A small cultural gap
I am on a very long winter break right now. We have a month off from work, which was stupidly part of the reason I stayed at ASK for another year. I am doing things like rearranging my furniture and going to the gym and running little errands. This helps to pass the time until I head to Turkey for a week or so. I was supposed to go to Syria yesterday to hang out with Bashar, but his father passed away on December 7, so I might go after Turkey, but not before as planned.
When someone dies in the Muslim world, family flocks together and spends days praying and visting. By days, I mean a week to ten days, not three or four days as we might expect in Canada. People are exempt from work and other obligations. I am not certain what sort of security there is, but one certainly does not need to ask twice for compassion leave. Bashar, as the eldest son, has many responsibilities. A few days ago, he was out selecting a goat to sacrifice on behalf of his father. It is slaughtered, butchered and given to poor people. He informed me, in case there was any doubt, that I would hate that part.
My first impulse on hearing the news of Mr. Hassoun's death, was to rush to Syria to support Bashar. That's what I would be expected to do in Canada, if I were a good girlfriend. Not so much here. Well, if I spoke Arabic, I could go because I would spend the entire time with his mom, aunts and sisters and the kids. He has no time to see me, not even 5 minutes a day to talk on the phone because of rituals, prayer and family affairs. He called last night to tell me his little niece (aged 5) inquired why "the fiancee of my uncle Bashir is not here, with the other women?" Ahem, well, we are NOT engaged so I am not his fiancee (despite what he tells people) and I would have no idea what to do or to say. This is another great example of why I should learn some Arabic.
So I am in my apartment, planning my trip to Turkey, feeling selfish because I COULD HAVE...made so many other plans- Thailand, Bali, India. Nepal, even Canada- but didn't because I wanted to spend time with Bashar. And now he might be able to make it to Turkey, if his brother, who lives in Libya, stays awhile in Syria. One of them needs to be there for his mom, as she is unable to be seen by men outisde the immediate family for a period of time.
Incidentally, I did meet the parents in August. Bashar's dad had been sick for quite sometime. He was diabetic (which is extremely common in the Arab world) and I think he had early onset Alzheimer's or something else that caused his eyes to be very glazed over. His life consisted mainly of hanging out at home, requesting tea at various times, and occasionally visiting the hospital. Anyway, I met him at the family flat in Aleppo this summer. I was feeling pretty awkward in general, though trying to be calm and seem comfortable. I was wearing capris and a short sleeved shirt, which is not what one is to wear in that neighbourhood of Aleppo, particularly when one is meeting her boyfriend's traditional Muslim family. In my defense, I thought I was going to get to go home and change before going to meet his parents. His mom commented to him on my attire, which would, in Canada, be a perfectly appropriate outfit for family meetingpurposes. She was still sweet and lovely, though, and happy to cook for me. One of Bashar's sisters was over with her five month old daughter, which was convenient for breaking the ice and giving me something to do and a way to interact with the women. But the best part of the visit was when his father asked Bashar (one of the few Arabic questions I understand) if I spoke Arabic. When the response was no, he solemnly looked over at me, opened his mouth and said, in a clear and even tone, "HI." It was all I could do not to giggle. I informed Bashar later that I thought his dad liked me.
and that was that...here's my inappropriate outfit...keeping in mind it was something like 35C outside. Oh well, I should know by now to always carry an emergency abbaya (the long black cloak) kit.
When someone dies in the Muslim world, family flocks together and spends days praying and visting. By days, I mean a week to ten days, not three or four days as we might expect in Canada. People are exempt from work and other obligations. I am not certain what sort of security there is, but one certainly does not need to ask twice for compassion leave. Bashar, as the eldest son, has many responsibilities. A few days ago, he was out selecting a goat to sacrifice on behalf of his father. It is slaughtered, butchered and given to poor people. He informed me, in case there was any doubt, that I would hate that part.
My first impulse on hearing the news of Mr. Hassoun's death, was to rush to Syria to support Bashar. That's what I would be expected to do in Canada, if I were a good girlfriend. Not so much here. Well, if I spoke Arabic, I could go because I would spend the entire time with his mom, aunts and sisters and the kids. He has no time to see me, not even 5 minutes a day to talk on the phone because of rituals, prayer and family affairs. He called last night to tell me his little niece (aged 5) inquired why "the fiancee of my uncle Bashir is not here, with the other women?" Ahem, well, we are NOT engaged so I am not his fiancee (despite what he tells people) and I would have no idea what to do or to say. This is another great example of why I should learn some Arabic.
So I am in my apartment, planning my trip to Turkey, feeling selfish because I COULD HAVE...made so many other plans- Thailand, Bali, India. Nepal, even Canada- but didn't because I wanted to spend time with Bashar. And now he might be able to make it to Turkey, if his brother, who lives in Libya, stays awhile in Syria. One of them needs to be there for his mom, as she is unable to be seen by men outisde the immediate family for a period of time.
Incidentally, I did meet the parents in August. Bashar's dad had been sick for quite sometime. He was diabetic (which is extremely common in the Arab world) and I think he had early onset Alzheimer's or something else that caused his eyes to be very glazed over. His life consisted mainly of hanging out at home, requesting tea at various times, and occasionally visiting the hospital. Anyway, I met him at the family flat in Aleppo this summer. I was feeling pretty awkward in general, though trying to be calm and seem comfortable. I was wearing capris and a short sleeved shirt, which is not what one is to wear in that neighbourhood of Aleppo, particularly when one is meeting her boyfriend's traditional Muslim family. In my defense, I thought I was going to get to go home and change before going to meet his parents. His mom commented to him on my attire, which would, in Canada, be a perfectly appropriate outfit for family meetingpurposes. She was still sweet and lovely, though, and happy to cook for me. One of Bashar's sisters was over with her five month old daughter, which was convenient for breaking the ice and giving me something to do and a way to interact with the women. But the best part of the visit was when his father asked Bashar (one of the few Arabic questions I understand) if I spoke Arabic. When the response was no, he solemnly looked over at me, opened his mouth and said, in a clear and even tone, "HI." It was all I could do not to giggle. I informed Bashar later that I thought his dad liked me.
and that was that...here's my inappropriate outfit...keeping in mind it was something like 35C outside. Oh well, I should know by now to always carry an emergency abbaya (the long black cloak) kit.
posted by Granola Girl at
2:58 AM
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