but there I have my headlamp and the family is stocked with candles…reminds me of Vinalhaven!).
Most of the other students in my class have been here for at least one previous class, some for many months or even over a year. There are 15 other students, though the number seems to change every day, from Australia, Korea, Turkey, Germany, Canada, Poland, Greece, Malaysia, Spain, Iran and Russia. From what I can tell, most of them seem to be taking Arabic to boost their careers—e.g. they are students in Middle East studies and want to find a job in politics, etc. or they have jobs where they need to be able to read the Arabic press. Some have moved here from other parts of the Middle East (Jordan, Israel/Palestine) and overall they are a thrifty, well-traveled group. There is a range of living arrangements to choose from for foreign students, and many are on a tight budget, even for Syria. I am grateful to have the luxury of my own room, in a clean house with a nice family, who cooks for me!, without having to support myself by making $5/hour teaching or working at a desk in a tourist company, and still the cost of 1 month of tuition + room and board is less than a month’s rent in DC.
I was placed into level 5 (of 8), mid-intermediate, just about where I should be, halfway through my third year. Though we are in class for four hours a day (from 9-1), so far it doesn’t drag on too much, especially with 10 minute breaks every hour. I like my professor a lot—she is Syrian, very friendly and a good teacher, which is important because the classes have a reputation of being hit or miss according to the professor’s teaching skills. She offered to help me by grading any additional work I do from my Georgetown textbook, which is great because I still have to keep up with the classes I am missing back at school.
The first day was a lot of review and I was surprised not to be overwhelmed with pages of vocabulary to memorize and packets of readings to translate, as I am used to at school in the US. The work is very manageable, especially since I have nothing but time in the afternoon. It is a nice relief from the pace at Georgetown where it was enough just to sit for a few hours and complete the assignments, let alone take the time to go back and review vocabulary, study grammar, re-read texts, watch the news, read the newspaper, look up endless amounts of words in the dictionary, listen to the cd-rom, and so on and so forth. In the back of my head I’m not thinking about all the things I would rather be doing with my time: reading for another class, working on a paper, catching up with a friend, cooking dinner, doing my laundry, taking a nap, going out into the city… It also doesn’t hurt that I can ask any of the members of the family here to define a word or explain something in Arabic, and its nice to study in the late afternoons, working on the dining room table next to Farah, doing his homework, Oubai studying law or the parents studying their Bible—especially since I haven’t found a good library or another place to work except for the wi-fi café of frequent electricity shortages (though this happens at home too, but there I have my headlamp and the family is stocked with candles…reminds me of Vinalhaven!).
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Back to School (2/5)
Thursday morning I returned to the university to take my placement test. There were about 40 other students taking the test, which is necessary for all new students (or those who haven't taken a class in the last 4 months) who are not complete beginners. I skimmed the lists quickly and I think there may have been only one other American, the majority was EurAsian. The test was comprised of five parts-- listening, reading, grammar, writing and then a short interview/oral exam-- and took over two hours. While we waited outside for our interviews, I talked a little with some of the other students. One of them, a Danish guy, was planning to be here for 4 months, like me, and was living in a hostel in Bab Touma for the entirety of his stay. Another was an Italian, who didn't know very much Arabic but decided on a whim to come here for a month to study and was potentially regretting it. We find out tomorrow morning before class which level we placed into-- the test was pretty difficult and is unreliable in its placements, also it has been over 2 months since I've had any classes, but I am hoping at least to be in a level that will prove to my Arabic professors back at GU that I was doing some work while abroad.
After I finished my interview at 1, I took a cab to find the American cultural center. I had read that they have a library there with American newspapers and cultural events. The driver took me instead to the embassy, but luckily they are very close together. I walked in circles trying to find it on my map, asking directions, until I asked a guard on a corner and found out I was standing right in front of it. There were no signs or indications as to what the building was, but I knocked on the door and entered. The guard looked surprised and asked if I had a badge. A badge? Why? You need a badge to enter. What are you looking for? I'm American, I just want to look around. He called in and asked if I could enter and was granted permission. Confused, I walked into the center and a woman greeted me, explaining that the center is actually closed right now. I had forgotten that it was closed back in October after demonstrations against the US following US attacks on Syrian civilians next to the Iraqi border. Even if it had been open, though, the library consisted of a few bookshelves of children's books and generic information and though there was an internet room with all the computers on, it was closed to visitors. So I left, disappointed, and walked to find the National Library, hoping there I might find at least a good place to study and perhaps even books in English that I could borrow.
Just to make sure I was in the right place, I asked the guard the name of the building. He smiled and asked to see my passport. After laughing and talking it over with the other guards he told me it was too late and I had to come back another day. I left, again confused, as I saw many other people enter the building without showing ID. I walked to another entrance but they told me to return to the main entrance. Instead I got into a cab and went home.
For lunch, we had another big meal at 330. The father, Phillipe, was home from work and an aunt came over for lunch too. The mother, Laila, had made yabra, similar to grape leaves but rolled in cabbage leaves instead. Eaten with labneh, pickled vegetables, fresh tomato and green pepper and roasted garlic, yum!
After lunch and then a long nap, I walked to a nearby cafe that Oubai had pointed out to me a few days before. It was filled with students and laptops as it offers free wi-fi with its $3 teas and coffees and there is a nice study room on the lower level. The connection isn't great, but its a good atmosphere to work and I can bring my own laptop.
In the evening, after a third night of no dinner, I finally realized that dinner is eat-as-you-like, so Farah, the youngest, showed me around the kitchen so I could choose my food from the fridge full of leftovers. I sat in the living room eating apples with peanut butter (!) and honey and makdoos as he surfed the tv channels, past American movies to CSI reruns to Arab soaps. The best choice for both of us was Tom & Jerry cartoons. With no language barriers, we could both enjoy the common humor.
I also had a lot of good conversations with the mother (or as much as was possible in Arabic). She is very easy to talk to as she changes her sentences to simpler constructions or uses fus'ha (the formal Arabic that I learn in school) so I can understand a little easier. She asked me about family life in the states, what it is like for my parents to live alone with their kids in the house. Here kids live at home until they are married, except for their sons who are working/studying abroad, so the idea that it is normal that we leave the house at age 18 is very strange to them. I tried to explain what I do at school outside of work and classes, but the strange concept of Outdoor Ed is very difficult to talk about in Arabic without knowing the words for "hiking" "camping" "backpacking" "rock climbing" "kayaking" "national park" etc. The closest I got was "walking in the mountain" or "sleeping in the woods" and "big garden."
After I finished my interview at 1, I took a cab to find the American cultural center. I had read that they have a library there with American newspapers and cultural events. The driver took me instead to the embassy, but luckily they are very close together. I walked in circles trying to find it on my map, asking directions, until I asked a guard on a corner and found out I was standing right in front of it. There were no signs or indications as to what the building was, but I knocked on the door and entered. The guard looked surprised and asked if I had a badge. A badge? Why? You need a badge to enter. What are you looking for? I'm American, I just want to look around. He called in and asked if I could enter and was granted permission. Confused, I walked into the center and a woman greeted me, explaining that the center is actually closed right now. I had forgotten that it was closed back in October after demonstrations against the US following US attacks on Syrian civilians next to the Iraqi border. Even if it had been open, though, the library consisted of a few bookshelves of children's books and generic information and though there was an internet room with all the computers on, it was closed to visitors. So I left, disappointed, and walked to find the National Library, hoping there I might find at least a good place to study and perhaps even books in English that I could borrow.
Just to make sure I was in the right place, I asked the guard the name of the building. He smiled and asked to see my passport. After laughing and talking it over with the other guards he told me it was too late and I had to come back another day. I left, again confused, as I saw many other people enter the building without showing ID. I walked to another entrance but they told me to return to the main entrance. Instead I got into a cab and went home.
For lunch, we had another big meal at 330. The father, Phillipe, was home from work and an aunt came over for lunch too. The mother, Laila, had made yabra, similar to grape leaves but rolled in cabbage leaves instead. Eaten with labneh, pickled vegetables, fresh tomato and green pepper and roasted garlic, yum!
After lunch and then a long nap, I walked to a nearby cafe that Oubai had pointed out to me a few days before. It was filled with students and laptops as it offers free wi-fi with its $3 teas and coffees and there is a nice study room on the lower level. The connection isn't great, but its a good atmosphere to work and I can bring my own laptop.
In the evening, after a third night of no dinner, I finally realized that dinner is eat-as-you-like, so Farah, the youngest, showed me around the kitchen so I could choose my food from the fridge full of leftovers. I sat in the living room eating apples with peanut butter (!) and honey and makdoos as he surfed the tv channels, past American movies to CSI reruns to Arab soaps. The best choice for both of us was Tom & Jerry cartoons. With no language barriers, we could both enjoy the common humor.
I also had a lot of good conversations with the mother (or as much as was possible in Arabic). She is very easy to talk to as she changes her sentences to simpler constructions or uses fus'ha (the formal Arabic that I learn in school) so I can understand a little easier. She asked me about family life in the states, what it is like for my parents to live alone with their kids in the house. Here kids live at home until they are married, except for their sons who are working/studying abroad, so the idea that it is normal that we leave the house at age 18 is very strange to them. I tried to explain what I do at school outside of work and classes, but the strange concept of Outdoor Ed is very difficult to talk about in Arabic without knowing the words for "hiking" "camping" "backpacking" "rock climbing" "kayaking" "national park" etc. The closest I got was "walking in the mountain" or "sleeping in the woods" and "big garden."
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