Sameh’s wedding - On the significance of being ‘away’

Sameh, one of my very best friends, is getting married today! (all zagharit et autres you-yous are welcome :) a million congratulations to Shery, his lovely bride, and him. I promise to post a photo as soon as I get one.

The thing is, he’s about 6491 km from where I am. So I’ll miss his wedding.

We both know it’s unintentional. He knows that if I could be there, I would have. And I know he wants me to be there.

Yet I’ll miss it. I’ll be studying some stupid microeconomics (sorry, Nolan) instead!

Is that what distance is all about? Missing big events in the life of the people you love?

Second thoughts... Nope, that's not it. Hey, it’s a memorable night and I’d kill to be there (I also wanted to show off my new cool necktie :) but it’s just an evening. I’ll get the photos in a few days.

Naaaah... being away is rather missing the little things. Is missing the phone call from the exact same friend who is asking for your advice on whether he should propose to his girlfriend. It’s not seeing your niece being born and growing up, but rather seeing her as cute 5 years old little lady. It’s missing the new billboard in Tahrir square which we joked about. It’s not getting the ugly and pro-government newspaper every morning and reading the final and the sports page, and perhaps the international politics page (sometimes :) to find something to discuss

It’s not sharing people’s everyday problems in the street. Forgetting how hard it is to cross Salah Salem street - where I lived for 6 years.

It’s getting there in the summer vacation for four days, and finding that you don’t remember which bus takes you to your old school.

It’s an odd feeling.

Being in a new place, you will find odd places that, soon enough, will be part of your daily life. (Dixit “L’Auberge Espagnole” which is an excellent French film that it so good it’s actually available at blockbusters and netflix: ‘After a while, we’d have lived this town, we’d have walked those streets. We’d have known those buildings, lived stories with people. And after a while, it all belongs to you because you’d have lived in it.”

The problem is, my dear Xavier (the dude in L’Auberge), is that when you live that other town for too long, you may lose the other one...

I’m starting to make no sense, so I’ll stop for tonight.

A final joke, special for Sam and the married or betrothed among you: In a man’s funeral, women dress in black, mourning his life. Men know better - they dress in black during his wedding ;o)

Shotei Hanevua in Concert!

Went to this concert with some friends: an israeli band came to Cambridge. They were not bad, it was rather amusing actually, since I’m starting to get acquainted to the idea of being in a concert where I don’t understand a word! (I’m still a big fan of Blof, a dutch band I saw in concert in Amsterdam - but I still don’t understand a word they say. Oh, one I do: Omarm! (petite remarque: coucou, Céline!)).

What struck me, however, was that feeling of insecurity. Even though I was with a bunch of my favourite people in the western hemisphere, that we were out for a fun night, and indeed it was. Sure, part of the reason I went was to see what it’d look like in full immersion in an Israeli/Jewish community; but I’m not sure, even now, if it was thrilling or scary. Mind you, no one addressed me or anything; I just saw an amused look in the eyes of the girl selling ticket when she saw my name on my student ID.
(The dude distributing leaflet for voluntary work in Israel, however, automatically assumed I was Jewish, and started automatically offering his brochures... which I took, I couldn't let the poor boy down:)

But seriously, I wonder what it’s like for people who have to face this situation everyday. I’m thinking, in the first place, of Palestinians in their home. But also of all people who feel astranged (in their own country, often) when they are in a minority situation, where the majority may, or not, be hostile...

Difference can be scary sometimes, too.

Ramadan at Harvard!

(follow-up to the previous message!)

Harvard, home to a gazillion different communities that take pride in their difference. School too, does a terrific job in encouraging this.

Religious excuses are accommodated. One has the right to request a special derogation because it’s Eid El Fitr or Rosh Hashanah. I requested my exam time to be change so that it wouldn’t be too close to Iftar time duting Ramadan (time at which one starts to feel hungry and slightly dehydrated) and I was granted my request immediately.

And people are free to expose their religion. A good friend of ours, of Sikh faith, wears her turban daily to class. I’ve met a number of veiled girls around. Chaim wears his kippa. After the first day, we don’t notice anymore. I caught myself saying “Supreet? Oh, she’s the girl with the Harvard sweatshirt over there” (you can guess how confusing this can be… at Harvard!) and omitted that she was wearing a turban. I think that’s really cool.

Ramadan here is pretty well celebrated: the first day, I had iftar on the undergrad campus, where the Islamic Society of Harvard holds a fast-breaking meal/ceremony every day of the month. A hail to Pakistani food, by the way.

Yesterday, I had Iftar at KSG (that’s my school); the invitation was general, there was a fantastic turnover from all kinds of people.

Today was probably the most enjoyable experience: a Friday prayer at Harvard. When I heard that the school allowed people to borrow a large room every Friday to hold the prayer, my googly eyes made my interlocutor laugh his head off.

Hey, imagine people have a Friday prayer in Boutmy! :) (I know, very restrictive joke! - Boutmy is a hall at Sciences-Po Paris. Makes more sense now? :).

And we had it all - a sermon, given by a student from the Divinity School; people praying, men, women. Azan, Iqama. The whole thing!

Doesn’t that make you cherish who you are, and in the same time make you grateful that all people are not the same? It would have been so boring!!!

Differences in America - A first impression

Americans have a very healthy reaction to diversity, to difference: it’s a flat, almost uninterested one! You’re Asian? Black? White? Caucasian? Arab? Muslim? Buddhist? Unless you’re a really weird bloke, dressed in a swimming suit all year long because your religion says so, you’ll soon find a quasi-generalised indifference.

That’s fantastic. Freshly coming from a country - I will not mention the country’s name in order not to vex Dominique de Villepin :) - where conformism seems to be the official and unofficial goal, it’s a nice feeling to be disregarded for what to you are. You’re not expected to speak like the others, to dress like them, to eat like them. France has de facto ceased to be multi-cultural and is now evolving to a model where people will be expected to bleach their skin the day they decide to take a French residency permit (or if they’re born French). Even French Blacks, from the French islands, know it. Gaston Kelman, black Frenchman (Bourguignon, s’il vous plait) wrote that ‘even if he lived there all his life, a black man in continental France will always be an ‘insular’ (un antillais, to be more precise). A white man from the Islands, on the contrary, will always be considered as ‘French’. (Gaston Kelman, “Je suis noir et je n’aime pas le manioc, editions Max Milo, whoever borrowed this book I want it back!)

In the US, ask this cute Indian-looking six years old where he’s from, and don’t be surprised if he replied ‘Fresno, California’ with a Calcutta accent and with the candour and freshness of a morning mist. Tina, veiled Muslim whose origins I don’t know, is from Michigan. Full stop. No further explanation she will give; no further explanation I want to know.

An important remark, here: it’s not always true. Naaaaa. There is also ordinary racism, there is segregation at work and housing, there are dirty looks when you’re the only black man in a boat club. But still, the US remain a place where, even if they whisper behind your back sometimes, (they won’t do it to your face most of the time).

Never thought I’d say it -- Thank you America!

Mahmoud El Esseily

Just came across a new singer, Mahmoud El Esseily. Very enjoyable.

First, his name is: it's... well, it's normal. People are usually not called 'Karim Adam' or 'Kiko' or 'Roubi'. It's a refreshing change.

His songs surprised me, too. The man has a very nice voice and an excellent control on it.
And the lyrics made me smile -- which is not very common with Egyptian songs, where any tentative meaning would drown under the avalanche of 'habibi' and 'ya leil' that songwriters use to fill blanks - and that's about every other word! Naaah.. the dude has better ways of passing his message. A lovely duet, albeit somewhat cheesy but definitely innovative (Tabat we Nabat); and a beautiful song - Salam ya Baladi - are probably the icing on top of the album (7elwa di??), 'magnoona' (el donya, mesh el bent) is totally amusing.
Highly recommended.

For your arabic music needs, I recommend www.6arab.com - but listen to the songs online. And although you can download the songs in their full version for free in *.rm format, don't Download bad. Copyright good.
:o)

First night out in town!

A friend of mine here used to live in Boston before... so he guided a bunch of us through the urban jungle to Newbury street, which is apparently the cool place to hang out in town...
And we landed in a lovely yet kinda expensive Italian restaurant...

The food was good but tiny! I mean, I ordered ravioli, and I see the waitress coming over with those huge and deep plates... Hmmm... And I thank God that everything in the US is big...
And she puts the dish in front of me...
And I find, literally: NINE raviolis.

For a second I thought it was a joke!! I swear! (you know, hidden camera or something!) But it wasn’t, since all the others had micro-portions as well... it was only the sad sad reality that I was not going to get a proper dinner this night!
I think I cut each ravioli into 16 pieces and then ate them, just for the illusion :)

Then we went to the highest building in Boston, the top floor has a nice view - well, nice seems like a weak word. It was beautiful!!! The view was really like a postcard, you know, ‘greetings from Boston’ kind of thing.
(I know, I have to stop being the sa3idi tourist around here :)

Pourquoi ce blog?

Hmm, good question.
The logical answer would be to share my thoughts with the world, since I could have a bunch of entertaining nonsense to share with my friends and other inhabitants of cyberspace who decide to take a stroll on my humble blog :o)

That's part of the reason.
Another is because, from moving around, we tends to lose our marks, and, at time, they may disappear from our eyes - but they are still there, somewhere, beyond the fog.

So I figured that a blog could be just the way to make sure that... That those thoughts, laughters, moments, are not lost forever.
If, by writing them down, I can share them with someone, then they're not lost.

My favourite issues of discussion here will be about leaving, about identity, about home, and who we are and how we see ourselves; and how the world sees us, too.

I'll talk about politics. About economics when I feel I don't get enough of that in class :)

I might also tackle instability, inside, outside. Instability in one's life has its pleasures, too: going from one place to another, from one language to another, from a lifestyle to another is an experience I wish everyone will get to try at least once.
My advice when you do: always keep the option to go 'home' open...

Anyways. If you read my blog, I'd be honoured. If you feel like reacting, I'd be extremely glad if you could leave a comment or shoot me an email.

And that will be all for my first contribution to this blog! Still got some work to do before I go to sleep.

Slapzaacht, wereld! ;-)