Wasta - Don't Leave Home Without It

"Wasta" is a really great Arabic word that means, essentially, "really really useful connections." Thanks to a whirlwind 3 days in Damascus, I am now personally acquainted with wasta and all its benefits.

Two weeks ago I went to the Syrian Embassy to get a visa. I was told that it would take "at least a month." Turns out America doesn't like Syria very much and so they aren't very friendly back. I had plans already made (plane ticket reserved, hotel reservations confirmed) so this was pretty much unacceptable. I was traveling with several work buds including an Arab American colleague who has a lot of family in Damascus. She said, "don't worry about it, my dad knows people." Long story short I had a visa 4 days later. Her dad said (and I quote), "the green paper makes things happen." I didn't ask for details.

I also had some problems with my return ticket. When I went to Syrian Air to purchase a new one, my colleague had a cousin who worked for the airline - and 10 mins later my ticket was $100 dollars cheaper. I didn't ask.

And then we went out to eat with a friend of my colleague's who is in the military. We didn't pay. Again, I didn't ask.

This happened over and over and over ... things just happen here. At least when you are on the right side of "wasta." And in between saying, "oh, that wouldn't happen in the US" over and over and over, I went to the wedding of my colleague's cousin. It started with singing of some sort:

(Check out the random American singing and clapping off beat on the left. What up?)

And then there was sword fighting:

(Yes, that lady is still there.)

And then huge flames:

(Notice the clapping hands on the right? That same lady...)

I have no idea what was going on or why, but I know now that I really really really need fire, swords and singing men at my wedding. It was altogether too great. Afterwards, all the men left but the groom. We women went upstairs to have dinner and, well, basically have a dance party. The women took off their head scarves and wraps to reveal off-the-hook prom dresses and amazingly coiffed hair. At the very end, the fathers and brothers joined in and I soon found myself on the floor dancing with the father of the groom (my colleague's uncle). I looked ridiculous. Let's just say that this white girl can't dance to Arab music. Luckily, "I Will Survive" came on and all my Cannon Center and Wilk Dance training kicked in and I pulled it back together (sorta). It was a great night, a great weekend, a great country with amazing sights, history and people.

A "terrorist State" stamp well worth adding to one's passport.