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Return to Sham - Rain, saz, immigration, kebabs, grey phones and David Bowie
I had forgotten how much I missed the rain, and I say this even though most of my clothing is completely un-water proof, including my footwear, the most waterproof of which are my plastic flip flops and the fact that we get so much of it at home and that I have no umbrella and it makes Damascus a LOT colder and it creates a lot of mud. I thought I'd just share that with you all.
So, I went with Mitchell to meet a friend of his on Sunday, a Kurdish musician called Shivan who lives on the outskirts of Damascus. His main instrument is the Saz and I now want to trade in my oud and learn that instead. He had also succeeded in finding me a violin which made me very happy. We jammed for a couple of hours, both singing and playing and then we sat down to a delicious supper as prepared by his lovely sisters. I spoke to them both in appalling Arabic and they tolerated me in return, mainly I think because Arabic isn't their first language either. The older one is a French teacher which is made stranger by the fact that she has never been to France, and the younger is an artist specialising in ceramics. She is also my age which felt strange because she seemed so much older than me. We talked for ages and she gave me new bangles and a bag and she almost persuaded me to take some hideous Syrian film star fake chanel sunglasses. I hope to go back soon and play more music and chat some more.
Ah immigration, what a joy. The sweaty, bureaucratic and incomprehensible delights of the immigration office cannot be done justice. It was only slightly stressful squeezing your way round hundreds of people to get to the right desk, and only slightly irritating that they only gave us 1 month rather than the 2 we wanted. They actually had the cheek to say that if we made ourselves more beautiful next time and put more of an effort, perhaps they'd give us 2 months. I don't know whether that extends to the boys as well. I am afraid the experience was topped by the discovery that the General who has to stamp and sign each passport extension only does the signing, the stamp having been done for him by his little stamping official who constantly hovers by his side. I don't know who I envy more, the General with his slave, or the slave himself who gets to stamp everything.
It was nice going back to poetry club, nicer still to bring Rani and Chester with us. Although I found the poetry rather dull this week (I appreciate I do not understand most of what is being said, but the deliveries of the poems did not seem as interesting or enjoyable as usual) I found having your name chanted in an only slightly drunken way was utterly terrifying - thank you Rani for that one. Ali recited 'Do not go gentle into that good night' and 'Shall I compare thee to a summer's day' before the night descended into the madness of Mitchel singing No Woman No Cry for about 10 minutes solid. We made a quick getaway as we wanted to actually get to university the next day for once, and for once we actually succeeded.
Well, I have now started my job as English teacher at the Damascus Training Centre - a vocational college for Palestinians. It's interesting and enjoyable work, though I do not know how many lessons I will actually be taking as I think I am a stop gap for when some other people return from America or something. I do the class with Hani, a Syrian who works at the UN and whose English is very good indeed and basically my task is to stand around and talk in my British accent which is of course the best accent to learn according to the teachers there. I would agree, but then I am hideously biased. On the way back from our first lesson, Hani took me to the best kebab joint in Damascus and we sampled not just the lamb kebab but the chicken one as well. I must say it is very very tasty and certainly beaten only by the cherry kebab I had in Aleppo. Now I know where it is I fear I shall become obese from eating there all the time, but perhaps the huge distance of 10 minutes walk will put me off. Somehow I doubt it, more's the pity.
My lost phone has finally been replaced! Yes that is right, for the princely sum of about £20 I got a second hand ancient looking nokia with a sim, credit and charger. I am most happy, except now a day on it is saying that the sim hasn't registered and I am beginning to think that it was all too good to be true and that I am doomed to have phone problems for the rest of my days. I also, I have now realised, cannot work nokias that well. I suppose I will just have to get used to it.
Yesterday evening I did the rounds of souq Hamadiyyeh to come up with a fancy dress costume for the early hallowe'en party that was held. I was successful in purchasing some gorgeous lime green fingerless gloves and some incredible flame orange, red and gold leopard print leggings and decided to go as David Bowie. Unfortunately I was a bit stumped when it came to the hair, so I ended up looking like an extra from Fame minus the legwarmers, but I didn't mind, I was hyper on Pepsi. Tonight is Sam's birthday and I envisage cake, guitar and good company, three of my favourite things in the world. I just hope I can make enough tabbouleh.
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