In a previous post, I had briefly mentioned the separation between colloquial Arabic and formal Arabic, as well as the difficulties this separation poses for students who are trying to learn and apply the language. It has long been a debate among those who teach Arabic whether it is better to begin with Fusha (standard) and move into Ammiya (colloquial), or whether it’s better to move in the opposite direction. Even during my placement exam for this program, I had to write a short essay in Arabic about which side of the debate I agree with. As with most debates, there are solid and convincing arguments for each side.

By learning Fusha first, you can learn the mechanics of the language – the roots and patterns in each word, and the way they can be manipulated, almost mathematically, to help you infer and conjugate an array of nouns, gerunds, and verbs both active and passive. For the academics among us, the formal language can help us to read books, poetry, research articles, and newspapers in Arabic. It helps us to communicate in scholarly and professional settings, and it endows us with the bare bones needed to navigate across any country in the Arab world. Using Fusha, I can generally get by (with varying degrees of ease) whether I am traveling in Lebanon, Tunisia, Oman, or Sudan. Knowing only Ammiya restricts us to a specific locale and makes it difficult to apply the rules of Arabic to infer new words and verbal constructions. For these reasons, I often find myself arguing in favor of the “Fusha first” contingent.

Yet, my time in Lebanon has had me questioning this position. It’s true that Fusha is useful for the Gulf countries, as their dialect is incredibly similar to the formal style. In other countries (e.g., Iraq, Palestine, Jordan), the education system places a great amount of importance on teaching Fusha in primary and secondary schools so that most of the population can understand and speak the formal language when necessary. However, Lebanon does not fit into either of these categories. Their education system operates almost entirely in English and French. Even in higher education, universities like AUB and Lebanese American University teach their courses in English, while Université Saint-Joseph teaches in French. Ammiya is used for almost everything else. Even in the Summer Arabic Program, many of the classes and lectures have fused Fusha with Ammiya in such a way that it was necessary to learn a certain degree of both languages just to follow along.

Knowing the local dialect helps you to immerse yourself in a given context and learn the culture, regardless of which Arab country you happen to be visiting. And in a place like Lebanon, Ammiya is not just a helpful tool for cultural immersion; it is a fundamental requirement for it. If you want to avoid English and French, the dialect is necessary for interacting with people in any meaningful way. Fusha may be the language of classical literature and politics, but Ammiya is the people’s language – the language of ordering food at restaurants, of asking for directions, and negotiating with taxi drivers. It’s the language of asking someone how their day has been and how their family is doing. You can’t know Lebanon without learning Ammiya.

The divide between these two forms of Arabic has led me to reflect on my language education during the program – particularly the frustration that, yes, I can have conversations about any number of topics spanning history, religion, violence, and politics in the Middle East. But I cannot explain to the health center why I’m not feeling well. This is a realization that has been sitting uneasy with me this entire summer, and something that I will need to revisit when deciding next steps for my Arabic education.

Everyone in Hamra has seen them, I’m sure. Strolling along the pathways, lounging on benches, or hiding in the bushes making the most of their stealth superpowers. I’m talking, of course, about those beloved, pampered beings of the Internet: cats. The army of felines currently residing at AUB is one of the most notable things about the campus. And I’ll be honest, it’s been one of the major highlights of my summer. The cats feature so prominently here that the university created its own webpage for them, which outlines AUB’s policy on cats, guidelines for students and visitors, and a donations page for their maintenance.

Guideline #5 clearly states that it is prohibited for any person to dump cats on campus, yet this is exactly how the “Cats of AUB” phenomenon began. Nearly a million people left Lebanon during its 15-year civil war, which lasted from 1975 until 1990. Before leaving the country, some people abandoned their pets on campus with the hopes that they would be fed and taken care of. This small colony grew over time, and AUB still maintains its policy of providing them with humane care and management. It is difficult to estimate the current number of feline residents, but I would venture to guess that it’s upwards of 200. And despite the university’s noble efforts to ensure the cat population is spayed and neutered, their numbers continue to grow. Even during my short stay here, I happened upon newborn kittens on multiple occasions.

Although these cats have been generally tolerated by the students, many have also complained about the university allocating a portion of their tuition for veterinary care and daily feedings. I’ve heard a number of people commenting on the health risks they pose, and sometimes it does seem like there is an actual cat infestation on campus. For example, the sign below is posted on the Center for Arabic and Middles Eastern Studies door in order to prevent cats from getting into the office. It’s like one of the plagues.

 

To me, the cats have a certain charm about them that brightens my study breaks. I have been trying to balance this attitude with a sensitivity for the concerns and frustrations of those who live here, but I admit, it has been tough. The idea that interacting with animals helps to cut down on stress and burnout is quite realistic, and – perhaps unwillingly – these feral cats have served exactly that purpose. I can’t count the number of times I left class with a splitting headache, feeling exhausted and utterly incompetent, only to sit on a bench and have one of these cats curl up next to me and show some affection. At one point, I thought of creating a #CatsofAUB Instagram account to document all the cat friends I made during my studies. It never happened, so I’ll share a few of them here to commemorate the furry friends that helped me through the summer.

One of the most recognized faces by those in the Summer Arabic Program has been Margaret, the sassy calico that lives on the wall outside our building. Sure, she may look angry, and she hasn’t quite learned how to control her emotions yet. But I assure you, she just needs some love. Don’t we all?

I found Ambien – named after the sleep drug – napping in four different locations throughout the day. Shortly thereafter I met Walnut, who was an extremely tiny pal with the size of my palm and a constant purr.

 

While rushing to prepare one of my short presentations for class (we were asked to choose an Arab country and talk about its history and political system), I was distracted by the most gracious tabby cat who was so sweet that I named him Moosh Moosh – the Lebanese word for apricot. That same day, I heard a noise coming from the trashcan and discovered a grouchy four-legged vagabond digging through the rubbish. He earned the name Oscar.

 

A rather aloof white-haired mutant became known as Mu in honor of a pretty deformity that left her with two different eye colors. Walking home from class one day, I heard the most desperate cry coming from the top of a hill and found 3 newborn kittens stumbling inside a cardboard box. These 3 firecrackers came to be known as Lock, Stock, and Barrel.

 

And to round off the list, a particularly itchy cat that insisted on jumping into my lap was baptized as Pulgoso (the Spanish word for flea-ridden).

This is only a sampling of the many unexpected cat friends that I met in Beirut. In the end, these cats reminded me of the city itself: colorful, diverse, full of personality, and a bit rough around the edges. And although they carry a reputation of caution and uncertainty, they have an awful lot to offer once you get to know them.

 

One of the more difficult aspects of this program is that the pace has not allowed time for unfettered exploration. There are so many things packed into this tiny little country, but carving out a time to travel and sightsee would require me to push aside my coursework, and I haven’t been willing to do that. Perhaps for this reason, the administrators organized two weekend trips to sites and spaces outside of Beirut and hired a tour guide to speak in Arabic so we could escape the campus without wasting precious language time. The first of these trips focused on three areas just north of the city: Jeita, Harissa, and Byblos.

Our first stop was the Jeita Grotto, a system of two interconnected limestone caves that stretch nearly six miles and contain the world’s largest known stalactites (27 feet long). The entire upper cave is walkable, allowing people to meander along a path lined with stalagmites, stalactites, ponds, and an array of giant crystallized formations that resemble mushrooms, orchids, and chandeliers. Our guide pointed out a particular formation in which many people see a resemblance to Buddha. It reminded me of those people who see visions of the Virgin Mary in their toast. I suspect that the entire cave could serve as a Rorschach test. In the lower cave, we had to board a small boat for a brief u-tour of the excavation, as most of this section is filled with water. No photos were allowed in either cave, but here’s a peak at what the upper grotto and lower grotto look like inside. Truly, this place is the cave of wonders. Definitely one of the more spectacular sites I have visited.

The trip through the Jeita Grotto was my first guided tour in Arabic. Even though our guide spoke as slow as humanly possible – enunciating clearly and pausing after each word – I understood surprisingly little of what she said. Not for the first time, it put my ego in check and reminded me that my Arabic vocabulary is not as large as I think it is – especially when it comes to monologues about ancient history, archaeology, and the chemistry of geological formations.

Our next stop on the trip was Harissa. To reach this village, you either have to drive up the mountain from Jounieh Bay or make the journey using a creaky gondola lift called a “teleferique.” At the top stands a giant statue of Mary named Our Lady of Lebanon (Notre Dame du Liban) that belongs to the Maronite Church. As evidenced by the swarms of people spiraling up the tower of the statue and visiting its shrine, Harissa serves as a pilgrammage site – not only for Christians, but also for Muslims and Druze across the Middle East. It was my third time visiting the statue, and even though the crowded shrine and cheesy photo ops render this site as something less than peaceful, I have been struck each time by the power of the view. The towering statue looks down the mountain toward Beirut with her arms outstretched – gesturing for me to just pause a minute and absorb it.

  

For the final stop of our trip, we drove a bit further up the coast to a city with multiple names. In Arabic it is typically called Jbeil, but in English we usually refer to it as Byblos – a mangling of its original name, Papyrus. The letter ‘P’ doesn’t exist in Arabic and often becomes a ‘B.’ If you were to attend a Lebanese picnic, for example, you might see people drinking a Bebsi or eating a bag of chibs. So Papyrus became Babyrus, and over time morphed into Byblos. Wikipedia informed me that Byblos was also referred to as Geval in the Hebrew Bible and Gibelet during the Crusades. Whatever its name, this city is thought to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, with people living there as early as 5,000 B.C. Others might argue that Damascus has been inhabited since 9,000 BC, but in my opinion, the difference is irrelevant. They are both unfathomably old.

Unfortunately, we were unable to see anything that bore evidence of Byblos’s 7,000 + years of existence. I did, however, visit a magnificent beach and eat one of the best meals I had during my time in Lebanon.The ancient Phoenician temples and archaeological sites will have to wait for the next visit.