There are times when being female here is frustrating, to say the least- when men stare & catcall, when taxi drivers are creepy, when you know that it's most appropriate to wear long sleeves even though it's 95 degrees outside.
There are other times when being female is, well, convenient. Take, for example, picking up a package at the main post office downtown. This afternoon, Ruba and I went to said post office, pick-up slip in hand, to retrieve my package. After being directed upstairs, I showed the slip to the guy near the door, who then directed me to a room (we'll say 'office A') off to the side. After presenting the slip and my ID, the man in office A stamped my slip and gave it to another man, who found the package. Sounds simple, right? I started to open the package and was told that I had to wait for an officer to be there, at which point I looked confused, apologized, and stood there awkwardly with Ruba. The officer came; I opened the package to show him the contents. He gave me another sheet and said something quickly in Arabic; all I caught was 'mudeer' (director/manager). I turned to the first man from office A, who summoned someone else, who directed me out to the main area (we'll say 'office B'). There I found several younger guys (in their late 20s, maybe?) and managed to ask, "wein aruuh helan?" (where do I go now?). One of them showed me which office was the mudeer's (office C); I walked in, smiled sweetly, and said hi. Despite the value of the package from the slip, he just smiled and said, "you pay nothing" and sent me back out. I went back out with Ruba to office B, where I was directed to another man, at whom I smiled sweetly again. He looked at the slip, looked at me, and said JD 1. A note: the Jordanian postal system makes you pay customs on incoming packages. I was supposed to pay a per day for each day that it sat at the post office (totaling about JD 2.30), plus a customs fee based on the value of the package (or the gender and demeanor of the customer lol). I paid JD 1 total- I think they're required to charge me something to say that they did. Anyway, after that, I was sent back to office A, where after waiting for the man there to write something in the log book, I was finally allowed to take my package. Despite there being almost no other customers around, the process took quite a while just due to shuffling from office to office.
Lessons learned:
1. Allow time to pick up packages. I couldn't tell you how the American postal system works, but it seems to be more efficient.
2. Looking confused and lost is not a bad thing in this situation- people were more than happy to direct us.
3. Being female is helpful, since (as far as I could see) all but one of the employees there were male. Smile sweetly and use a lot of polite phrases.
I was totally prepared to try to persuade whomever to lower the customs fee ("I'm a student- I don't have much money! How can I show my family how beautiful Jordan is if I can't use my camera to take pictures?"), but it was not necessary. Being a western-looking woman was enough.
Ruba and I then got lunch and wandered around downtown for a while- such a fun place! I might go back tomorrow afternoon and wander some more. There are so many little back alleys with tons of small shops. A far cry from the new mega-malls of West Amman; this is not a complaint. After that, we returned to my place, made some coffee/tea, and baked magic cookie bars (butter + graham crackers + sweetened condensed milk + coconut + M&Ms). Overall, a really nice day. The post office experience was frustrating as we were walking from office to office, but I just had to laugh at the end. As Ruba's host mother always says when Ruba is frustrated with this culture, "ahlan wa sahlan, welcome to Jordan!"
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
You speak English?
There are definitely moments where it hits me full-on that I am in fact in the Middle East. Take, for example, our class trip yesterday to visit (among other places) the believed site of Jesus’ baptism by the Jordan River. As a note, the Jordan River here is the border between Jordan and Israel; from where we were, we could see Jericho in the distance. Archaeological excavation on the area didn’t even start until after the 1994 peace treaty between the two countries had been signed. As a result, our tour guide’s speech included a warning to stay with the group and not “monkey around” because we were in a militarized zone (if the barbed wire fences and machine gun-wielding soldiers hadn’t given us a hint). His other warning was, “please stay on the beaten path- there may be mines not yet uncovered.” Normally, when I think of Jesus getting baptized, I do not envision landmines in the same geographical location. Perhaps trails were very clearly marked for a reason (you had to hike a short way to reach the church and river). Anyway, lo and behold, right next to the idyllic-looking spot where you could touch the Jordan River (which was small and murky) there was an armed, no-nonsense soldier standing guard. Just across the river (maybe ten yards?) was Israel, whose bank was neither touristy nor at all inviting like Jordan’s. It is experiences like today that remind me that I really am in a region with far more political tension and animosity than I have ever experienced. I have no doubt that if someone had even jokingly started to wade across the river, there would have been soldiers from both sides shouting at the person to stop, machine guns ready. This is not to say that I felt at all threatened or unsafe today- especially since the Pope’s visit in 2000, the baptism site has become increasingly frequented by tourists, although to get to it you do have to take a special shuttle from the parking lot a little ways away. It’s just that there are rules that both sides have agreed to. No one from Jordan crosses the river into Israel; no one from Israel crosses the river into Jordan. As long as this is clear (the soldiers make it crystal clear, trust me), everyone is fine.
So that was the “whoa- I’m in the Middle East” moment of the day. Overall, Jordan continues to be amazing. I keep making sense of little bits of the cultural fabric here. For example, social interactions in taxis finally clicked for me. If you’re male, you’re supposed to sit in the front seat and try to form at least minimal rapport with the driver. This can be anything from casual conversation to smoking cigarettes together depending on the circumstances- anything to form a bond. However, if you are female, you should sit in the back seat and keep conversation to a polite minimum. I must be getting good at giving off those “I don’t want to talk to you- please take me where I need to go” vibes, as very few drivers have attempted to converse with me at all lately. Lest I be misunderstood, I should clarify. It’s not that I don’t like talking to people- many people here have fascinating stories and are genuinely warm and friendly. However, as many of my female friends have found as well, taxi conversations are often different. A sample conversation (true story):
Driver: “You speak English?”
Me: “Yes”
D: “Are you from America?”
Me: “Yes”
D: “Welcome to Jordan. Why are you here?”
Me: “I’m studying Arabic.”
D: “Ah. Are you married?”
Me: “No- I’m too young.”
D: “You are here by yourself?”
Me: “No, I have friends here.”
D: “Ah.” ::eyes me weirdly:: “Do you like to drink coffee or tea?”
Me: “Neither, it’s late in the day.”
Me: “Here is fine.” (I got out a couple blocks from my apartment)
Some notes on this encounter: 1) My tone was one of indifference and disinterest throughout. 2) I went home and made tea- it is never too late in the day. Anyway, to avoid getting hit on like this, it is best to look detached and business-like from the beginning. I think it’s definitely helped that my Arabic has improved such that taxi drivers don’t automatically assume that I’m American anymore; if they do, I guess I speak coherently enough that I don’t seem lost and confused. It’s a nice feeling.
That's all for now, off to class. Yalla bye, asdiqa'.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
from food to adoption
It doesn’t seem to matter with whom I am speaking- the topic of food always comes up. This morning, my roommate and I discussed at length the possibility of putting chocolate hazelnut milk (think mild Nutella in liquid form- mmmmm) into coffee. In Arabic class, we were doing group work and had to name our groups. They consisted of Jbna (Cheese), Falafel, Shawerma (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shawarma), Qatayef (a Ramadan sweet), Cioccolato (Chocolate), and Kibbe (a deep-fried ball of meat & burghul goodness). People couldn’t even have been that hungry- it was 9:30am and I think that very few people in my class are fasting.
My point is that food is important. Not only does it provide for endless conversation, but it is the centerpiece (in any culture) for social gathering as well. Case in point: Friday. Friday morning found me at a friend’s apartment eating a home-cooked American breakfast of hash browns, scrambled eggs with vegetables (i.e., it could have been an omelet if it had stayed intact), and pancakes. The one concession to the Middle East was that the pancakes were actually Ramadan qatayef (minus being deep-fried with honey & sweet cheese in the middle), albeit heated up with maple *flavored* syrup. We spent a couple hours with good friends, good food, good conversation- a lovely morning. On Friday evening, I went to a friend’s uncle’s house for an Iftar party with all of the extended family. When it finally came time to break the fast, there was an absolute whirlwind (tornado?) as aunts, uncles, and cousins grabbed plates of lamb, rice, salad, soup, yogurt, bread, mini-shawerma, and so on. It was all absolutely delicious. After cleaning up the kitchen with the aunts, we moved on to glasses of soda. After that came the Ramadan sweets, followed by tea. A while later, we had ice cream. There was So. Much. Food. I made the mistake of eating my initial plate of food too quickly and finishing before the people around me. I say “mistake” because as soon as I set my plate down (we were eating on our laps- there was no more table space), my friend’s cousin asked, “what, are you done? Do you want more?” These are more rhetorical questions than actual inquiries, since it will be insisted that you eat more no matter what your response is. I must remember to eat slowly so as to avoid having a second plate of food put in front of me, which I will feel obliged to eat. Anyway, it was all worth it. My friend’s family is so incredibly warm and welcoming. It’s one of those households where I felt totally comfortable wandering down to the kitchen to get more water, wash my hands, etc. They also felt perfectly comfortable calling me back to the kitchen to have me put the dishes up into the higher cabinets since I was the tallest woman by far. It’s one of those households where you could very quickly feel like part of the family.
On a side note, the “part of the family” is kind of interesting. An outsider would see that everyone seems completely comfortable; everyone is a natural part of the family. However, this changed a bit when my friend’s cousin was explaining how everyone in the living room was related. It was a series of “he is my mother’s brother, those three are my uncle’s children, she is my mother’s cousin, she is my mother’s sister, they are my cousins, etc, etc.” She got to one woman and said, “she is my uncle’s wife- she’s a stranger.” What she meant was that the woman was not related by blood to anyone else (normally, cousins marry cousins, distant or direct). No matter how many years that woman is married to the uncle, no matter how many children she has, she will technically still be a “stranger.” This didn’t even come off as a negative label- just a simple fact. Tribalism and family loyalty are HUGE here. This is not to say that people don’t marry outside of their families (many do), just that everyone knows who is in the family and who is not. It reminded of the Jordanian laws on adoption. People can adopt, but the child can never take his/her adoptive family’s name. Instead, a family name is made up for the adopted child and gets used for his/her whole life. Taking the adoptive family’s name would confuse issues of lineage (since there is not technically a common bloodline). Interesting, indeed.
That’s all for now from Amman. This evening I am going back to the same friend’s uncle’s house to help make ma’amuul, which are fig/walnut/pistachio filled cookies made only for Eid al-Fitr (the big holiday that marks the end of Ramadan). We (a few other students are going with me) were promised Iftar as well as cookies to take home if we came and helped bake. Yum.
My point is that food is important. Not only does it provide for endless conversation, but it is the centerpiece (in any culture) for social gathering as well. Case in point: Friday. Friday morning found me at a friend’s apartment eating a home-cooked American breakfast of hash browns, scrambled eggs with vegetables (i.e., it could have been an omelet if it had stayed intact), and pancakes. The one concession to the Middle East was that the pancakes were actually Ramadan qatayef (minus being deep-fried with honey & sweet cheese in the middle), albeit heated up with maple *flavored* syrup. We spent a couple hours with good friends, good food, good conversation- a lovely morning. On Friday evening, I went to a friend’s uncle’s house for an Iftar party with all of the extended family. When it finally came time to break the fast, there was an absolute whirlwind (tornado?) as aunts, uncles, and cousins grabbed plates of lamb, rice, salad, soup, yogurt, bread, mini-shawerma, and so on. It was all absolutely delicious. After cleaning up the kitchen with the aunts, we moved on to glasses of soda. After that came the Ramadan sweets, followed by tea. A while later, we had ice cream. There was So. Much. Food. I made the mistake of eating my initial plate of food too quickly and finishing before the people around me. I say “mistake” because as soon as I set my plate down (we were eating on our laps- there was no more table space), my friend’s cousin asked, “what, are you done? Do you want more?” These are more rhetorical questions than actual inquiries, since it will be insisted that you eat more no matter what your response is. I must remember to eat slowly so as to avoid having a second plate of food put in front of me, which I will feel obliged to eat. Anyway, it was all worth it. My friend’s family is so incredibly warm and welcoming. It’s one of those households where I felt totally comfortable wandering down to the kitchen to get more water, wash my hands, etc. They also felt perfectly comfortable calling me back to the kitchen to have me put the dishes up into the higher cabinets since I was the tallest woman by far. It’s one of those households where you could very quickly feel like part of the family.
On a side note, the “part of the family” is kind of interesting. An outsider would see that everyone seems completely comfortable; everyone is a natural part of the family. However, this changed a bit when my friend’s cousin was explaining how everyone in the living room was related. It was a series of “he is my mother’s brother, those three are my uncle’s children, she is my mother’s cousin, she is my mother’s sister, they are my cousins, etc, etc.” She got to one woman and said, “she is my uncle’s wife- she’s a stranger.” What she meant was that the woman was not related by blood to anyone else (normally, cousins marry cousins, distant or direct). No matter how many years that woman is married to the uncle, no matter how many children she has, she will technically still be a “stranger.” This didn’t even come off as a negative label- just a simple fact. Tribalism and family loyalty are HUGE here. This is not to say that people don’t marry outside of their families (many do), just that everyone knows who is in the family and who is not. It reminded of the Jordanian laws on adoption. People can adopt, but the child can never take his/her adoptive family’s name. Instead, a family name is made up for the adopted child and gets used for his/her whole life. Taking the adoptive family’s name would confuse issues of lineage (since there is not technically a common bloodline). Interesting, indeed.
That’s all for now from Amman. This evening I am going back to the same friend’s uncle’s house to help make ma’amuul, which are fig/walnut/pistachio filled cookies made only for Eid al-Fitr (the big holiday that marks the end of Ramadan). We (a few other students are going with me) were promised Iftar as well as cookies to take home if we came and helped bake. Yum.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
and there was sand. a lot of sand.
I keep getting harassed about not posting. I do at least have an excuse for the last few days! I returned on Saturday from the CIEE trip to Wadi Rum (a major desert) and Petra (http://www.kinghussein.gov.jo/tourism6d.html). It was completely, absolutely incredible.
We left on Thursday afternoon and took jeep rides from the buses to our campsite in Wadi Rum. We stopped at one point to watch the sun set over the mountains; later in the ride we watched as a full moon rose (very quickly) over a high plateau in the distance. Our campsite had Bedouin-style tents with no electricity in the sleeping quarters, although there were fully functional bathrooms and showers. The place was situated between two huge, huge rock formations in the middle of the desert. I cannot adequately describe how beautiful Wadi Rum is- the smooth sandstone, the way the colors change depending on the time of day. After a few hours of eating, listening to Bedouin music, and drinking tea, we went for a nighttime walk around a nearby formation. Walking out into the desert was surreal. The moon was so bright that there was no need for flashlights; everything was illuminated with an ivory glow. They had told us on the bus that some of the movie “Mission to Mars” was shot in Wadi Rum. At first I didn’t understand how that could be, but in the light of the moon it really did seem otherworldly.
The next morning, my tent-mate Paris and I got up at 4:45am to watch the sunrise. We walked out of the camp and climbed a good way up a nearby rock formation where we just sat and watched the desert. Little did we know, the sun does not really rise until about 6:30am, so we were sitting on the rock for about an hour and a half. However, it was just as beautiful as everything else in the area and was a wonderfully pleasant way to start the day. After breakfast and more tea, we embarked on our three-hour camel ride through the desert. It was fantastic! The caravan was set up such that there was one walking Bedouin guide for every two camels (normally tied together). A lot of people got to drive their own camel (which was not hard- the most that happened was that someone’s camel kept stopping to eat from bushes and refused to go), but my guide never offered and never asked. If he had given me the reins, I think it would have made the girl behind me (her camel attached to mine) nervous, as she didn’t really feel comfortable until almost the end of the trek. It was too bad, because I would love to have gone faster.
That afternoon, we boarded the buses once again and headed to our campsite, a Bedouin camp near Little Petra (an ancient caravan stop with tombs, caves, etc). This camp was similar to the previous one except that we had pads instead of beds and a single light bulb in each tent. We hiked over to Little Petra for a short guided tour, after which we returned to camp for dinner. I was sitting on a big rock when the call to prayer (to break the fast during Ramadan) was done. The thing is, normally I hear the call coming for the mosque a few blocks over, amplified through a big sound system. This time, however, the man doing the call was maybe ten feet away from me. His voiced carried so smoothly and powerfully through the wadi as it echoed off of the rocks. Everyone in the camp stopped to listen to him- it was almost an eerie experience. A while later after dinner, I went out with a few people to wander through the rocks in the dark. Unlike the previous night, it was cloudy and so a flashlight was helpful. I did not hike very far but instead found a large, flat rock and spent a while lying on my back staring up at the sky. Since the others had gone on, I was completely by myself, which was wonderful. I couldn’t hear anything except the muted sound of the breeze and the faint rustle of a nearby tree. I had been feeling a bit suffocated always being part of a group of sixty students, so this was the perfect escape. Eventually I started to get sleepy and headed back to camp, where I sat around the fire for a while drinking tea and then finally went to bed. On Saturday we all got up at 5:00am. After a quick breakfast, we boarded the buses and went to Petra where arrangements had been made to let us into the ancient city before everyone else (hence having to be up so early). Let me say that Petra is enormous. All anyone talks about are the Khezna (the Treasury- that big temple that’s in all of the pictures) and the Seeq (the long pathway leading to the Khezna). These are very impressive, but there is so much more- an entire city! There are scores of tombs and homes carved into the rock, not to mention the Roman colonnade, the amphitheater, multiple temples, a Byzantine church- the list goes on and on. Estimates are that only ten to fifteen percent of Petra has been excavated. It is also fascinating to see the various civilizations present in Petra’s history. The Nabataeans were the main inhabitants, although you see Egyptian, Greek, and Roman influences in much of the architecture (Roman especially once they conquered the city). For a while, Petra was a trading hub between the East and the West, which meant that it could acquire vast wealth while absorbing traces of the cultures passing through. It’s really an amazing place. This afternoon, I joined the group climbing the approximately 700 steps up to the Place of High Sacrifice. It really was quite a hike up, but definitely worth it. Aside from the satisfaction of making it up the mountain, you also got to see the most amazing view of Petra and the rest of Wadi Musa. Our director pointed out how the mountains dropped down sharply to a flat plain below. She said that the flatness was not natural for the area, indicating that beneath all of the dirt and rocks there are many more Nabataean ruins- the suburbs of the city. During its golden age, about 30,000 people were said to have lived in Petra. I am still in awe.
Before this trip, I didn't really understand why almost all of the Jordanians I have asked respond that Wadi Rum is their favorite place in the country (it's just a desert with rocks, right?). Now not only do I understand- I agree. It is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever been. Wadi Rum has been added to my list of why Jordan is an excellent tourist location. Forget the white sand of tropical beaches- the golden/red/ivory desert sand just takes your breath away.
We left on Thursday afternoon and took jeep rides from the buses to our campsite in Wadi Rum. We stopped at one point to watch the sun set over the mountains; later in the ride we watched as a full moon rose (very quickly) over a high plateau in the distance. Our campsite had Bedouin-style tents with no electricity in the sleeping quarters, although there were fully functional bathrooms and showers. The place was situated between two huge, huge rock formations in the middle of the desert. I cannot adequately describe how beautiful Wadi Rum is- the smooth sandstone, the way the colors change depending on the time of day. After a few hours of eating, listening to Bedouin music, and drinking tea, we went for a nighttime walk around a nearby formation. Walking out into the desert was surreal. The moon was so bright that there was no need for flashlights; everything was illuminated with an ivory glow. They had told us on the bus that some of the movie “Mission to Mars” was shot in Wadi Rum. At first I didn’t understand how that could be, but in the light of the moon it really did seem otherworldly.
The next morning, my tent-mate Paris and I got up at 4:45am to watch the sunrise. We walked out of the camp and climbed a good way up a nearby rock formation where we just sat and watched the desert. Little did we know, the sun does not really rise until about 6:30am, so we were sitting on the rock for about an hour and a half. However, it was just as beautiful as everything else in the area and was a wonderfully pleasant way to start the day. After breakfast and more tea, we embarked on our three-hour camel ride through the desert. It was fantastic! The caravan was set up such that there was one walking Bedouin guide for every two camels (normally tied together). A lot of people got to drive their own camel (which was not hard- the most that happened was that someone’s camel kept stopping to eat from bushes and refused to go), but my guide never offered and never asked. If he had given me the reins, I think it would have made the girl behind me (her camel attached to mine) nervous, as she didn’t really feel comfortable until almost the end of the trek. It was too bad, because I would love to have gone faster.
That afternoon, we boarded the buses once again and headed to our campsite, a Bedouin camp near Little Petra (an ancient caravan stop with tombs, caves, etc). This camp was similar to the previous one except that we had pads instead of beds and a single light bulb in each tent. We hiked over to Little Petra for a short guided tour, after which we returned to camp for dinner. I was sitting on a big rock when the call to prayer (to break the fast during Ramadan) was done. The thing is, normally I hear the call coming for the mosque a few blocks over, amplified through a big sound system. This time, however, the man doing the call was maybe ten feet away from me. His voiced carried so smoothly and powerfully through the wadi as it echoed off of the rocks. Everyone in the camp stopped to listen to him- it was almost an eerie experience. A while later after dinner, I went out with a few people to wander through the rocks in the dark. Unlike the previous night, it was cloudy and so a flashlight was helpful. I did not hike very far but instead found a large, flat rock and spent a while lying on my back staring up at the sky. Since the others had gone on, I was completely by myself, which was wonderful. I couldn’t hear anything except the muted sound of the breeze and the faint rustle of a nearby tree. I had been feeling a bit suffocated always being part of a group of sixty students, so this was the perfect escape. Eventually I started to get sleepy and headed back to camp, where I sat around the fire for a while drinking tea and then finally went to bed. On Saturday we all got up at 5:00am. After a quick breakfast, we boarded the buses and went to Petra where arrangements had been made to let us into the ancient city before everyone else (hence having to be up so early). Let me say that Petra is enormous. All anyone talks about are the Khezna (the Treasury- that big temple that’s in all of the pictures) and the Seeq (the long pathway leading to the Khezna). These are very impressive, but there is so much more- an entire city! There are scores of tombs and homes carved into the rock, not to mention the Roman colonnade, the amphitheater, multiple temples, a Byzantine church- the list goes on and on. Estimates are that only ten to fifteen percent of Petra has been excavated. It is also fascinating to see the various civilizations present in Petra’s history. The Nabataeans were the main inhabitants, although you see Egyptian, Greek, and Roman influences in much of the architecture (Roman especially once they conquered the city). For a while, Petra was a trading hub between the East and the West, which meant that it could acquire vast wealth while absorbing traces of the cultures passing through. It’s really an amazing place. This afternoon, I joined the group climbing the approximately 700 steps up to the Place of High Sacrifice. It really was quite a hike up, but definitely worth it. Aside from the satisfaction of making it up the mountain, you also got to see the most amazing view of Petra and the rest of Wadi Musa. Our director pointed out how the mountains dropped down sharply to a flat plain below. She said that the flatness was not natural for the area, indicating that beneath all of the dirt and rocks there are many more Nabataean ruins- the suburbs of the city. During its golden age, about 30,000 people were said to have lived in Petra. I am still in awe.
Before this trip, I didn't really understand why almost all of the Jordanians I have asked respond that Wadi Rum is their favorite place in the country (it's just a desert with rocks, right?). Now not only do I understand- I agree. It is perhaps the most beautiful place I have ever been. Wadi Rum has been added to my list of why Jordan is an excellent tourist location. Forget the white sand of tropical beaches- the golden/red/ivory desert sand just takes your breath away.
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