Ok so I’ve been in Damascus a while and just trying to recover from the constant mosquito attacks (at one stage I had 53 bites no kidding, no exaggeration – and that’s when I couldn’t count the ones on my back) and several bouts of third world diaehorrea/vomiting… charming stuff I know you love to hear it, and don’t even get me started on stereotyping developing countries ok, because you just come here and then talk to me about it.
You’ll have to excuse me today, I was meant to go to the University and Immigration Office but I just couldn’t face another day of bureaucrats and their dirty offices with no air-conditioning. So instead I’m having a day off – for the first time in Damascus, to just sit and dream of supermarkets, microwaves and sitting toilets.
Actually, cynical as I sound, I’ve had the best time in Damascus the last month. Basically because I haven’t been studying as I’d hoped, and instead have just made new friends and hung out. In addition to taking part in some interesting employment.
Those of you who’ve been around awhile might remember my original Syrian TV appearance two years ago in a tourism documentary for Syrian TV and CNN. Hotspot on Syria or something equally as amusing. Well about a week into my stay and some nice Syrian people came to the hotel looking for western looking chicks to be in a Syrian Soap Opera. Suspicious as I am I bought my posse with me to the hotel where they would be filming. Abduallah and Ahmed from the hotel, Bayan a lovely, lovely chick from Iraq, Bushra another chick from Morocco, Jamil from Yemen and Frank from Holland. So I rock up with 8 people all of whom think it’s absolutely hilarious and are taking pics of me and pretending to ask for my autograph, and I shoot my scene, 10 minutes work (I had to say “No, Thank you”) and I got $65. Sweet, it was hilarious.
It is however a much better pay rate than my other job which is teaching English in the heart of Islamic fundamentalism in Syria – a suburb called Douma. I really don’t mind going there though it is a bit far away, because I actually get harassed heaps less there than in central Damascus.
Which reminds me of a time I was walking down the stairs and wearing a long skirt…one charming Shabab bent down to his own discomfort to look up my skirt. Haram (forbidden). So when he stood up I slapped him right in the face with a back-hand. Bastard didn’t know what hit him. He was so damn shocked, served him right 110%, and anyway several people around seemed to think it was more than fair. I however was shaking like leaf and it took me a few days to get over it.
So just to be clear most people here are beyond nice and welcoming. I was checking out some ancient houses in the old city with my friends, Swiss archaeologists restoring the citadel. We were looking on the outside of the buildings and I was struggling to understand architectural terminology in French and concentrating too hard when a young women and three small children popped out at the door.
They welcomed us into their home. Ancient Damascene style and where three families were now living. This family had come from Palestine and had been in Syria 20 years. We sat down and I translated for the Swiss that their family consisted of a father and husband (who were in the gulf working) mother, little brother, and the three kids. In their two rooms and kitchen they made us welcome with coffee and smarties. We were told how much they loved foreigners here, even Americans, it was the American government that was the problem (and we all knew that).
Half an hour later when we left promising to return soon we went three minutes down the road to check out another archaeologists dream. So Unsurprisingly and generously one of the families living there came out to invite us in for tea. We sat, and talking to their parrot (he spoke!) found out about their lives, and promised to visit them at work to see their furniture. I asked them to write down the address and realised that they couldn’t write, and in my dodgy Arabic I wrote it down, they were impressed and listened intently as I read the Qur’an plaque from above the door.
Gosh, we take education for granted.
I want to tell you all about my hotel family, and my new house, and the atmosphere here with the world cup, and so many things more, but today is not the day, my twisted melancholy has me on a weird axis. Soon.
Bisous.
