My month in Amman has ended. I've gone through days of picture showing, story re-telling, and the ultimate question, "So how was it? Did you have a good time?"
Yes, I had an incredible time.
But how can I answer that question? How can I pay justice to my time in Amman with just some banal, commonly used phrase to sum up all my experiences? Within my short time in Amman, I had a life. There were times I felt my head was going to explore, where I felt I had been slapped in the face and then there were times I wanted to dance in the streets, where I just wanted to laugh uncontrollably, or give a hug to the old man who sat in a chair on my street every morning and smiled. Inevitably, most of my time fell somewhere between those extremes; in the everyday commonness that our lives are submerged. It is this commonness that separated my time in Amman from the time as a tourist in Amman. I can continue my life and say that I have lived in Amman.
Any lessons? Any deep reflections on what I've learned? Words of advice?
I went into Amman purposely without expectations. Partly because I had I know idea what to expect and partly because I didn't want to compare my experience to a preconceived notion of what my experience would be. I've waited a few days after my return to write this blog for a reason: I wanted my experience to really sink in. I wanted to wait for culture shock. Wait for a resonating piece of inspiration that could led me to write some brilliantly clever blog entry.
But nothing quite like that came. When I reflected upon my time in Jordan, my thoughts first turned to the people I met and I was flushed with overwhelming sadness; will I ever see them again? Will my promise of return be fulfilled?
But was I only sad? Certainly not. I felt my mind and heart expand. I had acquired a new level of understanding, a heighten awareness and appreciation of man's capacity. And with this, I was at peace. I had a taste of what I greatly desired and, though currently satisfied, a suspect that my desire to return to Jordan and extend my stay will grow stronger and stronger.
I have always suspected that the world was small but now I believe I have proof for that thesis. And with a world so small, I find it harder to justify what terrible things plague this planet. I cannot commit war against my brother. My brother who's features are different from mine and who may speak a foreign tongue but nonetheless he is my brother; simply because he is human. One thing I confirmed and I know for truth: people are people where ever you go. Our differences are so discrete but when you look to our similarities...
I feel like this is the secret to life.
This is what I left with from Jordan...along with two large bags of spice that looked like weed and a small Arabian dagger piled with other gifts in my checked suitcase. When going through airport security, I was curious about what sort of explanation I could come up with if I ran into trouble. In my sleepy stupor I doubt anything but the truth was going to fly. (ha, no pun intended!)
The days leading up to my departure passed quickly and I think that having final exams on out last day in the country contributed to it. I tried to fit as much in as as I could but I wasn't able to do everything I wanted. Earlier in the week, I met with my language partner for the last time. She took me throughout the city and bought me (of course) all the food that I hadn't tried yet. Egg-cheese-spice sandwiches, kanafa (a very heavy, cheesy dessert...one time kind of thing), fresh nuts from a stand, and two types of juices. We ended our evening smoking hooka and watching the U.S-Algeria game. As the only American in the room supporting the US, it was such an incredible game. I had the brightest smile in the world on my face when the US scored its goal and while most people gave me contemptuous side glances, but a noticed an older waiter chuckling at me. Pass the hooka please.
Parting with my Jordanian family was perhaps my least favorable part of the week. I am still in awe of how perfect the family was for me and how good they are. I wish very much to keep in touch with them and see them again.
So did the liberal-hippi-environmentalist find herself welcomed in Jordan? Find what political or social answers to life she was looking for?
No, I have to go back for more. This isn't the conclusion to the American in Amman, just part one.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Its been a very long time.
"This is television...we call it televiision...like TV."
It has been a long week the culminated to by far the most incredible experience I've had in Jordan. From the World Cup to having the best sandwich in the world to spending the night in Jeresh, my experience here will leave me craving more.
Ok, so best sandwich in the world. I've mentioned before about my language partner, early this week we meet up and went to a truly beautiful area of Amman where she insisted on buying me a Lebanese sandwich. What people say about Arab hospitality is entirely true, when I've gone out with Jordanians I've never had to pay. When I pull out my wallet, I'm shot a look that I cannot argue against. Put-your-wallet-back-in-your-bag-your-my-guest-get-use-to-it.
The sandwich shop was very discreet, I would have never noticed it if I were to walk by alone or drive by in a taxi. It seemed no different than the other numerous sandwich shops, coffee shops, or grocery stores that litter the streets of Amman. I walk in and it instantly reminded me of the numerous pizza shops that litter the streets of New York. Counter space, drink fridges to the side, and behind the counter the kitchen including an impressive brick oven. The sandwich was similar to a calzone but by far more tasty. The bread was sweet but paired with a salty and slightly bitter cheese and then matched the tartness of olives and the crunch of fresh vegetables...I'm drooling at the thought.
We talked and just walked around this beautiful area of the city. We ended up at a tiny park in the middle of the city. I discovered that my partner is of Palestinian descent from Neblus. Somehow Palestine always comes up.
The park was stunning and was nestled in a little corner of the city that I would have never discovered had it not been for my language partner. We walked around rubbing our hands on the rosemary bushes as I revealed to her my favorite activity of people watching. We eventually found a shaded nook off the main square of park to chat and people-watch. For then on we were silent and admired the beautiful world immediately around us.
After, we walked by a small bakery that had the best apple pie in Amman. A little taste of America in Amman?
In my travels in Amman, I've had the pleasure of meeting many people. Whether with Amideast or friends of friends of friends, I've had the pleasure of meeting some truly wonderful people. But by the far the most incredible and awe-inspiring experience I've had in Jordan was my decision to spend a the night with a rural family in Jeresh.
A friend introduced me to a Ekram, a woman who works in an NGO in Amman promoting environmental awareness, human rights, and youth involvement. I met with her wanting to know more about her organization and the type of work that she does. Our conversation led to a friendship and an opportunity that I will never forget. By the end of our meeting she invited me to her family's home in Jeresh for the weekend. I explained that I would only be able to stay for one evening but that I would be happy to visit.
By far, the best decision I have ever made. My word of advice to future travelers to Jordan when a family invites you to their home, go. I love Amman but it's a very Western city. If you wait a genuine taste of Arab culture, go to the countryside.
I met Ekram after class on Thursday to travel with her to Jeresh. We communicated in mostly Arabic and my confidence in this new little adventure grew. She told me that her family was waiting for me to come in order to take lunch. Meal 1 of the 7 meals that would have that day.
We hop off the bus down the street from her house and as the arid heat suctioned my body, I gleamed over the hill and witnessed a swaying valley surrounded by gentle mountains with Amman, Salt, and Jeresh visible through the haze.
This image were merely the beckon for what was to come next.
Her family was waiting for me as I entered. Ekram has five brothers, two of which are married, and two sisters, both younger. A family of 8 children that have either all graduated from university, are currently going to university, or are studying for their exams to enter university. Its quite a feat. Her parents and younger brothers and sisters were sitting comfortably in their living room; a large rectangular room in traditional design. Cushions, intended for sitting, laying, and eating; surrounding the half the room with a TV and desk adjacent. 3 rooms filed off from the main room: the parent's bedroom, the girl's bedroom, and a welcoming room designed with elaborate carpet and lounge chairs. Their house lay in the middle of a small farm; a few olive, berry, and plum trees and a chicken coup. Down the hill from their house were the farms of their grandparents and uncles, easily a acres of land for fruit and olive trees.
Word of Arab hospitality is completely true. Without hesitation, Ekram's family exclaimed that I was their daughter and sister insisted that I sit and began to teach me the words of everything in the room. Including the TV. The two or three people who spoke decent English insisted on explaining everything to me in English, even things that I could easily understand. I was offered coffee, tea, juice, water, and fresh fruit form their garden. Within an half hour we had our first meal: a dark green vegetable stew atop rice and of course pita bread. The first meal I could taste the freshness of the earth in the meal and immediately knew that most of their food would be picked straight from their garden.
It was also at this meal that I explained that I'm a vegetarian.
"No meat?"
"Yes."
"No chicken??"
"Yes, no chicken."
"Fish?"
"No, no fish."
The father's face cringed away and it was obvious that this was a tab bit strange. One of Ekram's married brothers interjected soon after, "Well..thats economical!"
At every meal I was given a towel to lay over my lap that no one else took. Something I'm not quite to sure why.
Ekram's father was a loud, boisterous, cherry, and ridiculously hospitable man with a gleam of both pride and happiness in his eye. His booming voice filled the room instantly. Her mother was sitting on the floor preparing food when I first came and her warmth was instantly recognizable to me. They asked me questions about my family and where I was from and I tired to answer them to my best ability.
Where ever I was, where ever I went, I was surrounded by people. Either children, woman, men or a combination were constantly around. After eating, the weather cooled down and we able to sit outside. Not only was I surrounded by people the entire time, I was also given food and drink every step I made; freshly picked fruit from their garden, tea or coffee the my new brother insisted upon making for me. At one point, the same brother hushed towards me with a white dove in his hand (apparently they keep doves on their roof) and asked if I would like to hold it. As I held the dove, I explained to my family that this bird often symbolizes peace in my country. As I spoke, the dove drew free from my hands and flew back to the roof.
After drinking significant amounts of tea and coffee, Ekram and here sisters showed me around their garden, picking fruit for me to eat and holding my arms as I stepped over the rocky terrain. A group of children unknown to me circled our stroll as neighbors from their rooftops called out "Marhaban!" "Ahlan wa Sahlan" My hosts would respond and, "min Ameerica!" Eventually, I was led back into my hosts' private courtyard to keep away from the unabashedly curious neighbors.
Night had fallen in Jeresh. The cushions from the living room were moved outside so we could lay and enjoy the evening's refreshing cool. The call to prayer echoed around the valleys and bounced off the mountain tops as my host father, covered in his long robe, preceded to say his prayers and bow to the floor in exclamations to Allah. I lay in the adjacent corner surrounded by a group of women and Ekram's younger brothers. The women asked me various beauty questions: What do you use to clean your face? Your hair? How do you shave? In response to the shaving question, I responded that I just use a razor with soap. One of the sisters jumped to her feet and ran into the house. She brought with her a shaving razor and asked me if this is what I use. I nodded and the shock on their face was surprising. "But this for men! What we use, cook milk, honey, and flour together. Let dry and your skin, and rip off!"...and a mixture of milk and lentils will get rid of my freckles.
As we sat, talked, sang songs, and of course ate a group of bashful sheepherders joined our party. They sat in chairs across from me and when our glances met, their faces turned red and they looked around nervously laughing. My host father, noticing their puppy-love infatuation, preceded to point out all the young men in the room. "Ahmend..he is smart boy, good in university. Mahmoud...he's not as smart but in university...oh here! Mohammmed. He's a sheepherder...but he's very strong!"
Our visitors left and many of children began to fall asleep so it was time for us as well to go to bed. But bedtime turned into a card game with Ekram and her brothers until 1am...
with a 5am wake-up call by Mr. Rooster outside my window. I finally arose from bed around 7am to find Ekram and her entire family awake in the parlor with guests. I was handed coffee and asked if I wanted to go back to bed. No, no I'm just waking up, i'm ok!
One of their guest in the early morning was a woman who sat next to me without a flinch in her smile. She saw me, shook my hand furiously, bid me good morning, and began asking me questions about where I was from, what my family was like and what I was doing in Jordan. She also requested a picture of me for her five daughters. I hadn't even processed my first cup of coffee.
The rest of the day was lazy. Our first meal of the day was freshly made falafel, cooked vegetables, olives, pita, and home-made hummus. Following that meal was an endless supply of tea, juice, water, and fruit. We sat around, continued to play games, and talk. Eventually, (because it was Friday) it was time for the men to go to the mosque. One by one, they left and were gone for a few hours. Us women folk were left to our own devices which inevitably ended up to preparing food for lunch.
Honestly, I was delighted. The women and I sat around in a circle and prepared rice-filled grape leaves and zucchini. Apparently I was a fast learner in the preparation of this meal. It was noon and we were still wearing our pjs.
I was in a dream. The experience staying with this family was like nothing I've ever done before. For this first time in Jordan, I felt like I was in a truly Arab setting. Amman is a wonderful city and it is definitely different from how I live in America but there are so many Western influences in the city. My regret is that I needed to leave that afternoon.
Its taken me a few days to write this blog so some of the tiny little happenings are lost to me now but I remember clearly before I left my family took me to their uncle's farm down the street. I continued to meet various members of their family and Ekram, her brothers, and her cousins took me around the farm and explained the various farming practices of farmers in the region. Before I finally left around 6pm, her family sprayed me with various types of perfume...all from France, mind you. So I smelled like a french whore.
Ekram payed for a taxi back to Amman for me and I returned to Jeresh the next day with AMIDEAST to look at all the old Greek, Roman, and Byzantine ruins. I felt proud and maybe protective over the area we explored. As if I were apart of it for merely spending a night with a family, as if a part of myself was in this part of Jordan.
What an incredible experience.
It has been a long week the culminated to by far the most incredible experience I've had in Jordan. From the World Cup to having the best sandwich in the world to spending the night in Jeresh, my experience here will leave me craving more.
Ok, so best sandwich in the world. I've mentioned before about my language partner, early this week we meet up and went to a truly beautiful area of Amman where she insisted on buying me a Lebanese sandwich. What people say about Arab hospitality is entirely true, when I've gone out with Jordanians I've never had to pay. When I pull out my wallet, I'm shot a look that I cannot argue against. Put-your-wallet-back-in-your-bag-your-my-guest-get-use-to-it.
The sandwich shop was very discreet, I would have never noticed it if I were to walk by alone or drive by in a taxi. It seemed no different than the other numerous sandwich shops, coffee shops, or grocery stores that litter the streets of Amman. I walk in and it instantly reminded me of the numerous pizza shops that litter the streets of New York. Counter space, drink fridges to the side, and behind the counter the kitchen including an impressive brick oven. The sandwich was similar to a calzone but by far more tasty. The bread was sweet but paired with a salty and slightly bitter cheese and then matched the tartness of olives and the crunch of fresh vegetables...I'm drooling at the thought.
We talked and just walked around this beautiful area of the city. We ended up at a tiny park in the middle of the city. I discovered that my partner is of Palestinian descent from Neblus. Somehow Palestine always comes up.
The park was stunning and was nestled in a little corner of the city that I would have never discovered had it not been for my language partner. We walked around rubbing our hands on the rosemary bushes as I revealed to her my favorite activity of people watching. We eventually found a shaded nook off the main square of park to chat and people-watch. For then on we were silent and admired the beautiful world immediately around us.
After, we walked by a small bakery that had the best apple pie in Amman. A little taste of America in Amman?
In my travels in Amman, I've had the pleasure of meeting many people. Whether with Amideast or friends of friends of friends, I've had the pleasure of meeting some truly wonderful people. But by the far the most incredible and awe-inspiring experience I've had in Jordan was my decision to spend a the night with a rural family in Jeresh.
A friend introduced me to a Ekram, a woman who works in an NGO in Amman promoting environmental awareness, human rights, and youth involvement. I met with her wanting to know more about her organization and the type of work that she does. Our conversation led to a friendship and an opportunity that I will never forget. By the end of our meeting she invited me to her family's home in Jeresh for the weekend. I explained that I would only be able to stay for one evening but that I would be happy to visit.
By far, the best decision I have ever made. My word of advice to future travelers to Jordan when a family invites you to their home, go. I love Amman but it's a very Western city. If you wait a genuine taste of Arab culture, go to the countryside.
I met Ekram after class on Thursday to travel with her to Jeresh. We communicated in mostly Arabic and my confidence in this new little adventure grew. She told me that her family was waiting for me to come in order to take lunch. Meal 1 of the 7 meals that would have that day.
We hop off the bus down the street from her house and as the arid heat suctioned my body, I gleamed over the hill and witnessed a swaying valley surrounded by gentle mountains with Amman, Salt, and Jeresh visible through the haze.
This image were merely the beckon for what was to come next.
Her family was waiting for me as I entered. Ekram has five brothers, two of which are married, and two sisters, both younger. A family of 8 children that have either all graduated from university, are currently going to university, or are studying for their exams to enter university. Its quite a feat. Her parents and younger brothers and sisters were sitting comfortably in their living room; a large rectangular room in traditional design. Cushions, intended for sitting, laying, and eating; surrounding the half the room with a TV and desk adjacent. 3 rooms filed off from the main room: the parent's bedroom, the girl's bedroom, and a welcoming room designed with elaborate carpet and lounge chairs. Their house lay in the middle of a small farm; a few olive, berry, and plum trees and a chicken coup. Down the hill from their house were the farms of their grandparents and uncles, easily a acres of land for fruit and olive trees.
Word of Arab hospitality is completely true. Without hesitation, Ekram's family exclaimed that I was their daughter and sister insisted that I sit and began to teach me the words of everything in the room. Including the TV. The two or three people who spoke decent English insisted on explaining everything to me in English, even things that I could easily understand. I was offered coffee, tea, juice, water, and fresh fruit form their garden. Within an half hour we had our first meal: a dark green vegetable stew atop rice and of course pita bread. The first meal I could taste the freshness of the earth in the meal and immediately knew that most of their food would be picked straight from their garden.
It was also at this meal that I explained that I'm a vegetarian.
"No meat?"
"Yes."
"No chicken??"
"Yes, no chicken."
"Fish?"
"No, no fish."
The father's face cringed away and it was obvious that this was a tab bit strange. One of Ekram's married brothers interjected soon after, "Well..thats economical!"
At every meal I was given a towel to lay over my lap that no one else took. Something I'm not quite to sure why.
Ekram's father was a loud, boisterous, cherry, and ridiculously hospitable man with a gleam of both pride and happiness in his eye. His booming voice filled the room instantly. Her mother was sitting on the floor preparing food when I first came and her warmth was instantly recognizable to me. They asked me questions about my family and where I was from and I tired to answer them to my best ability.
Where ever I was, where ever I went, I was surrounded by people. Either children, woman, men or a combination were constantly around. After eating, the weather cooled down and we able to sit outside. Not only was I surrounded by people the entire time, I was also given food and drink every step I made; freshly picked fruit from their garden, tea or coffee the my new brother insisted upon making for me. At one point, the same brother hushed towards me with a white dove in his hand (apparently they keep doves on their roof) and asked if I would like to hold it. As I held the dove, I explained to my family that this bird often symbolizes peace in my country. As I spoke, the dove drew free from my hands and flew back to the roof.
After drinking significant amounts of tea and coffee, Ekram and here sisters showed me around their garden, picking fruit for me to eat and holding my arms as I stepped over the rocky terrain. A group of children unknown to me circled our stroll as neighbors from their rooftops called out "Marhaban!" "Ahlan wa Sahlan" My hosts would respond and, "min Ameerica!" Eventually, I was led back into my hosts' private courtyard to keep away from the unabashedly curious neighbors.
Night had fallen in Jeresh. The cushions from the living room were moved outside so we could lay and enjoy the evening's refreshing cool. The call to prayer echoed around the valleys and bounced off the mountain tops as my host father, covered in his long robe, preceded to say his prayers and bow to the floor in exclamations to Allah. I lay in the adjacent corner surrounded by a group of women and Ekram's younger brothers. The women asked me various beauty questions: What do you use to clean your face? Your hair? How do you shave? In response to the shaving question, I responded that I just use a razor with soap. One of the sisters jumped to her feet and ran into the house. She brought with her a shaving razor and asked me if this is what I use. I nodded and the shock on their face was surprising. "But this for men! What we use, cook milk, honey, and flour together. Let dry and your skin, and rip off!"...and a mixture of milk and lentils will get rid of my freckles.
As we sat, talked, sang songs, and of course ate a group of bashful sheepherders joined our party. They sat in chairs across from me and when our glances met, their faces turned red and they looked around nervously laughing. My host father, noticing their puppy-love infatuation, preceded to point out all the young men in the room. "Ahmend..he is smart boy, good in university. Mahmoud...he's not as smart but in university...oh here! Mohammmed. He's a sheepherder...but he's very strong!"
Our visitors left and many of children began to fall asleep so it was time for us as well to go to bed. But bedtime turned into a card game with Ekram and her brothers until 1am...
with a 5am wake-up call by Mr. Rooster outside my window. I finally arose from bed around 7am to find Ekram and her entire family awake in the parlor with guests. I was handed coffee and asked if I wanted to go back to bed. No, no I'm just waking up, i'm ok!
One of their guest in the early morning was a woman who sat next to me without a flinch in her smile. She saw me, shook my hand furiously, bid me good morning, and began asking me questions about where I was from, what my family was like and what I was doing in Jordan. She also requested a picture of me for her five daughters. I hadn't even processed my first cup of coffee.
The rest of the day was lazy. Our first meal of the day was freshly made falafel, cooked vegetables, olives, pita, and home-made hummus. Following that meal was an endless supply of tea, juice, water, and fruit. We sat around, continued to play games, and talk. Eventually, (because it was Friday) it was time for the men to go to the mosque. One by one, they left and were gone for a few hours. Us women folk were left to our own devices which inevitably ended up to preparing food for lunch.
Honestly, I was delighted. The women and I sat around in a circle and prepared rice-filled grape leaves and zucchini. Apparently I was a fast learner in the preparation of this meal. It was noon and we were still wearing our pjs.
I was in a dream. The experience staying with this family was like nothing I've ever done before. For this first time in Jordan, I felt like I was in a truly Arab setting. Amman is a wonderful city and it is definitely different from how I live in America but there are so many Western influences in the city. My regret is that I needed to leave that afternoon.
Its taken me a few days to write this blog so some of the tiny little happenings are lost to me now but I remember clearly before I left my family took me to their uncle's farm down the street. I continued to meet various members of their family and Ekram, her brothers, and her cousins took me around the farm and explained the various farming practices of farmers in the region. Before I finally left around 6pm, her family sprayed me with various types of perfume...all from France, mind you. So I smelled like a french whore.
Ekram payed for a taxi back to Amman for me and I returned to Jeresh the next day with AMIDEAST to look at all the old Greek, Roman, and Byzantine ruins. I felt proud and maybe protective over the area we explored. As if I were apart of it for merely spending a night with a family, as if a part of myself was in this part of Jordan.
What an incredible experience.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
6/11 In Jordan
I find it hard now to keep a blog entry everyday. I'm either occupied with schoolwork or social activity (with my family or friends) but I suppose there is a lot I would like to write on. Much has happened in the past week, in so many aspects of life that it will be a great misfortune to have forgotten to write them.
I would like to give myself some credit. Thus far in this blog I have tried to maintain political neutrality. My goals is not to convey my political beliefs but instead to provide a more holistic view of the Middle East to a primarily Western audience. But there have been events that have boiled my very core.
I guess I should start with this. I will never drink Coca Cola again.
So Coca Cola and politics? Wheres the correlation? Before I mentioned about the word on the street about Coca Cola. Coca Cola 'supports' Israel. Perhaps its irrational for me to go running with that rumor and swear off Coca Cola and all its products. But I must, in some way, vent my rage.
The Israeli Raid on the Fortilla last week and the subsequent news after has brought me closer to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and, for this, I am forever grateful for Israel. Being here to see the faces of Palestinians with their families in the Gaza Strip, to hear first hand accounts of their suffering, and to then see the news of Israel bombarding a fortilla full of aid and the murder of 9 humanitarian rights activists in international water has irrevocably strengthened my support for the Palestinian State.
Israel is on crack. To a certain extent, I can understand their reasoning for wanting to make sure that the fortilla carried only aid. A reasoning that I have trouble agreeing with, but a foreign sequencing of rationality that can possibly be disconcerned. What totally lacks any sequence of rational thought is their decision to storm a peaceful vessel in international waters consequentially killing 9 people. For me, it does not matter how hit who first. The Israeli soldiers who stormed the fortilla are supposedly highly trained military personal who attacked a group who's only experience in combat was probably limited to street fights after a long night at a bar. Additionally, it would be bizarre to me if the people on the fortilla didn't fight back.
I cannot say what I would have done if I were on the boat.
God forbid the people in Gaza get rice for their stomachs and cement for their homes. They are slowly being starved out of their homes but there's the loop hole; the people living there can't actually leave.
The conflict between Israel-Palestine and the world has occupied my mind considerably over the past few weeks. I wonder where I can find the answer. Is hidden in Mt. Nebo?
Thats really the problem which the Israel state. Its legitimacy and the source of their statehood lies in religious texts written thousands of years ago. They are embedded with a self righteous-defense complex. The state has constructed its right not only to the land that it currently possesses but also to the land that the Palestinians risk life and family to protect.
So is there an answer? How do you create peace?
I've always looked to the stars. As a child, I remember gazing at the night sky contemplating what was out there. But today when I gaze I think on our insignificance in the course of what we call history and science. Nothing is forever. The only constant is change. I believe that once we (the collective we) take upon that burden of humility, the recognition that we are a grain of sand on the beach of our constructed existence; the notions and perceptions of possession and all other roots from which spring conflict will be washed by each wave of new era.
But in this reality, I know nothing.
The World Cup begins today and I'm very excited to watch the World Cup in a country that actually appreciates soccer (football). Argentina and Spain seem to be favorites but I have always supported the Azzuri (Italia). Forza Azzuri!
Everyday this city reveals little surprises to me. As a take a taxi at dusk, I see the city at different angles of its beauty. Perhaps to me its beautiful because it looks so much unlike cities near to me. Or perhaps its when I notice the subtle differences in culture, like men kissing on the check as a greeting in the streets, in contrast to very Western surroundings. In many ways, its enchanting.
I want to come back.
I would like to give myself some credit. Thus far in this blog I have tried to maintain political neutrality. My goals is not to convey my political beliefs but instead to provide a more holistic view of the Middle East to a primarily Western audience. But there have been events that have boiled my very core.
I guess I should start with this. I will never drink Coca Cola again.
So Coca Cola and politics? Wheres the correlation? Before I mentioned about the word on the street about Coca Cola. Coca Cola 'supports' Israel. Perhaps its irrational for me to go running with that rumor and swear off Coca Cola and all its products. But I must, in some way, vent my rage.
The Israeli Raid on the Fortilla last week and the subsequent news after has brought me closer to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and, for this, I am forever grateful for Israel. Being here to see the faces of Palestinians with their families in the Gaza Strip, to hear first hand accounts of their suffering, and to then see the news of Israel bombarding a fortilla full of aid and the murder of 9 humanitarian rights activists in international water has irrevocably strengthened my support for the Palestinian State.
Israel is on crack. To a certain extent, I can understand their reasoning for wanting to make sure that the fortilla carried only aid. A reasoning that I have trouble agreeing with, but a foreign sequencing of rationality that can possibly be disconcerned. What totally lacks any sequence of rational thought is their decision to storm a peaceful vessel in international waters consequentially killing 9 people. For me, it does not matter how hit who first. The Israeli soldiers who stormed the fortilla are supposedly highly trained military personal who attacked a group who's only experience in combat was probably limited to street fights after a long night at a bar. Additionally, it would be bizarre to me if the people on the fortilla didn't fight back.
I cannot say what I would have done if I were on the boat.
God forbid the people in Gaza get rice for their stomachs and cement for their homes. They are slowly being starved out of their homes but there's the loop hole; the people living there can't actually leave.
The conflict between Israel-Palestine and the world has occupied my mind considerably over the past few weeks. I wonder where I can find the answer. Is hidden in Mt. Nebo?
Thats really the problem which the Israel state. Its legitimacy and the source of their statehood lies in religious texts written thousands of years ago. They are embedded with a self righteous-defense complex. The state has constructed its right not only to the land that it currently possesses but also to the land that the Palestinians risk life and family to protect.
So is there an answer? How do you create peace?
I've always looked to the stars. As a child, I remember gazing at the night sky contemplating what was out there. But today when I gaze I think on our insignificance in the course of what we call history and science. Nothing is forever. The only constant is change. I believe that once we (the collective we) take upon that burden of humility, the recognition that we are a grain of sand on the beach of our constructed existence; the notions and perceptions of possession and all other roots from which spring conflict will be washed by each wave of new era.
But in this reality, I know nothing.
The World Cup begins today and I'm very excited to watch the World Cup in a country that actually appreciates soccer (football). Argentina and Spain seem to be favorites but I have always supported the Azzuri (Italia). Forza Azzuri!
Everyday this city reveals little surprises to me. As a take a taxi at dusk, I see the city at different angles of its beauty. Perhaps to me its beautiful because it looks so much unlike cities near to me. Or perhaps its when I notice the subtle differences in culture, like men kissing on the check as a greeting in the streets, in contrast to very Western surroundings. In many ways, its enchanting.
I want to come back.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Finding Balance
About two weeks have past since I've lived in Jordan. I say live because I don't believe I came here as a tourist. It will be a short time lived but an incredible time lived. By incredible, I do not mean to say that there have been no bad times. I've ran into creepy or just really mean taxi drivers and felt completely incompetent in my language ability. I've many times felt tears swell in my eye when unable to answer a question in Arabic or understand what the person was saying.
But I've discovered balance between utter language despair and being the only American in a crowd with enjoying the my time in Amman and reflecting on what I have and will learn. I know with whom and on what to practice and I have faith that this experience will serve as the great foundation to my ultimate fluency in Arabic.
Yesterday, I felt for the first time in a week a real American in an American setting. Yesterday, I bought a gym membership at a gym near my school (I'm not too sure how long I can go without running without imploding). My friend planned to meet me an hour later. As I went to change for the gym, I realized that I had forgot my shoe. Yes just one shoe, I was fortunate enough to remember one. Running with only one shoe might not be a pleasant experience...anyway I had an hour to spare by myself before my friend could come and meet me. I saw a Starbuck. They had alot of coffee and I had a book by one of my favorite authors. I spent the next hour sitting alone drinking coffee and reading a book at a Starbucks. America.
Only later that afternoon, I was thrown into a real Arab setting. I went with my family to a traditional Arab dance performance. Huddle under a colorfully designed tent and standing along side rows of plastic chair crammed together over Bedouin rugs covered in dust. A princess in the royal family was there as well the two most famous signers in Jordan. Of course I didn't know this until later.
After the dance performance, there was an opportunity to meet and take photos with the two most famous signers in Jordan. I stood aside in a crowded room as my host mother pushed her two children into a picture with them. She turns to me, "Kelsey, go in!"
I respond, utterly confused, "Why? Where?"
"There! In the middle" a chorus of photographers with my host mom as the solo artist. I jump into the picture only later to find out that I had just been photographed with...you guessed it...the two most famous signers. My host mom explained to me that everyone in Jordan knows who these people are. As if I didn't stand out as the most American in the crowd already.
Each American student in my program is matched with a 'language partner". This person is to help understand the language, help with speaking, and just be there for the American student. I've met mine twice thus far and she is the one of the nicest people I have ever met. Her name is Aisha. We're making plans to see movies, go to places of the city where I've never been, and perhaps go to Petra.
All is well in Amman. There have been a number of peaceful demonstrations concerning the most recent Israel-Palestine-international conflict. But I've stayed largely out of the news while I'm here. Largely because I don't have the time to follow the news are religiously as I do at home. However, I did not a NGO that works in this region that I've instantly fallen in love with.
The Arab Group for the Protection of Nature.
They work to help reverse deforestation and confront access to water issues in Jordan and Palestine. For every one tree that is torn down, they strive to plant ten in its place. Their work is located heavily in Palestine where the extension of Israeli settlements and the building of 'the wall' tears down acres of olive trees: a source of income and food for the Palestinians.
Their website is wwww.apnature.org. I'm in love.
But I've discovered balance between utter language despair and being the only American in a crowd with enjoying the my time in Amman and reflecting on what I have and will learn. I know with whom and on what to practice and I have faith that this experience will serve as the great foundation to my ultimate fluency in Arabic.
Yesterday, I felt for the first time in a week a real American in an American setting. Yesterday, I bought a gym membership at a gym near my school (I'm not too sure how long I can go without running without imploding). My friend planned to meet me an hour later. As I went to change for the gym, I realized that I had forgot my shoe. Yes just one shoe, I was fortunate enough to remember one. Running with only one shoe might not be a pleasant experience...anyway I had an hour to spare by myself before my friend could come and meet me. I saw a Starbuck. They had alot of coffee and I had a book by one of my favorite authors. I spent the next hour sitting alone drinking coffee and reading a book at a Starbucks. America.
Only later that afternoon, I was thrown into a real Arab setting. I went with my family to a traditional Arab dance performance. Huddle under a colorfully designed tent and standing along side rows of plastic chair crammed together over Bedouin rugs covered in dust. A princess in the royal family was there as well the two most famous signers in Jordan. Of course I didn't know this until later.
After the dance performance, there was an opportunity to meet and take photos with the two most famous signers in Jordan. I stood aside in a crowded room as my host mother pushed her two children into a picture with them. She turns to me, "Kelsey, go in!"
I respond, utterly confused, "Why? Where?"
"There! In the middle" a chorus of photographers with my host mom as the solo artist. I jump into the picture only later to find out that I had just been photographed with...you guessed it...the two most famous signers. My host mom explained to me that everyone in Jordan knows who these people are. As if I didn't stand out as the most American in the crowd already.
Each American student in my program is matched with a 'language partner". This person is to help understand the language, help with speaking, and just be there for the American student. I've met mine twice thus far and she is the one of the nicest people I have ever met. Her name is Aisha. We're making plans to see movies, go to places of the city where I've never been, and perhaps go to Petra.
All is well in Amman. There have been a number of peaceful demonstrations concerning the most recent Israel-Palestine-international conflict. But I've stayed largely out of the news while I'm here. Largely because I don't have the time to follow the news are religiously as I do at home. However, I did not a NGO that works in this region that I've instantly fallen in love with.
The Arab Group for the Protection of Nature.
They work to help reverse deforestation and confront access to water issues in Jordan and Palestine. For every one tree that is torn down, they strive to plant ten in its place. Their work is located heavily in Palestine where the extension of Israeli settlements and the building of 'the wall' tears down acres of olive trees: a source of income and food for the Palestinians.
Their website is wwww.apnature.org. I'm in love.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
It was only a matter of time.
The past week and 1/2 has been so invigorating but at the same time exhausting. I can already trace a pattern of high and lows in my time here. There are a few experiences that I have not yet written about like I would like to share.
I mentioned before about a open market in the city on Fridays. Last week, my friends and I went to this market. Its in a beautiful part of the city that I have mentioned before: Rainbow Street. The market also hosted a cheap concert concert on an edge overlooking the great expanse of the city.
The market was located in a long alley off the main street and an approximate amount of 50 tables lined the walls of the alley. Jewelry stands seemed to be the most common attraction while other stands were filled with books, paintings, food, scarves, bags, and any other sort of knic-knacs you could imagine. It was crowded and became progressively more so as the evening covered Amman. As I rummaged through the market looking softly at the displays, I saw one painting that caught my eye. Spattered in dark colors it depicts four Arab men standing the in the desert in traditional dress. Not having much money on me I walked away telling myself that I could back next week.
But what if its not there next week. I shuffled to the nearest ATM and ran back to buy my painting. The creator of this painting was selling his work at the stand and autographed my copy. Later, a friend asked me what about it made me buy it. I just replied that it appealed to me.
I thought about it more later. What was it about this painting that made walk up the street to an ATM in order to purchase it? I looked at it and thought about it. Looked at it and thought about it; which is mostly the trend I have with most pieces of art. I finally decided that it was elusive. The faces of the men cannot be distinguish and their form cloaked in white is only distinguishable against the dark colors of its scenery. The piece plays on form, shadow, and color as to create an aura of mystery. Instead, I was enchanted by the work.
I clutched my purchase as we pushed through the crowd to get tickets for the concert. We sat on rugs towards the back and waited for the music to begin. We were told earlier that a Jordanian rock band playing but I was happily surprised about what the music turned out to be. The opening act was Arab rap and although I couldn't understand I word that they said; their style was fresh and their beats were solid. Enough for me to appreciate.
The "rock band" turned out to be an inventive arrangement mixing traditional Arab sounds against the strumming of modern acoustic guitar. I was almost in a trance. The combination of traditional and contemporary sound was seamless but subtle clues to both were evident. Great music.
The market was such a great experience and I'm hoping to go again next week.
In the news, the Israeli raid on the aid fortilla is all the rage in Amman. The people here are glued to the news and it takes the front page,the second page, and the third page of every news paper. There have been a demonstration in Amman with participants burning an Israeli flag with the words "fire with fire" written across. I was no where this demonstration.
What is most upsetting here is to see people's reaction. For the people I have spoke to, they are unable to reach their families and are trying to figure out what exactly happen. How can I describe the way they approach it? Sullen but not despair. Yearning but not desperate for an answer. It is the approach of a people for whom tragedy is commonplace and the advent of danger and possible death is sharp.
As my host mother said once, "At times, it is hard to live in the Middle East."
"Things" have gotten better in Jordan but its the overwhelming sense that something bad is going to happen. To most, the current conflict between Israel-Palestine and the world was merely a matter of time.
I was given an Arabic name by one of my professors: Yasmin. I like it.
Its taken me a few days to finish this blog entry because of school work and so many other social reasons. My language skills are still painful but I can notice improvement which is the best I can ask for.
I mentioned before about a open market in the city on Fridays. Last week, my friends and I went to this market. Its in a beautiful part of the city that I have mentioned before: Rainbow Street. The market also hosted a cheap concert concert on an edge overlooking the great expanse of the city.
The market was located in a long alley off the main street and an approximate amount of 50 tables lined the walls of the alley. Jewelry stands seemed to be the most common attraction while other stands were filled with books, paintings, food, scarves, bags, and any other sort of knic-knacs you could imagine. It was crowded and became progressively more so as the evening covered Amman. As I rummaged through the market looking softly at the displays, I saw one painting that caught my eye. Spattered in dark colors it depicts four Arab men standing the in the desert in traditional dress. Not having much money on me I walked away telling myself that I could back next week.
But what if its not there next week. I shuffled to the nearest ATM and ran back to buy my painting. The creator of this painting was selling his work at the stand and autographed my copy. Later, a friend asked me what about it made me buy it. I just replied that it appealed to me.
I thought about it more later. What was it about this painting that made walk up the street to an ATM in order to purchase it? I looked at it and thought about it. Looked at it and thought about it; which is mostly the trend I have with most pieces of art. I finally decided that it was elusive. The faces of the men cannot be distinguish and their form cloaked in white is only distinguishable against the dark colors of its scenery. The piece plays on form, shadow, and color as to create an aura of mystery. Instead, I was enchanted by the work.
I clutched my purchase as we pushed through the crowd to get tickets for the concert. We sat on rugs towards the back and waited for the music to begin. We were told earlier that a Jordanian rock band playing but I was happily surprised about what the music turned out to be. The opening act was Arab rap and although I couldn't understand I word that they said; their style was fresh and their beats were solid. Enough for me to appreciate.
The "rock band" turned out to be an inventive arrangement mixing traditional Arab sounds against the strumming of modern acoustic guitar. I was almost in a trance. The combination of traditional and contemporary sound was seamless but subtle clues to both were evident. Great music.
The market was such a great experience and I'm hoping to go again next week.
In the news, the Israeli raid on the aid fortilla is all the rage in Amman. The people here are glued to the news and it takes the front page,the second page, and the third page of every news paper. There have been a demonstration in Amman with participants burning an Israeli flag with the words "fire with fire" written across. I was no where this demonstration.
What is most upsetting here is to see people's reaction. For the people I have spoke to, they are unable to reach their families and are trying to figure out what exactly happen. How can I describe the way they approach it? Sullen but not despair. Yearning but not desperate for an answer. It is the approach of a people for whom tragedy is commonplace and the advent of danger and possible death is sharp.
As my host mother said once, "At times, it is hard to live in the Middle East."
"Things" have gotten better in Jordan but its the overwhelming sense that something bad is going to happen. To most, the current conflict between Israel-Palestine and the world was merely a matter of time.
I was given an Arabic name by one of my professors: Yasmin. I like it.
Its taken me a few days to finish this blog entry because of school work and so many other social reasons. My language skills are still painful but I can notice improvement which is the best I can ask for.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Mt. Nebo, the Jordanian River, and the Dead Sea
I was so close to Palestine I could touch it. Literally, I was hop, skip, and a jump away.
Yesterday, I visited what my program called "Biblical Jordan": the city of Madaba, Mt. Nebo, sites on the Jordanian River (including the reported location of Jesus' baptism), and the Dead Sea. It was an incredible day as I walked into the history of civilization. There was much to be appreciated. The first Church in Madaba with a mosaic map of the region on the floor and a miracle painting in the basement, or humbled at the height of Mt. Nebo seeing the endless stream of mountains, the same sites Moses and the Israelite allegedly saw thousands of years before me; or the sly Jordan River whose plugged flow and arid surroundings minimize its size to an American creek, or was it the salt and mud of the Dead Sea that had its greatest impact...
I cannot certainly tell. The day was sewn along in seamless fashion and each visit seemed only to invite the next. Our first stop was to the ancient churches of Madaba. Now, I have seen many...many an old church in Europe and America but these had a bit of a different charm. Mosaics. I don't mean just one or two small works hanging on the wall. When ancient Christians in Madaba wanted "to mosaic" a church, they weren't fooling around. The entire floors and segments of walls were covered with them. At the first church, a map of the region stretching from Jerusalem to Cairo to the area of the Jordan River was created in mosaic form on the floor. At the second, the entire floor of the church was tiled in mosaic design.
The stores in the streets of Madaba were lined with knic-knac shops boasting a healthy supply of small mosaic pieces, Bedunion carpets,shoes,traditional dress, sand bottles, scarves, dolls...perhaps everything Madaba had to offer was found in approximately 20 shops. We stopped at one and watched an artist create a 'sand bottle' and there I bought a hand-made doll in the region's traditional dress. Oh, and we had a group picture.
From Madaba we went to Mt. Nebo; the site where Moses reportedly saw the land of milk and honey after searching for 40 years...but couldn't enter it. Rumor has it that Moses is buried somewhere in, on, around Mt. Nebo (and looking for his body wouldn't be an easy task). That blows, Moses.
The view from the top of Mt. Nebo was breathtaking. The mountain slipped into the Rift Valley while bits of green popped against the sandy exterior. If I were an Israelite fresh (well maybe not so fresh) out of Egypt, this site would make me happy too. Groups of bible-belt American Christians were scattered in various circles on the edge of the mountain's cliff and nearly every other person held a Bible, Torah, or Quran. The Vatican held a strong presence on the top of Mt. Nebo; they were funding the construction of religious museum. And we took yet another group picture.
We traveled down from Mt. Nebo to the Jordan River (Creek). To all my friends and family from Hainesport, to give you a frame of reference on the size of the Jordan River; the Rancocas Creek is wider. To my friends from South Orange, the Rahway River boasts a wider and healthy supply. Its size is due to mainly two factors: the arid region dwindles its supply capacity and Israel dammed the River at its source to provide water for its Jewish farmers. What I heard of the supply by where I was (near Palestine's West Bank or Jordan's East Bank)? Some predicate that in two years, the River may be completely dry.
At least that was word on the street.
Along the Jordan River, we stopped at three spots. The first one was non- consequential to me as I cannot remember what it was meant to represent but I remember thinking, "that's it? Wait..what's the definition of a river?" The second stop was the reported spot of the baptism of Jesus Christ by St. John. That was kinda a big deal...
At the third spot was where we could actually touch the river. We took a group picture (to get the tidbit of information out of the way).
By this spot was a Church and baptism spot. But across the River-Creek, BAM was the West Bank, Palestine with a flowing, magnificent Israeli flag. Not more than four feet away. The border between Jordan and Palestine (or what some people call Israel)was immediately in front. If I weren't so afraid of landmines, cluster bombs, or being shot by the Israeli army I would have TOTALLY crossed.
But alas, politics is politics and I remained on the safer side of the River-Creek, gazing over to the perhaps the most contested and intriguing regional and global conflict since the 1940's.
I took a few deep breaths as I walked to the bus on route to the Dead Sea and reflected thoughts that would take me days to relate.
Once at the Dead Sea, I had calmed down and my impassioned political desire turned quickly into excited anticipation of going into the Dead Sea. The DEAD SEA! The lowest point on the PLANET...not to mention Palestine at the other side. It wouldn't have taken too long to swim over probably could float...however at this point of the day, I was too hungry and in dire of need of swimming to fully scheme my political will.
We ate. We got into our bathing suits. We went in. No matter what size you are, you float. Literally, float like rubber ducky in a bath tub. My favorite move was spiraling like a torpedo or a mermaid on top of the water. We also looked like otters.
One of my friends stuck his head under the water which is seriously not recommended. I helped him swim to shore because he temporarily couldn't see. Too much salt in the water. But after he gloated, "For a second, I was the lowest man on earth." I was fine with just being one of the lowest women on earth.
Our amazement of floating in the Dead Sea didn't diminish quickly. Easily for the first 1/2 hour of floating, we just talked about how AWESOME it was. I repeatedly said, "This is by far the most incredible thing I've ever done." AND I didn't get burned. I also didn't want to leave.
After slathering ourselves in Dead Sea mud and floating in the Sea for two hours, it was time to return to Amman. As I changed into my dry clothes and established my seat on the bus, a haunting, apprehensive feeling overtook me: homework. After such an incredible day of basking in the sun, private political brainstorms, gazing over the land of milk and honey, and group pictures (recognizing a trend?)I needed to return to my Jordanian family's house and study for the next three hours easily.
But that studying payed off. Today was by far the best day I've had in class. Thus far, my reestablishment of my belief in learning this language has been a success.
Yesterday, I visited what my program called "Biblical Jordan": the city of Madaba, Mt. Nebo, sites on the Jordanian River (including the reported location of Jesus' baptism), and the Dead Sea. It was an incredible day as I walked into the history of civilization. There was much to be appreciated. The first Church in Madaba with a mosaic map of the region on the floor and a miracle painting in the basement, or humbled at the height of Mt. Nebo seeing the endless stream of mountains, the same sites Moses and the Israelite allegedly saw thousands of years before me; or the sly Jordan River whose plugged flow and arid surroundings minimize its size to an American creek, or was it the salt and mud of the Dead Sea that had its greatest impact...
I cannot certainly tell. The day was sewn along in seamless fashion and each visit seemed only to invite the next. Our first stop was to the ancient churches of Madaba. Now, I have seen many...many an old church in Europe and America but these had a bit of a different charm. Mosaics. I don't mean just one or two small works hanging on the wall. When ancient Christians in Madaba wanted "to mosaic" a church, they weren't fooling around. The entire floors and segments of walls were covered with them. At the first church, a map of the region stretching from Jerusalem to Cairo to the area of the Jordan River was created in mosaic form on the floor. At the second, the entire floor of the church was tiled in mosaic design.
The stores in the streets of Madaba were lined with knic-knac shops boasting a healthy supply of small mosaic pieces, Bedunion carpets,shoes,traditional dress, sand bottles, scarves, dolls...perhaps everything Madaba had to offer was found in approximately 20 shops. We stopped at one and watched an artist create a 'sand bottle' and there I bought a hand-made doll in the region's traditional dress. Oh, and we had a group picture.
From Madaba we went to Mt. Nebo; the site where Moses reportedly saw the land of milk and honey after searching for 40 years...but couldn't enter it. Rumor has it that Moses is buried somewhere in, on, around Mt. Nebo (and looking for his body wouldn't be an easy task). That blows, Moses.
The view from the top of Mt. Nebo was breathtaking. The mountain slipped into the Rift Valley while bits of green popped against the sandy exterior. If I were an Israelite fresh (well maybe not so fresh) out of Egypt, this site would make me happy too. Groups of bible-belt American Christians were scattered in various circles on the edge of the mountain's cliff and nearly every other person held a Bible, Torah, or Quran. The Vatican held a strong presence on the top of Mt. Nebo; they were funding the construction of religious museum. And we took yet another group picture.
We traveled down from Mt. Nebo to the Jordan River (Creek). To all my friends and family from Hainesport, to give you a frame of reference on the size of the Jordan River; the Rancocas Creek is wider. To my friends from South Orange, the Rahway River boasts a wider and healthy supply. Its size is due to mainly two factors: the arid region dwindles its supply capacity and Israel dammed the River at its source to provide water for its Jewish farmers. What I heard of the supply by where I was (near Palestine's West Bank or Jordan's East Bank)? Some predicate that in two years, the River may be completely dry.
At least that was word on the street.
Along the Jordan River, we stopped at three spots. The first one was non- consequential to me as I cannot remember what it was meant to represent but I remember thinking, "that's it? Wait..what's the definition of a river?" The second stop was the reported spot of the baptism of Jesus Christ by St. John. That was kinda a big deal...
At the third spot was where we could actually touch the river. We took a group picture (to get the tidbit of information out of the way).
By this spot was a Church and baptism spot. But across the River-Creek, BAM was the West Bank, Palestine with a flowing, magnificent Israeli flag. Not more than four feet away. The border between Jordan and Palestine (or what some people call Israel)was immediately in front. If I weren't so afraid of landmines, cluster bombs, or being shot by the Israeli army I would have TOTALLY crossed.
But alas, politics is politics and I remained on the safer side of the River-Creek, gazing over to the perhaps the most contested and intriguing regional and global conflict since the 1940's.
I took a few deep breaths as I walked to the bus on route to the Dead Sea and reflected thoughts that would take me days to relate.
Once at the Dead Sea, I had calmed down and my impassioned political desire turned quickly into excited anticipation of going into the Dead Sea. The DEAD SEA! The lowest point on the PLANET...not to mention Palestine at the other side. It wouldn't have taken too long to swim over probably could float...however at this point of the day, I was too hungry and in dire of need of swimming to fully scheme my political will.
We ate. We got into our bathing suits. We went in. No matter what size you are, you float. Literally, float like rubber ducky in a bath tub. My favorite move was spiraling like a torpedo or a mermaid on top of the water. We also looked like otters.
One of my friends stuck his head under the water which is seriously not recommended. I helped him swim to shore because he temporarily couldn't see. Too much salt in the water. But after he gloated, "For a second, I was the lowest man on earth." I was fine with just being one of the lowest women on earth.
Our amazement of floating in the Dead Sea didn't diminish quickly. Easily for the first 1/2 hour of floating, we just talked about how AWESOME it was. I repeatedly said, "This is by far the most incredible thing I've ever done." AND I didn't get burned. I also didn't want to leave.
After slathering ourselves in Dead Sea mud and floating in the Sea for two hours, it was time to return to Amman. As I changed into my dry clothes and established my seat on the bus, a haunting, apprehensive feeling overtook me: homework. After such an incredible day of basking in the sun, private political brainstorms, gazing over the land of milk and honey, and group pictures (recognizing a trend?)I needed to return to my Jordanian family's house and study for the next three hours easily.
But that studying payed off. Today was by far the best day I've had in class. Thus far, my reestablishment of my belief in learning this language has been a success.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
5/27/2010 First Week of Classes Complete
The first week of language classes are over. Today, I had my first oral vocab quiz. I failed miserably. I'm now at the point in my study that I feel I'm never going to learn this language.
These thought are what have occupied my mind in the past two days. Its frustrating to feel so incompetent because not only cannot I not hold a conversation I can barely construct a proper sentence. But I keep trying and trying and trying...I'm sure something will eventually work in my favor.
Class this week have been particularly tough but this is the class I belong in. I am rebuilding a more optimistic outlook in my ability to master this language.
I'm explored mainly two parts of the city: Rainbow Street and Wakalot Street (by where my classes are). Rainbow Street, Amman is like South Street, Philadelphia (a rather ironic coincidence given that Amman was called Philadelphia back, back, back in the day). There are various cafes, restaurants, bookshops, bars,and just about any other shop you can imagine. But when you go off the street, just like South Street, there's not much. Houses, garages, and the occasional small grocery store which boggles my mind how so many are able to stay open. Rainbow Street maintains a quality of quaintness and 'hipness'. Its by far one of the most liberal-artsy-cool places of the city; I've seen people walk by with their dogs, women scantly clad, and one solid dude with dreads.
Wakalot Street boasts western shops, including a Starbucks, and very expensive shopping. My school is the parallel street and, to our advantage, there are few cheep food options available. One of these is called Paradise. Not the Arabic word for Paradise, mind you, but the English word for paradise transliterated into Arabic letters. In Paradise, we can buy a falafel sandwich for a 1/4 of a dinar and cut the line if you turn on your charm.
Awww paradise.
Today, there is an open air market on Rainbow street that some friends and I plan to go to. There is where I plan to do most of my shopping. I'm not a big fan of expensive shops or big name stores. I think that the most real, girty, and authentically Jordanian things are found in markets like these not to mention at the best price. I loved bargaining in Italy so hopefully I'll enjoy it just as much as in Amman.
My first experience in bargaining in Amman took place two days ago in a flower shop. I was walking home and thought it would be nice bring flowers. I thought, "the first flower shop I see, I'll stop and buy a small bouquet." As that thought crossed my mind, a flower shop popped to my side. I walked in to a lovely array of flowers and 6 young men standing around the counter talking. I quickly looked to the flowers as they almost immediately stopped talking. The sudden silence was, for me, unusual so I turn to face them. 6 faces were staring back.
"Ahlan." I whispered softly.
A few jumped to action and, as I picked out the flowers I wanted, he asked how many and how much.
"hamsa...awhreen..." asked the shopkeeper.
"oh hamsa!"
I thought I had 5 dinars on me. Turned out I only 4 and they said it was ok.
So my first experience in bargaining wasn't quite like bargaining but more like...luck? coincidence? Also, as I waited for my flowers, I think one of the men may have asked me for my number but I'm really not sure. He approached me as I waited with a pen and paper mumbling something incomprehensible to me. I thought he was asking if I wanted a card with the flowers but after I said, "la...la, la." he turned back to his friend a bit embarrassed.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the Dead Sea and other biblical sites in Jordan. They say on a clear day, we can see the Gaza strip from one of our sites.
I'm really excited.
These thought are what have occupied my mind in the past two days. Its frustrating to feel so incompetent because not only cannot I not hold a conversation I can barely construct a proper sentence. But I keep trying and trying and trying...I'm sure something will eventually work in my favor.
Class this week have been particularly tough but this is the class I belong in. I am rebuilding a more optimistic outlook in my ability to master this language.
I'm explored mainly two parts of the city: Rainbow Street and Wakalot Street (by where my classes are). Rainbow Street, Amman is like South Street, Philadelphia (a rather ironic coincidence given that Amman was called Philadelphia back, back, back in the day). There are various cafes, restaurants, bookshops, bars,and just about any other shop you can imagine. But when you go off the street, just like South Street, there's not much. Houses, garages, and the occasional small grocery store which boggles my mind how so many are able to stay open. Rainbow Street maintains a quality of quaintness and 'hipness'. Its by far one of the most liberal-artsy-cool places of the city; I've seen people walk by with their dogs, women scantly clad, and one solid dude with dreads.
Wakalot Street boasts western shops, including a Starbucks, and very expensive shopping. My school is the parallel street and, to our advantage, there are few cheep food options available. One of these is called Paradise. Not the Arabic word for Paradise, mind you, but the English word for paradise transliterated into Arabic letters. In Paradise, we can buy a falafel sandwich for a 1/4 of a dinar and cut the line if you turn on your charm.
Awww paradise.
Today, there is an open air market on Rainbow street that some friends and I plan to go to. There is where I plan to do most of my shopping. I'm not a big fan of expensive shops or big name stores. I think that the most real, girty, and authentically Jordanian things are found in markets like these not to mention at the best price. I loved bargaining in Italy so hopefully I'll enjoy it just as much as in Amman.
My first experience in bargaining in Amman took place two days ago in a flower shop. I was walking home and thought it would be nice bring flowers. I thought, "the first flower shop I see, I'll stop and buy a small bouquet." As that thought crossed my mind, a flower shop popped to my side. I walked in to a lovely array of flowers and 6 young men standing around the counter talking. I quickly looked to the flowers as they almost immediately stopped talking. The sudden silence was, for me, unusual so I turn to face them. 6 faces were staring back.
"Ahlan." I whispered softly.
A few jumped to action and, as I picked out the flowers I wanted, he asked how many and how much.
"hamsa...awhreen..." asked the shopkeeper.
"oh hamsa!"
I thought I had 5 dinars on me. Turned out I only 4 and they said it was ok.
So my first experience in bargaining wasn't quite like bargaining but more like...luck? coincidence? Also, as I waited for my flowers, I think one of the men may have asked me for my number but I'm really not sure. He approached me as I waited with a pen and paper mumbling something incomprehensible to me. I thought he was asking if I wanted a card with the flowers but after I said, "la...la, la." he turned back to his friend a bit embarrassed.
Tomorrow, I'm going to the Dead Sea and other biblical sites in Jordan. They say on a clear day, we can see the Gaza strip from one of our sites.
I'm really excited.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Jordanian Independence Day and Things
Today, in my taxi, a group of friends and I were talking with the driver in our typical broken-language conversation style.
"How do you celebrate Independence Day?"
"There is a show and a parade...but I do not celebrate until I return to Palestine."
Around 75% of the population in Amman in Palestinian. This is evident in the conversations I have with almost every taxi driver, shopkeeper, or just the person on the street I've asked directions from. Word on the street is that they don't sell Coca Cola in Amman because they officially support Israel. Though its true I have not yet seen Coca Cola, I cannot confirm the company's endorsement.
Another of our drivers today explained that all of his family remained in the Gaza strip but he was able to escape into the not-so-easy life of a taxi driver in Amman.
The Palestinian issue is profound here. I could not imagine a life were politics and state separated me from my family and my home. But for these, the life unimaginable is a cruel reality that one could wish was only a a dream.
But this mere desire, natural instinct perhaps, to return to home and family is impossible for many of the Palestinians here. Even those who have lived in Amman for years do not see themselves as Jordanians. They are Palestinians living on a land that has accepted them (officially at least) but a place that is not theirs. Before, I had considered Amman a oasis for Islamic refugees living in relative harmony. Relative is the key word. I was told today from a friend of a friend, a student who has lived here for 1/2 a year, that there is tension between the 'groups' here. Society is rigid and although progressive, rigid progression.
I have talked about this before: Women in the Middle East. Most women in Amman wear a hijab (veil) and keep themselves covered. I have also seen a decent amount of women who wear the full naqib (the veil in which only the eyes show). Sometimes I wonder what they think about me. An obvious westerner, most likely not Muslim, and young. Though the men most often stare, the women glance away but those that hold the glance interest me most. Men can be dogs but women, especially in this society, are not and are often not granted the opportunity to be such.
Do they think I'm a sharmuuta?
My host mother wears the hijab. She takes it off in our home but wears it when she goes out. As we were leaving the Independence Day celebration, we were discussing wearing it. And our conclusion?
Hey, its a personal thing. Its about yourself. Fii nasf.
What is feminism here? For Westerners, the definition is easy. Women are able to pursue what they want, when they want, and chose how they want to get it. But feminism here is much different and I've narrowed it down to this. In the United States, society is individualistic. Family maintains a small role in American life but here it is much different. Your family, your group, your unit is what defines you: male or female. In collectivist societies, feminism must take on an entirely different dimension. What is feminism here then?
Let the Jordanian women decide. (in my opinion, see Queen Rania)
For Independence Day, I spent time drifting from cafe to cafe drinking espresso with the occasional puff of hukka (known here as hubbly bubbly). We cramped into taxis and traveled from city circle to city circle without a real plan in mind. Circles are the only way to get around Amman and these eight circles define the way you travel from place to place. A subtle but suitable irony when traveling in this city.
Late in the afternoon, my friends and I met with my Jordanian family for and Independence Day celebration at King Hussein park. A beautiful expansion of land in the middle of the city which, as I was told, had only recently been developed into a park. Apparently the King had recently moved near by and decided reshape the empty dirt into a place for all Jordanians to enjoy. The park hosts a new mosque, various playgrounds, soccer fields, basketball courts, open fields, and newly planted orchards but the centerpiece of yesterday was a stage. The crowd swayed around this stage while music played and cars drove by in rhythmic competition. A huge crowd materialized before me: men, women, children in a mirage of western and cultural dress.
We stood aside and observed the festivities commence. Men waving flags, balloons, and scarves danced in circles shaking their butts and shoulders like women in America. Its not acceptable for women to dance in public so men stole the show. Perhaps the most entertaining was the children, weaving in and out of the crowds, standing next to their brothers and fathers admiring their moves, or standing in the middle of no where just in awe of the activity around them.
Our numbers dwindled as the sun set and as evening came it was only myself, a friend, my family, and an administrator from my exchange program. We discussed little things and everything as I was left with the promise of meeting local environmental NGOs. I sat on the curb of the street to wait for our taxi and I thought,
People come to celebrate from around city, perhaps even the country, to celebrate this day. Among them Palestinians and women.
And also me.
"How do you celebrate Independence Day?"
"There is a show and a parade...but I do not celebrate until I return to Palestine."
Around 75% of the population in Amman in Palestinian. This is evident in the conversations I have with almost every taxi driver, shopkeeper, or just the person on the street I've asked directions from. Word on the street is that they don't sell Coca Cola in Amman because they officially support Israel. Though its true I have not yet seen Coca Cola, I cannot confirm the company's endorsement.
Another of our drivers today explained that all of his family remained in the Gaza strip but he was able to escape into the not-so-easy life of a taxi driver in Amman.
The Palestinian issue is profound here. I could not imagine a life were politics and state separated me from my family and my home. But for these, the life unimaginable is a cruel reality that one could wish was only a a dream.
But this mere desire, natural instinct perhaps, to return to home and family is impossible for many of the Palestinians here. Even those who have lived in Amman for years do not see themselves as Jordanians. They are Palestinians living on a land that has accepted them (officially at least) but a place that is not theirs. Before, I had considered Amman a oasis for Islamic refugees living in relative harmony. Relative is the key word. I was told today from a friend of a friend, a student who has lived here for 1/2 a year, that there is tension between the 'groups' here. Society is rigid and although progressive, rigid progression.
I have talked about this before: Women in the Middle East. Most women in Amman wear a hijab (veil) and keep themselves covered. I have also seen a decent amount of women who wear the full naqib (the veil in which only the eyes show). Sometimes I wonder what they think about me. An obvious westerner, most likely not Muslim, and young. Though the men most often stare, the women glance away but those that hold the glance interest me most. Men can be dogs but women, especially in this society, are not and are often not granted the opportunity to be such.
Do they think I'm a sharmuuta?
My host mother wears the hijab. She takes it off in our home but wears it when she goes out. As we were leaving the Independence Day celebration, we were discussing wearing it. And our conclusion?
Hey, its a personal thing. Its about yourself. Fii nasf.
What is feminism here? For Westerners, the definition is easy. Women are able to pursue what they want, when they want, and chose how they want to get it. But feminism here is much different and I've narrowed it down to this. In the United States, society is individualistic. Family maintains a small role in American life but here it is much different. Your family, your group, your unit is what defines you: male or female. In collectivist societies, feminism must take on an entirely different dimension. What is feminism here then?
Let the Jordanian women decide. (in my opinion, see Queen Rania)
For Independence Day, I spent time drifting from cafe to cafe drinking espresso with the occasional puff of hukka (known here as hubbly bubbly). We cramped into taxis and traveled from city circle to city circle without a real plan in mind. Circles are the only way to get around Amman and these eight circles define the way you travel from place to place. A subtle but suitable irony when traveling in this city.
Late in the afternoon, my friends and I met with my Jordanian family for and Independence Day celebration at King Hussein park. A beautiful expansion of land in the middle of the city which, as I was told, had only recently been developed into a park. Apparently the King had recently moved near by and decided reshape the empty dirt into a place for all Jordanians to enjoy. The park hosts a new mosque, various playgrounds, soccer fields, basketball courts, open fields, and newly planted orchards but the centerpiece of yesterday was a stage. The crowd swayed around this stage while music played and cars drove by in rhythmic competition. A huge crowd materialized before me: men, women, children in a mirage of western and cultural dress.
We stood aside and observed the festivities commence. Men waving flags, balloons, and scarves danced in circles shaking their butts and shoulders like women in America. Its not acceptable for women to dance in public so men stole the show. Perhaps the most entertaining was the children, weaving in and out of the crowds, standing next to their brothers and fathers admiring their moves, or standing in the middle of no where just in awe of the activity around them.
Our numbers dwindled as the sun set and as evening came it was only myself, a friend, my family, and an administrator from my exchange program. We discussed little things and everything as I was left with the promise of meeting local environmental NGOs. I sat on the curb of the street to wait for our taxi and I thought,
People come to celebrate from around city, perhaps even the country, to celebrate this day. Among them Palestinians and women.
And also me.
Monday, May 24, 2010
First Days of Classes
Classes have begun! (baghd thalatha liauum!!) And I must admit, I'm having some trouble. I am the weakest in my class and at times it is very frustrating. Then I remember the reason I came here and what I expected. Given my experience with Arabic, I knew I could not expect to be the best. I knew it would be difficult and al-hamdulilah it is.
The past two days have been exhausting! I'm in class from 8am to about 2pm with 10min or 30min breaks in between. Kul fii arabia (all in arabic). In addition to that, there is approximately 3-4 hours of homework every school night. Yes, its a lot but isn't that the point? Many of my professors along with my host family say some things to me in English but most of my time spent is in arabi(for me, broken arabi). So overall, I have trouble but I will persevere.
Taxis are much easier for me to use now. Its still difficult for me to explain exactly where I live but I know recognize the area. As long as I am on the right street, I find my way home. It often requires some walking but I really enjoy find new parts of the city to explore when I have time insha'allah.
I don't know if I've just been lucky but all the Jordanians I've encountered have been very kind. I especially have good luck with taxi drivers. Our communication is riddled with broken language but it works.
I have reflected on so much in the past two days. From the student lounge I see the nothing but the expanding city in the horizon. If only my eyes could see beyond the horizon and into the expanding world. 20-30 years ago my exchange program would be unheard of, probably most Americans and Jordanians would not really know about each other. My life, the one which I experienced before my journey into Jordan, Arabic, and the realization of life's purpose, resides thousands of miles beyond what I see from my window. I would not change the beaten path which has led me here.
Tomorrow, classes are canceled for Jordanian Independence Day. This will be my first real day to explore the city and attain a better sense of culture.
Still no marriage proposals!
The past two days have been exhausting! I'm in class from 8am to about 2pm with 10min or 30min breaks in between. Kul fii arabia (all in arabic). In addition to that, there is approximately 3-4 hours of homework every school night. Yes, its a lot but isn't that the point? Many of my professors along with my host family say some things to me in English but most of my time spent is in arabi(for me, broken arabi). So overall, I have trouble but I will persevere.
Taxis are much easier for me to use now. Its still difficult for me to explain exactly where I live but I know recognize the area. As long as I am on the right street, I find my way home. It often requires some walking but I really enjoy find new parts of the city to explore when I have time insha'allah.
I don't know if I've just been lucky but all the Jordanians I've encountered have been very kind. I especially have good luck with taxi drivers. Our communication is riddled with broken language but it works.
I have reflected on so much in the past two days. From the student lounge I see the nothing but the expanding city in the horizon. If only my eyes could see beyond the horizon and into the expanding world. 20-30 years ago my exchange program would be unheard of, probably most Americans and Jordanians would not really know about each other. My life, the one which I experienced before my journey into Jordan, Arabic, and the realization of life's purpose, resides thousands of miles beyond what I see from my window. I would not change the beaten path which has led me here.
Tomorrow, classes are canceled for Jordanian Independence Day. This will be my first real day to explore the city and attain a better sense of culture.
Still no marriage proposals!
Saturday, May 22, 2010
5/22/2010: First full day in Amman
Though I should really be sleeping right now, my host mother and I talked and drank turkish coffee all evening. Turkish coffee is delicious but really steals away the desire to sleep. As long as I'm to get a few hours in I should be fine.
My first full day in Amman was incredible. I am with a small group, around ten, American student and today we sat through about 1/2 of our orientation, took a placement test, and, more exciting, traveled around Amman.
To my great surprise, I tested into the intermediate level. The placement test was extremely difficult as I could only understand maybe a 1/4 of the test. Considering the underdevelopment of the Arabic program at Seton Hall (and I am being polite), I was afraid that I would be placed into beginner and review AGAIN the same material I did last semester. I like to think that test practitioners took pity on me or saw some sort of strange potential in my ability to learn this language.
Amman is truly a beautiful city; so diverse and vibrant. Thus far, I am happy to discover my theory on humanity to be true: people are people everywhere and this thing that we call 'cultural barriers' is a constructed concept. From the taxi driver, who's name Yassir, referred to himself as Yassir Arafat and continuously wished me good luck in my studies to the group of men who gave me directions to my host family's apartment (screaming in Arabic), I see similarities to the Americans I often rely on to help me find my way. Of course there are differences in the way we dress and the ways we communicate but that essence which makes us human is the same throughout the world.
At least that is what was on my mind today while observing Jordanians bustle about the city. Take away a few 'hijabs' and you've got Brooklyn. (fyi: Someone once told me that if Brooklyn was its own city, it would be larger than Boston...take that Red Sox)
We were bused throughout the city but were given time to explore two spots: the Roman Amphitheater and the Citadel. Amman's ancient ruins...
One thing I cannot get over: YOU CAN TOUCH, SIT, TAKE PICTURES WITH the ruins! I saw children running around the ancient stone walls and people sitting on top of the ruins. If this were America or Western Europe, they would be blocked off...security guard with a gun...a electric gate around them...it was incredible. But not only was THIS incredible, the view!
Too many good experiences today.
Perhaps the best moment I had was when I was spending time with my host mom.
She said in broken English and in Arabic, "I have good feeling about you. Its very Arab to sit and talk over coffee. It gives me good sense of you."
If my addiction to coffee and talkative spirit translates well to you Lene, I should be just fine for the next month. Insha'allah!!
My first full day in Amman was incredible. I am with a small group, around ten, American student and today we sat through about 1/2 of our orientation, took a placement test, and, more exciting, traveled around Amman.
To my great surprise, I tested into the intermediate level. The placement test was extremely difficult as I could only understand maybe a 1/4 of the test. Considering the underdevelopment of the Arabic program at Seton Hall (and I am being polite), I was afraid that I would be placed into beginner and review AGAIN the same material I did last semester. I like to think that test practitioners took pity on me or saw some sort of strange potential in my ability to learn this language.
Amman is truly a beautiful city; so diverse and vibrant. Thus far, I am happy to discover my theory on humanity to be true: people are people everywhere and this thing that we call 'cultural barriers' is a constructed concept. From the taxi driver, who's name Yassir, referred to himself as Yassir Arafat and continuously wished me good luck in my studies to the group of men who gave me directions to my host family's apartment (screaming in Arabic), I see similarities to the Americans I often rely on to help me find my way. Of course there are differences in the way we dress and the ways we communicate but that essence which makes us human is the same throughout the world.
At least that is what was on my mind today while observing Jordanians bustle about the city. Take away a few 'hijabs' and you've got Brooklyn. (fyi: Someone once told me that if Brooklyn was its own city, it would be larger than Boston...take that Red Sox)
We were bused throughout the city but were given time to explore two spots: the Roman Amphitheater and the Citadel. Amman's ancient ruins...
One thing I cannot get over: YOU CAN TOUCH, SIT, TAKE PICTURES WITH the ruins! I saw children running around the ancient stone walls and people sitting on top of the ruins. If this were America or Western Europe, they would be blocked off...security guard with a gun...a electric gate around them...it was incredible. But not only was THIS incredible, the view!
Too many good experiences today.
Perhaps the best moment I had was when I was spending time with my host mom.
She said in broken English and in Arabic, "I have good feeling about you. Its very Arab to sit and talk over coffee. It gives me good sense of you."
If my addiction to coffee and talkative spirit translates well to you Lene, I should be just fine for the next month. Insha'allah!!
Friday, May 21, 2010
5/21/10: I'm alive and made it to Amman
I feel like I haven't seen the night in days. Think about that for a moment. I was flying eastward. I was literally flying into the sunrise. Needless to say, I lost any and all sense of space and time.
But being able to finally see the sunset this evening in Amman, which if you haven't seen it yet from one of its basking hills should be considered a crime against humanity, let me fell human again. The day is taking its normal course. Awesome.
I guess the only thing I have to say about my flight over here is that having an American passport is like being an VIP in a club. In "ticketer" in Paris literally asked me what nationality my passport was from and when she discovered I was American, stopped giving me a hard time and told me to go where I needed to go. I totally avoided the faces of all other non-American citizens as I walked past: no need to gloat.
No marriage proposals yet!! No goats either. But I have seen two camels walking along the highway!!
One thing I immediately noticed when driving out the library was that groups of people, probably families, were camped along the edge of the highway having little picnics. This is were the camel comes in. A picnic isn't a picnic until Amir brings his camel.
On a more unsettling note, I also noticed 'shanty towns' of tens in valleys under the mountains of mansions and apartment complexes. Its certainly not the first time I've ever seen these but I have also found it unsettling that literally the poorest of the poor live in the shadow the richest of the rich.
The primary purpose of this evening was to meet my host family. I didn't get into Amman until around 630pm and didn't get picked up until probably over a 1/2 hour later (mainly because of visa and customs).
I could not be happier with my family. I am living with a Muslim woman named Lena and her two children: Zaina and Zaid. Lena is a vegetarian!! Like me!! They speak English so very well and have been very opening and warm towards me. The first thing Lena told me was, "We are family, these are your brothers and sisters and I am like your mother...although don't call me Ummi (the arabic word for mom)...call me Lena."
What has probably solidified my adoration of this family was that after eating a delicious spread of vegetables, grains, and spiced bread; we went out to shop for things Lena and her children needed to bring to a school party. This included of course a watermelon and two cantaloupes.
Lena considered taking a cab back to her apartment (merely a block and 1/2 away) because the carrying of this said fruit along with nearly 1.5 kilo of chocolate would be too heavily. Yes, 1.5 kilo of chocolate, a watermelon, and two cantalopes...let your imagination wonder. The shopkeeper even waked us out until finally we decided (at my suggestion) to just walk home. Lena's son Zaid insisted upon carrying the watermelon that was easily the size of his torso. He grunted and rambled all the way home, in both Arabic and English, referring to the watermelon as his baby...specifically saying,
"The baby is my habibi!"
I think its pretty clear that me and this family are going to get along just fine.
But I can't speak in English starting tomorrow. I know tomorrow will be hard and the next day, and the next day. But I imagine the soon, at least by the time i leave, speaking in Arabic will no longer be so difficult for me.
In'shallah
But being able to finally see the sunset this evening in Amman, which if you haven't seen it yet from one of its basking hills should be considered a crime against humanity, let me fell human again. The day is taking its normal course. Awesome.
I guess the only thing I have to say about my flight over here is that having an American passport is like being an VIP in a club. In "ticketer" in Paris literally asked me what nationality my passport was from and when she discovered I was American, stopped giving me a hard time and told me to go where I needed to go. I totally avoided the faces of all other non-American citizens as I walked past: no need to gloat.
No marriage proposals yet!! No goats either. But I have seen two camels walking along the highway!!
One thing I immediately noticed when driving out the library was that groups of people, probably families, were camped along the edge of the highway having little picnics. This is were the camel comes in. A picnic isn't a picnic until Amir brings his camel.
On a more unsettling note, I also noticed 'shanty towns' of tens in valleys under the mountains of mansions and apartment complexes. Its certainly not the first time I've ever seen these but I have also found it unsettling that literally the poorest of the poor live in the shadow the richest of the rich.
The primary purpose of this evening was to meet my host family. I didn't get into Amman until around 630pm and didn't get picked up until probably over a 1/2 hour later (mainly because of visa and customs).
I could not be happier with my family. I am living with a Muslim woman named Lena and her two children: Zaina and Zaid. Lena is a vegetarian!! Like me!! They speak English so very well and have been very opening and warm towards me. The first thing Lena told me was, "We are family, these are your brothers and sisters and I am like your mother...although don't call me Ummi (the arabic word for mom)...call me Lena."
What has probably solidified my adoration of this family was that after eating a delicious spread of vegetables, grains, and spiced bread; we went out to shop for things Lena and her children needed to bring to a school party. This included of course a watermelon and two cantaloupes.
Lena considered taking a cab back to her apartment (merely a block and 1/2 away) because the carrying of this said fruit along with nearly 1.5 kilo of chocolate would be too heavily. Yes, 1.5 kilo of chocolate, a watermelon, and two cantalopes...let your imagination wonder. The shopkeeper even waked us out until finally we decided (at my suggestion) to just walk home. Lena's son Zaid insisted upon carrying the watermelon that was easily the size of his torso. He grunted and rambled all the way home, in both Arabic and English, referring to the watermelon as his baby...specifically saying,
"The baby is my habibi!"
I think its pretty clear that me and this family are going to get along just fine.
But I can't speak in English starting tomorrow. I know tomorrow will be hard and the next day, and the next day. But I imagine the soon, at least by the time i leave, speaking in Arabic will no longer be so difficult for me.
In'shallah
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
5/19/2010: Day Before I leave
Its 9:15am and given that I have not yet packed, have not bought everything I need for my trip, or said my goodbyes to my family and friends; I figure this is about the only time I'll be able to start this before I leave for the airport tomorrow afternoon. I suppose this will be my time for reflection. My time to declare to the world what a liberal westerner like myself will do in Amman for about 5 1/2 weeks. Though I'm technically studying Arabic, there's got to be something else that makes a person like me go to the Middle East.
A conversation my boyfriend and I had recently highlights this unique desire.
Boyfriend: You're weird.
Me: No I'm not.
Boyfriend: Yes you are.
Me: No I'm not.
Boyfriend: I'm not playing.
Me: How I am weird??
Boyfriend:...well honey, you're a white American woman, hippi-environmentalist whose interested in the Middle East. That's weird.
At first thought, yeah...that's a bit unusual. When looking at other students who I know have the same regional interest, they are more concentrated in security studies or gender equality or human rights. Not to offend or 'bash' any of those concentrations but its true what my boyfriend said. When westerners think Middle East, they don't think, "oh save the whales and hug the olive trees."
It is a great misfortune what we immediately think: burka or al-Queda. Overwhelming, the first question I am asked when I announce my travel plans to Amman is, "Do you have to wear a burka over there?"
Perhaps I should not be judgmental and I really shouldn't let it bother me. And to be fair to my American comrades out there, not everyone has made that assumption and many know that Jordan, especially its capital Amman, is fairly progressive and is truly an oasis of peace and stability in the region (considering its smack in between Israel/Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria-Lebanon, and Iraq). But I digress, what causes a hippi-environmentalist-liberal American woman like myself to be so enamored with the Middle East?
Well, my love affair with the Middle East began long before the inner acceptance of my hippi-liberal self. It also began in a great twist of irony. I first meet the Middle East on September 11, 2001. I was 11, he was a couple 1,000 years old...
I'll move away from the dating analogy and just speak the plain truth. I had never heard of the Middle East, Islam, or terrorism before September 11th. In my 11 year old head, war was a distant concept tucked away in my American History book. Those three words; Middle East, Islam, Terrorism; were played over and over again on the TV in a twisted melody of news reports. How easy it was for me make the connection between the terms. Middle East=Islam=Terrorism.
But two instances led me away from this thinking. To these people, I owe my world. I was an avid journal writer. An introspective child my pre-pubescent feelings were jotted down furiously in a series of journals. My first entry following September 11th was filled with hate. Hate for the terrorists. Hate for the Islam. Hate for the Middle East. I read this entry to my father. But he would not accept the words I wrote. I remember hazily, "Kelsey, hate is not the answer. These people who committed these attacks...they're not in their right mind. They don't know what they're doing."
It proved to be one of most important things my father has ever said to me. Looking back, it is the message the my father and my mother have instilled in me. Hate is not the answer.
My second experience following September 11th was in school. There were two history teachers for my middle school: Mr. H and Mrs. F. Mr. H put aside months and months of following the news instead of teaching history. Mrs. F took one day aside and taught about the history of the Middle East and of Islam.
Thank God I was in Mrs. F's class. She sparked my interest in history, culture, and religion; and taught me a very important lesson. There is a deeper root to violence. Fighting fire with fire will only make the flames grow higher.
Around this time I declared I was going to learn Arabic and have kept this goal since I was 11. As I grew up, I read everything I could about the Middle East. I learned more about its history, its role in world politics, how my country relates to it, and the main challenges the region faces today. My growing awareness of the world coupled with my fondness for nature (my mother would wrestle me inside on summer days) led me to understand global environmental challenges: resource consumption, pollution, global warming...and BAM! It was clear to me. I know what I want to do. I know my purpose on this plant.
Sustainable development in the Middle East and Africa.
What the...sustainable development in the Middle East?? Africa is another long story, but the Middle East?!?! What about terrorism? What about women's rights? What about social justice?!
All of these issues are very important but lets look a little deeper. What export is the Middle East infamous for? The source of wealth for many a corrupt regime? And lastly, what will happen when this resource runs dry?
What will happen to the Middle East when it is unable to profit from oil extraction?
Who will suffer first?
Women.
What will likely increase?
Terrorism.
What will deteriorate?
Existing, but weak, social justice mechanisms.
Money makes the world go around. (Cabaret, anyone?) The only thing that is keeping the Middle East from imploding is its connection to the global market. Globalizing trends strengthen the economy, strengthen existing regimes, and help keep a fragile, but existing peace between states. But there are several problems here. Oil production in the Middle East (and elsewhere around the world)supports our wasteful habits thus contributing to pollution and global warming. If the West were to dramatically reduce or eliminate its reliance on foreign oil, what will happen to the global petroleum market and the states which rely heavily on oil production?
I am, by no means, justifying the West's wasteful and environmental dangerous habits. I am actually disgusted by the system we(and by we and mean U.S.)has created. For these reasons, change cannot just happen on our end. We in the West cannot alone change our habits and expect the rest of world to be o.k. In this respect, globalization is a double-end sword: many will benefit and those same can lose.
For me, sustainable development in the Middle East is not only about the region's role in global environmental degradation but also local problems that define regional politics. Like olive trees or access to water.
The growth of Jewish settlements in Palestine destroys fields of olive tree; a source of income for many a Palestinian. Access to water between Israel-Palestine-Jordan is a major issue, especially along the shores of the Jordanian River. The continued destruction of these resources will effect local populations in inexplicable ways.
Know Wangari Mathia? Kenyan woman who changed her community and country by merely planting trees? Maybe I'll plant a few olive trees on my trip.
This is my love story with the Middle East and what I envision my future to be. But love just won't work unless we're able to communicate. So, I'm living in Amman for a month and taking classes in Arabic to learn how to communicate, both linguistically and culturally.
Wish me luck!
A conversation my boyfriend and I had recently highlights this unique desire.
Boyfriend: You're weird.
Me: No I'm not.
Boyfriend: Yes you are.
Me: No I'm not.
Boyfriend: I'm not playing.
Me: How I am weird??
Boyfriend:...well honey, you're a white American woman, hippi-environmentalist whose interested in the Middle East. That's weird.
At first thought, yeah...that's a bit unusual. When looking at other students who I know have the same regional interest, they are more concentrated in security studies or gender equality or human rights. Not to offend or 'bash' any of those concentrations but its true what my boyfriend said. When westerners think Middle East, they don't think, "oh save the whales and hug the olive trees."
It is a great misfortune what we immediately think: burka or al-Queda. Overwhelming, the first question I am asked when I announce my travel plans to Amman is, "Do you have to wear a burka over there?"
Perhaps I should not be judgmental and I really shouldn't let it bother me. And to be fair to my American comrades out there, not everyone has made that assumption and many know that Jordan, especially its capital Amman, is fairly progressive and is truly an oasis of peace and stability in the region (considering its smack in between Israel/Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria-Lebanon, and Iraq). But I digress, what causes a hippi-environmentalist-liberal American woman like myself to be so enamored with the Middle East?
Well, my love affair with the Middle East began long before the inner acceptance of my hippi-liberal self. It also began in a great twist of irony. I first meet the Middle East on September 11, 2001. I was 11, he was a couple 1,000 years old...
I'll move away from the dating analogy and just speak the plain truth. I had never heard of the Middle East, Islam, or terrorism before September 11th. In my 11 year old head, war was a distant concept tucked away in my American History book. Those three words; Middle East, Islam, Terrorism; were played over and over again on the TV in a twisted melody of news reports. How easy it was for me make the connection between the terms. Middle East=Islam=Terrorism.
But two instances led me away from this thinking. To these people, I owe my world. I was an avid journal writer. An introspective child my pre-pubescent feelings were jotted down furiously in a series of journals. My first entry following September 11th was filled with hate. Hate for the terrorists. Hate for the Islam. Hate for the Middle East. I read this entry to my father. But he would not accept the words I wrote. I remember hazily, "Kelsey, hate is not the answer. These people who committed these attacks...they're not in their right mind. They don't know what they're doing."
It proved to be one of most important things my father has ever said to me. Looking back, it is the message the my father and my mother have instilled in me. Hate is not the answer.
My second experience following September 11th was in school. There were two history teachers for my middle school: Mr. H and Mrs. F. Mr. H put aside months and months of following the news instead of teaching history. Mrs. F took one day aside and taught about the history of the Middle East and of Islam.
Thank God I was in Mrs. F's class. She sparked my interest in history, culture, and religion; and taught me a very important lesson. There is a deeper root to violence. Fighting fire with fire will only make the flames grow higher.
Around this time I declared I was going to learn Arabic and have kept this goal since I was 11. As I grew up, I read everything I could about the Middle East. I learned more about its history, its role in world politics, how my country relates to it, and the main challenges the region faces today. My growing awareness of the world coupled with my fondness for nature (my mother would wrestle me inside on summer days) led me to understand global environmental challenges: resource consumption, pollution, global warming...and BAM! It was clear to me. I know what I want to do. I know my purpose on this plant.
Sustainable development in the Middle East and Africa.
What the...sustainable development in the Middle East?? Africa is another long story, but the Middle East?!?! What about terrorism? What about women's rights? What about social justice?!
All of these issues are very important but lets look a little deeper. What export is the Middle East infamous for? The source of wealth for many a corrupt regime? And lastly, what will happen when this resource runs dry?
What will happen to the Middle East when it is unable to profit from oil extraction?
Who will suffer first?
Women.
What will likely increase?
Terrorism.
What will deteriorate?
Existing, but weak, social justice mechanisms.
Money makes the world go around. (Cabaret, anyone?) The only thing that is keeping the Middle East from imploding is its connection to the global market. Globalizing trends strengthen the economy, strengthen existing regimes, and help keep a fragile, but existing peace between states. But there are several problems here. Oil production in the Middle East (and elsewhere around the world)supports our wasteful habits thus contributing to pollution and global warming. If the West were to dramatically reduce or eliminate its reliance on foreign oil, what will happen to the global petroleum market and the states which rely heavily on oil production?
I am, by no means, justifying the West's wasteful and environmental dangerous habits. I am actually disgusted by the system we(and by we and mean U.S.)has created. For these reasons, change cannot just happen on our end. We in the West cannot alone change our habits and expect the rest of world to be o.k. In this respect, globalization is a double-end sword: many will benefit and those same can lose.
For me, sustainable development in the Middle East is not only about the region's role in global environmental degradation but also local problems that define regional politics. Like olive trees or access to water.
The growth of Jewish settlements in Palestine destroys fields of olive tree; a source of income for many a Palestinian. Access to water between Israel-Palestine-Jordan is a major issue, especially along the shores of the Jordanian River. The continued destruction of these resources will effect local populations in inexplicable ways.
Know Wangari Mathia? Kenyan woman who changed her community and country by merely planting trees? Maybe I'll plant a few olive trees on my trip.
This is my love story with the Middle East and what I envision my future to be. But love just won't work unless we're able to communicate. So, I'm living in Amman for a month and taking classes in Arabic to learn how to communicate, both linguistically and culturally.
Wish me luck!
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