Berkley Center

A few weeks ago, after friends returned from Syria with rave travel reviews, I decided I must venture out of Cairo to see it for myself. Syria is possibly the Middle East's greatest treasure with regards to history and culture. Damascus was home to the first major Arab Caliphate, the Umayyad, and some of the buildings from the eighth century empire are still standing.

I was a bit nervous about a trip to a country that the United States designates a “state sponsor of terror” and was unsure of the treatment I'd receive there. Despite my expectation for anti-US sentiment, I was greeted with warm hospitality everywhere I went. On the first night, when I went out alone to find the Umayyad Mosque, I got lost several times. Finally, when I asked a local for directions, he said, "I'll take you there." Used to Cairenes who sometimes offer to show me the way followed by a request for money, I declared, "I would take a cab, but I have no money" in an effort to show him that I was traveling on a student budget. "It's too close to take a cab," he responded. He walked me to the mosque as we chatted about life in America and studying in the Middle East. The man was just being kind by assisting a young traveler. Over the next days in Syria, I rarely had to pay for a meal or coffee as locals with whom I had been chatting always offered to take care of the cost. "This is Arab hospitality," a few of them said.

Arab hospitality is an incredible cultural phenomenon that we simply don't understand in America, and it can be brought down to a simple word: sharing. In the Arab world (or at least the places I've been: Egypt, Jordan, and Syria), sharing expresses the attitude that people display toward each other. Whether friends, family, or strangers, people always seem to find something to share. Often in cabs, drivers will offer me a cigarette (I don't smoke) or sip of their water. I offer back some seeds to chew or a stick of gum. If they want it, they take it. Usually someone will politely refuse a couple of times before relenting and accepting. Arabs continually practice the same gesture, still insisting after three or four refusals that you accept what they're offering.

I first encountered the phenomenon with my friend Moustafa, who never bought any item of food or drink without offering to either buy one for me or, at the very least, give me some of his. At dinner, he'd put some of his food on my plate before even starting to eat himself. Then, when I'd try to return the favor, he'd always say “shukran,” or “thanks” in Arabic, and tap his hand on his heart, signaling that he didn't want any. It took a while before I learned that even after that, I was supposed to put some of whatever I had on his plate. It's as if the Arabs say, "I am going to share with you whether you like it or not!"

Recently I went to a soccer game at Cairo's large stadium. Anytime someone in the group of my Egyptian friends came back to our seats with a bag of chips or a bottle of water, he'd have one or two bites or sips before passing it around to the group. He'd be lucky if there were anything left in the bag when he got it back. And that's just the way he liked it.

Western societies could learn from the Arab world about this simple lesson of true sharing. The experiences I have with sharing here in the Middle East, both as the giver and receiver, have brought me so much closer to the people here. This culture, which gets so much negative press (like the press that led me to fear Syrians so much) is full of wonderful, kind people just waiting to help someone else out. Here, among the general populace, it is the golden rule, and not hatred or fear, which reigns supreme.