Wasta, Wasta, eh, eh, eh

There's a special word for a special concept here in Lebanon.  It's called wasta, and it basically means connections.  Special connections.

Here's a little story of how we started getting some wasta of our own:

First, let me say that I love my apartment here.  My roommates and I think every day that we have a great apartment.  It's clean; it has great furniture; it's in a great location, and all for a great price.  We are very content to live out the next several months here.

To stay in Leb this year, we need to get residency, which is a year-long visa.  There are several things to you need to get residency and among them is a paper from your landlord saying that you have a place to live.  For many reasons, some lost in translation, our landlady refused to give us this paper.  Uh-oh.  We had about a week to find a new apartment (not-so-easily done) or find another way around this proof-of-housing thing.

Our Lebanese friend told us that the mayor can give us a form proving our hosing.  The mayor?  Really?  Let's just say that a mayor here in Lebanon works a little differently than a mayor in the US.

So one Monday morning, on a wing and prayer, we headed to find the elusive Mayor's office and see if he would help us, and he did!

We took the receipt from paying our building fees (with our address) and our passports in, paid $10 and got an official paper saying we lived there.  In the course of getting everything done we made a friend as well...

It turns out, the mayor was very impressed that we could find our apartment on an aerial map of Hamra hanging on his wall.  Then, we discovered that he studied at a university in Senegal that my roommate Jessica visited for a summer.  They bonded over their ability to speak a tribal Senegalese language.  A few more minutes and we were fast friends with the mayor.  He even said to call him Papa Mayor.  Wasta!

My Roommates with the Mayor of Harma and Kraytem

Our Proof of Residence from the Mayor, just
dripping with wasta...

There is a downside to wasta:  we usually end up on the losing side of the wasta battle.  For example, the Lebanese are pretty good at recognizing lines, unlike a lot of other countries where people just push in closest to the front.  Sometimes, because we are American, people will just get in front of us or shop or restaurant owners will help other Lebanese first, kind of like a "taking care of your own" mindset.  I didn't get to go with my friends to General Security the other day to apply for residency (I have shingles so I'm home-bound), but I heard that they we're wasta-ed out of the front of the line for about 2 1/2 hours.

I'll never forget the time that some friends and I were getting our nails done and our technicians literally left us mid-manicure and went to help 4 other technicians do the hair and nails of a woman who just walked in.  When I asked my friend what was going on, she said that the woman must be really important, and we'd just have to wait for them to come back to us.   I shake my fist at thee, wasta!

Anyway, I'm sure that about the time I have enough wasta to help me out, the school year will be over and I'll be heading home.  Here's to us all finding just enough wasta to help us out, but not enough to ruin everyone else's day.