كانت رامية ودن معانا

‘She was eavesdropping on us.’ As though unnamed woman was so desperate to hear your conversation, she went all van Gogh on your shit, ripped her ear off, and then threw it in your general direction.

It is times like these I wish TeamMaha had a cartoonist.

This guest post was written by Hossam Abouzahr, the man behind The Living Arabic Project (www.livingarabic.com), a compilation of multiple dialect and Fusha dictionaries that contains the largest Egyptian dialect dictionary and (what will hopefully soon be) the largest Levantine dialect dictionary. A half-breed (Arab-American), he found out that Arabic is actually beautiful after escaping from Arabic classes and meeting cool teachers who introduced him to the fun side of the language.

Anis Freyha, the famous Lebanese linguist and professor of Semitic languages, wrote that he actually planned to make his dictionary of Lebanese colloquial dictionary, معجم ألفاظ العامية اللبنانية., English – Arabic, but then felt that it was important for Arabs to know the origin of their language, and made it Arabic – Arabic instead. I’m translating his dictionary now for The Living Arabic Project, and what I’ve noticed is that at times the dictionary focuses more on the origin of the words than it is about their meanings.

The origin of words shows how languages are interconnected, and how they’ve come together to form what are the present-day Arabic dialects. While beautiful in and of itself, word origins are also practical. They help learners tie words together and place them in social and historical contexts, making language learning easier and more fun.

To prove my point, here are some words that you probably won’t forget after reading about their origins, and you might also learn something about history and Arab cultures in the process.


شَرْمُوطة، ج شَرامِيط.

Meaning: Whore

Origin: From the French “charmante,” meaning lovely, charming. French soldiers used the word during the French occupation to refer to escorts and prostitutes, or the lovely women who responded to their needs.



Meaning: Falafel

Origin: Though commonly thought to simply be the plural of the word فِلْفِل, meaning pepper, there is a another camp that claims that it is Coptic in origin. No, this is not just an Egyptian consipiracy to steal Falafel from the Lebanese. The argument is that in Coptic, the three words fa-la-fel mean “of many beans.” Coptic Christians invented Falafel as a substitute for meat during fasts. Whatever the origin, it sure is tasty, especially when obtained from a dirty, greasy دكان — in fact, the dirty the tastier.



Meaning: dick-ish, dick-like

Origin: From the base word أَيْر, which means dick, or as Lisan al-Arab defines it, “one of the crudest words for the penis.” أير actually comes from the Greek “eros,” but here the Levant folk improved on it. مْؤَيَّر commonly means “dickish,” but is probably literally translated as “one turned into a dick.” This is mainly a Levant word, and generally Egyptians won’t know it. I once had to define it for an Egyptian professor, much to her horror, and told her it means لقد جَعَلَ اللهُ منْهُ زُبًّا.



Meaning: boo!, and commonly used as peek-a-boo! With kids.

Origin: Coptic. I mainly wanted to include this word to point out that almost every Arab country and often even sub-regions has a different word for peek-a-boo. In Palestine I’ve heard بَقُّوْسِة, and in Lebanon دَقَّانِة. Children’s language, especially rhymes, tends to preserve ancient words.



Meaning: Kushari, that wonderful Egyptian street food consisting of noodles, rice, beans, lentils, fried onions, and sauce (and sometimes other random things depending on the region).

Origin: It’s actually from Hindi, from the word “kitchiri.” The meal is quite different in India and Pakistan, where it tends to consist of rice cooked in broth with some meat and a شوربة added on top. Kushari probably came to Egypt from India through the British during the 1800s. For the British soldiers, this would have been not only a tasty and cheap food, but also a safe food. The noodles that are added to it in Egypt are probably from an Italian influence.



Meaning: Pimp (commonly used as an insult)

Origin: Supposedly this was the name of an official position in the Egyptian Ministry of Interior during the English occupation. At that time, prostitution was legal, and the عَرْص was the police officer who was responsible for conducting patrols and ensuring that prostitutes had their licenses in order. It now is now commonly used as an insult in most Arab countries.



Meaning: snack

Origin: 100% Arabic – not all fun words have to come from another language. تَبْصِيرة is from the root صبر, meaning patience, because تصبيرة gives you the patience to wait for the main meal. Although this is entirely proper Arabic in its pronunciation and derivation, it is only used in Egyptian colloquial.



According to Oxford’s English dictionary, the English word sahlep is of Arabic origin, from خَصْيَتَيْ الثَعْلَب, meaning the fox’s testicles. It was actually the name of the orchid from which sahlep is made. The word ثعلب probably entered into the Levant area and what is now modern Turkey, where many languages don’t have a th sound and transform it into a t or s sound. Then along the way the ع became a ح (since the ح is simply the unvoiced form of the ع). The final “p” in English might be from the Turkish influence, where many voiced consonants, when they are the final letter of a word, become unvoiced. For instance, the word طالِب becomes Talip in Turkish.


حَمْرَن / اِسْتَحْمَر

Meaning: to act like a donkey / ass

Origin: 100% Arabic, from the word حمار (donkey). Although completely Arabic, and the derivation rules that they follow are also perfectly good Fusha, these words are only used in colloquials (حمرن being Lebanese, and استحمر being more Egyptian but broadly understood across the Arab countries).



Meaning: to be rebellious, recalcitrant.

This word, being Fusha, is actually from the shared Semitic root م ر د .The root may be tied to the name Nimrod (نمرود), known in the Bible for disobeying God and being oppressive. In the Levant dialects, the word تْنَمْرَد is used to mean to act like a tyrant (although in Egyptian, according to Badawi and Hinds’ dictionary, it means to make worldly wise).



Meaning: to puncture

Origin: Probably from the English puncture. In the Levant countries you can go to the بَنْشَرْجِي to get your tires repaired. Here you can see how the Turkish جِي is added to an English word to form a purely Arabic creation.



Meaning: common gecko

Origin: the phrase is probably from the folk belief that the gecko causes a skin disease (either vitiligo or leprosy, depending on who you ask). بوبْرَيْص is the Lebanese pronunciation of أبو بَرَص, the father of leprosy.



Meaning: Money

Origin: This is the plural of the word مَصْرِيَّة. Under the Ottoman empire, the Levant area used the currency known as the عُثْمانِي. When the Empire was broken up after World War I, the عُثْمانِي was replaced by the Egyptian Guinea, الجنية المصرية, which was shortened to مصرية. The plural is now commonly used in the Levant countries to mean money, even though the currency is now the لِيْرة. On a few rare occasions one might still hear the singular used, but this is not common.



Meaning: to fart

Origin: I don’t know the origin of the word, but the root طز is quite useful for referring to the ass or things that come out of it. طيز means ass (I still remember my wife’s Arabic teacher getting mad at her for using it instead of مؤخرة , which is the more polite word for the rear). طَزطَز means to do many farts. Across the Arab countries one can hear the phrase طُز في, often translated as “to hell with…” The word طَوْبَز, used in Lebanon, is probably also from this root. طوبز means to behind over so the ass is exposed, and can be used to mean to bend over and fart or to bend over and get shafted.


As obnoxious as I was with my word choices, I hope you do actually remember these words. Studying word origins shows the richness of the languages and the history that has developed them. Many Levant words are derived from or shared with Hebrew, Syriac, and Aramaic. Studying word origins also shows the linkages between the Arabic dialects and the strange divergences that occur between them (the brave amongst you can search for the root قلط in the Egyptian and Levantine dictionaries on the Living Arabic Project). Arabic, in its full complexity, is rich and deep, but only by exploring it will you really find it enjoyable.

I’m going to posit that بتاع – ‘thingy, thingamajig, whatever’ – is one of the most important words in Egyptian Arabic. It has several flexible grammatical uses and is thrown around constantly; the word is especially important for Arabic learners because you can expand your vocabulary tenfold by just replacing words you don’t know with this convenient linguistic evasion. Yes, it is a cop out, but whatthefuckever! Egyptians use it copiously anyways and you’ll fit right in. Anyways. How it works:


The word بتاع can be used both as a noun, and as a particle.

As a noun, بتاع replaces the name of an object you’re too lazy to remember the name of; hence, ‘thingy.’

[pointing to something]: هات البتاع دا – Give me the thingamajig.

هاخلص البتاع واجيلك – I’m going to finish the thing and come to you.

جربت بتاع التكيلا مبارح؟ – Did you try the tequila thingy yesterday?

انا هنجوفر فشخ عشان البتاع دا – I’m super fucking hungover because of that thing. (note: if anyone knows a word for hangover in colloquial Arabic other than the English, get at me. I am so curious.)


As a particle, بتاع \ بتاعة expresses ownership. The gender of بتاع matches the gender of the object being described, and you stick the pronoun indicating who the object belongs to onto the end of the word, much as you would with عند.

الموبايل دا بتاع ابو شنب دا ولا بتاع مين؟ – Does this phone belong to that guy with the moustache, or who?

.الشنطة دي بتاعتي, شكرا – This bag is mine, thank you.


In a more abstract sense, you can use بتاع to express a person’s inclinations or something they do often. For example:

الراجل بتاع النظافة- The cleaning guy


It can also be used as a filler word meaning something close to ‘whatever/and so on’:

قالتلي انا مش عايزة اضيقك وبتاع – She said, ‘I don’t want to upset you,’ and whatever…

A synonym for this would be مش عارف ايه, which is often combined with بتاع in a series like so:

قالي النهارده لازم تنظف الاوضة وتلم الزبالة ومش عارف ايه وبتاع – He told me today, you need to clean the room, pick up the trash, yada yada yada…


Finally, بتاع can also be a euphemism for a penis (just like ‘thingy’ in English – epiphany ooooooh ahhhhh!) and thus طلّع البتاع = to whip it out.

And please, dear reader, don’t ever say the above out loud in real life – it’s just kind of an FYI thing. Although I genuinely hope you’re never in a situation where there is surprise whipping out involved and this expression comes up.

Both Levantine and Egyptian dialects are filled with phrases and idioms that reference food, and in some cases, the word used to describe a certain food item can have an entirely different meaning in other contexts. Because it is understandably confusing the first time you hear a person’s sleeping patterns compared to a dead, fermented fish, we’ve compiled some of the most common food words/phrases in both dialects here.

كوسة – kosa: Egyptian

You’ll probably recognize this word as describing a zucchini (or ‘courgette’ for our British friends), but in Egyptian dialect, kosa can also refer to useful personal connections (or وسطة – wasta) you have. In practical terms, if you have enough kosa/wasta at Mogamma El Tahrir, you can get yourself a longer visa extension or even avoid waiting in the stamp line entirely, saving yourself hours of misery in your own personal hell.

بتنجان – baatengan: Egyptian

بتنجان is the Egyptian version of باذنجان, the MSA word for eggplant. However, a baatengan can also mean a bullshit excuse or explanation. If you’re trying to convince your friend to skip an obligation for example, you could press them to come up with اي بتنجان (any old excuse) to get out of it.

عنب – ‘enab: Egyptian

This literally means ‘grapes,’ but my soccer (football?) coach always says it when I’m doing something right (which, unfortunately, is not very often).

زبيب – zabib: Egyptian

In the kitchen, a zabib is a raisin, but it is also the term used to describe the greyish blackish bump you find on some Muslims’ foreheads (apparently in English this is called a ‘prayer bump,’ which is a significantly lamer term, in my opinion). It is basically developed from lots of praying, but can also be a sign of insulin resistance, fun fact.

In Syria, this is rather more blandly called الطبعة السودا ‘the black imprint’. Cultivating it was apparently never as popular a fashion in Syria, though.


A man with a gnarly beard and zabib.

A man with a gnarly beard and zabib.

عوجا – ‪3ooja: Syrian

This is a pretty obscure kind of Levantine finger food which is apparently a kind of green almond (?) soaked in water. Some people pronounce it 3ooje (and probably spell it عوجة). Apparently along with kuusa (less often), Syrians use this to describe chaos or mess: الدنيا عوجا. This is probably related to the word a3waj ‘bent’ (whose feminine is 3ooja too), maybe from the plant that it grows on, I don’t know.

بطيخ baTTiikh: Syrian and Egyptian

Used to call someone an idiot in a way that isn’t swearing but is nonetheless kind of offensive: yaa baTTiikh! To be fair, watermelons don’t have particularly developed cognitive skills.

Relatedly, in Syria: لا… ولا بطيخة laa… wala baTTiikha ‘neither… nor a watermelon’ means ‘neither X nor anything else!’ For example, if somebody calls you his 7abiibti, you might respond laa 7abiibtak wala baTTiikha!

ما حدا بقول عن زيته عكر maa 7ada bi2uul 3an zeeto 3éker: Syrian

Literally ‘nobody says their olive oil isn’t pure!’ There are apparently lots of local variations, including maa 7ada bi2uul labano 7aamiD ‘nobody says their laban is sour’. This expression means something like ‘nobody says that stuff they’ve produced is bad’, and is usually used to demonstrate somebody’s honesty when they’re saying bad things about projects they were personally involved in – I believe what he’s saying, because nobody would say their own oil wasn’t pure unless it wasn’t!

مهبر méhber: Syrian

From la7@m habra ‘high quality (red) meat’ or ‘de-boned meat’. Someone who is méhber (maybe this means that he only eats red meat?) is rich.

بله وشراب ميته béllo w shraab mayyto: Syrian and Egyptian

In Egyptian, bellha wishrab mayyitha

‘Wet it and drink its water!’ There used to be an amazing video from an Egyptian talk show demonstrating exactly what this meant, but it seems to have been taken down. It means ‘forget about it’, ‘it doesn’t matter’ or – with the right context, I guess – ‘you can take that idea and stick it up your arse!’

(OK perhaps this one only marginally counts as food but whatever, billo wshraab mayyto imo)

خبز وملح khébz w mél@7: Syrian

‘Bread and salt’. Usually used in the expression في بيناتنا خبز وملح fii beenaatna khébz w mél@7 ‘there’s bread and salt between us’. This means that you owe the other guy some loyalty because you’ve eaten together! I guess this was originally a reference to hospitality norms, but now it often means ‘we’re friends’ or ‘we know one another’. I might’ve done you a favour, but don’t mention it – there’s bread and salt between us!

Continuing in the spirit of Chris’ last post, here is another joke — which is in pretty bad taste, I might add — about engagement/marriage from the Internet. It’s not as full of useful vocabulary as the last one, but it is certainly amusing:

انا جاي اطلب ايد بنتك يا حج
بس يابنى دى لسا بالمدرسة
خلاص اجى بالليل تكون جت

I’ve come to ask for your daughter’s hand, Hagg.
Son, she’s still in school!
Alright, I’ll come back at night when she’s here.

حج – Check here for an explanation of this title.
جاي – Remember our dear friend ism fa3el? This formation more literally means ‘I am a comer’ and is made feminine by adding a ta marbuta (أنا جاية).
دي – In reference to the daughter.
يابني – ya + ibny, but in terms of pronunciation, the phrase usually gets smushed together into something that sounds more like ‘yabny.’
لسا – We covered this useful little word here a while back (scroll about halfway down).
خلاص – Can mean 8,000 different things, ranging from ‘That’s enough!’ to ‘Okay!’ to a very reluctant and angry ‘FINE!’. If you don’t know this word yet, or its accompanying hand motions, you’re doing it wrong.
تكون جت – More precisely she will have come back’ – despite the lack of a ه to indicate the future, given the context of the sentence, this is Egyptian colloquial’s version of the future perfect tense.
~Insert intellectual comment about the phenomenon of child marriage in Egypt here~

نمت زي الفسيخة

‘nemt zay el fasee5a’

MMMMM how delicious and appetizing.

MMMMM how delicious and appetizing!!!!

Fasikh is a rotten, pungent fish pickled with salt that many Egyptians eat during the Sham El Nessim holiday to celebrate the beginning of spring. According to Wikipedia, the dish is comprised of “fermented, salted, and dried gray mullet” and the secrets of the fermentation process are often passed down from father to son.

Apparently, when you sleep like this fish, that is a positive thing.

So. There’s that.



As I was discussing Arabic grammar over some Stellas with friends the other day (before you think to yourself ‘wow this girl is a total nerd’: 99% of you have done this before. do not lie.), I said that during my year with CASA I discovered a love for words with 4 letter roots in Arabic, like يهمهم and يوشوش (both onomatopoeias for whispering) as well as يدغدغ (MSA for ‘to tickle.’ not entirely sure how this came up in a graduate level Arabic class, but. you know.). Then my friends informed me that in Egyptian, يدغدغ means ‘to smash’ as in ‘I’m going to smash your head in.’ Probably something you wouldn’t say in an actual fight, but definitely lies within the realm of siblings threatening to beat each other up.

Via arabicproblems.tumblr.com

    Via arabicproblems.tumblr.com

So what is the takeaway here? LEARN. DIALECT. Imagine yourself telling a small child that you’re going to tickle them and watching them burst into tears BECAUSE THEY THINK YOU’RE GOING TO SMASH THEM. Obviously you won’t get it right all the time, and learning a dialect is process, but don’t be the guy that says ‘I’m only interested in learning MSA because I just don’t have the time to learn amiyya.’ Because what you’re really saying is: ‘I can’t be bothered to learn how to interact with actual human beings. I would rather bury my head in books and listen to speeches and watch the news. Oh, and I also suck.’

If you’re interested in learning the basics of any dialect of Arabic, you’d be wise to start here or here.

Shami and Egyptian are not so far apart. In fact, thanks to Team Maha and my own adventures in Egypt, I’ve discovered to my disappointment that many of the expressions I thought were quintessential Syrianisms were in fact perfectly normal Egyptianisms as well. Since going back through all the posts ever and editing them to include a section about their Syrian relevance would be a lot of effort, this post is intended to be a super quick one-stop shop for all of the expressions that have turned up on here which have direct Shami equivalents.

Enlarge your brain

In the Levant (or Syria, at least), كبر عقلك, kabbir 3a2lak.

دماغ is not generally used for ‘brain’ in the Levant – مخ mukhkh, mekhkh and its plural مخاخ mkhaakh are used instead with basically interchangeable meaning. But the equivalent of this particular expression doesn’t use دماغ but rather عقل, which you may recognise as a Fusha word. You could write a whole, probably quite interesting post about the different bits of the mind in Arabic, but generally your عقل is your rational bits – I guess it’s something like your superego. So كبر عقلك means something like ‘control yourself!’, ‘enlarge your superego!’ ‘CONTROL THAT ID!!!’

Father of moustache

This usage of أبو, and of ام imm for women, is also found in Levantine, though such prodigious moustachioes would be referred to as shwaareb شوارب in Syrian, not شنب. أبو and ام in many cases can translate English ‘the one with’ or be used as a colloquial equivalent for MSA ذو and ذات, with abu and imm being used even for inanimate objects depending on their grammatical gender:

الكولا ام الميت ليرة ilkoola imm ilmiit leera – the 100-lira cola (as opposed to the one for 200 liras)

ابو النضارات abu nnaDDaaraat – the guy with the glasses

ام الازرار imm lizraar – the one with the buttons

A lovely example of how unintuitively (or intuitively?) they can be used is the expression ناس ام وجهين naas imm wishheen ‘two-faced people’. Why is it ام? Because ناس often takes feminine singular agreement.

It would be missing a great opportunity to not to mention Mashrou’ Leila’s song Imm ij-Jaakeet here.

أبو plus various root-and-pattern based deformations of names are also used as nicknames by young men: أبو اللول abu lluul and أبو صطيف abu STeef are nicknames for men called Waa2il and MuSTafa respectively.


My etymological explorations around this word have found some interesting results. The word فشخ (fashakh, yifshakh, fashkha) also exists in Syrian and Lebanese, at least, but as far as I’m aware it has no swear-y or NSFW connotations whatsoever – it means ‘step’. In fact, in Hans Wehr it says it means ‘take a large step’, ‘open wide [one’s mouth]’, or ‘spread apart one’s legs’. It’s probably not that difficult to work out from here how it ended up becoming a catch-all profanity, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard it used in this sense in Levantine. فشخة فشخة, which I suppose would be somewhat offensive in Egyptian, means ‘step by step’.

Any speech

أي كلام is also used in Syrian: هاد مو باسبور أي كلام ‘this isn’t just any old passport’. A synonym – whilst slightly less silly – still doesn’t make an enormous amount of sense to an English speaker: كيف ما كان or كيف من كان kiif maa/man kaan, ‘however’. The slightly more standard maa can be replaced by من in many Syrian dialects when saying ‘however’, ‘whatever’ etc. Note that it doesn’t conjugate:

هو مترجم كيف من كان – huwwe mtarjim kiif man kaan – he’s a mediocre translator

هي سيارة كيف من كان – hiyye siyyaara kiif man kaan – it’s a pretty rubbish car

Another similar expression is هات ايدك والحقني haat iidak wil7aq-ni ‘give-me-your-hand-and-catch-me-up’:

ترجمة هات ايدك والحقني – a bad translation

I will not know you again

The most similar expression to this is:

ما لح اتعرف عليك maa la7 it3arraf 3aleek

Another more idiomatic equivalent is:

انت من طريق وانا من طريق inte min Tarii2 wana min Tarii2  – you go your way, I’ll go mine’

A related expression with a similar meaning is لك ما عرفتك! Lak maa 3rift-ak! ‘I don’t know you!’ This might more idiomatically be translated as ‘who are you and what have you done with…’ in response to an unexpected behaviour from your friend, but seems to be used more aggressively.

Give a mouth

Ba22 ybe22 is a folksy way of saying ‘spit out’ in Syrian. Although you might hear it in dramas from very Old-City-Damascus men – especially be22 meaning ‘spit it out!’ in the metaphorical sense of ‘say what it is you’re not saying!’ – I am informed that it’s a bit dated and not used much by young people. The equivalent of ‘give me a bite’ is the sensible هات شواي or the more… unusual هات شئفة haat shi2fe ‘give me a rag’ (شئفة is used for small pieces of anything).

A cold came to me:

Syrian Arabic does not generally use برد in the sense of ‘getting a cold’ (although people might understand it), and neither does it use ‘came to me’. Instead, it tends to use ‘I have’ (معي or عندي) with illnesses:

عندي كريب – ‭‭3indi griib – I have the flu

معي سكري – I have diabetes

For ‘catch’, you can use the catch-all change-of-state verb that Syrian loves so much: صار (there will probably be another post on صار at some point):

صار معي كريب – I caught flu

صار معي سكري – I developed diabetes

For colds specifically, there is a different word, رشح rash[i]7, which comes with its own verb rashha7 and active participle mrashhi7:

انا مرشحة – ana mrashh7a – I have a cold

رشحت – rashha7[i]t – I’ve caught a cold, I’ve got a cold

You can say أخدت برد akhad[i]t bard but it means something like ‘be out in the cold’ – I actually think that ‘catch cold’, in English, originally has this meaning – so it makes perfect sense to say:

اخد برد وقام رشح – akhad bar[i]d w2aam rassha7 – he was out in the cold and got a cold

This is a thing and this is a thing:

Eitherهاي شي وهاي شي or هاد شي وهاد شي (depending on the gender of the thing in question), or sometimes هاي شغلة وهاي شغلة i.e. a literal translation between the dialects.

He is sitting walking:

قعد is not as much-beloved by Syrians as it apparently is by Egyptians. It exists in the meaning ‘stay’ (with someone or at someone’s house, for example), and in the meaning ‘sit down’; قاعد means ‘sitting down’ or ‘sitting’. Its conjugation is 2e3ed yi23od, and if you want to sound Syrian or Lebanese, you should get used to dropping that hideous hamza-3ayn combination in the imperative and shouting insistently 3ood ya zalame 3ood 3ood whenever anyone tries to get up and leave. Another usage which makes sense but might not immediately seem obvious to English speakers is the use of قعدة in the sense of ‘atmosphere’ (in a café):

نروح على <<علاء الدين>> القعدة أحلى هنيك – nruu7 3ala 3alaa2uddiin il2a3de a7la hniik – let’s go to Aladdin [café], it has a nicer atmosphere (a nicer sitting)

قاعد يمشي and its related forms I have heard in real life, but only from Jordanians, Egyptians and Bedouins, as well as people from the Arabian peninsula. قاعد in this continuous sense is not used in urban Syrian, which has عم 3am as a convenient continuous particle. قعد is also not used in the sense of ‘last’ for batteries or lightbulbs, for which بقي (bi2i yib2a) or ضل (Dall yDoll) – both meaning ‘stay’, are used instead:

البطريا ما لح تضل خمس دقايق حتى – ilbaTariyya maa la7 itDoll kham@s da2aayi2 7atta – the battery won’t even last five minutes

You broke the world

خربت الدنيا kharrabt iddinye. Also used in a similar sense is قومت الدنيا, pronounced 2awwamt iddinye. قوم here is from 2iyaame, قيامة, which you might recognise as the word used in يوم القيامة ‘resurrection day’, one of the names of Judgement Day in Arabic. 2iyaame means ‘chaos, bedlam’, and the verb 2awwam derived from it hence means ‘ruin, mess up’.

What is behind you tomorrow?

Used in pretty much exactly the same way in Levantine: شو وراك بكرا shu waraak bukra, وراك شي؟ waraak shi?

He screwed me over

ضحّك علي Da77ak 3aleyyi. Or تضحك علي tDa77ak 3aleyyi. The same, pretty much. Form I, form II and form V can be used; Da77ak is used in Syrian for both the standard ‘make laugh’ (هالشي بيضحك ‘this thing is really funny’) and also in the sense of form I, for some reason.

Towards the metaphorical end, there’s also the somewhat rude خري علي khiri 3aleyyi ‘he shat on me’ and the very Syrian (???) كتالي مي باردة kattaa-li moyy baarde ‘he poured cold water on me’.

There are also a few other synonyms: the generic غشني ghassh-ni ‘he cheated me’ (ghassh ygheshh) and the Syrian خورفني khooraf-ni and خاوزني khaawaz-ni. The former – which I thought was from خرافة, ‘fantasy’ – is apparently actually derived from the word for sheep, خروف kharuuf, and literally means ‘slaughter’.

He is a seer of himself

The same expression exists in Levantine, but the reflexive pronoun is normally حال, not نفس. So we say شايف حاله shaayif 7aalo. ‘Arrogance’ is شوفة حال shoofet 7aal ‘sight of oneself’ – بالعاصمة في شوفة حال bil3aaSime fii shoofet 7aal ‘in the capital there’s a lot of arrogance’.

He hits hash

Yep, also used in Levantine.

I don’t know how to sleep

Also used in Levantine, though in Levantine it’s more common to use a continuous verb – ما عم بعرف نام, ما عم بعرف احكي, ما عم بعرف افتح الباب. Other Levantine expressions for ‘I couldn’t sleep’ include the Damascene ما احسنت نام maa a7sant naam ‘I was not good at sleeping’ (a7san byi7sin is used for ‘be able to’) and the pleasantly folksy ما عم بيجيني نوم maa 3am bijiini noom ‘sleep isn’t coming to me’.

You do not have an invitation

This seems to be an equivalent to مالي علاقة بـ maali 3alaa2a b- in Syrian, ‘I have no connection with’ = ‘I have nothing to do with’. If you want to pointedly tell someone to keep their nose out, there’s always شو دخلك بالموضوع؟ shu dakhalak bilmawDuu3? – what’s your entry (??) in the issue? Or شو خصك؟ shu khaSSak? – what’s it to do with you?

She is lacking

مو ناقصني muu naa2i9ni. You can be lacking specific things, too: مو ناقصني مصايب muu naa2i9ni m9aayib! I don’t need any more problems!

We were in your biography

كننا بسيرتك kinna b-siirtak – we were talking about you

لا تجيب سيرتو laa tjiib siirto – don’t bring it/him up!

ما تفتح معي السيرة بنوب maa tifta7 ma3i ssiire bnoob – don’t even mention that to me

على سيرة – on the subject of…

I die in you

Also used in Levantine.

Drink a cigarette

You drink cigarettes in Levantine, as well as shisha (known as various variations on the word أركيلة argiile in the Levant) and, in some dialects, medicine: شربت دوا؟ shrib[i]t dawa? For shisha the Syrian equivalent to the Egyptian verb shaayash ‘smoke shisha’ is أركل ‭2argal:

بتأركل شي؟ bit2argil shi? – do you smoke shisha?

The world is crowded:

الدنيا عجقة iddinye 3aja2a. دنيا is in fact a convenient stand-in for the meaningless ‘it’s’ in a lot of expressions in English – ‘it’s crowded’, ‘it’s night’, ‘it’s cold’, ‘it’s Ramadan’ (الدنيا رمضان). In Palestinian and Jordanian, ازمة- literally ‘crisis’ – is used for traffic and crowding.