Day 46: The Mail and So Much More

I almost made it to the gym today. I jumped in a cab from school and arrived at the gym, looked at the building and with my sneakers over my shoulder put my hand up for another cab heading the other way. It was a nice day, 80s, sunny; I just couldn’t feel being inside. As a result, I hopped a cab and decided that I would walk home from the post office. The original idea was to walk from my house to the post office and back, so I asked the cab driver to drop me off at the Royal Hotel not far from my home. Usually, I ask the cabs to drop me off at the hospital a bit closer to my home and have never used the hotel as a reference point. Believing I was a tourist at the hotel, he began explaining to me how the meter didn’t work (after I watched him turn it off) and how it was 4JD to the hotel (when it’s actually 1JD) and that there was too much traffic so he was going to take so and so detour. I was livid so I reached forward and turned the meter on myself and gave him directions to the hotel. He shut up quickly.

Arriving at the hotel, I realized that I actually had no idea where the post office was. So. Yeah…
I hopped my third cab and communicated barid wasat al balad (downtown post office). He took me downtown, missed the “post office” part and kept driving around in circles in the downtown and looking at me through the rear view mirror as if waiting for me to give directions. Jeez, they really have no shame taking advantage of people who are going to or coming from the hotel. At that point I said BAREEEDDDD and he looked stupefied. The look said : “Oh crap… you wanted the barid downtown? You actually have a package here? Dang girl, ok!…”

Arriving at the post office after a slew of cabs was an issue because while I can now read Arabic, I don’t exactly know what the words I am reading say. I held up a piece of paper in the lobby to no one in particular until someone saw me and probably asked himself if I had some form of autism. He raised an eyebrow and pointed upstairs and when I smiled he chuckled with his friends. I went upstairs to a floor which looked like my Beirut hostel and turned the corner to find a little man sitting at a desk who, without looking up, held out his hand and took my slip of paper. He did all sorts of things to it repeatedly looked at me and down at the paper, wiped snot from his nose and onto my paper (which may or may not have been part of the process) handed me said paper and said “itneen”. This means “two”, but whether he was referring to bananas, windows or sumo wrestlers was unclear to me so I pulled the lost face and stared at him “Wein?” (where?). UGHHH Americanssss!! He stood “HONAK!” (There!) (I would just to thank Dr. Muna, my Arabic professor for her teaching us all the basics early because without these simple little words, my parents would be receiving a returned package in four weeks).

I went to the “two” where a man was reading the Quran in a little room and did not seem to like to interruption. I smiled the biggest cheeser I could pull and acted as saccharin and adorable as my own self-respecting morals could handle. He seemed to like the performance and asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Jordan, what I was studying, if I liked it, if I had two left feet I mean honestly… I just ended up making things up based on the vocabulary I have acquired (Oh, I’m studying international relations at the University of Jordan in classroom number 4 with Dr. Muna, she is nice. Alhamdullilah!)

He was thoroughly enjoying the effort and smiled and laughed, “Alhamdulillah!!” put down the stamp that was originally in his hand and picked up the other in the drawer. He patted my head and pointed me to the other side of his office where the man was amused by the verbatim replication of my textbook “Al Kitaab”.

He asked me to open my package in front of him. I was excited to see what was in my care package myself and when I finally pulled the last of the tape off and two rolls of toilet paper fell into his lap, I was totally calm, no embarrassment whatsoever. Thanks Mom.
He put my charmin-to-go back in the box with my chocolate and magazines and said “In Jordan the candy no good?!” Oh. My. God. The candy is mumtaz! Really I love Jordanian candy, if I had ever tried it in my life I’m sure I could whip out a flavor I preferred. “Bahibik candy fi el Ordon!”( I love the candy in Jordan re: Colloquial dialect) was the best I could pull out. Was he going to throw my package out the window?

He laughed and stamped my package, told me to LEAVE IT WITH HIM…opened… and go to “telata” (3).

I go to three nervous that he is going to eat my chocolate and with my stamped piece of paper (from the stamp in the drawer) the man says, so your candy better? AH! NO! My candy is really bad! My mom just thought it would be funny to send me this because your candy is so much better and that way I will stay longer in Jordan and pay absurd amounts for cab rides and help your economy and learn your language to go back to the US and help Obama make peaceful relations with you personally and with your region.

He thought I was funny while I started to wonder if I was going to pee myself in his office and he sent me to arbaa (4). This man did not think I was funny, and wanted to see the candy himself. I went back to the man who was supervising my box and asked him for a Cliff bar from my box. He said no. I told number 4 that number 2 said no. He scowled (I think he was really hungry). He stamped my now drenched piece of paper from snot and four stamps of wet ink, handed me the soggy paper and sent me off to five who looked at 6 and told him to take care of me.
Six said “95”- in English. I gulped as he held out his hand. 95? Why don’t we use descriptive nouns in this country? 95 camels? So I put on the puppy face and simply said Mishmish! (This means both apricot and impossible). He thought I was ridiculous and all the men around me seemed to think I was a joke (as a side note, women apparently don’t pick up the mail here). He looked at me and reiterated “95 cents, miss” at which point my body wound so tightly from the messes I get myself in released like a day of valium and I handed him a dinar. He told me “Mabrook, go get your package” (literally= congratulations).

After this hazing that was my initiation into Jordanian society, I returned to my untouched package where the men stood up and handed it to me like scepter and said “Ma’a Salama, ahlan wa sahlan” (Good bye, and you are most welcome).

I was too nervy to sit in a cab for the ride home so I walked back with my gym bag, book bag and forty six tons of toilet paper the 45 minutes home. I came back to my apartment, sifted through the package a little deeper to find some staples from Trader Joes and my Go Lean Crunch cereal. I had a bowl then and there and while taking my first bite, (and alone in the apartment, no less) could not contain my laughter. I was so giddy from the taste of Radnor, PA and I felt as though an invisible person had shot heroin through my veins. It was as close to an outer body experience as you can get with so little stimulation (I mean, it’s a freaking bowl of cereal) but it made me a little frightened. I don’t know what came over me, and I realized that I am not in Kansas anymore. We actually have a mandatory class before we leave called Readjustment to the U.S. I’m so thankful because even now, four hours later after a long nap and shower, I still feel uneasy regarding how I felt getting that taste of home. I was tripping off of this universe that I once belonged to and feel myself floating away from everyday I’m here. I’m not sure exactly how many days it takes to become a part of a society but it seems to take no more than 46 days to make you feel like you no longer belong to the former. That puts me in limbo. Eating my Go Lean Crunch and Labaneh is culture shock personified.

It’s going to take me a few days to brave my new Runner’s World. I also realized how homesickness just has not hit because this is still such a constant surge of energy and dopamine to my brain that I can’t bring myself down. Is it good? Is it terrifying? Is it bad? I’m not sure. At least I know for now, "Ahlan wa sahlan"… I am most welcome.