Last semester

Christmas-decorations in the suburbs of Detroit can take on gargantuan proportions.

A new year, a new semester, a new blogpost - finally. Let's just say that blogging isn't on the top of my priority list when I also have classes, an internship, work and a girlfriend. But I do want to keep you informed about my life here, so let me give you a quick summary of last semester.

I started an internship with Taylor-DeJongh, an financial advisory firm that has an extensive track record of helping companies and governments raise funds for oil&gas, infrastructure and power projects. A great place to learn more about financial modeling, capital markets, project finance and the energy sector. I'm personally mainly interested in renewable energy, but for most of the industrial era and the foreseeable future, fossil fuels have and will play a pivotal role in the economic activities of any industrialized country. So I was happy to learn more about this industry: the major players, the major technologies, the supply chain, the political and social issues etc. I always wanted to know more about it, and it is great to get an insider's view now. I have been working there three days a week from September until December. That was a very short period considering what there is to learn about project finance and energy, so I'll continue working for them this semester.

For my studies I took the courses international business finance, international banking and financial statement analysis. But what's probably more interesting is what I did next to work and study. One great event - from my perspective - was the Dutch celebration of the establishment of New York 400 years ago, when Henry Hudson sailed up what's now called the Hudson River in 1609 and the Dutch established a trading post there. Part of the celebrations was a job-swap between people from New York and people from Amsterdam. First, the Dutch would spend a week with their counterpart in New York, and then the New Yorkers would spend a week in the Netherlands. During these exchanges, they were asked to keep up a blog about their experiences. A friend of mine, who was involved in organizing this program, asked me if I could help out translate some of these blogs. I translated the blogposts of the architect, the bartender, the prosecutor, the farmer, the firefighter and the foodbank employee from English into Dutch. It was great to read about their exchange - their different opinions and backgrounds, their similarities, their enthusiasm about the event. You should certainly take some time to read some of the blogposts. They show how people at two sides of the Atlantic Ocean can share a passion for the same profession, work in different systems, learn from each other and bring back part of the experience back to their job at home. The best part of the story is that, when I went to New York in October, I seized the opportunity to go to Jimmy's no 43, the bar of the New Yorkian bartender. When I told him I had been translating his blogposts, he sat down at our table, got us some great beers (and kept them coming for the rest of the night) and told about his job, the job-swap, food and beer (his passion) and we had a great time.

The next time I went to New York was to celebrate Thanksgiving with family and friends of Chloe's (my girlfriend). Thanksgiving is a big thing in the US, so it was nice to experience it with so many people. I guess it's similar to what I'm used to of Christmas - having a nice dinner with family, but not much more. Christmas in the US, though, is very different. After looking forward to it for the whole semester, Chloe and I rented a car and drove to Detroit -the legendary birthplace of assembly-line production and of Chloe. Most of her family still lives there, so she normally celebrates Christmas in Michigan. It was a nine-hour ride through Maryland, past the coal-mines and mountains of Pennsylvania, the plains and the refineries of Ohio and the lakes and industries of Michigan, to eventually arrive in the suburbs of Detroit. It's amazing to see a city that's so spread out, where cars not only represent a vital part of the economy, but also of people's lives. Without a car, it's almost impossible to get anywhere. To go from a suburb to Detroit proper, you have to take the highway for 15-30 minutes, and you barely see anybody walking on the streets of downtown Detroit. In a way it is a gloomy city, with many abandoned factory buildings (mainly from before the current crisis) and foreclosed houses, but at the same time Detroit evokes a kind of pride in people from the area - the pride of being part of American history, contributing to state-of-the-art mechanical engineering and building up ones life with ones own two hands, depicted in the great mural painted in the Detroit Institute of the Arts in 1932. Now that this lifestyle has become more difficult, that pride might have taken a serious blow, but I don't think it will ever disappear.
One example of what Detroit has to offer, despite a lifeless economy, was Cadieux Cafe. There, great Belgian beer was combined with the rock and roll of the Rumpshakers and a Belgian game called feather bowling (or trabollen, in Dutch). It is similar to playing petanque (a french game) on a giant lane, with a feather instead of the small ball and wooden cheese-wheels instead of the larger balls. It was great to see that this unique part of Belgian culture had found its way to Detroit and was now fully integrated in the local people's pass-time.

After Detroit, we drove on to Chicago to visit more family of Chloe. After the view of a tore-down Detroit, driving into Chicago and seeing a beautiful skyline was amazing. Chicago, where some of the world's first skyscrapers were built, has a down-town area with many elaborate high-rise buildings, a beautiful Millennium park and some shiny sculpture known (and shaped as) the Bean. In Chicago we met many great people, enjoyed the lively (but cold) streets, celebrated New Year's eve in a great bar and Chloe's birthday on the 74th floor of the Hancock building and in a Mexican restaurant.

When all that great fun time was over, we drove back to DC in about 12 hours and went back to work the next day. It was a great intermission of the academic year, a great way to meet many great people, and I'm looking forward to going back there some day.

Now on to the last semester of my studies!

Blurring contrasts

So what happened exactly the past month? I must say, even I don't know exactly - or don't remember, or don't believe. A little bit more than a month ago I was still in Lebanon, negotiating tariffs with taxi-drivers, drinking arak, smoking arkile (hooka), walking through Beirut from coast to club, swimming in the Medditeranean sea, dealing with power outages, eating the best hummus, lebneh (kind of yoghurt) and saj (flat bread), learning new things and meeting new people every day. I had gotten used to the new shiny offices and the old demolished buildings with bullet holes, the humongous hummers and the riding wrecks, the talks about political coalitions and religious mistrust, the soldiers on the streets and the weapons people have at home, the beautiful sea and the ugly cities, the pious priests and the vicious followers, the animosity towards Israel and the skepticism towards Arab countries - and all that within a few square kilometers. It makes you indifferent, in a way, and it forces you to conquer your own living space among all those different social, religious, political and professional forces. I felt like I could finally plant my flag in my humble piece of territory in Beirut.
And then, I got on a plane, visited Istanbul for one day, and found myself back in the Netherlands. The flat, structured, well-organized, consociational (polder-model-governed) Netherlands. The contrast couldn't have been bigger. The trains ride on time (there are trains, to start with), what you see is what you get, prices are predictable, energy, water and gas are in ample supply and I know my way around in the streets, the neighborhoods and the cities. It was great to be back, but it was hard to leave Lebanon. I had met so many great people there and had gotten to a point where I could honestly say they were my friends - and now I had to leave. Of course, I knew it in advance, and in a way, Lebanon isn't a place for outsiders, so maybe it was just time for me to leave, but I wish I could take all the great things with me - or go back some day. Regardless, I will cherish the memories and think back about my time there with great joy.
That time already seemed like ages ago during my tour through the Netherlands. In order to meet as many friends and family-members as possible in the 12 days I had, I visited Beerze (my homevillage), Den Bosch (to see my grandparents), Utrecht, Leiden (my university-town) and of course Amsterdam. And in the meanwhile I also went to Hardenberg (where I went to high-school), Ommen (to visit my grandmother) and Rotterdam. It was great to see everybody again - and to share these topographical aspects of my history with Chloe. I loved the countryside around Beerze and Hardenberg - the forest, the down-to-earth and friendly people, the quiet, the space, the skies. It was great to go back to the canals and historical buildings in Utrecht and Amsterdam. I feasted on the multicultural influences from Surinam, Indonesia, China and the Middle East eating great, cheap meals in Rotterdam, Amsterdam and Leiden. And of course I took a walk down memory lane visiting my former house-mates in Leiden and drinking with my former fellow students in the bars I used to frequent back in the days (that is, a little more than a year ago). We did a lot of great things in the Netherlands, including walks, bike-rides and sailing and canoeing in the beautiful Dutch natural and urban environment - but I think it was mainly the normal things - the beers with friends, the dinners with family and the coffee with grandparents, that made it special.
And then, I got on a plane, watched some movies and found myself going through the homeland-security at Washington Dulles airport and riding the bus back to Columbia Heights. The time in the Netherlands was more like a holiday. Which was a strange experience: going on holiday in the country you grew up in. Now, in DC, I was back home - the place where I live, study and work. I had one weekend to get back to reality, and then classes and internship started. I was back home, I was forced back into the busy routine and the Lebanese contrasts faded into a blur. But it's a blur I hold dear.

More Middle East

Even though it seemed such a hastle to me, even though I didn't know if there were any direct busses or taxis, even though I didn't know if I would need a new visa to come back, if there would be space in a cheap hostel or if my arabic was up to it, everybody told me I had to see Syria. Or at least Damascus. Even for just a weekend. So I asked people if they wanted to accompany me, people who had been there and knew how to get there and where to go. But nobody could join me.
So last Saturday morning I just tried my luck and walked to the nearest main road to the East. I knew there were vans going that way. Unfortunately, the driver of the bus I ended up in didn't know much about it and he dropped me of far away from the road I needed to get on. So I walked back, found a van and continued my way to Damascus. At Zahle (still in Lebanon), I got a service (shared taxi) to the border. At the border, the officers took a long time figuring out that at the airport I had been given a one-month visa, even though I had already received a three month visa in Washington. So eventually, they let me through, promising that I could get back on the three month visa. Yeah, sure, I know you guys by now, but like you guys, I don't really care. We'll see.
The Syrian officers were more straight to the point. They made the life of British and American tourists difficult and expensive, but apparently they didn't have a probem with Dutch people on Syrian soil. Too bad I first had to wait until the British girl in front of me agreed to pay $100 for her visa (my visa cost me $40, let's hope President Abbad uses it wisely).
And then there were just one more van and one more bus seperating me from the bustling center of Damascus. During my two-day stay there, I was trying to make up my mind if it was too touristic or not. The most interesting part of the city, Old Town, contained the main markets where rich men and women - mostly women - bought clothes with delicate brocade, golden jewels, exquisite furniture with inlaid mother-of-pearl, richly decorated swords or musical instruments and cheap toys for their children. The lively, colourful streets filled with all kinds of merchandise were a beautiful sight, the women from the Gulf, completely covered in black and mercilessly making their way towards luxury, bargains and famous religious landmarks were a nuissance. They were like Japanese women storming a department store on the first day of sales to get that very expensive stuff for just slightly expensive prices. May God be with them.
But hasn't Damascus always been a grand market-place? A main commercial hub between the East and the West? And weren't the goods offered then and now local specialties? Surely the beautiful musical instruments or tapestries were not made in China. It has probably never been much different in those popular markets, people have always been trying to drain the foreigners of their money and travellers have always been looking for a bargain, except that the customers now arrive by plane instead of by camel or horse.
Nevertheless, I was glad to find out that most streets in the Old Town are just leading to houses, small tea- and food-stores, little mosques or public bathhouses. Places where no black-clad woman would be interested in (okay, I saw a few there as well, but at least they were not pushing their way through). And finally, I got a taste of what I had imagined the Middle East to be like. Small houses build against city walls that have been standing there for centuries. Much visited mosques where foreigners are invited to come take a look, even during prayer. Locals who appreciate it if you speak Arabic, even if it's just a little bit. Youth who entertain themselves with arguile and backgammon instead of expensive private beaches and nightclubs. Old men sitting in front of their house in a small street were cars don't fit through, protected from the sun by a baldaquin of ivy or vines. Streets where more traditional jewels than Rolex-watches are offered, and where the call for prayer always sounds from multiple directions.
So Damascus was a great place to be a tourist. Being there for just two days (or two half days even), that's all I could be. I don't know what it would be like to spend more time there, with Bashar al Assad staring at me from the many posters displayed on lamp-poles and shop-doors, and where even traffic police look stern and uncompromising. To be sure, the strong state in Syria has enabled better public transportion, better infrastructure and much better tourist facilities than the feuding political factions of Lebanon. And even for foreigners, health care is practically free. At least, when my roommate lived there he could get immunization shots before going to India for less than a dollar. States do have a function, and regulation can help to make life easier.
So maybe life in Syria is easier than in Lebanon, despite the fact that the GDP per capita is less than half of that in Lebanon, even when adjusted for purchasing power (so people in Syria can buy half the goods in their own country as Lebanese can buy in Lebanon. I guess they just spend less money on things they don't need). But Syria seems to be less dynamic and certainly less diverse. While the many different religions in Lebanon have always been a source of unrest, they also enrich the country with different viewpoints, different mentalities and different lifestyles. Of course there is diversity in Syria, but it's not as evident as in Lebanon. In Syria there are some Christian towns - in Lebanon, most towns contains a large number of religions, with majorities and minorities switching sides according to the region.
And I think I've gotten used to the chaos. In Lebanon, you don't have to wait for the traffic light to cross the road. In fact, there are scarcely any traffic lights. In Lebanon, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities when you criticize them. In fact, I haven't met a single Lebanese who doesn't criticize the government. And I like that in a way. I guess Lebanon is sort of the Wild West of the Middle East. Where people, including many Syrian laborers, hope to find their fortune, even if they have to fight for it.
So when I wanted to go back there, I even had to fight my way across the border. Or at least, it took quite some arguing before the superior of the officer I was dealing with recognized the mistake they had made at the airport and let me back into the Wild West on my three-months visa. Now I have two more weeks to find my fortune.

The streets of Beirut

In the streets of Beirut, lives unfold real-life before your eyes.
In the streets of Beirut, political parties ask for attention with billboards covering entire buildings. Flags express the prominance of the Lebanese Forces or Hezbollah in Christian or Muslim areas.
In the streets of Beirut, images of muslim saints or Islamic leaders, statues of Hail Mary and images of Jezus Christ remind the habitants of the religion in their neighborhood on every corner.
The streets of Beirut are always under construction, repairing damage sustained during one of the many wars or blocking traffic for months or years to create a new road or intersection.
In the streets of Beirut, cars, scooters and pedestrians compete for their part of the road in the chaotic traffic haphazardly directed by traffic-lights and police officers, emitting dark clouds of exhaust that cover the city in a grey mist.
In the streets of Beirut, taxi-drivers are always looking for passengers, honking at every pedestrian they see.
In the streets of Beirut, street peddlers sell food, drinks and all kinds of things. Kids and youngsters are walking along the cars in traffic jams under the sun offering chewing gum, goldfish or sunscreens for behind the windshields of SUV's trying to squeeze through the crowded streets. Kaak (a kind of bread), coffee and fruit sellers push their carts and announce their presence with their voice or by hitting two pieces of metal against each other.
In the streets of Beirut, old men play backgammon in front of coffee-shops and grocery-store owners doze off at their door waiting for customers. Kebab, falafel and menoushi-shops attract crowds of customers during lunchtime and anywhere between 8 and 2 at night, quickly filling scores of thin breads with vegetables and meat or fried chick-peas, or baking fresh bread with thyme/lemon spread.
In the streets of Beirut, minarets of the mosques play the call for prayer five times a day, filling the Islamic neighborhoods with sacred singing.
In the streets of Beirut, those who can't or don't want to drink beer in the fancy bars and clubs gather on the corner, sitting on scooters, streetcurbs and fences, smoking arguile, playing music and chatting.
The streets of Beirut are filled with loud explosions and flashes of light, especially at night in residential areas, where kids and youth entertain themselves with all kinds of fireworks.
In the streets of Beirut, soldiers sit on plastic chairs or armored vehicles keeping a watchful eye with their rifle resting on their lap.
The streets of Beirut are always alive, with noise, smells and sights that excite or tire ears and eyes.

The people and the cedars

Last weekend I visited the beautiful Qadisha-valley with its numerous monastries, chapels and churches on Saturday. On Sunday I climbed Lebanon's highest mountain: Qornet es-Sawda. This weekend I went to the Baalbeck festival on Saturday to see a performance of the dance-group Caracalla featuring the famous Lebanese singers Assi Hellani and Hoda Haddad. The musical was about a Lebanese village where two tribes were competing for power. More important though was the story about a young girl (Hoda Haddad) and her lover (Assi Hellani) who had to prevent the marriage between the girl and the son of a snobbish lord in order to be together. Only to avoid the influence of this lord the two tribes decided to work together in the interest of Lebanon. It was a great performance of dancers, singers, actors and technicians in the midst of the magnificant ruins of Baalbeck, and brought together many aspects of Lebanese culture and history. Of course the Roman influence was evident from the temples, while the tribal society was part of the story-line. The choreagraphy was heavily influenced by the music- and danceform dabke, while the french influence was reflected in the character of the snobbish lord who used pas mal the french language.
But one of the most striking characteristics of Lebanon is, in my eyes, the factionalist society. While the two competing tribes in the play ended up cooperating in the name of Lebanon, in real life the public interest is not widely promoted in a joint effort. While the major part of the habitants of Baalbeck are muslim and support Hezbollah or Amal, most people in the audience of the prestiguous festival were (richer) christians supporting parties like the Lebanese Forces and the Future Movement (for a discussion of the different political parties, see an earlier post on this blog). While these parties might cooperate in parliament, there is very little raprochement between the different parts of the population.
I was also thinking about this when I walked back from the top of the Qornet as-Sawda to the vilalge Bcharre, exactly a week ago now. At the foot of the mountain, there is a small grove of cedar trees there. The cedar being the national symbol of Lebanon, the trees attracted large groups of domestic and international tourists whereever they are still growing. Unfortunately, the use of the trees for numerous goals going back as early as antiquity has left only a few groves with trees in Lebanon. The trees were so highly valued that they were exported for use in the construction of the temple of Solomon in Jeruzalem and sacrophagi in Egypt. Now, they are meticulously taken care of and only used for the production of souvenirs. So this symbol of Lebanon, the image and the country that is supposed to unite all the different groups that live within its borders, is almost extinct and can only exist under 24/7 protection. Like the peace in Lebanon seems to be possible only because there are scores of soldiers and checkpoints in the streets and on the highways.
In the bus back from the play in Baalbeck, I was wondering what the middle-aged christian ladies would think of the fate of the Palestinian girl next to me, and how it is possible that the descendants of the refugies of Palestine are still denied Lebanese citizenship. The Lebanese are planting new cedar trees now, but it will take decades, or centuries rather, before these trees will mature and become a natural part of the Lebanese landscape. If they are nurtured and taken care of well enough.

Developing The Group

Of course elections and sightseeing in Lebanon are important, but in the end I came here to work for the microfinance organization Al Majmoua. It was a challenge to get there on the first day I was in Lebanon. It is located in a commercial district, not far from Hamra where I was staying at that time, but it was just off the main avenue and surrounded by dilapidated residential buildings and a construction site. Luckily I ran into a cab-driver who knew where it was, so I was brought right to the front-door.
While I had to get used to it in the beginning - as with any new job - I'm getting more and more the hang of it. It is great to get hands-on experience in that much talked about tool to 'fight poverty', popularized by Mohammed Yunus and the Grameen Bank.
Al Majmoua - 'The group' in Arabic - was initially set up by Safe the Children and only provided group loans to women. Now, 15 years later, the organization is independent and provides mainly loans to (male) individuals. As one of the first microfinance organizations, Al Majmoua has been able to become the biggest micro-loan provider. However, nowadays more and more competition appears in Lebanon, so the organization has to keep an eye on ways to increase efficiency and lower cost to provide loans for competitive prices.
And that is where I come in. I am supposed to perform an Activity-Based Cost analysis, what basically means that I have to measure how much time each activity related to issuing and servicing loans takes, convert that into a monetary value and that way calculate the exact cost of different loan products. So the first few weeks I spent finding out how loans are exactly issued, followed by extensive field-visits to see how much time it takes to fill out an application, sign contracts, follow up on overdue payments etc. Next to an excuse to see more of Lebanon, this research showed me how microfinance really works. The importance of the personal contacts of the loan analysts (the foot-soldiers of microfinance) became evident, as well as the difficulty to make significant efficiency gains in the chaotic working environment of hundreds of different clients spread out over the area under a certain loan analysts' responsiblity.
So that is what I'll be working on for the next few weeks, I guess: finding out how Al Majmoua can decrease costs, increase income and offer cheaper and more loans to those who need (and want) them the most. It's a priviledge to do this work, and I hope I can make a useful contribution to the organization.

Living in Lubnaan

After spending two weeks in Lebanon (Lubnaan in Arabic) I start to feel more and more at home here. Which is strange in many ways, and natural in many others. It's strange, because I was just started to feel at home in the US. So after arriving in Beirut I felt far away from home (the US) while I was actually closer to my hometown (Beerze, the Netherlands). It was also strange to know that I would be so far away from my girlfriend for two and a half months, and still I am looking forward to leaving Lebanon to see her again. The language is also hard to deal with. Of course, Arabic is already difficult enough as it is, but I have even more difficulties with spoken Arabic (because I didn't study that the past year - as any university student I studied modern standard arabic, what nobody speeks). And anytime I try to speak Arabic, I get stuck, frustrated and switch to English or French, what most people speak fluently anyway.
Nevertheless, I feel comfortable here now. Many people and many factors contribute to this. I share a nice appartment with steady electricity (a rarity in Lebanon) and wireless internet that works most of the time with a French girl and an Italian guy who are both great people. We speak French most of the time, that beautifull language that I was already starting to forget, and we have a great balcony where we have drinks and narguile (I'm smoking one there right now actually). The neighborhood is nice and relatively quiet, and there's always something to do in Beirut. I'm meeting tons of new, interesting people who all seem equally hospitable and friendly, who take me to salsa-clubs, nice, local restaurants, the beach, other towns and cities and bars and parties. And Lebanon outside of Beirut is just incredible. There are beautifull mountains everywhere, a long shoreline with the Medditeranean see, nice small villages.
I had the opportunity to get to know some of that beautiful countryside when I went hiking in Mount Sannine, north-east of Beirut, where I finally saw that natural beauty that I heard of so much before I came here and that I have missed most of my life in the Netherlands, where we lack anything that resembles a mountain. In the winter, Sannine turns into a ski-resort flooded by tourists from the whole Middle East, and even under the burning summer-sun some snow remains on the tops of the mountain-ridge. I've also visited Tyre, a harbor-town in the south of Lebanon with an ancient roman hippodrome, and I went to a beach north of Beirut. Actually, there aren't that many sand-beaches in Lebanon, so when people 'go to the beach', they actually go to a place at the sea owned by a hotel where you can just sit next to the sea, order food, swim and get a sunburn. Yesterday I went to a small town 'in the mountains' - when people go out of Beirut, they always 'go to the mountains' - where the brother of a friend of mine owns a pattiserie. On Saturday I will go to an even smaller village next to it which is actually his hometown to meet his parents. Seeing this rural side of Lebanon made me really appreciate the country, because Beirut is in fact not really a beautifull city. From the mountains, behind a thick layer of smog, you can see both the Medditeranean and a sea of boring, concrete buildings that have to be restored or completely rebuilt every time a war has been going on here. So it's understandable they can't afford exquisite architectural tours de forces, but it doesn't make the city the nicest place to live. Luckily, the mountains are never much further than an hour by car away. So I can imagine myself staying here for eight more weeks, trying to enjoy as many of the great things this country has to offer as possible.