Freshmen moved in this week. So good so far. I love them to death :) Other news hasn't been that great...I've had better weeks. I'm not really feeling like going out or doing much. I'm a little lost right now. I do need to focus though. I'm excited for my classes and upperclassmen are moving in today. It's good for everyone to be back. If only I could find where I am...
Peace,
Asil
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
It's good to be back into the swing of things...
I'm finally starting to get busy back on campus! I've been running errands for two and a half hours now...from fixing my classes to getting my payroll set up to signing up for move-in activities to signing up for an a cappella audition. Yes, I've finally made up my mind and decided to audition for a cappella. I have a lot on my plate this semester but this is something I really, really want to do. Besides, if I wasn't doing a cappella I would be continuing chorale so either way I'll be somehow musically involved in the school.
Thank goodness Ramadan isn't really getting to me. I'm never really hungry, although I do often feel thirsty. But I'm just so happy to see more and more people everyday back on campus that I've forgotten that I've been fasting! I even went for a jog before I broke my fast last night (which, admittedly, wasn't the most successful workout of my life) even after going without food all day. I don't know what medical consequences I'll be suffering from later, but for the time being, I feel great!
I'm super-nervous about this a cappella audition. I haven't sight-read music in 8 years, and I started chorale in the spring so I wouldn't lose that ability completely. I spent an hour or so yesterday doing some sight-reading exercises.
Freshmen move in tomorrow!
Peace,
Asil
Thank goodness Ramadan isn't really getting to me. I'm never really hungry, although I do often feel thirsty. But I'm just so happy to see more and more people everyday back on campus that I've forgotten that I've been fasting! I even went for a jog before I broke my fast last night (which, admittedly, wasn't the most successful workout of my life) even after going without food all day. I don't know what medical consequences I'll be suffering from later, but for the time being, I feel great!
I'm super-nervous about this a cappella audition. I haven't sight-read music in 8 years, and I started chorale in the spring so I wouldn't lose that ability completely. I spent an hour or so yesterday doing some sight-reading exercises.
Freshmen move in tomorrow!
Peace,
Asil
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
Blog from Lebanon: July 3
I’m sitting on top of my grandparents’ house’s roof overlooking all the hills and valleys and mountains of South Lebanon. The wind is strong, but not stinging, and the sun is just perfect. I can spot the Mediterranean Sea from here too. There is nothing like it.
Today I met with Ibrahim, my dad’s cousin who works heavily with the organization that runs the orphanage I will be working at starting Monday. We just went over a few details and chatted over some strong Arabic coffee about the next few weeks in Lebanon. I’m more pumped than ever…I cannot wait until I start Monday!
My cousin Sara has a flat in Beirut where she stays during the school year with her cousins. They all go to the same university but only Sara is taking a summer term, so she’s alone. She’s in the mountains with me now, but since both she and I start Monday, we decided that it would be a good idea to stay with her while I’m working at the orphanage. So it’s just me and her in a flat in Beirut! I was originally going to stay with my aunt but I think this will be a really interesting experience too. I am thrilled!
In other news, I’ve been spending time with all the family that I have, including the ones I never knew. You know the 64 first cousins that I always talk about? I think the number has changed…new babies and new names. I have been so ignorant the last 4 years. Where did all this family come from?!
I cannot stress enough how beautiful the view is from here. I ate lunch at my aunt’s house, a good 15 minute walk from my grandparents’, but with a similar gorgeous view.
The people in the village are really simple, happy people. They don’t complain about much, and they laugh more than any other people I’ve ever met. Life is slow…prayer times basically split up their time during the day. The people here are really hard-working, and the love to kiss and hug a lot. Very touch-feely…I forgot that from my last trip.
Maroon 5 never sounded better from a rooftop in the mountains of Lebanon.
I miss everyone so much…today was the first day where I was actually talking about my friends back home to my cousins in detail. That’s when I realized how far away I am.
It’s definitely been a culture shock…even if I’m Lebanese. The biggest thing is that I don’t wear hijab, the headscarf, so I definitely stick out because virtually everyone else does. It draws some negative attention, but I don’t really care, nor do I take it personally.
I found a Greek language radio station yesterday in the car on the drive up to the mountains in the evening. My dad just shook his head and smiled and said what he’s been saying for the past five days…”I call this country an odd country…it has everything and nothing all at the same time, Asil.”
Peace,
Asil
Today I met with Ibrahim, my dad’s cousin who works heavily with the organization that runs the orphanage I will be working at starting Monday. We just went over a few details and chatted over some strong Arabic coffee about the next few weeks in Lebanon. I’m more pumped than ever…I cannot wait until I start Monday!
My cousin Sara has a flat in Beirut where she stays during the school year with her cousins. They all go to the same university but only Sara is taking a summer term, so she’s alone. She’s in the mountains with me now, but since both she and I start Monday, we decided that it would be a good idea to stay with her while I’m working at the orphanage. So it’s just me and her in a flat in Beirut! I was originally going to stay with my aunt but I think this will be a really interesting experience too. I am thrilled!
In other news, I’ve been spending time with all the family that I have, including the ones I never knew. You know the 64 first cousins that I always talk about? I think the number has changed…new babies and new names. I have been so ignorant the last 4 years. Where did all this family come from?!
I cannot stress enough how beautiful the view is from here. I ate lunch at my aunt’s house, a good 15 minute walk from my grandparents’, but with a similar gorgeous view.
The people in the village are really simple, happy people. They don’t complain about much, and they laugh more than any other people I’ve ever met. Life is slow…prayer times basically split up their time during the day. The people here are really hard-working, and the love to kiss and hug a lot. Very touch-feely…I forgot that from my last trip.
Maroon 5 never sounded better from a rooftop in the mountains of Lebanon.
I miss everyone so much…today was the first day where I was actually talking about my friends back home to my cousins in detail. That’s when I realized how far away I am.
It’s definitely been a culture shock…even if I’m Lebanese. The biggest thing is that I don’t wear hijab, the headscarf, so I definitely stick out because virtually everyone else does. It draws some negative attention, but I don’t really care, nor do I take it personally.
I found a Greek language radio station yesterday in the car on the drive up to the mountains in the evening. My dad just shook his head and smiled and said what he’s been saying for the past five days…”I call this country an odd country…it has everything and nothing all at the same time, Asil.”
Peace,
Asil
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Blog from Lebanon: July 2
There is a falafel shop for every mosquito bite on my body.
Yesterday I woke up at the sound of morning adhan (morning call to prayer) and immediately sprang up from bed. Morning adhan is recited around 4 AM. I have no idea what spurred me do that, but I was up and about by 4:30 AM. By 5:15, I was walking around in my pajamas down to the olive tree plantations snapping really beautiful pictures of the sunrise and the village agriculture. They turned out amazing.
My dad and I decided to head to Tyr (Sour) early that morning to beat the heat and to meet with Mr. Rabih, a contact of mine that works for UN Habitat. We did all the Tyr sight-seeing and then met with him. I met a couple of his co-workers and learned more about his project, which is mainly putting his engineering and architecture skills to work in rebuilding Lebanon in a sustainable way. They don’t work much with human development, but they’re looking to start that up soon. His organization is called Beit Bil Jnoub, which means “House in the South” in Arabic.
We spent the rest of the afternoon being beach bums at the Tyr Resthouse
The next day, I went down to Beirut with my dad at 6:30 in the morning to catch a 9:30 AM meeting at AUB between different NGOs who are working on social and physical development in South Lebanon. It was basically a day-long workshop/dialogue between the different NGOs. I met a ton of really fascinating, important people. Lebanon really has some very intelligent minds, it’s just a matter of carrying out all the great ideas they have. The interesting thing I noticed is that they would all sadly be tempted to talk politics…while I want to say that politics has nothing to do with their plans, I understand that it’s so difficult to carry out all the things they want to do without the support of the government. They all agreed on only one political fact: that their government is simply incompetent.
As the mayor of Bint Jbeil put it bluntly, “Every country that has had to rebuild after a devastating war did not do it with just NGOs…the government rebuilds a country. We cannot do this if our government is in this shape.”
That was bad news, but the good news was that their motivation was something unparalleled. I have never seen anything like it before. It was also really cool meeting a variety of Lebanese—Druze, Catholic, Sunni Muslim, Orthodox Christian—with the same interest of rebuilding South Lebanon, a predominantly Shia Muslim area. It made me happy to see that there was unity in this aspect, but if gave me great grief that regular people could do this but not their so-admired representatives in the Lebanese parliament.
My dad met up with me at the gates of the AUB campus and we grabbed lunch from Al Marrouche, one of my mom’s favorite restaurants in The Hamra district, just a couple of blocks from AUB. We spent the afternoon paying visits to relatives in Beirut, then we headed back to my grandparents’ house in the mountains for the rest of the evening.
We took a different route this time to get to Majdal Selm, the village my grandparents’ house is in. This one took us through Al Nabatiye, one of the biggest cities in the South, and through the valley and across the Litani River. It was far more beautiful than any other route I’ve been on so far on this trip. It was then when I realized just how gorgeous Lebanon is.
Peace,
Asil
Yesterday I woke up at the sound of morning adhan (morning call to prayer) and immediately sprang up from bed. Morning adhan is recited around 4 AM. I have no idea what spurred me do that, but I was up and about by 4:30 AM. By 5:15, I was walking around in my pajamas down to the olive tree plantations snapping really beautiful pictures of the sunrise and the village agriculture. They turned out amazing.
My dad and I decided to head to Tyr (Sour) early that morning to beat the heat and to meet with Mr. Rabih, a contact of mine that works for UN Habitat. We did all the Tyr sight-seeing and then met with him. I met a couple of his co-workers and learned more about his project, which is mainly putting his engineering and architecture skills to work in rebuilding Lebanon in a sustainable way. They don’t work much with human development, but they’re looking to start that up soon. His organization is called Beit Bil Jnoub, which means “House in the South” in Arabic.
We spent the rest of the afternoon being beach bums at the Tyr Resthouse
The next day, I went down to Beirut with my dad at 6:30 in the morning to catch a 9:30 AM meeting at AUB between different NGOs who are working on social and physical development in South Lebanon. It was basically a day-long workshop/dialogue between the different NGOs. I met a ton of really fascinating, important people. Lebanon really has some very intelligent minds, it’s just a matter of carrying out all the great ideas they have. The interesting thing I noticed is that they would all sadly be tempted to talk politics…while I want to say that politics has nothing to do with their plans, I understand that it’s so difficult to carry out all the things they want to do without the support of the government. They all agreed on only one political fact: that their government is simply incompetent.
As the mayor of Bint Jbeil put it bluntly, “Every country that has had to rebuild after a devastating war did not do it with just NGOs…the government rebuilds a country. We cannot do this if our government is in this shape.”
That was bad news, but the good news was that their motivation was something unparalleled. I have never seen anything like it before. It was also really cool meeting a variety of Lebanese—Druze, Catholic, Sunni Muslim, Orthodox Christian—with the same interest of rebuilding South Lebanon, a predominantly Shia Muslim area. It made me happy to see that there was unity in this aspect, but if gave me great grief that regular people could do this but not their so-admired representatives in the Lebanese parliament.
My dad met up with me at the gates of the AUB campus and we grabbed lunch from Al Marrouche, one of my mom’s favorite restaurants in The Hamra district, just a couple of blocks from AUB. We spent the afternoon paying visits to relatives in Beirut, then we headed back to my grandparents’ house in the mountains for the rest of the evening.
We took a different route this time to get to Majdal Selm, the village my grandparents’ house is in. This one took us through Al Nabatiye, one of the biggest cities in the South, and through the valley and across the Litani River. It was far more beautiful than any other route I’ve been on so far on this trip. It was then when I realized just how gorgeous Lebanon is.
Peace,
Asil
Blog from Lebanon: June 30
I was right about the slums.
We arrived in Beirut around 7 Sunday evening and my uncle and cousin surprised us at the airport (my dad swore he didn’t tell anyone he was coming…he wanted to make it a surprise for everyone. But I’m confident that Arabs can never keep their mouths shut anyways). My dad was planning on driving straight to my grandparents’ house in the mountains but my uncle insisted that we spend the night in Beirut getting some shut-eye before we tackle the slopes. So we ended up sleeping at his house that night and I saw a couple of cousins, including a new addition to the family! My dad’s cousin, the one that works for Al Mobarrat, the organization I’m going to be working for, came by after dinner to greet us and to talk to me about what I’ll be doing. It was a really good conversation and I found out that I’m officially written down to teach English to orphans three times a week, starting next Monday. I was ecstatic! He also told me they do a summer camp for the orphans in two of the most beautiful places in Lebanon. It’s a 2-day camp and they just busy themselves with a lot of activities and such. That’s happening towards the end of July. He also brought up the microfinance that Al Mobarrat is involved in…except it’s not really microfinance. They don’t expect their clients to ever pay them back. So it’s more of some goodwill donations. All of their clients are needy women from small villages, and they have an extensive list of many more women who are interested in getting money to start their own small business. I was really interested to hear about this but I really want to help them develop the program as much as I can this summer.
We headed out early to the mountains the next day, a mere 2 hour drive from Beirut…except my dad had never driven the road by himself. Haha, so we definitely off-roaded it a couple of times. That’s when I remembered that the last time we drove this path I threw up. It’s a beautiful drive…we drive for a good hour parallel to the Mediterranean shore and then we head east towards the foothills and finally to the mountains.
I did not recognize my dad’s village at all until we got to the cemetery and we got out and read a prayer at my grandfather’s grave. It was especially emotional for my dad, but I was just perplexed that I didn’t recognize the town at all. We kept on driving for about a minute until we got the road that my grandparents’ house is on…and even then everything looked so different. The village got hit during the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel harder than I had ever imagined. Virtually every house on that road, including my grandparents’, had been completely demolished by airstrikes. The good news is that almost all of it is rebuilt…it just looks completely different. A lot more grey and a lot less color. It’s depressing. The first person that we saw (but I unfortunately didn’t recognize her) was my dad’s good neighbor…she was at the gate of my grandparents’ house when she waved us in. We excitedly walked into the house (another thing I didn’t recognize at all) and found my aunt Hala and my grandmother.
My grandmother developed Parkinson’s recently. I haven’t seen her in four years but I’m glad to saw that appearance-wise, she hasn’t changed much. And of course she’s the same cute grandmother that I always knew! But she has developed a nervous quiver in her left hand and she’s much, much quieter than before. That just kills me. She was so excited to see us though and started crying when we walked into the room (from joy of course!).
Word definitely goes around quickly. Within half an hour people started coming in and the tea started boiling and the baklava was passed around. The house was as lively as I had always remembered it and we spent the entire day talking to people and catching up and I definitely spent some time trying to remember who’s who.
A Few Hours Later…
I just finished my evening prayer. I prayed for a lot this time. For my grandma’s Parkinson’s disease to not progress any further, for God to forgive me for the sins I’ve committed, for Him to give me strength to put all my potential into these next five weeks. Today, I got so much criticism and just as much support. I forgot how narrow-minded some villages are. People who don’t really have exposure to a variety of cultures and peoples and circumstances can’t seem to grasp that I’ll be working with orphans and the disabled and those with psychological problems from the war. My cousin’s aunt gave me a lot of support today and told me of her own experience of working with an Italian-based NGO after the 2006 war helping kids step out of the psychological horrors of what they saw. But a mere 20 minutes later I saw an old friend of mine who I used to spend a lot of time with last time I was here and she gave me nothing but skepticism about what my plans are in Lebanon. It’s really, really sad because it’s virtually out of my control. I don’t take it personally and yes, I was a bit upset to hear that kind of thinking, but it’s something inevitable and something I can’t fix single-handedly. I’m not here to prove them wrong, I’m here to do what I want to do.
In other news, my brother is really, really sick still. He has diarrhea now and not a single doctor can diagnose him with the same thing as the previous doctor. I’m completely disenchanted with the medical system now. I hope he gets a lot better but things aren’t looking too well right now.
I haven’t been drinking enough water and the altitude is getting to me. I should really watch that. I forgot how bad my asthma has progressed in the last four years. So I’ve been completely out of it all day. I did devote a lot of time today to photographing the landscape. I think I’ll go upstairs to the balconies tomorrow and take pictures from there too.
So far so good! I just wish people really understood my true intentions and weren’t so critical of everything. Yes, it’s definitely untraditional, but who ever said untraditional was bad? Some of the greatest things have been accomplished by stepping out of the box…
Peace,
Asil
We arrived in Beirut around 7 Sunday evening and my uncle and cousin surprised us at the airport (my dad swore he didn’t tell anyone he was coming…he wanted to make it a surprise for everyone. But I’m confident that Arabs can never keep their mouths shut anyways). My dad was planning on driving straight to my grandparents’ house in the mountains but my uncle insisted that we spend the night in Beirut getting some shut-eye before we tackle the slopes. So we ended up sleeping at his house that night and I saw a couple of cousins, including a new addition to the family! My dad’s cousin, the one that works for Al Mobarrat, the organization I’m going to be working for, came by after dinner to greet us and to talk to me about what I’ll be doing. It was a really good conversation and I found out that I’m officially written down to teach English to orphans three times a week, starting next Monday. I was ecstatic! He also told me they do a summer camp for the orphans in two of the most beautiful places in Lebanon. It’s a 2-day camp and they just busy themselves with a lot of activities and such. That’s happening towards the end of July. He also brought up the microfinance that Al Mobarrat is involved in…except it’s not really microfinance. They don’t expect their clients to ever pay them back. So it’s more of some goodwill donations. All of their clients are needy women from small villages, and they have an extensive list of many more women who are interested in getting money to start their own small business. I was really interested to hear about this but I really want to help them develop the program as much as I can this summer.
We headed out early to the mountains the next day, a mere 2 hour drive from Beirut…except my dad had never driven the road by himself. Haha, so we definitely off-roaded it a couple of times. That’s when I remembered that the last time we drove this path I threw up. It’s a beautiful drive…we drive for a good hour parallel to the Mediterranean shore and then we head east towards the foothills and finally to the mountains.
I did not recognize my dad’s village at all until we got to the cemetery and we got out and read a prayer at my grandfather’s grave. It was especially emotional for my dad, but I was just perplexed that I didn’t recognize the town at all. We kept on driving for about a minute until we got the road that my grandparents’ house is on…and even then everything looked so different. The village got hit during the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel harder than I had ever imagined. Virtually every house on that road, including my grandparents’, had been completely demolished by airstrikes. The good news is that almost all of it is rebuilt…it just looks completely different. A lot more grey and a lot less color. It’s depressing. The first person that we saw (but I unfortunately didn’t recognize her) was my dad’s good neighbor…she was at the gate of my grandparents’ house when she waved us in. We excitedly walked into the house (another thing I didn’t recognize at all) and found my aunt Hala and my grandmother.
My grandmother developed Parkinson’s recently. I haven’t seen her in four years but I’m glad to saw that appearance-wise, she hasn’t changed much. And of course she’s the same cute grandmother that I always knew! But she has developed a nervous quiver in her left hand and she’s much, much quieter than before. That just kills me. She was so excited to see us though and started crying when we walked into the room (from joy of course!).
Word definitely goes around quickly. Within half an hour people started coming in and the tea started boiling and the baklava was passed around. The house was as lively as I had always remembered it and we spent the entire day talking to people and catching up and I definitely spent some time trying to remember who’s who.
A Few Hours Later…
I just finished my evening prayer. I prayed for a lot this time. For my grandma’s Parkinson’s disease to not progress any further, for God to forgive me for the sins I’ve committed, for Him to give me strength to put all my potential into these next five weeks. Today, I got so much criticism and just as much support. I forgot how narrow-minded some villages are. People who don’t really have exposure to a variety of cultures and peoples and circumstances can’t seem to grasp that I’ll be working with orphans and the disabled and those with psychological problems from the war. My cousin’s aunt gave me a lot of support today and told me of her own experience of working with an Italian-based NGO after the 2006 war helping kids step out of the psychological horrors of what they saw. But a mere 20 minutes later I saw an old friend of mine who I used to spend a lot of time with last time I was here and she gave me nothing but skepticism about what my plans are in Lebanon. It’s really, really sad because it’s virtually out of my control. I don’t take it personally and yes, I was a bit upset to hear that kind of thinking, but it’s something inevitable and something I can’t fix single-handedly. I’m not here to prove them wrong, I’m here to do what I want to do.
In other news, my brother is really, really sick still. He has diarrhea now and not a single doctor can diagnose him with the same thing as the previous doctor. I’m completely disenchanted with the medical system now. I hope he gets a lot better but things aren’t looking too well right now.
I haven’t been drinking enough water and the altitude is getting to me. I should really watch that. I forgot how bad my asthma has progressed in the last four years. So I’ve been completely out of it all day. I did devote a lot of time today to photographing the landscape. I think I’ll go upstairs to the balconies tomorrow and take pictures from there too.
So far so good! I just wish people really understood my true intentions and weren’t so critical of everything. Yes, it’s definitely untraditional, but who ever said untraditional was bad? Some of the greatest things have been accomplished by stepping out of the box…
Peace,
Asil
Blog from Lebanon: June 28
I’m sitting in the Frankfurt Airport right now, killing some time before our 2:10 PM flight to Beirut. We’ve actually been in Frankfurt since 7:30 this morning, but I think we are too tired to care. The trip from Dallas to Frankfurt actually wasn’t that bad. I didn’t have a seat assignment when I showed up and we thought I might be left behind, but they figured it out…it took a LONG time, but they did eventually. American Airlines is trying to save some green so instead of the 2 or 3 people working at the gate before boarding, there was one lady dealing with an overbooked overseas flight and a ton of people on standby. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.
There were some cute German toddlers sitting in our same aisle. When I wasn’t passed out, I was playing peek-a-boo with them or doing silly things. Their moms looked crazy distressed travelling with restless kids for 9.5 hours.
So here I am. My head is pounding and I don’t think jet lag is going to be that bad, but I wish we could just get to Beirut already. And I thought it would hit me that I’m going to Lebanon by now…but it really hasn’t. Haha, I don’t know what’s up with that. I did realize, however, that there was an entire war between the time I last visited and now. So I’m interested in seeing whatever damage is left of the war between Hezbollah and Israel in 2006. I always remembered the area around the Beirut Airport being really, really poor-looking. I think I remember a lot of slums being around there last time I visited. I might be wrong…I guess we’ll find out in a few hours.
Ciao for now,
Asil
There were some cute German toddlers sitting in our same aisle. When I wasn’t passed out, I was playing peek-a-boo with them or doing silly things. Their moms looked crazy distressed travelling with restless kids for 9.5 hours.
So here I am. My head is pounding and I don’t think jet lag is going to be that bad, but I wish we could just get to Beirut already. And I thought it would hit me that I’m going to Lebanon by now…but it really hasn’t. Haha, I don’t know what’s up with that. I did realize, however, that there was an entire war between the time I last visited and now. So I’m interested in seeing whatever damage is left of the war between Hezbollah and Israel in 2006. I always remembered the area around the Beirut Airport being really, really poor-looking. I think I remember a lot of slums being around there last time I visited. I might be wrong…I guess we’ll find out in a few hours.
Ciao for now,
Asil
The Climb
Today, I took my 7 year-old brother to his karate lesson. I was talking to Alyssa on the phone about my summer and when I hung up, the man sitting next to me started a conversation about Lebanon. Apparently, he lived in Beirut in 1983, during the civil war. We talked for a good half hour about old Beirut and new Beirut. It was an interesting coincidence but more importantly, it was cool hearing about Beirut from a non-Lebanese person's point of view. I'll probably never see him again, but just talking to him help me put some things into perspective. For example, I had never felt so small in my life. When I was sharing some stories from the orphanage with him, I realized how helpless I felt towards the end of that trip. There's so much to do and you can never help enough.
The next posts will be the things I wrote while I was in Lebanon but never got the chance to put it up because I didn't have internet. Enjoy!
Peace,
Asil
The next posts will be the things I wrote while I was in Lebanon but never got the chance to put it up because I didn't have internet. Enjoy!
Peace,
Asil
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Lots of thoughts, lots of memories
We got to Beirut late Sunday night with my uncle Hassan and his family. We visited my aunt Imm Wagdy to say goodbye to her son, Hassan, who lives in Dallas too and spent a couple of weeks in Lebanon visiting family. Then Mariam and I went back home and spent a good 15 minutes trying to open the door to the house. Good thing her parents also came from the village or else we would have been stranded. Monday I called my aunt early in the morning to see what she was up to and to tell her that I delayed my flight one week to spend time with my family and to tie some loose ends for my GO Fellowship. She told me that she is taking the family to a chalet near Saida at a new resort called Jiyeh Marina (the town is called Jiyeh) and that I should come with her. Of course, I couldn’t refuse such an offer! I got my stuff ready and played with my cousins until I decided to go to a music store outside near my uncle’s house to see if I can find a Fairouz collection for my mother. As I was walking out I heard a lot of honking from a car behind me. I thought it was just some crazy Lebanese boys again but when I finally turned around I saw that it was my aunt and her husband, Oussama. They were just calling me as I was walking to the store to come downstairs. I grabbed my stuff from upstairs…everything except the swimsuit (probably the most important thing you can take to a beach resort) because the maid put it in the washer and the washer doesn’t open until the entire cycle is finished.
We drove to my aunt’s house in the Sainte Therese district and I found that all the kids are at the resort with their relatives. I told my aunt that I was going down to a shop across the street called Orca to buy a swimsuit because of my unfortunate circumstances.
I went down to Orca and could barely focus on picking out a swimsuit because the genius manager who runs the store put what we call in Arabic an azaar to manage the swimsuit section (roughly translated as a really harassing young man) who was hitting on me the entire time…typical in Lebanon. Despite my discomfort, I managed to buy a very cute swimsuit that made my 19 year-old self look like I was stuck being 7 years old for the rest of my life.
I came back to my aunt’s flat and helped her pack some stuff for the beach and updated her on a few things that happened since the last time I saw her, mostly about teaching at the orphanage and the last campout that I had with the orphans.
We were finally off to the resort and when we got there I found my cousins excitedly inviting me to swim with them. I quickly changed into my swimsuit and jumped into the pool.
I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday swimming at the pool and beach at the resort and meeting all 5 million of my mom’s relatives, mostly her Uncle Salah’s family. I hung out with Tamara, who is related to me from both sides of the family (her dad is a relatives of my dad and her mom is my mom’s cousin) and smoked argeileh with Salah’s wife and my cousin Seif, who came on Tuesday.
Wednesday evening we headed back to my aunt’s flat in Beirut where I hung out with my cousins until Thursday night, when my uncle picked me up.
Friday I felt like doing a little exploring on my own. I told my cousin that my aunt was coming to pick me up to spend the morning and afternoon with her, but in reality I walked to the Mouawwad and Chiah districts, a good 2 or 3 miles from my uncle’s house. I didn’t really feel tired at all though because I was enjoying being independent and alone for once.
I entered the supermarket in Mouawwad, the one that my cousin and aunt and I always went shopping in when she lived in the Mouawwad district. I have good memories there tasting different varieties of coffee beans and being mesmerized by the sheer volume and variety of cheeses they have in the market. I bought a water bottle for the afternoon and left to my next destination: the Chiah Souk (Chiah Market).
If I told my mom that I went to the Chiah Souk alone, she might die of worry. So, blog, this is only between me and you. I’ll tell her eventually…after I get around telling her that I got hit by a motorcycle. These are all things you don’t tell people over a long distance through a telephone that you can barely hear the other person out of.
The Chiah Souk…man I wish I took more pictures but I was getting some really, really strange looks when I did so I decided against attracting too much attention. I was already attracting some unnecessary attention because of the way I was dressed and the way I looked. Chiah is basically a district of slums full of people below the poverty line, meaning that they live on less than $1 a day.
Speaking of $1…I’m going to digress for a bit because I know I might forget to mention this later.
Last week (my last week teaching at the orphanage) on Monday, I stopped by the little mart below my uncle’s flat in Beirut to buy a surprise for the kids—2 packages of chocolate-filled biscuits. Each one cost me 1,000 LL. I paid approximately $1.30 for both packages—nothing.
Before class I started handing out the biscuits to the kids. At first they were very enthusiastic and excited but then creeped back when one of them saw the price sticker on the package.
“Sister Asil, we can’t…” mumbled one of my students.
I was puzzled.
“What is it? What’s wrong…really, eat! I bought these for you…forget about the rule saying no food in class. Your own teacher is giving you biscuits!” I replied.
“But we don’t eat anything this expensive…we feel really bad. Sister Asil, do you buy biscuits that cost 1,000 LL? I’ve never, ever eaten anything that expensive. The most I can pay for a package of biscuits like this is 500 LL. 1,000 LL is out of the question,” said the boy.
This was my class of grade 6 boys. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was then I realized how rampant poverty was amongst the students at this school.
During the 30 minute break we have every day, I sit with either teachers or students. Personally, I love spending more time with the students but it’s interesting and good to talk with the teachers too. They say things you never hear from students or bring to light some of the hidden ugly aspects of the orphanage. For example, one day when I did sit with the teachers, Katia, another English teachers, was saying that when a student comes to school with ripped shoes or a damaged backpack, the school automatically replaces it for them at the school’s expense. The kids return home to the slums and excitedly tell their parents that they finally got a new pair of shoes which aren’t ripped up or torn or dirty. The parents send the kids back to school with yet another pair of old, torn shoes with the sheer motive of getting yet another pair of brand-new, clean shoes for one of their siblings. This is the extent of poverty in the slums of Lebanon. These people know what to do and how to do it if they want to get something that will benefit them even just a little bit.
Back to my adventure in Chiah…this is not the place to casually take a walk through. I eventually realized you have to be very vigilant in this neighborhood. I got looks and stares that I have never received in my life—not nasty looks, just very, very skeptical facial expressions because it was clear that I was an outsider in my nicely-ironed blouse and my American-made jeans and my clean shoes. Nothing screamed “outsider” more than that.
The last time I came to the souk was 6 years ago. I had no idea where it was or what it was even called but I had a hunch and I followed it. Luckily I was right but unluckily I remember the souk being more charming that it really is for 2 reasons: 1) I was 13 the last time I came and so all the bright, colorful toys and the cheap accessories were my sole focus at the time. I don’t remember the Chiah souk being slum-like at all, and 2) the Chiah souk looked like it was hit pretty hard in the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel based on the looks of the houses and buildings around it…which were basically slabs of concrete barely holding themselves up.
I went into the souk with little intention except to maybe find a good gift or argeeleh or some souvenir to take the United States. I quickly realized that this was not a tourist’s souk…there were no souvenir shops or touristy things at all. Half of the souk was housewares and lingerie and vegetables and the other half were fake Ray-Bans and opened packages of makeup and cheap jewellery.
I have a very strong memory of walking into a souk within a souk in the Chiah souk with my aunts Alia and Suad, my mother, and my sister…entering from a tiny doorway on the right side of the street and winding through the tiny, tiny corridors laden with different vendors with pots, pans, necklaces, and sunglasses hanging above you and you rub shoulders with the Chiah inhabitants amidst and cacophony of vendors and buying speaking loudly trying to hear each other’s final bargaining price with a backdrop of Nancy Ajram or Wael Jassar blasting from one of the vendors’ boombox while another vendor is turning up his own Qur’an-on-tape collection from his stereo…it’s difficult to explain in words or at least in a sentence that is not a run-on.
I eventually found winding souk within a souk by accident and was ecstatic to go inside. A cute old lady who was sitting down in her shop excitedly greeted me and invited me to come inside to show me her wares. It was exactly as I remembered it from 6 years ago…how good that memory was surprised me so much. She was selling sunglasses for 5,000 Lebanese Liras, or a little more than $3. These were Ray-Ban original copies and fake Gucci eyeware. These people are creative but they are also very, very desperate for money. Apparently the sunglasses have been going very quickly because when I showed up, much of the rack was bare, as was the case in many other stores.
I zigzagged in and out of the souk within a souk and luckily realized that I ended up on another street that intersects with the souk’s main street. I browsed the rest of the souk and then casually walked up to another intersection and turned right and wandered around the outskirts of the souk. Most of the souk ended at that intersection and then it trinkled into little individually-rented shops and bigger souks under tents selling produce. I went under one of the tents and forgot that the imam had just finished adhan (the call to prayer) so the souk was unusually quiet because everyone and their customers had left to go pray their noon prayers. I snapped a couple of photos very, very cautiously, knowing that I was going to get a few raised eyebrows and stares. I am a tourist in my own motherland much of the time this summer.
I finished looking through the Chiah Souk and continued across the autostrade to the Mouawwad Souk, a bigger and more prestigious and more air-conditioned souk. A lot of the stores beg to be called high-end while others are just like the rest of Beirut stores selling fake merchandise. I went into a classical Lebanese gift shop and got a few gifts for people then decided to call it a day after exploring the rest of the Mouawwad Souk for another hour or so.
I got back home and rested and ate for a bit then went to my aunt Wafaa’s house in Sainte-Therese for tea with my uncle Abbas.
Later that day, Mariam and I went shopping for gifts in my aunt Wafaa’s store’s district. I think the district is called Bir Hassan—I can never remember the name nor how to get there. You have to pass through a million alleyways and odd-looking intersections but it’s neither too far nor too near to the house. I bought a Lebanese flag and several folklore memorabilia from a gift stores as well as gifts for my friends in the states.
Overall, I think I could have covered a marathon’s distance today.
We drove to my aunt’s house in the Sainte Therese district and I found that all the kids are at the resort with their relatives. I told my aunt that I was going down to a shop across the street called Orca to buy a swimsuit because of my unfortunate circumstances.
I went down to Orca and could barely focus on picking out a swimsuit because the genius manager who runs the store put what we call in Arabic an azaar to manage the swimsuit section (roughly translated as a really harassing young man) who was hitting on me the entire time…typical in Lebanon. Despite my discomfort, I managed to buy a very cute swimsuit that made my 19 year-old self look like I was stuck being 7 years old for the rest of my life.
I came back to my aunt’s flat and helped her pack some stuff for the beach and updated her on a few things that happened since the last time I saw her, mostly about teaching at the orphanage and the last campout that I had with the orphans.
We were finally off to the resort and when we got there I found my cousins excitedly inviting me to swim with them. I quickly changed into my swimsuit and jumped into the pool.
I spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday swimming at the pool and beach at the resort and meeting all 5 million of my mom’s relatives, mostly her Uncle Salah’s family. I hung out with Tamara, who is related to me from both sides of the family (her dad is a relatives of my dad and her mom is my mom’s cousin) and smoked argeileh with Salah’s wife and my cousin Seif, who came on Tuesday.
Wednesday evening we headed back to my aunt’s flat in Beirut where I hung out with my cousins until Thursday night, when my uncle picked me up.
Friday I felt like doing a little exploring on my own. I told my cousin that my aunt was coming to pick me up to spend the morning and afternoon with her, but in reality I walked to the Mouawwad and Chiah districts, a good 2 or 3 miles from my uncle’s house. I didn’t really feel tired at all though because I was enjoying being independent and alone for once.
I entered the supermarket in Mouawwad, the one that my cousin and aunt and I always went shopping in when she lived in the Mouawwad district. I have good memories there tasting different varieties of coffee beans and being mesmerized by the sheer volume and variety of cheeses they have in the market. I bought a water bottle for the afternoon and left to my next destination: the Chiah Souk (Chiah Market).
If I told my mom that I went to the Chiah Souk alone, she might die of worry. So, blog, this is only between me and you. I’ll tell her eventually…after I get around telling her that I got hit by a motorcycle. These are all things you don’t tell people over a long distance through a telephone that you can barely hear the other person out of.
The Chiah Souk…man I wish I took more pictures but I was getting some really, really strange looks when I did so I decided against attracting too much attention. I was already attracting some unnecessary attention because of the way I was dressed and the way I looked. Chiah is basically a district of slums full of people below the poverty line, meaning that they live on less than $1 a day.
Speaking of $1…I’m going to digress for a bit because I know I might forget to mention this later.
Last week (my last week teaching at the orphanage) on Monday, I stopped by the little mart below my uncle’s flat in Beirut to buy a surprise for the kids—2 packages of chocolate-filled biscuits. Each one cost me 1,000 LL. I paid approximately $1.30 for both packages—nothing.
Before class I started handing out the biscuits to the kids. At first they were very enthusiastic and excited but then creeped back when one of them saw the price sticker on the package.
“Sister Asil, we can’t…” mumbled one of my students.
I was puzzled.
“What is it? What’s wrong…really, eat! I bought these for you…forget about the rule saying no food in class. Your own teacher is giving you biscuits!” I replied.
“But we don’t eat anything this expensive…we feel really bad. Sister Asil, do you buy biscuits that cost 1,000 LL? I’ve never, ever eaten anything that expensive. The most I can pay for a package of biscuits like this is 500 LL. 1,000 LL is out of the question,” said the boy.
This was my class of grade 6 boys. I couldn’t believe my ears. It was then I realized how rampant poverty was amongst the students at this school.
During the 30 minute break we have every day, I sit with either teachers or students. Personally, I love spending more time with the students but it’s interesting and good to talk with the teachers too. They say things you never hear from students or bring to light some of the hidden ugly aspects of the orphanage. For example, one day when I did sit with the teachers, Katia, another English teachers, was saying that when a student comes to school with ripped shoes or a damaged backpack, the school automatically replaces it for them at the school’s expense. The kids return home to the slums and excitedly tell their parents that they finally got a new pair of shoes which aren’t ripped up or torn or dirty. The parents send the kids back to school with yet another pair of old, torn shoes with the sheer motive of getting yet another pair of brand-new, clean shoes for one of their siblings. This is the extent of poverty in the slums of Lebanon. These people know what to do and how to do it if they want to get something that will benefit them even just a little bit.
Back to my adventure in Chiah…this is not the place to casually take a walk through. I eventually realized you have to be very vigilant in this neighborhood. I got looks and stares that I have never received in my life—not nasty looks, just very, very skeptical facial expressions because it was clear that I was an outsider in my nicely-ironed blouse and my American-made jeans and my clean shoes. Nothing screamed “outsider” more than that.
The last time I came to the souk was 6 years ago. I had no idea where it was or what it was even called but I had a hunch and I followed it. Luckily I was right but unluckily I remember the souk being more charming that it really is for 2 reasons: 1) I was 13 the last time I came and so all the bright, colorful toys and the cheap accessories were my sole focus at the time. I don’t remember the Chiah souk being slum-like at all, and 2) the Chiah souk looked like it was hit pretty hard in the 2006 war between Hezbollah and Israel based on the looks of the houses and buildings around it…which were basically slabs of concrete barely holding themselves up.
I went into the souk with little intention except to maybe find a good gift or argeeleh or some souvenir to take the United States. I quickly realized that this was not a tourist’s souk…there were no souvenir shops or touristy things at all. Half of the souk was housewares and lingerie and vegetables and the other half were fake Ray-Bans and opened packages of makeup and cheap jewellery.
I have a very strong memory of walking into a souk within a souk in the Chiah souk with my aunts Alia and Suad, my mother, and my sister…entering from a tiny doorway on the right side of the street and winding through the tiny, tiny corridors laden with different vendors with pots, pans, necklaces, and sunglasses hanging above you and you rub shoulders with the Chiah inhabitants amidst and cacophony of vendors and buying speaking loudly trying to hear each other’s final bargaining price with a backdrop of Nancy Ajram or Wael Jassar blasting from one of the vendors’ boombox while another vendor is turning up his own Qur’an-on-tape collection from his stereo…it’s difficult to explain in words or at least in a sentence that is not a run-on.
I eventually found winding souk within a souk by accident and was ecstatic to go inside. A cute old lady who was sitting down in her shop excitedly greeted me and invited me to come inside to show me her wares. It was exactly as I remembered it from 6 years ago…how good that memory was surprised me so much. She was selling sunglasses for 5,000 Lebanese Liras, or a little more than $3. These were Ray-Ban original copies and fake Gucci eyeware. These people are creative but they are also very, very desperate for money. Apparently the sunglasses have been going very quickly because when I showed up, much of the rack was bare, as was the case in many other stores.
I zigzagged in and out of the souk within a souk and luckily realized that I ended up on another street that intersects with the souk’s main street. I browsed the rest of the souk and then casually walked up to another intersection and turned right and wandered around the outskirts of the souk. Most of the souk ended at that intersection and then it trinkled into little individually-rented shops and bigger souks under tents selling produce. I went under one of the tents and forgot that the imam had just finished adhan (the call to prayer) so the souk was unusually quiet because everyone and their customers had left to go pray their noon prayers. I snapped a couple of photos very, very cautiously, knowing that I was going to get a few raised eyebrows and stares. I am a tourist in my own motherland much of the time this summer.
I finished looking through the Chiah Souk and continued across the autostrade to the Mouawwad Souk, a bigger and more prestigious and more air-conditioned souk. A lot of the stores beg to be called high-end while others are just like the rest of Beirut stores selling fake merchandise. I went into a classical Lebanese gift shop and got a few gifts for people then decided to call it a day after exploring the rest of the Mouawwad Souk for another hour or so.
I got back home and rested and ate for a bit then went to my aunt Wafaa’s house in Sainte-Therese for tea with my uncle Abbas.
Later that day, Mariam and I went shopping for gifts in my aunt Wafaa’s store’s district. I think the district is called Bir Hassan—I can never remember the name nor how to get there. You have to pass through a million alleyways and odd-looking intersections but it’s neither too far nor too near to the house. I bought a Lebanese flag and several folklore memorabilia from a gift stores as well as gifts for my friends in the states.
Overall, I think I could have covered a marathon’s distance today.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Stream of consciousness
Again, so much to do, so little time to write!
Argeileh and watching the sunrise until 6 AM with mariam and zeinab at amu hassan’s house. Bekaa, anjar, shams restaurant, anjar ruins, dabke, mariam’s future husband in the bathroom, hasbaya, chebaa farms, bawabet Fatima, waving hi to all the UN troops, druze, Christians, muslims all in south Lebanon, traffic near aley, listening to umm kalthoum, fairouz and wadi3 al safi the entire trip.
Yay! Until next time!
Argeileh and watching the sunrise until 6 AM with mariam and zeinab at amu hassan’s house. Bekaa, anjar, shams restaurant, anjar ruins, dabke, mariam’s future husband in the bathroom, hasbaya, chebaa farms, bawabet Fatima, waving hi to all the UN troops, druze, Christians, muslims all in south Lebanon, traffic near aley, listening to umm kalthoum, fairouz and wadi3 al safi the entire trip.
Yay! Until next time!
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Ishtirak, autocar, and dukkane!
Good news! I delayed my flight to August 11th because I am just having too much fun here. I am learning so much every single day and now that school is done, I will have time to explore Lebanon (and possibly Syria…more details later!) and see my relatives.
Saturday and Sunday of last week I spent with my aunt Alia and her kids. I got home late Sunday night and was full of energy so I went crazy with my last 3 days of lesson plans. I could not believe that I only had one week left with the kids (I didn’t know I was going to change my flight until last night).
Monday was tiring for me. I didn’t sleep very well the night before because the electricity cut off at midnight. My uncle also has ishtirak, which is like a backup generator, but it can’t support too much power. So if we turn on the air conditioner in Mariam’s room, where we both sleep, the entire system fails and we get no power. It was especially hot Sunday night so I could not fall asleep until around 3.
At school, I got to know Madame Marlene, the French teacher at the summer school. She is originally Palestinian whose ancestors fled Palestine in 1948. We talked a bit and then I somehow convinced her to come camping with us this Thursday and Friday.
Before I got on the autocar (van) Monday morning, I stopped by the dukkane, the small shop to buy the kids a treat. I bought two packages of chocolate biscuits, kind of like Oreos. I got to school and started handing them out in class and they were 1) Surprised that they were allowed to eat in class…and of all people, their own teacher was permitting it, and 2) Extremely shy to take any, but 3) At the same time, very, very eager to eat something special. When they found out that the packages cost me 2,000 Lebanese Liras (about $1.25), they flipped out and immediately felt ashamed that I spent that much on a little snack for them.
Saturday and Sunday of last week I spent with my aunt Alia and her kids. I got home late Sunday night and was full of energy so I went crazy with my last 3 days of lesson plans. I could not believe that I only had one week left with the kids (I didn’t know I was going to change my flight until last night).
Monday was tiring for me. I didn’t sleep very well the night before because the electricity cut off at midnight. My uncle also has ishtirak, which is like a backup generator, but it can’t support too much power. So if we turn on the air conditioner in Mariam’s room, where we both sleep, the entire system fails and we get no power. It was especially hot Sunday night so I could not fall asleep until around 3.
At school, I got to know Madame Marlene, the French teacher at the summer school. She is originally Palestinian whose ancestors fled Palestine in 1948. We talked a bit and then I somehow convinced her to come camping with us this Thursday and Friday.
Before I got on the autocar (van) Monday morning, I stopped by the dukkane, the small shop to buy the kids a treat. I bought two packages of chocolate biscuits, kind of like Oreos. I got to school and started handing them out in class and they were 1) Surprised that they were allowed to eat in class…and of all people, their own teacher was permitting it, and 2) Extremely shy to take any, but 3) At the same time, very, very eager to eat something special. When they found out that the packages cost me 2,000 Lebanese Liras (about $1.25), they flipped out and immediately felt ashamed that I spent that much on a little snack for them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)