Axis of Hospitality

Arrived in Damascus [دمشق] and it's funny. After being in 'Merica for two weeks I think American misery had started to rub off on me. American misery, and fear, and animosity. Where does American misery come from you ask? Well, I have an answer. American misery is the byproduct of what makes the United States so ambitious and arrogant. The hubris of the superpower. And like Oedipus, MacBeth and any other Tragic Hero the United State's hubris is her greatest strength and weakness. It is because of our success that we are able to have lifestyles that seem lavish, continue a constant flow of food, water, and public services. Simultaneously, it is because of this success that we are miserable. Because we have achieved so much, the hubris kicks in, and when the hubris kicks in we can't handle failing. Or even shooting shorter than we did before. Unable to live up to our own expectations we become miserable, unable to cope with 2nd, 3rd, or 4th best. To use a cliché, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. That is why, for example, things like "economic downturns" can have such dramatic social consequences. It also explains the prevalence of popular phrases like "We're number one!" and "In your face", etc. etc. (etchetera). Failure paves the way for misery, which leads to animosity. (Yoda: "Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate and hate leads to suffering") Take that, but reverse it.This could explain why (some) americans can be xenophobic, racist, or mistrustful. And it is why the damned dirty Danes are the happiest people in the world. Figures. It also explains why, in the months, weeks, days leading up to coming to Syria that I was met with all sorts of warnings and exclamations of fear and general advice telling me to "be careful" and "keep my head".

From Christmas, anonymous pseudo friend/acquaintance: "You're going to Syria?!? Do you want to get killed?"
Friend, at a bar: "You know in Syria, they're going to execute you, or at least put you in prison for a long time"
A neighbor, bearing a striking resemblance, ironically, to the late Saddam Hussein: "Well, you'd better keep an eye on the bad guys so the good guys can do what they need to do."

By the beginning of my trip I really did somewhat fear the "hostility of the Syrian people" and my "iminent death by beheading" or "angry scowls from the Mossulmen". Axis of Evil? More like axis of hospitality. Upon arriving being picked up in a car by a driver, who accepted me, even though I wasn't on his list. Hostel owners who smile, ask questions and pour you endless amounts of tea/coffee/water, not to mention help you out when you're in a bind, and my favourite anecdote of the day:

Walking in the old city in Damascus. Just finished lunch, we got somewhat lost. My companions and I, putting our physical, but mostly metaphorical heads together, conjure up a phrase to help us get directions to where we wanted to go (i.e. home sweet hostel). We approach one man on the street with a kitchen supply shop, we ask him the way to Bab Sharqi (one of the gates into the old city, near our hostel), he mumbles Arabic, walks us up the street and points+gesticulates. We don't fully understand (many crossroads in Damascus are more than four ways, more like 7 ways), but walk in the general direction, but decide to get a second opinion. For safety's sake. We approach another man and ask him where we may find this Bab Sharqi.

As he begins his explanation, gesticulations matching that of the first man, the first man walks over. I was worried he would feel insulted that we didn't trust him initially and was concerned, he and the second man have a verbal exchange, and then the second man asks us in Arabic, "do you have a car?" we replay with something like "to walk" and tilt the middle and index fingers downward, simulating one leg in front of the other. The first man says something else to the second man and he beckons us to follow. It was only after he opened his car door that I understood. He was going to drive us. Scared, uneasy, and surprised, I got into the car, the front seat.


As the journey passed a few minutes, the man tried to determine exactly where we were going. He and I tried to communicate, with mild success, my sweat in the 103 degree heat prompting him to offer me a tissue while he himself applied one. He then took out his cell phone and called "The Doctor". "The Doctor" was spoke English and could act as a impromptu cellular translator between us and our driver. The doctor was handed off to someone else and the driver asked me if we were hungry. If we had had dinner. If we wanted to go to a restaurant, and to a swimming pool. and maybe something about his family. I stupidly tried to find the words to say that we had plans and weren't hungry. He looked disappointed. I was getting nervous because it was clear to me we had left the old city, and were getting into unfamiliar territory. After some help from "The Doctor", however, our driver dropped us off at a location more convienient than the one we originally wanted.

For fear of insulting him I asked our driving for his number of telephone. He wrote it down on an old reciept and as I was getting out of the car I asked him his name. He looked at me, jotted it down next to his number, and said "Osama."


Sketchy? Perhaps. Ability to restore a little faith in the world? Worth it. I don't necessarily advocate entering strange men's cars in all times of need, but there is a calculated risk in everything, and a group of three is a bit harder to trifle with. Thanks Osama, you were our Shephard when we were astray. And, in the words of great Shokry Gohar himself

"I do not think the Syrian people are hostile."

word, Shokes.

E

(interspersed are some initial pictures from our day with Osama. mostly in Souqs [اسواق] (Markets) and near the Umayyad Mosque [الجامع الأموي])