Simple Sugars / Simple Pleasures

Khubs - bread in Jordanian Arabic

This bread is way too delicious. Chewy, soft, and warm. I can't stop eating it. No wonder diabetes is rampant in this part of the world. 

PICKING SIDES

February 15, 2014

I asked Jihad to come sit with me. And eventually, Jihad did.

Today I went up to Mafrac to deliver food and offer encouragement to Syrian refugees with a lady I just met. We drove through the desert, the landscape punctuated with Bedouin communities and sagging tents supplied by the UN.

As we walked into the first home, steeped in puddles and shaded by tarps, a young girl popped out from nowhere and gave me an enthusiastic hug. We slipped off our shoes and settled onto cushions, sipping the sweet tea they had offered us in Arabic hospitality. I wanted to weep for them, not daring to consider the horrific things they have been through. But pity was the last thing they needed.

Instead, I, the “helper”, received from them, the people who had nothing. I accepted warmth, welcome and great kindness. Without the ability to communicate with them, I had little to offer. Even though I lacked the words to say it, I tried to show that this person, with the incendiary title of “American”, cares about them.

At one of the homes we were greeted by a young family. They introduced us to their children. “This is Ali and this is Jihad.” I nearly choked. “Jihad, as in... Jihad?” I managed to get out to the nearest English speaker, trying to maintain a neutral tone. “Nam.” Yes. Alright. After we had made introductions and eased into conversation, I gathered the courage to reach out to the children, hoping the parents wouldn't mind. Before I knew it, the kids were clamoring all over me and the mother was kissing my cheek with a radiant smile. It was painful to leave them, but hopefully we will see each other again soon.

Precious little boy, I hope you grow up to know that I am not your enemy. This is not soul against soul. I am not above you. In fact, I am honored to be here with you. Grow up well. Someday, when that line is drawn in the sand, how I long that we would find ourselves standing on the same side, together.  

*Jihad means, "a holy war waged on behalf of Islam as a religious duty;also :  a personal struggle in devotion to Islam especially involving spiritual discipline" (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/jihad)

TWITTERPATED

(February 14, 2014)

This graffito describes how I currently feel about this place.

(This blog is long. I don't blame you if you get desperately bored in the middle of it.) Sometimes everything goes swimmingly. This is the story of one such day.

5am. The first call to prayer from mosques ricocheted around the city, rising and falling, melding in and out of each other in resounding echos. Groggy and dizzy, I stumbled to turn the water heater on so a hot shower could be a future option and burrowed back under the covers and sleeping bag to escape the chill of these desert nights.

In the Muslim world, Friday is the sacred day, with Saturday rounding off the weekend. Finally, I got up and got ready: hanging a headlamp in the shower because there is currently no light in the bathroom, plucking my clothes off the clothesline on the balcony, covered everything save my hands and head, scarfed down a round of flat bread, and made sure to dry my hair before going out, because apparently, wet hair indicates you just engaged in licentious behavior. (I know. Let's not even get into that subject.)

It is colder inside buildings than outside, so although you may mummify yourself in fleece indoors you can survive just fine with a scarf outside. I'd hardly taken a step onto the sun drenched street when a taxi pulled up. Perfect. “Dowwar Ittani?” I inquired. And he understood. So Perfect. For the next 10 minutes, we zoomed through the city. He puffed on his cigarette, his bushy eyebrows and hooked nose occasionally reflecting in the rear view mirror. Arabic music provided a percussion-fantastic soundtrack to the sights we passed: women draped in black with only small slits for their eyes – sometimes even those veiled, the dodge and feint of traffic, the disjointed landscape of a city transitioning from the developing world to globalized mecca – rocky fields with tents and goats in the shadows of sleek stone and glass towers.

After some confusion, I paid him the 1 Dinar and 37 Piastres and doubled back to the direction he seemed to indicate. Since I'd never been here his guess was better than mine. As I walked down Abu Tammem Street, the sun on the stones, the trees, and my face warmed and bewitched. Here I was, alone in a country I've never been to and know precious little about, but I was... happy.

Happiness is a tricky subject. In seeking happiness you may as well be pursuing a unicorn. To me, happiness is a byproduct of doing something else well, such as helping people, doing the right thing, or maximizing your talents. It should never be your chief aim, because being a slippery emotion, the moment you think you have it pegged, you realize it is already on the move. You become a dog that chases its tail. Happiness must always be accompanied by gratefulness, because otherwise you become so self satisfied and proud of yourself that others can't stand to be around you. But I digress.

Where was I? Oh yes. I felt happy. And instantly wary, because happiness, that fickle friend, makes you feel great when it's around, but when departs, always leaves you in a lurch. However, I figured, “It's gorgeous out, I do feel grateful, and there are no creeps on this street. Feel happy? I don't mind if I do!”

On my way to my destination in this blissful state, I ran into two of my new friends. Who would've guessed​? Although Amman is one of the great cities of the Middle East, there is something about it reminiscent of a small town. This day just keeps getting better, and it's only 10:15am!

I arrived at the intended address at 10:30am and enjoyed it. There were precious few of us Americans, which was absolutely no hardship at all (as much as I love my countrymen). I made a new acquaintance who invited me to distribute food to people in Mafrac, a city near the northern border where many Syrian refugees have sought sanctuary from the atrocities taking place in their home country. A Nigerian woman and I reminisced about the more pungent of her nation's dishes. An Indian woman taught me about her region, a place few Westerners have visited.

After, I decided to get lost by foot. Onward I went, still very happy. As a pedestrian in Jordan, cars have no qualms infringing on your personal space. The upside of this is that you don't have to dole this out to them either. “You want to cruise down this street? That's nice. I'm going to step out in front of you anyways.” Crossing the street here is not for the faint of heart.

As I rounded a corner it looked like this part of the city had been shut down. Cars were parked every which way in the street and people were sitting on curbs and leaning against cars. A masculine voice lectured in a sharp staccato from loudspeakers. I looked up. The spire of a minaret towered above.

Oh. Duh. It's Friday. And I'm standing next to what appears to be a very large and well established mosque.

I wonder what would happen in America if people thronged to churches on Sundays, blocking streets with their triple parked cars? If the curbs and bumpers were filled with people craning to hear sermons via loudspeakers because they all couldn't fit inside the sanctuaries?

I kept walking. A while later, I realized the streets were filled with an influx of men. Everywhere. And I was the only female. I'm trying to learn fast. They must all be coming out of a mosque. Around the corner, there was a mosque and a door where they streamed out of. Mosques are to Amman as Starbucks are to Seattle.

Shortly afterward, I stumbled across an area of the city I already know. It's trendy, westernized, and overpriced. But beautiful.

I found a cafe, sat down, and started writing. The waiter offered me a heart shaped chocolate with a warm smile. As I savored the hints of orange in the rich chocolate, I remembered, “Today is Valentine's Day!” It has been a day of happiness, exploration, and appreciation.

You see, I'm twitterpated with Jordan. I'm in that stage when you love nearly everything, where all the idiosyncrasies are cute, even endearing. Soon will come the day when the annoying things are just annoying, and I'll realize no matter how much I'd like to, I just can't change the things I dislike about the one I'm learning to love. I hope I'll be able to look back on this time and rekindle some of that original fascination and lightness. Culture shock and love aren't really that different, are they?

So, Happy Valentine's Day. May it be Happy and filled with Love.