Qussa

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The Other Half

I know a lot of people get married because they feel they have met ‘the one’, their ‘soul mate’, or even ‘their other half’. I’m not one of those people. Walid and I love each other, but our marriage is mainly a practical affair: staying together when you are from different countries requires a lot of paperwork – an amount that can be significantly reduced by getting married. That one marriage certificate replaces a whole lot of other paperwork. Unfortunately, it seems to also replace half of who I am. Cases in point:

In the Netherlands, we have compulsory health insurance, with an accompanying system of financial assistance from the government for those (like me) whose income is too low to pay for coverage. Walid, due to the type of residence permit he has, is not obliged to have this health insurance, nor does he qualify for the financial assistance. So I apply for it on my own, in my own name, for myself, mentioning Walid only as my legal partner.

A few weeks later the application is approved and I get the money in my account. Surprisingly, it has Walid’s last name on it. I call the Belastingdienst (Tax Offices) to ask what happened. Well, says the lady on the phone, it’s your husband’s name, so he probably applied for it. I’m pretty sure he didn’t, I answer, since he doesn’t even speak or write Dutch, nor does he have insurance or qualify for financial assistance. In fact, I remember very well filling out the form MYSELF, under MY name, to get MY money. The lady fails to see the problem. But he’s your husband! She says again, what does it matter? It matters because I am not my husband, I say, I am ME.

The only way to change this, according to the lady of the Belastingdienst, is to write a letter to their offices requesting a ‘name change’. See that? Not a correction of my name, a name change. To get them to address me by my own name.

**

Last week we moved to our new house, and yesterday we went to the offices of the municipality to register our new address. For the sake of efficiency, as all of this is in Dutch, I do the talking; I answer the questions, I ask what other steps need to be taken, etc. Basically, Walid is just standing there because he has to be there in person for the registration.

After all necessary information has been noted and the required copies have been made, the lady behind the counter prints out a form and says I put the registration in his name, since you’re married anyway, and he has to sign here. So then I have to translate the form for him and tell him where to sign. Suddenly I became the attachment.

**

Yesterday I received a standardized answer to my letter to the Belastingdienst: That they automatically assign the financial assistance to the husband, and there is nothing I can do about that.

I wonder if I will have to divorce in order to be seen as full person again. I may have gotten married, but I did not become half a person. And definitely not someone else’s other half.

Definitely landed

- Every time I look out of the window, I see gray clouds- I already know exactly when, where and at what time I will have tea with my friend… 3 weeks from now - When I see a Hummer on the street I no longer expect it to have a Saudi or Qatari number-plate - When we walk into a restaurant at 8 pm on a Saturday night, most of the guests are already having dessert - I considered it entirely normal that the woman in the Municipal Office told me I brought too many copies and forms and stamps, rather than sending me away because there was still some previously-unknown yet required paper missing - I’m no longer expecting the electricity to cut at any moment because it hasn’t cut yet today… - When I sit in a café and pick up a random newspaper, chances are I can actually read it - I’m no longer the tallest, nor the blondest one everywhere I go.

So yeah, it seems like I’m really, really back in the Netherlands.

Like Everyone Else (Bye-Bye Beirut)

WHAT I WILL NOT BE MISSING- The daily electricity cuts - The honking cars - The clouds of cigarette-smoke in bars and restaurants - The chaos - The homophobia - The honking cars - The screaming of ‘Taxi! Taxi!’ when I walk by - The unbelievably slow internet-connections - The racism - The roofs that are not built to prevent rain from entering the house - The construction rage - The speculation about ‘when will the next civil war start’ - The honking cars

WHAT I WILL BE MISSING - The mountains - Falafel from Sahyoun - The Corniche - The golden numbers - The chaos - The ease of dance - The view of the sunset over the Mediterranean from my rooftop-terrace - Grilled halloum - (The Stooges) - Last-minute outings with friends - Mothers with inexplicable amounts of food ready in the fridge any time you pass by - The beach-road - Sneaking into old abandoned buildings of beautiful architecture - Driving around aimlessly in the North and South - The carrot-sticks in lemon juice with salt - Hamra - Bikers riding on their back-wheel at full speed on the highway to impress the girls - Street-cats - Genuine hospitality, always

WHAT MY FRIEND SAID “Oh my, you’re so Lebanese now. You leave the country to work abroad and you will come back to visit us for Christmas and in summer! Your transformation is complete!”

WHAT’S REALLY HAPPENING (in the next two years) My husband has to finish his PhD at the University of Amsterdam and I am going back with him. (Incidentally, we’re still looking for a house in Amsterdam – if you know of a house for us to (sub)let, please let me know! We’re very cute tenants, you know.)

AND THE CATS?!? In an ironic twist of fate, it is easier for two Lebanese cats to get permission to come to The Netherlands than it is for a human being – but it does mean they came with us, and will now eat Gouda instead of labneh for breakfast. Just like us.

WHAT ABOUT QUSSA.NL? Qussa.nl will be here, with stories and anecdotes from life on- and offline. (Most of them probably not from Lebanon, though, for the time being.) But you’re welcome to keep coming back.