A Palestinian friend’s story, wishes for Syria, farewells to our Syrian friends, and transition to Bolivia

(Written before and just posted now, since we now have easy internet access--yeah!! Sorry for the out-of-orderness)

Hello everyone and Happy New Year! We’re now in route to Bolivia, sitting in the transit lounge in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

Neil and I were amazingly lucky to have my parents and sister, Lavelle, join us for two weeks over the Christmas holidays. We spent four of our days together in Damascus, during which we were generously hosted for dinner by the family of my friend Fadwa. I met Fadwa last year, during a week spent considering “eHealth” amidst the beauty of Bellagio, Italy. Fadwa has been in charge of Syria’s “health information system”—putting computer systems in place country-wide to track birth, death, disease burden, etc. Fadwa is feisty, dedicated, purposeful, humorous, courageous, loyal, honest, collegial. I’m proud to be a colleague of hers in global health. I want to tell you the story of my friend Fadwa’s family, especially her father.

In 1948, when Israel became a state, Fadwa’s grandparents were told by the British authorities in Palestine that, for their safety they should leave—probably just for 2-3 weeks, during the war. Having 8 children, they complied, expecting to return very soon and thus not taking their valuables, significant money, or titles to property. They had been a wealthy family, but as the reality sunk in that they weren’t going back anytime soon, their father took a job pumping gas. This didn’t bring in enough money to care for the large family. So it was decided—of the 8 kids, the two girls wouldn’t go to school. And of the remaining six boys, only three could study. To be fair, Fadwa’s grandparents put their six sons’ names “into a hat” and drew three names. Fadwa’s father, it was decided, would not go to school. He became a barber, another brother a tailor. Of those who studied, two studied math and one economics. Fadwa’s father taught himself German on the side.

Fast forward, then, to when Fadwa’s brothers were in school. Living in Syria, they are allowed full access to government services (e.g., education, health, etc.) though they are not given Syrian passports (since this would conflict with Syria’s official stance that Palestinians must be re-established within a Palestinian state). As for feisty Fadwa, at about age 11, she fought with an unreasonable French teacher and so demanded of her parents that she go to a school that didn’t teach French. The nearest school meeting that requirement was a school specifically run for Palestinian refugees—so that’s where Fadwa went. Fadwa’s brothers occasionally came home with less-than-stellar report cards. And as happens, history mixed with family dynamics, and her father was angered by their lack of dedication—since he had not himself had the chance to study. Fast forward further, then, to the Iraq war—when Fadwa’s father, watching TV over dinner, dropped all the food off the table in his rage at seeing repeated what had so dramatically affected his own life.

When my family ate with Fadwa and her parents, we were given slippers for our feet, generously and delightfully served mounds and mounds of food that had been lovingly prepared by her mother. Humor and good will surmounted our partial language barriers, and we felt tremendously loved by all of them. They were honest about opinions on world issues, religion (on which Fadwa and her dad see differently), and careful to prepare medicinal tea for our sore throats. We got to see the family pictures, see their apartment that has been home for 35 years (Fadwa: “My parents asked when we were little if we wanted to move to a different house, but we couldn’t imagine not living here!!”), meet their fish, and taste the candied eggplant delicacy Fadwa’s mother makes (a very time-consuming process).

My family has long known people from the Middle East, are familiar with the injuries if not the politics of the region. And yet that day made an impression on me by putting a face—my friend Fadwa’s face, and her dad’s—into the “his-story” of Palestine. It doesn’t provide any solutions, only compassion and a reminder that the big stories of the news, are the big stories of people’s lives. And with that, comes a renewed accountability to engage, to share my thoughts, to help my own community be aware and be accountable, especially given America’s role in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. (More on this below.) Such as here, with this blog. Now you, reader, are anointed too, to be interested, engaged, educated and influential.

What impressions of Syria do I leave with? That the people are fabulous, the food is great, and the country is, well, getting there. There is a lot of optimism, increasing foreign investment. It’s easier to buy a car than before. Despite some economic downturn relative as throughout the world, in general, people are vibrant, have things to do and are productive. At the same time, there is still some fear—for example, that the police might think us spies and question our Syrian friends. (Beyond one straight-forward phone call, we never knew it if the police were following us.) Kurdish people living in Syria also feel marginalized. And there’s nervousness about getting too interested in US and European news, issues, politics. American policy does cause problems for Syria and Syrians, both directly and indirectly. One friend’s business is losing customers as it can no longer import small light-bulbs for cars from the Hungarian producer since US-based GE has bought that producer and thus the product is sanctioned. Another friend whose beautiful manufacturing facility produces dental anesthesia won’t even consider US markets partly because of US trade relations. US support for Israel is a constant thorn in the flesh for Syrians. Numerous times a day, we were engaged in conversations re: Bush or Obama and why the US policy is what it is.

As I described above, I do walk away with a renewed desire to take the risks (like this one) of sharing my perspective, of seeking to influence US policy in the Middle East toward greater alignment with fairness and human rights. However, I’d also like to venture a perspective for Syria, based admittedly on a brief stay. There is still deep, huge resentment toward Israel especially for the 1967 war where they took the Golan Heights from Syria. I would hope for Syria that they are able to negotiate a resolution internally if not internationally. As we traveled to Jordan, our Syrian friends told how wonderful Jordan was (there’s great malls, people are educated, the place is clean, the roads are good), and they were right. When we traveled to Turkey, it was the same (the bathrooms cleaner, the offices more professional, the shops more organized). Syria has different challenges (and a much larger population), but one of those challenges seems to be a willingness to bargain a piece of their future, for their past—to compromise how progressive they can be by holding out for something that may not come. I want the best for Syria, for all of our wonderful friends who enjoy the rich life but also struggle with the daily realities of living in a country where you’ve got to be a bit of a fighter to get ahead. So I hope that Syria will engage in the best solution regarding Israel and Palestine that it can, and then resolve to look more forward than backward. I sincerely hope that this perspective isn’t hurtful to any of my Syrian friends reading this blog, I offer it with all good will for them and for Syria.

So we’ve now packed up and moved on from Syria. I’ve decided that our plan of moving countries every three months was an invitation to have my heart somewhat broken every three months. It’s always hard for me to say good-bye to people who have, despite language barriers, the awkwardness of difference in culture or religion, and in some cases deep fear / suspicion, opened themselves to us with generosity, candor, humor, patience, and good will. I will remember so many wonderful people and their fond farewells, including:
• A last farewell dinner with friends (with kids coming in from karate)—delicious as ever with mujederra, fried potatoes, fried cauliflower, hummus, salad, boiled eggs, bread.
• Gifts from our neighbors—two coffee cups, two little jewelry boxes, a Kleenex box decorator, a bottle of baby powder from their 11-year-old’s work place (he fills these bottles to support the family, instead of going to school). And his willingness to take the injured bird from us (despite his mis-led efforts to bilk us out of $50 for two weeks of bird food), and care for it until it can be safely released.
• Fancy hot chocolate drinks, saying fond farewells to the “young hip crowd” we were generously included in.
• The carpenter and his kids with gifts of Arabesque geometric designs.
• Lunch with Ahmad and his sisters, and a coincidental “farewell on the bus” with Nour.
• Very fond text or voice messages from Judy, Bushra, Ahmad, Abdel, Mohammed, and others.
• Leaving Syria in convenience, comfort and style with a friend who took us to Turkey for a flight to Ankara

I now am excited about our next stop, Bolivia, with warmer climate, Spanish language (Roman characters—yeah!!), higher altitude, less concern re: modesty, and hopefully hot showers.