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.