Syrian Dreams (Part 2)

LeAnne Hardy: Last week author Kati Woronka told us about getting to know the female Syrian university students whose lives she describes in Dreams in the Medina. (See the end of this blog for details on how to enter to win a free e-copy.)

Kati, how do you find time to write in your busy schedule as a university lecturer and qualitative researcher?

KW: This is a big challenge for me, one I am constantly trying to negotiate in my life. Dreams in the Medina was a six year project, and I had a few breaks in between jobs to work on it, so I'm struggling to find time to write now. As I think is true for most writers, though, I don't just write to produce something. I write as a way of processing life and keeping myself sane. So the motivation to keep writing is pretty big!

LH: Did you know when you began Dreams in the Medina how it would end, or did that come to you later?

KW: Roughly. I started off writing two or three chapters, most of which has now been deleted from the final product. Then, at the recommendation of an experienced editor, I drafted a synopsis, outlining the story for the entire book. Some details changed as the character's lives took shape, but most of the plot followed the storyline I set out in the original synopsis.

LH: What was the hardest part of writing a book like this?

KW: Writing a first draft of the book was not difficult. I had a lot of pent-up story inside of me that flowed out easily. What was difficult was revision, knowing that a first draft is never a final draft, but feeling unsure of what to change. I enlisted the assistance of several editors and was actually frustrated when they didn't recommend significant changes. I knew the book wasn't perfect but couldn't figure out quite what to change. So it took quite a few revisions until I felt I had the feedback I needed.

LH: So much is going on in Syria today. Do you know if your friends are all right?

KW: Sadly, I have lost touch with most of my friends from the days I lived in the Medina. Back then, cell phones were almost unheard-of, Facebook was banned, Arabic script was not available on most computers, and hardly anyone I knew had an email address. So when we graduated, we each went our separate ways. Facebook has helped me find a handful of my old university friends, but there are many others whom I have been unable to contact. Every few months, I spend a day or two looking again, because I do worry and wonder.

The friends with whom I have maintained contact are all still alive and well, though not a single one has stayed living in her home. Some have moved to other places in Syria, but most have fled the country and are now living as refugees. At least they and their loved ones are alive. Not only that, but I thank God that none of my friends' brothers are fighting in the war; instead they are committed to peaceful living and non-violence. But it scares me to think what might have happened to the friends about whom I have no news, and their families.

LH: How do you see storytelling contributing to future peace in Syria?

KW: When I lived in Syria, it was a peaceful and hospitable country. Often, Syrian friends and I look at each other and shake our heads. This is not the Syria we know. But almost three years into a violent conflict, there are countless broken relationships. How will people ever learn to live together in mutual respect and dignity, if they don't hear each other's stories? Stories remind us that people are human, and that behind every act there is a deeper story. Today I hear stories of how a woman witnessed the brutal execution of her two sons and, out of her anger, became a sniper. I hear stories of young men fleeing the country, leaving the rest of their families behind in a war zone, because if they stay they will be recruited into the army or a militia. I hear stories of Christians providing safe haven to Muslims and vice-versa. I believe that sharing such stories will be a means by which Syrians learn to some day rebuild their society in peace and hope. But the right stories need to be told, stories that promote understanding and reconciliation, not stories that promote hatred.

LH: Stories are so important for understanding other people. And as you say, they must be the right stories. Kati, what can we expect from you in the future as a writer?

KW: I maintain a blog called "CulturTwined". Although I don't update regularly, the purpose is to celebrate diversity and unique encounters between people who are different from each other. And I have recently started working on a new novel about Syrian women. Leila and her friends are all grown up now, and each is experiencing the breakdown of the country that she loves in different ways. This book will explore the response of Syrian women in these hard times.

LH: Thank you for sharing with us, Kati. I, for one, will really look forward to your next book and the insights your intimate knowledge of the situation bring to us.

Kati is offering a free e-book to a reader who comments on this blog. As usual this contest is void where prohibited by law. The odds of winning depend on the number of entrants. Results will be announced, Sunday, February 2.
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LeAnne Hardy has lived in six countries on four continents. Her fiction reflects her faith, her passion for storytelling that stretches the mind and the cultures she has lived in. Learn more at www.leannehardy.net .

Syrian Dreams (Part 1)

Dreams in the Medina by Kati Woronka is about female college students in Damascus with their hopes and dreams of careers and love. But being a good Muslim wife and mother is what their families expect of them. Huda excels in her studies—until a professor agrees to “help” her. Her responsibilities to family make it difficult to refuse his “help”. Village girl Leila envies the glamour of Roxy’s life as the second wife of a wealthy man although she has no idea what Roxy’s life is really like. Leila hopes she too can marry for love. She has in mind the bridegroom she wants, but her parents have other plans. Can any of the girls realize the dreams that an education has sown in their hearts? See the end of this blog to learn how you can enter to win a free e-copy.

I recently met Kati Woronka (pseudonym) when she presented a paper at a conference on the implications of the Arab Spring for churches. She is a university lecturer in social sciences whose passion is the empowerment of local civil society for peace, especially in the Middle East and across the Arab world, where she has spent much of her professional life. As a qualitative researcher, Kati has explored the use of storytelling for peace and community reconciliation as well as for project monitoring and evaluation.

Kati Woronka is with us today to talk about Dreams in the Medina, her debut novel. Kati, what made you want to write about Syrian college students?

Kati Woronka: I did some very interesting research about Syrian women for graduate school, first a small project investigating the aspirations of students in Damascus, then a full thesis on the identity of Syrian women in the context of Muslim-Christian relations. Many people were fascinated by my choice of research topic and told me they'd like to see me publish my findings academically. I was resistant to that idea because academic publishing is often inaccessible, and so few people actually bother to read it. But I agreed with the sentiment that I was learning so much about a world that is largely unknown to many people in the West, at a time in history when the media paints the Middle East in such controversial colors. So, since I have a background in fiction writing, I decided to start writing up my research in the form of stories.

LH: What do you hope non-Syrian readers will take away from this story?

KW: A few months ago, I led a reflection exercise with some colleagues in England about the Syria conflict. I asked them to write down the first words that came to mind when they thought of Syria, and the words they came up with included: “war”, “crisis”, “sectarian”, “Islamists”, “dictatorship”. Their answers didn't surprise me, because those are words often used in news reports about Syria. But then I told them some stories about Syrian people, and was thrilled as their list of words changed: “hope”, “beauty”, “passions”, “family”, “ancient history”. My desire for Dreams in the Medina is that its readers will come to have greater interest in Syrian people, not just politics, and begin to share with me a love for the beautiful diversity and the rich cultural heritage that I encountered in Syria.

LH: You obviously have close friendships with girls like the ones we meet in Dreams. How did you develop those friendships?

KW: You're right. I am honored to count some Syrian women among my dearest friends. Before pursuing graduate studies, I studied Arabic in Damascus and lived in the university dorms where I spent long nights chatting with my neighbors in the Medina—much as the characters in the book do. Sharing student life has a way of creating deep bonds. I was fortunate to first move to Syria as a student rather than in a professional capacity, because I had little to offer and so much to gain. My friends became my teachers and welcomed me into their lives, and I learned to do the same.

LH: How do you think knowing the local language helped you to get to know the women who inspired your characters?

KW: Pride in Arabic language is a huge part of Syrian culture. That's one reason why so many Arabic words found their way into the story. Somehow, it's simply not Syrian without them. [LH: There is a glossary at the end of the book. Although I only found the glossary after I finished reading, the meaning of most terms was clear in the context.] At the same time, I was making friends through studying and practicing the language. So my Arabic improved, my cultural awareness grew, and the friendships deepened simultaneously. In the Medina, English is hardly spoken at all; in fact, few Syrian women speak any language other than Arabic. Also, because I learned Arabic, I was able to do extensive research interviewing Syrian women, and later other people throughout the Arab world.

LH: Kati will be offering a free e-book to a reader who comments on this blog or next Tuesday when I ask her about the challenges of writing a book like this. Comment both weeks to increase your chances of winning. As usual this contest is void where prohibited by law. The odds of winning depend on the number of entrants. Results will be announced, Sunday, February 2.
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LeAnne Hardy has lived in six countries on four continents. Her fiction reflects her faith, her passion for storytelling that stretches the mind and the cultures she has lived in. Learn more at www.leannehardy.net .

Osama bin Laden is dead...

The news that Osama bin Laden is dead has produced images of celebration and dancing in the streets, much as did the tragic events of 9-11 among radical Islamists. I have a problem with that for two reasons.

First, though I readily admit that bin Laden's demise is both a military and a psychological victory, it is as any death of an unsaved human being a tragedy. Barring some end-of-life miracle of God's mercy (mercy which we ALL need!), the man has stepped into a horrible eternity. Though we may feel that he deserves it, we must never forget that apart from the death of Christ, we all deserve the same.

Second, as I learned in my research and writing of People of the Book, the heartbreaking treatment of women, particularly Christian women, in the Saudi kingdom and other Muslim nations, will not cease as a result of bin Laden's death, nor will radical Muslims who are dedicated to wiping out Israel and Western civilization stop their ongoing attempts to strike at the heart of what they view as their enemy.

Muslims are no different than the rest of us. They too have been made in the image of God, and they too need a Savior. And as we who have met and received our Savior know so well, "there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we MUST be saved." May the passing of Osama bin Laden renew our commitment and passion to pray for all people everywhere--Muslim or otherwise--who have yet to accept the priceless gift of God's only Son!

At Whom Am I Really Angry?

I've been angry recently. Nothing personal. My teenage daughter has been remarkably civil. My adult sons are doing well. I have a wonderful husband. My bank account is in the black. I am warm, fed, clothed, and free to go about my business.

No, the anger seething in my veins is for others. For Afghan Christian Sayed Mossa, who sits on death row in Kabul for the crime of freely choosing a personal faith in God. I grit my teeth for his wife and six children, ages eight and under, who no longer have a husband or an income in a country where there are no food stamp programs. I clench my fists that Sayed's employer of fifteen years, the International Committee of the Red Cross, did nothing to defend or intervene for Sayed until pushed by media pressure to do so. I feel like screaming that my own embassy has agreed to bring up Sayed's case in private conversations with the Afghan regime--instead of trumpeting to the skies that Western free governments don't hand out aid and arms to regimes that murder people for their faith.

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I am angry for Pakistani mother of five Asia Bibi, arrested when she refused pressure of Muslim female neighbors to convert from her Christian faith to Islam. She's finally had her day in court, only to be condemned to death under Pakistani blasphemy and apostasy laws. I stomp my feet for her husband and children, separated from wife and mother for eighteen months now. I am furious that those unjust laws are not some historic dictate, but were penned scarcely a quarter-century past by dictator General Zia al Huq, setting Pakistan on the path of Islamic extremism. Even as he penned them, his greatest ally, my own government, was pouring billions in military aid into his coffers without raising a voice in protest. A precedent that has continued to this day, encouraging oppression of religious minorities in Pakistan. I am angry that Bristol Palin's dancing receives more media attention from such injustices. I fume that neither the ideological left nor right across the Western 'free' world has taken any definitive stand against arming and supporting regimes that deny basic human rights to their citizens. There's plenty more to stir my anger. Children starving in the streets across Latin America, Africa, Asia while their wealthy rulers waddle from mansion to Gulfstream jet to the Riviera. Warlords who turn machetes and AK-47s on innocents in their lust for power. The world seems increasingly filled with darkness and hate and cruelty. Or perhaps we simply have more knowledge.

And because I can do nothing to stop these things, I find myself angry at the only One who can. How can a heavenly Father described as all-powerful, compassionate, merciful so calmly sit in the stands as the Asia Bibis and Sayed Mossas suffer, children starve, war destroys? I know all the proper theological answers. I've heard them, even taught them, throughout my life in Christian ministry. God permits free will. This fallen world is product of human choices. God will bring ultimate good out of human evil. But I am still angry for those I love who are at this moment battered by dark storms while I sit warm, free, safe.
Yes, I love them, Asia Bibi and Sayed Mosa, my brother and sister in faith, and too many others in their situation. The homeless children with whom I've worked on dirty Third World streets, longing to scoop them up like so many stray puppies and take them all home. Abused, despairing women sold as possessions whose eyes look at me with such hollow distance I ache to put my arms around them and tell them all will be well, even though I know that isn't true. Families in my own birth country undergoing sickness, unemployment, broken relationships.

If such love can burn like a fire through my limited being, does not my heavenly Father, Creator of every living soul, love far more? Does He not have the power I lack to reach down and rescue? If God's love is immeasurably greater than mine, how can He not intervene? Even if this unjust world is an unavoidable consequence of human free will, why should the righteous, the innocent suffer while perpetrators walk free?

I've really tried not to be angry. It's not spiritual, I know. I'm not even sure why this particular set of injustices in a world filled with them has burned so hotly in my veins. Even as I've prayed for Asia Bibi and Sayed Mossa, shared their plight with others, I've screamed out my protest to the One who permits this to happen. And maybe our heavenly Father doesn't really mind when His children cry out their anger and confusion and pain to Him. Because this week, unexpectedly, even oddly, He gave me an answer.

It came through a Scripture passage so obscure I'd never noticed it before. I've been reading through the Major Prophets, currently Ezekiel with its strange angelic beasts and fiery living wheels. Ezekiel too was angry. As angry at the idolatry and perversion of his own people as at the devastation of Jerusalem under Babylon's battering ram. Ezekiel begged Israel's remnant to be spared even while he demanded God judge his compatriots' wickedness.
God did not answer by stepping in to set all right. On the contrary:
"For this is what the Sovereign LORD says: How much worse will it be when I send against Jerusalem my four dreadful judgments—sword and famine and wild beasts and plague—to kill its men and their animals! Yet there will be some survivors—sons and daughters who will be brought out of it. They will come to you, and when you see their conduct and their actions, you will be consoled regarding the disaster I have brought upon Jerusalem—every disaster I have brought upon it. You will be consoled when you see their conduct and their actions, for you will know that I have done nothing in it without cause, declares the Sovereign LORD." (Ezekiel 14:21-23).

What value does the Creator of the Universe place in the storms of injustice, tyranny, violence that I cannot grasp? What does His foreknowledge see emerging from the furnace of human pain and suffering that I do not? Certainly we are told that as fire refines gold to absolute purity, so suffering refines and purifies the human soul (Isaiah 48:10; James 1:2-4; 1 Peter 1:6-7).

I still don't know why brothers and sisters in faith should sit undeservedly in prison, even be martyred for their faith. But as I read God's answer to Ezekiel, I find myself consoled. Because my heavenly Father, Sayed and Asia's heavenly Father, does know. And this particular page in mankind's dark and dirty story is hardly the final chapter, not for Sayed Mossa and Asia Bibi, not for me. One day I will meet sons and daughters of the Kingdom whom God is redeeming through the very storms of disaster and injustice against which I fume. And I will see at last clearly what I must now take only on faith. That nothing God has done with His creation is without cause.

Until then I will trust that my Creator really does know what He's doing.