Hashim's: Dining Like a Jordanian

Yesterday, it rained. Who am I to say that the day of prayer on Thursday didn't bring about the favorable weather? At the very least, however, the rain was a most needed coincidence.

Today was the first day of the Islamic New Year: 1432 AH to be exact. Schools, banks and government offices were all closed (Qasid included). So, with my day off, I went to the gym. And for the first (and only) time in my life, I was asked if I was an Olympic athlete. So here's how that story goes: I was doing my thing at the local women's gym to which I am a member when one of the trainers approached me. She asked, "Where did you train before this?" I wasn't exactly sure what she was getting at so I asked for clarification. She said, "What sport, what country did you train at before coming here? The Olympics?" She was quite earnest in her questioning so I tried very hard not to laugh outright. Instead, I let my jaw hang for a solid 3 seconds before telling her that I worked out at my local gym in the United States. This seemed to be the answer she was looking for because she nodded her head several times and said, "Oh, yes, the United States." I am still unclear as to whether she understood my answer to mean that I simply enjoyed working out (as I intended my answer to mean) or if she took it to mean I was an Olympic athlete for the United States. At any rate, I have never been so flattered in my life.

After my gym excursion, Betsy, Shadea and I headed to the Balad to get food. But not just any food. Hashim's. Hashim's has quite the reputation. It is known to have the best falafal and hummus in all of the city. It is on the list of "must eat" locales in Amman (along with Al-Quds for falafal and Shwarma Reem for Shwarma). Hashim's is clearly a popular destination because any time I want to go downtown, I simply direct my cab driver to Hashim's. The restaurant is located in a rather inconspicuous alleyway. There are plastic tables and chairs set up in the alley and in one garage-like covered area. Upon being seated, paper mats were placed in front of us and a piece of pita was placed on the mat. Now, for the menu. Hashim's serves a total of 3 or 4 items. We ordered hummus, falafal, foul and potatoes (aka French fries) along with tea. I was not disappointed. The food was fabulous. I absolutely stuffed myself. After my experience there this afternoon, I will gladly perpetuate the restaurant's reputation and "must eat" status.

In other news, Mossad has been accused of perpetrating the shark attacks on tourists in Sharm-el-Sheik, Egypt. This BBC news story gave me a good laugh: Shark Attacks not Linked to Mossad says Israel

صلاة الاستسقاء

Prayer for Rain. 

Perhaps this is the best way to characterize my last two weeks. 

Jordan is unbelievably dry. So dry, in fact, that today has been deemed a day of Salat al-Istisqa' or Prayer for Rain. Thousands of Jordanians communed at several places across the country in order to perform the Islamic prayers asking God for rain. The Minister of Islamic Affairs urged Jordanians to increase their prayers and charity work so that the land might be blessed with rain. Additionally, in preparation for today's day of prayer, the Ministry suggested fasting for the three days leading up to today. Jordan's situation as one of the most water impoverished countries comes in stark contrast to America's profligate attitude towards water. A Jordanian friend was talking to me about the very real question that faces many Jordanians of my generation: will there be enough water in Jordan to sustain myself and my family in the future? In many places in the country, water isn't being delivered to houses because there simply isn't any to deliver. For more information check out this Amman News article: Thousands of Jordanians Pray for Rain

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It was rightly pointed out to me that after the conclusion of Jordan's parliamentary elections last month, I failed to post anything on the outcome of the elections. In an attempt to remedy this, I will relate a few of the more important election results. First, Jordan's main opposition party, the Islamic Action Front, boycotted the Jordanian elections because of unfair election laws. The Islamic Action Front (IAF) is unofficially affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood. There were still some IAF candidates that ran in the elections except under the guise of being an "independent" candidate. The absence of the IAF in the elections has a number of important repercussions for the elections. Most importantly, Jordan is considered the most democratic society in the Middle East. However, with the boycott of the major opposition group, this claim falls under considerable scrutiny. For, how can any elections be free, fair and democratic without a challenger? 

In all fairness, the election laws in Jordan are unfair. They favor the rural population and subsequently the people that are most likely to support the monarchy. While, the laws assisted in making the elections less than fair, another equally important factor is Jordan's patriarchal society. Clans in Jordan run at least one (often multiple) candidate for Parliament. Members of the family are then practically bound to vote for a fellow clan member. Sometimes, this is because family members legitimately believe that having a clan member in parliament will benefit them personally (this can be a safe assumption). Other times, members are bound by family loyalty and honor to vote for their clan member. Additionally, and most unfortunately, there is often a lot of vote buying that goes on during the elections. That is, candidates will agree to pay you if you take a picture with your cell phone of you voting for them and then simply send them the picture. Only exacerbating all of these factors is Jordan's new system of sub-districts. This is probably the most difficult point of to explain because I (nor any other Jordanian I've talked to) can explain the system. Essentially, however, the sub-districting created substantial voting distortions. For example, in sub-district 1 of district 3 a candidate might win with 2500 votes but in sub-district 3 of the same district, a candidate with 4000 votes might lose. Beyond this general unfairness, the drawing of districts and sub-districts are nothing less than the definition of gerrymandering. These are but a few of the problems that plague the election system. I could quickly become prolix on the subject of inveterate discrepancies in the election system but I think that I will leave that to a research paper or other forum.

In other election information, Jordan's parliament employs a system of quotas. Seats are set aside specifically for Christians, Circassians and women. Important in last months election was the success of female candidate Reem Bedran who was able to secure a parliamentary seat that was not a female quota seat. Reem was highly praised by everyone I spoke to about her. She is a well-educated economist and also the daughter of a former Prime Minster of Jordan.

Additionally, on election day, there were outbreaks of violence around the country. For a good account of the days events in this light I highly recommend reading Live Updates of Jordan's Parliamentary Elections written on the most well known Jordanian Blog: The Black Iris.

I will be happy to field any additional questions about the elections to the best of my abilities. You know how to contact me.

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Thanksgiving. What a wonderful holiday! The Fulbright House organized a pot luck Thanksgiving dinner complete with turkey and pumpkin pie. Everything about it was wonderful. I think, though, that my favorite part of the evening was just gathering with fellow Fulbrighters for no other reason except to celebrate Thanksgiving. Apparently, the wife of the director has been hoarding pumpkins for months in order to make homemade pie for all of us. From firsthand experience, it was wonderful.

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Last weekend, the Columbia University Middle East Research Center hosted an Iraqi Maqam concert. Maqam is a specific type of Arab music. Iraqi maqam is a category in and of itself and is considered by some to be the most perfect form of maqam. A traditional maqam concert includes a singer, a santur (zither), a djoze (spike fiddle) and a tabla (drum). The concert was well attended by an audience of (from what I could tell) wealthy, educated Iraqis who would sing and occasionally sway along. I was one of perhaps 8 westerners in attendance. I think the best way to describe Iraqi maqam would be to just tell you to go to YouTube and find a sample. Truly, it was a unique form of music.

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Finally, I will address the question: why does today's day of prayer characterize my past few weeks? The answer is this: I feel as though I have been working so hard for the past weeks (and months) and I am just waiting, hoping and praying for the downpour. I am waiting for the actualization of my efforts. I am fully aware that any answer to my prayers won't come in the form of a torrential downpour nor will it come in the form of over-night fluency. Most realistically, I probably won't fully appreciate what I am learning everyday until I am years removed from this experience. Every day I learn a little more but concomitantly I am reminded of how much there remains for me to learn. 

God, send the rain.

Cyprus: Yes, Please

Saturday morning, Betsy, Maryam, Meghan and I left Amman for Cyprus. Qasid gave a generous week-long break for 'Eid al-Adha (a Muslim holiday remembering the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice Ishmael for God) so we took the opportunity to travel. I arrived back earlier this afternoon after 5 days in Cyprus. There is too much to talk about in one blog post so I will post the highlights.

Background on Cyprus Cyprus is a small island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. In the 1960s and 70s, Cyprus experienced some violence between the Greek majority and the Turkish minority. Both Greece and Turkey have assisted their respective ethnic groups. Currently, the island is divided into the Republic of Cyprus in the west and the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (recognized only by Turkey) in the east. The two are divided by the Green Line which runs right through the capital of Nicosia. 

Car Rental We thought it would be a good idea to rent a car. Lonely Planet Cyprus said that buses and taxis were a pretty unreliable way to see the country. Additionally, our travel plans included exploring Cyprus's mountains. So, we rented a tiny Hondi Colt. Betsy and I took on the position of driver. The only difficulty being that Cypriots drive on the left side of the road with the steering wheel on the right side of the car. At first, driving was a little strange but after a little bit, driving on the left side of the road became comfortable. Looking back, I don't think we would have seen nearly as much as if we had not rented a car. Driving allowed us to change our plans depending on our mood or the weather. 

Pafos Our apartment was in the Cypriot city of Pafos. Pafos is a beach town on the west coast of the Island. Pafos hosts a couple of archeological sites namely the Tombs of the Kings (a serious of elaborate below ground tombs) and the Archeological Park (an expansive park with uncovered mosaics, a ruined fort and an amphitheater among other things).

Limassol  On our first full day in Cyprus, we had every intention of trying to hit the beach (because of the 80-degree weather). However, the weather looked pretty overcast so we decided to drive to Limassol instead. On the way there we stopped at Petra Tou Romiou also known as Aphrodite's Rock. According to mythology, Aphrodite was born out of one of Uranus's testicles which was cut off and thrown into the sea. This supposed location is Petra Tou Tominou where the shoreline is littered with huge rocks. The location is a popular attraction for those interested in mythology. The hillside was decorated with hearts outlined with rocks collected from the beach. We spent about 45 minutes here posing on one of the rocks like Aphrodite. Many of the other tourists found us pretty amusing. From here we continued on to Limassol, another beachfront city on the southern coast of Cyprus. Limassol was less touristy than Pafos but also contained a few historical landmarks such as the castle where Richard the Lionheart married his fiancee. We spent a few hours here before driving back to Pafos.

Troodos Mountains The Troodos Mountains are a mountain range located in the middle of Cyprus. We decided to take advantage of the opportunity to hike to drive up to the mountains and scope out a trail. On our way up the mountain, we stopped briefly at a winery to sample some Cypriot wine. This was a good decision. Our hike in the mountains was 7 km and took us about 2 hours to do. It was a beautiful taste of autumn. The temperature in the mountains was down to a cool 65 degrees. I enjoyed the ability to walk outside in a skirt that showed my knees. It was refreshing. 

Nicosia The capital of Cyprus is Nicosia (locally, Lefkosia). We drove to Lefkosia after our hike in the mountains. Our objective was to see a little of the city but also to cross over to the Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus. We parked inside the Old City walls of Lefkosia on the Greek side. A quick 10 minute walk led us to a commercial pedestrian street lined with restaurants and stores. On one end of the street was the Green Line and the pedestrian crossing. Crossing the border seemed to be an everyday affair. In order to leave, we presented our passport and filled out a sheet of paper with our name and nationality. Then the guard stamped our paper and we were welcomed to Turkish Cyprus. As soon as we crossed, the dusk call to prayer sounded. We walked around the Turkish portion of the capital looking at a few of the sites and stopping in a shops here and there. Before crossing back to the Greek side, we sat and had a beer and watched the people. Thankfully, the cafe accepted Euros as well as the New Turkish Lira. Visiting both parts of Lefkosia was probably the highlight of my visit to Cyprus. The city was more European than anything else. The atmosphere was relaxed and welcoming. I enjoyed strolling the streets and seeing the effects of an ethnicity on a city.

Food in Cyprus During our stay in Cyprus, we made breakfast at home and packed sandwiches for our lunch. We ate out a few times for dinner. Perhaps the best meal in Cyprus was at Mother's Kitchen. We found a recommendation for this restaurant in our Lonely Planet guidebook. The restaurant was located down an alleyway in Pafos. We arrived at the restaurant at about 6pm and were the only people there. A 55 or 60 year old Cypriot man greeted us and sat us at a table in the back of his restaurant. The restaurant looked as though it was an expansive kitchen/ dining room. Oh, and there were about a dozen cats being fed at the same time. We all ordered the special. The special that night was beef and chicken slow cooked in a traditional Cypriot oven with potatoes and vegetables. The meal was excellent. There was more meat in that dish than I usually eat in a week or two weeks in Jordan. Needless to say, after dinner we decided to walk for a while to help the food settle. The second restaurant of note was St. George's Fish Tavern, another recommendation from the Lonely Planet. The tavern was right on the ocean with a beautiful view. I ordered fresh salmon. I was happy to have plain grilled fish. I think it tasted better because I was watching the sun set over the ocean. 

Other: There was a strange smelling tree in Cyprus that made everything smell like yeast. Also, Christmas decorations were already up. They seemed pretty tacky considering the 80 degree weather and Santa in full winter clothing. We ate bacon our first day in Cyprus! There was a toaster in the apartment we rented. It was nice to be able to wear skirts that showed my knees. I loved the clean air and the smell of the ocean. I forgot how much I liked to drive! Essentially what I am getting at is that I had a really good time in Cyprus. And now, there is less than one month between me and Oxford, Ohio!

Maryam, Betsy and Meghan

Travel partners!

Ruins in the Archeological Park

Aphrodite was born here!

Pedestrian street in Lemissol

Dinner at Mother's Restaurant

The Hammam PLUS Gold Shopping

Yesterday, Shadea and I went to Al-Pasha Turkish Bath (click for pictures from the website) . This experience should be on everyone's bucket list. We arrived for our 2pm appointment and were immediately ushered into a locker room where we changed out of our clothes and into bathing suits. From there, a woman led us through the hammam. How can I accurately describe it? The hammam had about 10-12 marble tables around the perimeter where women were being either scrubbed or massaged. In the middle, was a stone hot tub. On one side of the hammam, there was a small alcove for showering. The ceiling had stained glass pieces that softened any natural light shining through.

Our first stop was a cave in the back of the hammam. A woman gave Shadea and me a washcloth that had been sitting in the refrigerator before pulling back the curtain that covered the entrance to the cave/ steam room. The steam room was suffocatingly hot. The steam made it almost impossible to breath and even more difficult to see. The cave had two levels. I tried sitting on the higher of the two but I only managed for a minute before I had to sit lower. After about two minutes, Shadea and I tried to leave but the same woman told us that our time in there wasn't up and turned us around back into the steam room. She placed the cloth over Sheada's hair. I followed suit. Somehow that helped. Another few minutes passed and a second woman brought us cold hibiscus juice. It was the consistency of a slushy and tasted like a sweeter cranberry juice.

After another few minutes, our time in the steam prison/cave was up. After rinsing off in the shower, the hot tub was our next stop. For all I know the water in the hot tub could have been boiling but it didn't feel as hot as the steam room. We soaked for 10 minutes or so before I was called to be scrubbed. Before I forget to mention, the marble tables are a "no-tops-allowed" zone.

So, on to the scrubbing. The woman threw some warm water on me and then grabbed a slightly rough cloth and started scrubbing literally from the bottoms of my feet to my head. At some point, she lifted up one of my arms said "look!" and pointed to the skin that was no longer attached to my body. Once she was satisfied with the amount of skin that had been removed, she got a loofah and some soap and cleaned me from head to toe. Finally, I was rinsed in warm water and then sent to the showers to rinse off again.

After my shower and another brief intermission in the hot tub, I was called to another marble slab for massage time! I don't know how long I was on that table being pushed, pulled and bended but I do know that it wasn't nearly long enough. I could have stayed for another hour at least. But, that wasn't an option and I was sent to the showers for a final rinse. After this process, all I wanted to do was sleep- I was so relaxed! Sleeping, however, wasn't an option. We were on to gold shopping!

So, after paying the 25JD for the hammam experience, Shadea and I took a cab from Rainbow St. to meet Akrum. Akrum is the antithesis of any negative stereotype of young Jordanian men. He is so kind, thoughtful and incredibly helpful. Case and point- he agreed to go shopping with Shadea and me!  We were scheduled to meet Akrum in Jabal al-Hussain, the commercial area of Amman. There, the streets are lined with clothing shops, restaurants, and, most importantly in this story, dozens of gold shops.

Akrum took us from shop to shop where we looked through earrings, bracelets, rings, necklaces and anything else you can think of that might come in gold. If we were interested in the price of something, we (or sometimes Akrum) would ask the shop keeper to weigh the item. From the weight, he would calculate the price of the day. These shops don't even consider carrying anything less than 18 carat gold. Most often, the jewelry is 18 or 21 carats.

In several of the stores, we saw girls about my age with their families. Akrum explained that, more than likely, these girls were about to get married. They were there with their mothers and the mothers of the groom to settle the dowry- in gold. Akrum went on to say that men are getting married later simply because marriage is so expensive due in part to the tradition of pre-marriage gold.

While Shadea and I were looking around for our respective jewelry, Akrum was shopping for 'Eid gifts for his sisters. So, brothers, take a leaf out of Akrum's book. He got his sisters each a gold initial for 'Eid.

After we were finished shopping, we got knafeh. Knafeh is a Arab pastry made from very fine pastry, sweet cheese, honey and usually pistachios. There are several different types and all are worth sampling multiple times. The knafeh and conversation was the perfect end to a great day.

A Jordanian Father...?

There are two things that happened yesterday that I would like to share:

First, during a cap ride from Abdoun to 7th circle, I had the nicest exchange with my cab driver. I got in the cab and told the older driver where I was headed. He asked where I was from and once I told him I was American, we launched into a conversation about Arabic and English. He told me I was a clever girl for learning Arabic so well- after this statement, I couldn't help but to like him. He shared with me some essential phrases in Arabic and asked me for advice about learning English. He said I was funny (obvious truth). Then, he proceeded to tell me about his 6 children (4 boys and 2 girls all my age or older). Here's the kicker: he tells me that while I am in Jordan he will be like my father- that if I need anything I am to call him. If I have any questions about Arabic or about anything else- I should call him. I probably will sometime.

Second, we had a few guests over for dinner. Two of them were Fulbrighters that had been deported from Syria not 48 hours ago. Their crime? Who knows. It was interesting talking to them about their experiences in detention and leaving Syria. Surprisingly, they had been contacted by the foreign minister who told them that they could return to Syria and the deportation would be erased from their records. At the time I spoke to them, they were debating whether or not they should return to Syria versus staying in Jordan. Kind of a surreal story, isn't it?

48 Minutes in Palestine

On Thursday, Betsy and I went to the Royal Cultural Center to see the play "48 Minutes in Palestine." From what we had heard the play would be in ammiyya. We made sure to arrive plenty early. Our previous experiences dictated that if we didn't arrive early enough we would end up sitting on the floor. So, in the 30 minutes before the start of the play while waiting for the doors to open, Betsy and I glanced through the play's program while doing some people watching. The most eventful site was a man with a comb-over/ mullet- you can use your imagination. Needless to say, I took at picture on my phone. At about 5 minutes until the posted start time, people began crowding around the door. We took the hint and joined the crowd. When the doors opened, we weaved through so as to secure two of the seats that had backs- the rest were simply benches. After finding our seats, we waited a few minutes for the play to start. 

As it turns out, the play was not in Jordanian ammiyya. It wasn't in fousha. In fact, there were no words at all. In the end, however, the play was more powerful in its silence. The opening scene involved a woman sitting on a mat on the floor (her bed) writing in a journal. Surrounding her was a circle of rocks which depicted the boundaries of her house. In addition to the mat, she had a chair, a backgammon board, a basket of fruit and a flower growing out of a pile of rocks. A minute or two into the play, a weary looking older man arrives outside her house and wanders in. She gives him much needed water. After drinking the water, the man presents the woman with a piece of paper- a marriage contract. Metaphorically, the contract represented the British White Paper. She is immediately displeased and drags his suitcase out of the house. He brings it back in and this struggle continues. Finally, the man wins and begins unpacking his suitcase and scattering his belongs around the house. She tries to put his things back in his suitcase. In essence, the play continues like this. There are struggles back and forth for power. Little by little, the man wins more space in the house. The woman is relentless in her struggle. She refuses to accept the arrangement. Every time the man takes more space or does something unjust, you just want to yell out for her- to help her. Each time the woman would retaliate at the man, the audience would applaud for her. The play ended, 48 minutes later, with the woman standing defiantly outside of her house on the pile of rocks where her flower used to be. The man is inside with all of her former belongings. I enjoyed the play. I enjoyed listening to the crowds reactions. The silence was powerful. I wanted to call out on her behalf- the man was being such a bully!

General Life Updates

The following are a few general life updates and anecdotes:

Qasid: Classes are keeping me undeniably busy. There are days when I feel like I am trying to stuff so much Arabic into my brain that when I try and use the language, all of the information tries to spill out and I end up sounding ridiculous. We are learning vocabulary, grammar and writing style in my MSA (Modern Standard Arabic) class. It is a lot to think about. When I try and speak, I try to find the right combination of all of these factors which can be difficult especially when I am put on the spot. My ammiyya class is useful. Although, I am not a fan of it being for two hours in the evening. Media is good. I try to listen to and read the news in Arabic which helps with this class.

I have told Qasid that I will be staying for another session. I feel I have so much more to learn! I would absolutely benefit from another term focusing on Arabic. If I have any intention of sitting in on classes at the University of Jordan, I need to make sure I can understand what is going on.

Change: I don't think I have ranted about getting change yet. Here's what made me think of this: a few days ago, I was sitting in a coffee shop in Shmeisani doing some homework. I looked out the window to see a man standing on the side of the road waving a 10 or 20JD bill at passing cabs. He didn't actually want to be taken any where. He wanted change. After a few minutes, a cab pulled over and handed him change through the window. Here is the story with change: a bill over 10JD can't be used any place that isn't a bank or large store (i.e. Safeway, Food City). Bills 10JD or smaller can *generally* be used at dukans (small shops that line the streets) and hopefully there will be change. Occasionally, if you have a 5JD note and you went for a longer cab ride, you might be able to get change from the driver. I have made several trips to the grocery store for the simple necessity of getting change for the bills given to me by the ATM. This is simply a phenomenon that I don't understand. Everyone wants small bills, everyone uses small bills. I know that cabs and dukans have change sometimes. It just seems like everyone is hoarding their small change! I don't understand. You would think that if everyone uses small notes then there would be plenty around to get change with. I'm still trying to figure this one out. In fact, this morning I will probably have to go to food city to buy something I don't need so that I can get change. Kind of absurd isn't it?

The Weather: I am not going to write on this topic for very long. Suffice it to say, it is the beginning of November and today's high will be close to 80F. What is that?? 

Graduate School: I am working on graduate school applications for the Fall of 2011. It will be interesting trying to take the GRE again in Jordan. It is possible although not entirely convenient. Also, thank goodness for skype! I have been using skype to make various inquiries at graduate schools. 

Elections: Parliamentary elections in Jordan are next Tuesday. Elections here are... different. For starters, campaigning is limited to about a month before the election. I remember that overnight signs had been plastered on every possible location in the circles and along the streets. TV ads for candidates are pretty much nonexistent. Candidates use text messaging to campaign. Additionally, candidates can be contacted by texting their phone number. Betsy texted a few candidates asking to meet with them. She got a response from one of them who was willing to set up a meeting with her. In terms of casting votes, loyalty belongs to the clan. You vote for the member of your clan that is running for office. Additionally, it is not unheard of that two people from the same family will run for office, and for fear that the vote might be split, the clan will tell one of the two to withdraw their candidature. British Peter has been doing his internship work for the British Embassy on the elections. It is an extremely interesting topic especially considering the clan nature of Jordan and some of the tactics that are used to secure votes. Interestingly, I saw signs with two different Al-Lozi names (also the name of my Arabic instructor at Miami). I inquired with him and, sure enough, they are both his cousins. Running for the same office. For Jordan, how unsurprising.

Upcoming Travels: On Friday, I am going to one of Jordan's wadis to go hiking. This will be an all day adventure that will involve hiking and wading though chest-deep water. I hear there are waterfalls. It would be nice if the weather would stay around 75 or 80 degrees for this trip. 

In a little less than 2 weeks, I am off to Cyprus! We have rented a car and an apartment for 4 nights. I don't have a great idea about what to expect. I am truly just excited to go. 

Once I get back from Cyprus, it will be less than 1 month until I get to go home for 2 weeks for Christmas! I am even more excited about this. I cannot wait. I am anxious to see home and everything about it. I have plans to fill one suitcase with food for the trip back- instant oatmeal, fruit snacks, peanut butter and splenda are all on my list so far. 

And If I Were Your Sister...

I can put up with a lot of crap. Truly, it takes a lot for me to become irritated or angry. Additionally, there are a lot of Jordanian idiosyncrasies that I just chalk up as: "oh that's just Jordan for you." But there is one thing about living in Jordan that I absolutely cannot stand and, on a day like today, it can make me cry. The staring. Everywhere I go, no matter what I wear, I am constantly being stared at. For the majority of the time, I simply keep my chin up and look right past the stares. I know that, mainly, the women are staring out of curiosity. I can understand this. But, it is the stares of the men that get under my skin. These aren't flattering looks but, rather, the kind that make me feel cheap and whorish. On days like today, I want to cover my hair and face and stare at the ground while I walk. I want to yell at them: "STOP STARING!" and "What do you want from me??" I want to ask them: "Why are you watching me? I am just a girl! Haven't you ever seen a girl before?" I want to appeal to their emotions and say: "If I were your sister, would you look at me that way? If I were your sister, and you saw a man looking at her that way, would you let him do it? Would you let him stare?"

Today, I couldn't deal with it. I took a 3 hour midterm exam. After, I went to find a cab but couldn't, so I decided to walk the 40 minutes home. I wish I had waited for a cab. About 15 minutes into my walk, a bus pulled up beside me and 3 men got off. The first looked at me and said something I didn't entirely understand. I did catch the phrase "work of the night." That, along with is unflattering gaze gave me as much of his intention as I needed to understand. I stood for a few seconds longer and saw the other men on the bus watching me and some laughing. I couldn't take it. The tears came. I tried to stop but it just made it worse. And the people I passed noticed. I know they saw which made me cry because I was upset and because I was embarrassed for crying. 

I know that this is something I am just going to have to learn to deal with. That doesn't make it easy. In fact, it is very difficult. I have always been a fan of remaining unnoticed as much as possible. Here, I don't have an option to be unnoticed, to sneak away. I only have the option of keeping my chin up.

The Roommates and other Characters

After talking to my Uncle Kim, I decided that it would be a good time to do a post about the girls I am living with along with a few other people that make regular appearances in my blogs. Roommates to start.

Betsy Betsy is a recent graduate of Dennison University and is from Toledo, Ohio. She is on a Fulbright in Jordan as an English Teaching Assistant (ETA). Betsy is intelligent, resourceful, and the essence of go-with-the-flow. I am sincerely jealous of Betsy's handle of Jordanian dialect. She spent a little over a half year in Jordan previously. Her experience shows in her ability to wield the dialect in her everyday interactions. Additionally, Betsy's talent with the ukulele provides many hours of background music for my studying. She is adventurous and eager to experience the authentic Jordan (i.e. not the Jordan of Abdoun or embassies or schools of expatriate students). She also has several Jordanian contacts that she draws from in order to more fully experience life here.

Shadea Shadea graduated from the University of Louisville almost a year ago. She is originally from Paducah, Kentucky. Like Betsy, Shadea is here on a Fulbright as an ETA. Shadea is a warm and inviting individual with a clear sense of vitality. She is quite the cook and has thrown together some amazing meals for us already. Shadea and I have our "girl" moments when we will go get ice cream or go shopping just to get away from Arabic books and out of our apartment. Shadea is anxious to learn Jordanian dialect. She has a foundation in Moroccan Arabic and is using the Moroccan dialect as a basis for her Jordanian colloquial. Shadea is, similar to Betsy, adventurous and up or anything which makes her a great person to have around. There is never a dull moment.

Sarah Sarah is another ETA who lives right around the corner from us. Her close proximity enables frequent hanging out. Additionally, she and I are in the same Jordanian dialect class. Sarah is quirky, funny and insightful. She is a genuinely kind person who is eager to be of help but is also unafraid to say enough is enough. 

Peter Peter lives right next door to Sarah. He is British and a recent university graduate. Peter is here as an intern for the next few months. He is unequivocally British. We tease him endlessly about his sense of British etiquette (for example, he maintains that there is a certain set of rules which dictates when a person can take the last bite or piece of something). Peter and I have a pseudo-sibling relationship. We just tease each other incessantly. Fortunately, it works out because both of us have siblings who have done their jobs preparing us for any amount of goading.

Maryam Maryam is a recent graduate from Fordham Unversity. Like me, she is in Jordan on a research grant that is being preceded by language studies. Maryam is, typically, perpetually happy. Somehow, Maryam is able to be straightforward, at times almost blunt, but the way she giggles and smiles makes this edge remarkably softer. Another thing I really like about Maryam is her apartment. I know that sounds weird but you would understand if you saw it. It has a really nice bathroom that I am jealous of. 

My Arabic Instructors At Qasid, I have three language instructors. The first, Bayan, graduated from the University of Jordan maybe two or three years ago where she studied French. She is a beautiful young woman who is quite excited to teach Arabic. I think she is equally excited to pick up English words or phrases from us when we check our translations with her. Bayan teaches for the first hour and a half every morning. She usually focuses on reading and reading comprehension. From time to time, she will make up games for us to play to learn the vocabulary. For example, we played a version of "spin the bottle" except it was "spin the dry erase marker" and whoever it landed on had to answer a question in Arabic. 

My second instructor, Arwa, hoovers around 30 in age. She clearly has a substantial background in English because she knows many of the translations for the things we discuss in class. Arwa's main focus is grammar. She is very good at explaining the concepts and making sure that we all know them. Arwa also uses games to help us practice what we are learning. For example, when we start a new section of vocabulary, we will play a form of Charades or Pictionary with the new words. 

Finally, Manal is both my dialect instructor and the instructor of my Arabic media course. This combination can be a little hard for me because in one class she speaks only dialect and I am expected to reply only in dialect. In the media course, however, she speaks in fousha and I am expected to reply in fousha. Manal is great in both roles. She is a lot of fun in the dialect course. She prepares a lot of interactive activities for us. For instance, we had a section on the family and she had us act out a scene where guests are received and introduced to a large Arab family and then a small American family. Another time, we had act out going to a realtor in search of an apartment. Usually these scenes are just ridiculous. The media class is made up of Manal and 5 female students (myself included). The 6 of us just sit around a table and discuss the news topics of the past days. Every class period, we translate at least one news article. Recently, we translated an article on postpartum depression in men. I thought this was particularly humorous considering the class was made up of women. We all kind of scoffed at the idea. 


Jaleel Our landlord, Jaleel, is in his mid-70s, is hard of hearing and is as cute as elderly men come. He lives on the first floor of our apartment building so we run into him on occasion. Usually, our interactions revolve around things that need done in the apartment. The first two weeks we were here, Jaleel saw to it that we had a water heater put in, new faucets in the bathrooms, and our bathtub drain unclogged (that was so gross). Recently, we call him when our internet isn't working. This happens on average once every two weeks. However, Jaleel's daughter (who is a technically savvy, 35 year old teacher) recently told us that we should contact her directly about our prolific internet issues. I have a feeling that this is because "internet" is a nebulous idea to Jaleel and something only "those youngsters use."

The Amman Symphony Orchestra

The Amman Symphony Orchestra had a concert on Wednesday at the Al-Hussein Cultural Center. A friend introduced us to a couple Americans who had submitted applications to play in the orchestra. They told us about the concert which would be celebrating Chopin's Bicentennial. Once I heard that Chopin would be program I knew I had to go. There were a group of 4 other girls who were also interested and so we all went together. Wednesday after class, we grabbed a quick bite to eat at (I'm ashamed to say it) McDonald's. I had French fries that were so fried and filled with oil and salt I could feel my arteries clogging. I loved every second of it. After our rushed meal, we hopped in a cab. Mistakenly, the driver took us first to the ROYAL Cultural Center instead of the AL-HUSSAIN Cultural Center. It is unclear to me whether or not this was done intentionally. At any rate, we arrived about 15 minutes before the start of the performance and found seats with a pretty good view of the stage. The ticket options were for either a 10JD ticket or a 20JD ticket. The difference was distinguished by a velvet rope. Only the 20JD ticket holders had access to the front 10 rows. It wouldn't have made too much of a difference. There are classrooms on Miami's campus that are as large as the Amman Symphony's music hall. 

The performance was wonderful. I enjoyed simply listening to live classical music. Aside from Chopin, the symphony also played a selection by Eduard Lalo, Arturo Marquez (perhaps my favorite of the night's selections) and Zequinha De Abreu. Aside from Marquez's Danzon No.2, my favorite part of the evening was the encore. My experience with encores for symphonies in the United States is as follows: The last selection finishes. The audience applauds (gives a standing ovation, perhaps). The conductor bows and exits. The applause continues. The conductor reappears, bows again and exits again. The applause continues and the conductor comes back on stage to give an encore. Here's how it went at the concert: The last selection finished. The audience applauded. The conductor bowed and exited for perhaps 3 seconds before reappearing. Encore! Not just ANY encore. The encore selection was the final piece replayed. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. I was entertained by the man playing the percussion instruments during the encore (Tico Tico )- he was really getting into the music.

The ASO is having another concert at the beginning of November featuring selections by Tachikovsky, Liszt, and Dvorak. I think I'm going to have to go to this concert too.

The Play in Arabic

On Thursday evening, a group of students (myself included) ventured to the Royal Cultural Center to see a play in Jordanian colloquial dialect. The title of the play was "Gazal Mezeyon" (roughly, at least). We arrived at the Royal Cultural Center about 15 minutes before the start of the play. We were led downstairs to the theater. Upon walking in, we realized that we should have come earlier. The seats were all taken as was some of the floor space. An usher (of sorts) gestured to remaining floor space where it would be okay if we sat. Essentially, we were sitting on stage right (in theater lingo) looking directly onto the stage. Prime location.

The stage was set with a few stools and chairs in a line for the actors. The writer welcomed the crowed and then the play began with a song. The music of the play was incredible. The singers and instrumentalists were so talented. The play in itself was strange. First of all, it was nearly impossible to understand because of the speed of their speaking and because of the dialect. Second, the plot was not self-evident. After the play, two native speakers admitted to not being able to understand everything was going on. Third, the play contained a character who was thought to be dead but not actually dead. Finally, there was a love triangle between non-actually-dead-man, his father and some girl. There was also glitter which was able to revive not-actually-dead-man. If you can't tell, I'm still trying to wrap my head around the whole thing.The play lasted for about an hour and a half. After, Acrum (a native Jordanian) gave us a brief overview of the plot. That helped.

The Dead Sea and an Embassy Party

This past Friday, Meghan, Maryam, Sarah, Michael and myself went to the Dead Sea. The day started with Sarah and I catching a cab to Jabal al-Webdeh to meet the rest of the group. The cab driver, unfortunately, thought he could take advantage of us. He started driving us around the city and nowhere close to our destination. He told us that the main road there was closed. Clearly a lie. At one point he claimed he was lost so he stopped and asked a man where Paris Circle (our final destination) was. He was playing us. When we finally arrived, our fare was twice what it should have been. We got out of the cab, I told him through the window that he was a liar and he should be ashamed of himself. I must have been right because he initially refused payment. I shoved it at him (only half of what the meter said but the fair price) and walked away. It was an empowering moment.

We walked to meet Michael at his apartment and piled into his car. As we got in, we collectively realized that we had little idea how to get to the Dead Sea. I had read in my guide book that it was past the airport. That was a start, right? Even the drive down to the Dead Sea was refreshing. Micheal had the radio set to a station playing "American Top 40" type songs- music we could all sing along too. We had a couple of turnarounds on the way to the Dead Sea but other than that the drive was uneventful.

The Dead Sea coast has several hotels that you can purchase day passes to for the tune of 25-35JD. We opted for the less expensive Amman Beach which is a public location that is less expensive. Thankfully, I kept my University of Jordan ID from two years ago. I was able to convince the man at the entrance that we were, in fact, all students at the University of Jordan but I was the only one who remembered to bring my ID. He was clearly skeptical but it worked because we only had to pay 10JD per person instead of 15JD. Another small success of the day.

The Amman Beach is a facility that has men's and women's locker rooms and changing facilities along with a restaurant, gift shop, two drink stands, two pools and access to the Dead Sea beach. The Amman Beach was crowded with both tourists and Jordanians. The swim attire ranged from bikinis and skimpy men's swimming shorts (use your imagination) to women wearing full-body swimming attire complete with hair coverings.

Our first goal was to take a dip in the Dead Sea. After changing and applying ample amounts of sunscreen, the 5 of us ventured down to the beach. Michael set up shop under an umbrella where he opted to smoke a cigar and read for a while. The four of us girls wandered into the salt lake. Walking into the lake, at first, seems like any other lake. As soon as you get to waist level, an invisible force can be felt pushing up on your tush willing you to float and then suddenly- you are horizontal! There were other tourists who brought their books out into the water with them and simply sat/laid/floated and read.

The Dead Sea mud has been shown to have wonderful effects on the skin. Therefore, we went in search of mud. The four of us waded towards the shore and it's rocky edges. You could feel the mud between the rocks with your feet. So, we scooped it up with our hands and slathered it all over- from head to feet. Ideally, the mud is supposed to dry before you wash it off. So, in the mean time, we went to find Michal to ask him to take a picture of us covered in therapeutic mud. I could only stand in the sun for 15-20 minutes before I got bored. So I went back to the water to rinse off. My skin felt so smooth after the mud washed away! That feeling in itself would make me frequent the Dead Sea. The water's salt concentration in itself leaves a light slippery fill over your skin. So, after washing off the mud, I went to rinse again in the freshwater shower.

The cool water of the pools seemed particularly inviting after standing in the sun for so long. So all of us, including Michael, hit the pool. So refreshing! The edge of the pool looks out over the Dead Sea and to Israel on the other side. I had to stop and remind myself where I was, what I was doing and what I was looking at. It seemed so surreal. After an hour of hanging in the pool and lounging around, we decided to clean up and head back.

On the drive back, Michael asked if we wanted to stop at Jesus's Baptism site. How could we say no? So, Michael veered off the main road and followed signs for the Baptism site. At the site, we asked the workers how far of a walk it was to get to the Baptism site. He told us 7km. No cars allowed. We would have to pay 7JD if we wanted a bus to take us back. We opted to skip the tour because it wasn't going to start for 20 minutes and it lasted an hour. Another time.

The drive back was similarly uneventful aside from another turnaround or two. We made it back to Amman relaxed but exhausted. I hurried back to my apartment to shower and change. I was scheduled to meet a friend for dinner. She was going to take me to Back-to-Campus party for American embassy personnel and friends.

We met for dinner at a combo Indian/ Chinese restaurant. I was so hungry! I didn't realize how hungry I was until I looked at the menu and realized I wanted to eat everything. After dinner, we walked to the party host's house. By Jordanian and American standards, the house was a palace. I had originally thought that this would be a smaller gathering. No way. There were guests numbering in the low- hundreds. The house had been equipped with a couple bars, plenty of appetizers and the DJ of one of Amman's best radio stations. My friend introduced me to several of the people she knew at the party. It was nice to meet some people outside of the Fulbright program. It the party was a view into Embassy style life, that is something I could get used to. The people clearly had formed a tight-nit community of their own. They were more than coworkers. They had become friends, family and support system all in one. We mingled and danced into the night. I came back pretty late and fell asleep almost immediately. Good day. 

The Post Office. Again.

I got an email from the Fulbright House saying that I had two packages to pick up at the Jordan Post Office downtown. I knew that I needed to set aside at least a couple hours to make it to the Post and back. I tried to go after class but I got there too late and the package office had already closed (at 3pm!). Interestingly, this cab driver dropped my off at the same Orange office building and tried to convince me that it was the Post Office.

Anyway, the next morning, I set out at 9am and caught a cab to downtown. Thankfully, the package office on the second floor was open. I knew which line to get in this time. I told the employee that I had two packages to pick up. He said "Paula Koch?" (well, this is what he meant to say at least). I was surprised that he knew who I was. He handed me my packing slips and I headed to Office 1 again. I handed over the slips and my passport and waited in the hallway for my name to be called. Luckily, there weren't too many people before me so I only waited a minute or two. "Bala" was called and I walked back into the office where they had both of my packages waiting to be opened. Similar to my former experience, another employee took a box cutter to my boxes and sifted through the contents. My papers were signed and I was told to go see the director. A clearly American man standing nearby asked if I knew what he was saying to me (as the conversation was in Arabic) Admittedly, a little indignantly, I translated for him what the employee had told me to do. Clearly, he thought I needed help. I thanked him for his concern and went to see the director who signed my form and sent me back to the main counter and then back to Office 1. Office 1 employee sent me to the third floor to another office. The man on the third floor looked at my packing slips and the directors signature and then told me that I needed to pay him 30JD. For what? I'm assuming customs. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have 30JD. He told me I should take all of my forms and go find a bank. I walked downstairs and outside and looked around for a bank. I walked a block or two and found a harmless looking elderly man leaning against the wall of his workshop. I asked him if there was a bank nearby. It was mildly difficult for me to understand him because of his toothlessness. I managed to garner that a few blocks up and slightly to the left there is a "really big bank."

I walked to the bank and saw the ATM outside which I couldn't get to work. I walked inside and found an electronic screen where I was supposed to select which service I needed help with. I choose withdrawals/ deposits and the machine spit out a ticket with my number: 43. I stood around for a few minutes very aware that I was not a business man in a suit as were the rest of the customers. When they called 38 several minutes later I decided not to wait. I walked back outside and saw a man using the ATM so I waited several steps behind him to try again. I was successful this time.

On my walk back to the post office, I passed the elderly toothless man who was leaning against he same piece of wall. I told him I found the bank and thanked him for his help. Back at the post office, I walked to the third floor and paid the man by 30JD. He handed me a receipt to take back downstairs. I waited at the main counter to give the employee my receipt. He took it and asked me where the other sheet of paper was. What other sheet of paper?? I said I needed my second piece of paper. I went back upstairs to see if the third floor worker had kept my paper. He did, in fact, still have it. I handed it over to the main counter employee who then asked me to pay 1.4JD. Then, back to Office 1.

I walked into Office 1. Normally there are at least 3 or 4 employees hanging around. I walked in and the office was empty! I should have known they wouldn't be there when I saw the tray of tea, hummus and pita being delivered earlier. I stood in the office not really knowing what to do. Finally, one of the employees walked back in and looked at my papers and said I was okay to go with my packages.

Leaving the post office, I wasn't sure whether I should laugh at the absurdity of the situation or cry at how frustrating the whole thing was. I opted for an in-between of bemused frustration. The ordeal was completely worth it. I got a package from Jonah with jars of peanut butter, oatmeal and anti-itch cream (because the mosquitoes love me here). I also got a package from my mom with all sorts of things like more oatmeal (!), candy, cloth pieces to decorate my wall, a couple magazines and a few other goodies. Again, totally worth it. 

Amman Food Festival

On Saturday, Shadea, Betsy and I went to the Amman Food Festival. The festival was held at the King Hussein Gardens. I expected it to be a small, quiet event comparable to Oxford's uptown market (except Jordanian style, of course). Boy was I wrong.

The three of us took a cab out to the King Hussein Gardens. When we arrived we could tell that we were at the right place because of all of the cars and people. After the taxi dropped us off, we walked to the entrance to buy admissions tickets. To paint an accurate picture for this whole event it is necessary to remember that lines do not really exist. Think of a mob instead of a line. Now, when we approached the ticket booth there was quite the like aka mob in front. Betsy agreed to muscle through the crowd to get us our tickets. Shadea and I stood off to the side away from all of the people. Betsy successfully acquired our tickets and we walked through the gate. Initially, I didn't see anything resembling a food festival. Helpful people in matching green shirts pointed us up the hill. We walked a few minutes through the park until we spotted a fenced off area with inflatable slides and games for children. Then we spotted white tents which we assumed to be what we were headed to.

The food festival itself utilized a three-level, outdoor, fountain and sitting area. The three levels each had rows of back to back white tents (like you would find at a county fair). Each tent was operated by a different restaurant or representative. The restaurants there were making samples of their signature dishes. The range of food was astonishing. There was everything from traditional Arab fare to Italian to gourmet dishes prepared by the Jordan Royal Academy of Culinary Arts to s'mores! 

Our tickets came with 6 food sample vouchers. Meaning, we could walk up to a tent of our choosing and exchange one of our vouchers for a small sample of food. One of the popular freebies was a drink called G. G is a ginseng drink that has become pretty popular in Jordan probably because of it's overwhelming sugar content. It was pretty hot outside so a free can of G made that tent very popular. There was another tent that was giving out free magazines (we snagged a few for Arabic reading material). From the Royal Academy of Culinary Arts, Betsy and I waited 10 minutes or so in the mob/line to sample a dark chocolate and nuts concoction. I haven't gotten good enough at being aggressive in lines to shove my voucher closer to the workers hands so we waited until a younger woman chef came over to Betsy and I and handed us our samples. We said thank you in Arabic and she responded "Anytime" in a clearly American accent. She had our back.

Aside from the samples, you could also purchase food. I tried a kebab from a restaurant called Kebabji. It was awesome to watch them take my order, pull out a spear of meat, grill it on an open grill, and make my sandwich right in front of me. Not to mention, that the kebab was delicious. I also had to have my lemon with mint. I found a stand that was making the drink and ordered one. It was perfect for such a hot day because the drink had been turned into a slurpee/ slushie consistency. I also had to try one of the s'mores. As it turns out, this idea was developed by a young Jordanian woman who had gone to the United States on Fulbright and fallen in love with s'mores (who can blame her). To be clear though, these were not just any s'mores. These were roasted marshmallows, dipped in chocolate, put between two graham crackers (brought in from Dubai) which were then dipped in chocolate and finally rolled in either nuts, coconut, or sprinkles. I had to try the one with the nuts. It was awesome. But I couldn't eat anymore after it.

Once we decided we were all food-ed out, the three of us embarked on a hike (originally a walk) to find the King Hussein Automobile Club. The late King loved to collect cars. Since his death, the car collection has been housed in the Royal Automobile Club. Apparently, the museum was in the same complex as the park and admission was free for the event. We asked a few people to point us in the direction of the club. We walked uphill away from the food festival in search of the museum. After walking for a little while (probably only 10-15 minutes but the sun made it feel like so much longer!) we figured we weren't going to find it, that or our interest had quickly faded. 

Deciding it was time to leave, we headed back down the hill to the main road where we hoped to catch a cab. On the way down we spotted a few trees that had yellow leaves.  In truth, the leaves had probably turned color due more to lack of water than the changing season. However, as midwesterners, we wanted autumn so badly that we decided to call it Fall and take pictures of the trees. 

First Week at Qasid= DONE

My first week at Qasid has come to an end. Qasid is the language institute that teaches Arabic to non-native speakers. The institute is housed on the third floor of an office building that is a 5 or 10 minute cab ride from my apartment. Qasid focuses on both Modern Standard Arabic and Classical Arabic. Modern Standard Arabic (or fousha) is formal Arabic that is used in newspapers, news broadcasts and public speeches. Classical Arabic, on the other hand, is the Arabic of the Qur'an. Classical is even more formal than Modern Standard Arabic. At Qasid, I am in the Modern Standard Arabic track. This means that from 11am to 2:30pm I am in class with the 6 other students in Level 3 using Modern Standard Arabic. I have two instructors. The first is Beyan. Beyan is maybe 24 years old and graduated from the University of Jordan with a degree in French. She knows English well enough that if we are stuck on a word or phrase she can translate it for us. She clearly loves working at Qasid. This enthusiasm permeates the way she teaches. We do debates, conversations and various games with Beyan. The second instructor is Arwa. Arwa is in her upper-20s (I am assuming) and is equally enthusiastic about teaching. Arwa speaks more quickly than does Beyan and is therefore a little harder for me to understand. Awra focuses more on grammar and the technical sides of Arabic.

After my Level 3 classes, I go to a grammar class from 2:30- 4pm. The grammar course is taught by a man in his mid 20s. He is originally from the United States and studied at Qasid himself. It is an impressive feat to study Arabic as a second language and master it well enough to teach the grammar course. This class will be the most challenging for me. It is difficult to explain why it will be so difficult. I will try. Arabic has short vowels that appear as markings above or below the letters themselves. Check out this link for a visual: Arabic Text. The hard part is that in newspapers or everyday writing, these short vowels aren't written but are simply assumed. I have been learning Arabic for the past 3 or 4 years without these vowels. This grammar class, however, requires that I use all of the short vowels, understand their placement and implications for a word. I am essentially starting Arabic grammar from its foundation. This will be good in the long run but for now it is tedious and time consuming.

My first week was long and exhausting. Language classes are so exhausting because your brain has to be tuned in all the time. Whereas in some university lectures, if you zone out for 5 minutes you can tune in again and probably sufficiently fill in the gap. This is not the case with classes entirely in a foreign language. There can be no zoning out unless you want to be completely and utterly lost. Moreover, with a class of only 7 people, any glazed over expressions are easily noticed. Beyond this, I get home from class, eat dinner and then work on homework for another few hours. I must say, however, that I notice that my Arabic recall is improving. I am better able to understand and respond. It has only been one week! I can't wait to see how I will be by December.

I am also anxious for my colloquial Arabic classes to begin. In a few weeks, I will take Levantine Arabic classes 2 or 3 days a week for 1 or 1.5 hours in the evenings. Levantine Arabic is the colloquial or "street" Arabic spoken in Jordan, Palestine, and Syria. This will be particularly useful to learn because outside of Qasid and the news, no one really uses Modern Standard Arabic. Colloquial classes will help make everyday interactions more accessible and much less embarrassing.

Rumtha

Sarah's House in Rumtha

This past weekend, Betsy, Shadea and I went to Rumtha to visit a friend of Betsy's, Sarah, who is in the Peace Corps. Rumtha is a smaller city about an hour north of Amman. We were told by Sarah that we should be sure to cover ourselves from ankle to wrist. So, we left our apartment Friday morning and headed for the North bus station in our appropriately conservative attire. This is the bus station from which you can get a bus or service taxi for most places north of Amman. A service is essentially a white cab that goes from one destination to another and back. The fair is a little higher than that of a bus. At the station, we got a service to take us to Rumtha. Luckily, there was already one person waiting to go to Rumtha so we didn't have to buy out the fourth seat.

The drive there was pretty uneventful. The scenery changes as soon as you leave Amman. There are plenty of hills for the taxi driver to speed down and plenty of curbs for him to whip around also. Needless to say, ours did this like he was a race car driver.

Once in Rumtha, we paid the cab driver our 2 JD each. Sarah was waiting for us at the bus station. We were easy to spot as we were the only foreigners in sight. After introductions, she asked us how athletic were were feeling. The walk to her house from the bus station takes about 45 minutes. We decided to hoof it. On our walk back to Sarah's place, we talked about her time spent in Rumtha and some of the difficulties she regularly encounters as a young, female American. As a rule, villages outside of Amman are much more conservative and the smaller they are the more conservative they are likely to be. Sarah was describing how much effort she has to put into maintaining her credibility. For example, there is another male Peace Corps volunteer working in Rumtha. However, they are unable to interact in public because of the social stigmas associated with male-female interaction. This is just one example of the many others she gave us.

After a solid 45 minute walk out of town, we arrived at Sarah's house. Sarah lives on the bottom floor of her landlord's house. She has a bedroom, bathroom and kitchen to herself. The family has the two floors above her for a family of 6. Sarah referred to her rooms as her "American sanctuary" a place where she can relax and maybe wear a short sleeved shirt! The four of us chatted for a while before the landlord's daugher Roulla came to get us. Sarah explained that part of the living agreement between herself and her landlord was that she would essentially become part of the family. Sarah makes daily visits to landlord's family upstairs. Today, they would be hosting all of us for dinner.

We went upstairs and sat in their living room. The living room was furnished in standard Arab style: cushions on the floor for sitting. As soon as we sat, the oldest daughter served us Arabic coffee as is tradition. I forgot the other part of the custom though: if you don't want anymore you have to shake your cup slightly. I thought I was just handing my cup back but instead I got a refill. Oops! The eldest son, Yousef, was at home. He majored in English language and literature so he was eager to use his skills. We talked with him and Roulla about their lives while they asked about ours. The eldest daughter was visiting for the weekend and she brought her 13 month old son with her- Ahmed. Ahmed is the most adorable, chubby toddler.

The landlady and her 2 daughters were preparing shwarma for us for dinner. Shwarma is a sandwich that consists of seasoned chicken (sometimes lamb) with mayonnaise, pickles and french fries all rolled in a thin dough. The women wanted to show us how it was made. We all crowded in the kitchen to watch the process. The mayonnaise and french fries were homemade. The chicken meat had been shredded/ torn apart, seasoned and cooked earlier in the day. We helped mainly with the assembly of the shwarma. There was so much! After we rolled the ingredients in the partially cooked dough, the shwarma rolls were put back into the oven to roast again. It was such a tantalizing process both because shwarma is delicious and because I was starving.

Finally, the main course was ready. Newspaper was laid on the floor in the living room in front of the couches. Plates of food for each of us were put on the newspaper along with extra dishes of homemade mayonnaise and sliced vegetables. The shwarma was definitely worth the wait. It was delicious- one of those meals where you have to recline once the meal is over. We did. We went back to Sarah's room and sat for a while.

Betsy and baby Ahmed

Once we had sufficiently recovered, Sarah suggested we take a walk. I was glad to because the weather was beautiful and I needed some exercise. We walked outside to find a flock of sheep grazing just beyond the back door. We walked to a neighbor's nearby farm to see their chickens and cow. Perhaps the most interesting event of the evening was assisting the family in unwrapping boxes and boxes of candy and cookies to feed to the cow. Why? Because it will make the milk sweeter- obviously.

After our walk, we went back to Sarah's apartment and updated her on American life specifically through viral youtube videos. She seemed to appreciate this. At this point, we were all pretty tired. It was much easier to fall asleep because there weren't any strange birds making noises or any cars honking their horns outside my window.

On Saturday morning, we woke up and caught a bus outside of Sarah's house to Irbid. The bus ride took about 35 minutes and cost us .40JD each. We made sure to sit on the bus in an appropriate fashion i.e. not next to a man. Once we arrived in Irbid, we walked a couple blocks away and waited for Sarah's Peace Corps counterpart from Rumtha to arrive. Once he arrived, we walked to McDonut's to meet 5 or 6 other volunteers. It was interesting listening to them talk about the various issues they have encountered living in their respective villages. The women talked about how the other women their age are married with children so they spend their time talking about babies. The men, on the other hand, have the 'shabab" as their friends. I am going to try my best to explain 'shabab' in a sensitive fashion. Literally 'shabab' is translated as "young men" or "youth." When I use the term shabab I am referring to the Jordanian men between the ages of 16 and 25ish. Often times, the term is used with a negative connotation. That is, ruffians might be a better translation. So, back to the male volunteers. They have only shabab to interact with so their social activities consist of associating with ruffians.

Eventually, the group migrated to Papa Johns where they indulged in expensive American food. I should mention, the Peace Corps volunteers receive about 1/3 of the monthly stipend that a Fulbrighter does. So, indulging in American food is expensive for me. Can you imagine how expensive it is for these volunteers?

After our late lunch, Betsy, Shadea and I decided to head back to the bus station. We walked about 30 minutes to the bus station where we got a bus from Irbid to Amman. The tickets were 1.90 JD each. The trip to Rumtha and Irbid was good. What was better was interacting with the Peace Corps volunteers. They are clearly motivated individuals who are trying to foment positive change in their towns and villages. Their positive attitudes were reassuring. I also felt mildly guilty about the comforts of my Amman apartment. Listening to their experiences made me thankful for where I am and what I have.

Sarah with Ahmed and Betsy

Bedouin Family with Rumtha in the background

Chickens on the farm

Food for the cow!

 

Roulla and Ahmed