Making a house a home in Aleppo (by Yvette)

Greetings from the courtyard of our new Syrian home. Neil and I have successfully rented a beautiful old home in Bab el Ahmar (which means “Red Gate”) in the “old city” portion of Aleppo, Syria—very near The Citadel which is an impressive structure—first bits of which were built in 300’s BC, but which really took shape in the 12th century during yes, the crusades—complete with handy features to pour boiling oil on one’s opponents. Nice how the Pope’s edict to recapture Jerusalem drove increased militarization way back when, eh?

Our home is big for the two of us, and sparsely furnished (with a few rugs), so we’re knocking around in it a bit. We’ve christened it with the smell of garlic (bought about 1 pound of peeled garlic—hard to find any quantities smaller—and boy is it pungent!! Must find a jar to better contain it. . . ), a few plants, and our smattering of suitcase contents. Our landlord, Abdel Hay Kaddour, is a well-accomplished, well-known, and well-thought-of tour / travel operator who owns two boutique hotels here in the old city. This seems a somewhat conservative Muslim quarter. Our immediate neighbors are two families, two brothers and their wives—one family with four children, the other with five. They’ve asked through the children, I think, that I wear a scarf over my head and neck when I’m in their house (when the men are around)—in addition to me attempting to keep arms and legs mostly covered which seems to attract less attention in general. Communication is a very approximate science, since they speak virtually no English and my Arabic is minimal and stumbling at best. The kids range from 4 to 15 years, and aren’t shy so that helps with lots of engagement despite lack of language. They’ve brought their two white bunnies over to show us (who are now “mafi” (not there) so perhaps went in the soup pot? Not sure), have invited me for tea (not Neil), have asked if we’ll be here for Eid (celebration I think in early December), and have told me with conviction that if I will cover my head and pray, Allah will help me to get pregnant. (I know it’s well-intended, but how does one respond to that? “Really? You don’t say.” I chose, instead, to say “mumpkin” (maybe) with a big smile, and then proceeded to describe that I eat medicine in order to not get pregnant. Unfathomable here, it seems.)

Our house was pretty dirty but we opted to move in rather than wait for it to be cleaned, in order not to spend one more night in a hotel. Which meant that the next morning, Neil was kindly asked to leave for a few hours so the cleaning women could take off their black robes to clean more effectively. And boy did they ever. The hose was taken to every corner--even the shelves in the bedroom—along with scrub brush and soapy water. The landlord had asked that I (Yvette) stay, which felt awkward as I sat and read my book like a diva. But I also didn’t really want to dive in and scrub with them (maybe I am a diva). Anyway, it was a lesson in how differently homes are kept in various places. I would swept and wiped but been in a hubbub of dust all day, who knew that one could simply flood the place and then squeegee it? The place certainly could use a good dose of “demineralization” chemicals as the moisture in the walls comes out, displacing any paint or plaster and causing lots of sand/dust clumps on our shelves. Fortunately the bathroom and kitchen are mostly tiled. The carved medallions in the walls of our 20-foot-high covered courtyard, the stone staircase, the oriental lights, the numerous alcoves (including one that used to be an old well) all make for an inspiring space, if a bit dusty. And our bedroom has a restored (not perfectly, okay, but restored) decoratively-painted wood ceiling and walls, with patterned tile floor.

Our most-frequented-food so far is the $0.50 each take-away falafel sandwiches that can be found on almost every block. Yummy, though there’s quite a variety and we’ve found 1-2 stands that we like better than others. We also are pretty keen on foul-medemas, the large flat beans cooked with cumin and served with lots of olive oil, tahini sauce, and fresh tomatoes, onions, bread and salt. The idea is to dip the tomato and/or onion slice in salt, wrap it in bread, chew it and chase it with a spoonful of foul medemas. Also pretty yummy. We visited ”the” place to have it in Al Jdeida (which means “the new” and refers to the new as of the Ottoman era, I think 200-ish years ago), the Christian / Armenian quarter, where Abu (father) someone has been making it for 75 years. He’s quite cheerful about it, too. Makes one question the McDonald’s fast food model—the foul medemas, tomatoes, onions—the works--are in front of you within literally one minute of taking your seat. But then, McDonald’s has a higher turn-over rate I guess. There’s also lots of yoghurt here. Smallest portion we seemed to be easily able to buy was about 3 quarts of fresh, plain yoghurt. And lots of breads, bread-filled with cheese, bread with zatar (thyme spices) on it, bread with sweet cheese, more bread, flat bread, brown bread, big bread, little bread, puffy bread, sweet bread. We’re still trying to find a place with relatively cheap and good humus and eggplant / tomato sauce where we can buy it prepared—some of these things are quite an art to make, and we have nothing to prove.

Many people—especially young people, university students, etc.—have been very warm. Friday we went with the Aleppo Archeological Society on a 14-hour excursion to ruins west of the city. The 30-something group contained no other foreigners, but many people that spoke varying bits of English, some quite good, including archeology students, tour guides trying to improve their own knowledge, children who ran around and climbed on the stones, etc. Nice group from which we have several phone numbers and promises of personalized tours of the citadel. (As the students said, “We know it very well.”) And other people we’ve met / chatted with on the street (while trying to avoid overly friendly vendors in the overly-touristed souq) have invited us to their homes, shared their food, offered their help, showed us where to go, etc.

We’ve noted that, unlike Singapore, there are really very few “thou shalt not” signs here in Syria. Hmm. . . though there are certainly things that one shalt not do. But the only one that’s sign-posted (no smoking) is regularly ignored, even on the bus. Ah well, that album on Neil’s FaceBook page may have to wait until our next stop (oh, which may be France. Never mind, it may have to wait even longer.)

I’m finding that I feel a bit introverted here. Part of it is that little English is spoken, and my Arabic is good enough to get by, but with significant effort. Also, trying to get our house found and set up has been like an all-day, unpredictable scavenger hunt. Everyone tries to help and knows someone who knows someone who can show us a house, so just wait right there, we can go just now, do you want to drink tea? Or maybe sludgey coffee? Price? No, we don’t do that so quickly, let’s drink. And we’re never quite sure if we could ever find them (or the apartment!) again, so now’s the opportune time. And I’m also trying to communicate without being quite committal, because I’m not sure if I’m accepting a dinner invitation or simply saying thank you for the compliment. Argh. I think I’m also feeling the build-up of being “a foreigner, therefore on display” since March. While it’s all been good, it is a bit tiring to be different, notable, not one of us for such a long time—perhaps especially for someone like me who engages a lot with others and is pretty observant even with strangers. And to have been on the move so much over the last few weeks. So I don’t mind spending some quiet time behind my very high house walls. We even have a nicely-private rooftop courtyard.

I will, over the next week or so, try to find an Arabic teacher / tutor / friend who can help with navigating both language and culture. We have found a good friend in Ahmad (nearly everyone here is named Ahmed) Magribe, a tour guide we first connected with on the internet. He seems a trustworthy, conservative, family man—through whom we were able to go on the afore-mentioned tour. And our landlord Abdel also seems very genuine. Both men speak English very well, and are very accustomed to tourists and our wants / needs. Neil had crummy tummy and felt hot to the touch but was asking me to pile blankets on Friday night—at the time I thought that these two men and the local doctor Lonely Planet recommends would be my local if I needed to take Neil anywhere. Fortunately, however, he seems to be feeling much better though is willing to rest a lot just now.