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.

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.

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.

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!

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!!

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

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!