Beirutsick

I'm starting to adjust to Jordan a bit, but I think I'm still in throes of post-Beirut shock. I didn't realize how much I had adjusted to the mass chaos of Beirut until I arrived in calm, orderly Amman and found myself feeling very very uncomfortable and out of place. At first it was refreshing to see fully constructed buildings, cars actually stopping at red lights, and plain, clean buildings with no bullet holes or bombed out floors, but the vibe quickly became cold, dare I say desolate. Amman is also more conservative, and I find the stares from random men to be even more intense and uncomfortable. I was at a cafe the other day and I avoided getting up to go to the bathroom for as long as I possibly could because I didn't want to get up and walk through the sea of tables occupied by young males. When I finally bit the bullet and got up, I could feel dozens of pairs of eyes on me, and I was filled with one of the worst feelings I've had in awhile, a combination of spite, disgust, shame, and rising anger. I know that I'm a walking circus for a lot of people, I'm different, a foreigner, a white girl, and naturally there will be some curiosity, but sometimes I think I'd give anything to go about my day and be completely ignored, nothing special, just another nobody.

And Beirut...man, what a great place. It isn't perfect, but I'm looking forward to going back. It was difficult to leave because I was really starting to grow some roots, settle in, carve out a nice little existence. I met some great people that I'm definitely going to stay in touch with, some that will be good friends for years to come, others who will prove to be helpful in terms of work and research down the road. Luck has definitely been on my side, because god knows I'm not the most charismatic person in the world. I wish I would have blogged more as things were happening, I think it would have been easier to spit it out if I would have done it all right away. I'll try to organize my thoughts more in the coming weeks.

I'd kill for some manaeesh from the goofy toothless dudes in the sweaty firey hole in the wall by campus right now. So fucking delicious.

one of the highlights

I've finally learned to distinguish between the sound of fireworks/firecrackers and gunshots, but unfortunately there's no real way to distinguish between celebratory and "dude I'm gonna kill you" gunfire. I generally just look at how other people in the street are reacting and then decide from there.

On Saturday I had a hard time enjoying my afternoon nap because there were rounds going off every few minutes. At first I was a bit concerned, but when I checked online and on TV the only violent breaking news was coming from Tripoli. Later, as a friend and I were leaving our building to grab some dinner, shots started ringing out, and they were close. The soldiers on the corner didn't flinch, so I kept walking, only to realize that my friend was no longer next to me. She had instinctively ducked into an alley and taken cover. I stopped and turned around to see some people reassuring her that it was just some dumbass celebrating a birth or graduation or wedding or something, and after she tentatively came out of the alley she shouted: "Becca, you know most people don't keep walking TOWARD gunfire!" At first I just kind of shrugged the whole thing off, but I've been thinking about it a bit today. Have I really become that desensitized to the sound of AKs? Have I really reached the point that I don't even flinch when I hear them going off in a busy city neighborhood, a neighborhood which less than three months ago was the scene of an armed confrontation? A place where people died? I'm not really sure what to think of this, or how I should be thinking it, or if I should even bother, but I guess I'll let you know if I come up with something worth mentioning.

in the belly of the beast

Last night I took my second trip to the Party of God's stronghold in Dahiya. My first trip was last Wednesday, and I arrived just as Nasrallah was finishing his speech (via satellite feed...I missed his brief live appearance) during the rally being held for the prisoners freed in the swap with "The Zionist Entity". The streets were packed with people, mainly younger people, but there were also families with children. There was a lot of excitement in the air, with lots of drums, flag-waving, and chanting. My friend and I just went with the flow of the crowd for awhile, then took a seat on the terrace of a second-story restaurant (called, ironically, The Terrace in Arabic) situated at a busy intersection and sipped mint lemonades while taking in the scene - a huge mob of people and clusterfuck of a traffic jam. The whole experience was surreal, and I still can't believe I was there to witness it.

Last night was just an average night in the 'hood, and a few of us headed down to eat a proper meal at the Terrace. It was, unsuprisingly, a different scene - calmer, just your average city neighborhood. Before eating dinner we stopped by the infamous Buns and Guns fast food restaurant to pick up copies of their cleverly designed bullet-shaped menu, which includes options such as the "M16 Carbine Sandwich" and "Terrorist Meal", and take in the lovely decor of machine guns and missile shells. At the Terrace we ate like kings, and the food and the service was better than most of the uppity nose-job strongholds in my part of town. On top of the yummyness, the food DIDN'T make me sick like just about everything else does, and the price of our huge meal was amazingly low. At one point the power went out briefly (as is common in Beirut), and one of the waiters quickly came over to our table and shined his cellphone on it so we could make room for another plate of fatoush. After savoring what I think is the best food and the best deal in town, we hailed a cab and headed back to "the enemy's camp" (a.k.a. the area where we live, Hariri territory). The cab driver had his wife in the front seat, and they were visibly amused at having a bunch of American passengers, and the driver relayed to us that his wife thought we were better than television.

I guess my whole point in this post is to make it clear how incredibly NOT hostile anyone was towards myself or anyone that I was with on either of my trips to this "terrorist stronghold". In fact, contrasting the neighborhood I live in (Hariri/Future Movement territory), there weren't armed men stationed at checkpoints on every street corner checking the contents of your purse. Undoubtedly there are people always keeping watch on everything that happens in the neighborhood (the men in khaki know and see all), and taking photographs is a big no-no, but the same goes for my neighborhood. I want to take pictures of what I see every day when I go about my regular business, but I can't. On my way to class I weave through roadblocks, metal stakes, and armed soldiers, and when I go to get a snack during my late-morning break, I see tanks, sandbags, and dark SUVs with all-tinted windows. While it certainly wouldn't be wise to go to Dahiya and start poking around and asking too many questions, it also isn't this uber-dangerous deathtrap filled with bloodthirsty fanatics. People are people.

On another interesting note, this evening I went to a lecture and briefly met Nicholas Noe, editor-in-chief of Mideast Wire and editor of the recent book Voice of Hezbollah. He has degrees from Brown and Cambridge, and right now he's currently working on his PhD at the Lebanese University. LU is in Dahiya. That is so fucking pimp.

"You just rolled into Dahiya and called SK a d-bag"

"With tensions high between rival factions, the expected celebratory gunfire and large concentrations of Hizballah supporters could spark clashes between rival groups even though the prisoner swap is supported by most Lebanese citizens regardless of their sectarian, communal or political affiliations. The U.S. Embassy strongly advises that American citizens avoid all areas in which rallies are scheduled to take place on July 16, 2008."

Guess where I just was?

"Sarkozy, that son of bitch!"

The above quote is from Walid Jumblatt, the Druze leader of the Progressive Socialist Party of Lebanon. A bunch of people from my program met him on Saturday, apparently my dialect teacher knows him because she's taught his kids over the years. I wish I'd made it to this meeting, not so much because I like the guy, but because he is and has been for years an important fixture on the Lebanese political scene. He called French President Nicholas Sarkozy a "son of bitch!" for his participation in this past weekend's summit in which he met with Syrian President Bashar al-Assad and Lebanese President Michel Suleiman and it was agreed that Syria and Lebanon would open embassies in each other's capitals. Currently Jumblatt is anti-Syrian, though that has not always been the case. He has had the tendency to ally himself and his movement with whomever best suits his current needs (in fact he used to be pro-Syrian), and at this point in time, it's the anti-Syrian March 14th Alliance.

One of my favorite Jumblatt stories I've heard since I've been here has to do with the Syrians. After the assassination of former PM Rafik Harriri and the March 14th (...get it?) Cedar Revolution in 2005, the Syrians officially "left" Lebanon. One year later, one year after they "withdrew", Jumblatt received a message from the Syrians in which they congratulated him on the new egg laid by one of the geese in his high-security compound.

My friend told me that Jumblatt keeps a Glock and three live magazines on his desk.

my homework

I have to learn the first few lines of the national anthem for tomorrow...during the last 15-20 minutes of dialect class, my instructor likes to have us sing.



We've also dabbled in some Fairuz...



...and the dudes in my class particularly like belting this one out at 9 am

useful tidbit

One surprisingly accurate way to gauge how much a Lebanese dude has had to drink is to count how many buttons on his shirt are undone. My roommate mentioned this to me one night when we were out at a club, and sure enough, a couple of minutes later I saw a dude vigorously and clumsily dancing on a table away from the crowd all by himself. His shirt had only one lone button which remained buttoned...and it was the very bottom one, so you know it was only a matter of time before his drunk ass wiggled out of it. "Sexy, aywa?"