If there is one phrase that you hear time and time again in the middle east it is "in sha' Allah". Literally meaning "God willing", it is often accompanied by a shrug or a movement of the speaker's hands or eyes in the direction of heaven.
I have found the phrase to be a great way to bond with locals ("I hope the troubles in Syria will be over soon, in sha' Allah") as well as a highly useful philosophy to live by when backpacking. Anytime I find myself beginning to feel the familiar tightening of muscles in my neck that accompanies an increase in my stress levels, I take a deep breath and think "in sha' Allah".
Travelling alone in a foreign country there are plenty of circumstances that you can obsessively worry about if you choose to:
Am I on the right bus?
Do I look ridiculous with this scarf hastily arranged around my head?
Did I say that right?
Will there be a toilet stop on this bus trip?
Is it better to endure a thumping dehydration headache or the feeling that your bladder is about to burst?
Should I still pay the person sitting outside the toilets when the toilets themselves were in such a revolting state that I would have come into less contact with faeces if I had been at the bottom of a long drop?
In most cases adopting the "in sha' Allah" philosophy allows you to put the problem in perspective and realise that even if the worst is going to happen there is very little you can do about it.
Having said that, my faith in the will of Allah was severely tested on my first taxi ride in Aleppo.
In my experience, you are never more vulnerable as a backpacker than during your first taxi ride in any new location. You often have just got off the bus at a bus station that is not featured on any maps in your guidebook. You have little idea as to the appropriate cost for the journey, except that it will be slightly more than suggested in the guidebook and at least 50% less than is quoted to you by the first driver you encounter. You have no way of knowing if the driver really does know the location you have asked to be taken to or is just saying yes to get the fare. Should you suspect that something is amiss, your large pack and complete lack of knowledge relating to the local area makes a quick escape quite difficult. Even with these challenges, I should point out that most taxi drivers I have encountered in the middle east have been helpful and professional.
Things didn't start well in Aleppo when at least ten taxi drivers started shouting at me and pushing at each other the second I got off the bus. I was, however, quite confident about this taxi ride as I had with me (thanks to another traveller I had met in Damascus) a card for the hotel I wanted to go to in Aleppo. The card had the name and address of the hotel, in both english and arabic, as well as a small map on the back of it showing the hotel's location in relation to other landmarks such as the clock tower and the national museum. I was quite certain that this card was going to be my ticket to a hassle free journey. After looking at the card and assuring me he knew where I wanted to go, the driver I had selected (due to his reasonable price) lead me to his vehicle. I'll admit that the shoddy condition of his taxi, with its many dents and large crack in the windscreen, gave me a moment of concern - but I had agreed to go with him and felt it would be unfair to back out just because his car didn't look that flash.
Within 30 seconds of leaving the bus depot I regretted my decision to go with this driver. His overly aggressive, jerky style of driving filled me with equal parts of nausea and dread as we lurched from one near accident to another. His attitude towards other vehicles and pedestrians was the same: by honking my horn I have alerted you to my presence, it is up to you to get out of the way. I began to wonder if anyone had lost their life when the windscreen had gained its large crack. I tried closing my eyes, but that just served to increase my nausea. After ten minutes, I decided it didn't really matter if the journey was a bit hair-raising as long as I got to my destination in one piece.
Not long after the time when I had decided to adopt the "in sha' Allah" approach, the driver pulled over and pointed. Since he was pointing at the enormous Citadel which towers over Aleppo, I smiled thinking he was pointing out the sights on the way. When he started indicating that I should get out, I realised that something was wrong. I said "No, I want to go to the hotel" and again showed him my card. He started shouting at me and I continued to insist that he take me to the hotel. I considered cutting my loses and getting out - but I didn't know which side of the citadel hill we were on and didn't want to risk having to walk several kilometres with my big pack. By this time we were blocking up the road and a policeman came over. He looked at the card and ushered the driver down a nearby road.
We then proceeded to hurtle down progressively narrower and narrower streets in the old city. I now feared less for my own life than I did for those of the surrounding pedestrians as men, women and children had to leap aside as my driver kept his hand on the horn and foot off the brake. You know in the movies when there is a car chase and they mount the footpath? The car smashes through a few minor obstacles but all pedestrians miraculously avoid major injury. In these scenes you are excited by the action but not at all concerned for anyone's wellbeing because a) the people are fictional and b) the accidental death of an innocent bystander in a movie would be a distracting deviation from the main plot and is therefore highly unlikely to occur. Well our heart stopping journey through the winding alleys of the old city was just like those car chase scenes in movies except that the people were not fictional and there was no stunt co-ordinator to ensure everyone was safe.
After a few minutes my driver was forced to stop by a truck parked in the alley and he again indicated that I should get out. My fear turned to burning anger at this point. If he thought he was going to nearly get me killed then dump me with big pack in the middle of a never ending labyrinth of alleys in an unfamiliar city AND get paid - he was mistaken. His shouting attracted helpful locals who spoke a little more english than the driver did. I patiently showed the hotel card to a local man and explained that the driver had agreed to take me to this hotel at the bus station. I explained that he had already tried to drop me at the citadel and that I was not happy. I stated that the driver could take me to the clock tower (which there was a little picture of on the map) if he couldn't find the hotel, otherwise I could get out now - but then I would not pay him at all. If he wanted to get paid he had to take me to the clock tower or the hotel. The local man smiled at me and began to translate my statements to the driver.
If my driver was angry before, he was apoleptic after hearing the translation.
When the truck moved we shot through more alleys at twice the speed we had been travelling earlier. My driver kept looking at me in the rear view mirror and screaming at me - which needless to say did nothing to improve his driving. After we spent another 15 minutes terrorising the locals in the old city, and just when I had begun to despair that I would never reach my destination, we burst free of the alleys and headed into a sea of taxis on a main road. My relief was short lived however as a few minutes later we came dangerously close to collision with another taxi in a large roundabout. We were now side by side with the other taxi and neither driver showed any inclination towards moving as they instead started to scream abuse at each other through the open windows. We were blocking the traffic and as my driver started to lean through the open window to grab the other driver, some pedestrians walked through the traffic to break up the argument. It took about 5 minutes to calm both drivers down enough to move on and by this point I was fairly certain that if the journey didn't end in a head on crash it would end when my driver had a stroke at the wheel.
About 500m after the roundabout my driver pulled over, pointed and again indicated that I should get out. He pointed at the large minaret of a mosque and then snatched my hotel card from me to show me where we were. He thought we were at the clock tower. The minaret did resemble the clock tower, in that it was large and tower-like, but its lack of a clock face and location next to the dome of a mosque made me certain we were not at the right place. A local policeman came over and translated for me as I explained the problem and again reiterated that I wanted to go to the clock tower, as opposed to just any old tower. After more screaming at me and shaking of his fist in my direction, my driver reluctantly turned the taxi around and headed back into the traffic.
It was now nearly an hour since we had left the bus depot and set out on a journey that, according to the guidebook, was only 7km long. Though I was tired and could feel the waves of hatred from my driver radiating towards me, I consoled myself with the thought that surely this nightmare of a journey would soon come to an end. A mere 50m from the mosque, we came to a stop. This time the driver did not indicate that I should get out and I soon noticed that ours was not the only vehicle that had stopped. All of the traffic had stopped. When nothing moved for 5 minutes and my driver turned off the engine, I realised we were in gridlock.
"in sha' Allah" just wasn't cutting it for me anymore and I frantically began to search my guidebook map and the view out of the window for any landmark that would clue me in to where we were. It turned out that the nearby mosque was the Great Mosque featured in the guidebook and I figured out I was about a kilometre from the hotel. I decided to cut my losses and paid the driver more than the full fare as a community service to any pedestrians who may have been harmed if he had remained as angry as our journey had made him. This seemed to calm him down quite a bit and I even got a smile from him as I struggled to hoist my pack out of the back seat and onto by back.
As I lumbered, with the additional 20kgs of my pack, through the packed streets of Aleppo I was cheered by the thought that at least every taxi ride I took in the future would seem like a breeze compared to this recent fiasco... in sha'Allah :-)
I have found the phrase to be a great way to bond with locals ("I hope the troubles in Syria will be over soon, in sha' Allah") as well as a highly useful philosophy to live by when backpacking. Anytime I find myself beginning to feel the familiar tightening of muscles in my neck that accompanies an increase in my stress levels, I take a deep breath and think "in sha' Allah".
Travelling alone in a foreign country there are plenty of circumstances that you can obsessively worry about if you choose to:
Am I on the right bus?
Do I look ridiculous with this scarf hastily arranged around my head?
Did I say that right?
Will there be a toilet stop on this bus trip?
Is it better to endure a thumping dehydration headache or the feeling that your bladder is about to burst?
Should I still pay the person sitting outside the toilets when the toilets themselves were in such a revolting state that I would have come into less contact with faeces if I had been at the bottom of a long drop?
In most cases adopting the "in sha' Allah" philosophy allows you to put the problem in perspective and realise that even if the worst is going to happen there is very little you can do about it.
Having said that, my faith in the will of Allah was severely tested on my first taxi ride in Aleppo.
In my experience, you are never more vulnerable as a backpacker than during your first taxi ride in any new location. You often have just got off the bus at a bus station that is not featured on any maps in your guidebook. You have little idea as to the appropriate cost for the journey, except that it will be slightly more than suggested in the guidebook and at least 50% less than is quoted to you by the first driver you encounter. You have no way of knowing if the driver really does know the location you have asked to be taken to or is just saying yes to get the fare. Should you suspect that something is amiss, your large pack and complete lack of knowledge relating to the local area makes a quick escape quite difficult. Even with these challenges, I should point out that most taxi drivers I have encountered in the middle east have been helpful and professional.
Things didn't start well in Aleppo when at least ten taxi drivers started shouting at me and pushing at each other the second I got off the bus. I was, however, quite confident about this taxi ride as I had with me (thanks to another traveller I had met in Damascus) a card for the hotel I wanted to go to in Aleppo. The card had the name and address of the hotel, in both english and arabic, as well as a small map on the back of it showing the hotel's location in relation to other landmarks such as the clock tower and the national museum. I was quite certain that this card was going to be my ticket to a hassle free journey. After looking at the card and assuring me he knew where I wanted to go, the driver I had selected (due to his reasonable price) lead me to his vehicle. I'll admit that the shoddy condition of his taxi, with its many dents and large crack in the windscreen, gave me a moment of concern - but I had agreed to go with him and felt it would be unfair to back out just because his car didn't look that flash.
Within 30 seconds of leaving the bus depot I regretted my decision to go with this driver. His overly aggressive, jerky style of driving filled me with equal parts of nausea and dread as we lurched from one near accident to another. His attitude towards other vehicles and pedestrians was the same: by honking my horn I have alerted you to my presence, it is up to you to get out of the way. I began to wonder if anyone had lost their life when the windscreen had gained its large crack. I tried closing my eyes, but that just served to increase my nausea. After ten minutes, I decided it didn't really matter if the journey was a bit hair-raising as long as I got to my destination in one piece.
Not long after the time when I had decided to adopt the "in sha' Allah" approach, the driver pulled over and pointed. Since he was pointing at the enormous Citadel which towers over Aleppo, I smiled thinking he was pointing out the sights on the way. When he started indicating that I should get out, I realised that something was wrong. I said "No, I want to go to the hotel" and again showed him my card. He started shouting at me and I continued to insist that he take me to the hotel. I considered cutting my loses and getting out - but I didn't know which side of the citadel hill we were on and didn't want to risk having to walk several kilometres with my big pack. By this time we were blocking up the road and a policeman came over. He looked at the card and ushered the driver down a nearby road.
We then proceeded to hurtle down progressively narrower and narrower streets in the old city. I now feared less for my own life than I did for those of the surrounding pedestrians as men, women and children had to leap aside as my driver kept his hand on the horn and foot off the brake. You know in the movies when there is a car chase and they mount the footpath? The car smashes through a few minor obstacles but all pedestrians miraculously avoid major injury. In these scenes you are excited by the action but not at all concerned for anyone's wellbeing because a) the people are fictional and b) the accidental death of an innocent bystander in a movie would be a distracting deviation from the main plot and is therefore highly unlikely to occur. Well our heart stopping journey through the winding alleys of the old city was just like those car chase scenes in movies except that the people were not fictional and there was no stunt co-ordinator to ensure everyone was safe.
After a few minutes my driver was forced to stop by a truck parked in the alley and he again indicated that I should get out. My fear turned to burning anger at this point. If he thought he was going to nearly get me killed then dump me with big pack in the middle of a never ending labyrinth of alleys in an unfamiliar city AND get paid - he was mistaken. His shouting attracted helpful locals who spoke a little more english than the driver did. I patiently showed the hotel card to a local man and explained that the driver had agreed to take me to this hotel at the bus station. I explained that he had already tried to drop me at the citadel and that I was not happy. I stated that the driver could take me to the clock tower (which there was a little picture of on the map) if he couldn't find the hotel, otherwise I could get out now - but then I would not pay him at all. If he wanted to get paid he had to take me to the clock tower or the hotel. The local man smiled at me and began to translate my statements to the driver.
If my driver was angry before, he was apoleptic after hearing the translation.
When the truck moved we shot through more alleys at twice the speed we had been travelling earlier. My driver kept looking at me in the rear view mirror and screaming at me - which needless to say did nothing to improve his driving. After we spent another 15 minutes terrorising the locals in the old city, and just when I had begun to despair that I would never reach my destination, we burst free of the alleys and headed into a sea of taxis on a main road. My relief was short lived however as a few minutes later we came dangerously close to collision with another taxi in a large roundabout. We were now side by side with the other taxi and neither driver showed any inclination towards moving as they instead started to scream abuse at each other through the open windows. We were blocking the traffic and as my driver started to lean through the open window to grab the other driver, some pedestrians walked through the traffic to break up the argument. It took about 5 minutes to calm both drivers down enough to move on and by this point I was fairly certain that if the journey didn't end in a head on crash it would end when my driver had a stroke at the wheel.
About 500m after the roundabout my driver pulled over, pointed and again indicated that I should get out. He pointed at the large minaret of a mosque and then snatched my hotel card from me to show me where we were. He thought we were at the clock tower. The minaret did resemble the clock tower, in that it was large and tower-like, but its lack of a clock face and location next to the dome of a mosque made me certain we were not at the right place. A local policeman came over and translated for me as I explained the problem and again reiterated that I wanted to go to the clock tower, as opposed to just any old tower. After more screaming at me and shaking of his fist in my direction, my driver reluctantly turned the taxi around and headed back into the traffic.
It was now nearly an hour since we had left the bus depot and set out on a journey that, according to the guidebook, was only 7km long. Though I was tired and could feel the waves of hatred from my driver radiating towards me, I consoled myself with the thought that surely this nightmare of a journey would soon come to an end. A mere 50m from the mosque, we came to a stop. This time the driver did not indicate that I should get out and I soon noticed that ours was not the only vehicle that had stopped. All of the traffic had stopped. When nothing moved for 5 minutes and my driver turned off the engine, I realised we were in gridlock.
"in sha' Allah" just wasn't cutting it for me anymore and I frantically began to search my guidebook map and the view out of the window for any landmark that would clue me in to where we were. It turned out that the nearby mosque was the Great Mosque featured in the guidebook and I figured out I was about a kilometre from the hotel. I decided to cut my losses and paid the driver more than the full fare as a community service to any pedestrians who may have been harmed if he had remained as angry as our journey had made him. This seemed to calm him down quite a bit and I even got a smile from him as I struggled to hoist my pack out of the back seat and onto by back.
As I lumbered, with the additional 20kgs of my pack, through the packed streets of Aleppo I was cheered by the thought that at least every taxi ride I took in the future would seem like a breeze compared to this recent fiasco... in sha'Allah :-)
Bernadette! This is Jeff - the one who gave you the card for the hotel in Aleppo! I always wondered what happened to you in Syria since I left April 26th and had a really scary experience leaving the country. I just subscribed by email if you want to email me :) Bummer I didn't see you at LeakyCon!
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