What to do with two cows

SOCIALISM:You have 2 cows; you have to give one to your neighbor.

COMMUNISM: You have 2 cows; the Government takes both and gives you some milk.

NAZISM: You have 2 cows. The Government takes both and shoots you.

AMERICAN CORPORATION: You have two cows. You sell one, and force the other to produce the milk of four cows. Later, you hire a consultant to analyze why the cow dropped dead.

FRENCH CORPORATION: You have two cows. You go on strike because you want three cows.

BRITISH CORPORATION: You have two cows. Both are mad.

LEBANON SYSTEM: You have two cows. One is owned by Syria and the other is controlled by the government.

EGYPT SYSTEM: You have two cows. Both vote for Mubarak.

DUBAI SYSTEM: You have two cows. You create a website for them and advertise them in all magazines. You create a ' Cow City ' or ' Milk Village ' for them. You sell off their milk before the cows have even been milked to both legit and shady investors who hope to re-sell the non-existent milk for a 100% profit in two years time. You bring Tiger Woods to milk the cow first to attract media attention.

SHARJAH SYSTEM: You have two cows. You sell them to an investor in Dubai. The cows get stuck in traffic between Sharjah to Dubai and die. You have zero cows now.

SAUDI ARABIA SYSTEM: You have two cows. So what? You have Oil.

(Thanks to Lina for sending me this!)

Mission Colonialism : Accomplished

So you’re an Arab in an Arabic country, and you’re going to a bookstore to find something to read. Because you are in an Arabic country, you might expect to find authors like Naguib Mahfouz, Rashid el Daif, Taha Hussein, Tayeb Saleh, and Abdelrahman Munif under the header of literature. This expectation, however, is wrong.

In the ‘literature’ section, you will find James Joyce, Kafka and Mark Twain. Your literature, by local writers who write in your language, is tucked away in a corner under the header ‘Arabic / Ethnic literature.’ Because, you know, Western is always the default.

So many times when it could have gone wrong

If I hadn’t been ditched by someone, I wouldn’t have felt the need to do something interesting with my lifeIf I hadn’t felt the need to do something interesting with my life, I wouldn’t have gone to the international bureau of the University of Amsterdam to ask about programs in the Middle East If I hadn’t gone to the international bureau of the University of Amsterdam to ask about programs in the Middle East, I wouldn’t have seen the last call for applications for New York University If I hadn’t seen the last call for applications for New York University, I wouldn’t have applied to the Africana Studies program If I hadn’t applied to the Africana Studies program at NYU, I wouldn’t have met Professor Khan If I hadn’t met Professor Khan, I wouldn’t have stayed an extra semester at NYU If I hadn’t stayed an extra semester at NYU, I wouldn’t have moved in with my Lebanese friend If I hadn’t moved in with my Lebanese friend, I wouldn’t have been invited to spend the summer of 2005 in Lebanon If I hadn’t been invited to spend the summer of 2005 in Lebanon, I wouldn’t have done the research for my masters in Anthropology in Beirut in 2006 If I hadn’t done the research for my masters in Anthropology in Beirut in 2006, I wouldn’t have lived through a war with Israel If I hadn’t lived through a war with Israel, my Israeli friend in Amsterdam wouldn’t have felt guilty for what I lived through If my Israeli friend in Amsterdam wouldn’t have felt guilty about what I had lived through, she wouldn’t have invited me and her fellow PhD-student from Lebanon who lived through the same thing for lunch If she hadn’t invited me and her fellow PhD-student for lunch, we wouldn’t have organized a falafel-dinner together If we hadn’t organized a falafel dinner together…

Let's say I'm glad we did. Happy two-year anniversary, my love.

Five minutes of fame

The last time I flew to Lebanon, in December last year, I was seated next to two Southern Lebanese men who were living in Switzerland. As usual, to conversation went from what do you do in Lebanon to what do you think of Lebanon to wow, you’re almost Lebanese! When they discovered I had spent most of the July War in 2006 in Lebanon, one of them took a closer look and said: ‘I think I know you. Have you been on TV?’ I laughed. Yeah, of course, I’m a famous international TV-personality. Ehm, what? I said. I don’t think so. ‘Yes, I’m sure I’ve seen you on Manar, it was something with Imad Moghnieh.’ Then I remembered. Last year I visited an exhibition about Imad Moghnieh, organized by Hezbollah, and had been asked a couple of questions by a camera crew of Al Manar, the TV channel operated by Hezbollah. They said it was for a documentary about the exhibition, but apparently it had been on TV. And this man, all the way in Switzerland, had seen me and now recognized me. I was famous in South Lebanon and its Diaspora!

And it doesn’t stop there. My post about the helpful Zghartans has been picked up by local news site, and they are now wondering who is this woman?

It seems my Lebanese star is still rising… and all Zghartans are welcome for a cup of coffee!

How many Zghartans does it take...

Monday evening I was leisurely driving around on the small roads in Koura, an area in North Lebanon, when I noticed a sign that said ‘Zgharta 4km’. Zgharta is a Christian town with a colorful history, and it has the reputation to be rough but extremely hospitable, with a population that has a soft spot for weapons of all types and sizes. I have wanted to visit Zgharta since I first came to Lebanon, yet somehow it never happened, and it had taken on almost mythical proportions from all the stories I heard about it. So here was my chance – and even though the sun was setting, I decided to take the right turn rather than continue my way back. Full of anticipation I drove on. I saw another sign: ‘Zgharta 1500m’. Almost there! And just as I was getting excited seeing the first houses left and right of the road, I hit a speed-bump and heard a noise that no car is supposed to make. I parked on the side of the road and was immediately notified by a boy walking in my direction that the problem was with the left front tire: it was completely flat. There I was, just outside of Zgharta, with nothing left to do but to fix the wheel, then turn around and head back.

But how to change the tire if you don’t even know where the spare is? I asked the guy if he knew a garage close-by. Yes he did, he actually worked in one, but it was closed now – he was on his way home. However, he quickly spotted the spare tire underneath the car, and asked me for the car jack. While we were searching inside and outside, a girl passed by and upon seeing my situation, she immediately took my phone to call her father and brother who also happened to work in a garage. In no time, the brother arrived on his scooter. The girl kept asking me questions about where I was from and what I was doing in Lebanon, while the two boys searched in vain for the car jack.

Then a taxi-driver stopped to offer help. Fortunately, he had a car jack. Unfortunately, it needed a little iron stick to make it work, which he didn’t have. No worries, though, because soon another car pulled over, and that driver did have a screwdriver to make the jack work. It took all men present to lift up the car and put the jack underneath, while the girl was still trying to find out whether I was married and if I had any kids.

In no time, the broken wheel was taken off, replaced by the spare tire, and the car lowered to the road. Everything was fine (nothing like this!). Before I could even say thanks both cars drove off, and shortly after that the two boys disappeared on the scooter. The girl offered me coffee, then let me turn around and carefully find my way home. Zgharta will have to wait for another day, but I am glad to have met its people!

Bonus shot: the view from Balamand towards the sea; North Lebanon.