I’m checking my e-mail at an Internet café that’s part of a Filipina restaurant. Behind me, the owner is helping her 4th grade son with his English homework. In a shrill voice, she’s explaining the difference between singular and plural, while running back and forth to the kitchen as she’s preparing food. Her explanation and her own English grammar is somewhat lacking. I feel a slight pinge of guilt and an even slighter impulse to intervene, but I ignore it, while I continue checking my e-mail.
Her son is concentrating. He’s really trying to understand and get all the worksheet “problems” correct. The shrill voice doesn’t seem to bother him. This isn’t her normal voice. It’s her English-teaching voice. I find it shrill and grating; her son must be used to it.
At the table next to them, Palestinian husband/dad is smoking shisha with his three friends, joking loudly in Arabic. Instead of the regular hose, however, he’s using a bamboo stick. I’ve never seen anyone smoking arguile through bamboo.
People walk in and out, announcing themselves with a “Come sta?” or an ironic “Salaam wa lekom” which induces laughter.
Soon enough, the karaoke might start. It'll be hard to resist belting out my faves--"Me and Bobby McGee", "Ice, Ice Baby", "Baby got Back" if I'm feeling particularly obnoxious, or "Take a Look at Me Now" if I'm feeling particularly depressed. And since it's Filipina's, I can also choose from some Christian classics, like "Amazing Grace."
I’m grateful that no one’s asking me to help. They know “auntie” is an American who teaches English. They also know that “auntie” charges a lot of money for her services. So I’m left to the computer with all the normal mayhem behind me. The wall is a mirror, so I can just look up and check out the action. This is my new favorite spot.
March 25, 2009
March 11, 2009
I hadn’t seen Marie in weeks
I saw her today. Usually in the mornings, when I’m eating, I stand at the window and look for her. If it’s after 7, which is when the mom leaves with the kids, she’ll stand at the window. We’ll balcony talk, or she’ll just signal me to go into the hall where she can open the door.
I hadn’t seen her in weeks. And I don’t think I made any major change to my routine. She wasn’t coming to the window. A couple days ago, Lilu, the Sri Lankan woman who cleans for us twice a week, told me that another Lebanese woman saw me talking to Marie and the other Malagasy woman who lives on the other side of me. So that even though I was trying to be so careful not to get anyone in trouble, I probably got Marie in trouble.
When I saw her today at the window, she told me to come to the inside hall, where she opened the door. She is still trapped inside the apartment by an outer iron gate. But through the bars of the gate, we can talk and pass things back and forth. She said she really missed me. She was smiling and really excited to be talking to me. She said that the madame is actually good. It’s just the kids who are very bad—“tres bravade” (or something like that.) They kick her. They insult her. “You’re black. You’re ugly. You smell.” So instead of being abused by the madame (the one who statistically commits most of the abuse), this woman is being tormented by a three and four-year old.
The last time I had seen her she had asked me to bring her perfume. I brought her deodorant instead, which she was happy with.
Then she wanted to pray. We held hands through the iron bar. I started in English. She finished in Malagasy. I kind of hugged her, and then kissed her on the cheek. I told her I was leaving, and that if she needs anything she can ask my roommate or Lilu. Tears were shed. Allah m3ha.
I hadn’t seen her in weeks. And I don’t think I made any major change to my routine. She wasn’t coming to the window. A couple days ago, Lilu, the Sri Lankan woman who cleans for us twice a week, told me that another Lebanese woman saw me talking to Marie and the other Malagasy woman who lives on the other side of me. So that even though I was trying to be so careful not to get anyone in trouble, I probably got Marie in trouble.
When I saw her today at the window, she told me to come to the inside hall, where she opened the door. She is still trapped inside the apartment by an outer iron gate. But through the bars of the gate, we can talk and pass things back and forth. She said she really missed me. She was smiling and really excited to be talking to me. She said that the madame is actually good. It’s just the kids who are very bad—“tres bravade” (or something like that.) They kick her. They insult her. “You’re black. You’re ugly. You smell.” So instead of being abused by the madame (the one who statistically commits most of the abuse), this woman is being tormented by a three and four-year old.
The last time I had seen her she had asked me to bring her perfume. I brought her deodorant instead, which she was happy with.
Then she wanted to pray. We held hands through the iron bar. I started in English. She finished in Malagasy. I kind of hugged her, and then kissed her on the cheek. I told her I was leaving, and that if she needs anything she can ask my roommate or Lilu. Tears were shed. Allah m3ha.
Sunday's Sit-In for Migrant Domestic Workers
We put it together in a week and a half. Check out the media coverage and the pictures: Al Akhbar, Al-Mustaqbal, As-Safir, iloubnan, Facebook.
“F--- this racist, backward country!” was suggested by a friend in an e-mail. But I didn’t suggest that in the meeting, so as not to throw off our Lebanese-foreigner coalition. (But I still get a good hoot thinking about that one!)
When an Ethiopian woman showed up to the café to work on the posters, we got the idea that they should be in different languages. So Hayeon went to El Dorado to recruit some Filipinas to get some posters written in Tagalog. The day of, we got some Sri Lankans to write other posters, right on the sidewalk. The other organizers told me 20 posters would be more than enough. I made 35, and they were all used.
About 100 people came, which the other organizers were very surprised and happy about it, but still left me disappointed. I was hoping there would be more migrants. On Tuesday, I went around the Filipina section of Hamra with Liberty, another Filipina. We put posters on the walls and talked to shop and restaurant owners. Sometimes we were met with suspicion, "Why are you helping us?" Other times, we were met with sincere enthusiasm: “The government is really going to change?” “You think the Lebanese will really care about this?” “Thanks for helping us.” And then I’d be invited to sit and eat. It helps A LOT to be an American. Once they realize I’m not Lebanese, barriers go down, and a certain level of trust is extended.
My main East African organizational contacts were all booked. The Ethiopian churches had a big mission conference that weekend. The Malagasys were having a meeting with their consulate in Dora. The Sudanese had a big funeral. But since it was going to be in Hamra on a Sunday, I figured we could just get random passers-by the day of. That didn't really work. Of course, people were thrown off by the cameras.
Out of the almost 1000 people on our Facebook group, and 77 confirmed guests, about 5 new faces showed up.
When I told the other organizers I made 400 copies of the fact sheet, I was met with, “Wow, Jane, thinking big.” We ran out after 40 minutes, and someone had to make more. Someone said, “100.” I said, “200,” knowing that wouldn’t be enough. I was right. We handed out all the copies. People in their cars were stopping, asking for the papers, curious about what was going on. Demonstrations and protests, with people holding up funny, colorful signs isn’t too common a site in Lebanon.
Shout outs go to the Feminist Collective (for rallying tons of supporters in cool, black T-shirts), the AUB UNESCO club (for donating funds), IndyAct, CRTDA and Kafaa (for officially sponsoring it), and to Nadim from Human Rights Watch (for all his moral support and vision).
Now, it's time to plan for May Day!
We had a fun time making the posters, thinking of appropriate slogans that would be edgy enough, but not invoke completely defensive reactions. Since it was on the occasion of International Women’s Day, we said “Migrant Domestic Workers Rights = Women’s Rights= Human Rights”. Then we did personal-ish statements along the lines of, “I worked for three years and never received my salary.” A particularly weird, fun, thought-provoker (and personal favorite) was “The Mister Beats Madame Everyday.” I made that poster.
“F--- this racist, backward country!” was suggested by a friend in an e-mail. But I didn’t suggest that in the meeting, so as not to throw off our Lebanese-foreigner coalition. (But I still get a good hoot thinking about that one!)
When an Ethiopian woman showed up to the café to work on the posters, we got the idea that they should be in different languages. So Hayeon went to El Dorado to recruit some Filipinas to get some posters written in Tagalog. The day of, we got some Sri Lankans to write other posters, right on the sidewalk. The other organizers told me 20 posters would be more than enough. I made 35, and they were all used.
About 100 people came, which the other organizers were very surprised and happy about it, but still left me disappointed. I was hoping there would be more migrants. On Tuesday, I went around the Filipina section of Hamra with Liberty, another Filipina. We put posters on the walls and talked to shop and restaurant owners. Sometimes we were met with suspicion, "Why are you helping us?" Other times, we were met with sincere enthusiasm: “The government is really going to change?” “You think the Lebanese will really care about this?” “Thanks for helping us.” And then I’d be invited to sit and eat. It helps A LOT to be an American. Once they realize I’m not Lebanese, barriers go down, and a certain level of trust is extended.
My main East African organizational contacts were all booked. The Ethiopian churches had a big mission conference that weekend. The Malagasys were having a meeting with their consulate in Dora. The Sudanese had a big funeral. But since it was going to be in Hamra on a Sunday, I figured we could just get random passers-by the day of. That didn't really work. Of course, people were thrown off by the cameras.
Out of the almost 1000 people on our Facebook group, and 77 confirmed guests, about 5 new faces showed up.
When I told the other organizers I made 400 copies of the fact sheet, I was met with, “Wow, Jane, thinking big.” We ran out after 40 minutes, and someone had to make more. Someone said, “100.” I said, “200,” knowing that wouldn’t be enough. I was right. We handed out all the copies. People in their cars were stopping, asking for the papers, curious about what was going on. Demonstrations and protests, with people holding up funny, colorful signs isn’t too common a site in Lebanon.
Shout outs go to the Feminist Collective (for rallying tons of supporters in cool, black T-shirts), the AUB UNESCO club (for donating funds), IndyAct, CRTDA and Kafaa (for officially sponsoring it), and to Nadim from Human Rights Watch (for all his moral support and vision).
Now, it's time to plan for May Day!
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