Scenes from the Souk

The main shopping thoroughfare in Damascus is the venerable souk al-Hamidiyya, named after the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid II and forms one of the main entrances to the medieval Old City of Damascus. Under the corrugated iron roof lie rows of shops selling jewellery, clothes, leather bags, Arabic perfume and embroidery competing for the masses of locals and tourists alike who have come to experience and contribute to what is part of the world’s oldest continually inhabited settlement.

The holes in the roof, lasting imprints of bullets fired from machine guns by French fighter jets during the Syrian nationalist revolt of 1925, create the illusion of a star-studded sky during the day, as rays of light pass through and illuminate the expansive souk, dark and sombre but for the loud chattering of the throng of shoppers. Intermittent electricity cuts are an almost daily phenomenon here, and during such times the whole souk will be abuzz with the drone of electricity generator motors coming from the wealthier shops, while the poorer stalls are left stranded in darkness.

The souk becomes a vantage point from which to observe the variety of people who form a parade of humanity along the winding thoroughfare. Young Syrian women wearing incredibly high heels, headscarves neatly tucked into their leather jackets, their male counterparts in rugged tight jeans and slicked hair; Iranian pilgrims covered rather clumsily in their chadors, middle-aged men constantly flicking their prayer beads, reciting the 99 names of God. Gulf Arab women can easily be identified by their abayas, black free-flowing robes concealing the female form, allowing only for subtle – but sufficiently visible – displays of wealth; the Gucci sunglasses, gold and silver bangles and glittering sequins across their abayas. And then there are the freckled-face, red-haired Arabs, a common enough occurrence in the Levant, the Arab region comprising Syria, Lebanon, Palestine and Jordan, but which still provoke bewilderment to the first-time visitor accustomed to the conventional stereotypes of what an Arab looks like.

A familiar sight throughout the souk, even in the biting cold of winter, are shoppers licking the ubiquitous bouzat haleeb, milk-and-rosewater-scented Arabic ice-cream generously topped with pistachios. There’s the slightest whiff of almond essence, and you’re trying to figure out why the ice-cream is rather gummy. And then you realise it’s not the usual sort of ice-cream, and this is not the usual sort of shopping mall.

Shopping in Syria

Let’s ignore the global financial crisis for a while, and pretend we actually have money. The natural reaction is to go on a shopping frenzy. This makes perfect sense, because despite calls from financial advisers and ethicists to cut down on spending or worse, eliminate conspicuous consumption altogether, it’s hard to deny that shopping makes us happy. What do you do after getting fired or finding yourself unemployed for the last 6 months? Go out and buy something of course, if only to avoid the looming depression.

Dubai has often been promoted as the shopping mecca of the Middle East. I find this is only true if you have the salary of the Hiltons or the Beckhams. For the rest of us who can only afford to fantasize about living the glamorous life, the most we can do is window shop. The truth is, when it comes to shopping in Arabia, you’re better off in Syria. Years of being relegated to international pariah status has meant that it has largely escaped the onslaught of giant shopping malls seen everywhere else in the region. Instead, shoppers throng through medieval bazaars spread across labyrinthine alleyways, studded with discrete nooks and corners for the curious consumer intent on an expedition as much as scoring a bargain.

Getting a bargain in Syria is an art in conversation, requiring polite banter, a little bit of deception and mutual respect between buyer and trader. In one of the embroidery shops we bargained our way through a cup of strong Arabic coffee provided by the hospitable owner. Having been accustomed to stationary SALE! signs in Malaysia and Australia, I was initially reticent at having to be an active participant in our mission to get a discount. After a couple of attempts though, you start to get the hang of it and haggling suddenly becomes a thrilling revelation. The shopping mall experience of getting your desired item and handing it over to the cashier for scanning now seems passive and sterile in comparison. I guess it’s a bit like comparing between hunting for food and buying it from the supermarket – the latter is more convenient but oh what joy it is to do it the old fashioned way and chase after your meal.

Having said that, just when I finally gained enough confidence to try to haggle without the help of my mum, none of the traders would even move to give me a discount! So just a tip for all the guys out there, if you intend to shop, always bring a female companion with you. Unfortunately gender discrimination against men is still a widespread problem in bazaars and flea markets across the world, and for now I can only dream of a day when all men can haggle independently without the help of their womenfolk.

Stupidity and Racism Go Hand in Hand

Melbourne has been witnessing a sickening spate of attacks targeted towards Indian nationals, the latest involving a man who was bashed unconscious while walking home from a train station in St Albans and cars belonging to students torched outside their home in Springvale. The government has been quick to manoeuvre a public relations strategy to control the damage on the lucrative international students’ market, up there among Australia’s biggest export earners besides coal and metals. Australian leaders could have shown more concern by perhaps visiting the injured students at hospital, or having roundtable discussions with student leaders, but no, export revenue comes first and so they spent more time assuring prospective Indian students that Australia is still safe.

The police meanwhile, fending off accusations of indifference towards the attacks, have religiously maintained that the crimes are largely “opportunistic”, rather than racially-motivated. This despite the fact that only Indian students seem to be so consistently robbed and punched and threatened and stabbed over the past month. Thankfully, the Victorian Attorney-General has used the occasion to expedite the creation of hate-crime laws which would cover harassments based on race, religion, gender or sexual orientation. It is quite clear that the legislation is aimed at preventing attacks against any race, so it came as a bit of a surprise when a concerned Don Bruce of Watsonia sent a letter to the The Age (June 4, 2009) claiming that “your hate crime legislation seems to cover everyone except white Anglo-Saxon males, Rob Hulls. Apparently my safety and that of my son is considered to be of less importance”.

The wording of the proposed legislation made public so far goes along the lines of “”hatred for or a prejudice against a particular group of people”; it doesn’t actually highlight any race, so how is it that this legislation would not cover white Anglo-Saxon males? One gets the impression this particular Don Bruce is feeling a bit left out from all the media attention and public sympathy the Indian victims are getting. I could almost hear him cry “Oh poor me and my white Anglo-Saxon heritage! Take pity on me!”

And there has been widespread condemnation of those attacks by Victorian politicians, from both left and right, as well as the general Victorian public. The state has a long and proud history of multiculturalism and while there is an undercurrent of racism in Australian society, it is not unique to the country alone. What is interesting is that a significant portion of criticism hurled towards Indian students – while they are being the target of attacks – come from Indians themselves. They are usually Indian Australians hailing from upper middle class backgrounds who perhaps, through their criticism, wish to reaffirm that they are distinctly different (read: better) than their foreign counterparts. One Rahul Kapadia, from the millionaire’s suburb of Toorak, wrote in (June 7, 2009) to blame Indian students for the attacks, due to “their loud talking habits, lack of etiquette and lack of courtesy to fellow passengers, coupled with loudly playing iPods and shoving themselves into trains and trams in a “me first” attempt”.

I don’t know how much of it is true and how much is simply his own distorted stereotype of Indian nationals, but that can hardly justify the senseless bashings and stabbings being committed against them. The rude behaviour that Rahul lists could easily be ascribed to anyone in Australia, not just Indians. He further declares that “when such students, who also flaunt their wealth by wearing gold chains around their necks, decide to walk from desolate stations at odd hours in the early morning, hoodlums would attack such people regardless of whether they are Indian or not”. That’s not true. The closest thing to bling I see Indians sport are religious gold chains; they’re not flaunting their wealth, they’re affirming their faith. And no, they are not choosing to walk from desolate outer suburb train stations at odd hours in the early morning, they are forced to because that’s the only work shifts they can afford to do without clashing with their classes. But I wouldn’t expect Rahul from Toorak to understand the circumstances faced by people living without the luxury of private automobiles and an inner-city address.