Saturday, May 27, 2006

On the uses of expressions of courtesy

A charming feature of Arabic, to my taste, is the wealth of exchanges built into the language to mark the common ocurrences of everyday life. The English-speaking visitor has little to build on, given that the only such event we seem to note is sneezing. And while English dictates no ritual answer to the phrase “God bless you” or "Thank God!", Arabic requires each person to perform lines. “God” figures, sometimes implicitly, in the majority of such expressions, but their use denotes no particular piety.

Arabs learning to function outside the matrix of their language are always grasping for the equivalent of such expressions as "El hamdolillah as-salameh," which is the correct thing to say when someone has come safely to the end of a journey. “So Nawal, I got e-mail from Reham – it seems Ghazi made it ok to Cairo.” “Thank God for safety!”

These expressions are centuries old. When rendered into English, as for example in Richard Burton’s translation of the Thousand and One Arabian Nights, they give a quaint and formal tone to the dialogues. The reader can be so distracted by the overt graciousness, and the contemporary visitor so anxious to participate competently in the exchange of courtesies, that the poetic or ironic exploitation of the rituals can escape our notice. (See Burton, pp?)

It is common to take note of someone’s labor by means of the phrase "Y’atik el ‘aafiah” or “Allah y’atik el ‘aafiah” (“May God grant you rest”). (The second version of the phrase mentions God explicitly, and is more emphatic.) You pronounce the phrase when someone has just finished doing some work, such as carrying something heavy or taking an exam, or when he is in the middle of a task which you are about to interrupt (though in that case a shorter form is used : "El ‘aafieh"). Like the widely familiar pair "Es-salaamu ‘alekum / W’alekum es-salaam," most of these pairs have a somewhat chiasmic (?) construction.

Going native generally makes for smoother relations with local people, who infer from your efforts to convey competence and sophistication that you are not interested in crusader relics, mummy hands, pieces of the true cross, etc. However, as I saw in Damascus, on Wednesday May 24th, at the Firdoos Hotel, going blonde opens up a view on exchanges that would otherwise not be visible.

Me: El ‘aafieh madame...
Hotel desk receptionist: Yes, can I help you?

When her English is better than my Arabic, why persist?

Me: I’m trying to find the Nahas Building on Ahmed Mrewed Street.
HDR: What exactly are you looking for?
Me: I’m looking for AMIDEAST. My hotel sent me in this direction, but nobody I've asked has heard of the building, and there are no street signs.

HDR makes a phone call to a colleague ("El 'aafieh Sawsan..."), then summons the lethargic bellhop. Their exchange is in Arabic:

HDR: This lady wants to take the street over by the pharmacy to the next block and then left at the first traffic light. Would you please escort her part of the way.
Bellhop: Me?? Go with her? But I am the only one on duty. I can’t.
HDR: It would only take you a second, and if any hotel guests were coming or going you wouldn’t be missing them. But never mind. I see that you don’t want to.
Bellhop: Ok, ok. What do you want me to do, exactly?
HDR: Nothing. Never mind. You may leave now.
Bellhop: ...
HDR: Right now.
Bellhop: ...
HDR: And may God grant you rest.


* * * * * *


So Ghazi headed south through the long Jordanian desert to Aqaba, where after interminable delays he caught a ferry which carried him across the Red Sea and into Egypt, after which another bus brought him to Cairo. Meanwhile, I was in a service (ie group) taxi riding north and east to Beirut.

There have been a few changes in the border crossing from Jordan to Syria -- now the chassis of all cars entering Syria has to be dipped in some kind of antiseptic bath, and that’s apparently a precaution against avian flu. But the basics are still the same – huge dingy halls crowded with flies and travellers and staffed by legions of bored functionaries wasting their lives in an Ottoman-era bureaucracy. Resisting the evidence of the sheer futility of their stultifying activity, the border guards frown sternly at your paperwork, call their associates over to scrutinize some detail of your visa application, demand suspiciously your place of birth and the nature of your work. When they have exhausted your entertainment potential, they let you go. The most important rule of border crossings is to avoid giving rise to any hope of diversion. Travellers who make scenes are doomed. They will not be released until every last tear, every last hysterical jeremiade, and every last enraged imprecation have been depleted. A traveller who arrives already limp is processed quickly.

The road from Damascus to Beirut is dramatic. You wind through mountains, getting a glimpse of the Mediterranean every now and then as well as views of villages and towns at every altitude. The driving is terrifying, but I think only because it violates so many of the rules we are accustomed to and thus appears lawless. My guess is that most of the drivers run that route frequently and know its codes.

Beirut is splendid. The people are very friendly. One sees evidence everywhere of the determination to rebuild the city. The physical reconstruction is advancing in parallel with a visible campaign to rebuild social ties across divisions, but ironically, the two campaigns are not necessarily in sync. For example, to many Beirutis, the reconstruction of a large part of downtown, right by the Corniche and just south of Martyrs' Square, has produced a result that is almost Disneyesque (think "Lebanon Land" at Disney World). The area (called "Solidere") is a wonderful commercial success and is brimming with consumers all the time. Foreign currencies are accepted in every shop in this area, and every restaurant brings every customer a bill where the total is expressed in both Lebanese pounds and US dollars. The area has several American chain outlets, such as Starbucks.

Hot air balloon seen between the spires of the mosque

'Centrale,' a newly wrapped nightclub in Beirut

Further inland, another neighborhood is being aggressively restored. The results are visually pleasing, no doubt. But some complain that an opportunity to do something new and bold has been squandered in deference to an ideology of slavishly faithful restoration. Bernard Khoury, a RISD and Harvard graduate, is among those clamoring for, and creating, something new. One of his controversial (re)creations is called "Centrale," a war-torn building whose bullet-riddled exterior he has wrapped in a mesh-like exoskeleton, and which is now one of Beirut's most fashionable nightlife destinations.

The main proponent of the rebuilding effort was the late Rafiq Hariri, whose image appears everywhere in the city, and for whom there is an immense temporary shrine off Martyrs' Square. A Hariri ally and vocal critic of Syria, Gibran Tueni, editor of the progressive daily En-Nahar, was also assassinated. His calls for unity are seen in posters throughout the area surrounding the newspaper headquarters.

Rafiq Hariri, assasinated former prime minister Gibran Tueni, assasinated former editor of Beirut daily newspaper


More about Beirut, then on to Damascus, in the next installment.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Notes from the road

Ghazi and I left Buffalo on May 16th and landed in Amman the following evening, where we stayed at the Caravan Hotel, which is almost immediately adjacent to a very large new mosque called the Jami’a el Malak Abdullah (or King Abdullah’s mosque). Although the fine print says that the reference is to the King Abdullah who founded the kingdom, the coincidence of name with the current monarch and the newness of this mosque all add up to some subtle reinforcement of authority.

The hotel staff were very gracious, and there was at least dial-up service. For whatever this is worth to other prospective travelers, I was able to reserve the room online through a service connected with the Australian travel experts at Lonely Planet, whose brand new guide book to the Middle East is proving very handy.

Amman, the capital of Jordan, is a huge sprawling city organized around “hills” and the surrounding areas. Everything except downtown is on a hill or a slope, and the neighborhoods are referred to as “Jebel el Webdeh, Paris circle,” or Webdeh Hill, Paris square (or roundabout). The latter, incidentally, has various Parisian artifacts, and is the neighborhood of the French Cultural Center.

Our first stop was a bank, where we made a discovery which would be confirmed everywhere: it was a big mistake to bring travellers’ cheques. The bank was eventually willing to accept them, but wanted to see the original receipts (this has proven to be a universal requirement). Having to carry around the original receipts – which I had very nearly left in Buffalo – seems to defeat the purpose of having TCs in the first place. But oh well. ATMs are widely available in cities, though their fees can be steep.

Sculpture in art gallery with view of Amman behind

We visited a new art gallery called Darat el Funuun in the Jebel el Webdeh neighborhood, then went to the Roman citadel overlooking downtown, then the Roman amphitheater and baths in the heart of downtown. We had lunch at a well-known traditional downtown restaurant called Mata’am el Quds (Jerusalem Restaurant) and dinner at a trendy new place run by the Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature, which is doing great things around the country.

Roman amphitheatre in Amman


As we walked around Amman, Ghazi made a great hit with the local people. If they spoke to him or made eye contact, he would say “Es salamu 'alekum,” (Peace be upon you), which has a distinctly Muslim quality, as opposed to the more secular “Marhaba” (hi) or “Sabah / Mesa el kheir” (Good morning / evening). The young kids would shout out to Ghazi occasionally with such questions as “How you make your hair?!?” He seemed entertained.

How you make your hair?

Observation of someone passing through: the new American Embassy in Amman appears to me to be the size of the entire North Campus of UB. That could be off by a few inches, but it is truly an imposing presence. Then there are the surrounding fortifications and tanks, the rerouted traffic, and the interdiction of all photography. The conclusion one reaches is that the US is hugely committed to an enduring and imposing presence in this country. I’m not clear that such a spectacular enormity in the middle of their country sends a comfortable message to the Jordanians, or makes it particularly easy to develop relationships with the people that are not under the shadow of the fortress.



American Embassy in Amman

Second observation: the rumors of King Hussein’s demise are greatly exaggerated. He seems to be revered in death even more than in life. Most interesting are the numerous and highly visible posters showing King Hussein with his arm fondly draped around the neck of his son and successor, King Abdullah: two regular guys, in casual clothes, smiling out at the people. The intent here -- love me, love my son -- could not be more obvious, but I wondered aloud to Jordanian friends whether the current king’s legitimacy seemed to require shoring up. I was told that there had been many contenders to the throne, including quite a few who, unlike the victor, actually spoke Arabic without a foreign accent (!). (See here for a discussion of the complexities.) But the consensus seemed to be that King Abdullah had earned the respect of his people during these first few years. Apparently he decided that Jordan would be neutral in the Iraq-US war, and the slogan for this posture, surely a Madison Avenue creation, was “Jordan first!”



King Hussein and his heir King Abdullah

Qala'at Ajloun, built by the nephew of Salah ed-Din (Saladdin)

By our second full day in Jordan, Ghazi was feeling Saladdin’s revenge pretty acutely, and had to be Immodiumized. Speaking of the Crusaders’ nemesis, we traveled on Friday to Ajloun, site of a Crusader-era castle, through Jerash, for a gathering of chamber music enthusiasts. The views, the food, and the music were all very nice and the orientation was cosmopolitan and somewhat Western: “Ghazi, you don’t say ‘Es salamu 'alekum,’ you say ‘hi.’” On Saturday, Ghazi bravely boarded the Jett bus from Amman’s Abdaly station. By an hour later, I was in a service (=group taxi) headed for Beirut via Damascus. More on that trip in the next installment.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Salem and his brother


scan0013
Originally uploaded by amerune.
They're looking at photos taken during an earlier visit. Ok, so this time, a photo of them looking at this photo of them looking at photos, and so forth.

Here's the plan, see.


Abu Salem
Originally uploaded by amerune.
It's to carry back to Jordan some of the photos I took two decades ago, and see if I can find the people again. Abu Salem works, or worked, as a guide in Wadi Ram in southern Jordan.