Saturday Night Fever in Bethlehem

Dear Family,

I've noticed that most salons here in Bethlehem are called "saloons." At first I thought this was just an odd and amusing misspelling, but I've since come to understand that the Arabic word sounds like "saloon," so there's a method to the madness. (This fact also explains why, to my slight embarrassment and confusion, nobody found the salon/saloon mixup nearly as funny as I did.)

Anyway, several weeks ago I was taking another in my series of saloon photos--of A/D saloon, named after its proprietor, Alla, which is located just across the street from Madame Mauge's apartment building. Noticing my photographing his shop and its misspelled sign, Alla came out to chat--and, being Palestinian rather than American, he invited me in for tea instead of breaking my nose.


Inside, I discovered Marlene Khoury, an English- (and French-) speaking dentist who was getting her hair highlighted. Frankly, though I didn't want to say anything, it looked to me as if Alla's assistants, two teenaged boys who were trying (and mostly failing) to get the aluminum thingies to wrap around her hair, didn't quite know what they were doing, as the wraps kept slipping off and the paste seemed to be getting everywhere (also, they were laughing far too much); but I later saw the result and it looked fine.

Note Marlene (pronounced "mar-LEN") in the sink.

Sorry for the digression, but since we're on the subject of salo(o)ns I have a couple of observations. (1) In Bethlehem (and, I think, in the surrounding towns) there are separate salons for men and women--but I've yet to see a female stylist. Women get their hair done, but women don't seem to do hair. (2) Haircuts here are extremely affordable by US standards. Christina, the English Department's secretary (the term "administrative assistant" is unknown here) recommended a guy, William, to cut my hair but warned that he was "expensive," meaning that he charged 25--not dollars, but shekels (i.e., about six dollars). Since 1991 I've been getting my hair cut by Rand, whose prices over the past 16 years have risen to 27 dollars--so William seemed like a (scary?) bargain. Fortunately, he was all Christina had promised.

One big surprise: he used a straight razor rather than clippers to do the sideburns and neck area. Speaking of straight razors, I've noticed that men here sometimes get shaves as well as haircuts, and I've been tempted to get one myself--since getting a shave in the US is of course considered something of a spa treatment and is generally pretty pricey. (It's ironic how, despite--or because of--the generally lower wages and standard of living here, certain things Americans consider luxury items--e.g., shaves, fresh-baked "artisinal" bread, homemade food and handmade crafts--Bethlehemites take for granted.)

Back on topic: Marlene and I talked for a while, and she invited me to go out sometime. About a week later, on a Saturday night, I climbed aboard her SUV (I'm seeing more of these here now than I did before), said hello to her sister (in the photos below, she of the long, straight dark hair), and we were on our way to Pyramids, a restaurant/club in Beit Jala (a town alongside Bethlehem that basically blends into it). Marlene had said that a singer "from the North" (i.e., from Ramallah or Nablus or thereabouts) was performing that night; this was a big deal because although "the North" isn't too far away, Israeli checkpoints make traveling to and from this area somewhat difficult and time-consuming.



When we arrived, a group of men Marlene didn't know--but whom, I think, her sister knew; it was difficult to figure out the precise nature of the relationships in this group--were waiting for us. Marlene was very anxious about my well-being and kept asking, "You are enjoying?"

I was enjoying--though I had begun to suspect that, quoth Sesame Street, "One of these things [was] not like the others."

"Marlene, you're a dentist, right?" "Yes," she responded. "Do you mind my asking"--and here I knew I was on very shaky ground, but I pressed on anyway, foolishly--"how old you are?" Then followed the inevitable trap: "How old do you think I am?" Well, I thought she was probably about 30--mostly because she was a dentist, and I figured she had to be at least in her late 20s. Usually when I'm guessing somebody's age, I calculate the age I believe the person to be and subtract ten years: for instance, if somebody looks 40 to me I'll say, "30," and the person will often respond with delight: "Oh! I'm actually 32!" This way everybody's happy--and, usually, nobody's the wiser. (When this strategy fails, however, it fails miserably.)

So I said, "Ah...25?" She looked displeased, and I knew I had screwed up. "I'm 22," she responded. My eyes widened. "But how--?" She then explained how it was possible to be a dentist at 22 (she finished school early, yada yada yada).

J: "And your sister?"

M: "She's in high school."

J: "And [I didn't want to use the term "boys," though I began to realize it was appropriate], ah, everybody else?"

M: "They're mostly in college or just out of high school, I think. Jamal [in the photo of the singer, he's at the lower right] is 20 or 21."

Then, of course...

M: "How old are you?"

J: "Ah...41...soon to be 42." (Old enough, I considered, to be everybody's father.)

Now it was her turn to be surprised--or, at least, to feign surprise. "Really? I thought you were, maybe"--and here she was kind, though I had been (however unconsciously) cruel--"in your early 30s." I thanked her (of course).

Below are photos of Marlene and me at Pyramids and, later in the evening, at Cosmos (see below). There are also photos taken at Pyramids while the singer was belting out songs Araby-style, everybody was puffing on the nargileh, and people of all ages were dancing and enjoying themselves.

Below: (1) A guy whose name I didn't catch, Jamal, and Marlene's sister; (2) Two members of the group; (3) Have a nargileh! (the guy who kept us puffing).

Eventually it was time to leave Pyramids and head to our next destination, Cosmos.

Weeks after my night out, I was having (Turkish) coffee with the department chair and another English professor, and they were talking about a drug-related incident that had taken place in Bethlehem (where, it seems, this sort of thing is rarer than in Chicago). They happened to mention that this incident had occurred outside Cosmos, at which point I eagerly joined their conversation: "I've been there!" They stared at me--not unlike how two other members of the department had stared at me when I had mentioned spending the evening sharing a nargileh with the "bad boys" of Manger Square. "You've been...to Cosmos?" Mai (who's fun and feisty) asked. "Uh...yes," I responded, now wishing I hadn't said anything. "And what's wrong with that?" cried Jeanne, our chair. "Why shouldn't he go, Mai?" "Oh, no, no! Of course he should go! He should see everything." She returned her gaze to me. "How was it?"

I tried to explain the term "cheesy" to them, but I'm not sure I succeeded. For my fellow Americans, I can paint a picture in seven dirty words: disco ball and fog machine, no irony. Stepping into Cosmos was like stepping into a club from the 70s. The crowd was a mixture of locals and tourists (mostly European tourists, mostly--ah--Eurotrash), and the music was likewise a blend of Arab standards and western pop/electronica. Perhaps you'll recognize the song in the video below.

I eventually joined Marlene and her friends on the dance floor. "You dance very well, Jamil!" she observed--and this would have pleased me, but for the note of surprise in her voice. I took some more photos and enjoyed chatting with the fun-loving George (below, in the middle) from, I believe, Argentina (a Palestinian returning home from the diaspora).

As it neared 4:00 a.m. the club began to wind down. As we headed toward the parking lot, we noticed that an argument had broken out: Walid (see photo, below; he's on the right) who had disappeared half an hour or so earlier, was shouting at three rather beefy and scary-looking men.

Marlene, it seems, had determined to stay out of trouble, and so rather than going to his aid we piled into the SUV and drove off. It seemed we were moving away from Cosmos, but given what happened next perhaps we had turned around without my noticing.

Somehow we discovered Walid on the side of a road that, as far as I could tell, was some distance from the club (which wasn't in view). I'm not sure how he (or, frankly, we) arrived there. In any event, he was shouting at (and shoving!) these three burly men (bouncers?), and it seemed a fistfight was about to break out (i.e., that he was going to be pummeled). Even more disturbing was the fact that five members of the Fatah security forces (armed, as usual, with semi-automatic rifles) were approaching him.

So, naturally, Marlene brought the SUV to a screeching halt alongside Walid and the bouncers, rolled down her window, and started screaming at him in Arabic--apparently trying to persuade him to get into the car (which he didn't want to do). He turned his head from side to side, yelling at the men and at her in turn. I observed the security forces drawing closer. We had only a few seconds before they would be upon us. I sighed, stepped out of the car, grabbed Walid (who was shorter and lighter than I), and threw him into the back seat. Marlene (who handled autos as well as she did people) stepped on the gas and drove off at high speed even as I was trying to (1) hang on to Walid and keep him from jumping out; (2) shut the door.

The bouncers and the security forces disappeared behind us. He screamed and struggled for a while, but eventually he calmed down. We met the Posse further down the road, handed Walid to them, and drove away. (I never did get a cogent explanation of his wild behavior.)

A few minutes passed in silence.

"So," Marlene asked me, "are you enjoying?"

"Sure," I laughed.

"Would you like to get some falafel?" she asked.

"Ah, no, thank you. Time for me to go to bed."

Off to bed I went...and so ended the little adventure.

Love,

Jamil