بسّام، أخبرنا أكثر عن فنّك – ما هو وكيف ومتى قررت سلوك ذلك الطريق؟
الفن باشكاله رسم ونحت وبناء وتشكيل وتصميم من هواياتي المفضلة اثناء دراستي في المدرسة ثم اكملت مسيرتي بدراستي في جامعة اليرموك ,التي تخرجت منها في عام 1999 و تخصصت بالنحت. لم اشارك بالكثيرمن المعارض الفنية ولكني لم اتوقف يوما عن الرسم والنحت . و كان لي اول معرض شخصي في منتصف سنة 2011 .
The snipping sounds of scissors trimming through the hair of a customer sitting on a chair in his barbershop, give Abu Ayman memorable echoes of pride in a family profession passed on from father to son.
“I’ve always wanted to become a barber, ever since I was 13 years of age,” said Ghaleb Al Muhtasib, who has been working in this profession for more than 38 years, sitting behind his disk while his eldest son Ayman gave a young customer a modern haircut using an electric razor.
Unlike any other barbershops you’ve entered in Jordan, the first thing that would strike a person when he walks into the spacious bright salon, in addition to the optimistic hues of blue used in decoration, is the fashion in which both Al Muhtasibs—Sr. and Jr.—elegantly wore a suit and a tie while working.
“I picked up the habit of wearing suits from watching my father, who used to wear one while cutting hair. I, in turn, passed this tradition to my sons, including Ayman, whom now I can also depend on to run the shop while I am out,” Al Muhtssib said as he proudly gazed at his son.
Al Muhtasib worked at their first shop in downtown Amman, which was established in the ‘50s by his father, for more than twenty years before he opened up his own shop where his three sons Ayman, Taleb and Haitham have all learned their father’s profession.
“My children’s decision to learn the profession came on their own free-well. Ayman decided that he wanted to make it a fulltime career; Taleb, in addition to his skills as a barber, has a degree in accounting; while Haitham, who is a Tawjihee student, works with me at times hoping to pursue higher studies later on,” said Al Muhtasib.
أثار قيام مجموعة من الطالبات من الجامعة الأردنية بإنتاج فيديو حول التحرش الجنسي داخل أسوار الجامعة جدلا كبيرا، واعتبرت إدارة الجامعة أن التعليقات الواردة في الفيديو، والتي تعبر عن ألم الطالبات مما يتعرضن له يوميا، هي التي "تسيء إلى سمعة الجامعة" بدلا من توجيه الاتهام إلى المتحرشين.
I could recount all the incidents of harassment I have faced in detail, but I will simply say that they involved the use of vulgar language, various forms of grabbing, and several vile propositions. These took place in random places, as I left my car to get into a shop or restaurant, as I walked from place to place around town. With time, I developed my own repertoire of reactions, ranging from shaming the perpetrator, to attracting the attention of others in the vicinity to do their part in shaming him, to swearing at him, even to slapping him. Once or twice though, the harassment took such extreme forms, that I was too shocked to react. I will say, however, say that while the harassment was both lewd and consistant, I never felt in danger for my safety, knowing that a few harsh words would usually send the harassers cowering into their respective hovels.
The really appalling part of my story with harassment, however, did not start till I went to university. As many of you who attended the University of Jordan know, there is an actual street connecting the faculties of arts and business which is known as share3 il-nawar (roughly translated: the street of the shameless). Notwithstanding the political incorrectness of equating gypsies with shamelessness, this street was the bane of the existence of most female students who, like me, had to make the long trek through it every day. The street was lined from start to finish with leering men, who would take pleasure in shouting out the vilest comments they could muster and sniggering at the impact this would have on women walking by. In this context, I rarely responded, because I was under the impression that I needed to respect the educational establishment I was part of, and refrain from turning my life and that of others around me into a daily swearing match. It also did not seem reasonable to enter into daily altercations with men who frequented the same university as me in the way I would fly-by-night random harassers on the street.
What strikes me as odd now is how and why I just put up with the harassment for the four long years of university, as if it was normal or even inevitable. It was happening to all women, the veiled, the unveiled, and the khimar-clad, and yet I do not know of a single woman, myself included, who reported this behavior, or even considered reporting it. The administration of the university was by no means a place of solace for us, and our relationships with our professors, even the great ones among them, rarely extended beyond the classroom. Truth be told, women also sometimes harassed other women, making snide remarks as they passed by. They certainly would not stand up for other women being harassed, because it meant they were somehow tainted. It truly felt that at the time that we had no choice but to put up with it. But now I see that we lacked courage and resolve. That someone like me, an organizer by nature, a person who had just come from four years in London where I was active in politics, human rights, and even animal rights causes, was muted and subdued, seems unthinkable to me now.