Getting home

I am one of the students who live as far from the University as possible: this means it is a 2.15 JD ride each way. Normally I share the ride with another girl, but she had other engagements today, so I was alone.

This presents an opportunity: cough up the 2.15 (3 days of lunch money!) or join crowds of people in getting on a cheap (0.40 JD!) bus whose destination I can’t really read with clarity.

Guess which one I chose?

If you said the tamer, more certain and more expensive one…you probably don’t know me very well. If you said the more adventurous, less certain and less expensive one, you’re correct.

So, around 4 o’clock I joined crowds of people waiting along the road as busses came careening toward us. I waited as bus after bus passed, recognizing neither the names the barkers were calling out nor the signs on the side of the busses. I asked a girl standing next to me (in Arabic), “Excuse me, I want to go to this or that neighborhood. Do you know which bus?” She said, sorry, she didn’t know.

So I waited.

Finally, there was a bus going to a neighborhood just north of mine; I decided it was good enough, so I climbed on board. I tried to pay the driver, but he said something I didn’t understand and motioned me towards another person. I spun around the aisle several times looking for the person; the passengers had pity on me, and pointed out a girl sitting a few seats behind the driver. I handed her the money, she said something, and handed it back. I grabbed one of the handles as the bus lurched on its way. One of the men got up and pointed to the seat. I took it, still not knowing how to pay.

We continued on our way, pulling occasionally toward the side to pick up a passenger. When someone wanted to stop the bus, they pressed a button on the side of the wall and the bus would hug the edge of the road to disgorge its passengers. I didn’t figure this out, however, until we passed the area of the neighborhood that we recognized. So we continued downtown (read, older and poorer section of Amman) and I still didn’t know how to get out or pay.

At last the bus came to a large area that looked more like a carnival. People were milling all around brightly lit shops with blaring televisions. I got off along with everyone else, still not knowing how to pay.

I wandered around the what were the bus station grounds, looking for a sign to an area that I recognized. There were the white servees in lanes, their destinations on blue signs to the side of the lane. I walked slowly along, sounding out the names. As I stood by a sign, one of the taxi drivers asked me where I wanted to go. (Yes! I thought. We covered this phrase in class!) I told him the general area I wanted to go. “Over there,” he said, “The busses.”

I tramped over to the busses and started the sign reading process over again. Finally, I found the neighborhood I wanted (despite the fact it was spelled differently – an “ayn” instead of “alif” – than I had expected). I got on the pus, paying 0.50 JD instead of the 0.40 JD it required. After I sat down, however, the driver gave me the change once more people had arrived.

We waited for the bus to fill most of the way, then were off on our way. We traveled back along downtown (my favorite part of Amman!) past the tiny shops with merchandise spewing into the streets; the neon signs declaring the shop names (I assume); and the crumbling cement buildings, ignorant of their aesthetic appeal.

I spent my ride slowly sounding out the names that we passed. My seatmate, I think, probably assumed I was crazy. She had asked me the time (in Arabic), and I showed her my watch and responded. Except, I think I told her it was 50 and a half instead of 5 thirty (khamsiin wa nos instead of khamsa wa nos). However, I hope my appalling accent disguised my appalling lack of ability.

We slowly made our way towards a neighborhood I recognized. Now that it was dark, I didn’t want to stay on the bus too long and wind back at the bus station. Finding a main thoroughfare, I stopped the bus and got off. Along came a taxi – whose driver spoke excellent English, no doubt due to the American rap he played for me – and I soon arrived back home. So, instead of spending 2.15 and 30 minutes, I spent 1.60 and two hours.

I think it was worth it.