Six Weeks in Syria: iPhone Basics 101

iPhone Basics 101

April 17^th 2016

I love the way my grandparents communicate. There is a genuine underlying note of mercy attached to it that reminds me of one couple, the only couple I have ever seen in my life communicate the same way. The man is someone I went to elementary and middle school with. Years later he formed a band and I finally got a chance to see them live. One of the members was his then-girlfriend, now-wife, and they invited me to join them for lunch after a gig.

I will never forget the exchange between them. It still resonates in my head today and it has already been four years and every time I see their posts online, I pray for their joy, protection and love.

This does not mean good relationships have zero disagreements, but even when my grandparents “argue,” it sends everyone laughing, including them. Case and point: My grandmother saw that my grandfather’s night pills were missing at lunch, but the morning ones were still there. “You took the wrong pills Mister Abdallah!” He, in the other room, replied. “I took the ones that were in front of me!!” to which she replied, “You can’t take the wrong ones,” to which he then replied, “Well who cares? It’s all going down the same vessel anyway!”

All this in Arabic and in hilarity.

My mom left to Beirut to visit her uncle, my grandmother’s brother, yesterday. I decided to stick around because who would want to leave these two amazing characters? Last night my grandpa came to me and said, “If you’re scared to sleep alone in the guest house, you can come sleep here in the same room you slept in five years ago.” I thanked him and told him I would be fine, but when 2:30 a.m. rolled around and I couldn’t sleep, I realized I was scared.

How can one not be in a war torn country where sounds of bangs and bullets fill the air? Where stories of home invasions exist? Where some nights cars swerve and crash loudly outside your window and other nights people scream blood-curdling screams? It’s fear that holds you back from opening the blinds to check and see what’s going on because you don’t know if you’ll be hit or shot or a witness. So when the sun came out this morning, I finally fell asleep.

At 10:45 a.m. I got up, exhausted and still a little sick from the flu that left me bed ridden for days. After running a few errands out in the city, I came back home just before lunch, which was a very healthy spread for my tummy…and then a gorgeous plate of Makloobeh (a fried eggplant and rice dish).

Over soup, cumin sautéed carrots, and makloobeh, my grandparents were updating each other on their mornings. Then my grandpa said to my grandma, “Since you studied history, do you remember the name of the leader in Aleppo back in 1922?” She shook her head and then said, “But no worries, Dania will look it up for you on the Google.” That’s become my specialty apparently, because it’s what everyone says by default. I’m just that good at research.

So after lunch, as I nestled on the couch with my tea and reminisced about the days I used to do this five years ago, I grabbed my phone and began the googling. My grandmother joined me on the adjacent couch in the living room and heard me tell my grandpa the name. He nodded and said, “Yes, that’s him. I completely forgot his first name. Okay, can you look up something else?”

He stood behind my grandma and waited for my research results. When I gave him the answer, no more than 20 seconds later (thanks to an Arabic keyboard and Google speed) my grandmother was intrigued. My grandfather walked away satisfied and ready to take his afternoon nap. My grandmother was quiet for a bit, pondering my millennial-ness at work, when she said, “I don’t think my phone can do that.”

This is a very typical human response and I found it endearing from her. When one does not know how to do something, it’s almost an automatic reaction to assume it’s not possible. I said to her, “But you have the same phone I do, the newer version actually,” (she has the 6s), “so you can definitely type in and search for anything.” She picked up her phone and let her curiosity guide us into the next hour I had originally set aside to work on my mom’s book.

Unlocking her phone she showed me the screen and said, “See, I have no Google. Where do I type Google?” I chuckled—on the inside—and scooted on over closer to her and began what became iPhone Basics 101. I started with the introduction to Safari and opening windows and closing windows, because she had over 15 of them open unknowingly, thanks to links sent to her that she clicks through the infamous Whatsapp.

As we moved on to open a fresh new page on Safari, she asked to pause and got up. Seconds later she returned with her small black notebook and a pen, opening up to a page where there was already writing halfway through. She drew a line to start a new section, and without any title or heading she began writing my directions in Arabic.

CLICK ON THE ‘SAFARI’ BUTTON TO OPEN SEARCH PAGE.

Step by step we explored shifting languages on keyboards, finding the numbers on the keyboard, typing and hitting ‘GO’ and then what the search results on Google mean. We looked into searching images and how to read articles associated with each image and why some web pages are inaccessible or expired. With each step, she jotted.

“You think I can find the newspaper here? It’s become really expensive at 300 Syrian Pounds a piece.” For reference, it used to be 25 S.P. I nodded and told her she can type it in or, if an app for this paper has been created, it can be purchased and downloaded. She was impressed and immediately started typing in the search bar. When it appeared she was floored and began scrolling.

Halfway through reading the online version of their daily newspaper for the first time, she looked up at me with a gaze of bewilderment, and in an exact replication of my mom—her daughter—she said, in Arabic, “This technology, I mean, wow.” I smiled and remembered every single time my mother asked me to teach her something related to apps, software updates, emojis, or the ever so famous Uncle (Amo) Google.

She said she needed to keep practicing this or else she would forget how to do this once I leave, so we decided to start a new search. I asked jokingly, “Want to look up your name?” Matter-of-factly she replied, “I’m not written about. People do not write about me. Let’s look up Abdallah.” I learned something else about her we had in common (aside from the many others): We both prefer to work diligently backstage, not beneath the spotlights. She Googled her husband and I focused on her expressions, which were somewhere between delightful and inspiring.

After a solid ten minutes of scrolling up and down through articles and images, hitting the back arrow over and over, she asked me how to exit so she could write it down. “You see the double squares that appear on the bottom right, they show you all the open pages. Click the ‘x’ on the top left to close the pages.” She did so, wrote it down in her notebook, and then returned to the home screen.

I remember back when we arrived, my mom wanted to adorably flex her techno muscles and teach my grandma how to close apps to save data and battery life. My grandma forgot. “Teta (grandma), when you’re done with the phone, let me show you what you can do also to keep the battery lasting longer. Click the round center button twice and it shows you every open file. To close each one, slide it up. It saves you battery and net usage.” Her eyes widened. “Ooh, this is an important one for me to remember.”

The phone was locked and dark for only ten seconds when she said, “Okay, let me see what’s online about my family’s history.” And there she was, my charming student unlocking her phone, opening up Safari and Google searching her family name without my help! Yet another ten minutes later, I heard a video begin and a very familiar voice came out of the speaker. It was my mom! My grandma had fine tuned her internet skills and found her daughter on YouTube through a Google search.

I cried watching my grandma watching her “baby” speak. “Wow, she memorized the whole speech. Good for her!” I am so proud and once again really grateful for the smartphone technology and simplicity of Apple and their iPhones. Twice now, they have enabled me to aid and bond with my grandparents—who have been blessed to see four great grandkids after six grandkids—in the most difficult time of their lives.

This trip has made me see my grandparents (specifically my grandmother) even more deeply than when I spent six months here. I have seen so much of my personality in her mannerisms and her speech. I inherited a small percentage of the red headedness but a huge percentage of the sass.

Whenever my hope wants to fully crumble—because the people taking this place and situation for granted are painfully far more than the ones who care—I inhale the presence of these two. I embrace their energy and independence. I soak up their never-ending perseverance. I rise to help them and they tell me they’re good.

I admire their dedication to continue living, not surviving. There is no new technology or program out there that my grandmother does not get on top of to learn, benefit and give. My grandfather never passes up the daily newspaper, not only to read but to also cut out clippings of significant headlines, stories and comic strips, all of which are housed in a very neat notebook. This for documentation sake, for information and knowledge, for never forgetting.

[A heads up to the five other grandchildren: I call dibs on everything in my grandfather’s office. It’s my heaven on earth!]

My grandfather still gets classy old-fashioned card invitations in the mail for upcoming seminars and lectures, and in a suit and tie he shuffles down three flights of stairs to attend. To learn. To thrive.

They live on and have not let the obstacles break them down and that’s what Syria needs. That’s what the world needs. Spirits, so strong and so purposeful, that regardless of what comes their way, they move on. I am beyond grateful to God for these gifts: Being able to see them again after all this time, being here in the greatest place, and being the daughter of their remarkable daughter.

Next time on iPhone Basics: Siri. I’m pretty sure this is going to be both interesting and confusing, especially since the word Siri is extraordinarily close to the word “Suri” which means Syrian.

Six Weeks in Syria: Five Souls

Doorway into the garage turned shelter for 15 families

April 11^th 2016

Five Souls

We had only been in Syria about a week when we realized that washers and dryers were not going to be frequent luxuries. Both use high levels of electricity, which continues to be a rarity, so we have resorted to hand washing and drying on a clothesline. I admit it’s been quite an experience to go to the rooftop, hang my clothes with wooden pins at the early morning hours, and then accidentally locking myself out of the house.

My grandma was out of laundry detergent and so we headed to the closest walk-able kiosk that sells the pretty much what a mini mart sells. As we were paying for the large bottle of blue soap, a little boy, no more than three years old caught us. “Can you please buy me a cookie?” he asked my mom earnestly. “Please, a cookie!” The kiosk had rows and rows of chips and snacks and my mother bought him a bag, which he gleefully began to munch on before making his way.

Beggars fill the streets of Syria, even more so than they did before, and it is beyond painful to witness—from extremely young children to extremely old men and women.

I’ve been informed and warned, however, about certain beggars in the streets, young mothers with infants or single children who are actually part of a band run by exploiters; by those who refuse to send them to school because children make much more money on the streets for them than in schools. There are organizations who have worked hard to save these children, provide them with an education and appropriate clothing, only to find the children back on the streets, in ratty clothes, hunting down people for money.

This causes slight hesitation for those who are approached by beggars, but we’ve had some very unique encounters. A week and a half later, my mother and I were heading to an appointment and stopped at the best juice shop on this planet. She got an orange and strawberry blend, while I got my usual strawberries, bananas and milk blend. Fruits here taste absolutely divine, they taste real and sweet!

As I crossed the very busy street, yards behind my mother who speed walks 24/7, a little girl approached me. “Auntie! Auntie!” she called out as she began following me and tugging at my shirt. “Give me your juice. Please, give me the juice.” I am quite accustomed to kids chasing me down, begging for money, but no one ever begged me for food, and my half finished ones no less.

Embarrassed, I handed her my half filled cup, and she immediately took a hefty sip, before skipping away in her bright pink dirtied pajamas. She was probably six or seven and I spent the rest of the day thinking about her. Who was she? Where were her parents? Did she have a place to stay? Caregivers? Was she tired of begging for money for her “owners” and desperate to feed herself for once?

It was like God was sending these particular people our way. About two weeks later, as we were walking across the White Bridge, two young boys approached us—a 12 year old and a 9 year old. The older one asked, “Please, can you buy us both some ice cream? We just want to eat something.” The ice cream vendor beside us seemed agitated. He was probably tired of the nagging because he himself could not afford to constantly give out free ice cream.

My mom began getting out the little 300 Syrian Pounds (which today totals to $0.55) when the younger brother squealed with joy, “Ooh, I want the cone!” Once their cones had been filled with a high swirl of creamy vanilla, the older brother had a look of such humble appreciation, it was ground shaking. What if he was trying to make ends meet for his younger brother, or his whole family for that matter? What if they were both trying to find their ways outside of a group exploiting them and all they found was hunger?

I was about to get lost in my whirlwind of painful thoughts when we passed by a very very old man sitting on the sidewalk with his cane and a small box of wafer cookies. He, like many on the streets, was selling anything to sustain himself. His look, his presence, his facial expression, it was altogether heartbreakingly depressing. He looked like he had given up on life entirely, but like he also had nowhere else to go.

I died. I literally felt my heart stop and I stopped in my tracks. “Did you see that older man?” my mom asked. Holding back tears I said, “Yes, I want to go buy something, anything, from him.” I turned back and made my way over.

“Hi Uncle,” I called out to him softly, as to not startle him from his clearly deep thought-filled gaze. He immediately lit up in an unforgettable and welcoming smile, like I had been the only one to notice him, let alone stop by. Excitedly he told me I could take as many as I wanted.

It indeed was a crossroads because I wanted to help him and buy them all, but I also wondered if this was all he had for sale and whether or not he needed them for the rest of the day. I handed him the money and took one package. He prepared to hand me change and I told him it was not necessary.

Another night spent in tears, thinking about this man as old as my grandpa, and imagining what twists and turns his life had unfortunately taken that sent him begging on the cold streets, alone.

Did he have a family? If so, where were they? Was he making enough money to eat, even at least once a day? To pay rent or buy socks or keep warm? What about his health?

I drive myself insane with these questions and then ask myself where the rest of the people are. I ask myself why women are still splurging at beauty salons weekly and why men are wasting their time and money on nightly hookah sessions lasting till 2 or 3 in the morning.

Everyone has the right to move on and live, but everyone that has been given that blessing has also been given the responsibility to help others. I have heard the really repugnant excuse that there is nothing to be done and I have already wacked through the weeds of every excuse.

There are jobs at every corner. Imagine if a group of young and active Syrians could make a database of the employment opportunities available and share the knowledge with those desperate for income. Imagine if there could be training and orientation sessions hosted for those from underprivileged villages and in the shelters to help them gain interpersonal and financial management skills to become better equipped for the jobs at hand. Imagine if the youth could set an example for their communities at picking up trash and/or refraining from dumping it into the streets.

There has to be more done onsite, more action and less passivity. Extremely young children and elderly should not be destined to life on the streets as a means of survival. No one should.

That night, my mother was fasting, and as we prepared her dinner I asked her to pray for that man, for those five souls and all suffering, and specifically to pray for the remaining souls in need of a massive awakening.