10 Cheese Pizza

Well.
I did all of those things that I said I would do...
Traveled Europe, made it home with all of my luggage, moved into my new house, led Top Rope Training, hosted my younger neighbor to show her the college life, started my summer jobs, and I made a 10 cheese gluten-free pizza.  My father helped, well actually he did most of it.  But that 10 cheese pizza was symbolic of how a life-sized to-do-list doesn't end and as long as you have little comprehensive goals along the way, progression isn't as intimidating or difficult.  Now it is time once more to put my nose to the grindstone and my pizza to the oven so to speak. 

And my immediate emotional response to all of this is that I am tired.  Shot. Mentally and physically drained like the glass of milk I just drank.  (I missed non-goat, non-un-pasteurized, short shelf-life skim milk.)  If you would  have told me in 2010 that would ever be sick of traveling the world, I wouldn't have believed you. An International Studies major sick of traveling the world is like a statistician who can't stand the sight of numbers.  So here I am, drinking milk on my couch with a bitter stoicism on my face befitting of Leon the Professional or the Godfather.  I burnt the candle at all ends.  Scholastically, geographically, socially, linguistically, monetarily.  Must have been a pinecone-shaped candle.  Now it's shaped like a sphere, how do you burn a sphere of wax with no wick? CAREFULLY  I'd imagine... so how do I proceed with my sanity and still maintain my integrity which I will define as a manifestation of what is left of my dignity.  The stress of travel knocked some years off my life, robbed me of my HB stein (we will get to that); however it also brought me wisdom and greater understanding of the tendencies of humanity.  Every action has an equal and opposite reaction I suppose.  Newton must have believed in Karma.

Daily life in Baltimore consists of 8-10 hr work days and weekends where I struggle to put my new house together piece by piece.  I fear what will happen if I do not keep myself busy.  Spontaneous human combustion?  Will I become sublime?  that unrecognized stage of being in between gas and solid and then dissolve into a puff of inconvenience and contradiction? There is one thing I have come to know: I cannot seamlessly intertwine my Jordanian life with my old life.  It's like trying to work a really old yet beloved Microsoft video game (Age of Mythology?) on a new Macbook...  ERROR: Incompatible.  Furthermore, speaking arabic is not satisfying when you do so to yourself.  Fast track to the terrorist watch list I'd imagine.   Also, I have become frustrated recounting my tales of abroad.  I feel like I am imposing/preaching because what real interest do people besides your best friends have in Middle East abroad studies?  Most will never venture there anyway, and most are fixated on living in the now so as to 1) fulfill Hopkins expectations of productivity and 2) to avoid thinking about jobs post-graduation.  All acquaintances instantly forgot where you went off to anyhow (Turkey?  Africa?  Detroit?).  So is it better to think of it all as a dream and move on?  Perhaps, but I predict that in the near future I will be surprised by what manifestations my time abroad will have in my American life.
Moomkin some imported Arabic, some zait wa zatar (dried thyme) on my gluten-free english muffins, a few skype sessions with ex-schway Jordanian boyfriend halfway across the world, renewed passion about the arabic language classes at Hopkins.  Insha'allah indeed.

The Eagles Are Coming

I turned 21 on Tuesday and it was surreal in the best way possible.  My friend Biff asked me "so...tell us about some past birthday moments."  I remember enthusiastic soccer practices, special bagged lunches from my mom, chuckie cheeses, and of course, Fuego Con El Hob, the cookout event I held during final week at school for the past two years for the sole purpose of getting my favorite people in the world to get together in one location with food.  The joy of having all my favorite people in the same place is the best birthday present I could ever receive.  Therefore, I had the most incredible birthday (spread out over two days because of presentations).  My shway Jordanian boyfriend, SMiller, and my other close friends went to Mejana (my favorite restaurant) where they surprised me with a chocolate ice cream cake complete with two flaming fire sticks and a sugar slab printed with "happy birthday toufaha" (happy birthday apple!).  He calls me toufaha because I had such difficulty pronouncing the singular of Toufeh when I was yelling at him to give me my apple back one time.  In total, I got sang to 4 times and I was able to spend time with everyone I care about on this side of the Jordan River.  Couldn't have asked for more.

1) pre-ISP presentation thanks to prompting by Anna.  Glorious harmony btw (Anna and Dropeck).
2) at Mejana by the waiters and my closest friends here.
3) by my host family over sprite infused chocolate cake with my real mom on a skype call.  I have never felt so special.  I LOVE my Jordanian host family. They sang in english and then in arabic: sana halwa ya gamiir!
4) at Abu Khalil Chinese Restaurant the next day with all of SIT Tribe.  Thanks guys ;)  

Still haven't had a birthday drink though..cough cough can't wait for Europe!


Remember when I said "I've gave up being a perfectionist,"  well, that was a complete lie.  In retrospect, I definitely returned to my perfectionist tendencies for ISP period which culminated in my designing a Prezi (beefed up PPT) presentation with a script.  The prezi featured a clip from LOTR (as all anne-made presentations should), multiple representations of Celine Dion, and a shout out to Hans Zimmer.  I even went over the proposed time limit, like a BOSS.  I'm sure that my sponto-perfectionism was the result of regression to a time (high school) where life was less chaotic.  Other ways I regressed included my clothing--I mostly dressed like a man with baggy pants and T-shirts--but that could have been a product of the conservative environment.  This perfectionism wont last because overall, it is not practical.  One way in which my perfectionism did not fully manifest was my use of Arabic: I reached a new comfort level trying and failing words and phrases.

Now, the struggle is over, the 48-pg ISP is done and I have thrown my burden in the fires from whence it came.  I don't remember the taste of strawberries, or what it feels like to be barefoot in the grass of Hobbiton, or even what nature smells like, but now SMiller and I are done (all energy expended in the name of study abroad) and we are awaiting the Eagles to carry us away to be welcomed again in a more familiar land.  And the Eagles are coming at 7:10 am tomorrow morning in Queen Alia International Airport Insha'allah.  Though side note: if I get to the airport tomorrow, go up to the desk to confirm that the plane is coming and they say "Insha'Allah!" I am going to implode.  Insha'Allah (God Willing) is a versatile phrase, I agree.  And I do appreciate the versatility of many Arabic words like Shway and Mumkin, but Insha'Allah should not be used to describe things that should be considered certain like for example.....To a cab driver : "Khodnee 3la Safareh Britaniya" (take me to the British embassy)   His response "Insha'Allah".... uh what??  are we actually ever going to get there?  I don't know, and it's not in the hands of God, it's clearly within the capability and hands of the cab driver himself.  MEHHH.  #StrugglesJO

Now to comment on the lack of resolution of my identity crisis which led to some serious productive self-actualization.  Seriously, Maslow would be proud.

Ways in which I am a Jordanian
-Nescafe
-Love/obsession with camels
-Content with rationing water usage
-obsession with soccer
-an appreciation for cheap taxi rides



Ways in which I am not
-Love of sharp cheddar cheese
-I hate TV
-I value the tanness of my skin
-Pursuit of self-actualization


Sidenote: the word America pronounced "AMERRRica" in Anne has been our go-to to fill blank space in conversations or on long walks down Demashq street.  This word needs no context or explanation. 


WHAT AM I?  WHO AM I?  An end to this identity crisis?
55% American (freedom and liberty are great values to build a country on)

20% Cuban (I am in love with the spirit of la gente allí, I also love with the culture and language)

10% Hobbit (LOTR obsession (almost religion) and my last name)

10% Turtle (Addiction, the color green, introspective nature and appreciation with fresh green food and water,  as well as resemblance in looks?)

5% Jordanian (hospitality, love of hummas, gah'wa and headgear)


Now to answer some questions before they are asked of me:

Have you changed?
Yes, I suppose.  I am more conscious of my gender.  I am more cynical about the innate goodness of people because of the percentage of strange men cat-calling me, staring, or otherwise robing me of my dignity or my phone.  I am more open-minded in regards to the Jordanian culture of interdependence, family and Islam.  I am motivated by a desire to fix people's opinions of that culture, because I know there are many Americans who have sharp generalizations about the Middle East and Muslims.


Would you go back?
I would return because I do have a complete "life" here with a family I can visit, Jordanian friends, a gym, a group to play soccer with, favorite restaurants and academic duties.  I would have to live in my own place with a kitchen though so I could solidify a routine and control more of the factors in my life.


What was your favorite part?
My favorite site was Jerash, this of course was skewed I'm sure by events that happened in Petra and the aftereffects of food poisoning in Wadi Rum.  I visited Jerash on a beautiful sunny day.  The site is such that it is not popular enough that tourists are overwhelming, but not so unpopulated that they don't have scheduled events like the traditional chariot race in one of the most well preserved Hippodromes.  The hills were bright green, the ruins invited me to climb them.  I wondered on my own into the hills of my own thoughts and felt safe among the long grasses.  I enjoyed a few private moments Sound-of-Music style before rejoining the group.  I also felt like I had jumped back into "Ecce Romani," my high school Latin textbook, with Claudia and Uncle Titus and 5 miserable (though now so distanced from my current life that I remember them fondly) verb declensions. 


Now, I have to address my emotional response to this question.  One factor has defined my past Month and a half here in Jordan.  I know the frequency and length of my blogs has sputtered out in the last 1/3 of my study abroad experience, and know now that it is mostly due to this.  My favorite part of Jordan was not a location, or even a moment.  It was a person (whose name will not be displayed for internet publicity reasons)  He is my shway (sort of) Jordanian boyfriend (shway because of the expiration date on our time together, the sensitivity of the culture about dating and Islam, and because it is hard to DTR (define the relationship) comprehensively across a language gap).  I met him in the gym when I approached the front desk to ask how to get to the Sheraton hotel in search of a Cuban cigar.  He drew me a map and filled in the traffic circles with smiley faces.  My first reaction to his presence was "this man does not look Arab, and he smiles a lot."  He's actually supremely touchy about the first subject.  He knows he does not look Arab, and yet he represents Jordan regularly at International Jui-jitsu competitions.  His mother is French and he has a French passport.  As SMiller commented post- Wadi Mujib sunburn, "he got more of the French genes than the Arab ones."  When we took cabs together, we'd play a game to see how long the cab driver could mistake him for American before he would spout Arabic, shocking the cab driver and amusing SMiller and I in the back seat.  Time spent with him was filled with games, laughter and comfort.  He was our Amman tour guide/chauffeur/ and security guard.  We have a very similar sense of humor, and both of us value sports as an outlet for life frustrations.  He and I organized a trip to Wadi Mujib where we brought our groups of friends together.  We also organized 5 pick-up soccer games where in we were both rivals, and heartfelt teammates.  He, SMiller and I quickly became a team.  He drove us around in a 1984 Mercedes, called "debabeh" which means tank in Arabic. With him, I felt safe. Lastly, he taught me Arabic expletives and how to do humiliating arm workouts.  I trust him more than anyone in this country, especially after one specific event:

At Wadi Mujib, post-bike ride and waterfall trek, us Americans and Jordanians were sitting interspersed along the edge of the cliff overlooking the sun setting over the dead sea.  Shway Jordanian boyfriend was sitting about 5 feet in front of me.  I noticed a skinny, tall, Jordanian man smoking a cigarette directly to the left of the last American. Upon further scrutiny, I realized he was doing the creepy stare we get a lot here (the one where they undress you with their eyes) so I got Shway boyfriend's attention and pointed him out.  Shway boyfriend first called the creeper out, and when he didn't stop, Shway boyfriend rallied his fellow jiu-jitsu team and rolled over there.  The creeper and his friends backed off and left in their car not ten minutes later.  For those of us paying attention, it was the most glorious moment we have had abroad.  For once, Jordanian men defended our honor and confronted the creepier norm of other Jordanian men.  I later thanked shway boyfriend and he didn't understand why I was thanking him.  I explained how no one has stood up for us, and how we haven't been able to stand up for ourselves in the face of such obvious sexual harassment.  He expressed shame in the fact that so many Jordanians think that it is okay to disrespect women in public.  I will never forget how safe and respected he made me feel.  His friends, also incredible people, became instrumental and influential in my time here.  I felt like I finally had an "in" to the culture, and it put me at ease.  I feel like I had a very different experience from many of the other SIT Tribe members because of my last month here, which was spent primarily with Shway boyfriend and SMiller.  I am so lucky to have met him, because he completed my life abroad such that I feel comfortable enough to return here for an extended period of time to be determined.  Fulbright mumkin?

How was Jordan?
Tamam!  Quwais!  Bikheir!  Mumtaz!  Rosy retrospection has already set in, and I have no doubt that these moments constitute "the time of my life."  To what degree, I can not tell now.  I hope to be able to fully comprehend the impact it has had on myself once I get back into a routine in Baltimore.

With that,
I start my Euro-journey with Tim (friend from the program) and Lauryn (my facebook wife slash best friend from home):

1)    France. 
May 15-18 Paris
May 18-19: Night train to Rome TGV 7:42pm arrives 6:45 rome, station change in Milano Centrale 2:50 (gets in) train leaves at 3:15am
2) Rome
May 19-20th Rome
May 21: Pompeii day trip-> Florence

May 22: Florence
May 23: Travel day to Munich Florence Firenze station 11am to 6:25 pm Munchen Hbf

3) Munich
May 23-26
May 26: Travel Day 7:23 am to 3:25 pm Amsterdam Centraal

4) Amsterdam
May 26: Check into the Flying Pig
May 27:  World's largest Cheese Market/ Walk the canals
May 28:  6:15 am train gets in at 9:35 am to Paris Nord via Belgium

5) Paris

May 28: Breakfast, Notre Dame

May 29: Assorted France

May 30th depart for NY then Baltimore

4 countries, 6 travel days, 3 people, 1 world.

Ma'asalaameh al-Ordon!

Odrama bin Sodden

 Why do I constantly feel like I have to apologize for America?  And I don't just mean America as in the country I wouldn't mind being at this time, but America as a state of being (and myself as an embodiment of America)--because after my accidental crash course in cultural anthropology post-research project, I acknowledge that America does in fact have a distinct culture.  Even on top of the whole "salad bowl" idea of mixed culture culminating in one multi-culture, there is some wonderful, high-calorie "America" salad dressing that no one seems to give any credit.   
Among other things, our culture let's people be themselves in public within a fair set of guidelines, and it doesn't subconciously punish you for being a woman.  It also prompts people to drink and be merry while watching horses run around in circles, or cars drive around in circles, or sports teams...That's distinctively American.   So are hot pockets and pop tarts.


Basically what I'm saying here is that when I get back to the states, I'm going to walk around in a colorful hat, a tasteful summer dress that cuts off above the knees, and flip flops while gracefully gnawing a block of cheese and slurping a coke slushee from 7/11 and NO ONE WILL LOOK TWICE STARE, HONK, OR OTHERWISE DISTURB MY PIECE OF MIND.  I'm also long overdue for some Chipotle.

When I started writing this post, I meant to address Osama Bin Laden's fate but apparently every train of thought leads back to the common frustration that is barely concealed by the women on my program. So why do I feel like I constantly have to apologize for America?
Current events update: Osama Bin Laden is dead.  Americans everywhere cheered, danced in the streets, got drunk, and screamed "America, F*** yea" and I couldn't help but feel confused at why I felt like just another pop-star had died.  Like Michael Jackson had kicked the bucket, it was surreal, but it didn't quite effect me.  I do wonder if I should have been more emotional, but all I could do was appreciate the symbolism of offing the face of terrorism, which is a victory for sanity, no matter how you look like it.  I remember 9/11.  I was 11, and my Social Studies turned the TV on in class, which never happens.  I honestly thought it was a movie.  I had never been to New York, and imagined that these burning buildings was part of a film called King Kong.  I feel bad for not having felt bad.  Yeats later, I could be found bawling in a classroom in Colorado Springs after watching United 93.  I get it, Americans are amazing, I am proud to be one, but not when we are OverDRAMAtic and insensitive to the fragility of world peace.  In the MJ example, a hoard of Westerners coupled with random Middle Easterners experienced emotions, and such is the case with Osama's death.  I am content that he is dead because so many families of terrorist attacks get some form of reconciliation.  But I can't help reacting negatively to the images of Osama to comments online that say "f*** yea USA!" This is very anti-human, and OverDRAMAtic, and makes me worried once again about my ability to self-identify as an American on the streets of a Muslim State like Jordan.  But it turns out that most Jordanians in Amman cared more about the Barcelona-RealMadrid soccer game than about Bin Laden's death, so I was safe in my Barcelona jersey once again.  I guess I am taking a very RealPolitik approach to this, but such gloating is neither reassuring, productive, and may in fact only provoke a larger response from the fundamentalist Muslim community.  And just about every Muslim on this side of the Atlantic is pissed that he didn't get a proper burial as a Muslim.  I'd have to side with Obama on this one, creating a physical location where followers could visit the grave of this psycho would have been downright insane, and I don't see where there could have been a compromise, but to not expect some form of backlash would be ignorant.  Look at the response to the pastor burning the Qur'an--and thus the entire religion in effigy--in Florida.  My host-aunt asked me casually how my parents were doing and whether or not they are happy about Bin Laden's death.  Way to punch the elephant in the room.  I didn't quite know how to answer, so I beat around some proverbial bushes--which had Allah carved in them and of course were in the middle of the sidewalk.  And for once, I was glad those bushes were there.

On another note, a group of us went to a Turkish bath.  We had a Baath party.  Get it? Bahaha Middle East joke.  Long story short, by the end of the 8 distinctive turkish bath stages, I was entirely confused whether or not I was over-hydrated or dehydrated or clean or dirty.  In retrospect, it was the worst "best decision" I have ever  made.  Here are the steps
1) Get naked.  Alright I'm already out of my comfort zone, how bad can bra and underwear be in front of strangers?
2) Dampen oneself??  Not sure of the trajectory of this adventure, when the woman turned on a shower and prompted us to go in with some hand gestures, we were unsure of how wet we were supposed to be.  No matter.  Dignity was yet to be lost...
3) Walk into an active volcano.  It was more like I imagined a kiln to feel, or a rebellious sauna. This better have some holistic, rejuvenating aftereffects because I have never been so close to spontaneous human combustion than I came in this 10 minutes.  In fact, I better come out of here looking, or at least feeling like the little Mermaid when she finally became human. Or I want my 25 JD back.
4) Appreciate breathable oxygen, sip fruit juice, and liquify?  The rebellious hot tub.  This is very much girl day at the spa, let's take this time to objectify men, which, by the way, is way more entertaining and gratifying after you spend most time in public being blatantly objectified as a woman.
5) Close encounters with a loofa and unannounced buckets of warm water. I am a beached great orca whale and this Jordanian woman is my heard of innocent cleaner fish.  I didn't know I had that much dead skin on my skin, and my first reaction was to apologize, I honestly molted.
6) Massage. Priceless. Naked is good.  I found my skin, so now there's no reason I can't be comfortable in it.
7) Actual sauna.  Like winter in Mordor post-Sauron.  The calm after the perfect storm.  I think I might have found my dignity?
8) One last shower.  And then clothes.  Unsure if I am covered in oil, water, sweat or liquid self.  Also unsure why Eve wanted to be clothed so badly post-garden-of-eden incident.  Rebirth tastes like cranberry juice.

It rained again today.  I assumed it was a mirage because Jordan's already had its predicted amount of rainfall.  Don't deserts deal in mirages? Well, I was wrong, and now my socks are bin Sodden.

Gubble Bum

I can't speak arabic.  But I try shamelessly.  I think back on Ecuador and remember how afraid I was to speak, and I laugh.  I don't know how a conservative muslim state made me more outgoing and confident.  I think it's probably because you can't be a perfectionist here and retain sanity, so I gave up trying.  Arabic is to dense to swallow in sizable bites.  It's like trying to eat a stick (not that I ever have).  Eventually you can get through it with much perseverance, mouth pain, a few explanations to bystanders who wonder why you are eating a stick, and hella splinters.  The other day I proclaimed to a bag-boy at Safeway that "mish 3ndi shanta"  which literally translates to "not I have purse" when I meant "I don't want a bag."  Normally I would beat myself up about that but I just continued on my way.  Recently, I acquired the words "Debahbeh" which means "tank" and "hafartarieh" which means "vulgar".  These compliment the words that I remember from my time spent banging my head against "al Kitab" the arabic text book starring Maha, the depressed New York resident.  These words include "al aloom aseeyaseeya" political science, "hashashan" assassin, "izdeham" overcrowding, and "rootooba" humidity.

I can't speak english.  But I try shamelessly.  I speak a compination of english, spanish, arabic, and "meh" which is Anne for "Anne language".  This involves events where I declared "bidi Gubble bum." (I want bubble gum."  Luckily, SMiller speaks Anne by now.

...I'm turning 21 in a week.  I feel like I'm 16.  hmmm

Other fun Anne vocab words:
A "shwayker" is a shway quaker, which means a quaker that breaks the rules sometimes.
Okay enough procrastinating, 20 more pages to write before I'm freeeeee!

Allah yuwafee!  Good luck to me.

Triple Distilled, Hold the Rocks.

2nd edition of "A Piastre for your thoughts":
These are things I overheard while thinking to myself...

There are few public clocks in Jordan, does this contribute to the lateness that everyone seems to accept as culturally acceptable?

It's springtime but there are no lawn mowers.  That is most likely because there are no lawns.  I'd never thought I'd miss them.

That being said, there is a different sound that overtakes all other sounds: close-proximity HONKING.  I walk a minimum of 30 minutes along the side of the road each day and for some reason whenever a semi passes close to me, it honks. I nearly die of an MI each time. They must just love to watch people jump.

I've been here long enough to notice commonalities in the flaws of ESL speakers here:
"Since 2 years" or "Until 2 years" means "2 years ago"
"My brother is Canada" means "my brother is Canadian"
"She speak Germany" means "she speaks German"

On the classification of four-legged animals:
I also made a breakthrough regarding my understanding of Arabic.  I was always under the impression that Arabic was difficult because most words sound the same hence my spinach vs. full and bathroom vs. pigeon disasters.  However, I realized today that English-speakers learning Arabic is just as hard as Arabic-speakers learning English.  Shabana is different from Sabaneh in the way that poetical is different from political.  We have an equal amount of close words.  In my interview the other day, the woman kept saying what sounded like "owed" instead of "odd" and she had to write it down in order for me to capture her meaning.  I also recall my first breakthrough with Spanish and then Arabic where you begin to recognize the breaks between words in fast speech. That is a precursor to this understanding.  Once you begin to recognize root words such as "poem" with suffixes or verb endings or prefixes, the language becomes a beautiful web rather than a broken window.

I watched a documentary where a child was shown any four-legged animal and recognized it as a dog.  Then he was taught that four-legged animals do in fact differ from each other, and he was shown how to differentiate them.  This is what happened with me and the Arabic language over the last semester.  I am proud to say that after 3 months, I can tell one four-legged animal from another!  WOOOO.  Web of wisdom.

Did you know the capital of Slovenia is Ljubljana?

I'm beginning to think that the reason for much of the strife and conflict in the world is because it is way easier to see the differences between people and it often takes some effort to uncover the similarities.  Language, religion, ethnicity, culture all stand in the way.

It took me 3 months to accept the fact that this program does not allow me to travel.  Yet, Nolan and Lauren Lutz came to me!

JHU Abroad Students.  International Symbol of Peace in bortherly Mustache-hood.  Enough Said.

Arabic words learned as a result of my research:
heka-it was said
wakaeea- reality
al garb-the West
foreigner-ajnabee

Now for some #strugglesJO...

I still haven't mastered getting in and out of cabs gracefully.

I got incredibly lost on the way to two of my interviews.  The former was the fault of an address that can be misinterpreted as a location almost half an hour away from my destination.  The latter "lostness" was due to the simple fact that Amman and most Middle East cities only recently got house numbers and only recently paid attention to the names of streets (rather than operating by landmarks).  I got dropped of in front of a building numbered 10 in Marj al-Hamam.  I called my interviewee, a young mother with a Masters in Islamic Studies, and she reported that I was not in the front yard of her building.  hmmm...I proceeded to walk 40 minutes and I found 3 different buildings labeled with the number 10 in a 4 block radius before finding hers.  I also found a supermarket called "supermarket for you".  Priceless.  My last interview of the day was with Khulood Allozie, Professor in Islamic law at the University of Jordan and she took so much silent joy in tearing apart my questions with "what do you mean by that term??" bahhhh "western influence".  And those are my #ISPstruggles.

By the time this information gets to my word document of transcribed interviews, it has already passed through 3 minds and been reinterpreted twice .  In essence, it the thoughts are triple distilled, holding the rocks of course (because Jordan lacks ICE).

On the Validity of Vampires, Celine Dion and Russian Prostitutes

Happy Easter!

Easter was not eventful but it was not eventless either.  Sidenote:  I think I am getting jaded to the Mid-East abroad experience.  I am oddly used to...
-passing sheep on my way to school
-the call to prayer disturbing the silence
-Celine Dion
-loud noises and loud people
-cats replacing squirrels
-trees mid-sidewalk
-taking sparse showers
-not flushing toilet paper
-the absence of ice
-bathrooms with no toilet paper
-having to pay out the nose for a water bottle
-getting honked at for questionable reasons
-configuring European outlets to fit the 2-pronged Middle East plugs
-my host family
-taking an average of 4 taxi's a day
-TV blaring
-guttural wavering arab music
-modest clothing
-tea/coffee as a way of life
-seeing skinned lamb's bodies in shop windows

...being a stranger in a strange land has lost its strangeness

This jadedness is the prime cause of me not updating my  blog.  That and the looming research paper which constantly demands my attention like a small child (my paper's development stage is directly comparable to a 2 yr old right now).

Easter in Amman began with church and ended with Fuddruckers (as every Easter should?). Our Jordanian friend who we met at the gym, picked Smiller, Sidney, Ginny and I up at Safeway and drove us to his friend's Catholic church.  Because it was entirely in arabic with a couple broken "Ameeen's" and lot's of "halleelujah", I allowed my mind to wander.  I thought about why I was there-and concluded that I didn't have a concrete reason...

"Anyone who thinks sitting in church can make you a Christian must also think that sitting in a garage can make you a car." -Garrison Keillor

....this may be the reason except that it was a Catholic church...But it did make me feel at home in the weird way that eating cheddar cheese does here.  Here's the experience in short:

-stained-glass windows with squiggly Latin
-no programs, everyone had memorized the appropriate responses.
-so many people that we had to stand at the back like the strangers we were
-more bare knees in one place than I have seen since the marathon
-lots of crossing oneself and genuflecting which I did not participate in
-no sermon...as far as I could tell
-the "greet your neighbor" part was filled with "salaam"s.  

My concentration was broken by the presence of two out-of-place figures directly in my line of vision.  The two women in front of us had dyed bleach blond hair (one of them had extensions).  They both had high heels, smelled like a field of cherry blossoms, and were dressed like expensive prostitutes.  The shorter one on the left wore a short mink coat and leopard leggings culminating in suede black heels. The one on the left wore a leather jacket and a short skirt.  She had tatooed-on bracelets, one bearing a cross.  My first thought was "these are the Russian prostitutes that people confuse us for sometimes".  And so I got my dose of holy symbolism.  Temptation of immorality literally stood between me and the word of God, which the Priest man spouted from the pulpit. Hahaha if only I was both Catholic, and believed in such symbolism.  The service lasted 50 minutes, we filed out, bid goodbye to Hanna and filed back into our Jordanian friend's car with the intention of pursuing food.  Did I mention that he just passed his driving test the day before?  And he was driving his father's company car?  Well, it made things interesting, but he was an impressively good driver.  And this city made of traffic circles, and full of people who refuse to wait in lines, who love making loud noises, who deal with car accidents with handshakes and bribes, whose cars are only status symbols, and who don't respect pedestrians is not conducive to new drivers.  So when He asked me if I wanted to drive...I was naturally extremely excited for the challenge but nervous at the same time.

His father works in the Medical supply business.  His company car is a 1984 Mercedes, a status symbol back in its day when King Hussein drove the same car.

Considering I had not driven a sedan since my own driving test 4 years ago, I had not driven a car in nearly 4 months and I had never driven a car older than me, it was bound to be an adventure.
First of all, the car was in incredible shape, automatic transmission, functioning AC, lot's of leg room like Lauryn's Buick granny van in the old days, sun roof, quiet engine, hella dignity.  Let's just say that El Hob would be jealous.

It drove smoothly, and did not struggle on the hills of Amman.  I was conscious that what I was doing was technically illegal but with the wind in my hair, the sun on my head and with a car full of people I love, I was livin' me some serious life.  I remember declaring that I was blessed that there were no squirrels in Amman, I remember emitting a high pitched noise as we swirled around the traffic circles, and I remember doing a little behind-the-wheel dance of success.  My Jordanian friend taught me some bad words to yell at drivers who cut me off and I was all over that (but I wont repeat these things here). Something about asses and people covered in poop.  The joy ride ended but the joy did not.  At SIT, SMiller and I took a break, using "holiday" as a justification to sit on the couch and watch The Land Before Time and Hook.  Ironically both Speilburg movies with incredible soundtracks.  Finalmente, we departed to Fuddruckers on a whim where discussed the validity and entertainment value of vampires. 

 Later that night, I was vid chatting with my mother, wishing that I could smell the ham cooking in the kitchen at Home and watching my brother search for his easter basket when I got my own Easter surprise.  My host sister Reem brought me a brown hard-boiled egg painted like a bunny with taped-on paper ears!  It makes me smile.

I am so busy being "busy" lately.  Busy chilling, busy interviewing, busy sleeping, busy writing.  Insha'allah I will get to interview a Prince!!!  Prince Ghazi bin Mohammad!  He prompted the construction of the first Islamic University in Jordan.  He is also the personal envy and Special adviser to the King.  Bahhhh!

Today I am interviewing a popular Imam named Abu Musa.
Life is good.

Ization in this Nation

Peers, colleagues, dear friends and family,

I have been asked by many what my research topic is for the gigasmic paper due in May.  The answer is not short, and the thesis is not easily explainable, which has been the source of much strife, food stress, light homesickness, regular non-food-related stress, and several quasi-breakdowns.  Yes, I once again have broken off more than I can chew and swallow and digest (however that saying goes).

This is how I explained my topic in my proposal:

“Westoxification” is a word coined by Muslim zealots who view Western influence as a threat to Islam.  Westoxification includes influences from Western consumerism, economic and social globalization, the dominance of Western culture, and religious pluralism.  I hypothesize that the new generation of young Jordanians on a whole perceive that Western culture is not a threat to Islam, but rather a catalyst of positive change in the modern practice of Islam.

This is how I explained my topic to my peers:

My topic is about western influence on Generation Y's adherence to Islam as a way of life.

so basically I am answering the question "is the west westoxifying islam?"  I hypothesize that Islam can coexist with globalization/westernizaton/westoxificaiton/mcdonaldization/americanization and all IZATION IN THIS NATION.

Instead of beginning my ISP (independent study project), I chose to write Haikus in order to 1) warm up for a 40 page paper, 2) procrastinate said paper and 3) win a 25 dollar gift certificate to Barnes and Noble...

My car has turned white

Curse this absurd bird herd turd

Baltimore Ravens

You mean that char mar

Is not a legit display

of real food prices?

Lexington Market

A diverse microcosm

Of America

Hair salon, gun shop,

Fried chicken joint, Goodwill, church…

Mapquest loves North Ave.

 

Network untrusted

Would you still like to join it?

JHU Guestnet

The SIT Tribe all began to use twitter so the following were written in the full spirit of the program:

Ran into a tree

with “Allah” shaved into it

#JOstruggles

The dumpster meows

I contemplate feeding it

#OnlySadnessJO

I might have killed

One hundred Middle Schoolers

#MarathonStruggles

Is that arab man

Honestly smoking a cig?

#JOmarathonFail

Half a banana

For half of a marathon

#ShukranJazeelan

This week I will be conducting several interviews of professionals in the realm of Islam, and I am hosting 3 focus groups of my Jordanian peers to find out what they think.  It is exciting and intimidating, and I will survive.

On another note, I went to see the Professional Jordanian Women's national soccer team take on Germany's number one club team Munchen Bayern.  It was an enlightening and entertaining experience.  Apparently Munchen is doing a diversity "yay women's teams in the Middle East" tour.  I was glad to see that Germany didn't play down to Jordan's level.  It was a very respectful game. The white team (JO national team) had a woman (numbah 9) who played in a hijab and full spandex so that only her hands and face were showing.  I didn't think this was possible but she was a coordinated and speedy player.  Above the field, a handsome portrait of King Abdullah cheering overlooked the stadium.  He wore number 99, which Biff and I realized is the year he entered office and the year his father King Hussein died.

On a third and final note different from above notes...some of us went to Madaba for a day to celebrate two birthdays. We nom nom'd at a restaurant called Haret Jdoudna, literally the best food I have had in Amman.  Lentil soup, a white cheese salad, and stuffed mushrooms with MORE CHEESE on top.  I highly recommend it.

Ian and Biff's Bday- Madaba

Downtown Madaba

Time to procrastinate procrastinating by doing work.