Mildly Homeless

Friday, 24 April 2009—11AM

Awoke I several days ago and thought, I have not been yelled at by landlords and kicked out of houses in quite some time. I must remedy this situation post-haste!, and immediately set to work seeking to bring into my life those essential pieces of frustration and douchbaggery so lacking in my current state of tranquility.

I looked around my current house and my eyes fell upon the pool of sewer water backing up in the hallway between my room, the front door, and the bathroom; sewer water that had been backing up for a month and that remained unfixed despite several appeals to our landlord. I went to wash my feet and found a mostly-dead cockroach lounging in my bathroom things. I got up a morning later and found the cats had opened the fridge and spilled my youghurt all over the floor.

A move might be nice, I decided.

Two nights ago I met a friend, Z, for dinner and found that she had moved into a new house ten minutes from mine with several free rooms. I went back with her and found the rooms small but well-furnished, and the house clean and tidy. I was eager to move into a nice house with a good friend (leaving behind my unfriendly roommates) but waited a night before deciding yesterday morning that there was no reason for me not to move. I had a slight feeling of unease, but chalked it up to nervousness at taking such an impulsive jump. I met with the landlord, Marwan (who doesn’t speak English), yesterday afternoon. He came across exactly the same all landlords in Syria (and perhaps anywhere): materialistic, unhelpful, overly-friendly and slightly creepy. But we agreed that I would take the room and I took the key, then went to break up with my current landlord and pack.

Having rushed into everything, I went by my landlord’s sister’s shop to give her April’s rent through yesterday (having not paid yet in hopes of fixing said sewer water problem). I texted my landlord a little later to say I was moving today. I packed, I mentioned my moving to my roommates, I ate leftovers. My landlord came over and scolded me for not telling him sooner, speaking to me from several meters away because of the flood of sewer water in front of my door. My friends A, J, and H arrived to help me carry my bags and we made the ten minute trek to the new place.

No one was home when we arrived, so we put the bags in my room, then went up to the terrace to enjoy the sunset. Seeing a ladder we climbed on top of one of the rooms and watched the mountains silhouetted in a blood-red sky. While on the roof the doorbell rang, then the front door opened. Who should it be but Hasoon, the terrible landlord from my first Old City house, followed by two Italians. Believing no one was home, he showed them the free room downstairs, then brought them to see the free room upstairs. We scrambled down in time to meet him. I told him that I lived here now; he ignored me, finished the tour, and left. I was unsettled that such an unscrupulous landlord had free access to yet another house of mine, but my friend hadn’t had major problems, so I hoped it was a fluke.

We were downstairs in my room talking when Z, who teaches English, got home with a student. We had just finished saying hello when Marwan, walked in. We had agreed to meet in the evening so I could sign paperwork, so I didn’t think anything was wrong. He walked into the room and asked for the key, which was strange, but I got it for him and asked why he needed it. He ignored me, and after a moment of thinking of what to say, said (in very fast ‘amia so that I didn’t understand very much), “You need to get out. We don’t have a room for you.”

I could understand bits and could tell something was wrong, but my [guy] friend A understood everything and started to question him. After a few moments, it came out that Marwan was claiming to not be the real landlord (he is) but that the house belonged to a woman named Suzanne (his wife) and that she had given all three free rooms to other people three days ago but had been away in Eastern Syria and just hadn’t bothered to mention this to her husband. Or anyone else. Marwan tries to say there’s no problem, he just wants me to leave right now, but A steps up to my defense (being able to speak ‘amia) and says there is a problem: I don’t have a house.

In charges Suzanne, a heavy-set broad looking for a fight. She says in English that she is a professor at Damascus University and she wants me out of the house right now. A continues to defend me, getting upset in the process. Z is standing next to where I am sitting; we’re both in shock. Marwan turns to her and says, “For the second time, get these people out of the house. They are your responsibility,” but Z doesn’t quite understand him and doesn’t know how to react. Suzanne leaves and returns to the room several times to yell with A, then starts demanding that he leave under the nonsensical claim that Syrian law forbids men in the rooms of women. Marwan makes a move to physically remove A; when he tries it again A threatens to hit him.

The entire situation had deteriorated rapidly. Marwan and his wife keep charging in and out of the room to yell at us more, refusing to give us the few minutes we ask for so that we can think. They particularly want A out for daring to stand up for me. Under constant attack we make a plan: I will go stay with J who has a free room in her flat. We pick up my bags, thankfully still packed, and leave.

Talking to Z later I learn that Hasoon, after seeing me in the house, had immediately called Marwan and told him that he had had troubles with me in the past and that I was not a good person. Marwan, being entirely in the pocket of Hasoon and Suzanne, immediately believed him, which led to my sudden eviction.

The entire experience was rather overwhelming, and I spent the rest of the evening in various states of shock. I had sacrificed a decent situation (at least, not worthy of sudden exit without a plan) to take advantage of an opportunity that had blown up in my face, and it took me a while to shake the idea that the entire thing was my fault. But now I am doing well, and actually grateful that I hadn’t started unpacking or been there alone when confronted with insane landlords. I had been planning to move into a flat in a few months anyway, and now I have the opportunity to find a good flat that will last me for the rest of my time in Syria.

As for my immediate plans, I am staying with my friend J in the empty room for a few more days, when both she and I have to leave because the Arab family who owns the flat needs the space. Then I will move into another flat with a different friend, but we will have to move out after a few weeks. So the next month will be a little rocky, but it gives me some breathing space to find a good flat that I can move into before I leave for Jordan, Berlin, and the US. I would like to have something arranged so that when I come back to Damascus in late June and all of my friends are gone, I will have a place to go.

I seem to have no luck with landlords in Syria and I am growing tired of the same problems over and over. But I’m lucky to have such supportive and generous friends who are helping me so completely. It’s a little awkward now living out of my bags filled with the eclectic collection of all my stuff, but the situation could definitely be worse and I have a plan, so I am okay.