Postcard From Damascus: Living With Iraqi Refugees in Syria

Often contextualized by war and conflict, many people in the Arab world are portrayed by some of the media as either victims or perpetrators of violence. In order to shatter these stereotypes, it's important to step back and examine how other cultures live.

I spent six months living in Damascus, Syria, producing a documentary about a family of Iraqi refugees who'd fled the violence of pre-surge Iraq, back when the bloodshed was at an all-time high.

Most of my work has focused on their plight, which is violent and traumatic, but I'd like to acknowledge just how much resilience, humor, and graciousness I found in those Iraqis who eventually became my good friends.

I also had the opportunity to live in a country that wasn't technically part of Bush's "Axis of Evil," but might as well have been, with the way it was vilified by the former administration. To add insult to injury, Syria received nary a thank you for absorbing two million Iraqi refugees displaced by the American invasion.

Politics aside, Syria is a fascinating place.

Damascus Demystified

With a one-bedroom apartment as my home base, I was well positioned to hit the streets and explore the capital of Damascus. Sure, Syria is a U.S.-designated State Sponsor of Terrorism, due to its support for organizations such as Hezbollah and Hamas, but as a visitor, you wouldn't know it.

The way I'd describe Damascus is a "magical playground." Visit the city center, and you'll find the magnificent Old City; a labyrinth of shops, spice markets, and restaurants enclosed by a wall that dates back to the 13th century. But the most breathtaking sight is the Ummayad Mosque, the most important religious structure in all of Syria.

Taking in the sights, I was subjected to the requisite hawkers hoping to peddle their wares at a "special price" (twice as expensive because you are an American). But I also felt a sort of celebrity status with the locals. Because Syria is quite insular (websites such as YouTube and Facebook are banned), visitors from outside provide an opportunity for dialogue that's missing. The locals were eager to invite me over for tea or dinner, anxious to discuss world affairs with a Westerner.

No one had a problem with the fact that I didn't cover my head. I dressed just like I do at home, and like most of the other Syrian women I saw. Contrary to popular belief, Syria is a secular system of government. There are no 'morality police' roaming the streets to crack down on violators of a dress code. About half the women I saw were covered. The rest dressed like women you might see in the U.S. -- tight shirts, gold jewelry, and enough makeup for a runway show.

I tagged along with locals to art exhibits, sipping white wine and sampling hors d'oeuvres as I perused the work. The art scene in Damascus is thriving -- a motivated new generation of contemporary artists is beginning to find recognition on the international scene.

I sipped cocktails and danced until four am at nightclubs, where the DJ's played a mix of Arabic and American pop-culture music, like Justin Timberlake and Beyonce.

With the weather at well over 100 degrees, I chose to spend my afternoons at the local swimming pool. Most gyms split their days into men's and women's hours. Women's swim time meant shedding the headscarves, sunbathing in skimpy bikinis, smoking nargila, a hookah tobacco pipe, and gossiping with their girlfriends. Sometimes I felt as if I'd been transported back to the U.S.

At sundown, the city truly came alive. The downtown shopping area was always teeming with people. Women wearing abayas browsed gold jewelry and sexy lingerie. Parks were packed with families, young couples enjoying ice cream on park benches, and parents pushing children on swings.