Just curious...

So, I've been back for awhile. No news to report. But, I was checking my google analytics and saw the stats for this site. Apparently people are still visiting. Who are you? Why do you come? Don't be shy! You must know me to be reading all my past archives.

Khallas

Khallas: ad, vi, vt. No more, none remaining, at the end; to be completed; to finish

The semester in Jordan has finished, and with it, my record of it. I've completed the remaining backlogs: The Egyptian Chronicles (day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10a, 10b), Umm Queis, and Petra (day 1, 2, 3) are all up with links to pictures. And now, my finals are over, and so is my undergraduate career. My adventures in Jordan are to be no more - at least, for the present - and my adventures at home are just beginning again.

You know you've been in Jordan too long when....

…..you realize you have no need for a taxi, beyond speed. You can get anywhere you want by bus or serviis.

…..you realize you have most city bus routes memorized

…..you realize you have the fares for most of the city bus routes memorized

…..you think Western clothing is particularly ugly and uncomfortable

…..you look at Westerners as strange creatures and sadly click your tongue at their haram-ness. Shorts? Oh, my!

…..however, when you see obvious tourists, you immediately approach them to help them find their way around

……you are accustomed to seeing donkeys in the middle of your upscale neighborhood

…..you are accustomed to seeing sheep and goats grazing anywhere, particularly among church ruins

……you are absolutely sick of Roman ruins and if you hear the term Mamluk any more, you just might be ill

…..you are accustomed to 4 minute showers

……you would never throw the toilet paper in the toilet; it always goes in the waste can

…..you always carry TP with you, because even upscale restaurants will sometimes not supply it

……you have been to every worthwhile tourist site. Every. Last. One.

…..riding random busses and public transportation is no longer an adventure, but mundane

…..you have eaten at every restaurant in the guidebooks, and then some

….you know what the prices for most foods and basic goods should be and how to avoid being ripped off

….you can actually catch the waiter’s attention when you want to get your check

….you can ready Arabic calligraphy, because you read it all the time on the sides of buses you want to flag as they flash past you and

…..your favorite food is becoming “pita” bread because you eat it every morning

……falafel is becoming one of the four main food groups

……there are only four main food groups: falafel, hummus, babaghanouj, and bread

……you’ve forgotten what a sidewalk looks like

…..you stare when you see blonde hair

…..you can’t imagine using a credit card

…..you can tell by feel alone the difference between a 5 and 10 eirsh piece (they both have ridges on their sides and there is less than a millimeter’s difference in diameter)

…..you know how to flag taxis, serviis, city and private busses and you know how to stop/get off each one

…..most of the extra Arabic words you know outside class come from signs you’ve read: Not permitted, smoking, parking, drinking, recycling, company, establishment, foundation, center, complex/plaza, building, for sale, paints, tires, stores, bakery, sweet shop, car shop

….you can’t imagine drinking tea without mint

….freshly squeezed mango or guava juice is your daily drink of choice

…you are accustomed to seeing butcher shops with the animals displayed with enough gore to make Saw III proud

….you know where you can buy live roosters, chickens, rabbits, turtles, and sheep for your dinner

…..you know all the best places around to get fratta (change)

….English transliterations annoy you because how are you supposed to tell if that’s a taa or Taa?!

….you can probably recite the quran from memory because you’ve heard it played loudly in all the buses

….you hear Beethoven’s Fifth being tinnily played over the loudspeakers, and you don’t look for an icecream truck, you look for the brightly colored gas-selling truck

…digestive biscuits have become a major part of your life

….you walk through areas that would look like “bad neighborhoods” in the States all the time without fear of problem; when you see an area that looks like a Jordanian “bad neighborhood” you avoid it like the plague because it doesn’t correspond to anything you’ve seen in the states.

….you know more than you ever wanted to about the Arab Israeli conflict

….you keep your mouth shut if anyone ever asks you about the Arab Israeli conflict. Two state solution? Please. The only obvious solution is to send back every non-Palestinian to wherever their family came from 60 -100 years ago in some eastern European country…..somehow.

…..you’d rather take the stairs than the elevators, because the elevators are the slowest machines known to mankind

….you’d rather take a jet-pack than the stairs, because you know that hordes of shebaab will overtake the stairwells, thinking that they were obviously made for smoking and talking and drinking endless rounds of coffee

….you are accustomed to greetings lasting 15 minutes

….shouting doesn’t phase you; it only means someone is having a conversation

….seeing people throw trash on the ground only mildly irritates you instead of majorly infuriating you. Recycling? What’s that?

…you go to a pharmacist instead of a doctor to get whatever antibiotics you might feel you need

….seeing people walking dogs is a strange sight

….you think Nescafe is just a synonym for coffee

….you don’t get startled hearing gun fire in the evenings. It just means someone is getting married.

….you could win at any US version of frogger, since you regularly cross 8 lanes of roaring traffic

…you think that jeans and a sweater is perfectly reasonable attire in the summer

....Jordanians ask you about the best bus routes or approach you in the bus station, asking directions

…..you don’t remember what bacon tastes like

Sheepish secrets

“Hullo, George.”

“Afternoon, Rob.”

“Say, George,”

“Yes, Rob?”

“How’d’ya get your goats so fat-looking? Their coats are really good, too.”

“Well, Rob. Lemme tell you. It’s the best-kept secret this side o’ the Jordan, but what goats – and sheep – really like, what they really need is – “

“Yes, George?”

“Well, you mightn’t believe it, and that’s just fine by me, but lemme tell you. Sheep and goats purely *thrive* on church grass.”

“Church grass, George?”

“Yep, Rob. Church grass. Now, the way I reckon it is, them bishops or what not, they spilled some holy water probably on the church. Well, them churches are in ruins now, and where’d that holy water go, huh, Rob?”

“Where, George?”

“Why, into the ground, of course. So, the way I figure it is, that grass is just real holy now, and all it wants to do is grow. And it’s full off all sorts of good things. Well, Rob, all you gotta do to get some of this church grass is find yourself some ruined church and put your goats out there. They’ll just eat that grass right up, get fat in no time. ‘Course, if you don’t got no church grass around, that’s a problem, right there, Rob”

“Sure is, George. We don’t all have these churches just lyin’ around in ruins everywhere!”

“Right you are, Rob. But what you do have is just your general, run of the mill, average ruins everywhere. Now, I don’t know how they does it, but, Rob, just general ruins grass will get your goats and sheep and cows fat in no time flat, too. I reckon it’s the rocks as they do whatever rocks do – well, they just do something to the soil. Anyhow, all I know is, after church grass, general ruins grass is the absolute, best, tip-top, top-notch thing that sheep and goats like. Rob, they don’t like it, they love it.”

“So, that’s it, George?”

“Yep, Rob, that’s it. Just find you and your flock any one of the over 30,000 archaeological sites in Jordan, here, and those kids will be ready for market in no time flat!!”

“Boy, thanks, George!”

“No problem, Rob. No problem a’tall!”

......

My only question is, how do they pay admittance fee to most of these historical sites? I suppose it’s because “kids” get in free.

Life in Jordan

This is what I saw today, walking about Wust Al-Balad.

In case you need help translating the signs: (from top right to left)

Sausage, hearts, tongues, kidneys, liver, testicles, brains, spleen

On the bottom are feet/hooves and some eggs.

Please note the heads on the top, too.

You're welcome.

Going in circles

I was somewhat at a loss of what to do with myself today: no classes for which I needed to study, no places to which I needed to go, no things I needed to do. The souvenir shopping was all done, save for the food items, which I’ll get tomorrow. I had wanted to go to Ajloun castle; however, after searching for a good bus route and realizing it would take 2 hours just to get to the bus station and cost about 1JD, which is not counting the bus actually to Ajloun or walking to the castle – I decided to be lazy. I thought I had seen all the castles I could, but then decided to go to Jebel Al-Qala’a just to get out of the house.

I waited at the bus stop; an old city bus pulled up. I gave him a dinar – normally it’s only 40 eirsh but he didn’t have change. Since the city busses aren’t supposed to carry change, it wasn’t a big deal; however, generally, they do. So, I settled into my seat, not expecting any “baggee.” I was pleasantly surprised, however, that when the next two passengers got on the driver instructed them to give me their change so that they still paid and I got correct change. That is, I must say, one of the great things in Jordan. Most of the time, no one tries to cheat or take advantage of you. For example, in Wadi As-seer when I bought the gum I pulled out to pay with a five, thinking he had said 5 JD and some odd eirsh. Instead, he had said 55 eirsh (khams w khamsiin eirsh, versus what I thought I heard was “khams wa *mumble* *mumble* eirsh,” assuming it to be 5JD and some mumbled eirsh.) No, he gave me change right away…..or in souvenir shopping when I calculated the price, trying to bargain, offering him more than what the price *actually* was, and he still brought the price down. Or riding the public bus to the tiny village of Iraq al-Amir, and not understanding a word the driver said; I just handed him my dinar and he gave me the correct amount of change. It’s the way it should be; but after experiencing Egypt and *cough* *cough* “Palestine,” it’s a refreshing change.

Anyway, got to Jebel Amman and walked up to the citadel. Wandered around the museum, kicking myself mentally every time I was reminded of what I got wrong on my Archaeology final yesterday, but still enjoying the beautiful Roman statues and some really excellent Byzantine glass bottles. I was again surprised at their version of security (and happily spent an hour imagining my life as a glamorous and high-society art thief) but disappointed that I didn’t get to see the Qumran scroll; it had been moved to the new Jordan museum.

I wandered about the premises, taking a few desultory pictures. My heart wasn’t really in it. It was strange being there – this was one of the first sites we visited in Amman, a day or two after my arrival. How much had changed! Now, instead of touring with a large and noisy group of Americans, I was with myself, guiding myself through the ruins and rather quite familiar with the time periods and the history they represented. Instead of arriving on a large tour bus, I navigated the public bus system and then walked through the streets to reach the entrance. This time, instead of CIEE paying the non-resident entry fee, I paid my 40 eirsh as a resident and got in easily. Now, when looking at the panorama, the city was no longer strange, new, exciting, and beautiful but familiar. I could look out in any direction and be able to tell the main features, the neighborhood, what there was in the region, and how to get back to my house - or the University, or Zahran Street, or any other major place - from there. The language was a little more familiar – I could read the Arabic plaques, but not necessarily understand them.

Walking down from the Citadel, then, I found my way to some steps that I knew would lead me to the street I wanted. The man just in front of me asked in English where I was going. I told him down town, to Hashems. I couldn’t quite place his accent, but we established I knew where I was going. I then asked in Arabic if he spoke Arabic (except I used the female “bteHkey” instead of just “bteHk.” Oh, well. ) He did, of course, and then asked me where I was from. What religion? Christian, really? Catholic or Protestant? Protestant? What kind, Baptist? Really? He’s a Baptist, too! This was somewhat of a relief as I was walking down a random stairwell in downtown Amman, just after reading that morning about what has been happening in Egypt. He asked if I went to church, and I explained that I was generally gone on Saturdays; he told me about the church he attends in Jebel Weibdah on Sunday evenings (this is one I had actually wanted to try, but hadn’t been able to – one of the other CIEE students went there.) He explained that he had been a Muslim, hence his name of Mohammed, but now he knows Jesus. We said our “ma3 sala3mas” and I went off downtown to spend the next 3 hours or so walking back and forth along the streets in Jebel Amman, debating on buying my sweets today or tomorrow. I though one day might make a difference in their freshness for my family, so I abstained. I did, however, get some more tea and three types of candied pickles – cucumber, apricot, and orange peel. I also accosted obvious tourists and asked if they needed help. The first was a group of Koreans, with their backpacks and their face dust masks, conferring among themselves. The second were two Canadians, who admitted their lost-ness, but said they were happy just wandering around (oooh, I sense a spiritual application here). I explained a little bit about the bus system, answered a few questions about how I liked Jordan, and bid them fare-well.

Oh, I also got my first “Aeesh, ya, moza!” today (or at least, the first one I’ve heard). That is to say, this twenty year old man walking with his consesrvatively hijabied mother called out to me, “Hey, ya, banana!” This is, supposedly, a term of flirtation. Hey, at least he didn’t call me a lettuce. Or a camal.

I then walked from down-town to Raghadan, passing through areas that don’t look that bad on bus but weren’t that great on foot. I expected a little more harassment as I walked through the section of down-town dedicated to garages, printing presses, and mechanic shops, but didn’t have a single bad experience.

Got a bus, and then back home.

And soon, I’ll be back home for good!

PS – do you see the haze in the pictures? Normally, Jordan has clear and sunny skies; but yesterday, this haze rolled in. Except when it arrived, it was this brown nearly green color that looked just like the sky before a tornado. I thought for sure there had been some sort of bomb blast (given the recent celebrations) and the end of the world was here. Nope. Just the sand from the Sahara, blowing on its way.

Final Final

My final final – the last final of the area studies courses, of the study abroad program, and of my undergraduate career- was completed today at 5 minutes until noon. There were 4 essay questions and 3 hours in which to answer them. I wrote 14 pages and covered the history of Jordan from 1916 to the present. My hand developed cramps.

Nothing much else. I went home on the bus, and then stayed past my stop in order to see where the bus would go. I told the bus driver I wanted to return, since he was a little surprised at my staying on the bus. He told me okay, and then rattled something off quickly in Arabic, which I think was “Yes, the bus is returning, but you’ll have to pay again and wait just a little bit because I’m going to stop at the place and get myself lunch and a smoke.” Incidentally, he did have an amazing voice. Also, he offered me some of his sandwich.

At home I edited more medical personal statements while my host mom grilled me on what I thought of Jordan, Islam, and homosexuality. I then played the WWE wresting trading card game Smack Down with my host brother and his cousin.

After finishing my undergraduate career, WWE Smack Down seemed appropriate, if a tad anticlimactic.

Nothin' doing'

Today I had grand plans to make it to Ajloun Castle today....after waking up late and seeing the lowering clouds, I decided nothin' doin'.....and then I did just that. Nothing.

My nothing consisted of working on a few blog posts, reading some Milton, and then talking with my family for a nice long time. Meanwhile, the house is cold.

This evening, then, we went downtown and got heavenly knaffeh from Habibah. It was strange, and somehow fitting, I suppose: the first night I was here, we went to get knaffeh.

It's all nearly over.

Good luck

Today, I was filled with hope and enthusiasm: it was going to be a great day.

I started my great day by going with a friend to Souq Al-Jara, a small "market" on Rainbow Street that runs for about a week in the springtime. I had an enjoyable time going along the few stalls; there wasn't, however, much that I was interested in buying - and there weren't many stalls or great diversity in wares.

There were several other program students, there, and I did enjoy myself. Finally, they all went their several ways, and I went down town, with the idea of eating some lunch at Hashem's and doing a bit more souvenir shopping.

I forgot, somehow, that it was Friday. First, Hashem's was absolutely packed; so, not wanting to wait there, I proceeded on down town. I then realized that it would be much more difficult for me to get a good price, looking as I did: large sunglasses, flowing sweater, jeans, and battered shoes. I was "welcomed" to many shops, but didn't want to bother do much looking, realizing there would probably be at least a 20% increase in price.

Surprised by the number of police around, I remembered that, oh, yes, it's Friday. Yeah, didn't the program director text us not to go around this mosque today because of possible protests? Yes, that might explain the heavy police presence - and all these busses that are filled with them - and the lack of any traffic in the area. Oh, and yes, I'm passing by one of Amman's mosques. Oh, my, yes, I am just walking across the front courtyard area as the Friday address is going on. Yes, I think it might be a good idea to curtail my shopping. Now, where is a bus?

Just as I wished for a bus, there one appeared. I flagged the driver and forced my way on - it was crowded beyond what I had ever seen before. I ended getting a seat beside a rather large Jordanian man who was, apparently, from the states - from his accent, I would place him south of the Mason Dixon line, but well educated. Supposing me to be an American tourist, he explained that all the men on the bus (I was one of three females among the 50 men or so) were workers returning home after shopping on their weekend morning. He further elucidated that the bus driver was packing them on so tightly because, due to Friday prayers, there wouldn't be another bus for several hours. He was rather talkative, but polite. The bus lurched through the narrow, tortuous streets - and then came to a sudden halt. There was a hubbub. The man beside me explained there had been a car accident: the bus had swiped a car sloppily parked too far into the street. We waited there for a good bit and then the bus moved slowly forward. I had hope that the bus would not be waiting there for a long time - until it stopped and my seatmate explained that they had just moved to wait for the police. Just then, another bus of the same number passed by, and I was able to hop on. It took me to the 6th circle, just before which I hopped off, thinking I could take a short cut.

Never, ever think you can take a short cut - not when you have my talents of getting lost. I walked and walked. And then it began to rain. Heavily. I huddled under some shrubbery, wishing for a bus or a taxi or a kind-hearted driver. There were none. Finally gathering my courage, I walked on, drenched by the heavy rain.

I continued to walk. Eventually, the sun did come out: more so than i would have liked. I finally thought I had found where I wanted to go to regain my way home - and tried another short cut. This one didn't work either - although I did get to see another car accident. I have no idea how it happened; a single car was coming along the street above me and suddenly went flying over the curb and into a stand of trees. I heard a loud pop, as though a vehicle had run over a thousand pop cans simultaneously, and saw the bent car frame. I thought about running across the muddy field to proffer my first aid and CPR assistance, but the two men quickly emerged from the car, distraught, and several Arabic-speaking motorists had already started a large gathering around them.

I walked on, passing several embassies that I never realized were on our street. Finally arriving home, I discovered what explained the lack of wares at Jara, the police-crowded streets and my lack of appropriate clothes, the two car accidents, my lostness, and the sudden rain.

Today was Friday the 13th.

Humility

I had my Arabic post test today. I also prayed for humility last night.

The speaking portion went well; the conversation was just about me, my family, our history, why I was in Jordan, what I thought of the country, why I was learning Arabic, and what I wanted to do with my life. So, basically it was just the conversation that we always have with cab drivers. The teacher was impressed, however, and left me with the usual comment “Oh, you are so wonderful. You’re a Level 5 student, not level 1.” Then I went outside to hear all the UJ students…..and, of course, didn’t understand more than 1 word in 100.

That afternoon came the written portion of the test. I entered the classroom early, and there were already 1 or 2 students there. The professor handed me the exam and I started to work on the grammar section.

The exam might as well have been written in Urdu. I struggled to pronounce the words to myself, recognizing random words that I had seen on buildings: “Establishment,” “Center,” “Trade.” I persevered, trying to answer the questions, but knowing I couldn’t be getting more than 1 in 10 correct….I could only translate about half the words in any given sentence, let alone answer questions about grammar and how they should be used in the sentence! I started to sweat it. I had studied for 17 weeks, and could barely do the entrance exam the program gives to all its students? I was rather discouraged.

Then came the listening section. Although I could understand the general idea of the first selection and could understand the second selection fairly well, the questions made no sense and again, I could only get a vague, general idea based upon a few words from the questions. I sweated and struggled, and saw my classmates working at a decent pace. How were they understanding this?! I looked at the questions – they didn’t even match the reading section at all! How could I answer them if the readings didn’t match? I looked at the student behind me, who was from my class. We compared exams. I breathed a sigh of relief – I had the wrong exam.

I went to the professor and got it corrected, happily started on the appropriate exam. The one I had started with was for the advanced language students that come to the program and are only allowed to speak in Arabic for the semester. I felt much better. However, it was still so humbling to see how far there is to go before actually being able to say anything useful or to understand in any real sense. Goodness sake, I can’t even watch Spongebob Squarepants and understand the plot!

I finished the exam and went outside, where again the students around me spoke rapidly in a language I did not know.

Momtaaz.

Edit: I did get the results of the test back today, placing me with students who had just finished intermediate 2. It still doesn’t mean I can understand anything, though.