How I Met Haile

The man with the million dollar smile!

Haile Gebrselassie is a name that brings me back to my childhood. I remember watching him on TV with my family. It's the early 90's, and the young Ethiopian long distance runner has just emerged on the world stage. He leaves his competition behind and everyone else in awe. This guy is incredible! My father in particular admires him. Somehow the story of a boy, who ran ten kilometers to school and back each day barefoot, resonates with him. Haile runs with his left arm crooked, as if holding a pile of invisible school books. Indeed, he is a sports hero of the purest kind. No coaching, no special diet, not even SHOES - this world champion is the product of good old-fashioned talent and mad resilience.

Fastforward to 2014, and I'm in Addis Ababa for the second time. A little bird has told me the location of Haile's office on Bole Road and I'm ready to raid the building. I begin at the gym downstairs, where he works out every day. (I'm guessing he likes the treadmill. And it's HIS gym, by the way.) Perhaps that's an appropriate place to bother the busy entrepreneur? A little embarrassed, I ask the receptionist what time I might find him there. She tells me it won't be until much later. "But if you want to talk to him now, you can go upstairs to his office and ask his secretary." Well then! I do just that. I have to wait all of ten minutes while Haile is in a meeting, and then I'm invited in.

Now, showing up unannounced like this is a little on the audacious side. But my audacity is rewarded. Haile is very friendly and personable. He graciously welcomes me and sits down to talk to me. I have a present for him: a scarf and a little good luck charm from Tunisia, and a box of chocolate-covered dates from Dubai. (I happen to think those dates are amazing, and a suitable gift for anyone from running legends to doctors and their offspring. Besides, Olympic winners eat chocolate for breakfast, everybody knows that.) Haile asks me about my life, trying to understand where it is that I live and work, which often gets people confused. I explain the whole dancing and traveling scenario. "You are a very special person" he says to me. That's kind of crazy to hear from someone who has set twenty world records. From a country boy to a star athlete to a successful entrepreneur, Haile's had a wild ride. But you can tell by his warmth that none of that got to him. He's still that boy with no shoes, only now running a business empire. And THAT is true greatness. That is why it was such an honor to meet him.

Pandora's (In)Box

Manish had a question for me.

"hey..r u a belly dancer..??"

One day while browsing my Newsfeed I saw a friend talk about his "other" inbox.
"What is that?" I asked.
He explained that next to my Inbox, I too had a folder named "Other", which absorbed spam and messages from non-friends. I can't keep up with Facebook. Mark should tell me these things!

You know the story of Pandora? According to the Greek, Zeus gave Pandora this beautiful box, telling her not to open it no matter what. But that silly girl went and opened it anyhow, and BOOM! Out came years worth of promotional spam and sexual frustration. And since that day, every woman on Facebook has been cursed with a Box of their own.

A lot of the stuff in Zaina's Box could be summarized as just "hi...can we be friendz...??", but others had more substance. 

"Are you a real belly dancer? I thought muslim countries don't have belly dancers. Im muslim so im just curious." -Namis

I think Namis is very, very confused.

"hi i need to talk with u soon in job .and i get ur name on fb from friend to u .but answer soon plz not time .tnx"

Man! I can't believe I missed that opportunity in job! This sounds TOTALLY legit.

"I like u r puctur n profile."

Not sure which puctur I had at the time, but I'm glad he liked it.

"Hello!! Lady!!!! Can we become friends???" - Myles

Hello!! Dude!!! No???

"hi, i know u have seen my FR but u r hesitant to accept! no need to worry from dear i just like to be ur close friend in bahrain...u r amazing with special senses!"

Pheew, I was so worried that he may not want to be my close friend. However, my special senses tell me not to speak to him.

A quick query among my friends produced similar results. Bellydancers are online creeper MAGNETS. A take from Shayma's Box:

Shayma

"really u look so sweet, i want to be real friend , send me ur number to talk , i have only 20 days for my vacation" - Kamal

Twenty days of real friendship. Who could refuse?

"hi hwzz u whr u frm??cute pix..." - Shibin

Would it kill Shibin to use actual words?

"U like to have a feet massage !?" - Tareq

Don't we all, Tareq, don't we all.

Siham

 Siham's Box included one of the more coherent messages. You would almost think he typed it with two hands.

"I hope you don't mind me saying, but you have to be one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen!!!  You look like an Arabian Princess in your outfit!

Would it be okay if I were to ask you a kinda silly question? Well, I'm a little nervous to ask but here goes. I was wondering if you might consider the thought of having a servant boy?  Like someone to do all your cleaning, running errands, hold your umbrella, stuff like that? I just thought you looked like an Arabian Princess.  Like in those movies where the Princess is being carried on one of those fancy carriage things, carried by four male slaves while another slave fans her with those peacock feathers. Know what I mean?" - Kenny

We know exactly what Kenny means. Those fancy carriage things, peacock feather fans, slaves, the usual stuff. I don't think this poor servant boy from the States even realizes Siham is a professional dancer, not a girl playing dress-up.

Athena Najat

Here's a couple of winners from Athena's Box.

"mam am body massager  special in belly dancer body  special in backbone hipe  thai  legs foot foot finger shoulder hand hand finger mam my massage full reluxe the body she feel come in the world in born new baby mam thailand world massage center she lady call me in thailand i will go thailand in 20011 mam i want a massage job my mobile no 00923******** my am male am 48 year old am 25 year above experince in massage" - Sarfraz

I just have a couple of questions to Mr. Sarfraz. Judging by the number, he's in Tajikistan. Would mam Athena need to move there, should she decide to hire him? And, who the hell makes plans for the year 20011?

"hioo ..good morning iam ahmed from arab republic of EGYPT.. iam inetrsted in u so much ... can u accept adding me in ur frind list .... woww i see u wear belly dancing clothes .... can u really dance egyptian dance i feel woww ..... u know i live in giza 10 minutes from pyramids... can u add me soon....thanks iam waiting ur reply" - Ahmed

I hear you Ahmed! I feel woww when I see Athena's pictures too!

One person stood out in the crowd. We'll call him the Poet. He'd sent me a whole bunch of messages. If you read closely, you can hear the South Asian accent. Here are some of my favorite lines. The entire "poems" are WAY too long to repeat here.

"when i think of you i became fragrant, your scent is resided in my soul"

"there is some magic in your eyes, hide me under the shade of your lashes"

"The world is your ouster, and it ponders on an opportunity to show its gratitude to you for your graceful aura which you sprinkle in every ambiance."

What?

"the morning blue sky awaits your rainbow smile....so :)"

See what he did there!

"The heavens need to bestow in your life a Prince (...) who when would be in your presence would feel champagne falling from the heavens." 

Look, before you get mad jealous, it wasn't me that caused that leakage of champagne. The Poet was sending the same stuff to just about EVERY bellydancer and their mother. His friend list also included many women who appeared to be, how to put this now, adult entertainers.

I decided to play a little. I wrote a message to the Poet.

"Wow, you write such captivating poems. You truly are a man of eloquence and creativity. But I'm a little sad since you have sent the same poems to many other dancers...now would you write something just for me? Looking forward." 
I stopped short of calling him the Rumi of our generation. I'm not that mean.

Here's a sample of what I inspired in him. The whole thing is much, much longer.

"your style is a killer Zaina

how can one not sacrifice for you?

your body is a spark"

"my body feels a fire

your face such a heart-tempter"

"Your gaze of of sensuality bedazzled the town folk of Madrid

Let the ladies backstage be envious of your dance"

I could only muster a one word in response.

"Madrid?"
"Don't you live in the Madrid?"
"Never been to Madrid in my life."

Must be hard to keep track of all the bellydancers in the world.

The Poet went on to ask where it was that I lived, and if I liked what he'd written for me. I didn't respond. Soon another poem followed, something about tears of love and waiting for the message of my homecoming. Well. I'm not going to Spain anytime soon, if that's what he meant.

However, it's not all about us girls. Guys can make champagne fall from the heavens too. Here's the proof from Luna's Box.

Luna

"Hi luna I am Saudi gay arab man, i am big fan of your dancing.  You know what mean to be gay in Saudi Arabia, it very difficult for me." - Abdullah

She ignored him. He wrote back later:

"Luna you know I am big fan, you can trust me. I want give you rent for to spend night with your musician. Please you can help me with this."

NOW we've heard it all. I don't dare imagine how Luna's Egyptian band would react if they knew some dude was fantasizing about them.

Amar Lammar

Let's crack open Amar's Box. The plot thickens.

"hi Amar, iam from Saudi Arabia but iam gay and I love to wear girly  even I look very manly anyway as you know in Saudi Arabia its difficult for people to accept me as who iam. can we be plz friends" - Abdullah

I know I know, it's hard out there for an online perv, in Saudi or anywhere. But why is a gay guy contacting WOMEN? Something is not adding up here.

"Sherlock Holmes was an idiot and Robert Watt was a fool.One was a detective,the other invented radar.But neither of them ever discovered you.I’m a genius!so can i be ur friend?" - Ahmed

I feel woww.

A Little Dabke in Palestine! See Video :)

I love watching any type of dance. And I ESPECIALLY love watching children dance. Which is why coming across a kids' Dabke rehearsal was such a pleasant surprise.

Let me explain where this happened. You know Bethlehem? As in the Bible? Just a few miles from the spot where Jesus (supposedly) was born, lies the Dheisheh refugee camp. Housing some ten thousand Palestinian refugees, it's also home to a children's folk dance troupe.

Graffiti art on the streets of Dheisheh

It is not a new camp. The original residents of Dheisheh fled the fighting, or were expelled from their villages, in the wake of the founding of Israel in 1948. Like all refugee camps, this too started out as a tent city, a temporary dwelling place for those with nowhere to go. Six decades later, these kids were born here. Their kids will probably be born here. There are lots of camps like this all around the West Bank.

Back in the 50's it still looked like a temporary camp

Want to see for yourself? You can. From Bethlehem, take a taxi to the Ibdaa Cultural Center at the entrance of the Dheisheh camp. There is a nice, cheap guesthouse too, so you can stay the night. I warmly recommend it.

Here's a clip from the rehearsal:

Never Again, Again, Again

A year ago Rwanda caught me completely off guard. It turned me into a pitiful sobbing ball of sadness. Only mountain gorillas distracted me from the genocide that consumed my every waking thought. I took my time to get ready for Cambodia. And a few weeks ago, ready I was.

When trying to make sense of an ugly monster like genocide, you push emotions aside and employ your logic instead. You learn about the circumstances prior to the disaster, gain insight into the mindset of the nation. You find out "why". But you still continue to ask WHY. Facts can only get you halfway there. The rest of the way, you're on your own. You get lost, and turn back where you came from, to look at the facts once more. You try again to find a way into understanding, or simply give up, staying lost forever. And even if you reach that vague state of comprehension, it doesn't gratify you. If just feels hollow.

Cambodian genocide victims. Genocide Museum in Kigali, Rwanda

Seeing the pictures, or the remains of thousands upon thousands of victims is overwhelming. Your mind tunes out in order to defend itself, or you break down completely. When my vision begins to blur over the faces of so, so many people, I zoom in. Seeing just one person at a time allows me to refocus. I find someone I can most easily relate to: a woman around my age. I wonder what her and I may have had in common. What her life was like when everything was still fine. If, in another lifetime, we could be friends.

I like to look at the victims' faces. This may sound strange. But they say that we are not dead as long as there is at least one person who remembers us. As time drags on, there may be no one left to remember the victims of the past. Their entire families may have died alongside with them - hence the word genocide. By looking into their faces, I'm honoring the life that these people had. If I was in their place, I would like someone to know that I existed. That I was here. That I was somebody, even if they will never know my name.

Whatever happened to the murderers? Well, Pol Pot was burned in Anlong Veng, in the north of the country. As soon as his regime was overthrown, enraged Cambodians did away with him and the rest of Khmer Rouge, and torched them alive. Sorry, that didn't really happen. Pol Pot died quietly of a heart attack in 1998, almost twenty years post-genocide, having never faced justice. His body was cremated on a pile of tires. He got away with the murder of nearly two million people.

I wanted to make sure they really burned every last piece of him, so I made the trip. The nature around Anlong Veng is eerily beautiful. This was the last stronghold of the Khmer Rouge, and remained under their control well into the 90's. Seeing the pile of ashes gave me some peace of mind. Hell holds a special place for the likes of him.

Pol Pot's cremation site in Anlong Veng

I know that for many people this kind of misery tourism sounds unimaginable. Well, traveling for me is about getting to know the world, good and bad. I saw plenty of beautiful things in Cambodia, too. But I needed both sides of the story.

What's the purpose of going someplace just to feel bad, someone may ask. Is it a case of morbid obsession, or sincere interest in historical events? That's a valid question. I analyze my own motives all the time. It comes down to the value of seeing things with your own eyes. Everyone knows what the pyramids look like, yet most people would still want to see them. The thing is, I'm perfectly capable of feeling bad WITHOUT seeing with my own eyes. I've felt bad about the genocides of the world since I was a kid. Visiting the locations is the only thing left to bring me closer to that elusive state of understanding. Closer, but not quite there. I think I'll stay lost forever, asking "why" until the end of my days.

How to Tell You're in Finland

1. It's July and you're wearing a jacket

My plan to visit Finland mid-July seemed foolproof. For the first time in a decade I was going to my home country smack in the middle of summer! What could possibly go wrong?

The weather, of course. The temperature hovered below twenty degrees Celsius - low sixties Fahrenheit - with some rain and thunderstorms. I mean, what the fuck? This was summer? Everyone kept telling me how the entire June had been hot, which was a cold comfort, literally.

2. The sun seems to never set

It's easy to lose track of time, when 10 pm looks like a cloudy afternoon. Me like!

3. Every single house comes with a sauna

And every kitchen with a coffee maker, a built-in cutting board, a built-in dish rack inside a cupboard over the sink, and...

Back in the day, babies were born in saunas

4. It speaks fluent English - until

You know that arrogant European tourist, who expects people to speak their language wherever they go? Well, you won't have to learn Finnish to know what the hell we want from you. It's a fringe language and we know it's our job to make ourselves understood. It's common for kids to study several languages in school. English is expected of everyone - you'll be hard pressed to find anyone under 50 who cannot converse in English. But some things will inevitably get mixed up. Like, when "valleys" is translated into "hills". Oh well.

5. You get off the bus at  "Kuusmiehenkaari - Sexmansbågen"

What? How are you supposed to read that? The names of everything are long and exhausting, twice (Finnish and SWEDISH! Useful, right?). It's kind of like trying to read Turkish or Malay. But fear not, getting around is easy enough. In Helsinki, all the buses and trams have electrical signboards announcing the next stop - so you only need to remember the first few letters of your destination.

I'm sure orange was a really hot color in the 80's...but I would have gone with plain silver

6. People pick up the phone by saying their name (when they don't know who's calling)

Saying just "Hello" would be considered kind of rude. Only a hillbilly would do that.

7. It plays by the rules

Whether it's waiting for the green lights to cross the street or buying a tram ticket when no one is checking...it's a pretty obedient society. Street crime is close to none. In the small towns no one would snatch your bag if you offered it. You really don't have to give a shit about your stuff.

8. The ladies in huge black skirts and frilly tops ain't headed for a renaissance fair

They are Finnish gypsies. Oh yeah. It's a small ethnic minority here. Traditionally horse traders, fortune tellers, and artists, these days the gypsies have mostly main-stream professions. The men wear black pants, and match them with a seemingly random top, like an Adidas jacket. There's always been some friction between gypsies and the general public, but it's nothing compared to the discrimination and human rights violations that go on in central Europe.

9. The cashier says hello! No exceptions

You know the kind of service you get in the average supermarket or pharmacy in NYC? I'm talking of the people who take pride in giving customers attitude because they really don't give a flying fuck about their job. You simply cannot find that here.

Rudolph is food.

10. Reindeer meat, rye bread, licorice candy, sour milk...

...is sold in every corner store.

11. Just when you give up all hope, summer appears

And then it's all ice cream and short shorts in a warm bright night. Awesome!

Pray, Dance, Puke

I woke up at 4am in a Lebanese mountain town. It was still dark. I waited until the morning light, and went out for a walk. The streets of Broumana were quiet and smelled like flowers. It was the second day of Ramadan, but you didn't notice that here. It was a Christian town.

One of the numerous churches in Broumana, Lebanon

I stepped inside a Maronite church, and sat down on the nearest bench. There was a handful of women, all sitting quietly. I noticed that the center piece above the altar was a statue of Madonna with baby Jesus. I think most churches have a depiction of a crucified Jesus there. I liked the woman holding the baby instead.

Inside a Maronite church

A priest walked in. I realized that the women were waiting for the mass to begin. A few more people trickled in. I decided to stay. It was the first time I sat through a church service in Arabic. The Maronite mass was nice and calm. There was a lot of singing. In the end, two little boys got up to touch the priest's hands, and then went around the church and touched everyone else's hands. I'd never seen that. It was sweet.

The following day I attended some sort of Bellydance Olympics. Which was what I was here for.

The climate in the mountains is great in the summer, it doesn't get too hot

The Lady of Lebanon in Harissa, near the coastal town of Jounieh, is like Lebanon's version of Christ the Redeemer. A giant statue of Virgin Mary casts a merciful eye on the mortals beneath her. I don't know how I'd never made it there before. It was on my mind every time I came to Lebanon. Now I would finally do it.

You see, the Lady grants wishes. That's a true fact. At the tender age of 18, a friend of mine prayed to the Lady to make her a bellydancer. And a bellydancer she became, beautiful as a butterfly. She's one of the most talented people I know. It was a little late in my life to be wishing for that. I was going to ask for something entirely different.

There's nothing like a stomach bug to kill a great plan. A puking day is not a sightseeing day. I lay in bed, and managed to recover enough to fly at night.

The three days in Lebanon had been eventful. Highlight: seeing many dear friends, and making new ones. Low point: sitting on the floor of a taxi, vomiting by the roadside. But you know what they say: if you want to make the Lady of Lebanon laugh, tell her your plans. Guess I'll have to return another time.

Mommy & baby

NYC, the Home of the Amish

Ten years ago I arrived in New York City with a couple of bags, an address and a phone number. I called the landlady from a payphone at JFK to let her know I was on my way. But when I got to the apartment in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, no one buzzed me in. I sat down on the stoop. It was the last afternoon of August. The summer was far from over. Some guys on the block noticed me and began to holla at me. "Hey baby..." I looked the other way, at my new street, at Brooklyn. I knew I had to get smart real fast.

Even while sitting on the street with my stuff, I felt relieved. The hard part was over. I'd worked my butt off to reach that stoop. Through the preceding winter I'd cleaned offices during the day, taught bellydance classes at night, and performed on the weekends. I'd scrambled together (barely) enough money to get a six month long visa - on the second attempt. (The first time they denied me. I wasn't taking no for an answer, and reapplied with a new pile of papers.) I'd found a cheap sublet on Craigslist in Sunset Park, a mostly Mexican neighborhood. I arrived with a few thousand dollars, enough to get me through the first three or four months. I didn't have a plan for after that. I knew nobody in New York. At least I spoke the language.

The city welcomed me. I found everything I'd been looking for, even the things I hadn't dared to want out loud. The dance scene was amazing. For the first time I didn't struggle to make ends meet. New friends were all around, places to live were easy to find. Each new neighborhood was a new beginning. During four years I lived in Brooklyn, Manhattan and Queens, twice in each. Some of those roommates became friends for life.

Tompkins Square Park in Alphabet City, Manhattan

Every so often a friend comes to visit (like next month), but these days I'm usually not around. The least I can do is make some recommendations. I got plenty, but still asked my friend Monet, one of the few native New Yorkers I know. Let's lean in for her inside information!

"What would you call a New York must-see?"

"You'd need to ask somebody who's moved here from someplace else. When you're born and raised here you don't really think about it." (Telling it like it is!)

"Well what's your favorite neighborhood to visit?"

She paused.

"I like Astoria. It reminds me of Brazil." (Huh?!)

"Where do you like to shop?"

"I don't shop."

There! You heard it from a native. She said to ask someone who's moved here...so I asked myself.

I think the biggest mistake visitors make is never leaving Manhattan. (Taking the ferry to the Statue of Liberty does NOT count.) Okay, you wanna see the Empire State, the Met, some diner where Sally fake orgasmed at Harry...yawn. I'm not a big fan of touristy stuff, anywhere. The best of NYC does not come with an entrance fee or opening hours. What makes this city great is its PEOPLE. The mix of cultures, the different neighborhoods. People move to New York with big dreams, whether it's finance, fashion, or arts - or simply supporting family back home. This city was built by ambitious immigrants. We used to arrive by boat from Europe, now we fly in from all over the world, and all of us have a chance to make it here.

A few historical neighborhoods are famous, like Harlem, Little Italy and the Village in Manhattan. All are worth a linger. But there's a hundred others. The Greek-Arabic-Hispanic (and I suppose Brazilian!) concoction Astoria in Queens is one of my favorites too. A little further east is Jackson Heights, Queens, head there for a slice of Indian heaven. Right now I'm staying in Bay Ridge in Brooklyn, and I constantly hear Arabic on the streets. It offers me a soft landing from the Middle East. Wanna see what the kool kids are up to? Alternative is mainstream on St. Marks Place in the East Village, Manhattan - great for cheap eats, community yoga classes, bongs, tattoos, and other weird souvenirs.

Who doesn't love Big Gay Ice Cream Shop! East Village, Manhattan

The Chinatown in Manhattan is far from the only Chinese dominated area. Try Flushing, Queens - women with umbrellas on a sunny day will confirm you're in Asia. Or go check out the fashionable ladies in the Russian speaking Brighton and Coney Island in Brooklyn. If you keep your eyes open (or Google) you can discover interesting sub-neighborhoods like Koreatown, Little Haiti or Le Petit Senegal. I have a huge soft spot for my first hood Sunset Park, and to this day I head to 5th Avenue for cheap shopping, to hear what's hot in Reggaeton and to grab some street snacks. (Not to be confused with the 5th Avenue in Manhattan! No Louis Vuitton here.) Other good shopping destinations are Flatbush Avenue, which is in a mostly black and Caribbean area in Brooklyn, Steinway street in Astoria, as well as Queens Mall. Great food is all around, you can find anything your heart desires, whether it's cheap ethnic or fancy fusion. For a truly local experience, have a bagel with cream cheese.

Arabic food is easy to find in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn

Sometimes this city stuns you. I'll never forget when I first set foot in Borough Park, Brooklyn. Suddenly I saw a boy wearing a little hat, with a shaved head and two long curls on both sides of his face. I thought to myself "Wow, that kid's parents have a strange sense of humor." I walked on and began to see adults in clothes that looked like they belonged to a different century. "Right, I think these are Amish people..." Finally I saw a school bus with Hebrew text, and realized I was in a Hasidic Jewish area. Oh! Fresh from Scandinavia, I'd never seen anything like it.

Times Square deserves about three minutes of your time, unless you're picking up a ticket for a Broadway show (TOTALLY worth your money and time). Instead, take the subway down to Union Square, and spend a couple of hours. It's a hub for street performers and musicians, activists, craft and bake sales, and the occasional Hare Krishna gathering, especially in the summer. (Also the homeless and the crazies - New York has lots of them - but they're usually harmless.) Speaking of performers, take kindly to those athletic young men who barge into a subway car and yell "It's showtime!", proceeding to blast music and do acrobatics on the aisle. Give them a dollar and a smile. They're good kids.

I'm still a New Yorker at heart, although I don't spend much time here. It's my safe place, where everything makes sense. I can have a chat with virtually anyone I come across during my day - people are eager to go off script and share a laugh with a stranger. I feel completely free. I can wear anything, look people in the eye, and cross the street when I want. There have been times when I arrive a little worse for wear, licking some battle wound, but there's nothing that can't be talked out and made better over coffee or sushi. I turn to my friends, and I decompress.

Back to that stoop in Sunset Park. I didn't sit there for long. A girl came to open the door for me. She said the intercom wasn't working. I followed her to the apartment, and into my tiny little room. And from that moment on, I was home.