My Wild, Arabian Nightlife

My first weekend here, my aunt made me go out.

Me: No.
Her: Seriously, go out.
Me: I don’t want to get dressed.
Her: Why are you so lazy?

She picks up the phone and sets up a play date for me. I wish I was kidding.

One of my 800 cousins arrives to pick me up. Technically she’s my 2^nd or 3^rd cousin and she’s 16 years old.

Me: Are we walking?
Her: I don’t drive.

I hate my aunt.

We walk to this little hole in the wall restaurant called Taboo and I order french fries.

She orders a hookah. I watch her smoke and pick at my half frozen, tasteless, pathetic-excuse-for french fries. Ten minutes later, three little boys walk in to the restaurant.

Me: Look at those little boys, aren’t they too young to be out this late?
Her: Hey! Over here!

She waves them over.

Me: Who is…what? Er…

The children sit at our table and two of them order beers.

Me: Aren’t you a little young to be ordering beer?

They stare at me.

Boy #1: So, you’re the American cousin.
Boy #2: How old are you?
Me: No, how old are YOU?
Boy #1: How old do you want me to be?
Me: Ew, seriously? Am I on To Catch a Predator?
Boy #2: How old do I look?
Me: 12.
Boy #3: We're all 16.

I decide I like the third boy, he wears glasses and didn’t order a beer. Nice kid.

My cousin shares her hookah with the toddlers.

Her: What do you guys want to do tonight? I think Gabby and I are going back to my place if you want to come.
Me: Um, actually I’m tired. Ok fine, I’m not tired but I don’t feel comfortable hanging out with these little boys.

This is what they look like to me - courtesy of a Parenting Blog.

The jailbaits complain that I’m no fun and start smoking cigarettes. That’s the last straw.

Me: This is illegal. This is so illegal. Walk me home. Stop smoking, you are newborns! SMOKING KILLS!

Needless to say, she hasn’t invited me out since.

Then came the following weekend:

My aunt walks in my room and tells me to get dressed, she set up another play-date for me, this time with someone my age.

For Arabs my age who can’t cross through checkpoints, there are two things to do here:

1.       Go to this one club (owned by my cousin)

2.       Go to the other club (my cousin’s rival)

Out of loyalty to my family, I have boycotted club number two. Though I’m convinced the hotel that hosts the other club belongs to someone who is somehow related to me as well. That’s the thing about this village – everyone is somehow related. It’s a little disturbing.



The rival hotel, courtesy of AsiaTips.com



My aunt’s cousin’s cousin’s nephew (so, a relative) picks me up and asks where I want to go, the hotel’s club or the other club.

Me: Hmm. Let me think. So many options...
Him: Let’s go to the hotel.
Me: Let’s not.

So we end up at my cousin’s. I’ve got to admit, the place is legit. It’s really nice inside, the DJs he hires are surprisingly good and the music is in English. Score!



Cousin and bartenders at club number one.

I spend most of the night refusing drinks from my cousin and explaining I have to be at church in seven hours. (Beit Jala is a small Christian village, if I don’t go to church, the villagers will notice and then judge me. Plus, since I can literally touch the church from my room’s window, everyone including the priest comes to my grandmother’s house after for coffee and snacks.)

I try to avoid being left alone with my play-date because I assume we have nothing to talk about. And after my accidental engagement to a Turkish man, I constantly think everyone is hitting on me.



So our conversations are going like this…

Him: What kind of music do you like?
Me: I have a boyfriend.

Him: Would you like a drink?
Me: I should get home soon it’s getting pretty late.

Him: Are you hungry?
Me: I ate earlier while Skyping with my boyfriend.

Him: I ordered a hookah.
Me: I don’t smoke. You know who else doesn’t smoke? My boyfriend.
Him: It’s for me…

So I sit and watch my play-date smoke an entire hookah, drink and forget about me for another hour. Finally he looks up, sees me glaring at him miserably and agrees to take me home. As we walk to the car, I wonder if he’s had too much to drink.

Me: You only had one drink right?
Him: Yes, get in the car I’ll take you home.
Me: Ok, thanks.
Him: I don’t understand her.

I look around. I’m not sure what he’s talking about.

Him: She broke up with ME.

I groan. Here we go. I don’t know why people think it’s socially acceptable to whine about their relationships after they drink. If I just met you, I probably don’t care. I swear if I hear one more bathroom conversation between girls talking about how they’ve realized they’re “better than that” and they’re “going to live life to the fullest” and find someone who “treats them the way they deserve,” I’m going to throw up on them.

Him: We had a great relationship! And now she’s in Sweden! Sweden? Yes Sweden. Stupid Sweden.

He drives past my house.

Me: Um…you passed my—
Him: And I got a flat tire. At three in the morning. THREE! And I called my dad.
Me: What? My house is back th—
Him: I woke him up. He didn’t mind. Well, what can you do?

I realize he’s slurring.

Me: Are you drunk?! How are you drunk? You had one drink! Stop the car, I’ll drive.
Him: No, don’t worry I drive drunk all the time.
Me: What?! No, that’s not okay that’s dangerous and illegal! You’ll get arrested!
Him: What are you talking about? Get arrested by who?

Good point. I start to panic.

Me: You need to pull over. What if you get in to an accident?
Him: With all of these cars?

I look around. The road is empty.

Him: And then she still texts me in the middle of the night. “I wish you were here to hold me,” she says. Can you believe these things? I wish you were here to hold me?! You know what I says to her? I tell her, “I wish to sleep.”

We are about to pass my house again.

Me: Ok, here is good, just…here. I’m getting out.

He stops the car.

Him: I don’t know what to do.

I realize he’s kind of asking me for advice.

Me: Well, how long were you guys together?
Him: Six.
Me: Six years?! Wow, that’s—
Him: Six days.

I stare at him. Is he joking? I can’t tell. He stares back. Oh my gosh, he’s serious.

Me: Well, that seems perfectly reasonable, um, just…tell her how you feel. Is that my phone? I think my phone is ringing…

It isn’t.

Me: It’s my aunt, I have to go, thanks for the ride! Bye.

So now when my aunt tells me to go out, it goes like this –

Her: You should go out tonight.
Me: YOU GO OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Problem solved.