Rachel In A New Land

Over the last few weeks while my schedule has been solidifying I have continued to spend most of my time either in class or at home with my family. Homework is taking me away from them for longer than I like, but I still have time to relax with them in the evenings, and there are certain evening rituals that I particularly enjoy. The first is sitting with my family in the kitchen, smoking sheesha and drinking tea, maybe listening to Um Kalthoum. There is a sense of peaceful togetherness at these times that makes me feel a part of something, and has come to mean a great deal to me. The second is watching tv, which is mainly Turkish soap operas, reenacted stories from the Qur’an (think the Bible channel filled with Persian miniseries dubbed in Arabic) and American movies. My favorite soap opera is called Forbidden Love, about a beautiful woman named Samar who is married to an older wealthy man but has fallen in love with his young, blonde, hunky nephew Mohannad. Each episode brings even more drama and improbable plot twists, which our whole Earlham group (who also watch it religiously with their host families) have begun to discuss on a daily basis. One thing I appreciate about soap operas is that no matter what country they come from, they are very similar. It doesn’t matter if you can’t understand a word they say, they speak the universal language of love triangles, family secrets, dramatic music, and women with too much makeup and big hair. One of the only things that I find different in the soap operas on Jordanian television is that they have been subjected to heavy censorship. All of the material objectionable to a conservative audience has been removed, including all love scenes, kissing, and overly passionate speech and affectionate touching (driving many young Jordanians to have to search for these censored scenes on youtube). This results in some scenes being so heavily cut up that it is hard to tell what new developments have taken place. This is not nearly as bad as what have been done to American films, however, which can end up extremely fragmented and much, much shorter. I recently watched Alexander, for example, from which only the battle scenes and war related dialogue survived intact. The rest went a little like this:

Alexander (on his wedding night, to his new bride): “Hello…”

–suddenly skip to Alexander and his army marching to battle.

Later, Alexander stands alone in a room. His male lover enters.

Alexander: “Greetings Hephaistion…” (Looks at him with intensity)

-suddenly skip to Alexander yelling at his generals

The bizarre effect this had on the movie resulted in hilarity on my part and confusion on the part of my host parents, who had never seen the uncensored version. I resisted telling them about what had been removed from the film, as I have not yet broached the subject of homosexuality with them and I was not sure how upset they would be with this revelation about Alexander the Great. This is a subject that I have been tiptoeing around quite a bit since I’ve been here, because especially in this region, adultery is not the only kind of love that is forbidden. As a result, I have had to change some important details about many of my friends and the types of locations I frequent at school (gay establishments and LGBTQ student groups etc). Having never hid these details in my life, it is difficult for me to get accustomed to doing it now. Indeed, the issue of sexual orientation and gender boundaries has been one of the most important areas of difference that I have had to get used to here. The society around me, at least at first glance, seems to locate men and women in vastly different, essential categories. Each gender corresponds to different roles, characteristics, places they belong, and methods of interaction. I should make it clear that this is no different from the United States and not shocking to discover, but there is a discourse that revolves around natural binary oppositions that I have not yet experienced to this extent. Just one example is that the tool of articulating that discourse itself, the Arabic language, even has different accents for men and women. I was fascinated to learn that in several countries, Jordan included, some letters are supposed to be pronounced different by men and women, with women often softening hard sounds or skipping them altogether in order to produce softer and more delicate speech. This practice is not followed in Lebanon, where men and women both use softer sounds, resulting in ridicule of Lebanese men for sounding “gay.” I have also often needed to have things explained to me (with the air of explaining the laws of gravity to a five year old) about the way things are, for instance that men would never wear gold because it is a woman’s metal, just as men would never wear makeup, dresses, or high heels. It is at this point in the conversation that I have to stop my self from explaining that I have male friends who wear makeup every day, and who wear high heels more often (and I should say with considerably more grace) than I do. Being surrounded with such iron clad classifications and essential gender qualities has pushed me to examine how I deal with different ontological frameworks. These are frameworks that are entrenched in American culture as well, but I have managed to surround myself with groups of people in which they are rarely seriously imposed. Amongst those that I often spend time with, for example, heterosexual self-identification is in a distinct minority and post-structuralism and Queer theory reign supreme. Gender is a discursive construction and a performative act, categorical definitions of sexuality are there to be subverted, ‘deviance’ is a celebrated act of liberation and resistance, and one of the harshest criticisms one could use against anything is to label it ‘heteronormative.’ Moving from a community in which gender is approached with a sense of play to a community in which gender is approached with a sense of concrete identity and structure makes me wonder how to honor my own truths while at the same time having a dialogue and engaged relationship with those of others. I feel that retreating into a stronghold of my own world perception is a tragic mistake, and that differences like this are one of the reasons why I came here, to learn to live in a society with different perceptions than mine. Each culture has their own wisdom derived from their own unique insight into the human experience, and this is impossible to learn if one enters another culture (as many Westerners in particular commonly do) with the attitude that ‘their’ beliefs are not as ‘enlightened’ or ‘rational’ as one’s own. On the other hand, I feel that one of the reasons I have been gifted with so many friends from a spectrum of sexual and gender identities is so that I could discover for myself what an essential and incredibly beautiful part of humanity they are, and how much of their own important wisdom they have to teach. Entering into a relationship of mutual sharing with different discourses I believe is important, and for that to happen there must be communication and dialogue. Such dialogue, however, must be undertaken with sensitivity and care, and I am still trying to gauge how to go about this process. Perhaps at some point I will be able to connect with some of the LGBTQQIPA community in Amman, and learn more about their relationship (or lack of it) with society at large. This community is definitely there, and sometimes not as underground as one would expect. At one point I walked past someone on the street who looked at first like a young woman in tasteful and modest women’s clothing, beautiful despite a tad too much makeup. I did not question this assumption until I heard them speak in a male voice. They are strange, the moments that catch us by surprise and end up making us feel right at home, but for me, that bit of gender transgression was one of them.

My schedule has now gone into full swing, and I’m finding it harder and harder to find time to write! Most of this is due to the fact that I have finally started my internship at Tkiyet Um Ali, a soup kitchen located in East Amman. Working in a soup kitchen is not exactly what I had in mind when I envisioned my internship, though I should make it clear that this is not because I have anything against soup kitchens. In fact I have worked at soup kitchens for years, and spent over 20 hours a week working in several of them for the year that I lived in Costa Rica. Soup kitchens play a very important role in any society, and I believe that those who are involved in peace work or social change too often forget that until basic needs are met, concerns such as those are often secondary. What had prompted me to seek another area of work was merely the desire to develop a new skill set, one that preferably would equip me for a job in the future. After weeks of looking and not finding many positions in areas of interest or who could use someone with beginner’s Arabic, however, I was happy to start at Tkiyet Um Ali. I am particularly hoping that I will get to interact with some of the people who come to the soup kitchen for food once my Arabic gets better, and learn more about the particular demands of poverty alleviation in Jordan. During my first week as an intern I spent most of my time searching the internet for funds or foundations who could give us grants, as funding is always an issue for charity organizations. This is tedious work, but valuable for me, particularly as I look to be moving towards a profession that will result in me living off of grant money for the rest of my life. I also spent a lot of time drinking copious amounts of tea. Tea is such an important part of the culture here that they have someone who works there who’s job, as far as I can tell, seems to entirely consist of bringing more tea to anyone who appears to be dangerously close to finishing theirs. I drink between 6-8 cups a day while I’m there, which means two things. First, I need to pee constantly. Second, I shake uncontrollably due to all the sugar they put into it. To give you an estimate, when you finish the tea there is about a half an inch of sugar that remains un-dissolved on the bottom, and finishing the tea is unwise because the last two or three swallows flood your mouth with pure sugar that you then have to chew to get down.
The second week I have spent having long conversations with some of the English speakers who work there, from which I have learned a lot more about issues in Jordan, and editing documents they plan on releasing in English. Translating anything from Arabic into English is extremely difficult, but translating that English into English that makes sense is also beginning to take a Herculean effort, and there are several paragraphs I have encountered in which the order and context of the words completely mystify me as to what is trying to be said. It will put my deciphering skills to the test, which is a good thing, and hopefully I will learn a bit more Arabic from it as well. Writing about this, however, has reminded me that it is really what I should be doing with my time, so take care and masalaama for now!

I have spent the day in a local Palestinian coffee shop that I have begun to frequent. I have chosen this place as one of my haunts mostly for the atmosphere, the interior being an indescribably beautiful mixture of stained glass, carved wood, painted tile, and ceiling panels that look like Islamic geometric artwork wrought in pieces of mirror. I have not taken any pictures yet for fear of making people here uncomfortable, but inshallah soon I will be able to show you all. On the walls are many hung photographs, mostly taken in Palestine. There are many places around the city that are Palestinian, mostly recognizable by symbols, such as the keyhole. The keyhole as well as the key have become symbols of the Palestinian community in exile, and their longing to return – chosen because for many Palestinian refugees, keys are the only objects from their former homes that they managed to take with them when they were forced to leave. Over the past few hours that I have sat here, I have been constantly streaming the Al-Jazeera live coverage of the Egyptian protests on my computer. I had no way of knowing when I chose this semester to go to the Middle East that I would be here during such a period of unrest all over the Arab world, but I see it as a great chance to watch and listen. Since the start of the protests here in Jordan and its neighboring countries, everyday life hasn’t changed much, except maybe sometimes a little bit of tension in the air. Online and on the streets, however, discussion seems to be bubbling, and many of the taxi drivers and businesses seemed to have changed their radio stations from the usual Arabic pop music to the news, keeping close tabs on developments. After all, changes in the region often have very big consequences for Jordan, being geographically, politically, and economically linked to the countries now experiencing some turmoil. In the western news I have heard the protests in these countries being lumped together, something that I think is shallow analysis. The protests in each country may be linked as far as taking some encouragement or inspiration from each other, but each rises out of a very different situation, is made up of different groups of people, and is working towards different goals. I feel uncomfortable making concrete statements or in depth political analysis about the situation here in Jordan, as I am an outsider who does not have a sophisticated understanding of these issues. I can only share what I have read and heard from my professors and Jordanians I encounter here. The protests in Jordan have so far revolved around wages, unemployment, the price of necessities etc, and have called for measures such as government reform and the resignation of the Prime Minister. It does not seem, however, as if many are calling for the removal of the entire government body or system, but rather, as one political Jordanian blog put it, for an ‘evolution’ of it. Yesterday we were able to have lunch with Laith Shubailat and his family, a well-known figure in Jordanian politics. Mr. Shubailat has been a vocal critic of the government and monarchy, and also of the political opposition to the government, which according to him does not go far enough in some areas, and asks for the wrong things. As a consequence, he has been jailed three times, and beaten up by ‘government thugs’ several more. One of the first results of a google search of his name today was a picture of him in the hospital, dried blood on his clothing, after being attacked by those thugs after a speech he made just last year. In the picture he is being affectionately kissed on the head by his son, who was one of the members of the Shubailat family who good-naturedly waited on us hand and foot at his home. We were able to have several interesting discussions with him about Jordanian and US politics, in which he also gave his insight into the Jordanian protests. He remarked that not even he was calling for the removal of the monarchy or the government, saying that a delicate surgery to remove diseased areas (such as corruption) was needed instead of an axe. He did say, however, that he though the protests were going to increase and that he was not sure what the end result would be. At the same time as our conversation, thousands were gathered downtown in a protest organized by the Islamic Action Front – the political arm of the Muslim Brotherhood in Jordan and the biggest political party in the country – after Friday prayers. As I write this now, another protest is going on, the nature of which I do not yet know. I have stayed away from the protests so far – only watching them on TV. The newscast footage normally shows large crowds filling the streets with a variety of flags and signs, surrounded by police. In most of the footage the police are benevolent, handing them juice boxes and bottled water, though my host father laughed and remarked that such behavior is meant to show how tolerant the government is to free speech, and lasts only until the cameras are turned away and the crackdown on protesters is safe to begin. The general sense from the people I have talked to so far is that the government will soon fall and be replaced, though that is not as much of an earth shaking event for Jordanians as it sounds. Forcible removal and replacement of the government has happened several times before, and in fact the current parliament is the second one they’ve had this year. Bruce has remarked, however, that people will probably be much less accepting this time of a simple reshuffling of political figureheads, as has been the case before, and instead push for a real overhaul. In the end, however, most of the real power rests with the monarchy, and it is unclear whether they will be moved to change their policies. For now, I remained impressed and inspired by the people power I’m witnessing in the region, whether I agree with all the protesters or not. A couple headlines have called Tunisia ‘the first popular uprising in the Arab world,’ but this is far from true. People in this region have long showed forces in power, both colonial and self appointed, that they are a force to be reckoned with, and as someone who is interested in being involved in movements for social change, I feel like having the chance to observe this is a great opportunity.

Last week was my first week of classes, and I am happy to say that I enjoy all of them! The first one I went to was called Contemporary Art and Culture in Jordan, and was held at the National Gallery of Fine Arts. My favorite part by far was the exhibition by Abdul Hay Mosallam. Mosallam is a Palestinian artist who creates masterpieces of relief by mixing sawdust with glue and applying them to wooden boards, then painting over it. Each piece of art is a contribution to, and a representation of, the struggles of the Palestinian people; both their struggle against colonial occupation and their ensuing struggle to resist the obliteration of Palestinian culture. The artwork shows Palestinians in their national garb, surrounded by symbols of their resistance, endurance, and return to their homeland. Some show traditional Palestinian weddings, dance, household chores, and clan gatherings. Some show immense grief and loss, hopes for peace, and revolutionary opposition. One particularly powerful and political peace shows piles of dead Palestinian civilians underneath bombs, tanks, and fighter planes emblazoned with the Israeli Star of David and the initials ‘U.S.A’ (making reference to the fact that the US provides Israel with around 3 billion dollars in military aid a year, and many of the bombs, missiles, tanks, fighter jets, and attack helicopters used against Palestinians by the Israeli Army are supplied by the US). Amongst this chaos, Palestinian resistance fighters confront a monster with bloody jaws in military garb, bearing Israeli, US, and Nazi symbols, indicating that the Israelis have transformed into that which in the past has persecuted them.
The relationship between Jordan and Palestine is closer than most Americans realize, in fact you cannot talk about one without mentioning the other. After Israel’s War of Independence in 1948 (which Palestinians refer to as ‘Al Nakba’ or ‘the catastrophe’) Jordan formally annexed the West Bank, and received a large amount of the refugees who had been cleansed from their areas. Then when the Israelis occupied the West Bank in 1967, new waves of Palestinian refugees fled into Jordan. Today, the amount of Palestinians in Jordan comes close to 2 million, around 338,000 of whom are still living in refugee camps. These Palestinians have been given citizenship and refugee status in Jordan, but the relationship between them and Jordanians remains tense. According to many sources, over 60% of the people living in Jordan are Palestinian, threatening the power of the Jordanian government and native people. The Jordanian government has normally dealt with this by emphasizing national unity (I have seen government slogans written over Jordanian flags saying ‘We are all Jordan’) and showing favor to native Jordanians. Palestinians living in Jordan often experience discrimination, particularly in higher education and job opportunities.
This was highlighted when I had the opportunity to spend some time with my friend Tamara and her family, Palestinians who have been living in Jordan for decades. I had met Tamara about 7 years earlier when I hosted her during a peace conference in Colorado, and was thrilled at the opportunity to see her again. She invited me to her home for Friday lunch, which is an important family affair in Jordan, often taking place after family members return from the Friday prayers at their local Mosque. I was greeted with traditional hospitality, including a huge meal followed by tea and chocolate covered dates. We caught up on each other’s lives, and I had the opportunity of meeting her family, all of whom were effusively friendly and welcoming. At several points in the conversation their Palestinian identity was raised, as it has a huge effect on their lives. Tamara’s brother, I was told, has been excluded from any government jobs because he is Palestinian, and some patients at the hospital where Tamara works have refused to be treated by her because of her Palestinian last name. I also got an insight into how segregated the social circles can be at times, an example being that both Tamara and her sister are forbidden to marry Jordanians.
After lunch, Tamara and her sister took me to a local mall and then a café, where we chatted and enjoyed ourselves. Tamara was forced to take me home early, however, because a soccer game started between Jordan and Uzbekistan in the Asian Cup and she said we had to leave before the streets grew dangerous. I completely understood her fear, as the last two games (which Jordan won) had resulted in celebration bordering on violence, and groups of cars zooming around the city at around 60-70 mph honking their horns and waving flags. I finished watching the game at home, which Jordan lost 2-1 and drove Khader to tears, as it crushed one of the best chances Jordan had of achieving national soccer glory in a very long time.
The next day we were treated by a visit from my host mom’s mother, brother, and sister, who are Bedouin and live in a village in Northern Jordan. We all sat down to a big lunch together, and I watched them dote on the children and chat together, all with so much love. At one point the elderly grandmother, who was in traditional dress of long black robes that also covered her hair and a piece of twisted cloth wrapped turban-like around her head, started speaking to me and pointing. When I told her I didn’t understand, she patted the ground in front of her and indicated I should sit. Then, with her strong gnarled hands, she inspected my hair and then gently and skillfully began to braid it. This gesture of nurturing care, which she must have repeated with her daughters countless times, made me feel so safe, as if I had been adopted despite being from a world so very different from her own. She also told me, using my host mom as a translator, that she would like me to come stay with the family in the village, if God wills it. I hope that this will be possible while I am here. Now I must do homework before my Arabic lesson, so goodbye until next time!

Today is my first whole day with my host family, and I honestly cannot say enough good things about them. Yesterday when I arrived in my new home I was so nervous about meeting them and getting them to like me. I was also pretty distressed about not having had enough time to get them a present, which is the polite thing to do in Arab culture when visiting someone’s home. Immediately, however, they made me feel welcome. "Ahlan wa sahlan!" they all told me over and over. Ahlan wa sahlan is loosely translated as "welcome," but literally 'ahlan' means 'like family' and 'sahlan' means 'easy', so its closer to "may you arrive as part of the family and tread an easy path as you enter." The family I have been made a part of contains my host mother, Reham, my host father, Ihab, and their two children. Khader is the 5 ½ year old son and Joud is the 1 ½ year old daughter. They first showed me my room, and then the signs that they had made for my arrival. The names of everyone in the family including mine (spelled “Ritchel”) was next to my door, alongside another that said “Welcome” and one that said “Jordan,” “USA” and “Colorado” on it. It was such a kind gesture that it almost brought tears to my eyes. I then spent some time with my host father first, while my host mother cooked. We watched parts of various channels, including CNN in English, Egyptian soap operas, and a children’s show on Hezbollah’s channel MANAR (which was a bit of a surreal experience for me). They then spread a piece of plastic on the floor and we all sat around it and ate delicious ma’louba with Arabic salad and yogurt. I learned that this was a special meal that my host mother had spent a great deal of time making for me. For dessert was a delicious sweet milky drink called Sahlab and cookies, all of which Joud kept gravely giving to me. I then played Go Fish and soccer with Khader. He is such a bright soul; energetic, mature, intelligent, humorous, and truly sweet. He spent a lot of time making a detailed drawing of a house, a garden, and two people for me, but started crying because he was afraid that it wasn’t good enough to give to me. I wish that I had the Arabic vocabulary to express to him in words how much it meant to me. After unpacking, I played peek-a-boo with Joud, which she never seemed to tire of. She is a total comedian, always having us laughing. Sometimes she walks around pretending to be an old woman, with a bent back and halting steps, or imitates the dancing she sees on tv. Both Reham and Ihab are wonderful parents, attentive and loving, always challenging, encouraging, and praising their children.
Today, I woke up and spent some time in the kitchen watching my host mother helping Khader with his Arabic homework. He worked very hard for about an hour and a half straight, frowning in concentration as he worked through pages and pages of material. I‘m very impressed, when I was 5 it was impossible to get me to show that much dedication to academics, in fact even now I find it difficult. As I write this, he is back to work on it again. After he finished his lessons we went out to breakfast and ate hummus, ful, and copious amounts of flatbread made right next to us in stone ovens. We then went to a small local mall, where Khader bought me some slippers for the house, and my host mother and I sat at a café and smoked shisha, which is found everywhere I go here. Khader and I played air hockey, and then he taught me all the colors of the sweaters in a shop. When we returned home, we played hide and go seek and then more soccer. I think he felt bad for me due to all the goals he was scoring, and consequently scored intentionally on himself quite a few times to even the playing field.
Tonight was spent drinking sage tea and watching Turkish soap operas and parts of American movies on tv. Before coming to Jordan the central importance of the family unit was stressed to me, and that has been reinforced through my time spent here. Everything is done together, if possible, and even if individual tasks need to be done it is preferable to sit in a group. Now, for instance, while I write this, I have been encouraged to sit in the family room with all of them instead of isolating myself in my room as is customary for me. Khader has brought cushions over to me so that I can be more comfortable, an unbearably sweet gesture of a kind that I have come to expect from him. Soon my classes will begin, and inshallah I will update you all again at that time. Good night for now!