Thinking of Syria, One Year later

It is a year ago this week that I embarked on my trip to Syria, and I find that much about the experience is on my mind.  I’m still in touch with several of the wonderful people I met there.

My tall Danish friend is sitting for his final exams, and then will probably go on to do great things for humanity.  He was inspired by our friend who worked for the UN, and all the aspiring UN translators we met while there, so I hope he pursues this path.  The world needs more people like him!

My Spanish friends stayed in the language program and then were offered a job to teach in Amman, Jordan.  I have been enjoying pictures of their travels around the Middle East!  Recently, I learned they went home briefly for New Year, and then are back to Jordan to continue teaching. 

I lost track of my two young Korean friends, though have no doubt they are doing well and improving their skills every day.

One of my Syrian friends, the young man who helped me out at the American Consulate one day, made it to the Netherlands, where he is hoping to do a graduate level degree in literature.  He was trying to get to the US, but was denied, due to the US policy against Syria.  A big loss for us, but he’ll do better in the Netherlands.

Lastly, our wonderful tutor, Hashem, continues to maintain an active teaching schedule and is as busy as ever.  I haven’t written to him lately, so need to check in.  I still use the grammar notes he gave me in the one lesson I was able to take with him.  He is an inspired teacher, and I hope to see him again someday.

One year later, I still find myself going back to the sounds of busy streets, radios blaring pop music, and the hours spent frantically studying for class.  As it turns out, I did fail the class (barely!  Improvement, for me!), but it doesn’t matter.  I learned a great deal, though it was a difficult experience. 

This year, I have successfully passed my doctoral comprehensive exams, had the honor of presenting some of my research at my school and abroad, and am now joining the frantic masses in the elusive academic job search.  I still have a long way to go on the dissertation, but having better Arabic skills has made things better!  I found the Arabic teacher at the local university and have been auditing his class to make sure I don’t forget.  There is so much I never learned, and some days I despair completely of being able to grasp even 10% of what I need to know.  A common feeling among all Arabic students, I know, but I am not gifted with language skills.

Here is what I do know.  I want to go back.  Not just to study Arabic, but because it is beautiful there.  The people are kind, civilized, and interested in the world around them.  My connection to many was music, and if I could find a way to do a music exchange, I would. 

I believe that one of the most important lessons I learned while in Syria was not about my own capabilities in a new place or language aquisition, but about my musical life, and how much I missed it.  When I came back, I found refuge in performance when feeling displaced or confused by culture shock.  I realized that I had set that part of my life aside, and it would not be laid to rest.  I’m not talking about casting off my academic life and rushing back to performance; rather, the need to accept the performance aspect of my life.  Whether I am playing in a tiny church in Maine or with my teenagers in a school recital, the tactile experience of music is something I realize I must have.

Arabic is also music.  The feel of it in the mouth, the sound of poetry or  simple street conversations; all of it is beautiful to my ears.  I think that is why I continue to struggle with it, despite my failings and, well, age.   The brain cells are not as flexible as they used to be, and my increasing hearing loss is not helping.  I’ll never be fluent, but that doesn’t stop me from reading  out loud to myself, listening to Arabic news or Qur’anic recitation.

The connection between my love of Arabic and music has changed my perspective in ways I am still trying to understand, and in that spirit, I have decided to start a new blog where I write, think, and tell stories about my life as a musician, teacher and student.  If anyone is interested in following me along, I promise to change all your names when I tell the really embarrassing stories. 

I hope to return to Syria, though, and plan to try to do so next year.  I still need to see the libraries (though I found a related manuscript in the Jerusalem National library, of which I now have a copy!), travel around the country, and eat more ice cream.  Ah…chocolamo, how I miss thee….

Thank you to everyone who helped me on this journey, and what came after.  I look forward to the future, one concert, one dissertation chapter, and one verb conjugation at a time.

Thanks for reading!

-from Albany, NY

The Last Days

This blog has been so much fun to write, and I appreciate all the attention, comments and support more than I can say.  As I close out my last day here, I thought I would put up a few more things, some last observations and a few short stories.  I also kept a daily journal, of which this blog is the condensed version, so if you want more details, let me know.  Since the trip home has potential for great weirdness, I might have one final addition…stay tuned. 

First, some final observations:

1.  In Syria, the pedestrian is never right.  Whether you are confronted by a bike, motorbike, car, horse and buggy, donkey or kid with a trolley, you can’t win.

2.  Teenagers are obnoxious all over the world.

3.  When in doubt, point, smile and look helpless.  This is more effective when female, but gets results because the recipient of your helplessness wants you to go away or buy something, so they will help you.

4.  Beware the tea.  It is wonderful, strong and has enough caffeine to choke a dog. 

5.  Come here in the winter, stay for some of the spring and leave.  The tourists and cockroachescome out starting in mid-March, both of whom seem to swarm in similar ways.

6.  One can never go wrong with ice cream.

Okay, a few short stories:

On Friday, I met a friend from class for tea and we managed to finally hear the famous storyteller.  The storyteller is a tradition here – as it is in many countries, including the US – and there is a famous one, from a family of storytellers (the Arabic word for storyteller is “hakawati”) who holds court at the al-Nawfara cafe next to the Omayyad Mosque on the weekends.  During Ramadan, he is there every day, and he is amazing!  They have a little throne for him, in front of which is his tea, ashtray and constantly smouldering cigarette.  He holds the book in one hand, sword in the other, and smashes the sword onto a table next to him (metal, so makes a terrific crashing sound) for emphasis.  He reads in the dialect, and I heard that the locals don’t necessarily understand him either.  We understood every 10th word or so, but he is such a great actor, we didn’t care. 

He tells stories of great heroes, battles and the like, so there is a lot of action to narrate.  The audience is required to remain quiet (we were rebuked gently for chatting quietly while he was reading and waving the sword) though audience participation is encouraged.  It was a real treat to hear him!

The next adventure was hearing mass at the St. Ananias house, which is where Saul was converted to Christianity and turned into St. Paul.  The mass was in Arabic, but followed the basic mass pattern I have come to recognize.  The house is underground, terribly old, and I went withmy young Korean friend from the house.  We both agreed it was a great way to hear Arabic, if a bit tough to follow (we watched everyone for the satnding, sitting, etc.) and left before communion took place.  I have pictures of the outside, but not the interior…sorry!  Couldn’t bring myself to take a photo during mass.  Seemed sort of barbaric.

So, today I am packing, saying goodbye to friends and walking around my favorite spots.  I leave really early in the morning, (yay), so will being further joy to the city by dragging my suitcase through the streets at 4am to get to a place where I can find a taxi.  The fun never stops!

It has been a wonderful experience, and I feel that I have learned a great deal.  The people here are kind, generous, intelligent observers of the world and able to distinguish between a person and the actions of their country.  I can’t wait to come back someday, and encourage people to come here, even for a short visit.  The food is amazing (I am in love with the ice cream and the hard yoghurt, called “labneh”), the tea and coffee good, and the history is breathtaking. 

Thank you all for sharing this experience with me!

School is OUT!

Today was the final exam, and though I am not certain whether or not I passed (I won’t know until next week) I DID understand more of it than the last one.  Hey, gotta take improvement where given.  I even got through the conversation part, more or less unscathed.  I can’t use verbs correctly, plural, tenses, or, well, anything, but I can put a complete sentence together.  Fortunately, they pair us up so I didn’t have to try to talk with our teacher, who I suspect thinks I’m a moron, nice, if slow.  I got the funny British guy, and we almost had fun mangling out topic.  Here’s a translation of the gist of the thing:

Teacher:  “How was the exam?”

Funny Brit Guy: "Not bad.  Some hard, other parts okay.  Listening good but essay tough."

Me:  “I no listen good.  Ear bad, big big.  Exam no hard yesterday exam.”

Teacher:  “Ah, do you have hearing problems or is it the machine?”

Me: ” Me the problem”

(Pitying look from teacher, then instructions to discuss our hobbies, which was in our reading from class)

Me: “Hey Brit guy – you got hobby?”

Brit guy: "With.  Me no have hobby.  Like write, read, think stuff. How about you?"

Me: “I loved musician and play lot big music.  Teach music and history and a little Arabian music (really pulled out the stops on that one!).  Me like known stuff Arabic.  Much good.  How about you?”

The conversation continued in this manner, with periodic, pained interruptions from the teacher when we really mangled something. 

Everyone was chain-smoking in the hall, looking dazed (under the signs, of course, that said "No Smoking") and we all wandered out into the lovely weather.  SO, we of course went shopping!  I bought a few things, my colleagues bought a lot, and then we had a huge lunch at "our" restaurant, Beit Jabri.  Then, I said good-bye to my beloved Spanish friends who are off to Turkey for the break between classes.  I will miss them so!  My wonderful friend who works for the UN (and her agency may also get kicked out of Sudan) is also off, so it will be quiet this weekend.  Well, unless the kids party, which is also fine. 

I have shopping to do, friends to say goodbye to and have time for a few more adventures, so stay tuned!  I return on Monday the 9th in the evening, and my wonderful Better Half will get me from NYC.  Hopefully, I won’t get crap by the TSA, but I can handle it. 

Thank you for all the confidence, well wishes and great comments – this has been a lot of fun and a good way to stay in touch!

The Poetry Reading

Our class, and my time here, is coming to an end this week, so I am studying my tuchus off in the hopes I might pass the class.  Could go either way, and being me, I obsess over this night and day.  I gotta have a hobby; it might as well be neurosis and obsessions, right? 

So, as we have an exam coming up and no one is sleeping, we decided “Let’s go out!”.  Last night, my Spanish friends and I left around 8:30pm (which is about 8:45pm, Syrian Standard Time.  Everything is late here, which I love, as I am constantly late.) to find the tiny club where our Iraqi friend, the guitarist, was to play.  After some wandering around, asking directions and phoning our friend already there, we found it.  I learned that many of the “clubs” are in hotels, which means they can have a bar.  It was like going to a bar in NYC – dark, smoky, with jazz posters on the walls and a big, well-stocked bar.  The main difference was that it was clean, no one was passed out on the floor and it did not stink of urine.  Definitely a big plus.  Also, the bathroom was a real bathroom, with toilet paper.  Heaven.

We had no idea what was going to take place, so the gang ordered beers.  They make beer here, of a sort, and it looks pretty flat.  The expert drinkers labeled it “drinkable”, but quickly switched to arak, which is the Syrian drink.  It looks like diluted milk and is apparently very alcoholic.  By the way:  Syria is a predominately Muslim country, but I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t drink.  I am the only one in my house who doesn’t!  I naively assumed I would have company, but nope.  Booze is king, even here.

After about an hour, I began to get antsy- it was 10pm and though more people came, nothing was happening .  We were welcomed by several people, which was great, and finally after 10, a guy who looked like a Syrian Joey Ramone with flat hair got up to announce.  I fully expected to hear a NY accent, so it was a shock to hear the Arabic.  Same patter, jokes and lineup, however.

Our friend the musician arrived and I knew I wouldn’t get a chance to hear him again.  This made me very sad, and I wish I could do something to help get him here.  (I’ll ask my guitar-playing possee- they can do anything!)  Also, a better guitar.  He has a good Yamaha, but he could really shine with a better instrument, I think.  Talent shows through.

The reading started, and an older gentleman stood up.  I understood enough to learn he was going to recite a qasida, in classical Arabic, and he proceeded to recite from memory.  The audience was absolutely enthralled, and I could see the Arabic poetry tradition in action.  No one, moved, talked, or did anything.  In the US, there would be lots of chatter, but not here.  I loved it.  The next guy recited, and then a nervous young man who read, I think, from his own work.  Lots of excellent rhyming patterns and I understood some of the text (very modern), however he was distracted by the guy chatting on his cell phone in the middle.  The guy stopped, glared, and the show halted until the guy finished.  I guess he is a regular, because there were gentle comments of “Dr. Ahmad” or something, and it seemed like this took place before.  The flustered guy got back on track and finished to polite applause.

By then, it was 10:30 so I left for home and practically jogged.  Damascus is a safe city to walk in at night, but I don’t like to be alone so I hoofed it.  No problem, but glad to get home and go to bed.  This morning, I learned that I missed great music and dancing!  Sigh.  I am too old and tired to stay up, and then function (sort of) in the morning.  Oh well.

Off to study, and wish me luck!  The plan is to come back in winter next, so think it over, Amy…I’ll also look for Ibn Arabi.  I say an Arabic copy of, I think, his complete works, in one of the excellent bookstores here, so I”ll see if I can get it, or find the work you want.

The Party

So, it rained all weekend and thus we didn’t go to Bosra as hoped. By rain, I mean “get the Ark.”  It sucked, plus it is cold.  The kids were disappointed because they wanted to go out and get drunk, so there was only one thing left to do – have a party.

We went to dinner at Beit Jabri on Thursday and a good time was had by all.  Massive amounts of food was consumed, and the famed dessert, “chocolamo” was eaten with reverent silence. Then, a few limericks were composed in it’s honor, narjile was smoked, and we disbursed for the evening.  It was 12:30am.  Time is really different here.

Due to the rain, we stayed in Friday and studied (okay, I did) and our new roommate moved in.  She is wonderful, works for the UN and is taking a “break” to study Arabic.  A good addition to the house!  We shopped for food and people began to converge.  There is a house narjile (water pipe) so that was sparked up.  Then, there was a beer run.  More smoking, eating took place, and I made a giant pot of soup.  Most of the European Union was represented:  Spain, England, Estonia, Germany, and little old me for the US.  More people came, and more beer was ordered.  Since I don’t drink, I supplied people with tea and food, and the soup was,  in my humble opinion, quite good.  It was also lentil soup, so it was a cleansing experience for many, I suspect.  Sorry, gang!

I bought cake and really amazing macaroons from the bakery around the corner, and they were consumed with much gusto.  Around 11:30pm, I was getting tired – we had been sitting on the patio, in the wet and cold for several hours.  There is no “roof”, just an awning we pull back in sunny days, so it was cold, wet and there were puddles everywhere.  Periodically, someone would get up to squeegee the floor.  No one, including me, fell down the stairs, which is quite something as well.

A musician arrived with a guitar, and I learned this was the young man my Spanish friends heard the other week at the famed “German House Party”.  He is Iraqi, from Baghdad, and also fluent in Spanish.  He could play Arabic songs, of course, and also many Spanish songs.  He had an incredible voice, and despite the cold, we plied him with beers and cigarettes to keep his strength up.  Picture this:

7 people are sitting on a cold, wet patio at 12:30am.  It is dripping rain, and we can all see our breath.  Our musician is playing the Gipsy Kings while we all sing, clap and periodically dance.  One of my Spanish friends is an excellent flamenco dancer, so she got up, beer in hand, and did a lovely dance.  Then she sang.  So, I got to hear Gipsy Kings, sung by an Iraqi in a 400 year old house in the Old City of Damascus.  Amy, when he played “Bambolero”, I thought of you, and us driving like fiends through Acadia in your ancient car in 1990, singing along to this song.  (Congrats on the new car!!!)

I had to conk out by 1am, and everyone wound down by 2am.  They even cleaned up, and everyone was basically fine the next day.  We went out in the rain for Syrian fast food, going to a place called “Ancient Damascus Snack.”  I had a fish sandwich and really great french fries.  Mmmmm.  Bad for me.  Then, I virtuously had lentil soup for dinner.  Well, and some eclairs.  One can’t be good all the time.

We have cake and more macaroons tonight, and I think another party is being planned for the end of the week, when classes end.  I have been studying every night for several hours, reviewing everything and might actually pass this one.  Wish me luck, and send me good brain vibes!

Walking and other adventures

The subtitle of this post should be “I am channelling Amara everyday”.  Being me, I walk home from school every day to unwind from class (and I can’t sit still well anymore, so I need to move after 4 hours of class) but also because I am too cheap to pay the cab fare.  Of course, the cab fare is about 50sp ($1), and I then spend that on internet, but whatever.

The walk is actually great.  I walk past the impressive Syrian Cultural Center, which has a huge art thing in front if and is a very modern, surprisingly attractive building.  They have opera, theater, lectures, everything, all the time.  Across the street is the huge Al-Assad library, which I will get to at least once while I am here.  Then, I walk past what we think is the military academy (we see young men jogging around in the morning and aren’t allowed to walk near the buildings) and along the road is the mighty Barada River.  Well, the Barada stream at this point.  There has been such a drought that even the recent rains have hardly put a dent in it, but the river struggles along valiantly.  Then, I pass the National Museum with it’s lovely sculpture garden of Byzantine, Roman, Hurrian, and other great representations of art through Syrian history.  Past the museum is a building designed by Suleiman the Great’s favorite architect, Sinon, and it is something.  A bit decrepit, but still magnificent.  The handicrafts lane is in there, located in the old cells of visiting Sufis.

After this, it gets a bit more city-like, with men yelling out their wares, insane traffic and my nemisis – slow walkers.  Here’s where we get to Amara.

My friend Amy is a champion walker, and at one point she seriously considered taking out an ad that said: “Please be aware at all times that you might be impeding Amara”.  This is my new mantra, as there is no walking etiquette here.  Being trained on the streets of New York, Chicago, London and other great cities, I hit the street and walk.  Just go, moving though the crowd hoping to get from A to B in a reasonable amount of time.  Even when I am being a tourist, I step aside to take a photo or go with intent to my destination.  Not so here.  People walk, 5 in a line, arm in arm, talking to each other, on their cell phones or text messaging.  Can’t get past.  They also swing their bags and then STOP in the middle of the sidewalk.  It’s even better if there are small children in tow, as they are never carried, always dragged, so you have to make sure you aren’t going to stomp on some poor kid when trying to make a break between two huge women and their parcels. 

Then, there are the cars.  No one watches where they are going, and everyone assumes the other will give way.  It is like a huge game of chicken on every surface, and we are all determined to win.  Since I often have to pee or am starving after class, I am a woman on a mission, so I really need to get through the crowd.  The sales men have learned not to ask me to come into their shops, so they watch me trot by with confusion, each day.  My biggest pet peeve is the walking while text messaging.  Every day, I nearly see someone die from this, and I almost got taken out by a driver who just pulled out as I was walking.  I did my best NY hand to the roof and glare, but he didn’t care.  Ah, well.  I am a pesty foreigner…I can’t imagine how bad it is here when all the tourists are wandering around!  I felt like maiming some Germans last week, when the town was suddenly infested with them, wandering and stopping in the middle of the souk.  Arghhhh.  They do this in NY, too, which is much worse since they can get their asses killed doing that.  Here, they just get asked to shop or a weary nod from the locals. 

So every day, I channel Amy, walk with intent and bump into people.  This is, apparently, not a big deal.  I am the only person to get out of the way, however, so it is a bit of a slalom.  My Spanish friend dodges traffic and people with a hearty “ole!” every time.  He is, however, from Pamplona, and big, so the cars probably figure it isn’t a good idea to hit him.

Well, off to study – thanks, again, for all the words of encouragement!  Al – I appreciate your confidence, and I have heard that the Roman traffic is possibly worse, seconded by Cairo and Moscow.  Can’t wait to hear about your adventures in Rural NY!  I guess all cities have their homicidal drivers.  I still want to be a cabbie here.  I would have SO much fun.  How about it, Aaron?  You could smoke anywhere, cuss out the window and listening to the radio at top volume is perfectly acceptable.  Each morning, depending on the cab driver, we either get a sermon or music.  I prefer the music.  The sermons are a drag, when I understand them.  And yes, the mama I referred to is my grandmother, not my mother – Mama Jane made the worst meatloaf ever, and I think it sent my dad to the hospital at least once. 

Might have to have some of that dangerous ice cream tonight, since I’ve been sooooo good and studied a lot!

Food

Thanks, all, for the words of encouragement, and after a serious pity party last night, I felt much better this morning.  I even understood most of class today!  La mushkela!  Maybe I’ll do my homework correctly, too.  Mumkin.

Lee, I laughed so hard when I read your comment I got looks in the internet place!  You are absolutely right – I am not used to failure (thanks for that!), though doubt I am as smart as I think I am.  Here, I am another weird “ajanbi”, though well meaning.  Living here lends a little more cred, but I have to say that Syrians are possibly the nicest people in the world.  They are endlessly patient and helpful, even when us foreigners are hopeless.  And, I have only one direction to go from here, right?  I like being the underdog…:)

So, after embarrassing news and last night’s pizza, I figured I should offer some words about the food here.  First, it is FANTASTIC.  All the fruit and vegetables are cheap, fresh and tasty.  I rarely go out to eat (being too cheap) and cook every night.  For example, I can get a kilo of clementines and a kilo of apples from the street for a total of 125SP.  That’s about $2.50 USD.  In the US, I would pay about $15 for the same amount, and the fruit would be old.  So, I cook a lot, and the pizza last night was a success.  They boys were very happy, and were eating it today for breakfast.  We’ll make more later – I even remembered how to make dough, though I did check the internet to be sure of the amounts.  Since we don’t have measuring cups or anything, I feel extra special, having used regular spoons and cups for my measurements.  My mama would be so proud…I’ve been channelling her when I cook to good effect.  As long as I avoid meatloaf (which she could really screw up) I’m in good shape.

The food here is great.  There is felafel, hummus, and my new favorite, eggplant mousa’aa.  This is a mix of eggplant, chickpeas, tomatoes, oil, spices and other yummy things.  You can put it on bread or just eat it.  Yum!  When you order an appetizer here, you also get the full “mezze”, which means lots of extra food.  I ordered baba ghanoush one night and got 5 plates of food.  Two plates of pickled things – turnip, pickles – a plate of olives, bread and fresh vegetables slices (tomato, pepper and cucumber).  Then, the main courses are terrific, though mostly meat.  I did sin and have kebab one night that was incredible.

Shawarma is a very tasty sandwich wrap of chicken or lamb, and I would love to eat it but just can’t.  I had a little one night and my stomach just can’t do meat.  It costs about 50SP (about a dollar) for a huge sandwich, and most of the students here seem to live off of it.  I actually eat better here than at home!

Then, there are the sweets.  The ice cream here is so good, it should be illegal.  There is a chocolate dish at the restaurant around the corner (Beit Jabri) that is so good, we actually voted it “better than sex.”  The voting party consisted of two men in their 20s, so that tells you how good this dessert is.  Poetry has been written in it’s honor, and songs have been sung.  It is chocolate ice cream (which is different here, having a farina component, I think), cookie wafers and a creamy, cheesy, fluffy topping that defies description.  We refer to it as “that Dessert”, though it bears the unlikely name of “chocolamo”.  I may have to get one tomorrow night…mmmm.

The other foods I like are the salads, all fresh and containing chick peas, and various cheese.  The cheese ranges from almost liquid to hard, cured cheese, all is very good.  I love “labneh”, which comes in little balls and is a yogurt based cheese.  (Hence the name, I think: “laban” is the Arabic word for yogurt)  The yogurt is very good, and I have a bowl with a little apricot jam for lunch or breakfast.  Yes, I have been eating breakfast!  My Better Half has been encouraging me to do so for years, and I have been trying to eat some every day.  Also, everyone in the house has good eating habits, so this helps.

We have a bakery around the corner from the house where you can get cream donughts, fantasic croissant and eclairs.  If they don’t have something, you ask, and it is probably coming out of the over.  All of this is so cheap, it is hard to resist.  I got a large sweetbread the other day for 65SP, and I am enjoying it for breakfast.  Plus sharing!  I don’t share my chocolate biscuits, though.  Those are mine…all mine…

There is much more, but now I”m hungry and have to go work on my sentences for class tomorrow.  We are also going to hear a poetry reading tonight and tomorrow I might go to a concert with a friend from class.  They are having a conference on “Oriental Landscapes” at the Cultural Center, so lots of exciting events are taking place.

Thanks again, all for your support and humor!

Class Idiot

Yup, it’s official – I’m the class idiot. Not only am I last in class, but I am the only one who failed the exam.

Everyone was on tenterhooks today waiting for the results, and our teacher helped us along by playing the “What do you think you got” game. I’m sure it was an educational moment, but we were all focused on the scores.  Interestingly, everyone low-balled their chances, so we were all surprised when we did better than though.  I, however, failed.  It was close, but a fail nonetheless.  Then, class proceeded to go over things I had no clue about and didn’t understand.  Apparently none of us did, though, so at least I am in good company.  I took a lot of notes and plan to study tonight in the hopes that I might figure it out.  I asked the advanced guys in the house and they thought that I was making it too hard and helped me feel less stupid.  We’ll make pizza tonight, so that should be a good distraction.

So, now I have to pass the final and the pressure is on even more.  This exam was worth 40% of our overall, but I did learn that class attendance (which I am great at!) and participation (not so great at) is part of the score.  If I do not pass the final, I don’t think I get a certificate of completion (unless it is the Certificate of Get the Hell Out of here, Dumbass).  Maybe my committee will accept the latter, if it is Arabic.  None of them read Arabic, right guys?

The pessimist in me is despondant, as I already study 4-5 hours a day, plus class and am one of the only students to not only regularly attend class but to do all the homework (plus extra).  Of course, I rarely do it correctly, so am in the position of answering the teacher only to have him look at me kindly and inform me that I did it completely wrong.  The rest of the students seem able to cough up the answer, but since I have no training in conversation, I don’t have any “thinking on my feet” skills in Arabic.  I will work with a tutor this week and that should help.  Send me all your good vibes – I really really need it.

On the other hand, I remind myself that I have never had any of this stuff, do understand a lot of what goes on in class despite this, and the highest grade in class was an 80%.  So, we all struggled.  I think the teacher was disappointed in us.  Sigh.  I should have gone to the lower level, but after the fist week I felt pretty good, and by then, it was too late.  However, I have learned a lot and, as Amy said, I can already understand much more than before.  I can read faster, comprehend a little better and almost have a short conversation outside of  “Hi. How much for the apples?” and “The weather is nice today”.  This is the point, and I just need to remind myself of this.

On happier news, the Big Poo is gone, having been cleaned by some unknown agent.  This pleases me, as I am phobic about, well, everything.  After all the rain we’ve been having, I figured it would have gone all over (melted.  eww.), but thankfully it is gone.  The kids DID think of using it as a landmark.  Apparently, there were hundreds of people at the “German House” party, making me even happier I didn’t go. 

I also went to the National Museum again and took pictures of some of the sculpture garden and took in the exhibits I missed the first time.  There is still more to see, so I might go back again, time permitting.  I was “adopted” by a guide who spoke only French and Arabic, so we had a weird three-language conversation.  My French comprehension is pretty good and I can speak it, but it has been at least 10 years since I’ve had to, so I was rusty to say the least.  He was delighted every time I said “wow”, and would repeat after me with a big smile.  I mixed it up with a few “incroyable!” and “mumtaz!”, which he took equal delight in.  Even though I was planning quiet contemplation of the art, I did get to see the forbidden upstairs, which had two spectacular Byzantine frescoes, one with women musicians.  I would love to find a representation, if one exists.  I took the guide’s picture and thanked him for a lot of fun. 

My name here becomes “Liza”, and there is something about it the amuses people.  The hotel guys called me “Liza Laziza”, which translates basically as “Delicious Lisa”.  Rogues.  They didn’t mean it in a salacious way (both were married and happily so.  They told me in interesting detail about their families), so I suspect this is funny.  I don’t see why not.  If I can laugh at a guy named “Big Wang”, why not “Liza”?

Well, enough flagellation.  Thanks to everyone for the encouragement and support – I really need it! Hopefully, I will get through this in one piece…:)

Imtehan, saab jeyed! (The exam was really hard!)

See?  I can use Arabic.  La mushleka.  I think the entire student body – except for the old farts like me – stayed up all night to study.  By9:30pm, I figured I was too tired and if I didn’t know it by now, I wouldn’t by morning.  There are about 4 of us who are always in class – another American, a grad student from Poland who is brilliant and an equally brilliant Italian fellow learning Arabic “for fun” – and we were chatting with the listening professor as the other students struggled in.  The boys had clearly stayed up all night studying (or something) and didn’t make it until the second hour of class.  We had two hours of class – the listening and conversation part of the curriculum – and then the exam.

It sucked.  All the girls went to pee beforehand, so there was the unexpected event of a line at the squat toilets.  The mind boggles.  I did, however, understand nearly everything (all instructions and explanations in Arabic, of course) except one section.  I took my best guess, figuring I wouldn’t understand the explanation anyway.  I just hope I pass!  If I fail, I suspect nothing happens except humiliation, but it would not be good.  However, I have already noticed an improvement in my reading, translation and grammar skills, though am sadly deficient in writing and speaking.  Since I have had no training in either, I suppose this is not too startling.  Even that is improving, though I am too scared still to talk much.  My comprehension is also still pretty slow – and the exam is fast-paced – but I can now just about keep up.  Better than last week!

Tonight all the kids are going to the Christian quarter to party at “German House.”  The Christian quarter in the Old City is called Bab Touma, after the gate and the street of the same name.  Since the houses are all tucked up against one another, to get to the party, the kids have to meet somewhere than have a guide to the house.  Our house is the same.  Here’s an example of the direction that is easiest:  Go through the Hamadiyyah souq to the end, where the Roman pillars still stand.  Then, as you face the Omayyad mosquee, go right.  Follow the old wall of the mosque until you see the sign for “Omayyad House Restaurant”.  Go right into the alley.  At the end of the alley, turn left.  Pass Beit Jari, take the next alley to the left.  Go right, then left, then right again.  At the end of the alley, turn right to the door.  Mind the floor – someone likes to pee on our front step on occasion, and the recent addition to the alley is someone (clearly a person, as there are no dogs here) took a big dump.  One of the kids took a picture.  It’s funny, but ewww.

I will spend the evening at home reading, resting and listening to music.  Then I will drink tea.  Probably will be some biscuit eating as well.  I will go tonight to greet my friend in the souq as well, possibly have tea there.  There is always time for tea, here.

Thanks for the well wishes, all!

First exam is tomorrow!

The first exam is tomorrow, and after working my butt off all week, I finally feel less stupid.  Of course, I may get to the exam and crash and burn, but I keep reminding myself that this is not graded, per se, and it doesn’t go on my transcript.  I will use the certificate of completion for my degreework, but I can complete this course in whatever way I can.  Whew!  So, tonight I study and hopefully I will do okay tomorrow.  Wish me luck!

We covered more grammar today and it is beginning to take shape.  I found out that I was not alone in some confusion, so the class is now bonding in sharing knowledge.  We are a pretty serious bunch, which is good.  The teacher is so fantastic, I am continually amazed.  He can explain anything, and even if I am not too sure, I can take notes on his explanation and then cross-reference it in my dictionaries later.  Very helpful.  The classes are so intense, too, so he has to keep up a high level of energy and concentration for 4 hours every day.  It is amazing to me.  We have a second teacher who works with us on listening and conversation, and she gives us candy if we do well.  Actually, she gives us candy even if we totally fuck up.  I call her “nice candy lady”, though she is known as Ustatha Rana (Professor Rana).  I found out that she doesn’t give candy to the other classes, so we must either be really good (right.) or totally pathetic.  I suspect the latter.

Today, I had a breakthrough.  I tried the squat toilets.  First, I got tired of barely making it home after walking 40 min., and I really had to pee.  “Toilet” is an exaggeration.  “Nasty ceramic hole in the floor with a door and hose to wash naughty bits” is a better title.  I was so worried I would either fall in or pee on myself, but all those years of drunk camping paid off.  I was fine.  I had a tough time getting back up, but I’m old and stiff.  I don’t think I’ll expand on the experience by using the public WCs, however.  I saw a guy pushing a nasty pile of something out the other day and nearly ran in fear.  Yuck.  Someone also periodically pees on our doorstep, so I am having to deal with all my phobias, thank you very much.

One last note before I head off to study.  The celebration of Ashura just passed (or is passing) and the city was filled with Shiites here for the shines.  There are several major shrines here, and the Hamadiyyah souq (the main souq) has been filled with men, and women, singing , chanting and beating the hell out of themselves.  The local population is mostly Sunni, some Christians, Jews and other Muslim sects, so they look on with tolerance.  Since this must happen every year, folks just go about their business, but they also watch.  I shoved my way through the souq the other day, listening to the men sing and pound their chests, and people were watching, taking pictures and looking on.  The shrines here include the head of the martyr Hussein (who was killed at Karbala by the Umayyad caliph, Yazid II), Saida Ruqqayah and Saida Zeinab.  The latter were granddaughters of the Prophet, the first having dies as an infant (people bring her toys.  It is a bit creepy) and the other lived to young womanhood, if memory serves. 

Off to study – wish me luck!