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.

Last day of classes.....fil haqeeqa (really!)

Finished my Arabic classes today – I hope the FusHa final went well. I know of one rather egregious mistake I made: the word for “feelings” and the word for “hair” are very similar. I’m pretty sure I wrote “hair” instead of “feelings.”

Oh, well.

After class, I decided it was time to continue on my “eat at all the famous restaurants in Jordan” journey. I have tried Al-Quds and Hashem’s (and many other random hole in the wall cafeterias that may not pass sanitation review) and decided I needed to try Reem Shwarma today. My exams had finished by 12:30 and the entire afternoon stretched before me as a field of pleasure.

Now, Reem is located at the 2^nd circle. While I am sure there are busses that go quite close to there, I am not sure which ones they are. So I took the bus going to the 5^th circle, figuring I could catch but 26 that runs along the main street, Zahran, that connects all these roundabouts.

Uneventfully, I arrived at Duar Khamis, and walked a short distance to one of the few modern aspects of the bus system here – the bus-stop. Duly I waited for the bus, figuring there would be one every 15 minutes or so. I waited my 15 minutes, despairing of ever seeing a bus. Just as I was giving up hope, however, a bus appeared in view – and a bus that was nearly empty, at that.Alhamdulillah.

The bus, however, paid no heed to me as I stood and tried to wave it down. It ignored me, rumbling angrily by. Crestfallen, I turned to go, when I saw another bus. I tried to flag it; and it ignored me as well! Just on its bumper, however, was a third bus. That is, the third bus to ignore me!

Having been passed by three busses, I decided they were not worthy of my 40 piasters and decided that it was a lovely day for a walk.

So, walk I did. I went from the fifth to the fourth to the third and finally to the second circle – about an hour’s walk – finally arriving at the tiny shwarma stand. Braving the raging traffic, I crossed the street. Waiting in line, I gave my order and the correct, exact change an then waited some more to gain my well-earned prize. It was amusing to see the types of people waiting there: businessmen in suits, day-laborers, shebaab, a girl or two. I had wanted to take pictures of it – but figured that would ruin my sense of belonging. After all, one does not walk an hour through Amman traffic to find a tiny shwarma stand and give one’s order in Arabic only to take pictures like some tourist.

Getting my sandwich, I crossed into the circle and ate on a bench there in the middle of the city. It was good shwarma, but probably not worth two hours of walking. Definitely worth the 60 piasters I paid for it, however.

I then took a few surreptitious pictures of the shwarma stand – sorry they aren’t better, but I was being sneaky – and walked back to Duar Khamis. It took about the same amount of time, but it seemed so much shorter!

Still having time to kill, I hailed the microbus to Wadi As-Seer. On my earlier adventure there, I had stopped in a small “super market”, where I had seen boxes of Arabic gum, made in Jordan. What better souvenir could there be? So, I returned to the store and purchased three boxes;each box has 100 packets, with two pieces per packet.

I might have to return next week to buy another three boxes. Jus’ sayin.

Returned home, walking back from the 6^th circle. On my way, I walked through Abdoun and stopped at its mall. I felt woefully inadequate and out of place, dressed in my dusty shoes, sweaty shirt, and torn jeans and carrying a black plastic bag with my gum. However, I put on a swagger and pretended that I was an incredibly wealthy Euro-American – my father was a high ranking diplomat currently station in Amman, but just at the moment in London for a conference and my mother was a power attorney right now in New York. I was born in the states, but reared in England before returning and spending some time at Princeton, explaining my rather faded – but still quite posh – accent. No one, however, asked me about my life story, so I merely wandered about the mall for a while, before leaving to walk another hour to get home.

Finally I arrived and read for awhile, putting my poor feet up.

PS - Here is the link to all the pictures I took today, just of things I regularly see around Amman.

(In which I ramble about becoming...)

As a public service announcement, I'm informing you that you might not actually want to bother reading this post. It's boring. It's meandering. And it doesn't include fun adventures with taxis or foods! (It does, however, include lots of grammar, quotation marks, and parenthetical expressions.)

Sure you want to continue?

Okay, be my guest.

I had read on a friend's* blog a post about becoming a certain type of person. If you could choose one word to describe your ideal self, what would it be? Joyful, loving, spontaneous, kind, meek, humble, giving, hospitable, gracious, elegant, strong - what? I had asked myself that question, too, years ago and had "my word" chosen for about seven years now - and then last week was blessed to have several people use it to describe me. Great. (No, really!) Now - onwards and upwards! I guess my next choice will have to be "humble." Groan. All of my most difficult life experiences can be traced, I think, to specific prayers for God to make me humble. (I think this is why I became a chemistry major: so I'd have to face humility through Physical Chemistry.)

But that's not really why I'm rambling on, now. Other meandering thoughts of mine center on the word "becoming" - first, it's a process. This is even more evident in Arabic. (Another reason I love languages - beyond the funny sound alike words like "Toot" which means "berry" - is the word studies you get out of it. Just be thankful I'm not a man, so I can't become a preacher and inflict Greek upon my congregation.) In Arabic, there is a distinct lack of "linking/helping" verbs - is, are, were, etc**. For example, you don't say, "I am here," it's simply ana hone, "I here." It's very similar to Latin, in that regard. So in English, I would normally say I want *to be* something: a doctor, a wise person, an astronaut, proficient in twenty languages, whatever. I refer to the end product, glossing over the process of becoming. However, in Arabic I must say I want *to become* something: a lawyer, a nun, a servant, hospitable, or a friend or whatever. There is no skipping from the present to the final future state. You have to admit that, whatever your end goal is, you are still in the process of becoming it. There is no "To be, or not to be," - that is not the question. It is "To become, or not to become." This is a good reminder: we are all becoming something, someone. Who am I becoming? ***

Secondly, in English, we can use "becoming" as an adjective: "That dress is becoming on you." So, make sure who you are becoming is becoming!

All of that merely to say, I've had two very specific verses on my mind recently, that I've seen evidently lived out. Proverbs 21:19, 25:24/21:4. Look it up.

*Okay, actually not a friend, technically. I've never met her; she has no idea who I am. I have, however, stalked. Stalking is one of my spiritual gifts. I am considering a second career in JSOC.

**Obviously, this is not the entire story. You see, the specific type of sentence that I'm using as an example is a "nominal sentence": it's composed of nouns and the "predicate" nouns to describe the "subject" (put in English terms, hence the quotation marks). In the present tense, you merely use the nouns. If you put it in the past tense, you would use the conjugated form of the verb "kaan." There is also a form of "kaan" for the future, such as "I will be a teacher." However, you wouldn't use it in a sentence such as "I want to be a teacher," referring to a future state that you want to obtain. So, there are forms of "to be" in Arabic, but not like there are in English. And, of course, there is more to say on the subject of the existence of "kaan" in the "present" tense, but that would just get boring.

***Keats has a very good passage on this world being a place of formation of souls - while I obviously do not agree with all his theological conclusions, he makes several good observations. Also, Lewis in "Weight of Glory" has a good bit to say about our either becoming "eternal wonders or eternal horrors."

Heffla Al-Soff, Al-Thanee (Class Party, Round Two)

Seems like life is one giant party recently. This evening I got all dressed up – even put on my shiny, nice heels because I figured tonight would be the only opportunity I would have to wear them, and I didn’t want to bring them all the way from Iowa for nothing. The class met at a restaurant in Shmeisani as a farewell party for our teacher. She, of course, didn’t know why we had made her come out on a Sunday and eat dinner with us, but she was kind enough to come along. There was a fun brouhaha getting all of our orders settled – we wanted to order individually, but with 13 of us, our professor convinced us just to buy a lot of various food and then share it all together. Thus, I got to eat a lot of different things, whose names I can’t recall. But it was all very good!

We then surprised her with a class picture, signed: one that would forever encapture our crazy class. Yes, one of the guys was making bunny ears on one of the girls. Yes, one of the girls was making a hilarious pose. Each of us had also brought one of our favorite candy chocolate bars – and some Nescafe packets – and one of the girls had brought a nice gift bag and bow. I think our professor really appreciated it.

Then coming home, she ended up driving me and another girl back since she lives nearby. It’s always an adventure driving around Amman when not in a cab or bus – you appreciate exactly what the driving is, here. In a taxi, you feel a bit immune to it.

Fun evening, all around!

(In which having an imagination is helpful...)

Colloquial speaking and written final today! For the speaking portion, I and another girl got in front of the class to do a short skit. I pretended I was a radio announcer and she was a student from America living in Amman. We had a fun time playing on the words "mukhabaraat" (secret police), "muHaDaraat" (lectures), "muTHohiraat" (demonstrations), and "mukhadaraat" (drugs). (The capitalized letters are to show the certain Arabic letters that are 'emphatic' - Haa and Tho. Not that it means anything to anyone.)

The written exam was also fun, particularly given my rather lack of substantial study. There were two words that I couldn't remember: sunny and cashier. For sunny, we had to describe the weather in the picture, so I wrote "The sun is angry with us today" - which, very often, seems quite true and which was apropos because the image was of an anthropomorphic sun, with a rather perturbed expression on his face. For cashier, I couldn't do much except write "cashier" in Arabic script.

Dr. Muna told me it was correct. Arabeezy for the win!

Settings change....

I know some of you faithful and dedicated three readers had wanted to comment, but hadn't been able to do so, due to my settings. I finally changed them! Now anyone who wants to comment should be able to (*cough* *Dad* *Mom* *cough*). However, all comments have to be approved by *me* before they appear - so just take that into consideration. I have no objections to being called "Your Grace," you know. Or "Your Highness." "Your Excellent and Most Revered Majesty," is, however, pushing it just a tad too far. This is, I think, a much more satisfactory arrangement all around! ;-)

I know the changes are coming late, but I'm working on the last of the Egypt, Umm Quies, and Wadi Rum tomes, so it might be just in time.

Foot it featly forth the ford, ye fair and fauny fellows...

Foot it featly forth the ford,

Ye fair and Fauny fellows.

Falter not for fear of fray -

Your faithful shepherd follows!

I awoke this morning to the sight of a herd of sheep being driven up the street below my window, just past the white gazebo. I rushed to get my camera - alas, they disappeared as quickly as their mythical cousin Tumnus.

Eastern winds....

Lovely wind from the East today, a Mary Poppins arriving sort of home-like day, today. I could not help but think of every other sort of spring day; spring is eternally typical, despite its persistent newness.

I awoke, much like the Banks children, to my new host sister being home! Much sorting of her stuff, and now, all the families are visiting. I am hiding in the bedroom.

Had a water fight with my host brother, however. I asked him if his parents would agree; he said yes. We then proceeded to sneak outside with the water bottles behind our backs, grinning broadly at his dad. Then, after we were soaked, we came back through the foyer veeerrrry sneakily. I don't think he had permission, after all. Then I spent the evening helping him with a research project.

I just want to know: when did I become the editor in chief?

Don't know how to play this game...

I spent my afternoon editing medical school statements.

In the midst of my editing, the woman sitting beside me asked for my help. Could I edit her email to a professor, since it was in English? I said yes, of course. I think I was wearing my English major perfume today.

So I went through the email and perfected the grammar, added capitalization, and improved the vocabulary. I was, however, a little surprised at the condition of the email: she was an intern at a large U.S. hospital in a state with a certain huge and well respected medical school that might start with an M. She was emailing a professor at Mayo, explaining that she wanted to do an away rotation there in order to better her chances of landing a fellowship. She was doing this on the advice of her mentor.....whom, I suspect, is a colleague of the researcher at Mayo.

It's all about whom you know.

IMMD

I took the microbus home today; I enjoyed pulling back the thick black curtain to peer out the open window.

A small sedan pulled along side us. The four year old girl was amusing herself by sticking her tongue out at the bus. I amused myself by returning the favor. She gave me a huge grin; even her sullen teenaged brothers managed a smile. I drew the curtain, and we were gone. It was just a small moment of a care-free life, but it made my day.

Last day of classes....almost!

As I just mentioned, we had a small party in class today, since it was our last day of Arabic classes. There was a lot of food - particularly cake. Particularly yummy sponge cake with whipped cream frosting and layers of fruit in between along with deliciously fresh and glazed strawberries on top. Not that I minded - not one bit.

It was a tad bittersweet - we have been together as a class with the same teacher for 3 hours Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays for FusHa and together for 1.5 hours on Mondays and Wednesdays for Ammiyya for 3 months. Plus, this means - finals! We have our first round of finals on Sunday - eek! - and for Arabic we'll have at least six hours of exams, plus another several hours of post testing to see what level we are at now. Next week we still have area studies classes, but the week after that, we have our final exams for them; another 6 hours of tests. Fun, fun, fun!

Heffla-lumps and woozles

One of the great things about learning a new language is how often normal words in that language sound like other words in your own language. This often causes me private hilarity.

For example: "Tux" means "weather". "Be-yoot" isn't an Australian way of saying that's a beyoot one, mate, it means "houses." "Biddy" doesn't refer to an old hen here, it means "I want." And "fish" may sound a lot like something that lives in the sea, but really it's a way of making a negation. Oh, and "Elvis" may be a singer in the states, but the Jordanian pronunciation of it means "I wear."

All that to say, really, that today in class we had a "heffla." This does not mean that we caught the oft-fabled never seen woozle, it only means we had a party. Though, to think about it, catching the heffla-lump would be cause for celebration.

(In which I accomplish one of my Jordanian goals)

Tonight we had the host-family dinner, where all the students and their host families - over 75 of us and plus the families - get all dressed up and go to a nice hotel ballroom and eat a zaky kiteer (very tasty) dinner.

In the ballroom beside us just happened to be a wedding.

Just as our program ended, we filed out to the curved marble staircase leading from the lower floor where we were up to the lobby. We could not, however, go up because the groom and bride were coming down. Surrounding them were their family and friends; behind them was the group of singing men in dishdasha with hand drums.

We, of course, joined in with the general ululation and hand clapping. I'm sure the bride was wondering what all these Americans were doing at her wedding. I could see, however, the fear in the (very good looking) groom's eye.

"Who's paying for all these extra people?"

Now I've done it all.....

Coming home today in a taxi was quite the adventure. After some general horn-honking and confusion in the bus area, our taxi pulled out into traffic.

Beside us pulled out another taxi; the driver was a friend of our driver's.

This was evident because the two taxis drove inches from each other for quite a distance as the drivers chatted through the open windows. The buzzing traffic snarled about us. I was ready to see Jesus a lot sooner than I had planned on.

Petra, day 3

Awoke at a bit more reasonable time today, realizing that an early start wouldn't happen. Another delicious breakfast, and another stop for hummus and falafel. We decided to explore Petra's city center, which we did. We meandered along and posed in front of the tri-partite arch . Meandering along, we came to the Great Temple Complex and I, at least, had a grand time clambering over rocks. From there, to Qasr Al-Bint (Castle of the Girl), a large freestanding temple. According to legend, the princess said she would marry the man who could give it running water. I suppose human nature never changes. Human nature being what it is, I amused myself by discovering a slightly hidden doorway and going through it, climbing steps to climb onto the top of the building, walking around its crumbling roof walls to get a lovely view.

A hot walk to see some Byzantine churches - one in which a Spanish Roman Catholic group was holding a service (it was Sunday, after all) - and then on for a walk through the desert in order to get to some more tomb complexes.

And can I here insert what a trooper my traveling companion was? No complaints, even when I dragged her through the desert with no real path in sight. I had a marvelous time, but I don't think it was quite her idea of fun. However, I regaled her with the stories of what I was pretending as we trekked through the sand at noonday: I was the wife of a Roman general, station in Petra following its annexation by Trajan (in 106 A.D.) We had just returned from offering our sacrifices and libations in the Great Temple and from getting our meat from the macellum. A quick stop at the Nymphaeum, and now we were trudging back to our cool home cleft in the rocks. She was my slave, the daughter of a proud Nabataean family who had resisted the annexation. However, her lover was a proud Bedouin man who would eventually come to raid the proud Romans, destroying half the city and rescuing her to live with him in the desert. Their children would eventually come to live in the Badea and assist Lawrence with the Arab Revolt; their reward would be a rich piece of land in the place that would become the capital of the new country.

As we got farther in the desert, I imagined being lost and stranded there for days, dying a slow and painful death - eventually becoming nothing more than the bleached white bones of the goat we saw. I did not, however, tell my friend this. She might have killed me.

At her prompting, we found a nice cave - one or two of the tombs we had come to had been taken over by the goats - and had our lunch. We emerged to do some more exploring, making our way over to the more accessible town facade. This time I amused myself by pretending to be in Bedrock, on my way to visit the Flintstones.

Finally we reached the main tomb complex again, and made our way back to town. We puttered about for awhile, waiting until we could get on the bus that would take us back to Amman.

Petra rocks!