Pictues of the 'hood

My apartment (I'm on the third floor!) and the living room.

The only patch of grass in Amman.



The only dogs in Amman.

It wouldn't be Jordan without the cats.

<3>

Our highway by third circle





The block.

The phallic symbol that is Le Royal Hotel.

We live in the medicine district, so here are some of things you can do when you're in Amman.

Curves?

The landmark we use to get home. Moustashfa Farah.

My street

Nice view for an eye-center.

More fun stuff to do at the hospital.

The hilllssss

View from my block.

The Abdoun brige (into Abdoun!)

Hospital district

View from the living room.

View from my bedroom.

Day 62

What I should be doing is writing a research paper on al-Zawahiri but instead I realize that you have had no updates on the recent history in a little while. It’s Halloween today, which means nothing here (except to us students who have thrown innumerable parties in its honor this past weekend). I was thinking of the little moments here today while procrastinating further on homework while listening to “The Good Stuff” by Kenny Chesney.

And he walked up and said, "What'll it be?"I said, "The good stuff."
He didn't reach around for the whiskey;He didn't pour me a beer.
His blue eyes kinda went misty, He said, "You can't find that here."
"'Cause it's the first long kiss on a second date.
Your Momma's all worried when you get home late
And droppin' the ring in the spaghetti plate,
'Cause your hands are shakin' so much.
And it's the way she looks with the rice in her hair.
Eating burnt suppers the whole first year,
And askin' for seconds to keep her from tearin' up.
Yeah, man, that's The Good Stuff."

Life in Jordan is no country song, but in my own way I can relate. All that I am here is made up of these little moments, of this good stuff. I made a couple bullet points to outline the charm of this reality for me.

Little moments:

· Listening to a song in the cab for three minutes where the only words sung (at all, and in English) are Happy Birthday… mmm, hap-py, BIRTH-DAY! to a rockin’ techno beat.

· Cat fights outside our windows at all hours of the day/night (real cats)

· Being mesmerized by the Ziploc that held the cereal my mother sent me- it’s amazing.

· Believing the “widespread dust” as a weather warning on weather.com is just nonsense,
and putting freshly washed white sheets outside to dry

· Being incompetent enough to shake the un-closable container of milk EVERY single morning all over the kitchen floor

· Arab polka music outside our windows so obnoxious that my roommate and I end up laughing so hard we spit out the condensed milk we didn’t shake onto the floor.

· Realizing that certain toilets don’t flush here after leaving a sizeable gift

· Snickering about women who are holding men’s hands.

· Forgetting that overstuffing the washing machine (meant for three items of clothing) means that it will leave a small lake in the kitchen

· Being excited to find yogurt where the expiration date hasn’t passed (only once)

· Eating five-seven bowls of yogurt a day because of the one small warning from my doctor at home (yogurt is good for your stomach, see if you can get some)

· Using the same dish for every meal, every day

· The polka music is still going

· Lugging containers of water from the “little store” every week and carrying them up the three flights of stairs

· Using a roll of toilet paper in three days at my house (everyone must have UTI’s here from the amount of toilet paper in use)

· Being in a room without cigarette smoke (that’s just a joke, that would never happen)

· Cab driver proposing marriage to me because he is afraid his wife looks like Jackie Chan

· Going to a nice restaurant with my girls to be given a “complimentary dish” of cold mini-fries and cat food (Iams?)

· Having my shoes destroyed, I mean absolutely destroyed.

· Watching Ugly Betty in disgust- look at all those blonde women! Look at how all those blonde women are dressing and what they are talking about and how provocative they are! The first scene in Desperate Housewives was a woman walking into her house to see her husband having an affair! HARAM! (and really believing it)

· Drinking Nescafe (that should get its own blog)

· Thinking that Jordanian poop stories are the funniest stories in the world (I thought pooping while running/racing were good stories, but my friends have me dominated here)

· Often preferring to use the outdoors bushes than the indoor bathrooms which tend to be incubuses for viral plagues

· Watching my friends date local Jordanian men

· Watching locals walking around in shirts that say “I want to suck…a lollipop!” or “Orgasm Donor” and being entirely oblivious

· Seeing a runner and wondering what he is running from and who is chasing him

· Being covered in cigarette smoke, showering to get the smoke off my hair, to hop in a cab with a smoker

· Wondering if every single red mark is ringworm

· Eating bran cereal for dinner for several consecutive weeks

· Eating anything I drop off the floor because wasting food is major haram

· Being physical unable to waste water and developing compulsive tendencies regarding waste
· Getting into serious verbal brawls with cab drivers who take me for a tourist and cheat me

· Pulling all sorts of words I know together in Arabic or from a mixture of languages to form something that resembles grammar to communicate small actions and/or desires

· Silently rejoicing in the back of the cab when dissecting words such as f-a-r-m-a-s-ee in Arabic on the street signs

· Becoming extraordinarily culturally insensitive while here only to know that when I go home and someone says something ignorant about this culture, I will jump them

· Using the call to prayer as a time gauge

· Missing silly things like dogs, consistent internet, iced coffee, mattress pads and outdoor running paths

· Carrying shampoo, conditioner a towel, soap, my iPod and flip flops around school all day to shower at the gym for warm water and more pressure

· Having clean feet (oh, totally just threw you a curve ball!)

· Wondering how I’m ever going to leave

The weather is phenomenal this weekend. It almost feels like the Northeast… Its mid 60’s and some of the perennials are dying which means that shortly my jasmine will be gone. It has rained the entirety of Friday and Thursday night it poured. Watching the rain in the desert is something else. They don’t really have drainage systems here so it just rises up and floods the streets. You don’t realize the destructive capacity of rain until you go to a place with little infrastructure. I left the gym last night around 530 or 6pm, my usual time and it was pitch black outside. It feels like home.

It’s funny because when you are spoiled with luxuries, there is so much more room for the little moments to send you into a foul mood, a depression, an upset for a time. When the little moments aren’t a nuisance of life, but ARE life, then you are forced to put everything into perspective and smile anyways. When you have more, there is more potential for things to clutter. When all you have are these moments and the clutter doesn’t exist, what else can you do but accept them, thrive off them. I laugh more here than I ever do in New York as I realize how petty so many inconveniences really are. If you can’t laugh, what else do you have?

Day 55- Halfway

“I know it isn't easy, but it's all about how you move in your space...” A quote from my mother on Skype. It’s true, at the end of the day it’s like a dance here, use your time and space wisely and watch your step.

It’s been a while, but when you begin to feel as though you belong in a space, it is hard to remove yourself and look objectively on your context (hence my slacking on the blogs). I can move through the motions of the day now without much forethought. My weeks are packed with intensive and (usually) stimulating learning material (if you find it in yourself to care). My weekends are a total decompression with an amazing group of people who are able to move in their space with ease as well. We are a group of people who laughs when frustration ensues, who smiles when thinking of the challenge before us and who is able to brush off the nonsense when it seems overwhelming.

It’s also the halfway mark. I don’t know if I should think of it as a repeat of what I’ve just done, as “only” a month and a half left, or as “still the second half of the semester to go”. I know what I feel, and that is that I’m going to have a hard time leaving this place. It is around now that they warn you of this study abroad “curve”. It is an emotional chart in the shape of a U with a starting point and finishing point at much higher emotional happiness points than the middle. It is now when people are to start marking their calendars to count down, or to wonder why four months sounded like a good idea in the first place.

This is not how I feel. I feel as though if I had control of the sun, I would keep it stagnant for the majority of the week until I felt as though I would collapse. I don’t like that the days pass here at incredible speeds. I never thought I would be this comfortable with life outside of what I know, but this is life now; this is what I know. I wonder how long it takes for a tourist to come to Jordan and decide that this is great “for a vacation” and be glad to have a set plane ticket home shortly, and when it is that that person decides that this isn’t so bad, that maybe they could be here a while.

Life is slow in Amman, and it is fast too. There is little social unrest, and people are peaceful, paisible, pleasant, life is مش مشكالة , no problems. Emotionally, it is fast paced and hard to keep up. The reality of my social situation here in Jordan is laughable. I feel as though the way your muscles break down after strength training only to build themselves up slightly larger with scar tissue, that’s what is happening to my psyche. Every time you get torn down you feel sore. Luckily, the body has its own physical and emotional defense mechanisms to help you bounce back. This trip has helped me take those times in my life when I’ve been torn down to shreds to start picking them up once again. I’ve sewn them into a person with a direction and past.

I’m not just a bundle of shreds of past tumbles anticipating the next blow with a shield up.

In terms of daily life, other than the times of my class and the gym a few times a week, nothing in my routine is stagnant. My hatred for mid-terms is pretty unchanging. Where I go to school back home, we don’t have tests or midterms. Rote memorization and studying is relatively unheard of. Researching and reading/writing until my brain bursts is without question more my style. This is most likely the most torturous part of the experience- the schooling. I’ve never been so unmotivated to work and more motivated to explore.

It is unrealistic to expect to come here and not devote an amazing amount of time to talk to and about locals. On the other hand, this is not like anything I could hope to learn at school in the states. Learning about people, learning how to talk with them (instead of to them), giving and taking advice, learning to exchange perspectives gently, diplomatically, this is what I want to do with my life. I love listening to people convey things which turn everything I thought I knew on its head. I’m always being blown away with what someone’s “space” looks like through other occipital lobes.

Like Hamlet, I’ve come to believe more and more that “there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so”. Very little is intrinsically right or wrong or better or worse than whatever you are comparing it to objectively. Things simply “are” and as such we are able to cast our opinions upon them from only our individual contexts and experiences as reference points. More importantly than casting our own opinions, however, is being able to consider another.

I’ve had countless conversations with locals and peers regarding social norms, gender norms, women’s clothing, women’s place, men’s place, rationality versus faith, religion’s ultimate place, the role of politics etc. to only come to find myself in a vortex of more questions. On the other hand, when you only talk and do not listen or when you cloud your thinking with only a few similar sources of information, you are going to be part of a system that does not understand and thus cannot adequately act.

I would love to dispel the images that you see of the Middle East being portrayed as “Iran, Israel and Afghanistan” because while none of these are even Arab countries (and it is the Arab stereotype that gets the wrap), everything you see is unlike anything I see. But realistically I know I could write 800 blogs about this topic and you will still watch and internalize CNN first.
Instead, I will continue to try to give you history lessons on the countries of this region because I know that if I did not learn anything about them in my high school, neither did you.

If I were not in the middle of studying for midterms, I would outline a long detailed posting regarding the Armistice of 1949, the Suez Canal Crisis, the war of ’67, and Camp David ‘79 but I would either explode from the greed of what I’m reading or explode from overheating from memorizing so many freaking dates. If you have any questions about why the Middle East is politically the way it is now, I’d be glad to answer in painstaking detail. It is painted so beautifully in Main Line high schools of Pennsylvania, with simple outlines of the Geneva Accords and the kindly gestures of Super Nations offering the oppressed holocaust survivors a home. The complexities beyond this are innumerable, but when your frame of reference is a cropped picture from a much greater lens, you have no reason to dispute. I’m here to give you reason to dispute.

Also, I am learning Arabic in case you forgot. I'm living in a country where the majority of people speak little English. The signs on the streets are in Arabic, all the fastfood chains are in Arabic, I gather you would figure this, but when you can't read "Pharmacy", it strikes you a bit harder. Fortunately, my brain has been dunked and inundated with two dialects of Arabic in an intensive course that I'm proud to say has allowed me to read every sign and understand every fourth sign. I can carry on a pseudo-conversation and know (because of my MIDTERM!) well over 600 vocabularly words (most of which we were tested on, and were even asked to write a short story on our exam). My story was along the lines of the nice boys sitting in the class with the nice teacher in the pretty room writing long papers on the brown tables by the big windows that the nice teacher opened on the pretty day. But I was damn proud of it.

So there is the halfway mark in a page. In a word: captivating. I’ve made it this far, I never had too many doubts but huge shout out to the family for giving me coping mechanisms early in life for adaption purposes. The forecast for today is 68 and “Widespread Dust”. A few days ago it was 90 and “Smoky”. Mostly its 80 and “Haze”. When I go home it will be 28 and Snowy. I sometimes can’t believe the reality of my own life. I’m consumed by what is here and forget to communicate to the outside world (in truth, I often forget there is more to my world). Know that if I’m not writing, I’m absorbing, and I cannot wait to return with my mind laden with perspective. Also know that I am happy. I am really, truly happy.

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.

Day 45

So, I actually go to school here. I know, I know, I forget too sometimes given the four-thousand pounds of analysis and excitement I waft through daily.

Academically, it was one of those days that you realize why you love to play the intellectual. I learned to see perspectives not represented in the US and I thought it would be a shame to keep all this to myself.

So, here are some things I learned at school today.

Three classes: Arabic, The Politics of Water in the Middle East, Contemporary Thought in the Islamic World.

In Arabic I learned that obviously I do not devote enough time to studying every night (resolution #1- focus on school work and stop writing blogs, analyzing life and exploring Amman). My priority from here on in is to devote a portion of my day to intensive Arabic studies (despite the fact that three hours a day that is all I do, not to mention the fact that I live here…).

In my Water class I started to doze off when we talked about the main water sources in Syria (resolution #2- seriously, get more sleep).

On the other hand, I woke up with a surprising jolt when the powerpoint went off, the lights went on and my professor began to ask us what we knew about the realities of the Arab/Israeli conflict on our border. A few of us spat out the random factoid regarding historical incompatibilities, World War II, and hearsay from CNN. What we did learn was absolutely beguiling to me. We are learning about the politics of the greatest political dilemma of this generation from an Arab perspective.
This is phenomenal because living in the states (whether you knew it or not) you are actually mostly getting the other side. My hand could not replicate the sounds I was hearing fast enough or adequately and I feel as though a tape-recorder would have behooved me on this day.
If you thought you knew something about this issue and want to be more informed anyways, read on. This is what we learned today:

Zionism (a sort of Jewish nationalism) arose in the 1880s due to the heavy anti-Semitism of the era. The Zionist felt the Jews needed their own independent state because they were being discriminated against. (Militant aside: We are only two or three generations from the greatest human exploitation based on race in the history of the world, and yet is there a Black homeland? I think not). Jewish immigration headed in the direction of Palestine from 1882 to 1914, and by that time composed approximately 5% of the population in that region. The World Zionist Organization helped to purchase the land in Palestine to create this independent state as a spiritual and political renewal of their people in the Palestinian homeland. They were seeking freedom from Western degradation. The slogan they used in order to justify this purchase of land was “A people without a land to a land without a people”. The justification lay in the fact that there was no population in Palestine. The population of Arabs was in fact nearing a million by 1914 and the Jews occupied 5% of this. This land had belonged to the Ottomans.

It was around this time that the Brits (who were currently occupying Egypt and other vestiges of the Middle East) gained support for the Sharif of Mecca, Hussein ibn Ali and persuaded him to launch an Arab revolt against the Ottomans to gain their independence. A British commissioner, Henry McMahon promised that in return, Hussein would be awarded an empire spanning from Egypt to Persia. Instead, Hussein’s forces ended up helping the Brits take control of Palestine, Transjordan (today, Jordan) and Syria. The Sykes-Picot (1916) agreement was a secret accord between France and Britain which did nothing but sneak behind Hussein while he was planning his revolt and divided the Middle East between themselves (Lebanon, Syria and North Iraq for France, while Transjordan and Southern Iraq went to Britain). The other issue was that in 1917, the Balfour Declaration stated that the formally free state of Palestine (at least, a state under international control) was being given by the British to the Jews as a national home.

The British did not do this because they felt some sympathy for a subjugated people, instead, by giving the Jewish people a home, they encouraged the American and Russian Jews to press their government to fight harder in Europe during World War I (a grand incentive, shall we say). The British were able to place their troops and control the areas surrounding the major port of the Suez Canal and holy cities around Jerusalem (sanctioned now by the League of Nations). Jewish nationalism is given precedence over the rights of the occupying Palestinians. Prince Abdullah is given the rule of the area the British sanctioned off as “Jordan”; Prince Faisal is given the invisible lines between which now lies Iraq while King Saud is ruler of Saudi Arabia.

Life works this way and the Brits have a mandate over Palestine officially by 1922. On the other hand, people who lived there, those who had their homes and lives settled in this land before it was divided up by global super powers for access to resources and to wage successful wars were beginning to get antsy. In 1946, the Palestinian population showed that the only city that was actually dominated by the Jewish people was Tel Aviv (with an overall Jewish occupation at 10% of Palestine).

The UN was working to divide Palestine between the Arabs who had their homes and the Jewish people who were given the “vacant” landmass. The Partition Plan of 1947 relegated 60% of the land to the 10% of the population (the Jews) with access to the Dead Sea, the Red Sea, The Mediterranean Sea and rivers from Syria and Jordan while giving the 40% remainder to the Arabs with little access to any of these water sources in the land most arid and infertile.

When the Arabs saw this plan, they rejected it and claimed that Palestine was theirs by right.
Israeli terrorist gangs formed with the strong nationalism sparked (potentially) by Zionism and forced the Arabs to leave the land that the Partition Plan stated now belonged to them.

On May 14, 1948, Isarel declared its independence.

On May 15, 1948, Israel was attacked by Syria, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Egypt.

Israel prevailed thanks to its well trained and well equipped army, and its great financial support from the United States. In 1964, Israel began coveting water from the Jordan River at no political cost to them thanks to their support from the US. This body of water was once the pivotal feeding spot for the Dead Sea. It is now polluted and practically empty due to the siphoning of water. (The Dead Sea is just that, but just because there is no life within it, does not mean it is unimportant if it runs out. When this happens, the fresh water (which is seperated by the delicate balance of geology) will begin to leak into the salt water and we will lose our fresh water sources. This also forms sink holes the size of a small house on the ground above so the buildings and cars which drive on this land will sink into the ground).

The Arab states began constructing a diversion plan which diverted the water before it reached the Sea of Galilee and would flow to Jordan, Syria and Lebanon instead. There are many border disputes other than this one which sparked the war of ’67. But as a result of the war, Israel gained control of the Sinai, Gaza, West Bank, Jerusalem and the Golan Heights (all still reflecting the geopolitics of the current era).

The realities of the water siphoning, polluting and misusage have caused countries like Jordan immense obstructions of not only their water supply, but their political relations with neighboring countries. The Jews who inhabit the West Bank currently have a water theme park, a pool, and running water in all homes (consuming 59% of the Jordan River- a body of water used also by Syria, Lebanon and Jordan) and dumping much of its waste into the lower quarter of the Jordan River. In the Arab side of the West Bank, the per capita consumption for Palestinians is 60 liters per day (some reduced to numbers like 10-15 liters) The Jewish side of the West Bank on the other side of the wall (with the water parks and green golf courses) consumes over four times that. The US per capita consumes nearly 1000 liters per day. Most Arab homes are not connected to any main system of running water and collect it in buckets weekly from a water truck. People bathe, wash dishes and drink from the two or three buckets they collect weekly. It is a reality, not a joke. It is also much more salient when you know you can see this part of the world from the downtown or your own damn window.
That was water class today.

On another note, Contemporary Islamic Thought began today with a commentary on women and the hijab. Huge controversy, obviously, everywhere you go. Our teacher is a brilliant Muslim woman with a 14karate heart who chose to wear the hijab herself. Since we were on the topic, Elspeth and I proceeded to bombard her with insightful questions (in our opinions) that we had been working through for the past couple of days. She began by making a comment on the women who choose to veil themselves entirely (over the face, eyes or both). She said that she doesn’t really understand why that choice of dress is necessary. She says that while sometimes it is a pious family’s choice of carrying on tradition, most times it is a woman trying to be her most pious self. She stated that in the Quran it says that the wives of the prophet were special women. They were to cover themselves entirely because they were on a different level. They were twice as close to the Prophet, so twice as close to becoming the best Muslims they could be, or could be reprimanded with twice the punishment. Women who chose to cover themselves entirely are choosing to be as close to the wives of the Prophet as possible.

I ask: “Does it say in the Quran that the wives covered themselves entirely?” My professor answers yes, however it is reserved only for the wives of the Prophet, and is not meant for the rest of humanity. I follow up by asking about this differential we keep hearing about regarding the hijab as a part of “cultural” Islam, and not “religious” Islam. What does this mean?
She explains to us that historically, the Christians, for example, wore a head covering not so dissimilar to the Muslim women. It was simply the “style” of the time, before the Prophet, during the Prophet and after the Prophet. It was what women wore as today they wear dresses. On the other hand, Muslim women were to be known as such. They were to differentiate themselves from the slaves and other people and did this via their clothing. The individual was not important, the Muslimness, on the other hand, was.

Elspeth asks: Does the Quran say WHY women are to cover themselves this way? Is it to protect themselves from men? Or something else?

Our professor astutely answers that the Quran and God do not specifically give reasons for these things all the time. This is the definition of faith. You are free from all servitude of man when you resign yourself to God. If everything were stated clearly, you could rationalize and disagree and vow against. Instead, you do not need to use your rational mind because that is not faith. Faith is not rational. It does say in the Quran, one thing regarding this issue and that is the aforementioned theory on Muslim women being their own and recognized through their clothing.
We touched upon a great thinker in Islamic thought, Sayyid Qutb. My hand could once again not keep the pace with my mind. He wrote of this theory called “Deen” indirectly translated as “religion” but really means a comprehensive way of life. It does not have to be divine. It is for the believer, but for the atheist, the deen applies too.

Any power that you reference in life is your deen. This is what controls you, your individual philosophies on life, and it is from that the person derives all beliefs. I asked for a specific example of what this deen would be for the atheist. She answered “accident, and chaos”. If you take this theory, you are liberated from all moral control, and if you chose to have a specific moral it is because it is coming from inside of you. Chaos. Accident. My beliefs were solidified today in class. I am this person and not afraid of it.

What is your deen?

Day 39

Listening to this song called "Beautiful" by Eminem on the bus yesterday as I drove through Amman and around the mosques. I know, it's Eminem, but it made me breathe a bit more deeply. I think it speaks for itself; it struck a bit of a chord while I was listening...


Cause where you see it from where your sittin its probably 110% different
I guess we would have to walk a mile in eachothers shoes at least
What size you wear?
I wear tens
Lets see if you can fit your feet
In my shoes, just to see
What its like, to be me
Ill be you, lets trade shoes
Just to see what itd be like
To feel your pain, you feel mine
Go inside eachothers minds
Just to see what we'd find
Look at life through eachothers eyes


If I didn't love psychology so much, particularly clinical, particularly exactly what I know I want to do, I would pursue something related to understanding cultural differences sociologically, perhaps gender differences. The past couple days have been intellectually satisfying for me. Educationally, I feel I have made strides past where I began on this journey. Hopefully by the end I will have exceeded four-fold.

My past couple of days have cumulated into a great amalgamation of renewed interests. Primarily, there was another conversation regarding social issues with the peer tutor (the student with whom we discussed sexuality not long ago). We had a couple more questions which she graciously answered. After that, I will tell you the story of our field trip.

There were a couple questions which plagued us still, the first was on their knowledge of anatomy and the male perspective on virginity in Jordan (as if there were one).

She was asked if she did not use tampons for fear of breaking her hymen and she had no idea, even when looking at a picture or using the dictionary what that was. Subsequently, when asked "but what about sports or athletics? You know it can break that way?" "She said " Sport, like karate?" With a nod in response, she continued...


If you take a sport (like karate) as a woman, you must go to the manager of the course and recieve a note. This is a note you will carry around with you for life and show it to your husband, or fiance to explain why you do not bleed. If you ride a camel, you go to the manager and ask the same thing.


If a woman has no such note and still doesn't bleed, she goes with her husband to the doctor for an exam "together" and the doctor "can explain" if her hymen broke from sex or sports or other... Everything I learned in Middle School was very clear on the fact that a doctor could not tell the difference between these forms of breaks. Apparently here they can... (My theory is that bribery or relationships play a role, but that is just my theory).

Otherwise, the "picture" phenomenon is becoming larger than we had originally anticipated. The peer tutor explained that sometimes men will marry you if they have sex with you because they "love you"...but it is never clear if they love you so therein lies the problem when the day comes. Other times, if he quite clearly DOESN'T love you, he will take a nude or semi-nude picture of the girl in question and use it as leverage. If she doesn't continue to have sex with him, then he will forward it to the whole community (school, neighborhood, etc). This will ruin a girl and she will resort to suicide, social hibernation or will flee.

It is known here that a woman is most likely not be a 'virgin' because she somehow broke her hymen in life (a good thing to understand, but virgin in terms of intact hymen) but a note is crucial for proof.


I don't want to overload with you information on this issue, but these points remained quite salient with me over the course of the past few days and I thought I would share them with you.

Otherwise, yesterday was our field trip for my Contemporary Islamic Thought class. The course I am taking essentially traces Islamic theorists throughout the past century and we explore how they have influenced what has become of Islam in different regions (anything from social relations to those who influenced Al Qaeda)

We were told that we were going to visit a mosque or two but were not given much more information than that. We were also told that it would take the class period (approx. 2 hours) for the trip.

We left around three and drove to the downtown. The downtown is where the souks are located and it is incessantly a madhouse. I love the downtown, but a tour group of twenty American kids at a mosque in the downtown is a suicide mission. We were told to cover our heads with our scarves and started to walk towards the mosque right at the end of the call to prayer (the same one at which I found myself not long ago on a Friday). This mosque was "exclusively" for men, other than a small closed room to the left for a dozen or so women. My friends and I were feeling extraordinarily insensitive and tried to distance ourselves from the target that was a mass of white students in the entryway of a male dominated mosque at the call to prayer. Needless to say, we were offensive and asked to leave (at least the women). We were not feeling good about this decision to go on our fieldtrip and being a half dinar cab ride away from home, were considering calling it quits.


We stayed on, and hopped back in the bus in order to visit our second mosque. A couple of my friends and I had been to this one before in our attempt to visit the citadel back in the first couple days of being here. It is an enormous blue mosque quite near our home and we were excited to see the inside. It is not exactly the easiest thing to access the inside of a mosque, particularly when you are not Muslim or a non-Muslim woman. Since our professor is Muslim and she had organized this with an educational caveat, we were permitted to enter (during a time that was NOT the call to prayer....jeez). We felt slightly more comfortable not being accosted by men trying to have a moment of peace. I also noticed at this point the six Mercedes outside. The only cars. Hm.


We were told that in order to enter we would have to be fully covered. I had a white scarf with me, but none of us carry around jilbabs on a regular basis. We were given full black robes to wear and with my white scarf underneath was taunted regarding my resemblance to Julie Andrews re: Sound of Music. Sweet... The men wore, clearly, nothing but their regular clothes and being in full garb quite clearly puts some things into perspective. Nothing is a picnic in the states regarding subjugation, and being any sort of minority implies that you are not equal to the norm (even if the norm is actually not a numerical majority). I believe in the theory of the importance of women here. Women are the absolute cornerstone of life and progress. They are protected to sustain the family, the most important part of life. How it is implemented, however, is of great concern to me. On the other hand, both the fundemental capitalistic nature AND how it is exercised in the U.S. is of great concern to me, so I don't know where to find a medium. What country has this medium? Can you put the family first and sustain an economically successful country?



We entered the mosque, more specifically the area of prayer for men and were taken aback by the vast open space before us. It was a lovely mosque and we crossed the corridor to visit the space dedicated to women's prayer. Men were not really supposed to enter so the man who was giving us our tour had not seen the stickers and decorations the women had put up and around the alter facing the Kabaa (the black stone in Mecca). He was not happy and started pulling them down. I saw women peering in from behind a corner. I couldn't help but think that they must have felt such resentment towards us at that moment. What were we doing there anyways?


We returned our coverings and hopped on the bus around sunset to visit our third and last mosque. We were late, but the humble men let us in regardless. The Hussein bin-Talal mosque was astounding in magnitude and reverence. I had never felt so at peace. I felt as though the way the wind blew through the corridors and the birds sang on the olive trees inside that perhaps I too would believe in God. There were four minarets posted at each corner that were square in the shape of Ummayyad ornamentation. This was a gift from the King in 2006 to the people of Jordan. This is also where he prays (usually he comes on Fridays). We were shown the area relagated for women's prayer. They were in a box looking down through a screen at the men's prayer area. Even here.

We were shown the entrance the King uses and the washrooms, and were astounded by the 2,000s.meters of serenity. I have posted pictures below.

On our way home, I listened to our professor explain that she wanted to show us three different levels of education and reactions to our presence. The first in the market was the least educated and most resentful while the second was increasingly educated and open to our being there under certain conditions and the third welcomed us with open arms.

What a difference education makes. It was a phenomenal experience to stand under the minaret of the King's mosque at the call to prayer at sunset and soak in the realities of life here.

It was also humbling. Sometimes in the U.S., you forget you are a small part of a big community. It is not that the community is in place to accomodate you, although sometimes it might appear that way. I have found no intelligent answer to reconcile all our relative differences in the U.S. to make life elsewhere appear less marginalizing. But when you are living in a community of minarets, it is almost impossible to imagine ego-centricity. You forget that there are arguments claiming a universal human psychology, that we all are fundementally the same. I have no idea what to say to make sense of either the worlds to which I am privy. I think what I have decided is that education is paramount. Cultural and scholastic education in tandem will make for a much more tolerant global system. Step 1: Be informed.

Pictures from the Mosque Trip

Us at the second mosque with our full coverings...cute.

Zach allowing us to show a bit of a contast.

The prayer room.


The Mercedes.

The King's mosque.



All the same day, different lighting.

Inside of the men's prayer room.