Many of you have probably attended wine tastings (though I never have.) Last night, however, I went to an olive oil tasting. Some people tell me this is becoming popular in the U.S.
I went to a very small restaurant/bar in Genmayze, where 14 of us were seated at a long table. A woman from a local NGO explained to us how most Lebanese olive oil is garbage. Though of course the Lebanese and people from the villages are very proud of their traditional agricultural products.
Extra virgin is cold pressed and has no more than .8% acidity. But even if oil passes the laboratory tests for acidity and peroxide levels, it still can't be considered "extra virgin" until a professional taster deems it as such. If olive oil is labeled "pure", "refined", or "light", run the other way--full speed! Its taste and acidity has been chemically controlled.
In 2004, 3% of olive oil production in Lebanon was classified as extra virgin. Today, through the work of NGOs educating small farmers (defined as having less than 5 dollum, 5,000 square feet), who are 50% of the growers, the production is now at 10%.
It's a very sensitive process that entails not hitting the trees with sticks (which also stymies their production the following season), to not putting them in bags but leaving them in crates, to taking them to the press in less than 48 hours, and using a modern mill, instead of the traditional stone ones (which are 87% in Lebanon) because that exposes the paste to air which starts fermentation.
The ideal time to harvest is in October when the color changes from green to black. But Lebanese farmers usually wait until later in the season when the olives are fatter.
I was riveted by all this information.
Then came the practicum.
In front of me were 5 plastic cups with some olive oil. Foil covered the tops, and they were labeled A through E. With full concentration, we were to hold the cup in front of us, and then put it in the palm of our other hand, turning it in a small circle, to mix it up and heat it up. Then we were to smell and put the foil back on.
Then, we were supposed to line them up from best to worst. The best is if you took an olive from the tree and squeezed it. The worst is you're at a stone mill, with a car running outside, the exhaust mixing with people smoking cigarettes, and people stepping on the stuff, and using dirty crates and machines--chemical contamination.
D and E were about the same and the best. They had that robust, distinctive olive oil scent that I've come to appreciate since I've come to Lebanon. A was insipid and bland. B and C were both putrid and chemically.
Then we tasted. I slirped it back, hearing the air slide through my teeth and cross my tongue. In between, I ate apples and drank water to clear my palette.
After that, I deemed E to be the best and C to be the worst.
Check it out!!!
A is the best and most pure.
D and E are contaminated!!!! B and C are the best but a year old, so they got rancid. Olive oil isn't good the following year. It lasts 18 months at the most.
So I thought D and E were the best because that's what I've gotten used to from living here for so long. I'm always eating the real-deal stuff that people buy from their neighbors in the village. And really, it's all contaminated! That robust, distinct flavor is exhaust and cigarettes and other pollutants.
Wow! It's like my whole world has been turned upside-down. . .
January 31, 2009
January 28, 2009
Being Black in Lebanon
Being black in Lebanon means you’re a servant.
It means that if you’re sitting on the bus, people will solicit you to come to their house and clean for the going rate of 7,000 L.L./hour (a little less than $5).
It means that if you’re walking with your white friend, and she’s carrying her bag or her baby or her groceries, you will get yelled at for not doing your job.
It means if you’re at a restaurant with non-black people, the wait staff will never ask for your order or expect you to pay.
It means people will ask you, “Are you Sri Lankan or Sudanese?”, and when you answer “American” in a perfect native-speaker American accent (because you don't speak any other language), people will ask, “But are you Sri Lankan or Sudanese?”
It means you are free game for men to grab and touch you.
It means you will be called ugly and “slave” to your face. (Actually this requires an explanatory note. The word “3bd” literally means slave or servant in Arabic. The common name 3bdallah means “Servant of God”. Arabs use this word to refer to black people. Instead of saying the color black, “aswad”, from which the country name Sudan comes, people say “servant/slave”.)
If you're coming for a visit, be prepared. It helps to not speak Arabic. It's tiring, frustrating, upsetting, offending to know the things they are shouting/whispering/chiding at you on the street and in the homes of your hosts.
It means that if you’re sitting on the bus, people will solicit you to come to their house and clean for the going rate of 7,000 L.L./hour (a little less than $5).
It means that if you’re walking with your white friend, and she’s carrying her bag or her baby or her groceries, you will get yelled at for not doing your job.
It means if you’re at a restaurant with non-black people, the wait staff will never ask for your order or expect you to pay.
It means people will ask you, “Are you Sri Lankan or Sudanese?”, and when you answer “American” in a perfect native-speaker American accent (because you don't speak any other language), people will ask, “But are you Sri Lankan or Sudanese?”
It means you are free game for men to grab and touch you.
It means you will be called ugly and “slave” to your face. (Actually this requires an explanatory note. The word “3bd” literally means slave or servant in Arabic. The common name 3bdallah means “Servant of God”. Arabs use this word to refer to black people. Instead of saying the color black, “aswad”, from which the country name Sudan comes, people say “servant/slave”.)
If you're coming for a visit, be prepared. It helps to not speak Arabic. It's tiring, frustrating, upsetting, offending to know the things they are shouting/whispering/chiding at you on the street and in the homes of your hosts.
January 21, 2009
My New Neighbor
My new neighbor moved in when I was in New York last month. Her name is Marie Monique, and she's from Madagascar. I can't talk to her very much. But I say things like, "Je m'appelle Jane. Je suis americaine." She came on a contract to work and live in a house as a domestic worker.
The woman who had her position before her, Helen, was from the Phillipines. Helen and I talked a lot. I gave her books to read in English and materials to learn Arabic. The Arabic materials really opened up a whole new world for her. After three years, she was speaking very well, but she never saw it written. Now she could learn the correct sounds and some of the grammar, and she could start to fix her own mistakes. Helen spent most of her time locked in the house alone. (They locked her in out of the common fear/perception/myth that "maids" will run away--after stealing all your stuff.) So she was able to watch a lot of TV, which greatly improved her English.
I see Marie most of the time from my kitchen window when she stands at hers. Across the way, we talk. I'm teaching her Arabic. The sooner she's figuring out what they're saying, the better for her. That's how I figure it.
This morning, I called the pastor of the Malagasy church, a woman who's been here for 10 years. Marie can open the door, but not the iron gate in front of it. So through the bars, I handed her the phone. I'm sure she has not talked to anyone in her language since she arrived. She was asking about making phone calls. Her employers haven't taken her to the centrale to use the phone yet.
What to do? I didn't dare talk to the employers when Helen was there. I didn't want her to get in trouble and make her situation worse. But I wanted to talk to those people after Helen left, before the new woman came. Sadly, I missed my window of opportunity because I was in New York.
My roommate came in late last night from the U.S. She saw me in the hall talking to Marie. I introduced them briefly. Later, all tired and jet-lagged, she mumbled, "Why am I back in such a f--- up country that trades in slaves?"
This woman came to work under a "contract." She will not see her wages for the first three months. (It's illegal under international law for the agencies to do this.) I wonder what it's supposed to be, maybe $100/month? I'll ask. And then I'll ask when she sees it. She doesn't really know what she's in for. In the meantime, I'll try to learn some French.
The woman who had her position before her, Helen, was from the Phillipines. Helen and I talked a lot. I gave her books to read in English and materials to learn Arabic. The Arabic materials really opened up a whole new world for her. After three years, she was speaking very well, but she never saw it written. Now she could learn the correct sounds and some of the grammar, and she could start to fix her own mistakes. Helen spent most of her time locked in the house alone. (They locked her in out of the common fear/perception/myth that "maids" will run away--after stealing all your stuff.) So she was able to watch a lot of TV, which greatly improved her English.
I see Marie most of the time from my kitchen window when she stands at hers. Across the way, we talk. I'm teaching her Arabic. The sooner she's figuring out what they're saying, the better for her. That's how I figure it.
This morning, I called the pastor of the Malagasy church, a woman who's been here for 10 years. Marie can open the door, but not the iron gate in front of it. So through the bars, I handed her the phone. I'm sure she has not talked to anyone in her language since she arrived. She was asking about making phone calls. Her employers haven't taken her to the centrale to use the phone yet.
What to do? I didn't dare talk to the employers when Helen was there. I didn't want her to get in trouble and make her situation worse. But I wanted to talk to those people after Helen left, before the new woman came. Sadly, I missed my window of opportunity because I was in New York.
My roommate came in late last night from the U.S. She saw me in the hall talking to Marie. I introduced them briefly. Later, all tired and jet-lagged, she mumbled, "Why am I back in such a f--- up country that trades in slaves?"
This woman came to work under a "contract." She will not see her wages for the first three months. (It's illegal under international law for the agencies to do this.) I wonder what it's supposed to be, maybe $100/month? I'll ask. And then I'll ask when she sees it. She doesn't really know what she's in for. In the meantime, I'll try to learn some French.
Wani just called from Sweden
He is very happy and can't believe how much God has blessed him. The only problem is that it's too cold.
He lives in a town about 500 km. north of Stockholm. He's the only Sudanese there. The government will pay him $1000/month for two years. His rent is $500/month. He is taking 4 hours of Swedish a day and 3 hours of music lessons. When he becomes a professional musician, he will earn more than $5000/month with 40% going to taxes.
He lives in a town about 500 km. north of Stockholm. He's the only Sudanese there. The government will pay him $1000/month for two years. His rent is $500/month. He is taking 4 hours of Swedish a day and 3 hours of music lessons. When he becomes a professional musician, he will earn more than $5000/month with 40% going to taxes.
Waiting and Expecting
I was talking to a Belgian free-lance journalist at a bar this weekend. I asked him how work is. In general, Beirut is a pretty flooded market for foreign free-lance writers. He said it's slow, but he's sure things will pick up in a couple months.
February 14-Hariri trial starts in the Hague
February-Israeli elections
June 7-Parliamentary elections
February 14-Hariri trial starts in the Hague
February-Israeli elections
June 7-Parliamentary elections
January 17, 2009
Frederick Douglass & Migrant Domestic Workers in Lebanon
My eighth-grade students at the American Community School in Beirut, Lebanon walked in to find a question on the board. This was the routine. They opened their journals and started to write their response to, “How does slavery dehumanize?” When they shared their responses, they started with,
“The masters treated them like animals.”
“They would beat them for no reason.”
“They would take the women and rape them.”
“They would separate them from their family members.”
Then I read to them the passage about Frederick’s new mistress, Sophia Auld.
She was entirely unlike any other white woman I had ever seen. . . . The meanest slave was put fully at ease in her presence, and none left without feeling better for having seen her. Her face was made of heavenly smiles, and her voice of tranquil music.
But, alas! this kind heart had but a short time to remain such. The fatal poison of irresponsible power was already in her hands, and soon commenced its infernal work. That cheerful eye, under the influence of slavery, soon became red with rage; that voice, made all of sweet accord, changed to one of harsh and horrid discord; and that angelic face gave place to that of a demon.[1]
The big bully of the class, Danny, raised his hand and said, “Miss, that’s me. Before we had a maid, I was a nice person. When we first got her, I treated her nicely. But now, I just boss her around. I throw things on the floor on purpose, and make her pick them up. I have been dehumanized.”
I found that even after a couple of weeks, I, myself, became like my Lebanese friends, considering it normal to ignore a person because she was the domestic help. Later, I started attending a church in Beirut where a good third of the congregation are foreign workers. It took a while for me to regain my humanity. I'm still in recovery.
[1] Douglass, Frederick, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave Ch. VI, Document maintained at http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/Literature/Douglass/ Autobiography/06.html by the SunSITE Manager.
Last update 5/14/97. SunSITE Manager: manager@sunsite.berkeley.edu, Accessed on 10/30/2007.
Open letter to Arab Summit in Kuwait (From an E-mail I received)
Beirut, 15 Jan. 2009
Open letter to Arab Summit in Kuwait.
Excellencies kings and presidents of Arab World,
This is a proposal from Arabic citizen to your highness,
Due to very hard situation in Gaza, your excellencies may stop the Arab Oil Exporting for the same period that Israeli aggression may long on Gaza, and the oil will continue exporting with your conditions when the aggression stops.
Best wishes to your excellencies, finding way which stop the aggression.
Arabic citizen
Fareed Mohsen
Open letter to Arab Summit in Kuwait.
Excellencies kings and presidents of Arab World,
This is a proposal from Arabic citizen to your highness,
Due to very hard situation in Gaza, your excellencies may stop the Arab Oil Exporting for the same period that Israeli aggression may long on Gaza, and the oil will continue exporting with your conditions when the aggression stops.
Best wishes to your excellencies, finding way which stop the aggression.
Arabic citizen
Fareed Mohsen
January 4, 2009
Responding to some comments
Wally asked, "please let us have your opinion as to why Hamas chooses the most populated areas from which to launch their rockets?"
Matt said I don't need to defend Hamas.
So somehow the media is so genius that straight-up carnage is shown on television. Raw #'s 430 Palestinian, 4 Israelis dead. And yet they talk their way out of the reality.
Self-defense against Hamas terrorism. People shouldn't have to live with the constant threat of rockets.
No, no one should live with the constant threat of rockets.
And no one should have to live with no electricity, no medicine, now no food, no freedom of movement, no ability to work, no way to pursue any kind of future, constant surveillance, constant humiliation, illegal occupation, and NOW this kind of bombardment. This is the worst kind of terror. You can see it with your own eyes.
And yet, it gets spinned. Don't empathize with the Palestinians. Empathize with the Israelis. How does this happen?
1) Israelis are Americans. Arabs are not Americans.
2) Palestinians are terrorists. The media and Israelis keep saying the target is Hamas. Hamas is a bad government. Hamas is terrorists. But Hamas is the democratically elected government of a people who are contending with a peace process that has done nothing for them. Gaza is the area of Detroit. Everyone is related to someone or knows someone in Hamas. To some extent there are weapons anywhere, and most of the people would have no idea.
Israel can say they are going after military, terrorist, Hamas targets. But when you ask them what it is. It's the whole of Gaza. Those guys in New York told me that the women are terrorists, and those "children" want them dead. So therefore Israel doesn't have to answer for the numbers of 80 children and 30 women dead. Though the rest of the world would define them as civilians (though of course women can be whatever).
The only way this works is to make a distinction between Hamas and Palestinians. The Israeli/U.S. defenders of these atrocities say that they're targeting Hamas, not Palestinians. But if you really ask them, to them it is all the same. Or in reality, there is no way to make the distinction.
Everyone who asks me to empathize with an Israeli living with the threat of rockets must be able to empathize with a Palestinian living under illegal Israeli occupation.
Neither is right. I'm not justifying Hamas. But I'll justify the right of a Palestinian to live as a human being. Anyone who looks at the TV and keeps empathizing for those people who live where 4 people died, and at the same time refuses to empathize with the people who have to live where 400 have died has no moral ground to stand on.
The cease-fire calls for everyone to stop.
Matt said I don't need to defend Hamas.
So somehow the media is so genius that straight-up carnage is shown on television. Raw #'s 430 Palestinian, 4 Israelis dead. And yet they talk their way out of the reality.
Self-defense against Hamas terrorism. People shouldn't have to live with the constant threat of rockets.
No, no one should live with the constant threat of rockets.
And no one should have to live with no electricity, no medicine, now no food, no freedom of movement, no ability to work, no way to pursue any kind of future, constant surveillance, constant humiliation, illegal occupation, and NOW this kind of bombardment. This is the worst kind of terror. You can see it with your own eyes.
And yet, it gets spinned. Don't empathize with the Palestinians. Empathize with the Israelis. How does this happen?
1) Israelis are Americans. Arabs are not Americans.
2) Palestinians are terrorists. The media and Israelis keep saying the target is Hamas. Hamas is a bad government. Hamas is terrorists. But Hamas is the democratically elected government of a people who are contending with a peace process that has done nothing for them. Gaza is the area of Detroit. Everyone is related to someone or knows someone in Hamas. To some extent there are weapons anywhere, and most of the people would have no idea.
Israel can say they are going after military, terrorist, Hamas targets. But when you ask them what it is. It's the whole of Gaza. Those guys in New York told me that the women are terrorists, and those "children" want them dead. So therefore Israel doesn't have to answer for the numbers of 80 children and 30 women dead. Though the rest of the world would define them as civilians (though of course women can be whatever).
The only way this works is to make a distinction between Hamas and Palestinians. The Israeli/U.S. defenders of these atrocities say that they're targeting Hamas, not Palestinians. But if you really ask them, to them it is all the same. Or in reality, there is no way to make the distinction.
Everyone who asks me to empathize with an Israeli living with the threat of rockets must be able to empathize with a Palestinian living under illegal Israeli occupation.
Neither is right. I'm not justifying Hamas. But I'll justify the right of a Palestinian to live as a human being. Anyone who looks at the TV and keeps empathizing for those people who live where 4 people died, and at the same time refuses to empathize with the people who have to live where 400 have died has no moral ground to stand on.
The cease-fire calls for everyone to stop.
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