There are three things considered haram (forbidden) to talk about in public media, and often times in public as well:
1) Allah
2) sex
3) politics - especially domestic politics, no criticizing the king
Just think about the effects this can have on a society.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
Eid al-Shkra (Thanksgiving)
I was a little sad that I couldn't celebrate Thanksgiving with my family, but I did learn how to have Thanksgiving in a country that obviously does not celebrate this holiday, or even have pumpkins.
We had classes on Thursday, but that didn't set back the girls and I who planned to have a Thanksgiving feast that night. We scoured the supermarket for any Thanksgiving like foods, took our goods back to our various kitchens, and set about preparing our designated dishes. I was in charge of the sweet potato souffle and sweet potato pie. I had to buy a million and one sweet potatoes because here they are the size of Vienna Fingers. Samanthi, the maid, helped me peel the potatoes. Then I bonded with my host sister as we threw sugar, eggs, milk and cinnamon into various bowls, and mashed the potatoes into oblivion. My friends insisted on putting marshmallows on the souffle (what the heck?) but I complied, and sprinkled the dish with pink and yellow heart shaped marshmallows. Marshmallows are more of a sweet snack for children, I learned, instead of for hot cocoa or s'mores.
The spread was impressive. Sliced deli turkey, french bread, gravy from a packet, stuffing from a box, cranberry sauce from a can, mashed potatoes from a bag, and chai. Afterward, we ate homemade pecan pie and sweet potato pie. It more than sufficed for a Thanksgiving abroad. More importantly, we were thankful for the support we provided each other in a place that is so extremely different from home and thankful for the opportunity to gather as we did to celebrate Thanksgiving.
We had classes on Thursday, but that didn't set back the girls and I who planned to have a Thanksgiving feast that night. We scoured the supermarket for any Thanksgiving like foods, took our goods back to our various kitchens, and set about preparing our designated dishes. I was in charge of the sweet potato souffle and sweet potato pie. I had to buy a million and one sweet potatoes because here they are the size of Vienna Fingers. Samanthi, the maid, helped me peel the potatoes. Then I bonded with my host sister as we threw sugar, eggs, milk and cinnamon into various bowls, and mashed the potatoes into oblivion. My friends insisted on putting marshmallows on the souffle (what the heck?) but I complied, and sprinkled the dish with pink and yellow heart shaped marshmallows. Marshmallows are more of a sweet snack for children, I learned, instead of for hot cocoa or s'mores.
The spread was impressive. Sliced deli turkey, french bread, gravy from a packet, stuffing from a box, cranberry sauce from a can, mashed potatoes from a bag, and chai. Afterward, we ate homemade pecan pie and sweet potato pie. It more than sufficed for a Thanksgiving abroad. More importantly, we were thankful for the support we provided each other in a place that is so extremely different from home and thankful for the opportunity to gather as we did to celebrate Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
The Good and the Bad
Eid al-Adha is over. Students are back from their excursions around the Middle East. I am lamenting the lack of pumpkin in Jordan. Term paper deadlines are approaching fast and furious while available weekends are diminishing at a seemingly more rapid pace. I am engrossed in research about the Moslem Brethren of Syria - unfortunately, Syria does not like to publish anything that might mar their reputation. And I am out of peanut butter.
Thus, I think it is the perfect time to share with you what I love about Jordan.
1) I know I've said this before, but I love the evenings. The air is cool, the setting sun casts a pink glow on the white buildings of the city, things quiet down, and visitors come calling to sit on the veranda and sip chai while enjoying relaxed conversation. I often curl up on the couch with various members of my host family, and half watch the TV, half listen to the conversations around me. Evenings are beautiful.
2) I love the call to prayer. Five times throughout the day, it gives a sense of continuity and stability to the day, the week, to life. The prayers are not all the same: some lamenting and sad, some deep and beautiful, and some passionate and commanding. I don't know what they say, but nonetheless, the sound is beautiful, echoing from minaret to minaret to cover the city in reminder to pray. (Side note: Koranic verse is very complicated because of its old vernacular - many Arabs do not understand what some of the words mean.)
3) There is something delightful about standing in line at the closest falafel shop to get your 50 cent sandwich. The pita is warm, the falafel is fresh, and the hummus is creamy: zakey kateer and the perfect mid-day lunch to get you through the rest of the day's classes.
4) When you greet someone here and ask how they are doing, a common response is alhamdulillah, meaning "Praise be to God." I find that nice. If their day is going well, they immediately respond by giving God the credit. I know that the response has become casual and probably off-hand without much thought to the meaning, but as a foreigner to this culture, I find the practice interesting.
5) Produce trucks - I really like the produce trucks. Not only do they sit on the side of the road loaded to overflowing with fresh bananas, pomegranates, etc., often topped with a young boy sitting non-chalantly on his throne of fruit; these trucks are also bejeweled with hearts and swirls of metallic colors painted on the truck's sides. It's a fun sight.
6) Finally, I like the cats. They are at every dumpster, by every street corner: calicoes, tortoise-shelled, tabbies, every color with yellow and green eyes pausing to watch you pass. These are cats that frequent trash heaps, but their grace and posture would have them exploring marble halls instead.
These are just a few things I like about Jordan, but these six are what I see and experience everyday. Little things, yet they are happy.
A happy Thanksgiving to all!
Thus, I think it is the perfect time to share with you what I love about Jordan.
1) I know I've said this before, but I love the evenings. The air is cool, the setting sun casts a pink glow on the white buildings of the city, things quiet down, and visitors come calling to sit on the veranda and sip chai while enjoying relaxed conversation. I often curl up on the couch with various members of my host family, and half watch the TV, half listen to the conversations around me. Evenings are beautiful.
2) I love the call to prayer. Five times throughout the day, it gives a sense of continuity and stability to the day, the week, to life. The prayers are not all the same: some lamenting and sad, some deep and beautiful, and some passionate and commanding. I don't know what they say, but nonetheless, the sound is beautiful, echoing from minaret to minaret to cover the city in reminder to pray. (Side note: Koranic verse is very complicated because of its old vernacular - many Arabs do not understand what some of the words mean.)
3) There is something delightful about standing in line at the closest falafel shop to get your 50 cent sandwich. The pita is warm, the falafel is fresh, and the hummus is creamy: zakey kateer and the perfect mid-day lunch to get you through the rest of the day's classes.
4) When you greet someone here and ask how they are doing, a common response is alhamdulillah, meaning "Praise be to God." I find that nice. If their day is going well, they immediately respond by giving God the credit. I know that the response has become casual and probably off-hand without much thought to the meaning, but as a foreigner to this culture, I find the practice interesting.
5) Produce trucks - I really like the produce trucks. Not only do they sit on the side of the road loaded to overflowing with fresh bananas, pomegranates, etc., often topped with a young boy sitting non-chalantly on his throne of fruit; these trucks are also bejeweled with hearts and swirls of metallic colors painted on the truck's sides. It's a fun sight.
6) Finally, I like the cats. They are at every dumpster, by every street corner: calicoes, tortoise-shelled, tabbies, every color with yellow and green eyes pausing to watch you pass. These are cats that frequent trash heaps, but their grace and posture would have them exploring marble halls instead.
These are just a few things I like about Jordan, but these six are what I see and experience everyday. Little things, yet they are happy.
A happy Thanksgiving to all!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Brewings Over Coffee
I sat behind the counter with the shop owner, talking about politics, religions and cultures, sipping the drink of choice in Jordan: Nescafe. I walk by his shop everyday going to class, saying "marhaba!" as I pass. With classes off for Eid Al-Adha, I was able to finally have our promised conversation over coffee. It was the second conversation of the day about Israel, Palestine, and American politics in the region. Jordanians certainly have their opinions. And if they're Palestinian, they hold tightly to their wounds and cling to their memories. "We have been here for fifty years, and everyday I have heard my father talk about his home in Palestine. Everyday." Many say they just don't understand why the land can't be shared, why Israel wants it all, why Hamas keeps killing. "There are no differences between the Arabs and the Americans - except that America decided to support Israel. That is the only reason for trouble. Arabs do not understand why America takes the side of Israel."
I have to choose my responses carefully, mostly I resort to nodding my head, listening and saying, "it is sad," from time to time. It's not my goal to argue - I want to listen. At some point in almost every conversation like this, I am asked, "Why are you studying here? Why politics? It is so complicated and politicians are liars everywhere." I tell them I am here because I don't understand, but want to. There is too much ignorance and I wanted to learn the stories here and not just be taught the American perspective.
There is a lot of ignorance in the States. I came here so that I would not have to be influenced solely by the perspectives of my American professors, peers and family. As much as I respect those opinions, there is another side to the story that I don't hear. In Jordan, I have found another ignorance. They tell me that they know what it is like in America. I am told that we are all blinded by the Jewish influence on the media. That we only see it one way and will never take the side of the Arabs. I am told what we Americans think and why we think it. (I am talking only about politics here, but their ideas about our culture and lifestyles are as great and broad as our perception of the Arab culture and lifestyle.) They then tell me what the Israeli government thinks and why they continue their settlements. The Jordanians inform me of the Palestinians desire to take over in Jordan and the Palestinians tell me of the Jordanian persecution of Palestinians. There is a lot of animosity between Jordanians and Palestinians, between Arabs and the American government (I have been told countless times that they love the American people, they just don't agree with the government), and obviously the animosity between Arabs and Israelis. And ignorance feeds this animosity on the local level.
So, I continue to have these conversations. Sometimes their perceptions about America or their neighbors make me frustrated and upset. But their opinions are tied to their emotions and what they feel in this conflict. Whether it is sparked from their family having to become refugees in their homeland, or having to see their country absorb these refugees and host the tensions that arise from this land sharing - in the end, it is an issue that is part of their life everyday. And it is their life that is important, sah?
I have to choose my responses carefully, mostly I resort to nodding my head, listening and saying, "it is sad," from time to time. It's not my goal to argue - I want to listen. At some point in almost every conversation like this, I am asked, "Why are you studying here? Why politics? It is so complicated and politicians are liars everywhere." I tell them I am here because I don't understand, but want to. There is too much ignorance and I wanted to learn the stories here and not just be taught the American perspective.
There is a lot of ignorance in the States. I came here so that I would not have to be influenced solely by the perspectives of my American professors, peers and family. As much as I respect those opinions, there is another side to the story that I don't hear. In Jordan, I have found another ignorance. They tell me that they know what it is like in America. I am told that we are all blinded by the Jewish influence on the media. That we only see it one way and will never take the side of the Arabs. I am told what we Americans think and why we think it. (I am talking only about politics here, but their ideas about our culture and lifestyles are as great and broad as our perception of the Arab culture and lifestyle.) They then tell me what the Israeli government thinks and why they continue their settlements. The Jordanians inform me of the Palestinians desire to take over in Jordan and the Palestinians tell me of the Jordanian persecution of Palestinians. There is a lot of animosity between Jordanians and Palestinians, between Arabs and the American government (I have been told countless times that they love the American people, they just don't agree with the government), and obviously the animosity between Arabs and Israelis. And ignorance feeds this animosity on the local level.
So, I continue to have these conversations. Sometimes their perceptions about America or their neighbors make me frustrated and upset. But their opinions are tied to their emotions and what they feel in this conflict. Whether it is sparked from their family having to become refugees in their homeland, or having to see their country absorb these refugees and host the tensions that arise from this land sharing - in the end, it is an issue that is part of their life everyday. And it is their life that is important, sah?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Trip to Jerash and Umm Qais: my fill of ruins
 |
| Stone oven on which the best zeit u zaitar is made |
In the picture below, the hills in the background are in Syria. One of the countries in the region that I am not allowed to enter unless I purchase an expensive visa in advance. Otherwise, I will be rejected at the border.
I also discovered that I probably would not want to go to Greece for the sake of seeing ruins. I'm not that big of a fan. Sorry to all of you die-hard history buffs who find delight in each Corinthian pillar - I will leave them to you. As for myself, I will continue to search for summits and wadis and views to sketch. :-)
 |
| Boy in Olive grove by the border of Syria |
 |
| Entrance to Jerash |
 |
| Exploring Jerash with Laura |
 |
| Not a big fan of ruins but Jerash was pretty cool |
 |
| Umm Qays |
 |
| Jerash and Irbid: old and new |
Friday, November 12, 2010
Tropical Desert Adventure
Last Friday saw me chest deep in a fresh stream pushing through reeds and wondering where my machete was. This is Wadi Hasa - one of the few streams left flowing through Jordan. I was with a group of 9 other students and Fulbrighters, led by two guides who knew the Wadi like their own hand.
One of the first turns in the stream dropped over a ledge into a deep pool. We were instructed to cross our arms and go for it. The drop was about 15 feet. It was such a thrill. Thus started our tedious 4 kilometer trek following the stream bed and various instructions such as, "At this waterfall, brace yourself against the rocks on either side, and stick your foot partially down and into the waterfall to find a ledge. You must launch yourself off this ledge or else you won't clear the rock at the base of the waterfall just under the surface that will break your knees." We jumped off cliffs, waded through mud, caught crabs, pushed through some more reeds, battled up against the current and sought out overlooks that were breathtaking. Local boys followed us for a ways and watched us as we cliff jumped before launching their skinny, browned bodies into the pools.
Here I learned that the mud filling our shoes is the same mud that fills the Ahava Dead Sea Mud bottles. The mud at the Dead Sea is too salty to be good for your skin without being desalinized first. Thus, streams such as the one flowing through Wadi Hasa are harvested for their fresh, and just-as-nutrient-rich, mud.
As you can probably guess, no cameras - as they were bound to be destroyed in the water.
At the end of the hike, we skipped streams to follow a hot spring into a pool that was dammed up a little to create a natural jacuzzi. Our guides made tea as we rested our bruised legs in the warm water. It was incredible: sitting their in this hot spring surrounded by reeds and trees that flourish around this rare stream, and just a little beyond the large yellow mountains of the desert that make up most of Jordan. I had to pause and turn to my friend to say, "Kaitlin, look where we are!"
One of the first turns in the stream dropped over a ledge into a deep pool. We were instructed to cross our arms and go for it. The drop was about 15 feet. It was such a thrill. Thus started our tedious 4 kilometer trek following the stream bed and various instructions such as, "At this waterfall, brace yourself against the rocks on either side, and stick your foot partially down and into the waterfall to find a ledge. You must launch yourself off this ledge or else you won't clear the rock at the base of the waterfall just under the surface that will break your knees." We jumped off cliffs, waded through mud, caught crabs, pushed through some more reeds, battled up against the current and sought out overlooks that were breathtaking. Local boys followed us for a ways and watched us as we cliff jumped before launching their skinny, browned bodies into the pools.
Here I learned that the mud filling our shoes is the same mud that fills the Ahava Dead Sea Mud bottles. The mud at the Dead Sea is too salty to be good for your skin without being desalinized first. Thus, streams such as the one flowing through Wadi Hasa are harvested for their fresh, and just-as-nutrient-rich, mud.
As you can probably guess, no cameras - as they were bound to be destroyed in the water.
At the end of the hike, we skipped streams to follow a hot spring into a pool that was dammed up a little to create a natural jacuzzi. Our guides made tea as we rested our bruised legs in the warm water. It was incredible: sitting their in this hot spring surrounded by reeds and trees that flourish around this rare stream, and just a little beyond the large yellow mountains of the desert that make up most of Jordan. I had to pause and turn to my friend to say, "Kaitlin, look where we are!"
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Mahmoud Darwish
I know I am behind on blogs. I have to write about my Indiana Jones-esque excursion last week to Wadi Hasa, among other things. But right now I want to share a poem by the late Mahmoud Darwish, who was declared "the voice of the Palestinian people." I have to write an essay about him in Arabic as part of a midterm, and stumbled across this poem called Identity Card. This poem seems to capture the sentiment I have picked up in conversation with Palestinians in Jordan. Which reminds me of this conversation I had last night that I will share, but don't have time because it is already past eleven and this essay isn't finished! Anyways, appreciate the poem.
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ And the number of my card is fifty thousand/ I have eight children/ And the ninth is due after summer./ What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ Working with comrades of toil in quarry./ I have eight children/ For them I wrest the loaf of bread,/ The clothes and exercise books/ From the rocks/ And beg for no alms at your door,/ Lower not myself at your doorstep,/ What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ I am a name without a title,/ Patient in a country where everything/ Lives in a whirlpool of anger./ My roots/ Took hold before the birth of time/ Before the burgeoning of the ages,/ Before cypress and olive trees,/ Before the proliferation of weeds./ My father is from the family of the plough/ Not from highborn nobles./ And my grandfather was a peasant/ Without line or genealogy./ My house is a watchman's hut/ Made of sticks and reeds./ Does my status satisfy you?/ I am a name without a surname.
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ Color of hair: jet black./ Color of eyes: brown./ My distinguishing features:/ On my head tje 'iqal cord over a keffiyeh/ Scratching him who touches it./ My address:/ I am from a village, remote, forgotten,/ Its streets without name/ And all its men in the fields and quarry.
"What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ You stole my forefathers' vineyards/ And land I used to till,/ I and all my children,/ And you left us and all my grandchildren/ Nothing but these rocks./ Will your government be taking them too/ As is being said?
"So!/ Put it on record at the top of page one:/ I don't hate people,/ I trespass on no one's property./ And yet, if I were to become hungry/ I shall eat the flesh of my usurper./ Beware, beware of my hunger/ And of my anger!"
- Mahmoud Darwish, 1941-2008
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ And the number of my card is fifty thousand/ I have eight children/ And the ninth is due after summer./ What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab/ Working with comrades of toil in quarry./ I have eight children/ For them I wrest the loaf of bread,/ The clothes and exercise books/ From the rocks/ And beg for no alms at your door,/ Lower not myself at your doorstep,/ What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ I am a name without a title,/ Patient in a country where everything/ Lives in a whirlpool of anger./ My roots/ Took hold before the birth of time/ Before the burgeoning of the ages,/ Before cypress and olive trees,/ Before the proliferation of weeds./ My father is from the family of the plough/ Not from highborn nobles./ And my grandfather was a peasant/ Without line or genealogy./ My house is a watchman's hut/ Made of sticks and reeds./ Does my status satisfy you?/ I am a name without a surname.
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ Color of hair: jet black./ Color of eyes: brown./ My distinguishing features:/ On my head tje 'iqal cord over a keffiyeh/ Scratching him who touches it./ My address:/ I am from a village, remote, forgotten,/ Its streets without name/ And all its men in the fields and quarry.
"What's there to be angry about?
"Put it on record./ I am an Arab./ You stole my forefathers' vineyards/ And land I used to till,/ I and all my children,/ And you left us and all my grandchildren/ Nothing but these rocks./ Will your government be taking them too/ As is being said?
"So!/ Put it on record at the top of page one:/ I don't hate people,/ I trespass on no one's property./ And yet, if I were to become hungry/ I shall eat the flesh of my usurper./ Beware, beware of my hunger/ And of my anger!"
- Mahmoud Darwish, 1941-2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)