Went back to Amurrrica, got myself a Cosi asiago bagel with cream cheese, some Thai food, plenty of memorable DC moments... now back to the grind in Damashq.
I've come back to the exact same city, but a completely flipped around life. I'm in a new apartment (a new crazy landlord?), new people, and new choices of tutoring vs. classes, teaching vs. maybe a few new opportunities? And I feel like I had to say good-bye about two minutes after saying hello to all of those people back home who matter most. But while the plane ride back to Syria may have consisted of some tears and “Black Balloon” on repeat, all it took was a walk through an Old City alley for me to realize how happy I am to be here for four more months. I think this is where I'm supposed to be right now.
Last night, my friend (now room mate!) Kate and I had dinner with an incredibly personable, gay Australian man who works as an archaeologist here. The dinner was made up of great conversation, ranging from topics of the security around the Golan Heights to the style of our mutual Swedish friends. The part that really stuck with me though was our discussion of sexuality and gender, the connotations of which drastically verge when comparing Syrian and Western culture.
The concept of sexuality here is completely turned around from the idea that my own American culture has ingrained in my mind. Syrian men seem to spend more time primping than women, their hair wet with gel, their pointy leather shoes shiny, their clothes too tight and bedazzled. And this must seem sexy to at least a fair amount of women here! Oppositely, so many of the women here are stunning, yet instead of noticing the natural beauty of the Syrian women all around, men choose to stare, mouths open, at the Western women who pass by. I could be wearing an oversized turtle-neck with no makeup and still get more attention than the stunning bronze-skinned women walking next to me.
Though a Syrian man would most likely flaunt a relationship with any Western woman, it seems so many other relationships breed second lives here. Speaking to Kate's Australian friend about his experiences with both waiters who hit on him and Syrian women who use him as a secret confidant, it became even more clear how little the surface really shows. Homosexuality, or at least homosexual sex between men, is clearly present, no matter how undercover it is. A Syrian man might have a second life with a male partner. A Syrian woman might have a second life revealing her fantasies to Western male friends, who her Arab girlfriends will never meet nor hear of.
A friend of mine recently spoke to me very convincingly of a “third gender” in the Middle East: western, primarily white, women. I can speak from simple experience... my outward appearance has never mattered more. In addition to any stigma that comes with being a woman, “Western” seems to translate in so many people's minds into “sex.” I know that I am looked at as a prostitute most of the time when I walk down the street without a man by my side. When Kate and I walked home from our dinner with her Australian friend, it was quite late at night, though our walk home was in one of the safest and most liberal areas in Syria, and was well lit. Every. Single. Car. Pulled over as we passed. And the men inside of the cars would hiss intently for us to come over and have sex with them.
These are all harsh generalizations, and I've met so many wonderful people who have proven them wrong. For every frustrating moment, I've had a million wonderful experiences. But in my day to day life, being female has never been a bigger part of my identity. At the moment, none of this is coming from a bitter or broken place; it's just where my mind's been at.
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