Travel in the land of evil

My summer journey seemed to stop before it even started. The Woodrow Wilson School and Princeton University did not want to fund a trip to such a "dangerous" place, agreeing to do so only a few days before my departure. You see, I had decided to work as a volunteer with an international development organization (Aga Khan Development Network — www.akdn.org) in Syria this past summer. My mother simply gasped for air when I mentioned my desire to travel to the land where civilization stops, and Arabs start. Syria, if you didn't know, failed to make the cut as part of the "Axis of Evil" and currently is withering away in the minor leagues hoping to be called up now that Iraq has been "taken care of."

We don't really hear about Syria in the news for making great olive oil; normally we hear of them generating not-so-great terrorists. We don't really hear about them mass producing nice clothes; normally we hear about them producing weapons of mass destruction. So it was understandable that the first question that my friends asked when I told them I was traveling to Syria was, "Why?" It also explained replies to my emails that would simply read with implicit disappointment: "You're still alive?"

As I embarked on my trip, I was increasingly excited. Would Islamic Jihad and Hamas be waiting to recruit me when I got off the plane? Would I be kidnapped by al-Qaeda? Or worse yet, would I end up growing a beard? Perhaps not these questions, but many others entrapped my mind as my multi-hour trip began. When I arrived in Damascus I was tired, and had been in the same clothes for nearly 30 hours, thanks to a 12 hour stopover in Amsterdam. Perhaps I should have practiced my rusty Arabic a little more, as when I arrived none of the Customs officers spoke any English. They asked where I was from, and when I answered Canada they gave me a puzzled look and asked "shoo jinsiyatik al-usiliya:" What's your original nationality? This was going to be hard as I was born in Canada, my mother was from Pakistan, my father was from Uganda, and his grandfather from India when it was under British rule. The customs officer was kind enough to simply brand me Pakistani.

I was a fool to think that I could enter the country so easily. Didn't I know that I could have SARS? The medical experts at the airport, judging by my Canadian passport, determined that I was a risk, and might have to be deported. I soon found myself in the cages of a small room, with several guards running a cigarette smuggling operation by stuffing cartons down their pants and socks from the duty free shop, and randomly detained visitors bribing officers with copious cigarettes; yes, they smoke a lot in that part of the world. After nearly 18 hours at the airport, I escaped into the country which I had heard so much about, and would experience so much of over the next three months.

A crossroads of civilizations, Syria is a country that one can only dream about visiting. The history there is remarkable, and the capital, Damascus, is believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. Walking the streets of the souq al-hamidiya in the Old City, is like taking a step back in time. In Canada when we discover something is 50 years old we can barely hold our breath; in Syria monuments from 500 years ago are as common as olive trees. There are numerous citadels, castles, Roman ruins, and other sites that you can visit. You can track the movements of the Crusaders hundreds of years ago, and their archenemy Salah al-Din. You can see where the trade routes from Europe, Asia, and Africa came together. However, as easy it is to be fooled by the history, Syria is a place where tradition meets modernity, East meets West and religious meets secular. The streets are full with women in Hijabs (headscarves) in tight jeans and full makeup. There are women in full black robes, and those without any head covering whatsoever. There was even a goatskin Bedouin tent sporting a satellite dish in the middle of the desert.

Had I finally discovered how evil Syria was as I returned to the West? After being invited to the homes of many Syrian families, offered gifts on my departure, given taxi rides where the driver refuses to take the fare, and accepted as a friend despite being a foreigner, I cannot accept the stigma and stereotypes. There is a lot of change that Syria needs to undergo, but I think it goes a long ways to try and understand a people whose nation has been so demonized in the present day. Taufiq Rahim is a Wilson School major from Vancouver, British Columbia.