First Day of School - Day 7

What did I learn today…well I learned that waking up at 6 :30 for an 8am class is a bitch. That’s number one. Especially when you have so many butterflies in your stomach you don’t know which instigator caused which cocoon to unravel. I learned that anything that starts at one time really signifies a start time of approximately a half hour to an hour later than originally stated here. I learned that not eating from 6:30 to 2:30 is almost unbearable without the right mindfulness. I learned that I love Arabic. And most importantly, I learned I must develop the skill of taking an experience for what it is, instead of burdening myself with consequence, (but still, in a calculated fashion).

I had my first class this morning in the language and it was a blast. It was also much more logical an introduction than many books and get-fluent-quick schemes. Our professor began with a series of twenty or so phrases or words that would help us maneuver this city followed by a role play in which we placed the new vocabulary (mind you we have a class in which we focus on modern standard Arabic as well as Amani dialect). Next, we learned the entire alphabet, followed by the spelling of the first three letters correctly, and in context. We are practically fluent. Tomorrow we have a quiz on all the words, letters and vowels we learned, get ready!
I had a blast in this class but am slowly dozing off into oblivion with such heavy sleep deprivation.

It is around this time, where I feel like dying because I'm starving, nauseous, thirsty, exhausted and still adventurous, that I decide to accompany a few friends to Safeway (yep, that Safeway) to get some items for dinner; we are being ambitious. Around twenty minutes into this rip-off conglomerate, one of my friends finds herself in the coffee aisle, making eye-contact with a certain man with whom we may have been toying at Book@Cafe if you will recall not so long ago. Eed (Ed) turned out to be an Australian documentarian, currently working on a project regarding the Iraqi “guests”, and invited my friend to Iftar tonight. All blasé, as if it were a decision on whether to buy a jar a of Nutella, she blithely informs us that she will be attending Iftar with this Australian and the buddies we don’t know. Quickly, we inform her that she is in fact NOT going to dinner with strangers in Amman, because this would be…well…imprudent, and in our brilliant scheme to deter her from aforementioned thoughts, the two of us doing to deterring find ourselves in a cab, on a way to Wadi something or other to meet an Australian and his buddies, an hour and a half late to Iftar.

The strength in numbers (by this time, 4 of us) made us feel more safe, as we slowly approached the ghetto of Amman. We were wondering where it had been and at this point, our adventurous friend boldly states “Guys, this is the REAL Amman!”. I love you dear, but this is not the real Amman. This is the ghetto. After our cab driver asks approximately three separate children on the street where our address is, and talks to our host on the phone on at least four separate occasions, he decides to stop the cab, and smoke a cigarette, while turning off the meter (thus setting his own price). Our host and a couple of stragglers come to meet our fuming cab and lead us, on foot, to the patio where Iftar had been…. Two hours ago. Dinner, at this point, consisted of pita and hummus with a side of ants.

We realize that this is not quite the small gathering that we were expecting, oh no. In fact, a solid seventy people congregated in this small Ammani patio as a reunion for their Facebook group. Oh, I kid you not! We had been invited to THE international couch-surfing group of f-ing hippies, weirdoes and pseudo-intellectuals for Iftar in the ghetto of Amman. Shortly after talking to a woman named Bob and a Jordanian who asked us to take pictures with him to make his ex jealous, we found ourselves in a large circle of cheering couch-surfers as we counted off by fives to form groups. Within these groups, we were to devise a way to introduce ourselves in some form of skit to the rest of the group. We came up with a brilliant college graduation scene, with leaves on our heads as caps and a toilet paper roll as a scroll, and flirted incessantly with what ended up being skeevy old men who from afar appeared classy all in the name of hooking said friend up with her Australian dreamboat.
Shortly before our presentation of our professional improvised skits, we decide it would be around the right time to flee. We Americans, all four of us with our Australian catch, dash for the streets while recalling a quiz at 8am the next morning ( not to mention to preserve our dignity against the cult of couch surfers).

Needless to say, the strength of solidarity and concern for the safety of our fellow students is high enough to risk losing all pride, wearing leaves on our heads and dancing to MJ while stuttering in Arabic. The details of the night will forever be preserved in our pea-sized brains, and had it not been so ridiculous, I most likely would have “accidently” tripped our brilliant friend up the hill to find our cab (a half hour) after we left the shin-dig.
Now, I fear it is time to continue studying for the Arabic quiz we almost failed because we were busy eating ants and doing jigs with professional couch-surfers. This is the life. Taieb, Maa salaama!