April 2008

It was raining in Damascus when the 15-year-old girl ran away from school to go to the cinema with her friends. She was carrying a notebook of important notes for her upcoming exams. The notebook slipped out of her hand, was muddied and damaged beyond repair. Looking back 59 years later, she chuckled, “It was bad luck at the time—or perhaps, it was good luck in the long run!”

Ali Bin Abi Taleb, the fourth Muslim Caliph, once said that there are three things that a man should not disclose: dahabak (your gold), zahabak (your whereabouts), mazhabak (your sect). Wise words from a wise man—completely absent in the world we live in. Last week during the Catholic Easter, I heard all kinds of jokes from my Greek Orthodox friends, because it did not rain on Good Friday, claiming that it undoubtedly would rain on the Orthodox holiday, which falls on April 23. Not only did it not rain on March 21, the weather took a U-turn and it became exceptionally hot in Damascus! That day I called up a friend to wish her the best on Easter and joked, “Are you Catholic or Orthodox?” She replied, “I hate that question and I refuse to answer it!” I was belittled by my own silly question and was ashamed of myself for asking. This petty sectarianism—thanks to Lebanon and Iraq—is even more magnified when it comes to Shiites and Sunnis in the Muslim faith. The Sunnis of the Muslim World, this time thanks to Western media and its side-affects on the Arab press, are starting to refer to Shiites as if they were a different religion—coming from a different planet. Just look at the news coming from Iraq: “Omar, a Sunni barber, was gunned down by Ali, a Shiite car mechanic, in al-Mansour, a mixed Shiite-Sunni neighborhood of Baghdad!”

 

“His thoughts have a high aim, though their dwellings be in the vale of a humble heart.” Montaigne

 

Exceptional, intelligent and gifted, the Senior Project Coordinator for the Syrian Health Development Sector, Dr. Rola Kaakeh, has reached this lofty position at just 21 years of age. Her academic brilliance is exceptional, yet it’s her sensitivity, simplicity and caring nature that make her an exceptional human being. This perfect combination makes her a national treasure. Though born and raised in the States, Kaakeh always associated with her Syrian roots. Her parents cherished their Syrian origins, and nurtured family ties, instilling in her and her siblings the values of Arab culture. She is passionate about her work, as she sees in it an opportunity to build a “healthier” future for the country she loves. Her balanced attitude keeps her optimistic while having realistic expectations. Kaakeh’s story began at a very young age; her kindergarten teachers noticed her natural abilities, and started her on the path of skipping grades and taking advanced classes until she was ten years old when she was first admitted to Purdue University. Her parents understood her academic need to be constantly challenged, yet they never underestimated her natural need to be with her friends and live her life like any other child. They insisted that she continue going to classes with children her age, while attending university courses at Purdue in the afternoon. At 19, Kaakeh received her doctor of pharmacy degree with a minor in organizational leadership and supervision. She moved to Syria in 2007 to pursue a career in health sector development. Once here, she received the “Excellence in Public Health Practice Award,” in recognition of her commitment and contributions to the national public pharmaceutical practice; her achievements were recognized by President Bashar al-Assad and First Lady Asma al-Assad, and her “brains” were applauded in magazines and newspapers. Kaakeh’s commitment to community service is as impressive as her academic brilliance, and goes back to her childhood years. She is part of the Aleppo University/Purdue University Pharmacy Initiative, in which she is introducing the non-traditional Doctor of Pharmacy program. She has volunteered to help inform Middle Eastern students on American life and culture, and to help raise cancer awareness in the community.

Music Therapy as a science goes back to 1948, shortly after World War II. At the time, several countries started treating their shell-shocked soldiers with music. They discovered that there is no specific “music center” in the brain, rather when patients hears music, preferably music they like, the neurological stimulation that follows leads to relaxation. Music affects the level of the cortisol hormone, lifting the patient’s mood thereby decreases pain and activating the body’s immunity system. Music therapy sessions can be applied on both the elderly and the young.

 

In early Christian and Muslim traditions, Damascus originally existed as the Garden of Eden. The city was described as mythical, deeply rooted in a heroic past; “Paradise which the righteous have been promised.” It is also mentioned in Shakespeare’s Henry IV as the place that cursed the sight of Cain killing his brother Abel, to the extent that Qasyoun Mountain opened its mouth in awe.

 

In a year when the race for the White House is dominating headlines and political parties are working overtime to get the vote out, a handful of Arab-American performers are vying for the hearts and minds of their countrymen via awareness through laughter.

 

Call it the new Arab Lobby -- only it’s not the minds of those on Capitol Hill this group is looking to woo. Across the country, performers of Arab and Iranian heritage are taking their case to Hollywood with an explicit message: No More Mr. Bad Guy. “There aren’t any American movies with an Arab hero, or romantic comedies with an Arab-American lead,” explains comedian Dean Obeidallah, a co-founder of the Arab-American Comedy Festival, held last month in New York.

In April 19, Syrian lovers of visual art will be on a date to attend a new photograph exhibition for the works of renowned Syrian photographer and filmmaker Ammar al-Beik at Ayyam Gallery.

His five earlier photography exhibitions were held from 1996-2001 at the Cervantes Cultural Center and the Goethe Cultural Center in Damascus; The Cultural Youth Club in Tunisia; and two photographic biennials in Switzerland and Italy.

After 37 years of service as a housewife, my wife grabbed a small plucked chicken and placed it in a small box with a glass window and an internal light called the MICROWAVE. She then used one of her ten fingers and pushed a big button, causing the poor chicken to rotate on a small platter for 10 minutes. She added some spices and brought it for dinner, waving left and right, from fatigue. As she placed the dish on the table, she said, “Ugh, I am so tired! What a back-breaking day!” I did not reply. She invited me to start eating, which I did.

 

“There was just no where we wanted to put our three kids,” says Hadeel al-Asmar, general manager of the Montessori school, while waiting for her husband to start the interview. “None of the schools that were available back in 2000 suited our standards at all.” For the Hasan’s, the needs of their children and their family always came first. It is what drove them to go to Canada in 1995, emigrating in hopes for a better life for their children. It is also what brought them back to Syria in the year 2000.

 

An Arab journalist, born in Lebanon, raised in Switzerland, and educated in England. How did this multicultural backdrop shape your career? Was there something in your childhood that pushed you into studying politics and working in journalism?

 

Growing up in Beirut, I was confronted with the realities of our civil war and the heated debates that accompanied it. I was far too young to make any sense of the chaos, the destruction, and the tensions that marred the city during that period. I asked many questions only to be told repeatedly “you’ll find out when you grow up.” These lingering memories and unanswered questions piqued my curiosity and made me always want to learn more about the complexities of the Middle East. As the war did not give any sign of letting up, and as I started spending more days in bomb shelters that in classrooms, my parents eventually sent me to a small school in Europe. I was uprooted and yet extremely privileged to escape the violence. When I arrived in Switzerland, I remember the stark difference between the two countries and wondered why there was war when peace seemed so easy, so natural. I went on to attend university in England, where I studied international relations. It was in the early nineties, when the first Gulf War was being waged, and for the first time, a war was being broadcast live on television. That is when I decided to pursue a journalistic career. And upon graduation, I landed my first job with a major Arabic-language newspaper.