dispatches from here

Getting around Damascus is a bit of a challange.  Its an easily walkable city, but there are no street signs, no street names, very few traffic lights (which are optional), and I’ve only found one linear, straight street. Unsurprisingly, its called “Straight Street”.  No joke.  It also happens to be where the Apostle Paul was directed to find Saul, according to Acts 9:11-12:

“And the Lord said unto him, Arise, and go into the street which is called Straight, and enquire in the house of Judas for one called Saul, of Tarsus: for, behold, he prayeth, and hath seen in a vision a man named Ananias coming in, and putting his hand on him, that he might receive his sight.”

So options for getting around: walking, taxis, and buses.  Taxis are fast and the metered rates are cheap.  But you rarely pay the metered rate without a fair amount of arguing (which I’ve gotten really good at here).  Usually you’re told “la, moshkeleh” (its broken) or “qadim” (its old).  The price they try to charge is either double the metered rate or half of the smallest bill you have in your wallet, whichever is bigger.  For example, last night’s taxi metered taxi fare was 40 lira (about 90 cents).  I pulled out a 200 lira note and the guy wouldn’t let me out for less than 100 lira. Luckily for him I was running late and didn’t have the time or energy to yell and argue.

Then there are buses.  Tiny, cramped, and without set schedules or routes.  The bus waits until it fills up (should seat 10, usually sets 14-16).  Only the start and end points are set, and for some reason every time it takes a different route.  Each bus has a different price, always cheap but never written anywhere so you have to ask. And to make things more complicated, everyone passes their bus fare forward and yells out how much they are sending and for how many passengers.  Easy when I sit in the back, because all I have to do is pass money forward and say “wahid” (one).  But if the last seat is the one closest the driver and I sit in it…thats when there’s trouble.  Everyone passes money forward to me, yells out how much they’re passing forward and for how many passengers.  I have to keep track of how much from each person, get change from the driver, and redistribute it.  It would be hard enough in English, but in Arabic, when I’m not sure how much the bus ride even costs, its been total, hilarious, chaos.

Adam and I were on the bus a few nights ago when I heard some Assyrian being spoken, about us and I pretended that I didn’t understand so I could eavesdrop.  Two older Assyrian women were looking at us curiously.  I heard one say, “I wonder how they know where they’re going?”, to which the other replied, “I don’t know…Even the Arabs get lost when they come here…”

I’ve been getting some comments asking for more frequent and interesting blog posts.  So here is a brief state of the project address.

Ever since I’ve returned from Aleppo a week ago, I’ve been working pretty non-stop on the project.  This has meant lots of interviews, videos, and photos. Afterwards, the we have to convert, translate, and edit videos, sort and edit photos, and try to put some sort of product together.  Its been a very exhausting, full, moving, emotional time so far.  Last night, I watched the first draft of photos with music, and I cried.

Yesterday I went to the home of a woman who fled Iraq 10 months ago.  She sat and told me that her husband had been shot and killed on his way to buy bread in the morning.  Three days later, still grieving and thankfully with not home, armed militia rushed into her empty home to hide from the Americans.  They opened fire on the Americans and in retaliation, a tank destroyed her home. Her son (in his late 20’s) gave me a CD to take and watch when I got home, which turned out to be a grainy cell phone video of her walking through the remains of her burned down home and sobbing.  Then they point to a stately picture of their father high on the bare white wall, looking over the family in his sharp navy suit.  The son asks if I’d like to see more pictures of his father.  Of course I would, expecting vintage family photos.  He returns from the bedroom with a plain white envelope, still sealed.  I ask if I can open it, as it hasn’t been opened since they left Iraq.  I try to carefully open it, but instead make a mess of the envelope and rip part of it open because of the heavy camera under my arm I’m trying to keep from crashing to the floor.  I’m completely shocked when I finally see the pictures, showing his half naked father, dead on a canvas tarp and riddled with bullet holes.  His mother sobs quietly in the background and the son turns away until I’m done.  An absolutely overwhelming experience, a tragic but common story, and a devastating photo.

I’ve decided not to post any project related photos until it is complete.  I may post some stories, but I’m now totally focused on getting the project done, done right, and done soon. As far as photos go, I’ll keep posting some of the more trivial trip related photos.

The current plan is another week in Damascus, then a week in Eastern Syria.  By then, Adam and I are hoping to have a complete video done will hopefully take a break to Lebanon and then back to Jordan before I fly home.

I’m back in Damascus after an excellent, well needed week away in Aleppo (Halab in Arabic). I’m also at about the halfway point, and have met three major milestones:

1. I’m no longer afraid to take pictures.  It took me a full five weeks to get back to my old self.
2. My Arabic has improved to the point where I can read the signs on buses fast enough to flag down the right one before it blurs by.
3. I have had the best shawerma of the trip so far, in a little town called Afamea, about 100m south of the intersection that leads up to the ruins.

The trip also took an interesting turn in the cafe attached to a little hotel in Aleppo. I met Adam, a fed-up-with-the-man, job-quitting, TED-talking, Mac-toting, 300 video-editing, world-traveling, open-source Australian. We spent two days visiting Roman, Byzantine, and Hittite ruins, taking videos and photos (which will be up soon).  He’s also much faster at updating his blog than I am, so check it out for some more photos (I make a cameo appearance, fancy that!).  He’s inspired me to take more videos to go along with my project, and I may have inspired him to join me in the refugee camp in Damascus to collaborate. Maybe we can put together something impressive.

Hitching a ride through the Syrian countryside

No crosswalks, no stoplights, no patience. Only one rule: use your horn as often as you possibly can.

My life flashes before me every time I try to cross the street

But up close, they look so harmless

Traffic police: not there.

Yes, those are chunks of cheese. And yes, they live in very old, dirty, rusty barrels.

Really puts the overpriced olive bar at Whole Foods to shame

Before the rain over Aleppo

Fresh fruit in the Aleppo souq

A pancake-a-teer

A pyramid of cumin, decorated with paprika and salt

the nut store.

Child labor: working the sewing machine at midnight.

Shoe repair outside the souq. There are about 40 of these guys spaced every six feet.

Fresh fruit juice! I always stop for a tall cold glass of freshly pressed blood-orange juice.

A little beard trim before Friday prayers

Seems he has some fans out here.

Yup, that goes there.

Cinema with awesome movie poster art

Soccer at the Aleppo Citadel

Super tiny Chinese buses that wait until 12-15 people pack inside before taking off

Hitching a ride to Qala'at as-Samaan. From L to R, Adam, me, Muhammad, Muhammad, and Ahmed. Seriously.

 
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Currently taking a short break to Aleppo (Halab), but traveling light and left the laptop in Damascus, so no pictures for you yet.  After a day of rest and a day of hitting the crowded souq, today was ruins exploration day in the countryside around Aleppo.  Started out early and made it to Qala’at Samaan (a basilica to St. Simeon on a huge rocky outcropping) , Dier Samaan (tiny village with no roads/cars),  Ain Dara (10th century BCE Temple to Ishtar with carved lions and sphinxes in the fertile Kurdish countryside), and finally to Afreen (a Kurdish town about 20 kilometers from the Turkish border.

Covered quite a lot of ground, thanks to a little bit of Arabic and a fair amount of hitch-hiking in:

• A giant yellow dump truck with two Mohammeds and an Ahmed
• A motorcycle with a red and white khuffiyeh flapping in my face
• The back of a manure truck (mostly, but not completely, empty)
• A bread delivery truck (smelled much better than the manure truck)
• A pickup with Mustafa
• And finally, a few mini-buses

Pictures and etc to follow (should be back in Damascus by the end of the week).  Tomorrow heading to the ancient city of Ebla, which was sacked and destroyed by Sargon of Akkad in 2250 BCE, and the dead/abandoned Byzantine cities of Serjilla, Ruweiha, Jerada, and Al-Bara.  The goal is sunrise is Serjilla, which supposedly sits in a deep basin and fills with mist in the mornings.

We see about ten patients in the two hours that the clinic is open each night, mostly with chronic conditions like hypertension and diabetes. Sometimes family members come by for med refills if the patient is unable to make it to the clinic on their own. Last week, an anxious middle-aged man came in to ask some questions about his father. His father had End Stage Renal Disease due to chronic diabetes and was now dialysis dependent, getting dialysis twice a week. About a week ago, the son noticed some redness and swelling around the catheter site, which was apparently an old indwelling central line (high infection risk, which is what was likely going on now). Feeling fatigued, he had missed his last dialysis session and now hadn’t been dialyzed for nearly a week. The son was now even more worried, as his father was tired, nauseous, vomiting, and having hallucinations. These are all classic symptoms of uremia, and the only treatment is urgent dialysis, along with antibiotic treatment for his likely catheter and possible bloodstream infection.

We discussed the urgency of the situation, and the son told us he had called the ambulance a few times but they wouldn’t come. I thought I had misunderstood, so I turned to Dr. Milad for an explanation. “They know Jaramana is where all the Iraqis are, so they usually don’t bother coming,” he explained to me. In addition, they often can’t navigate the narrow streets and alleys with the ambulance, isolating the refugees even more. The son was hesitant to go to the emergency room because of the cost, and explained that he couldn’t carry his father down the stairs alone. Dr. Milad again pressed the urgency of the case. Hesitant, worried, already expecting the worst, the son said he would get help in the morning and go the hospital. With that he thanked us and backed out of the room, slowly closing the accordion style door behind him.

Yesterday we heard that the father had passed away a few days after his son’s visit. I’m not what his underlying medical condition was, or if he ever made it to the hospital, or that even if he had it would of saved his life. But it would have at least given him a chance. Something as simple as ambulances that show up. Can you imagine the fear you would live with knowing that if something happened to you and you called for help, nobody would respond?

The Jaramana Refugee Camp on the outskirts of Damascus, full of Assyrian Iraqi and Iraqi refugees. Many Druze live here, along with gypsies surrounding the camp.

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