Current topic: contraceptive techniques.

My boss (a single man nearing his 50s) and I are writing a report about our project on Reproductive Health in one of the villages in the South. The women have been tested, poked, tickled, and listened to, and now is the time to look at the results and decide what to do next. However, the data have been collected in Arabic and those paying for the project (the World Health Organization) need the findings in English, so our lack of Arabic-English dictionary means we have to do some creative translating. My boss: Ok, so there is this thing that women use, it goes inside and the Arabic word means it is twisted. Me: What is it made of, rubber? Metal? Could it be a diaphragm, is it shaped like a little bowl? Yes it is made of rubber, but it is not shaped like a small cup, it really is more like a, well, ehm… An IUD – Intra Uterine Device then, maybe? But then it is not made of rubber, those are made of copper, I believe. Copper? Contraceptives made of copper? Alright… Anything else? Well, there is another method, it is, well, you count, you know? You count? What do you count? Well you count the days that you can and that you can’t… Ah, yes, let me look this one up… ‘periodieke onthouding’, ehm… here it is, ‘the rhythm method’. Any others?

Yes, there is also, when you stop. ... Celibacy? Abstinence? No, you stop while you are busy… in French it is called ‘ejaculation extra uterinaire’ … … Do you mean coitus interruptus? That you end it just before you get there? Yes, yes! In Arabic we call that, ehm, you know, when you have diabetes and your hand or foot is so infected it has to be cut off… what is that called? Do you mean amputation? That’s it! That’s what it’s called in Arabic. Amputated intercourse.

Cup of coffee... I hope you are hungry.

In Lebanon you will never die from a lack of food. All you have to do is visit a colleague who is staying home after she had surgery on her nose. Or your neighbor. Or your friend’s parents that you haven’t seen in 2 weeks. Or anyone you ask for directions on the street. Hello! Welcome, welcome! What a surprise to see you! - Thank you, thank you, so good to see you too, are you feeling any better yet? Oh, it’s ok, come in, come in! Sorry for the cold, there is no electricity so please keep your coat on. Have a seat, please, have seat! Would you like to drink anything? Coffee, tea, nescafé? - No thank you, I’m fine. Here, we brought you some sweets from Saida. Thank you! So nice of you. So what would you like to drink, coffee, tea? - Nothing, really, thank you, we just had lunch. Nothing? Come one, a cup of nescafé? Some juice? - I’ll have a glass of water then, thank you. Maryam, bring our guests a glass of water please. [the daughter comes in with tall glasses full of juice] Here you go, a glass of orange juice. Would you like some of our sweets? Or here, take some nuts! - Thank you, that’s very kind, but I just ate, I’m really full. That’s ok, just take some of our dessert, it’s homemade, see, cream with nuts on top! Here you go, have some. [serves a big portion on a plate] Oh and have you ever tried these cookies? They are typical for this region, made with dates and sugar. - I will try one, thank you, but really I am not hungry at all as I just had lunch… Ah yes, true. Well, this is good for dessert, I bet you have never tried it before, they are chocolates with nuts that we serve when someone gets engaged. Our nephew got engaged last weekend so we have a whole basket of them, would you like to take some with you? Here, take a handful for the road. Oh, you finished your juice! Maryam, please bring our guests some more juice. - I am sorry, thank you, but I am not thirsty, just a glass of water would be very nice. Alright, a glass of water it is. [comes back with a tray with coffee and tea] Here, have a coffee. You don’t drink coffee? You would prefer nescafé? No nescafé? Ok tea then, here you go, with a few spoons of sugar – I will only put two spoons, I know you foreigners don’t like sweet tea that much. So how are you?

It never becomes normal, either way

I don't know if I shouldn't be used to it by now: the beautiful sunset on the Corniche (yes, I was there again), and the fact that right after I took this picture two soldiers with their weapons ready in front of them demanded to see what I was taking pictures of. Well, of the view:

Even though I see it almost every night, I never get bored of it. And remember I told you about the famous Lebanese Lie, the idea that in this country, one can ski and swim on the same day? Well, this night I was proven wrong: to my right, I saw the mountains covered in snow, and to my left, I saw a couple of old men taking a dive in the sea. Not sure if they had been skiing in the morning of course, but they could have been...

On pride and ignoring me

When you’ve lived in a country for quite a while, there comes a point at which you think you pretty much know it. You’ve learned how to behave, what is considered polite and what offensive, you know what you can talk about with strangers and what is better left unasked, you even use the right expressions when someone is recovering from sickness, is getting married or has a new haircut.If, like me, you are an anthropologist, you have also come up with theories as to why some things are rude and others appreciated; you have figured out the cultural conventions, taboos and ‘implicit social knowledge’ that guide people and societies.

But then, all of a sudden, something happens that turns all this upside down. Something that, on first sight, goes completely against what you would expect, considering your experience with the people of that society. Like today.

As so many nights before, I went for a run on the Corniche. Now today, it wasn’t exactly cold – on the contrary, it was superb weather, considering the near-freezing temperatures of the past days (or even weeks), and so the sea-side boulevard was packed. There were all the usual suspects: children on little bicycles and skeelers, old men eating beans and corn, drinking coffee on the benches, entire families going for a stroll, young guys hanging around the parked cars with the stereo on 10, lovey-dovey couples sneaking a kiss against the railing. It wasn’t easy finding space to run, so I was swerving around the slowly advancing pedestrians, trying not to step on dogs or kicking over arguilehs on the way.

Suddenly, a little kid appeared from behind his father who was walking towards me. I side-stepped to avoid the boy, hitting the side of a hole where a palm-tree used to be and fell smack! on my face. Both my hands and my knees were chafed, some drops of blood started to form, and my mp3-player had flown out of my hands on to the pavement. As I was lying there, feeling like a stupid 4-year old, everybody averted their eyes and looked away. Where normally people can’t stop staring when I run by, now it was as if I didn’t exist. Not even so much as a ‘are you ok?’ from the father of the boy.

I got back up and walked the rest of the way home, trying to find an explanation. I have gotten to know the Lebanese people as being extremely helpful, especially to strangers. They go out of their way to help you when you are lost, hungry or generally in need of something. Yet right there, lying on the sidewalk – nothing.

As I am sitting here with band-aids on my knees, I still don’t understand. I surely hope that turning away from me was done to save my pride – after all, if you ignore it, it hasn’t really happened. Otherwise it’s time for a major overhaul of my Lebanese code of conduct…

Stormy days

Yesterday we said goodbye to the Iraqi women who came to our NGO to learn about post-war reconstruction. I looked out the window and saw a dark sky, grey clouds gathering just before a massive downpour of rain would hit the land. I sighed and remarked: ‘such sad weather on a last day.’ ‘It’s not sad weather’ said my boss, raising his voice for the first time since I know him, ‘it’s a sad human condition we are in in this country!’

The sad human condition we are in is our own fault, says my boss. It is also unsurprising. If everybody (and I mean literally everybody) has a gun or two in the house, ‘just in case’, flying bullets might be a problem much less significant than the distrust that permeates every pore of this society. When I was doing my research, a year and a half ago, people showed me their guns that were hidden under their pillows or in bedside tables. These days, they have moved into pockets and onto the streets. Ready to be used.

No wonder everybody sleeps with one eye open. The events of Sunday-night (demonstrations against the horrible electricity situation turned into riots in which protesters clashed with the army, tires were burned and 8 people died from flying bullets and a grenade thrown into the crowd) show how volatile the ‘situation’ is. The symbolism of Sunday’s events – they took place in the same place as the attack on a bus full of Palestinians which sparked the civil war in 1975 – hasn’t escaped anyone. I don’t even hear any predictions anymore, nor the usual ‘let’s hope tomorrow will be calm’. As Robert Fisk asks: Could it be civil war already?

I prefer natural storms. Strong wind is good for the mind.