Gossip

People here often say that gossip is a "cultural thing" in Arab society, ie everybody does it without shame and the tiniest bits of information expand quite quickly into "truths." Whenever I hear some bit of news, I always dig deeper to try to find the source. People rarely admit to a source but will generally state it is a good one. I have to admit, while I don't make it a habit to be a source of gossip, I do enjoy the game of guessing out the extent of the truth of a piece of gossip.

 

My house cleaner, who I've mentioned before, is always a source of gossip, usually about people I've never met. Usually, I welcome it as an opportunity to improve my Arabic and it feels quite harmless since the people she talks at length about, providing intimate details of their lives, are complete strangers to me. It's kind of like watching a soap opera, but in this case, it is conveyed orally. Today I had a wonderful surprise! I usually don't have much tolerance for my housecleaner's incessant talking beyond 5 minutes, but today was different. It was a day off, I had just sent my son to school, and I was about to sit down with my first cup of coffee when she rang the doorbell. We exchanged a few minutes worth of conversation about each other's families, and then she dropped the bomb….my divorced landlord had gotten remarried…..and the woman is only 36 years old (he's in his early 50s, we think!).

 

But wait, it gets better. In fact, as my housecleaner tells it, they are married but they did not, and are not having a wedding. I don't think there's a word in Arabic which basically states "sleeping together" which my guess is what this relationship actually is. The "wife" moved in apparently with just a single suitcase. Any relationship outside of marriage is just plain unacceptable and incomprehensible in this culture which I imagine is the reason that there is no word for this type of relationship. So, they don't seem to be really married, it would be disrespectful for my landlord to tell the housecleaner that he was just sleeping with the woman. Besides, I have not seen this mysterious new wife coming and going on a daily basis. She is from northern West Bank, which explains my landlord's long absences these days. And the seemingly love affair also explains my landlord's inability to mobilize himself or any other help to fix the myriad of small but bothersome maintenance issues that my apartment is experience at the moment and are in desperate need of some tending to. Although frankly, he was never that focused on that stuff anyways even when he wasn't carrying on a grand love affair.

 

As we sit like teenage girls in full gossip mode, my housecleaner and I unabashedly pull apart the details of how this relationship came to be. My housecleaner frowns as she describes the woman – young with a baby at home, wears tight jeans and small shirts and smokes and drinks openly during Ramadan. "Is this a Muslim?!" she asks me. I explain to her how it was clear to me on several social occasions that my landlord had his eye for one type of girl – the local equivalent of the American dumb blond. We conclude that they are both "majnoon/majnoona" (out of their minds). For her sake, I try to explain, I hope she quickly learns that this man is nothing more than a grey-haired teenage boy, lacking any ability to take responsibility for the smallest things in his life (a whole other blog post!). For his sake, I hope he soon realizes that there are more fulfilling romantic relationships than being with the cultural equivalent of the dumb blond….or maybe not for his sake.

So they're crazy in love and having a culturally illicit affair, beyond the fun of pulling apart the details of their affair through gossip, I do not begrudge them being out of their minds – that is the aphrodisiac effect of love, isn't it? But then my housecleaner starts to make it personal, "Look at you, your son is at least 7 years old, and you, you are so 'sa'ab.'" That's meant to be a complement - Sa'ab is the word people use for children who are quiet, well behaved and conform to the cultural expectation that all children should be seen and not heard. I don't particularly enjoy the fact that my unintentional celibate lifestyle is being compared to a well behaved child. None of this is by choice. And, unlike the Arab culture, I fortunately have no norms that I have to conform to. And yet still, the stuff of adult, mature, romantic, "out of my mind" love still escapes me. I have no great desire to be the sa'ab child in this case.

 

 

Lost

I have a pretty good sense of direction, but there is something about this region of the world that throws that internal radar completely out of the loop. It may be something related to geographical elements - the "ocean" is to the West here. Living on the east coast for such a long number of years maybe can't make sense of this. Or, the endless undulating mountains and continuous paper-cutter settlements that dot the landscape around Jerusalem do not provide any signpost to the actual cardinal direction. Or, most likely, it is just difficult for me to wrap my head around the simple fact that Ramallah is located North of Jerusalem and Bethlehem is South. Maybe it was all those childhood religious classes that somehow made me think that Bethlehem was north of Jerusalem.

In any case, none of this helps me to navigate the circuitous, often one-way, no-turn streets of Jerusalem. And unfortunately, Jerusalem is not a place where one wants to get lost, especially if it is the Sabbath or other Jewish holy day. Yesterday, unbeknownst to me, was one of those such days. Its the season of Jewish holidays, but somehow I mixed up in my mind which days were actually the observance days. This year, the holidays also coincide with the Muslim celebrations of the end of Ramadan. I decided to profit from my 3 day holiday by going into Jerusalem to enjoy a nice walk in a park and dinner. It wasn't until I passed the walls of the old city that I realized that it was a day of religious observance. I drove into my favorite West Jerusalem neighborhood (called the German colony), which is my favorite mostly because its very secular and has a European feel to it. All the stores and restaurants were closed, there were no cars on the streets, and there were lots of families out walking. So I decided my next stop would be Jaffa street - a large, pedestrian commercial area. This is where I took a wrong turn.

I was soon passing men dressed in long black robes with tall, black hats on their heads, walking hand in hand with boys dressed as mirror images with payot hair locks. As the lone car driving slowly (in my attempt to be respectful!) down the streets, I realized I was getting dirty looks thrown my way. So, I made a few turns trying to make a quick escape, and only arrived deeper into the orthodox communities. Luckily for me, many of them put barriers up on the streets to prevent any vehicular traffic on the holidays.

At one intersection, I was faced directly with at least 100 Jewish children mulling around near the traffic barrier. I watched as several people whose appearances seemed to indicate they were tourists, approach the barriers, attempt to take photograph, and were engaged by the children in a lively dialogue. I'm not sure if the children were specifically tasked with the role of providing a double defense to the barrier against possible intrusion of outsiders. I do know that a few weeks prior, I had passed the outskirts of this same neighborhood on the main road leading to the old city, and at 8pm, very young children between the ages of 5-10 years were making a raucous on the road, shouting insults and threatening to throw stones at the passing drivers.

On the other side of the wall this morning, I was dodging Palestinian children dressed in their new, holiday clothing, flocking the streets with toy guns of all sizes - the most prized Eid (holiday celebrating the end of Ramadan) gift.

Scenes like these make it difficult for me to feel at all hopeful about attempts at peace in this region. Jerusalem and its environs is the main battlefield of this war of monotheistic religions. The fact that all sides are recruiting and inoculating the youth at such an early age to their war of beliefs does not give me any hope that generations to come will solve anything as walls of defense go up slowly in the minds of the children. Maybe our politicians need to go get lost in the streets of Jerusalem and Ramallah for a bit.

The holy month of Ramadan

Having done my full share of fasting and participating eagerly in the holy month of Ramadan in several countries throughout the Middle East, I find myself particularly vexed by the Ramadan experience here. Here is the list:

Driving - It is difficult to fully put into words how much driving skills degrade during Ramadan, as driving skills are certainly not a strength of Palestinians to begin with. Perhaps it is because minds don't think straight when the body is deprived of food and water (and nicotine!) for a full 10 hours, I try to be sympathetic to this point. Most drivers during Ramadan do not yield way, do not stop at intersections, run red lights, try to pass around traffic when there is no room to pass and generally forgo any civil actions on the road that might have been present prior to Ramadan. A few days ago, I was trying to back out of a parking lot onto a city street. Nobody would yield way and when a store owner came to my rescue to help direct traffic while I pulled out, a full 5 drivers completely ignored him. I have seen at least one accident per day since the start of Ramadan, and many days its 2-3 accidents. I just can't believe the surprise of the drivers who cause the accidents...they didn't think that this would possibly be the result of their irresponsible maneuvers? To compensate for all this craziness, I am driving like an old lady - slowly and with my indicators always on.

Time changes - In a move that seems fully futile, the Palestinian authority changes to "winter time" during Ramadan. That has no impact on the number hours of fasting. And it creates havoc with schedules given that neighboring Israel (and thus Jerusalem where a lot of our business is done) is still on summer time. Since the time change, I have missed 3 time-relevant work deadlines and have had to make extra calls to confirm exact starting times of meetings. I honestly can't believe the time change is worth all this havoc.

Business Hours - This is an inconvenience solely to the person not practicing Ramadan. During Ramadan, businesses don't have set opening hours. Some close the entire month. Most open late in the mornings and then are open for just a few hours before closing for the break of the fast. Some re-open after breaking the fast, some don't. As it concerns the numerous cafes and restaurants in Ramallah, they may open after the break of the fast, but with very limited service. Or, they are open, but only serve a large Ramadan Iftar (breakfast).

The Office - When it comes to the office place, colleagues who normally evacuate quickly at closing hours, evacuate an hour earlier. Male colleagues claim they have to run home to help prepare dinner, but talking to my female colleagues, the truth is that they run home for a 2-3 hour nap while their wives, who have also been fasting all day, prepare elaborate meals for an extended family. (Note: An Iftar meal is deemed sufficient not by the amount of food, but by the number of different dishes) I have one colleague who keeps his office door closed during Ramadan - its public knowledge that this colleague is actually napping most of the day behind close doors. I find myself busier than ever at work and I can't help but think it is because I am making up for all my fasting colleagues. Should I be more sympathetic?

I feel obligated to end on a positive note, as there are many things I do like about Ramadan. It is like celebrating Christmas for an entire month. There is much joy and comfort in celebrating and visiting with friends and family who share in the stresses of fasting, and who also share in the thankfulness of a wonderful meal. There is a lightness to the air in the evenings, when people gather full of renewed energy to spend relaxed in each other's company - smoking a sheesha, drinking tea, listening to music and just "hanging out." I definitely believe the smaller annoyances are a small price to pay to the enjoyment of loving company at sunset.

Instant Coffee during Ramadan

Since I made two trips Stateside in a matter of a month, on the unexpected second trip back for my grandfather's funeral, I was able to pick up a few things I hadn't had a chance to pick up on the first trip - namely, some fresh coffee beans of some of my favorite blends. It was immediately back to work as soon as I returned, so I brewed myself some strong coffee before heading into work the first few days back.

Its Ramadan, so its not polite to drink or eat in front of colleagues who are fasting. And brewing filtered or Arabic coffee would be a special kind of cruelty because the smells drift quickly and thoroughly through the office hallways. So when I didn't have time for brewed coffee these last few mornings (add to jet lag mornings the "back to school" routine, and I'm back to my frazzled self!), I stood in the empty kitchen at work staring at a sad, lonely jar of instant coffee.

A jar of instant coffee brings back memories of cold winter mornings in my childhood home. Whether it was because she was the only coffee-drinking adult at home, or it was a cost savings measure for a family of 6, or she just didn't have the time to brew coffee while shuffling 4 children out the door to different schools, my mother would religiously sip a cup of instant coffee while throwing the last few items into lunch bags or signing various permission slips for school activities.

The only day of the week I saw my mother drink brewed coffee was on Sundays - after the traditional early afternoon, four-course family Italian dinner at my grandparents house. As a young child, I'd be encouraged to take a nap directly after the dinner plates were cleared and I'd wake up a few hours later to the smell of coffee wafting through the air. My great aunt would forbid me from drinking any coffee, slapping my hand and warning, "If you drink coffee as a child it will make you short!" (she never mentioned how my Italian genes might prevent my growth beyond 5'2"!).

My grandmother brewed a perfectly strong tasting coffee. Somehow, I inherited her talent in this regard. I don't have a formula or a specific measure of coffee to water down, but my coffee is never weak and never undrinkable.

So you see, now I'm a coffee snob. I honestly don't know how it happened. It crept up on me slowly. I used to be a dedicated tea connoisseur. It probably started my first year out of grad school when I worked in Geneva, Switzerland. Lunches in Switzerland are always followed by an espresso with a piece of chocolate. Then came years in the Middle East were the rich dense texture of Arabic coffee very slowly grew on me. Visiting the now abandoned Yemeni port town of Mocha on the Red Sea where coffee beans were first imported from Africa into the western world raised my interest in the history of coffee.

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I learned to enjoy coffee for its taste, and not for its caffeine content. Although, admittedly, the occasional times I've decided to take a break from coffee, I do end up with withdrawal headaches. One day a few years back I went into my neighborhood cafe and asked for an espresso. The barrista looked at me and said, "Now? At two in the afternoon?!" That's actually the perfect time as Italians will tell you - no cappuccino after 10am, and no espresso until after noon!

So my contribution towards fasting this Ramadan is to go without brewed coffee. It does feel like I'm missing something. My mornings don't get started quite so smoothly. But I just can't break down to open that jar of instant coffee.