The burnout

Today I regretfully inform you of a missed opportunity.  My brother, father, Teta, friends and I decided to spend Friday evening at a concert featuring Faris Karam — a popular Lebanese singer.  Throughout the concert, I couldn’t help but dwell on the aspects of the concert that reminded me of the problems I see in Lebanon.

How unorganized the country is…

Notice how there is no time on the ticket? That’s because there is no time assigned to these concerts. It was rumored to start at 8:30PM. We got there at 8:00PM. The performers were introduced at 10:00PM. What.Is.This.

The vanity of some people in this country…

This was one of the many women who jumped on stage in the middle of the concert to take a picture with the performer.

How many plastic surgeries does it take to qualify for ‘doll’ status…?

How fake some people are in this country…

See picture above.

The main attraction, Fares Karam, decided to pre-record him ‘singing’ all of his music so he could stand on stage and look pretty/take pictures. It gave lip syncing a entirely different definition….

How racist some people are in this country…  The concert began with a speech from one of the ministers about how the problems in Lebanon — from the lack of electricity to the quality of healthcare — should be blamed on the Syrian refugees.  As a result, we should continue to support the army’s efforts to rid the country of these ‘pests.’

As I ruminated about how upset I was (the xenophobic speech at the beginning was the ultimate warning sign), I happened to miss out on some of the things that could have reminded me how wonderful this country is.

How the culture is preserved through the music…

The singer is surrounded by the traditional Lebanese drummers. Although this is ‘pop’ music in Lebanon, the tradition happens to be what it is popular.

How the concert united the entire country for one night…

The throngs of dancing Lebanese!!!

I’ll admit: it could have been a great night.  Had I been at this concert at the beginning of my trip, I would have been one of those people standing on my chair, singing to words I didn’t understand, and running to the stage when the entire audience started dancing dabke.

However, I didn’t.  The reality is that I am burned out.  In this last week with my brother and father, I have realized how much I miss the security of America — the familiarity, the comfort, the freedom.  This last week will be difficult.  But it took a night like Friday night to make me realize that I only have a week left.  I need to enjoy it.  I love this culture, these people too much not to — after all, they are mine.  

Ever had a complete physical burnout?

Last winter, I decided to start training for a half-marathon in Vermont.  My training schedule called for a ten mile run, and so my running buddy chose a trail he thought would be appropriate.  We started our run about 3:00 in the afternoon to get whatever warmth we could from the frigid sunlight.  It was still the hardest thing of my life.  He took me up mountains, across freezing rivers, down icy hillsides.  By the time I got back to my dorm, I have the strength to take off my sweat-frozen clothing, nuzzle into my comforters, and grab my cellphone.  WIth shaking fingers, I dialed my mom’s number.  “Mom, I just finished ten miles in freakin’ Vermont winter.  Call me beast.”

Probably not that great of an accomplishment, but it was pretty cool from my perspective 😀

There are two sides to every lira

This post has been rewritten several times…

I was going to try to focus on something really great.  I was going to try to show how someone was incredibly kind today, how I learned something from a challenging experience with my children, how this country’s culture continues to amaze me…

But that’s not for today.

Today is to tell you that I talk a lot about how great Lebanon is.  I want you to envy this country.  I want you to fall in love with it as I have.  I want you to hear my stories and want to create stories of your own.

But sometimes you need to step back and gaze at the entire picture — not the one person that made your day, the delicious food you tried for the first time, the great party you just had with your friends.  Sometimes you need to talk about the sexism, the classicism, the racism.  The problems.  

I hear rumors of women being killed for disobeying their religion.  I hear threats of men willing to kidnap lone women in taxis.  I hear warnings for young women walking by themselves at any time of day — especially in areas with ‘extremely dangerous immigrants.’

I tell my family that I want to hang out with friends for the evening.  They tell me that my friends are not from good enough families.  I tell people that I want to help the maid.  They tell me that is not my place as a Lebanese women.  I tell those watching over me that I would like to see a refugee camp one day.  They tell me that is Muslim territory where a Christian girl cannot be seen.

I walked into my cousin’s country club, and all I could see were the Southeast Asian maids running around after young children as the parents had a drink in the next room.  All I could see in the mall were families sitting at tables while maids were forced to sit alone at a smaller table to the side.  All I could see in the supermarket were the men from Bangladesh ready to carry groceries for able-bodied Lebanese.

And I don’t even see people of African descent unless they are bringing out a mop or a broom.

There are problems, and I would be lying to you if I continued to focus on all of the great things.  Sure, there are plenty of wonderful things in Lebanon.  But what haunts me as I sleep some nights isn’t the laughing or the tasting or the partying.  It’s the dark faces.  The covered faces.  The grungy faces.

I want you to know they exist.  I want you to know they abound.  And I want you to know that they are never overlooked.

Female and foreign

Since day one here, I have been driven everywhere by Teta’s chauffeur.  He has driven Teta for over seven years now and is considered another member of the family.  Even when they are not talking during one of their daily commutes, I find him in the house sitting for coffee, eating something delicious or just doing random work around the house.  It is obvious that the two were very close.  As a result, I tried to talk to him as much as possible in our car rides to see what made him so special.

About two weeks after my arrival in Lebanon, he started asking me some uncomfortable questions.  “Do you have a boyfriend?”  “How important is he to you?”  “Have you two had sex?”  Although I thought they were bizarre, I brushed them off.  Maybe he was just being a concerned “father figure.”  However, the questions became increasingly inappropriate.  “How important is sex to you?”  “Do you want to have sex?”  “How can you know that other people are having sex all the time and not want to have sex?”  Okay, this is getting out of line.

I kept trying to make excuses for him.  Maybe these questions were acceptable in this culture.  Finally in a car ride home on Tuesday, he told me he wanted to take me to a night club —

This was not the first time he had offered to take me somewhere by night, but the context and tone of voice seemed unnatural.  “Let me ask my cousins if they want to come.”

“No.  You cannot bring anyone else.  It will just be me and you.”

“Well, I would like to be with my cousins.”

“No.  I won’t take you elsewhere.  You can either come with me alone or stay in the house.”

I did not know what to do.  Even though I was not being actively threatened, I began to cry hysterically in the car.  I was scared.  I was nervous.  I was at a loss.  This could get much worse.  After I ran out of the car, I called my dad and told him about all of our uncomfortable conversations — the questions, the offers to go out, the unscheduled afternoon stops.  My father assured me that this was not a cultural norm.  He passed the word along to Teta, who swore that Ramon meant no harm but agreed that it was not acceptable.  As a result, I am no longer driving with this chauffeur in the car alone.

Perhaps I overreacted.  Maybe his comments and actions were truly innocent.  However, I am giving you this story as a warning for all women who are in a foreign country.  Do not stand for discomfort.  There are cultural norms, and there are human dignities.  If you feel as though you are being treated inappropriately, you do not need to make excuses.  You need to get out of the situation.  You have rights as a women, whether you are in your home country or not.  Everyone should be held accountable for those rights.  When you think a situation is getting bad, know it can get worse.  Please do not be afraid to speak up, stand up and ask for help.  There is nothing you do not deserve.

 

A lot of people talk about how American women are at-risk in foreign countries.  Do you believe foreign women are as much at-risk in America?  Why or why not?