Perched On My Rock

My mother told me that on the night I was born a storm of freakish magnitude hit Tartous putting the fear of god in the hearts of her people. The little town was ravaged by torrential rains and strong gales. The power went down and all hell broke loose. Psychotic lightening raped the sky with lunatic vehemence, quavered then climaxed in deafening rolls of thunder. Tormented shutters flapped on hinges in agony and moaned. The wind howled in between the alleys chasing genies deep into their holes. Rain drummed on tin roofs in a sadistic crescendo. Thunder bellowed threatening to disgorge the earth beneath. The sea pounded the beach a hundred meters from the room with a view to the sea, spitting its froth on the window. It roared above them all with deafening anger: “Be quiet!”, then I cried.

As a toddler I sat all day in my playpen on the balcony facing the sea. That was the only way to keep me content, my mother's bedtime story went on. Browsing old black and white photographs, I see myself swimming by the age of four. I have no recollection of my first steps nor of my earliest plunge. I do know, however, that the passage of years did not change me in the least. I still run away from it all and stare at the sea with an insatiable hunger and a profound thirst. Even in the dead of winter, when only a fool with a lantern roams the beach, I am there perched on my rock.

One thing about Tartous which made it different from all the landlocked cities I lived in is the expanse of her horizon. I remember an early trip to Damascus when my mother and father were traveling abroad and had to leave me at my grandparents'. I searched for the horizon but could not find it and I was afraid. How did they live within walls of mortar and shadows and not suffocate? Where did they escape to when their world closed in? There was no salt in the air to breathe. They did not sweat nor feel the caressing fingers of a westerly breeze cooling their bereaved souls. No sail carried their cravings to foreign lands. No ship horn wailed in the dark of night filling their minds with vocal scenes. Did they ever dream while they slept or did they barely live, fearless of getting lost at sea?

I have counted my days and ways by the ensuing tides, my spirit rising and falling with the imminent swell. I spread my wings and soared with the seagulls above. I let go, drifting, till I turned into a far-flung spec then disappeared. Time, being left without me, panicked. It gathered its hours and minutes and scurried beyond the mountains to the east, waiting for me to reappear.

I fell in a waterspout, morphing with the distant ripples. By dawn, they made it as breakers to shore. I climbed on my rock, naked and strong. I filled my lungs with mist and walked the desolation. The cowardly time, finding courage in my return and eager to please, asked me when I wanted to go.

I slumped in my bed, where I was born in my home by the sea. My nightly voyage left me invigorated and alive. I shut my eyes not to sleep but to see you closer. And I did.

Upside Down

It's been much longer than I wanted to. I haven't been able to read as much as I'd like, to ride my motorcycle on a twisted mountain road, to walk by the sea or to sit down in the privacy of my own thoughts and blog. Working for a living is the most overrated human activity. To take pride in what we do is acceptable but to surrender our identities to our careers is so pitifully vain. I honor what I do but what I do doesn't add or take away anything from what I truly am. Since my last business trip, work has been pressing parasitically on my personal space. I work for a living that's true but I need to eventually take a firm stand and not allow a job, any job, to turn my life upside down.

And this brings us to the recipe I chose to share with you today: Ma'loubeh or Upside Down is a Levantine eggplant dish. I often post about local recipes in their most basic form for a purpose. I want you, the reader, to be able to acquire, prepare and cook the dish without hassle. This is exactly the case with my Upside Down since there are so many more elaborate variations to this basic theme.

I must confess that as a child I was not a fan of eggplants at all. In fact, I'm not really that fond of them even today. However, I have changed my attitude to not eating something because I don't like to eating it and appreciating the fact that I have food on my table while many people are hungry around the world. You might be wondering why am I swaying left and right when all I intend to write about ultimately is a recipe. I guess this is my own way of getting in the mood for blogging again. I'm wetting my toes before I dive in and shiver in the briskly cool waters of November.

If you're into eggplants (as food or in some other twisted and kinky way) Ma'loubeh will turn you upside down. I wonder why they don't call it 69? Come to think of it, it's equally appropriate:-)

Ingredients:
2 cups rice - (long grain)
400 g ground beef or minced lamb
1 kg round eggplants - cut in slices (1” thick)
1 small onion – diced
Salt, pepper and spices as per preference (for the meat and rice)
1 cube chicken broth
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon vegetable oil

Preparation:

• Mix the meat and onions in a frying pan over medium heat until golden brown
• Separately heat the eggplants in a large pan on both sides (10 minutes each) in the oven (high) then remove and wait for the pan to cool a little so you don't burn your hands. Uuuhhh, if you're the gorgeous woman I have in mind let me kiss that burn for you. If you're a man and happen to burn your hand, stick it somewhere then get back to cooking (don't forget to wash it first)
• Arrange the eggplants side by side and in layers if needed with the meat and onions
• Add 2 ½ cups water and 1 cube of chicken broth. Wrap in aluminum foil completely and return to oven for 20 minutes
• Remove and collect the sauce in a small pot
• In the same frying pan we used for the meat and onions, heat the butter then stir in the rice for a few minutes before throwing it in the sauce to cook (normal way of cooking rice)
• Bring in a new pot (its shape will determine the final look of the dish) and spread the eggplants, meat and onions at the bottom. Top with 1/3 the quantity of cooked rice then another layer of the remaining eggplants, meat and onions then the rest of the rice
• Place the serving glassware on top of the pot and turn Upside Down to get the dish ready for the table
• Enjoy with salted plain yogurt on the side (add some garlic for great taste)

Sahha W Hana

Amal Hayati

I was out with the guys last night. We laughed and bellowed. We bickered and fought. We ate and drank then we listened to Om Kalthoum.
Amal Hayati (Hope of My Life) 1965, lyrics by Ahmad Shafik Kamel (1919-2008), music by Mohamad Abdul Wahab (1900-1991).
I can only translate, to the best of my ability, most of this magnificent love poem and hope that somehow you get to enjoy the voice, the music and the timeless words.
For you are, Amal Hayati.

Hope of my life,
My endless love
The most beautiful song
My heart has heard
Take my life, all of it
Just let me be
With you only today
In the lap of your heart
Let me dream
Never to wake up again 

My Hope, my life, my eyes
You're more precious than myself
My Habibi of yesterday
And now my Habibi
And then till the end of time, Habibi
Tell me…
What harbor am I missing,
When I'm in your arms
I've never known so much protection
Such as yours
I've never loved my life Habibi
Except for you
I faced my hopes, I faced the world
I faced love
The first time I met you and gave you my heart
You're the life in my heart
More happiness than this I can't take
More than what I have I don't need
After being with you
I wouldn't mind to die

It's enough for me
To wake up hearing your lips whisper
A song
Oh my never-ending love
In the lap of your heart
Let me dream
Never to wake up again
My love for you
has filled the whole world with adoration
When we're together it's just hard
To blink en eye
Even for a second
I can't not see you
I can't not be blessed by you
That's how much I miss you
That's how I long for you
I wish I could find a word
No one had used before
A word as vast as my love
A word as huge as my cravings and my passion
A word like you
If there's such a word
For there's no way on earth
To create anything else like you
In the lap of your heart
Let me dream
Never to wake up again

October Rain

Nightly wind puffs
From the mountains swirled
Carrying sickly leaves
Far to the sea
A moist breeze stirred the chalky branches
Under the dolorous stare of a meeker sun
Old Summer wheezed its last breath
Mercy-killed by an October cloudburst
At long last
Rain washed the dusty roads
Cleansed taint souls
Brought the life back to me
A forlorn survivor
Of dog days melting in potholes
Burdens of happiness gone
Less dispirited but longing still
For a downpour to sweep me away
To carry me to a place
I only knew in dreams
to make me whole, to paint me green

By my window a world goes by
Young mothers with babies stroll
Their potbellied men buying groceries
Teenagers smoking addiction
Lean on cars
Lovers running out of space
Watched by solemn eyes
People stuck in stranded schooners
Tilting to starboard, capsizing
Drunk drivers, intoxicated by chimeras
Of heaven and hell
Growing beards, wearing robes
Beautiful women covering up
mentally raped to submission
Generations turning bitter
Shaming us with heavy guilt
A smile gone from the face of a child
Raised to obey not to question
To live in the shadow of fear
Suffocating his original urges
Bringing them to their knees
Giving up, letting go
Too early of his dream

It is October
My month to draw Arak and
Store the wine in barrels
I walk by the sea in a cool zephyr blown
Through the lips of enchanting mermaids
Their faces, their long hair and pink nipples
Disappearing then appearing
Through the oily surface of my sea
By the outcrop of rocks at the end
of the desert road I sit
my heart leaping away catching
A loose rope trailing a steaming ship
Mind soaring with seagulls high above
I fear for them what they trust
For they cannot see what I see
Beyond this place I have grown
Further than the end of time
Way above what they are
What they will ever be
I am flying I am free

Hymens For Sale

It might come as a surprise to many but hymens are not unique to the human species. Due to similar biological evolution many female mammals, including chimpanzees, elephants and whales retained theirs as well. And no, there is no embedded wisdom or ultimate truth behind the existence of hymens more than their functional role of preventing infections in young females from external sources. There is as much intended purpose behind a hymen as there is in the persistent presence of the appendix in humans in general and nipples in men in particular. That dealt with and out of the way let us address this very interesting and hot topic (might be wet and messy as well).

I first read about artificial virginity on my favorite blog Suffonsifisms written by Isobel . Global Voices' own Hisham also linked to the same subject written in French by the Moroccan Blogger Mounir. In her post titled Artificial Virginity then in Furthermore…as if it wasn’t bad enough, Isobel addressed the subject matter with understandable dismay. She realizes of course that in many paternal societies the dominant males have conspired, due to their own mental impotency, against women and degraded this fold of mucus membrane to the same low level as their fecal honor. She is much nicer than me though and more restrained. The hymen per say is a worthless remnant of less hygienic times. It's a dirty little bugger at best but certainly cleaner than the minds of men who obsessed over the right of women to have an active premarital sexual life. In false pretense they will argue that men too should abstain from having sex outside wedlock. However, since they have impenetrable hymens covering their brains they truly believe that there is a divine message here. Accordingly, a man's sin might go unnoticed and forgivable eventually but not that of a woman. “شرف البنت زي عود الكبريت ما يولعش الا مرة واحدة” A girl's honor is like a matchstick. It can only burn once. When a girl ruptures her hymen she becomes fair game for the chimps in her family or tribe. Executing her to preserve their honor still goes on in many parts of the Middle East (and elsewhere) in what is miserably known as Honor Killing.

I am neither advocating nor opposing premarital sex. It is simply nobody's goddamn business. What a man or woman chooses to do with his or her own body is entirely up to them. Screw traditions, morals and customs on a collective basis. They matter to you, very well instill them in your own children. When they become adults they have the right to choose whether they want to remain chaste and pure till they get married or not. Your moral role as parent, father be it or mother, ends when your children reach adulthood. More importantly, you and I have no right to condemn the sexual behavior of others. We see something we do not like, we can shut up and mind our own boxers or undies.

A man's honor deserves better than to hide inside the underwear of women. As to this clever new $15 Chinese device and which is primarily used to emulate virginity so that an idiot of a man never finds out whether "his" woman had her “cherry popped” or not before him I only have this to say: such archaic cultural apes deserve nothing more, nothing less, than an artificial hymen to make them feel like real men. I am glad to add that it is already on sale in Syria.

Xie Xie Zhong Guo, “Thank You China”. I cannot wait for your next invention, an artificial brain in the shape of a dildo. Perhaps this leading Egyptian scholar can stick it up where the sun never shines and dies of an orgasmic fit.

Nights in Copenhagen

Once I was young and green I had a one night stand with the city of Copenhagen and this is where my plane landed last week. Twelve hours after I closed my front door in Tartous I found myself sliding the plastic key in the door slot of a hotel room in the center of Copenhagen. She and I acted like total strangers and did not recognize each other at all. I was exhausted as I dragged myself to the shower. I stood there in the corner, my hands touching the dark tiles, my forehead pressed firmly to the wall. Hot water cascaded down my body washing away the dirt and grime but not the craving and longing. I made it to bed, to the welcoming embrace of the white sheets wrapping my body. I gave up in total surrender, I truly needed to sleep.

At exactly midnight the sky over Copenhagen was ripped apart by a succession of explosions. From behind foggy eyes and a blind mind I cussed under my breath. What a fuckin' time and place to start WWIII. I'm gonna die in the arms of a foreign city even before we had a chance to make love. The celebration faded out and the fireworks ended. Locals and strangers left the streets and jumped in beds in pairs or alone. There might've been a few who found solace in an orgy judging from the hyaenic laughter echoing in the night. Why not, enjoy it lads while it lasts.



I couldn't sleep! I witnessed the dark of night being slaughtered by daylight and found myself walking at eight o'clock in the morning with the herds of the corporate world. Like cardinals convening to elect a new pope, doors were closed shut behind us for a twelve-hour meeting. Sandwiches were brought in as if they were contraband narcotics. We ate in silence and haste. In between the bottles of soft drinks and water, fresh juices and milk I spotted a solitary bottle of wine. Was it brought in by mistake or did my guardian angel have pity on me. The last five hours went by almost painlessly. I truly needed to drink.

I wasn't the only one in that bad a shape. A few of my comrades felt the same. We joined forces and raided the hotel bar for a nightcap. Little did we know that we would stay there deep in time. So deep in fact I didn't quite see the feasibility of shutting my eyes for an hour or two before the next start of a business day. So I went on, walking the same street as the day before at eight o'clock in the morning, crossing the Tivoli Gardens and climbing the stairs of the historic building, turned convention center. We convened again behind closed doors; Copenhagen on the other side of the window remained a mysterious woman, untouched, unloved by me and by thousands of walking zombies in the world of business.

The day ended just like the previous one. I was giddy from the bottle of white wine I found again and hungry for the food I couldn't touch. The same bunch of desperate men walked the cobble stoned streets seeking a bite and a drink. We found ourselves in MASH, Copenhagen's finest steakhouse where the night was young and a river of Australian wine freely flowed. We satiated our carnivore genes with giant pieces of scrumptious meat and gulped the red intoxicating elixir. The talk was engaging. Who would've thought that a bunch of suits and ties would consume the night with banter about the meaning of life instead of spreadsheets and presentations? Alas, we work like beasts of burden for five days a week to squeeze our lives into an infinitesimal ball of joy and watch it go up in flame on a Saturday. Then like God, we rest on the Seventh, dreading the coming week, and the one behind, then the one after.

Less than two hours into slumber the alarm went off. It's time to down another cup of coffee in the lobby downstairs then to take a taxi to the airport. Twelve hours later I was turning the key in my door lock in Tartous. I let the water washes away the dirt and grime, the craving and longing remained untouchable. I threw myself in bed and lost consciousness. It was raining when I woke up.

“How was Copenhagen,” my kids asked?

“I really don't know. I never saw her.”


During my insomniac time in Copenhagen, I listened to Nights in White Satin. From the distant past (1967), here are the Moody Blues.



Nights in white satin, never reaching the end,
Letters I've written, never meaning to send.
Beauty I'd always missed with these eyes before.
Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.

'Cos I love you, yes I love you, oh how I love you.

Gazing at people, some hand in hand,
Just what I'm going through they can't understand.
Some try to tell me, thoughts they cannot defend,
Just what you want to be, you will be in the end.

And I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.

Nights in white satin, never reaching the end,
Letters I've written, never meaning to send.
Beauty I've always missed, with these eyes before.
Just what the truth is, I can't say anymore.

'Cos I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.
'Cos I love you, yes I love you,
Oh how I love you, oh how I love you.

Breath deep
The gathering gloom
Watch lights fade
From every room
Bedsitter people
Look back and lament
Another day's useless
Energy spent

Impassioned lovers
Wrestle as one
Lonely man cries for love
And has none
New mother picks up
And suckles her son
Senior citizens
Wish they were young

Cold hearted orb
That rules the night
Removes the colours
From our sight
Red is gray and
Yellow white
But we decide
Which is right
And
Which is an Illusion

Different Minds, Different Soups

We should wash our hands, but most importantly our hearts, before we sit around the table together. The holy month is nearing its end and a post about my two favorite Ramadan soups is in order. As varied as we are in Syria, as different as we are as bloggers, there are so many soups to enjoy none of which is right or wrong. We're a passionate crowd, us Levantines, and we are known to pick fights with our own shadows when we can't find someone to disagree with.

Yet the disparity of opinions should never degrade to a personal conflict. In the free future most of us aspire to no one should set rules for the others to follow. We might as well stay as we are if we don't have it in us to embrace all the colors of the rainbow. Neither I nor whoever disagrees with me have the correct answer. My proven science and their divine text mean so much to each of us respectively but might signify nothing to a third person. It's not a matter of numbers or of a majority and minorities. If we truly aspire to be free we have to defend the freedom of those at odds with us first.

I leave you with the double-recipe for Lentil and Red Soups. Over the last month I've rarely strayed from either one or the other on the Iftar table. They are prepared differently, they look different, they taste different, but both are authentic Syrian cuisine and come with plenty of meat:-)

Ah and on a final note... I wish you all a Happy Eid Fitr. I wish I could've enjoyed it here at home but it so happens that I'm traveling over the holidays to a new land. Hopefully, I'll come back with a story.

Lentil Soup

Lentils 2 cups (cleaned and rinsed in cold water)
Short grain rice ½ cup (cleaned and rinsed in cold water)
Ground beef or minced lamb 200g rolled into small balls ½ “ in diameter
1 small onion (diced)
Chicken broth 1 small cube
Butter 1 tablespoon
Salt 1 tablespoon (or per taste)
Cumin ½ teaspoon
Black pepper ½ teaspoon



-Bring salted lentils and rice to boil in 4 cups of water – Keep uncovered over medium-high for 30 minutes.
-Pour into manual food masher (with the water) and mash them so they come out the bottom, well... well-mashed.
-Separately fry the diced onion in some butter until light brown.
-Separately fry the meat balls in the rest of the butter until brown.
Add the well-mashed lentils and rice mix to the fried onion and meat balls, top them with 2 cups of hot water.
Sprinkle with cumin and black pepper and a (cut into small pieces) cube of chicken broth. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low and keep for 30 minutes.

Serve and enjoy Ummmm


Red Soup

Ground beef or minced lamb 200g rolled into small balls ½ “ in diameter
Vermicelli 1 cup
Tomato paste 2 tablespoons
Chicken broth 1 cube
Salt 1 tablespoon (or per taste)
Black pepper ½ teaspoon




-Fry the balls of meat in butter until golden brown. Remove replace with vermicelli and heat until red.
-Separately bring 5 cups of water to boil then add meat balls, vermicelli, chicken broth, tomato paste. Stir for a while then leave over medium-low heat for 30 minutes.
*Be very careful not to add cold water to the vermicelli because it will go crazy and turn Afro.

Sahha wa Hana