"Thoreau can keep Walden Pond," I thought smugly to myself. "I've got my Turkish baths."
There I was, pretty much naked, drinking cold hibiscus tea, in a hot steamy room full of other naked women. And it was awesome.
While being subjected to the vicious scrubbing, warm soapy water, and a "massage" that I constantly had to remind myself to relax for due to its body busting properties, I was able to lounge in a space in which to find solidarity with my fellow estrogen toting companions. Indeed, Sarah, Kryss, and I blew off the realities of other obligations to relax, exchange life stories, and bond that day... I mean how could we not? Being naked really helps you get over any potential awkwardness.
Four hours later, we emerged, as polished as humanly possible, rubbing rolls of dead skin off our bodies, and rinsing off for the final time in the showers.
I may not have created any philosophical pieces about utopian societies that afternoon, but the peace and relaxation with which I moved throughout the rest of my day could absolutely end wars and losen the knots from people's shoulders, tongue, and pride. If people recieved good massages and relaxation time in the baths every week, citizens would be too content to raise a finger against one another in conflict.
I may have just discovered the elixir for world peace.
Keep dreaming Thoreau.
coverphoto
Friday, December 3, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
God's Party on the Mountain: Invite Only
“These pants are coming off when we hit the mountain,” I declared stepping out of the beat-up Mercedes and into the crisp morning air. The sun had beaten the three of us out of bed, but it would still be at least an hour before the golden rays pushed the remaining shadows out of the valley. Bidding adieu to our driver, Daniel, Stephanie, and I scrambled over the fence and began walking towards the grove of giant cedars. Some of these testaments of time have seen 1500+ years roll by, and are cited in the Bible. If Treebeard in the Lord of the Rings was real, I think he’d be the gnarliest one of them all :)
In any case, I did take off my sweatpants once we hit the trail, and my legs were publicly exposed for the first time in months…kind of a weird but exhilarating feeling and I made a conscious effort to walk off the giddiness.
Ten minutes into the cedar hike, the three of us realized that instead of going up a mountain, we were weaving ourselves around the valley. Thus, retracing our steps we spotted a chalet by the ski lifts, a landmark Lonely Planet noted for the trailhead of the hike, and so we stepped off the trail and picked our way across the scrubby countryside, around barbed wire and past an old rusted military vehicle. The remnants of war are everywhere in Lebanon, from blown-out buildings riddled with bullet holes, to roadblocks and bomb-blown scrap metal. It’s an eerie feeling; one in which despite the current relative calm, everyone can almost sense that war is an inevitable component of the near future. It could come today, tomorrow, in a month, a year… it shadows people’s minds, and invades their psyche. To my chagrin, I couldn’t even help but wonder if trekking across the sprawling valley could spark a dormant landmine, much like Lebanon itself.
With these thoughts swirling around in my head, we finally reached the road. Stopping to take a break, only a few minutes passed before we hailed down a passing giant gravel-hauling truck, with a toothy grinning man named Adel behind the wheel. We scrambled up the stairs, 8 feet into the cab of his truck, (first time I've hitchhiked EVER! ha!) and Adel began driving us up the road of the very mountain that we had originally planned on climbing…but we rolled with the new circumstance and couldn’t wait to see where the smiling, exuberant man would take us. Daniel, being male and thankfully the most fluent Arabic speaker among us, was subject to most of the conversation making, but Stephanie and I did our best to keep up, picking out words from the conversation that we knew. At the top of the ridge, Adel pulled over next to a roadside vender, and promptly introduced us to the two grizzly men running figs, nuts, cookies, and tea out of the back of their decrepit Volvo. We snapped some good-natured group photos together, and then shoving goodies into our hands, Adel pointed us in the right direction of the trail.
The view from the top of the ridge was absolutely magnificent. I have seen many beautiful vistas in my 20 years, and this was definitely one of the best in the world. To the west, the Qadisha valley, a lush green refuge, cupped on three sides by mountains, and spilling out towards the distant Mediterranean. To the east, Bekaa valley, a rolling batch of brown hills and little towns sprinkled towards the horizon. It’s important to note that Bekaa valley is also the home of Hezbollah (aka, “Party of God”). At the time, we felt safe looking down at it from above. As we would find out later, that was hardly the case.
Overlooking Qadisha Valley
Behind me, Bekaa Valley - home of Hezbollah.
After enjoying our lunch on the ridge, the three of us decided to head back down, and maybe catch Adel bringing his next shipment of rocks back to the Qadisha valley. To our surprise, ¾ of the way down we spotted Adel, urgently scrambling toward us, huffing and puffing due to his tobacco filled lungs, and gesturing frantically. When he reached us, he began spilling Arabic, of which I caught the words “mountain” (jebel), “Hezbollah,” and “machine gun” (rashash). He then bent down and picked up AK-47 bullet shells that we hadn’t noticed down at our feet. It was made clear that he thought we were lucky to be unharmed. After he had calmed down, we more slowly went through his story, with Daniel translating the more difficult parts for Stephanie and I. Apparently, after Adel had dropped us off at the pass he hadn’t realized our plan to hike the ridge. The same guys who had sold us figs, nuts, and tea also doubled as lookouts for Hezbollah, and Adel wasn’t sure if they had notified Hezbollah of our activities on the ridge. If we had descended down the backside of the ridge towards Bekaa valley, Adel informed us sternly, we might not have been nearly as lucky. Hezbollah’s militia has been known to shoot to kill, take hostages, and “defend” their territory. They've also been known to send out "patrols" along the very ridge we had been hiking.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
More than anything, realizing my sheer level of helplessness if things had taken a nasty turn, I failed to comprehend the extent of Hezbollah’s violent methodology, radicalism and overall political reach until after passing through the eyes of a very small needle. It was completely humbling, harrowing...and nauseating. The weight of the cold, metallic, bullet shells that Adel placed in my hand proved a point more effectively than any parental concern, State Department warning, or CIEE policies could EVER hope to achieve. It was the cold weight of ideals tempered by the yoke of reality, where sometimes politics not just a game. Sometimes people die because they are perceived to represent certain groups or because public examples are the most effective form of PR. Death here doesn’t have to be justified. This is a country used to the unfairness of war!
Someday I could not get so lucky and actually be at the mercy of a party who isn't interested in negotiation. What a moment of realization that was! No longer room for romanticism, of somehow talking my way cleverly out of bondage in a language of which I barely know the basic structure. When it comes down to it, despite all that I had researched and the precautions I had taken before venturing out that day, nothing would have adequately prepared me for the worst-case scenario. I was shaken to the core. I couldn’t stop thinking about the possible alternative endings our story could have had.
To put it lightly, I at a very large slice of humble pie.
Adel bustled us back into the cab of his huge truck, and adeptly lightened the mood by taking us to lunch at one of the little cafes at the base of the mountain. There we feasted on olives, lebnah, cucumbers, and khobz. While Stephanie and I sipped on some beer, the guys went for some hardcore Arak, and soon we all couldn't resist laughing along with Adel's cheerful good-natured humor. Then in typical Lebanese hospitality, he brought us back to his home to meet his pretty wife, and two little boys. We ended up spending the whole afternoon there, lounging, talking, smoking hookah, drinking tea, wrestling with the boys, exchanging life stories...all in Arabic I might add. So, while the depth of conversation was limited, the family's warmth couldn't be doubted. And for that I was grateful.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
One man, one vote? Think again.
"Frankly, no one deserves my vote," Majd shrugged, stirring her tea vigorously with her spoon. The sugar had long since dissolved into the hot minty water, and pungent steam rose lazily over our conversation. I glanced down at the half-eaten falafel on my plate.
How could someone not hold conviction over something as fundamental to democracy and social expression as voting? I grew up believing voting was a duty and a sacred right, not to be carelessly discarded. It was a way to make one small change in the world...or if all else fails, at least justify your ability to complain about everything wrong about it (ha!). In anycase, I didn't know how to respond right away. So I did what I always do... I listened.
Here's what I heard:
First off, the candidates all make promises they can't keep, and believe the voters fickle enough to make it worth the effort. For example, this year one guy is even promising to make electricity free for the entirety of Amman. Meanwhile, the King himself is undergoing difficult negotiations with the energy corporation to try and keep their cost hikes as minimal as possible in a time when everything is rapidly getting more expensive. Obviously, free electricity is far from any up-and-coming reality. Does he really think people will fall for that? Apparently so.
Secondly, every election reflects a form of modern tribalism. Every vote turns into a family battle. Its always the biggest families, with the most name recognition that get voted into parliament...NOT because their policies are sound but because they have the sheer number of people voting for them. And Jordanians "would NEVER consider voting against family. Family has forever been the core value and unit of security here."
Thirdly, parliament doesn't do much anyways. They don't make many decisions unless they are personally invested in the issues at hand, and even then they are moderated by the King. Additionally, parliament is so fraught with corruption (ie. accepting bribes, paying voters) that King Abdullah disbanded the session last year, kicking out all those holding office. However, funnily enough, "those same people are running again without any trouble. What's the point?"
The sad thing is that a 25-year old was shot and killed in riots south of Amman after the release of the results, and another parliamentarian candidate was almost driven over by the brother of the opposing candidate. Worse even is that already, even at the early stages, claims of over $300 JD (~$400) per vote were reported by election fraud officials.
And so, even as Jordan arguably remains to possess the closest thing to democracy in the Middle East, it's easy to be reminded of its monarchic history, cultural traditions, and their continued impact upon modern politics.
How could someone not hold conviction over something as fundamental to democracy and social expression as voting? I grew up believing voting was a duty and a sacred right, not to be carelessly discarded. It was a way to make one small change in the world...or if all else fails, at least justify your ability to complain about everything wrong about it (ha!). In anycase, I didn't know how to respond right away. So I did what I always do... I listened.
Here's what I heard:
First off, the candidates all make promises they can't keep, and believe the voters fickle enough to make it worth the effort. For example, this year one guy is even promising to make electricity free for the entirety of Amman. Meanwhile, the King himself is undergoing difficult negotiations with the energy corporation to try and keep their cost hikes as minimal as possible in a time when everything is rapidly getting more expensive. Obviously, free electricity is far from any up-and-coming reality. Does he really think people will fall for that? Apparently so.
Secondly, every election reflects a form of modern tribalism. Every vote turns into a family battle. Its always the biggest families, with the most name recognition that get voted into parliament...NOT because their policies are sound but because they have the sheer number of people voting for them. And Jordanians "would NEVER consider voting against family. Family has forever been the core value and unit of security here."
Thirdly, parliament doesn't do much anyways. They don't make many decisions unless they are personally invested in the issues at hand, and even then they are moderated by the King. Additionally, parliament is so fraught with corruption (ie. accepting bribes, paying voters) that King Abdullah disbanded the session last year, kicking out all those holding office. However, funnily enough, "those same people are running again without any trouble. What's the point?"
The sad thing is that a 25-year old was shot and killed in riots south of Amman after the release of the results, and another parliamentarian candidate was almost driven over by the brother of the opposing candidate. Worse even is that already, even at the early stages, claims of over $300 JD (~$400) per vote were reported by election fraud officials.
And so, even as Jordan arguably remains to possess the closest thing to democracy in the Middle East, it's easy to be reminded of its monarchic history, cultural traditions, and their continued impact upon modern politics.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Brain drain.
It's that time again...MIDTERMS!! As usual they've snuck up on me when I was too busy having a life to notice their eminence. However, I think with a little patience, and a lot of study time, I can make my first real Arabic exams a positive trend to follow in the future. :)
So, please appreciate my explanation below.
This is my brain (almost):
This is what my brain will be like after my two Arabic midterms:
Need I say more?
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Blowing bubbles.
The concept of space is an interesting one: Empty. Breathless. Perhaps an inverse of color. Or maybe electrified, crackling energy. Space is a magical thing because it all depends how you decide to fill it.
The adherence to space and the invisible boundaries that we construct is apparent in the development of social norms and cultural customs. How we establish personal space and who we share it with thus reflects not only upon our society, but more discreetly, the way we express our individuality. And in Jordan, individuality is somewhat (surprisingly) an incredibly subtle yet important part of identity.
Generally speaking, the American idea of space is a fairly intimate one. Both men and women engage in a dance of platonic relations that are incredibly physical. We hug! We punch! We wrestle! We cuddle! And it doesn't mean that young people are always sleeping with each other...well, most of the time. We definitely don't have to be married to hold friendship with a member of the opposite sex. We're allowed to hang out without being monitored in most cases. And public opinion can mostly curb the most socially awkward displays of PDA. In regards to establishing our own personal space, we are taught in primary school to respect The Bubble. This bubble cannot and should not be invaded without permission. This Bubble defines our mode of operation over the course of our lives. The Bubble defines personal autonomy. The Bubble means that you can wear whatever you want, act however you like, and people can't feel automatically entitled to a relationship with you if you don't let them in. Even if you like something, you can't necessarily have it. Thus, the dance continues.
In Jordan, the development of space parameters is incredibly different. I was walking to class this morning. Something I saw triggered this whole thought process tonight.
I was watching this woman, dressed in the colorful long trenchcoat-like garments that many women wear in public. The things are pretty shapeless, but less so than the black abayas other women wear on campus. A perfectly matching, colorful hijab was wrapped expertly around her hair in an act of coordination that I doubt I could ever muster.
And, above all else, she was wearing a belt, tightly fitted around her small waist.
Why is this important? Bear with me.
First off, its amazing to me how hyper-aware I've become of wardrobe, what part of me is showing, and analyzing the probability of getting clucked or stared at my random men during my walk across campus. Scarfs are my new safety net. Comparatively, v-neck t-shirts my new foe, pretty much eliminating much of my wardrobe. I have found myself also beginning to judge other people, sometimes complete strangers, for the "scandelous" or questionable nature of their attire, despite the fact that I can find the same things in my own closet.
In addition to this shift of perspective, I've also found myself hyper-sensitive to any physical contact, no matter how insignificant, from anyone. Women in Jordan walk around holding hands or link arms. Men enthusiastically kiss each other on the cheeks, whisper in each other's ears, and lace their fingers together when they walk. And its always same gender-to-gender interactions. Why? It's "haram" (forbidden!) to embrace or touch someone of the opposite gender. Sometimes even casual male-female friendships are only tolerated if there is a serious intent in marriage. Observing this while realizing my own deprivation of physical touch, helps me then understand why the female and male dynamics are so isolated. They're virtually separate spaces within Arab societies.
Defining my own private space has evolved to better fit the customs of the region, although they are by no means up to the standard. But, I realize that I have unintentionally changed my own concept of space to integrate into my surrounding society. This is mind-boggling to me.
I now always take notice of the distance between me and the nearest guy. If anyone moves towards me, it immediately takes my attention. I've noticed the friends I've made here are primarily female, even among the American students. My interactions with guys are relaxed but I have to catch myself from throwing my arms around someone for a hug. A brush of the fingertips into a guys palm when passing the sugar can raise my heart-rate a few beats. I've begun to crave physical contact more than ever before. You know, just rubbing shoulders with someone or getting a good, firm hug.
And that brings me back to the woman with the belt.
Jordanian bubbles are calibrated differently here. People are raised without having any context for physical contact with a member of the opposite gender. The Muslim faith emphasizes modesty in dress so as to not draw undue attention. And yet here was this woman, who with a single accessory, showed off her beautiful hourglass figure, expressing her individuality, and yet remaining distant to the casual observer.
It was a perfect balance.
And so, my bubble continues to shift as I continue to observe everyone around me, and have experiences that are defined incredibly by my gender. I have the feeling its going to keep me guessing for a long time.
The adherence to space and the invisible boundaries that we construct is apparent in the development of social norms and cultural customs. How we establish personal space and who we share it with thus reflects not only upon our society, but more discreetly, the way we express our individuality. And in Jordan, individuality is somewhat (surprisingly) an incredibly subtle yet important part of identity.
Generally speaking, the American idea of space is a fairly intimate one. Both men and women engage in a dance of platonic relations that are incredibly physical. We hug! We punch! We wrestle! We cuddle! And it doesn't mean that young people are always sleeping with each other...well, most of the time. We definitely don't have to be married to hold friendship with a member of the opposite sex. We're allowed to hang out without being monitored in most cases. And public opinion can mostly curb the most socially awkward displays of PDA. In regards to establishing our own personal space, we are taught in primary school to respect The Bubble. This bubble cannot and should not be invaded without permission. This Bubble defines our mode of operation over the course of our lives. The Bubble defines personal autonomy. The Bubble means that you can wear whatever you want, act however you like, and people can't feel automatically entitled to a relationship with you if you don't let them in. Even if you like something, you can't necessarily have it. Thus, the dance continues.
In Jordan, the development of space parameters is incredibly different. I was walking to class this morning. Something I saw triggered this whole thought process tonight.
I was watching this woman, dressed in the colorful long trenchcoat-like garments that many women wear in public. The things are pretty shapeless, but less so than the black abayas other women wear on campus. A perfectly matching, colorful hijab was wrapped expertly around her hair in an act of coordination that I doubt I could ever muster.
And, above all else, she was wearing a belt, tightly fitted around her small waist.
Why is this important? Bear with me.
First off, its amazing to me how hyper-aware I've become of wardrobe, what part of me is showing, and analyzing the probability of getting clucked or stared at my random men during my walk across campus. Scarfs are my new safety net. Comparatively, v-neck t-shirts my new foe, pretty much eliminating much of my wardrobe. I have found myself also beginning to judge other people, sometimes complete strangers, for the "scandelous" or questionable nature of their attire, despite the fact that I can find the same things in my own closet.
In addition to this shift of perspective, I've also found myself hyper-sensitive to any physical contact, no matter how insignificant, from anyone. Women in Jordan walk around holding hands or link arms. Men enthusiastically kiss each other on the cheeks, whisper in each other's ears, and lace their fingers together when they walk. And its always same gender-to-gender interactions. Why? It's "haram" (forbidden!) to embrace or touch someone of the opposite gender. Sometimes even casual male-female friendships are only tolerated if there is a serious intent in marriage. Observing this while realizing my own deprivation of physical touch, helps me then understand why the female and male dynamics are so isolated. They're virtually separate spaces within Arab societies.
Defining my own private space has evolved to better fit the customs of the region, although they are by no means up to the standard. But, I realize that I have unintentionally changed my own concept of space to integrate into my surrounding society. This is mind-boggling to me.
I now always take notice of the distance between me and the nearest guy. If anyone moves towards me, it immediately takes my attention. I've noticed the friends I've made here are primarily female, even among the American students. My interactions with guys are relaxed but I have to catch myself from throwing my arms around someone for a hug. A brush of the fingertips into a guys palm when passing the sugar can raise my heart-rate a few beats. I've begun to crave physical contact more than ever before. You know, just rubbing shoulders with someone or getting a good, firm hug.
And that brings me back to the woman with the belt.
Jordanian bubbles are calibrated differently here. People are raised without having any context for physical contact with a member of the opposite gender. The Muslim faith emphasizes modesty in dress so as to not draw undue attention. And yet here was this woman, who with a single accessory, showed off her beautiful hourglass figure, expressing her individuality, and yet remaining distant to the casual observer.
It was a perfect balance.
And so, my bubble continues to shift as I continue to observe everyone around me, and have experiences that are defined incredibly by my gender. I have the feeling its going to keep me guessing for a long time.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Forever Young
At the beginning of winter/summer break every year, my Papa comes to pick me up from Willamette U and bring me home. These daddy-daughter road trips, driving the Great Skewed Triangle between Willamette U, Bend, and Poulsbo, allow plenty of time for talking. It was on one of these trips, during which I was learning some life lessons the tough way, that one of our heart-to-heart chats revealed some wisdom:
Papa told me, somewhat masked behind his large aviators, with high desert Oregon scruff whooshing by, “You’ll have what seem to be some of the hardest lessons, and also most euphoric moments of your life when you’re young. The older you get, the more mundane your life becomes, the fewer rollercoasters, the longer plateaus… Honey, you may think times are rough now because there’s little stability, but let me tell you, you’ll miss the action later!”
I feel like with all this good attitude oozing out of my pores the past few weeks, it was probably about time for my resolve to get tested. I indeed called upon this moment to make it though one hell of a roller coaster day... a day that included new friends, contentment, a feeling of belonging, but also corresponding stress, tears, mortification, and many curve balls to keep me guessing.
I rolled over to my usual 6:15am alarm, groaning, and getting up to finish the last bit of Arabic homework before stumbling groggily into the kitchen. My backpack was seemingly laden with rocks (aka books), and my favorite purple and silver Brooks running shoes dangled loyally from my bright blue carabeener. Walking out the door today, I knew it was going to be el yom majnoon khteir (very crazy day), and I had mentally psyched myself up for the hospital rounds, taxi rides, thinning wallet and the immense mountain of necessary patience. But I was a woman on a mission! If anything, today was going to be an adventure! I felt good and ready to take it on :)
After a3miaa class with Dr. Muna (in which we got to play arabic charades! SO FUN), I hailed a taxi and left for the Arab Medical Center, near the fifth circle. I picked up my chest x-ray, urine analysis results, and tuberculousis test (thrilling I know), and then stepped out of the hospital to hail another taxi. Next stop: King Hussein Park!
However, the taxi driver that pulled up practically knew no english, and while my arabic conversational skills are improving, I had crossed my fingers that Fate would send me a taxi driver who wouldn't need me scrambling to look up the word "park" in the dictionary, haha! Alas, it was not to be. But no matter! The driver was friendly and we pulled over and asked someone to point us in the right direction, and we arrived without another hitch. WIN.
Now, King Hussein Park is huge, and I began wandering around aimlessly looking for the Marathon Village to register for the Amman 10k race. Seeing what looked like big tents, I walked over and instead met Hanuda, a tall older man with a salt n' peppery 5 o'clock shadow, who's a local pottery artist and professor at the University of Jordan. His shop was open and he invited me in to share some coffee. Considering the social etiquette of Jordan, I've learned to never turn down a kind offer of friendship, no matter how tight the timetable (really, its safe to say that timetables don't exist here). Instead of valuing time as money, Jordanians value time as investment in relationships. For example, in a business context, instead of calling someone and directly/bluntly asking why a delivery hasn't been made on time, the inquirer always first asks about the wellbeing of the recipients family as well as have other degrees of small talk before breaking the issue at hand. And even then the issue is phrased in a way as to allow the person who's made a mistake to save face. (I'll discuss more about the differences in hi- vs. lo-context cultures in a moment...it interestingly enough relates to the political environment of the Middle East as well). In any case, no matter what someone has scheduled for the day, if Jordanians meet a stranger who needs help or direction, the following hour transforms into an amazing Q&A/exchange of life stories. While Westerners who value privacy could perceive such curiosity as rude and nosey, it's the way Jordanians show they care. And as it turns out, Hanuda decided he would even drive me over to registration so that he could save me time anyways.
After registering and getting my my race packet/cool gear, I walked to the circle by City Mall, and caught another taxi...this time back to campus. Least to say, I'm getting a bit worn out on taxi-riding. Sometimes it prevents me from going out on the weekends just because I need a complete break from heartfelt marriage proposals, and the primarily night-time slimeballs. In any case, I ended up sharing a taxi with this other random young guy who looked like a more awkward version of the Prince of Jordan, and the driver would not stop talking about his adorable 2-year old son. :) It was actually pretty fun ride, and I arrived back to campus feeling accomplished and content.
And then the day took a dark turn.
After class, I asked my good friend in my neighborhood to take my workout gear and running shoes with her to drop off at my house so that I wouldn't have to lug them to the evening orchestra concert. Assuming the best, I met her at the concert, and enjoyed drifting off in utter contentment to Chopin and the incredible guest pianist from Poland. A few minutes before intermission, I suddenly bolted upright in my seat, realizing that I had forgotten my x-rays, prescriptions, and medical information in a nondescript brown bag at McDonalds when I ordered a salad for dinner. Literally, my life and a full-day of medical exams and scrambling around Amman was in that bag. With the end of the concert, I turned to the girls telling them that I was leaving, when Erin turned to me and said, "What would you say if I told you that I forgot your stuff in the taxi..."
I froze.
"You're joking right? This is supposed to be funny."
She just looked at me.
And then, I started bawling.
Right there, in the middle of the auditorium, I cried, started laughing, and then cried some more.
The day before the 10k race, the race I've been working my ass off for, my 2-month old, beautiful, supportive shoes, that have been around the world with me, and I've obviously become oddly emotionally attached to...GONE.
Really, it was just the last straw in an incredibly high stress day...high stress couple of weeks I suppose.
And then I again remembered the brown paper bag sitting in McDonalds.
The shoes were gone. I realized I'd have to process and deal with the effects of that later. But at that moment, I had another problem to solve. Within a minute, I got a hold of myself, cleared my head, and got the bit in my teeth. It was business time.
Riding back to McDonalds, I couldn't help but wonder how such a good day could turn so sour, so quickly. However, when I got to McDonald's I was granted a significant reprieve. My nondescript brown Bag of Life had been turned in and held by the manager for the last four hours. Everything was in it. I had it back. I loved Jordan again. If I had to pick between lesser evils, I came out on top. Laying down on my bed tonight, remembering to breathe, I cant help but shift perspective and feel grateful for the outcome, despite some misfortune.
And so, as my father's words come back to me about savoring the roller-coasters of youth, I can only hope that I will be forever young, even if it means dealing with days like today once in a while.
However, the taxi driver that pulled up practically knew no english, and while my arabic conversational skills are improving, I had crossed my fingers that Fate would send me a taxi driver who wouldn't need me scrambling to look up the word "park" in the dictionary, haha! Alas, it was not to be. But no matter! The driver was friendly and we pulled over and asked someone to point us in the right direction, and we arrived without another hitch. WIN.
Now, King Hussein Park is huge, and I began wandering around aimlessly looking for the Marathon Village to register for the Amman 10k race. Seeing what looked like big tents, I walked over and instead met Hanuda, a tall older man with a salt n' peppery 5 o'clock shadow, who's a local pottery artist and professor at the University of Jordan. His shop was open and he invited me in to share some coffee. Considering the social etiquette of Jordan, I've learned to never turn down a kind offer of friendship, no matter how tight the timetable (really, its safe to say that timetables don't exist here). Instead of valuing time as money, Jordanians value time as investment in relationships. For example, in a business context, instead of calling someone and directly/bluntly asking why a delivery hasn't been made on time, the inquirer always first asks about the wellbeing of the recipients family as well as have other degrees of small talk before breaking the issue at hand. And even then the issue is phrased in a way as to allow the person who's made a mistake to save face. (I'll discuss more about the differences in hi- vs. lo-context cultures in a moment...it interestingly enough relates to the political environment of the Middle East as well). In any case, no matter what someone has scheduled for the day, if Jordanians meet a stranger who needs help or direction, the following hour transforms into an amazing Q&A/exchange of life stories. While Westerners who value privacy could perceive such curiosity as rude and nosey, it's the way Jordanians show they care. And as it turns out, Hanuda decided he would even drive me over to registration so that he could save me time anyways.
After registering and getting my my race packet/cool gear, I walked to the circle by City Mall, and caught another taxi...this time back to campus. Least to say, I'm getting a bit worn out on taxi-riding. Sometimes it prevents me from going out on the weekends just because I need a complete break from heartfelt marriage proposals, and the primarily night-time slimeballs. In any case, I ended up sharing a taxi with this other random young guy who looked like a more awkward version of the Prince of Jordan, and the driver would not stop talking about his adorable 2-year old son. :) It was actually pretty fun ride, and I arrived back to campus feeling accomplished and content.
And then the day took a dark turn.
After class, I asked my good friend in my neighborhood to take my workout gear and running shoes with her to drop off at my house so that I wouldn't have to lug them to the evening orchestra concert. Assuming the best, I met her at the concert, and enjoyed drifting off in utter contentment to Chopin and the incredible guest pianist from Poland. A few minutes before intermission, I suddenly bolted upright in my seat, realizing that I had forgotten my x-rays, prescriptions, and medical information in a nondescript brown bag at McDonalds when I ordered a salad for dinner. Literally, my life and a full-day of medical exams and scrambling around Amman was in that bag. With the end of the concert, I turned to the girls telling them that I was leaving, when Erin turned to me and said, "What would you say if I told you that I forgot your stuff in the taxi..."
I froze.
"You're joking right? This is supposed to be funny."
She just looked at me.
And then, I started bawling.
Right there, in the middle of the auditorium, I cried, started laughing, and then cried some more.
The day before the 10k race, the race I've been working my ass off for, my 2-month old, beautiful, supportive shoes, that have been around the world with me, and I've obviously become oddly emotionally attached to...GONE.
Really, it was just the last straw in an incredibly high stress day...high stress couple of weeks I suppose.
And then I again remembered the brown paper bag sitting in McDonalds.
The shoes were gone. I realized I'd have to process and deal with the effects of that later. But at that moment, I had another problem to solve. Within a minute, I got a hold of myself, cleared my head, and got the bit in my teeth. It was business time.
Riding back to McDonalds, I couldn't help but wonder how such a good day could turn so sour, so quickly. However, when I got to McDonald's I was granted a significant reprieve. My nondescript brown Bag of Life had been turned in and held by the manager for the last four hours. Everything was in it. I had it back. I loved Jordan again. If I had to pick between lesser evils, I came out on top. Laying down on my bed tonight, remembering to breathe, I cant help but shift perspective and feel grateful for the outcome, despite some misfortune.
And so, as my father's words come back to me about savoring the roller-coasters of youth, I can only hope that I will be forever young, even if it means dealing with days like today once in a while.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Lets talk.
You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist.
Well, at least Gandhi thought so, and I tend to find him wiser than most.
This week's reflection rambles on primarily about what it means to come to the table, to negotiate, discuss, play your hand, compare, and exchange ideas with people that see the world through different lenses. Mainly though, what's important is how such "open-handed" interactions foster a deeper understanding between seemingly irreconcilable viewpoints.
Well, at least Gandhi thought so, and I tend to find him wiser than most.
This week's reflection rambles on primarily about what it means to come to the table, to negotiate, discuss, play your hand, compare, and exchange ideas with people that see the world through different lenses. Mainly though, what's important is how such "open-handed" interactions foster a deeper understanding between seemingly irreconcilable viewpoints.
It comes as a response to the diversity of interactions and engagements I've witnessed, experienced, and thought about over the last few weeks while navigating life in Amman. Simply put, one will not enjoy living abroad if the majority of time is spent fighting what is different...because well, it will be. Get used to a different concept of time. Get used to standing out. Get used to being asked personal questions regarding your salary, relationship status, or if you've gained/lost weight. Savor the hummous as if you haven't been allowed to eat it for 100 years. Enjoy spontaneous tea-time with random new friends. Never wait in line again! Start thinking about how to break that 50 dinar note days ahead of when you'll need taxi money. Relax a little, and unclench that fist! Enjoy being a little more out of control in your life, and learn to accept what you can't change. Easily respond like a local. When in Jordan, do as the Jordanians do!
"Foreigners"...as if people couldn't tell :)
Overall, within an anarchic system in which traditional identities of nation-states are changing due to the fluctuating demographics of its citizens, Gandhi's words come as a timely reminder. People from all parts of the world are living in closer, more intimate conditions. Tensions naturally exist in heterogeneous societies. Thus, pluralism is hardly a comfortable state of existence, but it's something that the United States and most "Western" countries possess an odd amount of pride in maintaining. Despite this however, "Islamophobia" (as the August 2010 Time cover-story established) is running unchecked, not only by leaders within our government, but perhaps more disturbingly, by our own citizenry! As demonstrated by the banning of the hijab in France, the threat to burn Qur'ans out of revenge in Florida, and the recent outrage of some Americans regarding plans to build a mosque near ground zero, the opportunity to develop common ground is lost out of the divisive nature of ideological struggle. Very few people are pausing to reassess their emotional responses and hasty generalizations, deciding instead to swallow what the media gives them - sensational accounts of jihad, terrorists, and women-haters; a minority group of Believers who while cloaking themselves in the words of Islam, ironically fail to embody the pillars of the Islamic faith and instead use it to justify political agendas. It's a travesty that gives peace-loving Believers a bad image in the eyes of the rest of the world.
Also, my thoughts stem from frustration regarding the hatred, fear, racism, and stereotyping found between the lines of any headline around the world. They're easy to buy into if you don't feel like making the effort to ask questions, find out about someone else's way of life, or seek to understand the relative hierarchy of values. Shake those hands, (unless of course its rude to do so in the particular culture in which you find yourself) and re-evaluate your own "common sense" ideas about the world. And do it regularly, or risk personal stagnation and cultural insensitivity to say the least...
Overall, within an anarchic system in which traditional identities of nation-states are changing due to the fluctuating demographics of its citizens, Gandhi's words come as a timely reminder. People from all parts of the world are living in closer, more intimate conditions. Tensions naturally exist in heterogeneous societies. Thus, pluralism is hardly a comfortable state of existence, but it's something that the United States and most "Western" countries possess an odd amount of pride in maintaining. Despite this however, "Islamophobia" (as the August 2010 Time cover-story established) is running unchecked, not only by leaders within our government, but perhaps more disturbingly, by our own citizenry! As demonstrated by the banning of the hijab in France, the threat to burn Qur'ans out of revenge in Florida, and the recent outrage of some Americans regarding plans to build a mosque near ground zero, the opportunity to develop common ground is lost out of the divisive nature of ideological struggle. Very few people are pausing to reassess their emotional responses and hasty generalizations, deciding instead to swallow what the media gives them - sensational accounts of jihad, terrorists, and women-haters; a minority group of Believers who while cloaking themselves in the words of Islam, ironically fail to embody the pillars of the Islamic faith and instead use it to justify political agendas. It's a travesty that gives peace-loving Believers a bad image in the eyes of the rest of the world.
And so the cycle continues.
It's interesting, this week in class, a woman pursuing her Master's came in to talk to my peers and I about our motives for not only studying abroad, but why we chose to study in the "Middle East." First off, I'd like to note that this woman, however unintentionally, qualified Jordan as representing the entire region by this simple statement. That provides a fair amount of insight by itself, and its strange how eerily familiar this sounds...people talk about Africa with this exact same tone. ["You mean Africa is a multi-national continent with an incredible spectrum of cultures and history? surprise!]. In any case, apparently the number of students abroad in Egypt, Morocco, and Jordan has increased by nearly 200% since 2001. Go figure. In any case, while impressive, when the figures are placed in context with the overall growth of students studying abroad in general, participation level continues to hover in the 1-3% range of selected study abroad programs. During the discussion, the more we talked, the more we realized that in coming to Jordan, we all had to disregard the fears, concerns, or assumptions of a friend, family member, or significant mentor. NO, I don't have to wear a burqa to class, and I'm not going to get stoned if I'm caught out of bed past curfew! Excuse me, but Jordan is not Syria, nor Lebanon, nor Egypt. Egypt is not Iraq, or Saudi Arabia, Yemen, or the UAE! And we haven't even touched Israel or Palestine yet...
Let's face it, from the moment we become cognizant of our position in society, we learn to categorize people in order to simplify the incredible intricacies that surround us. What we overlook is how dehumanizing such a methods of conceptualization can be. I easily think back to junior high where jocks, nerds, goths, band kids, preps, hicks, and "natives" coldly demonstrates the average teenager's tenuous grasp on identity. Now, having lived abroad for the last five months, I feel like I've become hyper-aware of the degree to which my categorical lenses and value hierarchies have been constructed in seeing the world. Also, I've seen how people have been taught or have learned how to think about ME. And I'm left to wonder...do people change much from those original ruthless and impressionable years of youth? Or are we just getting better at disguising it out of necessity and political correctness?
Fortunately, in my experience, the significant complexities of not only relationships between nations in the Middle East, but also within the very domestic framework of each nation continues to lure curious students the world over. However, the "Middle East," with the multitude of identities lumped into a single term, generally tempts over-simplification and perpetuates overarching notions for the entire region...
Let's face it, from the moment we become cognizant of our position in society, we learn to categorize people in order to simplify the incredible intricacies that surround us. What we overlook is how dehumanizing such a methods of conceptualization can be. I easily think back to junior high where jocks, nerds, goths, band kids, preps, hicks, and "natives" coldly demonstrates the average teenager's tenuous grasp on identity. Now, having lived abroad for the last five months, I feel like I've become hyper-aware of the degree to which my categorical lenses and value hierarchies have been constructed in seeing the world. Also, I've seen how people have been taught or have learned how to think about ME. And I'm left to wonder...do people change much from those original ruthless and impressionable years of youth? Or are we just getting better at disguising it out of necessity and political correctness?
Fortunately, in my experience, the significant complexities of not only relationships between nations in the Middle East, but also within the very domestic framework of each nation continues to lure curious students the world over. However, the "Middle East," with the multitude of identities lumped into a single term, generally tempts over-simplification and perpetuates overarching notions for the entire region...
Which is why I'm glad to have met many Muslim Jordanians, who practically kill you with kindness, either by stuffing you with home-cooked food, or driving you home to the opposite side of Amman just so you won't have to take another taxi that day.
SO, more than anything, its time to approach the table and start the dialog. Right where you are. Right now. TALK and LISTEN.
I absolutely believe that diplomacy begins with fostering relationships...And THAT makes it possible for even one person to truly change the world.
So what are we waiting for?
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Ana mabsoota (أنا المبسوط)
Sitting in the living room of my host family, and admiring the watery sunshine streaming through the lightly falling raindrops, I feel so incredibly lucky. Its a stormy, cozy Saturday dedicated solely to food, family, and gossip.What could be better? :)
I let myself sleep in today until a luxurious 9am. I rolled back and forth a few times, seeing if I could perhaps squeeze in another hour...but alas, it was not to be done. Instead, I rolled out of bed, opened the door to my bedroom terrace, and took in the cool breeze of a beautiful fall morning. Eventually, Mama Abeer had Commarie (the maid) rouse everyone out of their beds and down into the kitchen for a fresh breakfast of khobz (pita), beit (eggs), lebneh (thick, almost sour cream-like yogurt), olives, zata'a, fool (a bean dip connoction) and shai (tea). Delicious. I then spent the rest of the morning doing lovely mindless things like cleaning my room, organizing my shelves, and downloading new music for my workouts this week.
However, something was shadowing my mind as I puttzed around aimlessly. Tomorrow, I'm attending the wedding of Madj's brother! I'm SO excited to be able to witness a Jordanian/Palestinian wedding, but I spent all yesterday looking for a dress and hadn't found much. Granted, I bought a pretty dark green homecoming-quality dress at the souq juma3 (Friday market) for like 2 JDs ($3.50!), but unfortunately one of those dresses that will only fit perfectly if I refrain from eating the entire day. So, obviously while possible, not an optimal option. Besides, I'm not the kind of girl to make huge sacrifices for beauty, haha. In any case, I somewhat shyly brought up the dilemma with my two host sisters, Baytool and Raya, and immediately they bustled into high sisterly gear, tugging me up the stairs, picking out some of their old dresses, making me try them on, and completely making a fuss. I've never felt so cared for :) We ended up finding two dresses that worked: a floor-length crimson ballroom dress, and a knee-length turquoise dress with beading and a gold sash. Beautiful! Having to pick between two great options is a much better dilemma to encounter. i was relieved. Now when standing next to beautiful Madj in her bright pink prom-like dress, I won't feel so homely, haha. And of course, I'll keep that green dress for another, food-deprived occasion :)
Soon after resolving the dress issue, I was called downstairs by Mama Abeer to help her cook "mensaf," a wonderful Jordanian dish involving lamb, rice, almonds, pine nuts, and a sour yogurt sauce. Besides sayyadiea, mansaf is my favorite dish here. I couldn't wait to watch Mama make it, and maybe learn a little along the way. In our neighborhood, its common knowledge that Mama makes the best mansaf in Jordan. I privately vowed to be the most observant student.
While appearing simple, mansaf is a lot harder to make than it looks, requiring a TON of multitasking in order for it to come out perfectly. While boiling the lamb in a giant pot, mama soaked the rice, and prepared the yogurt sauce. Stirring the contents over a hot stove, I did what I could to keep the sauce from curdling. When it finally came to a boil and the lamb was done cooking, Mama grabbed the huge pot of sauce and poured it effortlessly into the other large pot of lamb, stirring and adding cardamom. Then, it was time to wait. As they say, slow and steady wins the race... The best mansaf is tender and flavorful. Least to say, it's worth being patient.
Various family members began showing up early in the afternoon. Immediately the house transformed into a place of hustle, bustle, and loud conversations going every which way, happily weaving themselves into a fabric of organized chaos. I couldn't stop grinning. Besides, I always get randomly quizzed in Arabic, so if I don't pay attention, I'm caught off guard. On occasions like these, I have to be on my toes, ready to practice and also laugh off mistakes at any moment.
Finally, when all of us settled down to lunch (the mansaf was delicious despite my involvement by the way!), we were suddenly interrupted by a freakish thunderstorm that pounded the windows with icy rain, and transformed the hilly streets into minor river rapids! I couldn't have been more excited! RAIN! I almost didn't believe it! I've missed it so much! Legitimate face soaking, puddle dancing, lighting flashing, ozone smelling rain! I think the family thought I was pretty silly. I excused myself and stepped out the front door into the storm, whooping softly to myself and even carrying out a little happy dance. When I finally came in, I was met with strong 'ahwa arabi (arabic coffee), pomegrante, and chocolate for dessert.
Now the weather's cleared up, the sunshine is back out, and the number of family members present in the living room has grown to 12! Who knows how long they'll be here. Sometimes these weekly gatherings go on till 11pm, when finally after all local gossip is exchanged, food eaten, stories told, prayers made, and soap operas debated, everyone suddenly realizes how tired they are. I usually can't make it past 9pm these days, and while sometimes I feel anti-social, I know just how important sleep is in the quality of my day. Sometimes, mama and baba go to bed hours after I do and leave the house before I get up. Do they even sleep? I might never know ;)
Anyways, that's all for now. Time to go back to being social. Besides, maybe Commarie needs help in the kitchen (that's a subject for another time). Maa salaama!
I let myself sleep in today until a luxurious 9am. I rolled back and forth a few times, seeing if I could perhaps squeeze in another hour...but alas, it was not to be done. Instead, I rolled out of bed, opened the door to my bedroom terrace, and took in the cool breeze of a beautiful fall morning. Eventually, Mama Abeer had Commarie (the maid) rouse everyone out of their beds and down into the kitchen for a fresh breakfast of khobz (pita), beit (eggs), lebneh (thick, almost sour cream-like yogurt), olives, zata'a, fool (a bean dip connoction) and shai (tea). Delicious. I then spent the rest of the morning doing lovely mindless things like cleaning my room, organizing my shelves, and downloading new music for my workouts this week.
However, something was shadowing my mind as I puttzed around aimlessly. Tomorrow, I'm attending the wedding of Madj's brother! I'm SO excited to be able to witness a Jordanian/Palestinian wedding, but I spent all yesterday looking for a dress and hadn't found much. Granted, I bought a pretty dark green homecoming-quality dress at the souq juma3 (Friday market) for like 2 JDs ($3.50!), but unfortunately one of those dresses that will only fit perfectly if I refrain from eating the entire day. So, obviously while possible, not an optimal option. Besides, I'm not the kind of girl to make huge sacrifices for beauty, haha. In any case, I somewhat shyly brought up the dilemma with my two host sisters, Baytool and Raya, and immediately they bustled into high sisterly gear, tugging me up the stairs, picking out some of their old dresses, making me try them on, and completely making a fuss. I've never felt so cared for :) We ended up finding two dresses that worked: a floor-length crimson ballroom dress, and a knee-length turquoise dress with beading and a gold sash. Beautiful! Having to pick between two great options is a much better dilemma to encounter. i was relieved. Now when standing next to beautiful Madj in her bright pink prom-like dress, I won't feel so homely, haha. And of course, I'll keep that green dress for another, food-deprived occasion :)
Soon after resolving the dress issue, I was called downstairs by Mama Abeer to help her cook "mensaf," a wonderful Jordanian dish involving lamb, rice, almonds, pine nuts, and a sour yogurt sauce. Besides sayyadiea, mansaf is my favorite dish here. I couldn't wait to watch Mama make it, and maybe learn a little along the way. In our neighborhood, its common knowledge that Mama makes the best mansaf in Jordan. I privately vowed to be the most observant student.
While appearing simple, mansaf is a lot harder to make than it looks, requiring a TON of multitasking in order for it to come out perfectly. While boiling the lamb in a giant pot, mama soaked the rice, and prepared the yogurt sauce. Stirring the contents over a hot stove, I did what I could to keep the sauce from curdling. When it finally came to a boil and the lamb was done cooking, Mama grabbed the huge pot of sauce and poured it effortlessly into the other large pot of lamb, stirring and adding cardamom. Then, it was time to wait. As they say, slow and steady wins the race... The best mansaf is tender and flavorful. Least to say, it's worth being patient.
Various family members began showing up early in the afternoon. Immediately the house transformed into a place of hustle, bustle, and loud conversations going every which way, happily weaving themselves into a fabric of organized chaos. I couldn't stop grinning. Besides, I always get randomly quizzed in Arabic, so if I don't pay attention, I'm caught off guard. On occasions like these, I have to be on my toes, ready to practice and also laugh off mistakes at any moment.
Finally, when all of us settled down to lunch (the mansaf was delicious despite my involvement by the way!), we were suddenly interrupted by a freakish thunderstorm that pounded the windows with icy rain, and transformed the hilly streets into minor river rapids! I couldn't have been more excited! RAIN! I almost didn't believe it! I've missed it so much! Legitimate face soaking, puddle dancing, lighting flashing, ozone smelling rain! I think the family thought I was pretty silly. I excused myself and stepped out the front door into the storm, whooping softly to myself and even carrying out a little happy dance. When I finally came in, I was met with strong 'ahwa arabi (arabic coffee), pomegrante, and chocolate for dessert.
Now the weather's cleared up, the sunshine is back out, and the number of family members present in the living room has grown to 12! Who knows how long they'll be here. Sometimes these weekly gatherings go on till 11pm, when finally after all local gossip is exchanged, food eaten, stories told, prayers made, and soap operas debated, everyone suddenly realizes how tired they are. I usually can't make it past 9pm these days, and while sometimes I feel anti-social, I know just how important sleep is in the quality of my day. Sometimes, mama and baba go to bed hours after I do and leave the house before I get up. Do they even sleep? I might never know ;)
Anyways, that's all for now. Time to go back to being social. Besides, maybe Commarie needs help in the kitchen (that's a subject for another time). Maa salaama!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Hittin' the Street
One day I decided to take pictures of my route to and from work at the IOM (International Organization of Migration). I go from the University of Jordan campus in northern Amman, and catch a taxi 20 minutes SW past the American embassy, and into Limbo between new development and desert sand. What I see paints an interesting picture of Jordan, reflecting the ancient and modern, traditional and progressive. So many seemingly contradicting realities make Jordan what it is: a diverse and promising nation.
Far off in the distance, developed, urban Amman. Turn left 90 degrees and rocky land, trash, and the occasional sheep meet the horizon.
Yes, those are sheep nibbling through the trash of a developing apartment complex, not far from the palacial Australian embassy
A traditional Bedouin dressed man driving a not-so-traditional form of transportation. Air-conditioned donkey anyone? :)
Prayer beads, evil eyes...and a bobble head dashboard sunflower?
Navigating Amman traffic during rush hour...
Sunset over the nearest hill/buildings in my neighborhood. Classic Amman sight.
Far off in the distance, developed, urban Amman. Turn left 90 degrees and rocky land, trash, and the occasional sheep meet the horizon.
Yes, those are sheep nibbling through the trash of a developing apartment complex, not far from the palacial Australian embassy
A traditional Bedouin dressed man driving a not-so-traditional form of transportation. Air-conditioned donkey anyone? :)
Prayer beads, evil eyes...and a bobble head dashboard sunflower?
Navigating Amman traffic during rush hour...
Sunset over the nearest hill/buildings in my neighborhood. Classic Amman sight.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
"Re-loving"
Sometimes its difficult to learn how to fall in love again with something that's changed. Whether it be your small hometown that bursts into a city, a refuge that becomes a prison, a friendship that drifts into indifference, a lover who you discover was only part-time, or the weather that ruins a delightful picnic, change is uncomfortable and its shocking. Where's the cue? The Kodak moment? The gallant soundtrack? When something changes, humankind stands there alone, confused or in denial, looking back towards the West horizon, waiting for the colors to change, or even the sun to reverse its tracks in the sky. We want to take it back, perhaps cater to the status quo, what we know to be comfortable, or even relive the glory days!
But what we forget is that with change comes new opportunities. Opportunities to right a wrong, to live larger, think bigger, yet also calibrate our dreams to new realities. Instead of glaring into the dusk, waiting for the sun, we must remember to try navigating by the stars!
I've been in Jordan for exactly six weeks today. Least to say there's been a whirlwind of change since the morning I flew in from Zimbabwe and stepped out of the taxi, smack dab into the chaos of downtown Amman. Now that the honeymoon phase is over (and the fact that I've acknowledge that is good), and am learning how to deal with the day-to-day living, I'm in the process of learning to love Jordan for more than the thrills and exciting adventures that characterized my first impressions. Kind of like in a real relationship, right? ;) Seriously! Jordan and I have been on a few exciting first dates, but now it's been long enough now to begin witnessing the multifaceted complexities of the nation's character. You better believe that despite its beloved King and its reputation for being moderate within the Middle East, it still picks its nose when it thinks no one is looking and leaves the toilet seat up when I'm not around. And while it might be easier to just dump Jordan for Syria or Lebanon, I'm too curious as to what Jordan might reveal about itself to quit now! Besides, Jordan has already taught me that even on the days where the world wobbles a bit on its axis, I'm pretty capable in balancing things out... :)
In any case, down to business. So many stories to tell in so little time!
Studying through CIEE's Culture and Language Program is going well. Arabic classes are intense but well worth the pain in my head ("rasee"), haha! I'm enrolled in Beginning I with Dr. Muna, a lively, kind, and delightfully funny professor who, always wrapped in colorful scarves and a cheerful demeanor, threatens to eat us if we don't memorize vocabulary. :) She is probably the best language teacher I've ever had, and is helping me not only learn to read, write and speak Arabic, but stifle the Spanish that keeps pushing my brain around with a baseball bat. My classmates are really cool too, and we're pretty much a big family. Us first year Arabic kids have to stick together! Its an intimidating world out there, full of fast arabezi-speaking taxi drivers, and host-family "discussions" (aka. arguments) that threaten to tear the house down. But of course, we all love the thrill and encourage each other to practice as much as we can. Overall, it couldn't be a better learning environment/atmosphere. This is EXACTLY what I wanted. Now all I need is a little patience with myself and a lot of practice in order to become somewhat competent in speaking comfortably by the end of the semester. Three months and counting...but I will do it (and I have a massive stack of flashcards already to prove it)!
Also, this past weekend, all 135 CIEE students bailed out of class early on Thursday and headed out for an epic weekend adventure! Although it was my second tour, I found it nice to return to Wadi Rum, Aqaba, and Petra, and share it with my amazing new friends. I can't even begin to say how much I enjoy the people I've befriended, and the adventures I now get to share with them. I think my time here will go by quicker than I ever imagined.
But what we forget is that with change comes new opportunities. Opportunities to right a wrong, to live larger, think bigger, yet also calibrate our dreams to new realities. Instead of glaring into the dusk, waiting for the sun, we must remember to try navigating by the stars!
I've been in Jordan for exactly six weeks today. Least to say there's been a whirlwind of change since the morning I flew in from Zimbabwe and stepped out of the taxi, smack dab into the chaos of downtown Amman. Now that the honeymoon phase is over (and the fact that I've acknowledge that is good), and am learning how to deal with the day-to-day living, I'm in the process of learning to love Jordan for more than the thrills and exciting adventures that characterized my first impressions. Kind of like in a real relationship, right? ;) Seriously! Jordan and I have been on a few exciting first dates, but now it's been long enough now to begin witnessing the multifaceted complexities of the nation's character. You better believe that despite its beloved King and its reputation for being moderate within the Middle East, it still picks its nose when it thinks no one is looking and leaves the toilet seat up when I'm not around. And while it might be easier to just dump Jordan for Syria or Lebanon, I'm too curious as to what Jordan might reveal about itself to quit now! Besides, Jordan has already taught me that even on the days where the world wobbles a bit on its axis, I'm pretty capable in balancing things out... :)
In any case, down to business. So many stories to tell in so little time!
Studying through CIEE's Culture and Language Program is going well. Arabic classes are intense but well worth the pain in my head ("rasee"), haha! I'm enrolled in Beginning I with Dr. Muna, a lively, kind, and delightfully funny professor who, always wrapped in colorful scarves and a cheerful demeanor, threatens to eat us if we don't memorize vocabulary. :) She is probably the best language teacher I've ever had, and is helping me not only learn to read, write and speak Arabic, but stifle the Spanish that keeps pushing my brain around with a baseball bat. My classmates are really cool too, and we're pretty much a big family. Us first year Arabic kids have to stick together! Its an intimidating world out there, full of fast arabezi-speaking taxi drivers, and host-family "discussions" (aka. arguments) that threaten to tear the house down. But of course, we all love the thrill and encourage each other to practice as much as we can. Overall, it couldn't be a better learning environment/atmosphere. This is EXACTLY what I wanted. Now all I need is a little patience with myself and a lot of practice in order to become somewhat competent in speaking comfortably by the end of the semester. Three months and counting...but I will do it (and I have a massive stack of flashcards already to prove it)!
Also, this past weekend, all 135 CIEE students bailed out of class early on Thursday and headed out for an epic weekend adventure! Although it was my second tour, I found it nice to return to Wadi Rum, Aqaba, and Petra, and share it with my amazing new friends. I can't even begin to say how much I enjoy the people I've befriended, and the adventures I now get to share with them. I think my time here will go by quicker than I ever imagined.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Shoo fi ma fi (What's up?)
Sprawled out across my bed in the usual fashion, staring up at the pink, purple and ballerina laden walls of my room. Glancing over to the running shorts draped across my precious fan. Absentmindedly scratching the oodles of swollen angry bug bites on my left arm. Lazily tugging the messy bun of blonde hair free, and watching it coil playfully around my sweaty face and neck in the mirror. Making a funny face or two. These are the quiet hours I savor in my day. I quite literally do nothing. :)
And then, there's my Arabic I class, which in all reality is loud, chaotic, challenging, and also SO FUN.
And then, there's my Arabic I class, which in all reality is loud, chaotic, challenging, and also SO FUN.
Monday, September 27, 2010
Path to Peace in the Middle East?
Positioned between a "Iraq and a hard place," Jordan's King Abdullah II articulates the complexity of the Israel-Palestinian conflict, and the role the United States should play in the future. A MUST WATCH.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Exclusive - King Abdullah II of Jordan Extended Interview | ||||
| ||||
Friday, September 24, 2010
Keeping on the sunnyside :)
Today was a good day. I've been doing some thinking, and I've come to a consensus with myself. Mainly, I've decided that it's not enough for me to just "make it through" the next few months. As I've seen with people trying to overcome poverty day-to-day in Harare, survival leaves little time for enjoying life, pursuing opportunities, or putting their best of themselves forward in the world. Of course, given this context, I must also remember that the challenges I'm facing are relatively trivial. My fortune of studying abroad is perhaps something that someone somewhere has only been able to dream about. To discard its significance is to be callously selfish, and I refuse to be that way. Since I made the choice to be here in Jordan, I'm going to be physically, mentally, and emotionally with it. I'm going to plug myself into this place, stop thinking about what I miss/wish/want, and appreciate what is HERE and NOW. I'm ready to get over this weird totally out-of-character wallowing phase. I'm ready to restart. I'm ready to positively coach myself through whatever comes my way. And what's better, I know that I can do it, and that I've always been able to do it! All it takes is a different frame of mind. I'm adjusting my attitude today.
And yeah, I already know that things may not get any easier or comfortable...but that's the joy of being somewhere else!
As Lebanese philosopher Kahlil Gibran once wrote, "Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you, as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you, as by the way your mind looks at what happens."
He is indeed a wise man.
And now a closing song for those who need something catchy to hum during class or in the shower. I can't help but smile :)
And yeah, I already know that things may not get any easier or comfortable...but that's the joy of being somewhere else!
As Lebanese philosopher Kahlil Gibran once wrote, "Your living is determined not so much by what life brings to you, as by the attitude you bring to life; not so much by what happens to you, as by the way your mind looks at what happens."
He is indeed a wise man.
And now a closing song for those who need something catchy to hum during class or in the shower. I can't help but smile :)
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Back to Basics.
Considering the frame of mind in which I closed my last entry, I decided to reassess the meaning of life... JUST KIDDING, haha! Nope, instead I turned to my favorite and most trusted teacher, Dr. Seuss. So of course, in addition giving me an apt direction for this blog, I find inspiration in the children's poem that started it all. Read, relive, and enjoy!
Oh! The Places You'll Go! -- Dr. Seuss
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.
And you may not find any you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town.
It’s opener there in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen and frequently do,
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.
Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true
That Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.
You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And if you go in, should you turn left or right…
Or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
For a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused that you’ll start to race down,
Long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
And grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
Headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come,
Or a plane to go or the mail to come,
Or the rain to go or the phone to ring,
Or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No
Or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite,
Or waiting for wind to fly a kite
Or waiting around for Friday night
Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake,
Or a pot to boil,
Or a Better Break
Or a string of pearls,
Or a pair of pants or a wig with curls,
Or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting...
NO! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!
Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball,
Will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
With the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
You’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
That can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.
But on you will go though the weather be foul.
On you will go though your enemies prowl.
On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many a frightening creek,
Though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact
And remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)
Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby
Or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea
You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!
Oh! The Places You'll Go! -- Dr. Seuss
Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You’re off to Great Places!
You’re off and away!
You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who’ll decide where to go.
You’ll look up and down streets. Look’em over with care.
About some you will say, “I don’t choose to go there.”
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You’re too smart to go down a not-so-good street.
And you may not find any you’ll want to go down.
In that case, of course, you’ll head straight out of town.
It’s opener there in the wide open air.
Out there things can happen and frequently do,
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don’t worry. Don’t stew.
Just go right along. You’ll start happening too.
Oh! The Places You’ll Go!
You’ll be on your way up!
You’ll be seeing great sights!
You’ll join the high fliers who soar to high heights.
You won’t lag behind, because you’ll have the speed.
You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.
Wherever you fly, you’ll be best of the best.
Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.
Except when you don’t.
Because, sometimes, you won’t.
I’m sorry to say so but, sadly, it’s true
That Bang-ups and Hang-ups can happen to you.
You can get all hung up in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on. You’ll be left in a Lurch.
You’ll come down from the Lurch with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then, that you’ll be in a Slump.
And when you’re in a Slump, you’re not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself is not easily done.
You will come to a place where the streets are not marked.
Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.
A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!
Do you dare to stay out? Do you dare to go in?
How much can you lose? How much can you win?
And if you go in, should you turn left or right…
Or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?
Or go around back and sneak in from behind?
Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find,
For a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind.
You can get so confused that you’ll start to race down,
Long wiggled roads at a break-necking pace
And grind on for miles across weirdish wild space,
Headed, I fear, toward a most useless place.
The Waiting Place…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come,
Or a plane to go or the mail to come,
Or the rain to go or the phone to ring,
Or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or No
Or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.
Waiting for the fish to bite,
Or waiting for wind to fly a kite
Or waiting around for Friday night
Or waiting, perhaps, for their Uncle Jake,
Or a pot to boil,
Or a Better Break
Or a string of pearls,
Or a pair of pants or a wig with curls,
Or Another Chance.
Everyone is just waiting...
NO! That’s not for you!
Somehow you’ll escape all that waiting and staying.
You’ll find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.
With banner flip-flapping, once more you’ll ride high!
Ready for anything under the sky.
Ready because you’re that kind of a guy!
Oh, the places you’ll go! There is fun to be done!
There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.
And the magical things you can do with that ball,
Will make you the winning-est winner of all.
Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,
With the whole wide world watching you win on TV.
Except when they don’t. Because, sometimes, they won’t.
I’m afraid that some times you’ll play lonely games too.
Games you can’t win ‘cause you’ll play against you.
All Alone!
Whether you like it or not, Alone will be something you’ll be quite a lot.
And when you’re alone, there’s a very good chance
You’ll meet things that scare you right out of your pants.
There are some, down the road between hither and yon,
That can scare you so much you won’t want to go on.
But on you will go though the weather be foul.
On you will go though your enemies prowl.
On you will go though the Hakken-Kraks howl.
Onward up many a frightening creek,
Though your arms may get sore and your sneakers may leak.
On and on you will hike.
And I know you’ll hike far and face up to your problems whatever they are.
You’ll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You’ll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step. Step with care and great tact
And remember that Life’s a Great Balancing Act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left.
And will you succeed?
Yes! You will, indeed!
(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)
Kid, you’ll move mountains!
So…be your name Buxbaum or Bixby
Or Bray or Mordecai Ale Van Allen O’Shea
You’re off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting.
So…get on your way!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
What was I thinking?!
I honestly don’t even know where to start. A mess of contradicting thoughts and feelings swirl around in my brain, screaming, whispering, winking, scolding, spluttering, and sighing. I suddenly feel confused and frustrated about where I am and what I’m doing. Why am I here? What made me think that this was a good idea? How did youthful notions of indestructibility cater to waving off the 7 months of hobbit-hood so nonchalantly? Everyday I fight the seed of unhappiness that threatens to take root in my heart and mind. Deep down I know I love what I’m doing, that I do best under pressure, that it wasn’t until recently that I began to feel stressed, and that making myself uncomfortable like this is an incredibly effective form of learning. I also know that while I would love to go home, see my smiling friends, and get hugs from mom and pop, I wouldn’t be content with quitting, with settling because I’m just so plain worn-out, and exhausted. Did you get that?! I’m effing TIRED. Tired because of such dramatic cultural differences that I can’t be myself, having to assimilate into social norms, second-guessing every movement, every outfit, and every smile, that because of the language barrier I am completely ignorant of what people are saying around me. It makes me feel vulnerable. Isolated. Lonesome.
And THAT I think is a key realization: that without being surrounded by people I love and that love me, I’m not completely happy. That I must be hugged everyday. I am sustained only so far by my own life, and must take joy in sharing and celebrating with my friends and family…with people that actually KNOW me. There are many professionals who can put aside love for careers…I’m not sure I’m one of them. That doesn’t mean I lose sight of my goals…just find a compromise.
In any case, to get back where I started this thought process, I know every person at some point goes through what I'm going through now.
I know it's normal.
But DAMN. I hate admitting it!
Despite all that I've seen and experienced over the last few months in Zimbabwe, I think these feelings of uncertainty have fostered contradicting desires. And that has completely suprised me...
I didn't really think I'd need home. I didn't really think I'd need my friends. I pretty much figured I'd depend soley on myself, push myself and challenge the strength of my character/resolve to last the 6 months away from all that is familiar. What hurts can make you stronger, right?
But of course, this just goes to show that just when you think you know who you are, what you want, and where you're going, you are reminded of how fallible you truly are.
And THAT I think is a key realization: that without being surrounded by people I love and that love me, I’m not completely happy. That I must be hugged everyday. I am sustained only so far by my own life, and must take joy in sharing and celebrating with my friends and family…with people that actually KNOW me. There are many professionals who can put aside love for careers…I’m not sure I’m one of them. That doesn’t mean I lose sight of my goals…just find a compromise.
In any case, to get back where I started this thought process, I know every person at some point goes through what I'm going through now.
I know it's normal.
But DAMN. I hate admitting it!
Despite all that I've seen and experienced over the last few months in Zimbabwe, I think these feelings of uncertainty have fostered contradicting desires. And that has completely suprised me...
I didn't really think I'd need home. I didn't really think I'd need my friends. I pretty much figured I'd depend soley on myself, push myself and challenge the strength of my character/resolve to last the 6 months away from all that is familiar. What hurts can make you stronger, right?
But of course, this just goes to show that just when you think you know who you are, what you want, and where you're going, you are reminded of how fallible you truly are.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Petra through Bedouin eyes.
Every now and then a girl deserves a lazy day to herself. Today is definitely one of those days. J Considering the adventures of yesterday, I can only say that I deserve a day of lounging in the air-conditioned lobby of Farah, writing in my journal, catching up on email, and planning the next adventure – all to the background of Else and her boyfriend chatting in Dutch, smoking cigarettes, and playing cards. It’s a good life.
SO! Yesterday I woke up at 0515 for a drive down the King’s Highway to Petra! As I rolled over on my small cot, I groaned at Deanna (my newest roommate) that it was time to get up. Fortunately, a spectacular waning Ramadan moon, shining through our window, rewarded our efforts. We caught the JETT bus and rode for 3 hours to Petra. Hopping off the bus at around 10am, it was already incredibly hot as Deanna and I bought our entrance tickets (for a shocking $33JDs…approx. $50USD each). Admittedly, the fees are used for park maintenance, and given that Petra is one of the seven ancient “wonders of the world,” I suppose that it’s definitely a worthy cause to support…
Immediately, as we descended into the Siq, we were met by colorful mineral patterns, carved façades smoothly eroded by time, and cool shadows that escaped the desert sun’s pervasive rays. Thousands of years ago, the Siq was the grand “highway” in which visitors entered the city of Petra. The place has an aura of mystery to it, and I let my mind wander, imagining the fanfare of a Nabatean King, marching through the natural stony passage, and returning to his people. But as much as Deanna and I admired the passage itself, it was emerging out of the Siq into the sunlight with the famous Treasury in front of us that was truly impressive. As our eyes adjusted to the brightness, we admired the full splendor of a structure that, protected from the elements, is a grand Hellenistic style tomb meant for King Aretas III in 100 BC. However, the monument gains its nickname as the “Treasury” when an Egyptian pharaoh, in pursuit of Israelites, stopped to stash his riches in a secretive and secure location along the way. I am just so enthralled to be surrounded by so much history! It’s mind boggling to think of the magnitude of the time spectrum, and all that Petra has witnessed in stony silence – from the peak of a great civilization, to its inevitable deterioration. Deanna and I, after snapping some shots, peeled our eyes away and continued onward.
As we were exploring the numerous other structures throughout Petra, we were inundated by polite but persistent children selling postcards, and even more offers of donkey and camel rides to take up to the Monastery (“I give you good price!”). However, while hiking up the Royal Tombs, we were approached by Yasser and Ghani, two Bedouins who decided the best way to convince us was to match our pace, make conversation, and finally to appeal to our thirst. “Ah, you come for tea! Come, come!” Having heard of the deliciousness of Bedouin tea, Deanna and I readily accepted and followed them up into the cliffs. Deanna and Ghani, and Yasser and I paired up haphazardly, and sat down on a small carpet chatting, sipping the sweet, somewhat spicy tea, and exchanging stories. Our friendship bloomed quickly. Deanna and I even got nicknames. ;) I was nicknamed “warda” meaning flower, and Deanna was nicknamed “ganar” meaning moon. Yasser said he named me “warda” because I apparently am “blooming” with life. Along with the arm brushes and verbal flattery, Yasser was incredibly flirty, but I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy playing along. He was a very nice boy, probably around 16 or 17, and kept playing with his headscarf. He was slender with a delicate bone structure, and beautifully tan from a life lived completely outdoors. His dark eyes were outlined with a thin trace of charcoal to help protect them from the menacing sand that swirled up with the warm afternoon breeze.
After savoring a good three cups of tea, we got up and walked back down to where Yasser and Ghani left their donkeys. At that point, noticing the time (or lack thereof), it took little persuasion to get me on a donkey. Besides, being a horse girl, I wanted to know what these fuzzy stubborn creatures would feel like to ride. At Yasser’s request, I hopped on his donkey (that he named “Michael Jackson” because of his speckled black and white coat, haha!), and began the long trek up to the Monastery. Half-way up, after driving M.J up the trail, Yasser proceeded to hop on in front of me, and we rode double the rest of the way. At first I was surprised, and somewhat embarrassed. I didn’t know what to hold onto when we were taking the really steep parts of the trail! As much as I would have been okay with it, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to wrap my arms around his middle or hang onto his shoulders. I resolved instead to take the safe ground and just squeeze tight with my thighs and calves and keep myself deep in the stirrups, which is what a good horsewoman would do anyways. ;) I was definitely worried about how our close body contact would draw attention though. But of course, Yasser was totally fine with it, if not completely satisfied with himself for being able to practically spoon upright next to a blonde American girl. I could just tell by the way he gloated as we walked by his other donkey-guiding Bedouin buddies! To be honest, it was kind of cute.
As we crested the final hill to the summit, and I took in the incredible view, my excited proclamations made Yasser laugh and poke fun at me, especially making fun of my accent. He then proceeded to move M.J forward until we were within inches of the edge of the cliff, and I was trying really hard not to freak out while my head was spinning. “Do you trust me?” he asked, playfully. “Do you?” It was SO far down! But then, looking up to the horizon, we could see the Promised Land through the haze. Absolutely beautiful. “Of course I do,” I said somewhat nervously. “Well then close your eyes, and open your heart,” he said softly and he put out his arms out like wings, gesturing me to follow, and let out a loud “ayyyyyha!” As we listened to the echoes reverberate across the canyons, my heart was pounding, but I couldn’t stop grinning.
After a short break on the cliff top in which we shared some pita (Bedouins rarely practice Ramadan…the hard living conditions with the heat and hard labor make it nigh impossible), we remounted and the four of us started back down the trail. We stopped off at the Monastery on the way down, and I met an amazing little girl named Taman. I picked her out sitting at the opening of the Monastery by her red sweatshirt, sitting there, bored and swinging her legs off the side of the elevated entrance. Once she saw Yasser and I approaching however, she immediately perked up and went into high profile business mode. The transformation was incredible. Climbing up next to her, she peppered me with all kinds of questions about myself. When it was my turn to ask questions, her dark eyes flashed and readily told me that she was 12 years old, and would I like a beautiful turquoise necklace to match my eyes? Taman emanated intelligence, and she had a spark that I hadn’t seen from any other somber Jordanian children that had been forced to grow up too quickly. I immediately loved this fiery little girl, and decided to take a look at the necklaces she was selling. Seeing one that I actually liked, I bought it for $6 dinar and asked to take a picture with her. She happily obliged, proceeding to masterfully snatch my camera from my hand, set it on an automatic timer (which MOM doesn’t even know how to do...love you anyways Mom, haha!), and run back to us with a smile on her face. While the picture itself turned out blurry, Taman’s spunk will be hard to forget. Before we left, Taman reached for me and draped another necklace around my neck as a gift. Refusing to take it, I tried to give it back but Taman would have none of it. Thus, trying to amend my conscious, I made her a deal. “Tell you what,” I said. “I take this necklace and bring you back a watch like the one of mine that you were admiring. Shake on it?” I asked, extending my hand. And smiling, Taman replied, “Deal!” I now must request Mom to send me a $10 sports watch from Target. I couldn’t be more pleased. :)
The descent down the mountain was fast, and I got many compliments from various passing Bedouin about my horsemanship and my ability to keep my seat despite Yasser pushing M.J rapidly down the steep steps with harsh, fairly brutal smacks of his switch. I was invited for more tea, but had to decline due to the dwindling time. I was even lured to a stop with an offer to hold a puppy. You know what they say; baby animals are the perfect chick magnets, ha! When we reached the bottom, Yasser invited us back to his house in the village. Exchanging glances, Deanna and I accepted, but had to decline his next offer to put us up for the night. Apparently there was going to be a wedding celebration that night, but as cool as it would have been to observe the festivities, Deanna had to be back in Amman to catch her flight home.
So now, time to grab a Coke and think about uploading pictures to Facebook…or maybe even Skype home, ha! ;)
SO! Yesterday I woke up at 0515 for a drive down the King’s Highway to Petra! As I rolled over on my small cot, I groaned at Deanna (my newest roommate) that it was time to get up. Fortunately, a spectacular waning Ramadan moon, shining through our window, rewarded our efforts. We caught the JETT bus and rode for 3 hours to Petra. Hopping off the bus at around 10am, it was already incredibly hot as Deanna and I bought our entrance tickets (for a shocking $33JDs…approx. $50USD each). Admittedly, the fees are used for park maintenance, and given that Petra is one of the seven ancient “wonders of the world,” I suppose that it’s definitely a worthy cause to support…
Immediately, as we descended into the Siq, we were met by colorful mineral patterns, carved façades smoothly eroded by time, and cool shadows that escaped the desert sun’s pervasive rays. Thousands of years ago, the Siq was the grand “highway” in which visitors entered the city of Petra. The place has an aura of mystery to it, and I let my mind wander, imagining the fanfare of a Nabatean King, marching through the natural stony passage, and returning to his people. But as much as Deanna and I admired the passage itself, it was emerging out of the Siq into the sunlight with the famous Treasury in front of us that was truly impressive. As our eyes adjusted to the brightness, we admired the full splendor of a structure that, protected from the elements, is a grand Hellenistic style tomb meant for King Aretas III in 100 BC. However, the monument gains its nickname as the “Treasury” when an Egyptian pharaoh, in pursuit of Israelites, stopped to stash his riches in a secretive and secure location along the way. I am just so enthralled to be surrounded by so much history! It’s mind boggling to think of the magnitude of the time spectrum, and all that Petra has witnessed in stony silence – from the peak of a great civilization, to its inevitable deterioration. Deanna and I, after snapping some shots, peeled our eyes away and continued onward.
As we were exploring the numerous other structures throughout Petra, we were inundated by polite but persistent children selling postcards, and even more offers of donkey and camel rides to take up to the Monastery (“I give you good price!”). However, while hiking up the Royal Tombs, we were approached by Yasser and Ghani, two Bedouins who decided the best way to convince us was to match our pace, make conversation, and finally to appeal to our thirst. “Ah, you come for tea! Come, come!” Having heard of the deliciousness of Bedouin tea, Deanna and I readily accepted and followed them up into the cliffs. Deanna and Ghani, and Yasser and I paired up haphazardly, and sat down on a small carpet chatting, sipping the sweet, somewhat spicy tea, and exchanging stories. Our friendship bloomed quickly. Deanna and I even got nicknames. ;) I was nicknamed “warda” meaning flower, and Deanna was nicknamed “ganar” meaning moon. Yasser said he named me “warda” because I apparently am “blooming” with life. Along with the arm brushes and verbal flattery, Yasser was incredibly flirty, but I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy playing along. He was a very nice boy, probably around 16 or 17, and kept playing with his headscarf. He was slender with a delicate bone structure, and beautifully tan from a life lived completely outdoors. His dark eyes were outlined with a thin trace of charcoal to help protect them from the menacing sand that swirled up with the warm afternoon breeze.
After savoring a good three cups of tea, we got up and walked back down to where Yasser and Ghani left their donkeys. At that point, noticing the time (or lack thereof), it took little persuasion to get me on a donkey. Besides, being a horse girl, I wanted to know what these fuzzy stubborn creatures would feel like to ride. At Yasser’s request, I hopped on his donkey (that he named “Michael Jackson” because of his speckled black and white coat, haha!), and began the long trek up to the Monastery. Half-way up, after driving M.J up the trail, Yasser proceeded to hop on in front of me, and we rode double the rest of the way. At first I was surprised, and somewhat embarrassed. I didn’t know what to hold onto when we were taking the really steep parts of the trail! As much as I would have been okay with it, I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to wrap my arms around his middle or hang onto his shoulders. I resolved instead to take the safe ground and just squeeze tight with my thighs and calves and keep myself deep in the stirrups, which is what a good horsewoman would do anyways. ;) I was definitely worried about how our close body contact would draw attention though. But of course, Yasser was totally fine with it, if not completely satisfied with himself for being able to practically spoon upright next to a blonde American girl. I could just tell by the way he gloated as we walked by his other donkey-guiding Bedouin buddies! To be honest, it was kind of cute.
As we crested the final hill to the summit, and I took in the incredible view, my excited proclamations made Yasser laugh and poke fun at me, especially making fun of my accent. He then proceeded to move M.J forward until we were within inches of the edge of the cliff, and I was trying really hard not to freak out while my head was spinning. “Do you trust me?” he asked, playfully. “Do you?” It was SO far down! But then, looking up to the horizon, we could see the Promised Land through the haze. Absolutely beautiful. “Of course I do,” I said somewhat nervously. “Well then close your eyes, and open your heart,” he said softly and he put out his arms out like wings, gesturing me to follow, and let out a loud “ayyyyyha!” As we listened to the echoes reverberate across the canyons, my heart was pounding, but I couldn’t stop grinning.
After a short break on the cliff top in which we shared some pita (Bedouins rarely practice Ramadan…the hard living conditions with the heat and hard labor make it nigh impossible), we remounted and the four of us started back down the trail. We stopped off at the Monastery on the way down, and I met an amazing little girl named Taman. I picked her out sitting at the opening of the Monastery by her red sweatshirt, sitting there, bored and swinging her legs off the side of the elevated entrance. Once she saw Yasser and I approaching however, she immediately perked up and went into high profile business mode. The transformation was incredible. Climbing up next to her, she peppered me with all kinds of questions about myself. When it was my turn to ask questions, her dark eyes flashed and readily told me that she was 12 years old, and would I like a beautiful turquoise necklace to match my eyes? Taman emanated intelligence, and she had a spark that I hadn’t seen from any other somber Jordanian children that had been forced to grow up too quickly. I immediately loved this fiery little girl, and decided to take a look at the necklaces she was selling. Seeing one that I actually liked, I bought it for $6 dinar and asked to take a picture with her. She happily obliged, proceeding to masterfully snatch my camera from my hand, set it on an automatic timer (which MOM doesn’t even know how to do...love you anyways Mom, haha!), and run back to us with a smile on her face. While the picture itself turned out blurry, Taman’s spunk will be hard to forget. Before we left, Taman reached for me and draped another necklace around my neck as a gift. Refusing to take it, I tried to give it back but Taman would have none of it. Thus, trying to amend my conscious, I made her a deal. “Tell you what,” I said. “I take this necklace and bring you back a watch like the one of mine that you were admiring. Shake on it?” I asked, extending my hand. And smiling, Taman replied, “Deal!” I now must request Mom to send me a $10 sports watch from Target. I couldn’t be more pleased. :)
The descent down the mountain was fast, and I got many compliments from various passing Bedouin about my horsemanship and my ability to keep my seat despite Yasser pushing M.J rapidly down the steep steps with harsh, fairly brutal smacks of his switch. I was invited for more tea, but had to decline due to the dwindling time. I was even lured to a stop with an offer to hold a puppy. You know what they say; baby animals are the perfect chick magnets, ha! When we reached the bottom, Yasser invited us back to his house in the village. Exchanging glances, Deanna and I accepted, but had to decline his next offer to put us up for the night. Apparently there was going to be a wedding celebration that night, but as cool as it would have been to observe the festivities, Deanna had to be back in Amman to catch her flight home.
So now, time to grab a Coke and think about uploading pictures to Facebook…or maybe even Skype home, ha! ;)
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