I am J.R.R. Tolkien

The above statement is (unfortunately) a hyperbole, I have to admit.  I am in fact, only Anne Hobson of many colors, a wizard(ess?).  However, in the context of Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land, we are all "God" [THOU ART GOD!] and seeing as Tolkien is the equivalent of a "God" figure in my reality then, by transitive property of overextended logic, I AM J.R.R Tolkein.

The reason for making such a wild claim is as follows:  I made up my own language.  For my end of the year arabic project, I chose to translate "I Want it That Way" by the Backstreet Boys into colloquial Levantine Arabic and perform it to the program.  I chose this culturally insensitive song because I view world-famed American pop and rock songs and bad dancing as their own separate international languages that I am conveniently fluent in.  Tomorrow will consist of bad dancing, American  pop gone Arab and me dressed up like a Backstreet Boy--or what I have imagined one to dress up like.  In other words, I will be wearing a suit with shades--a visage somewhere between James Bond and the Blues Brothers.  This is my tryout for Arab's Got Talent.  Who knows, I may even break out some oriental dance moves. The completion of this project signifies that I know "I Want It that Way" in 3 different languages (Sparabic), and this must mean I am fluent, right State Department?  The following is a compilation written in "Anne", which is mostly a failed attempt at transliterating arabic into english.  Enjoy... and if you wish to sing along, here is a standard quality karaoke version with some random men as back up singers.

Arabic Transliteration:

AYWAA

 YEAHH

Inti nari

You are my fire

Raghbatee waheedah

 My only desire

Sadoghnee lema baghool

 Believe me when I say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

 I want it that way

Bis ehna AAlmeen bAeedan

But we are two worlds apart

Ma booSal ala galbkee

I'm not reaching to your heart

Lema bTgoolee

When you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

 I want it that way

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes booejA galbee

This is only a heart ache

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes      ghelDatee

This is only a mistake

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Ma bidi basmAa bTqoolee

I don't want to hear you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

I want it that way

Inti nari

 You are my fire

Raghbatee waheedah

My one desire

Aywa, bArif taakhr al wacht

Yes I know the time is gone

Bis Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

But I want it that way

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes booejA galbee

This is only a heart ache

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes      ghelDatee

This is only a mistake

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Ma bidi basmAa bTqoolee

I don't want to hear you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

I want it that way

Hella bashoof bnurkud bAeed

Now I see that we are running away

Min alTareekat kaanaa abul  AYWAA

From the way that it was before, YEAAA

Almasaaafeh mish mohima

The distance is not important

Bidi agool

I want to say

Inti jowa galbee

You are inside my heart

Inti nari

You are my fire

Raghhbatee waheedah

My only desire

Inti, inti, inti, inti

You are, you are, you are, you are

Ma bidi asmAlik

I don't want to hear you...

Hada bes booejA galbee

This is only a heart ache

Hada bes      ghelDatee

This is only a mistake

Ma bidi bsmAA bTqoolee

I don't want to hear you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

I want it that way

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes booejA galbee

This is only a heart ache

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes      ghelDatee

This is only a mistake

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Ma bidi basmAa bTqoolee

I don't want to hear you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

I want it that way

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes booejA galbee

This is only a heart ache

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Hada bes      ghelDatee

This is only a mistake

Koolle laesh

Tell me why

Ma bidi basmAa bTqoolee abedon

I never want to hear you say

Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

I want it that way

Li anee Bidi aeesh ala kaefee

 Cuz I want it that way

THIS IS THE ARABIC VERSION I CAME UP WITH...

بدي اعيش على كيفي

إنت ناري
رغبتي و احدة

صدقني لما بقول
بدي اعيش على كيفي

باس إحنا عالمين بعيدين
ما بوصل على قلبك
لما بتقولي
بدي اعيش على كيفي

قولي ليش
هده باس بوجى قلبي
قولي ليش
هده باس غلظتي

قولي ليش
ما بدي اسمع بتقولي
بدي اعيش على كيفي

إنت ناري
رغبتي و احدة
أيوا, بعرف تأخر الوقت
باس بدي اعيش على كيفي

 قولي ليش
هده باس بوجى قلبي
قولي ليش
هده باس غلظتيقالي ليش
ما بدي اسمع بتقولي
بدي اعيش على كيفي

هلأا بشوف بنركض بعيد
من الطريقة كانا ئبل
المسافة مش مهمه
بدي اقول
إنتي جوا قلبي

إنت ناري
رغبتي و احدة
إنت, إنت, إنت, إنت

ما بدي اسمع

هده باس بوجى قلبي

هده باس غلظتي

ما بدي اسمع بتقولي

بدي اعيش على كيفي

قولي ليش

هده باس بوجى قلبي
قولي ليش
هده باس غلظتي

قولي ليش
ما بدي اسمع بتقولي

بدي اعيش على كيفي

 

قولي ليش

هده باس بوجى قلبي
قولي ليش
هده باس غلظتي

قالي ليش ما بدي اسمع ابدأ
بدي اعيش على كيفي

لأنني بدي اعيش على كيفي

I did my best to preserve the meaning (because this song is saturated with quality meaningful lyrics :/ ) rather than do a word-for-word translation.  This required me to change the original lyrics.  For example "(you are) deep down inside of me" became "you are inside my heart" and "now I can see that we're falling apart from the way that it used to be" became "now I see we are running away from the way that it was before".   Insha'Allah I will break a leg tomorrow.

Mixed Nuts and the Wisdom of Wizards

It was the "day of dignity" in Syria and the "day of rage" in Bahrain.  In Amman, it was "March 24th" rally which CNN identifies as "large protests".  The eye of Sauron (the media) is fixed on Syria and Bahrain, and Jordanians whine on twitter that the March 24th rally is not getting enough attention. At the protests, a man died of a heart attack; Al Jazeera and just about every pro-change news source is labeling it as a death by police-incited beating. The truth is unfortunate.  It was Jordanians throwing stones at Jordanians.  Protesters protesting protesters!

The common denominator over the last few days has been "mixed nuts".  I eat them, I see them, I read about them.  The meaning is threefold..
1) It seems that much of the worlds problem is caused by assorted nuts--Qaddafi, Mubarak, the pro-gov protesters throwing stones at their own citizens peacefully using their freedom of speech.  I could go on but you know the type...Sauron and his minion Saruman of Many Colors.  (Middle East and Middle Earth are only two letters apart....coincidence?  I think not).
2) I have been on a diet of Trix cereal, fruit, and Lebanese Mixed Nuts: pumpkin seeds, peanuts and almonds in their shells, cashews and sunflower seeds.
I like Lebanese nuts!  (please don't take that the wrong way)  The company is called Al Halabi, it's reputed among Jordanians as the best of the best. 
3) Sarah Miller and I met a young man of mixed French and Arab (mixed nuts get it?) descent who just happens to be Jordan's Jiu Jitsu Champion.  We befriended him at Matrix gym and so far he is the only Jordanian I have befriended aside from people we met through SIT staff beside the man who sells mixed nuts at Safeway near my house.  Mabruk to me.

This past weekend I attended Friday prayers at a mosque on the main highway in Amman.  As an observer, I was impressed.  The whole affair took 1 hour tops, sermon included.  There was a separate prayer room for the women located above and behind the men's larger prayer area.  There must have been 350 people total.  I watched through the wood parting that shielded the women from the men below.  Everyone was facing east; men ages 10 and up knelt on the floor shoulder to shoulder.  A holy man sang into the microphone for a while, and people genuflected of their own accord.  The sermon was more powerful than any english/christian sermon I have ever heard.  The Imam, on his romeo-juliet style balcony, raised his arms and let out a tymphonic ordeal.  His voice crescendoed every 3 minutes and I could not force myself to stop listening.  I heard a lot of "Allah's", some "mohammad's" and the names of several political figureheads like Hosni Mubarak and Ben Ali.  Apparently, the sermon suggested that everyone look back at the life of the prophet and his political actions to determine how they approach the popular demonstrations and revolutions in the Middle East.

The most intimate (literally and figuratively) moments occurred directly after the sermon.  Everyone formed long lines shoulder to shoulder and the the man begin to sing again.  Not loud enough so that you wanted to flinch, but exactly loud enough so you couldn't hear yourself think.  His voice filled you and you could feel that everyone's attention was captivated by it.  After every set of "Allahu Akbars", everyone would move at once, standing up and kneeling back down.  There was a murmur of emotion-less (AND YET ENTIRELY EMOTIONAL) response that resounded like the rumble of thunder.  The magnitude of people performing the same movement was unlike any other religious experience I have witnessed.  I have seen congregations as large but they were unable to achieve the level of interconnectedness that I could feel in this room.  Even the divider between the men and women seemed impertinent. This wasn't like the "congregation stand and repeat after me" sort of communal motion, it was more akin to a dance.  A dance of submission of mind and body to Allah, the perfect, the greater beyond great.  And I am glad to have witnessed it.  The experience was entirely personal and yet impersonal at the same time.  It was otherworldly and worldly, It was an indescribable serious of very describable events.

And now to address the thought that is inevitably going through my parent's mind as they read this...will she convert???
The answer... no no no no (echoing Mel Brook's History of the World Part One: The Inquisition)

While I was interviewing Dropek's host sister about how religious she perceived herself to be, she turned the question back to me.  And I think I was as surprised by my own answer as she was...
"I do belong to a Presbyterian Church in the States and I was baptized by choice at age 16 so I could participate in my first mission trip to Cuba...but I do not believe in God and I have never experienced faith in that context.  I am currently incapable of feeling "faith" in a "God" (intangible being). But at age 16, I renounced evil and agreed to begin a "journey of faith".  I've was lost before then and I am still lost."

Now I would like to addend and amend this statement....
My first week of college, I volunteered to be hypnotized in front of the entire Freshman class at Hopkins.  At that time in my life I had moved my mentality from reputed "risk avoider" to avid "risk taker" in a naive attempt to "find myself".  10 minutes into the process, I was one of 2 students left awake.  The pulsating music and punctuating words had no effect on me and I removed myself from stage with a "thanks anyway" from Hypnotist Tom Deluka.  Around 1/3 of the American population is unhypnotizable, and from that day on I labeled myself as such.  I also assumed that this newfound character trait was applicable to other aspects of my unconscious.  For example, I am unable to experience faith because I do not have a malleable conscious.  I blamed my temperament above anything else, and condemned myself to a life of juggling the tangible.  Spirituality and religion were out of the question.

But, I have experienced faith.  Perhaps not a pope-worthy dose of it, but faith nonetheless.   There was a time in my life where I was situationally depressed.  We've all had em, it's part of the burden of humanity.  Caught in the emotional cycle of desperate introspection and constant disappointment and disillusionment, I nearly gave up.  Have you ever been caught under a wave when it breaks near shore?  You get tossed around and you lose your sense of what's up and what's down.   In that moment of panic, the thought crosses your mind that you might never come up.  This might be the end, and it is dark.  And then your feet meet the sand and there's light again; the tides had other plans for you.  One day, I just acknowledged that even in my darkest moment it would get better.  It was that simple and yet that confusing (such is faith in the context of religion).  Christianity and Islam both promise great afterlives (something better!) and acknowledge that life is full of sorrow but if you live (commence confusing guidelines and restrictions in the way you live your life) there will be better, lighter times.  I am one step closer to understanding why people follow religion.

Some noteworthy comments I have heard in the past few days:

"Do you think Qaddafi just wakes up every morning and takes a pill of his own self-righteousness? Cuz I do." -anonymous
In response to "Why are there so many speed bumps in this country?"
..."Every time someone gets run over they put one up."- Mohannad

Recently, I have tried to imagine a cause that I consider worth dying for.  A wonderful fact about life is one's ability TO CHOOSE one's battles.  What would I demonstrate for?  What would I risk my life to protest?

I came up with the following list:

Causes I would consider risking my life for...

1) Protecting endangered turtle species.  I would.

2) Smaller government and less taxes in America.

3) Protecting freedom of religion

Causes I wouldn't risk my life for...

1) Mar 24th rally.  I believe King Abdullah is doing the best that he can given the pressure.

2) Global Warming
3) Most anything else

The above exercise made me realize how dispassionate I am about things.  It's much more agreeable to be aloof to controversial  issues and I rather dislike making people mad/uncomfortable.  Yet, indifference and indecisiveness (pretty much any word starting in "in" describing a human) can be dangerous.  For example, political apathy is one of the main arguments supporting the statement that Jordanian's aren't ready for a full-fledged democracy.  I say try them. 
While walking along Zahran street, Sarah Miller and I experienced this popular excitement...a group of about 15 cars with young men hanging out waving Jordanian flags and shouting "Jordan!" in support of the King drove by us.  I raised my fist and answered "Jordan" and some of them cheered.  It was an exciting time.  One of the cars decided to slow down to our speed and the two men inside shouted "welcome to Jordan" and then some broken english that was probably something like "come with us".  Using my newly found vocab I responded "Tiroo min hon!"  Which translates to "Fly you fools" in Wizard, and "Fly from here" in english.  Then Sarah and I continued on our march to experience the internationally standardized goodness that is Starbucks Coffee.


To do list for my last few months here:
1) Ride a camel
2)Commandeer said camel
3) Write a 40-50 page research paper
4) Translate and memorize "I Want it That Way" in Arabic
5) Run a half marathon to the Dead Sea
6) Sleep out under the stars at Wadi Rumm
7) Answer the question "Wayne Dignity?"
8) Fall in Love with Jordan
9) Fly a Kite on one of Amman's many hills
10) Learn the harmony to "Afternoon Delight", and "The Blackest Crow", a project I am
working on with Dropek and Ben


 To be continued...

Moon Burn

 The moon was the fullest it has been in the last 18 years and the fullest it will be until another 18 years come to pass.  I am convinced I could get a "moon tan" and subsequent "moon burn" if I were lay out tonight.


Today was a special day in many ways and I am glad that the state of the moon could commemorate it.  Nolan and Kerry (AUB Beirut and JHU!) and I hiked up a hill downtown, chilled in the Roman Amphitheater and cafe-hopped until day turned into night.  In the aftermath of finding out that my aunt had passed on after an exhausting battle with cancer, I just needed to have a haste-free day among friends and a familiar night sky.  Orion watched over me again and the shooting star, which I can swear was only for me to see, looked like a single streaking tear from the hunter's face.

View of the rising moon from the Old View Cafe on Rainbow Street

The day came full circle for me and a sense of surreal "closure" was at hand.  The calm acceptance that characterized my mood seemed to be reflected in the mood of the city.  Not one person harassed us as we wandered the streets, intentionally lost.   I was reminded that 2.5 years ago, Nolan, Kerry and I met for the first time in the woods of southern PA on a Hopkins Pre-Orientation trip where the moon was omnipresent as well.  We reminisced about home in a cafe with the most gorgeous view of East Amman, and yet, we were all so content to be abroad.  Kites chased each other in the distance in anticipation of the moon and I derived sober happiness out of stoic sensitivity.


And here is the first edition of "A Piestre for Your Thoughts"...
Intriguing Political Quotes from my lectures and leisurely reading:


“Our exchange underscored a danger inherent in the American political system.  For all its condiferable merits and inspirational principles, the American system is based upon a continuous uninterrupted process of election campaigns, stretching out year after year.  Lost in the perpetual scramble is any long-term vision capable of addressing the complex tangle of causes at the root of human suffering, especially in the Middle East." -Queen Noor


"Sultan Qaboos is very much 'all things to all men'; and he lives by the foreign policy principle 'don't piss anyone off'"- Alexander Brown, guest lecturer in Oman.


"A major obstacle to positive change is that [the Omani people] think that the state is their mother/father and they demand more and more privileges and services." -Alex Brown


"The problem with the monarch system is that they listens to a smaller and smaller circle of people over the years, who are more and more reluctant to tell them what is actually going on."- Alex Brown


"Swearing is a criminal offense because 'offense to dignity' is a punishable offense in the Qur'an." -Alex Brown

"Hershaw conceded that man, a social animal, could not avoid government, any more than an individual could escape bondage to his bowels." (95) Robert Heinlein   Stranger in a Strange Land

“A prude is a person who thinks that his own rules of propriety are natural laws.” (130) Heinlein

"Man born of woman and born to trouble—and someday you will grok its fullness and laugh—because man is the animal that laughs at himself." (142) Heinlein

"Obscurity is the refuge of incompetence.” (326) Heinlein

"Submission [to the will of God] can include—does include—utter responsibility for the fashion in which I, and each of us, shape the universe." (397) Heinlein

“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own [...]

Jealousy is a disease."  (363) Heinlein

"The disruptive reforms that have so changed the private sector should now be let loose on the public sector. The relationship between government and civil society has been that between master and servant; instead, it should be a partnership, with the state creating the right environment for companies and charities to do more of its work." -John Micklethwait

In Tobruk, a young boy, atop the shoulders of a man most likely his father, held a placard and a message for Colonel Qaddafi: “Irhall, irhall, ya saffah.” (“Be gone, be gone, O butcher.”)  -Fouad Ajami

"No foreign gunboats were coming to the rescue, the cause of [the Libyan's] emancipation would stand or fall on its own."-Fouad Ajami


"Unlike Ben Ali and Mubarak, Gadhafi is a megalomaniacal crank absolutely sold on his own history-altering significance." -Austin Bay

"We in the West are like tourists in Middle East politics: we see something interesting, focus with our zoom lens, frame a pretty picture, and depart."  -Charles Moore

What is a culture of shame?

"A "shame culture," as opposed to a "guilt culture," means that people are constrained to behave themselves properly by an aversion to being judged negatively by those around them, rather than internalizing a moral imperative."  -Thomas Lifson

 

"If drinking was socially acceptable among Middle Eastern dignitaries then after a few "Arbaa Mashnoon" (4 lokos) the peace talks would be peace slurs and much would be accomplished." -Anne Hobson

Playing a drinking game of 3-finger "never have I ever" would be like this:

Oman's Sultan Qaboos: "Never have I ever accepted Foreign Aid from the United States."

Saudi Arabia's King Abdullah: "Ha haram guys, haram.com"

Jordan's King Abdullah: "Never have I ever invaded a country with the intention of staying there indefinitely."

Iraq's Talabani: "Meh." 
UN Diplomat Nathalie Carmer: "Abdoun bidoon pantaloon."

Syria's Al-Assad: "Never have I ever recognized Israel as a sovereign nation."

Bahrain's Khalifa: "Amen." 
Israel's Natanyahu:  "Wa'allah shebab?  I'm sitting right here."
Palestine's Abbas:  "Do you hear something Assad?"
Syria's Al-Assad: "Nope, ma ishee."

Iran's Ahmadinejad: "Never have I ever spoke Arabic with a Philidelphian accent."

Israel's Netanyahu: "Oh come on! I always lose.  There's not even any manachevitz left."

Mars' Representative Valentine Michael Smith: "Drink deep, Netanyahu.  Thou art God."

Hillmen Desire Their Hills

If Islam is a way of life and I have proven that turtle is also a way of life through emulation of said turtles...then turtle is a religion and I am the Turtle Prophet (Peace be upon me). If A=B and B=C then A=C.  Therefore, when we arrived at the Ras Al Jinz Turtle Reserve on the Mid-Southern coast of Oman, I was very  much in my element.  It was dark, and the stars and moon served as pinpoint nightlights that turned the coast blue in pursuit of dusk.  We walked a half mile into the dark with the sound of lightly crashing waves promising an ocean.  I couldn't hide my excitement as I traced the constellations in my mind and nearly tripped on some surprised sandstone in the process.  The rising moon outlined the cliff-crags lining the shore, and I was almost glad photography was banned because no camera could have captured the scene. I was instantly reminded of the pictures of nebulae in my dad's astronomy books.  So this is where stars and turtles are born. After a shway (little) explanation of the turtle birth process, a distant man in a dishdash flashed his light.  We were lead in groups of six to observe a mother turtle about the size of the president's desk laying eggs in a 5-foot deep hole in the sand.  The words persistence, dedication, beauty, and patience came to mind.  Here was the strength of women displayed in a single moment.  She ventured to Australia and back to the beach where she was born, climbed up the coast 30 yards, dug a 5 foot hole, lays over 40 eggs, painstakingly covers the entrance to the hole and slides back into the sea in a process that takes hours.  Twenty minutes later baby turtles scurried past my feet from another hole to the east.  

3/100 would survive natural selection according to statistics.  NOT IF I COULD HELP IT.  I nudged one little guy in the direction of the sea, perfectly ready to punt any crabs I came across.  But this turtle was determined, he made it to the water line and the first light wave pushed him back up shore, he scurried in again, caught the edge of the tide as the ocean breathed in and he was gloriously inbound to a life of surfing currents, feasting on kelp, and being really really ridiculously good looking.  I realized I would be perfectly happy being an English-speaking guide at this turtle reserve and this thought was oddly comforting. Yet I would probably be fired for something equivalent to "Leave No Trace" violation because I would definitely punch a fox in the face before I let it eat a turtle hatchling.  The guides are instructed not to intervene in the Circle of Life.  Mufasssssaaaaa.

Many of the SIT tribe mentioned how much they  missed Amman and I was bothered that I did not feel the same way.  For the first few days I was certain I had made a mistake in choosing Jordan over Oman.  Wafts of ocean air uncorrupted by cigarette smoke reminded me of Quonnie summers, Caribbean isles and life without outline or obligation. (Oman is relatively smoking free). Not to mention the beauty of the white castle-houses, roads and mosques funded by oil-wealth.  Beautification projects were visible throughout the city. I did miss Amman in the sense that I perfer the comfort of familiarity over the task of discovering the intricacies that make every capital city different.  Also, Amman is more fast-paced.  Nevertheless, I have no doubt that I could have been happy in Oman despite some key differences between our programs:

1) Absolutely everyone speaks english.

2) There is less to do in Muscat and cabs are expensive because only Omani's can drive them per government law.

3) Politics and social change is an avoided topic in Oman.  So this would limit my studies and perhaps my passion as well.

4) The obvious influence of oil wealth made me wonder if the city was actually a prop in a bad western like Rock Ridge in Blazing Saddles.  The parks and sidewalks were never overcrowded and it seemed "too clean" to be real.

5) You have to dress more conservatively even though the heat is stifling.  How is this not a human rights violation?

Sultan Qaboos Harbor was my front yard

The view from the Imam's Jabreen Castle

Sur Harbor

Traditional fishing boat construction at Sur

But oh the ocean.  It was worth 1001 Arabian concessions just to be near it again.  But was it all an illusion of grandeur and calm when the real storm was waiting in the deep to be disturbed like a Balrog or a tsunami (more fitting given current events)?  What will happen when the oil runs out?  What will happen when the Sultan dies?  These are questions which are not discussed, but rather suppressed. 

The man on the money, with the money and pro the money.

Sultan Qaboos unified the country, provided infrastructure, jobs, and invented an economy in precisely 40 years.  Before 1971 there were a handful of paved roads, a conglomerate of fishing villages, a higher population of foreigners from India, Africa, and Iran, and some conflicting religious loyalties in the south.  Now it is unmistakably a modern state with enough water and water pressure to flush toilets...TAKE THAT JORDAN....though this luxury would come to bite us in the arse 4 days into the trip.  

I took a much-needed bath on day 3 of the trip and could not get the plug to come out because the knob had broken off.  So I prayed it was not water-tight and it would drain slowly so Biff and I could use the shower again.  Day 4 saw no improvement so we decided to bail it out by hand with the glasses the hotel provided.  It was slow-going but we seemed to be enjoying ourselves until SHIT GEYSER occured (Biff gets full credit for titilizing (providing this title)).  We got to a certain level of water so I yanked the plug and shit started spouting out of the drain in the floor next to my left foot.  The shit was not the consistency of beef stew, it was more the consistency of extra pulp Florida Orange Juice.  I sprinted downstairs in shorts (haram.com!!!!  forbidden) and was able to explain to the unabashed hotel staff that shit was "pulling an Israel" [TOO SOON?] and invading our bathroom (the hand motions coupled with Arabisse words I was using were pretty graphic).  The man stood there for 2 minutes conversing with his friend in a non-hurried manner.  I comprehended that they were debating who should deal with the worked-up American female.  I finally lost it Nicolas Cage Style and demanded action be taken.  The man motioned to the elevator (my room was on the second floor and his reluctance to take the stairs should have been a red flag for what was to follow).  The man was short, stout and looked of Indian origin.  His face was stuck in the "I hate the world" expression, which looks something like the bay area "thizz" face.  We reached the room, I had moved some shit-soaked shorts out into the hallway and while I was pointing to the bathroom, he got really worked up about the wet shorts.  I moved them and he began to explain something in very broken English about water pressure but continued to interrupt the solutions we proposed.  He told us it was our fault and that there was nothing he would do about it.  He told us that next time, we need to drain it slowly and that I shouldn't have taken a bath anyway.  Biff was fed up with his sheer disrespect at this point and went to go knock on our program director's door.  He was apparently standing outside the door as I went to use the phone to try and call our director.  I tripped over the shit-water glass I had just moved out of the hallway and it cracked.  I am really good at bad timing.  He knocked on the door.  Biff was back and began to explain that we would have to talk to our leaders later because they were unreachable at the moment (a scary thought in itself).  The man cut her off and demanded I pay 6 rials (12 dollars) to him for breaking the glass.  Biff and I echoed "no" and declared that we needed to speak with our director first because it just didn't seem right.  Then he demanded 1/2 rial for the glass.  Doubly angered, we became short with the man until he backed off and left with a more hateful expression than he came in with.  In the aftermath, we were angry and disappointed in the misfortune.  Like refugees, we escaped to Megan and Dropek's room.  Dropek hand fed us chocolate and we watched part of the village, which reversed the soothing effect of the chocolate.  In preparation to enter Shit geyser, she suggested we put tiger balm under our noses.  This proved quite painful but did provide comic relief, which in many ways is as practical as genuine relief.  It certainly distracted us from the smell.  Apparently that same hotel man had been rude to our Jordanian SIT staff, so the Omani staff straightened everything out the next day. I never paid for the glass; however, the debris from the shit geyser remained.  Biff and I didn't want to create any more drama and decided to wait it out.  Mish mooshkeela (not a problem).  It enticed me to leave the room and read Stranger in a Strange Land lying by the sea instead.

"Who hath desired the Sea? -- the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder --
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder --
His Sea in no wonder the same his Sea and the same through each wonder:
His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills."

-Rudyard Kipling (1902)

Amman is the city of Seven Hills (the original city proper, though now it encompasses roughly 22 hills) and the 26 of us are newly converted Hillmen.  Many displayed this loyalty by finding reasons not to be jealous of the 13 Oman SIT students.  I did not play this game.  Instead, I befriended my JHU colleague studying there--Natalie Stewart.

In retrospect, Oman was to me as the Circe's luxurious Island was to Odysseus.  It was tempting but not practical in the long run.  It was nice to stop there though, wasn't it Odysseus?  Unbeknownst to him, Odysseus was also a Hillsman by heritage. Oman felt like a clumsy Aladdin on Ice; this was the land of genies, suitors, belly dancers and exotic smells.  Walking through the souk (market), I was barraged by smells of frankenscense, Thyme, and everything in between.  Every other shop sold genie's lamps and blades inlaid with designs befitting of the Sultan himself.  The most intricate ones cost 200 rials or roughly 400 dollars. I imagine that buying a genie's lamp would be much like buying Wonka Chocolate bars in that 1 in a million has a genie in it.  I didn't have the finances to try.

Lastly, Oman is to Pepsi as Jordan is to Coke.  Oman is sweet and wins in a taste test but Jordan is the popular choice for a life-time commitment and taste loyalty.  In the end, I will always choose coke.  Well, I suppose I would more realistically choose water, which is probably New Zealand or something like that. 

Wadi Shab

International mustache of peace at the estuary

Speaking of water, our excursion to Wadi Sharb proved extra-memorable.  An ocean inlet culminated in an estuary 1 kilometer into shore.  It was a climber's dream, high cliffs on both sides and enough caves to entertain a million hobos.  At the estuary, we found the largest cave of all and proceeded to go spelunking for an hour without proper safety gear, though common sense and long overdue good karma kept me and my companions from "127-hours" style turmoil.  What is illegal in the States is quite legal here (speeding, loitering, risking your life in national parks) and yet what is culturally acceptable in the States is haram (forbidden) here...(swearing, wearing shorts, discussing the future of your country).  On the way back to the bus, I encountered a man with a "Cotapaxi" shirt.  They were Ecuadorian!  We bonded over the fact that his wife and I both owned Ortega genuine panama hats made in Cuenca.  Small world!

Safety was another concern given Al Jazeera's tendency to to exaggerate the severity and danger of demonstration-related events.  We did drive past a peaceful demonstration involving both men and women, I was surprised to note.  It is rare to see women representing themselves, though later I learned that they were mostly foreign nationals or immigrants. South of the city, demonstrations had resulted in the burning down of a supermarket. However, according to one of the SIT Grad Students it was more like a bored, overexcited group of 14-20 year old boys with no after school activities that caught Al-Jazeera's eye.  It was the combination of bad intentions and good timing.  So Sultan Qaboos bin Said al Said did the "cabinet shuffle" a dance move that has become all the rage among Middle Eastern Dignitaries within the last two months. He sacked to ministers and replaced six cabinet members. NBD.

The Omani people, dressed handsomely in white dishdashes with a tassle and capped off by the traditional headwear that I display above, held their dignity by the reigns.  Being that it is illegal to swear in Oman, it makes sense why we were never harassed or even stared at longer than "curiosity" could justify.  Now, back in Amman, the city shining gold in the morning sunlight, a driver slowed down with his body half-hanging out of his vehicle to take a long-winded gander at Sarah Miller and my respective keesters.  I am not sure if it is good to be home where the hills like white elephants beckon to me and whisper empty promises but I do like diet coke on occasion.

View of Mountain fort from the Southern gate

The Grand Mosque personally financed by the Sultan

Our bus parked at Camp Naseem in the desert

My brave roommate Biff atop Jabreen Castle with the Omani flag as a worthy backdrop

3 facets of society--the house, the place of worship and the guard tower.

2000 year old city.  This must be what inspired Lucas and Spielburg's depiction of the "Great Valley" in The Land Before Time

Phrase learned from our excursion to Nizwa University: "La Shukar bein Azdikat!"  There is no need for "thanks" between friends.

-Esteemed Turtle Prophet

Anne Hobson

Ahmad is a Jedi Knight Wielding a Saber of Wasta

Here's the sequel: 

Tomorrow morning the entirety of the Jordanian police will be triangulating the location and looking for the man who stole my phone.  I get this impression from the fact that today Ahmed, Dema and I met every Jordanian Policeman affiliated with the criminal division in the country.  

We climbed the bureaucratic ladder (often literally climbed because important buildings are on hills and parking lots are not) until we met with the Colonel boss man in charge of all criminal divisions in the country.  I got his digits.  He was basically a gangster.  He had 3 separate phones that kept ringing one after the other (for 30 seconds he had to have phones on either side of his face to answer them) so it was 10 minutes before Ahmad could communicate more than a fragment sentence with him.  He was good-natured though and his assistant brought us tea which we had to leave unfinished because a minute later we were on our way to another dingy room with gargantuan chairs made for Hagrid's character in Harry Potter.  The chairs were such that you could either 1) sit on the edge of your seat or 2) lean back and have both legs sticking straight out in front of you (and showing the bottom of your shoe is a cultural taboo....so it was an incredibly uncomfortable day).  

Ahmad and Dema were my translators and representatives and the most I could do was sit there and look sad.  It turns out I am good at this.   Apparently an international roaming incident such as this has never happened in Jordan's history and they are motivated to get to the bottom of it.  

Ahmad has an incredible Wasta.  I watched as he chatted up the Colonel until they were best friends after 5 minutes.  The Colonel even chose not to answer his phone calls thrice in order to make small talk with Ahmad.  The conversations that Ahmad and Dema carried with the various policemen sounded like this:
"ahlanachblakfiwadlikatitha Telifone atkamanleetmadafanil Orange Mobile jamyatalibfilougaarabiwa Roaming fibaeditthathmilhamzeen HTC Mytouch sookootmabarifalatikamanshukranikteer"
with the rare understood vocab word thrown in.  

Every new station we went, we left with another important-looking packet of stamped documentation with intricate seals on it.  I wrote my mother's name in Arabic at some point.

Ultimately, we visited 9 different rooms, 13 different officers and 3 police buildings on our quest for justice.  The total trip took 4 hours.

I also saw 17 different portraits of King Abduallah (every room and hallway was dotted with different representations of the King going about his daily life).  There was a picture of him smiling at his baby son, one of him on a black Harley motorcycle, and one of him with a mug working on his dell computer.  Despite it being taboo to take pictures in police stations, I snuck one in...

This masterpiece is the much-awaited King Abdullah wall rug.

    

Random thought:  If Ahmad is a Jedi Knight wielding a saber of Wasta, then that means King Abdullah is Yoda. (They actually kind of look alike, it's in the eyes).

Do you think they have ever made King Abdullah Kleenex or toilet paper?  How about put his face on some yogurt.  Now that's product placement!  Though I am sure that there is an assigned minister who has legal rights to Abdullah's face.  The minister of Face, bahahaha.  Today I met the minister for crime concerning mobile phone robberies.  Fun Fact:  Jordan has the most modern phone locating department because Jordanian intelligence is top 3 in the Middle East. 

 So what's the prognosis?

A couple things still need to happen before I can get the 3,000 back...
1) They have to actually catch the guy, which seems likely,
2) We have to take him to court.
3) He has to actually have money.
...so this process will take a long time, probably months, but it is incredibly worth it given how much I am learning from it about the culture, workforce and legal element here in Jordan.  

Driving back to Abdoun, Ahmad reassured me with an Arab proverb that roughly translates to "Allah must have willed it this way to save you from a greater evil"  He gave the example that Allah would cause you to get a flat tire on the side of the road only to prevent an accident up ahead. That made me feel better.  Dema told me to contact her if I needed to talk or needed anything.  I was just glad to not be fighting this battle on my own.

Completely reassured by the powers of the Wasta (which I imagine to be much like using "the force" to do your jedi bidding), I was able to return my attention to life in Amman.  I am extremely grateful to Jedi Knight Ahmad and my "mother" figure Dema for accompanying me on this journey and fighting for me.  I owe them more than I could ever give (probably more than 3,000 dollars).

On the way to the gym everyday, I pass the following car.  One day I want to wait and meet its owner.  It is my Jordanian dream car...a midnight blue Mercedes Kompressor with a Johns Hopkins sticker on the back window.  I just need to know...

I ended the afternoon giggling with Dropek, and singing "I'm Your Lady" by Celine Dion, a song that is more appreciated in Jordan than it ever was/will be in America, as my friend Biff pointed out.  This was a much needed change from the stoic morning. After a solid cardio workout, Dropek, Megan and I spontaneously decided to participate in a oriental dance (basically belly dancing) class with an instructor named Rico.  We have to wear the colorful jangly hip scarf thing that makes sounds when you shake your tail feathers.  This was my second time and I'm proud to say that I'm not getting better, but rather becoming more content with how awful I am at "shaking it".  Though I would probably do anything to have Rico's swagger, his sculpted butt and strange ability to control individual leg, shoulder and ass muscles, It will be a progression characterized by humility and barely-contained laughter.

Tomorrow I leave for Muscat, Oman for a week.  Spring Break 2011! I will not have internet access till late next Wednesday (16th).  

Hopefully I will get my money, my dancing dignity, and my phone back.  

              Insha'Allah

"Mynd you, Camel bites Kan be Pretti Nasti..."

 Let's play a game of "Two Lies and a Truth":

Today I got detained for excessive vuvuzela blowing, possession and intent to use 4 kilos of imported Nutella, general cultural insensitivity, and public defecation.

Lie

 I Got bit by a Camel named Smitty Wormen Von Yaimen Hemjemsin.

Lie

I bought a 3,001 dollar bag of Sour Cream & Onion flavored gourmet Popcorn today.

Truth.

I could have bought 4.3 camels with that much money, but no, now I'm negative broke and camel-less.

How Come I am suddenly out 3,000 dollars?

 So here's what I've been able to peace together:

A Jordanian man stole my American smart cell phone from my suitcase a month ago from my hotel room in Amman and proceeded to rack up 3,000 dollars worth of calls and internet free-for-alls in a month without my knowledge that the phone was even stolen in the first place.

Today, Mama Hob received the family plan bill from TMobile and angry emails ensued internationally when I was buying said popcorn with Sarah Miller.  The following events occurred in this order:

1) Thought it was a joke just like in Arabic class today when our teacher acted like we all failed our midterm and it turns out the three people that make up my Modern Standard Arabic class all aced it.

2)  Imagining the consequences if it was not a joke, I broke down in the friendly coffee shop next door called Bernies.

3)  Called mother on Jordanian phone (the only phone I have been using for the last month).  Fully realized it was not a joke, commenced crying in public.

4) Took emotional cab ride home with Sarah who said she would stay with me until I stopped imploding (super grateful for that, thanks Sarah!).

5) Arrived at Jordanian homestay in Amman and ran to the basement to check my luggage.  No phone, only the empty case which taunted me like a 3000 dollar prized hermit crab that abandoned me with its shell.

6) Broke down on Jordanian cell phone to mama Hob.  Acknowledged that I would not be able to sleep tonight if I didn't take some form of action.

7) Frightened my homestay family who didn't know whether to comfort me or leave me alone so they just kept feeding me tea which went in my mouth and came out my face.

8) Took advice from the rapper Unk from his debut album Beat'n Down Yo Block! and "WALKED IT OUT" (walked Sarah back)

9) Called Dr. Raed the program director.  He  said he would use his wasta (his ample Jordanian connections) and it was likely we could acquire the phone and/or get the charges taken away.  He made the point that....

i) Jordan is the size of Indiana so everyone knows everyone's business.

ii) He has good standing with the Police here, and we would be filing a police report.

iii) He might know someone at Orange (the phone company that merged with Tmobile and is accountable for 96 percent of the charges)

iv) Things like this have happened before.  They can use satellite to find the phone even though the service is now turned off.

10) Skype mother and discuss my plan of attack for tomorrow.  Call insurance company, get ticked off at TMobile for not being the least bit considerate and saying they cannot help because the charges are from Orange (even though they merged).

11) Achieve a sense of calm apathy in the aftermath of emotional Hiroshima.

12) Hug Homestay family.  Thank them for their understanding.

13) Experience insomnia from the excessive tea intake.....wrote this blog post in protest to insomnia.

14) Declare fatwa expressing my conditions of war against said Phone Companies. GET TO THE CHOPPA.

Tomorrow we venture to Orange with a copy of the statement and call history, a whole lot of WASTA, my game face, and the phone serial number. 

Things learned from my experience:

1)  THIS IS WHY I DON'T HAVE NICE THINGS

2)  I must have bad karma cuz payback is a bitch

3)  This must be what it feels like to get betrayed by your favorite camel.

4)  Change Service Providers (Goodbye TMobile)

5) Numbering one's thoughts is cathartic.

Credits...

Camel Trained by   Yutte Hermsgervordenbroti
Special Camel Effects   Olaf Prot
Camel Costumes   Siggi Churchill
Camel choerographed by   Horst Prot III
  Camel trained to mix concrete and
sign complicated insurance forms by   Jurgan Wigg
Camel noses wiped by   Bjorn Irkestom-Slater
Large Camel on the left hand side
 of the screen in the third scene
   from the end, given a therough
  grounding in Latin, French, and
           'O' level geography by   Bo Benn
Suggestive poses for the Camel
                  suggested by   Vic Rotter
Hump-care by   Liv Thatcher

-Inspired by Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Take Your Protein Pills and Put Your Helmet On

Day 4

Words learned: Masas (lollipop), Oosboo (finger), Kamr (moon), Najoom (stars)

Color of hijab: brown

# of Camels sighted: 2 camels

# of Dranks (tea/coffee): 16

Battery Power left in ipod: 36%

Taboos committed:
1) On out trip across town on foot with Sumaya, Aya, Sumaya's sister and baby Hamudeh for the purpose of a hospital "Mustashfa" check-up, we ran into some women on the road.  Being a small town, they made motions to greet these women.  Because I had my bag draped over my right shoulder and was holding hands with little Aya, I went in for the handshake with my left hand without thinking it through.  This is Haram and we both knew it.  The woman glared at me momentarily before parting ways.  Thankfully, she wasn't part of the extended family.

Every drink is sweeter in a honey way, not a splenda way.  Overall, this experience is also very real (Does not contain high fructose corn syrup).  The Badia is the honey where as Amman was the splenda.  I was able to really taste the difference between the westernized modern city family and the traditional one.  This is our solo soiree through the woods, our first bike ride without training wheels, our first day peeing in the big kid’s toilet (for me, quite literally).  So I took my protein pills (digestive multi-vitamins) and put my helmet on (hijab).

Some differences between Badia Homestay and Amman homestay include:

1) The house is designed with use in mind: each function is separated (dining, sleeping, kitchen bathroom all have their own walls).
2) No maid.  Sumaya runs this place by herself whilst nursing a 2-month old. 
3) No one wears shoes indoors and most people walk barefoot outside (I spent a good deal of time tying my shoes this trip).

4) People make a point to use their right hand when it comes to food and greetings.
5) Lower income and a cultural apathy to material goods meant there was less technology and no car.  6) Fitting with the above point, TV was not as captivating, only 5 hrs rather than 18hrs a day.
7) Even less personal space.  I share a room at home and I am rarely alone; yet I was completely part of the Musa Family's "communal identity".  I wasn't even entitled to my own possessions anymore.  Faleh took the book I was reading (Queen Noor's Memoir) right out of my hand to make his own assessment.  But this is normal.  They keep no secrets from each other.

My family's humble house

I was not proud of the fact that by day four I kept thinking of ways to escape and/or be less vulnerable.  I saw the thob as a cage because it restricted my ability to move and consequently, my ability to express myself.   Furthermore, the toilets in the ground put you in a vulnerable position as well.  I kept thinking that if one of the family members walked in on me (a distinct possibility given that the door didn't close) that I would not be able to get up easily/gracefully from my position of disposing.  I also might as well have been deaf and mute for the amount of language that went over my head due to general lack of knowledge and a thick Bedouin accent. In retrospect, the experience reminds me of participating in disability day in 7^th grade.

I finally got my escape that night when I was able to articulate "I want stars"; "Bidi Najoom".  The twenty minutes that followed involved lying on my back in the warm post-dusk hour among the olive trees tracing Leo, Taurus, Orion and Canis Major with my Right hand and loving life.

I was shuffled around on my invisible leash to three different houses today which meant 3x the tea and 3x the family.  I think the modern Bedouin's took their "nomadic culture" and settled down only to move tirelessly between each other's houses.  This is what "semi-nomadic" must mean.

In one of the houses, I noticed a girl I had never seen before sitting on top of her feet on the floor.  She had an overdeveloped upper body which struck me as strange and I guessed she might be mentally or physically disabled.  When Faleh entered the room, he pointed at her without even looking at her and said "no walk” and then repeated it louder because he assumed I didn't understand the first time (by then I was used to this).  She was crippled but she had on the largest smile of all and made considerable effort to talk to me.  She had no wheel chair.  Her older brother had to carry her to the car.  I felt bad for her because she had to try so much harder to get the parent's attention and was often almost literally "shoved under the rug", ignored or forgotten.  Nevertheless, I learned a lot from the children and her especially.  We can compromise because they want attention and I just want to play the name-things-game in Arabic.

I think it's so strange that Faleh's brother married Sumaya's sister.  I kept thinking about how close families are here.  Feeling that it would be an inappropriate thing to ask Sumaya, I just sat there on the floor drinking tea and pondered arranged marriages.  The tradition doesn't sit well with me because I our culture stresses the importance of freedom of choice and the American dream of high paying jobs, "two kids and three cars".  We are rich in resources and poor in family and Beduoin families are just the opposite.  Yet, in the south, many women value being married and having children over securing a career for themselves and arranged marriages aren't as much a thing of the past as many believe.  This is how I see it:

If you were a fruit (and assuming fruits can make conscious decisions), wouldn’t you like to decide when your ripe and then fall.  Rather than be picked for the satisfaction of an outside party?  I know I would like to know my life partner before securing the bonds of marriage

Fact #11: "Bedouins are mentioned in the bible as the children of Shem, son of Noah.  Their tradition is based on “independence from material culture.”

 

Fact #12:  Baby goats are cute  (my family owns these above)

I thought as each day came that I could push the limits and expose a little bit more about myself literally and metaphorically. Yet as time passed, they were more comfortable imposing more limits and being more direct.  We got to lie out in the sun this morning.  Yet, it seemed pointless in a thob and hijab because only part of my hands and my facial features were exposed and a hijab tan would be worse than a shin guard tan any day.  How do they get their daily vitamin D exposure? I ventured to take off my socks and bring my thob up to my mid-calf because the other women were barefoot.   After about 10 minutes of lying like that, Sumaya motioned to me to cover my ankles again and I felt defeated and ashamed under the hot sun like a lobster turned red from the heat of a crock pot.

Faleh approached me today and told me that I would be sleeping here tonight.  That was a shocking and scary prospect because all I wanted to do was put distance between myself and that near-dead grandmother creature of his.  She had good intentions and proceeded to stare at me until I finished my tea before demanding in a high-pitch banshee shriek that someone get me more.  She was a life-sized raisin dressed in black thob and black robe with socks with holes in them and she scared the shit out of me.  She sat there shaking and twitching and stammering to herself silently with eyes staring ahead into the afterworld.  When she lay on the mat, she disappeared into a curled ball the same size as the bundled baby Hamudeh.   I felt horrible about my own disgust every time I looked at her.  It was a cycle of self-anger and situational uncomfortableness.  She must have been pushing 90 and I attribute her "hunchbackedness" and disfiguration to many years of constant childbearing.  All she had left in her was the Jordan sense of Hospitality.  We ate Mansef that last night and this creature dug her shaky hand into the dish (the only one not using a spoon) and proceeded to shovel bits of food into her mouth before using the same hand to tear apart a chicken wing and place the select pieces in front of me.  I ate on piece and then I just couldn't handle it.  I excused myself from the dish with the proper amount of gratitude.

To this day, I am not sure if Host dad Faleh's excessive use of English imperatives is on purpose or the result of simplistic English training.  Maybe he learned the imperative command form before the infinitive??
Either way he spoke to me in short commands like...
Wear this!
Eat this!
Wash this!
Help!
Come!
And my favorite...
Kangaroo this! (Which meant "please put this in your pocket")

Even though he was a crude fellow, he was committed to show me his Bedouin hospitality.  I asked "wayn Syria?" (Where is Syria) enough times that he finally got his friend to drive me to the Syrian border.

This is SYRIA.  That abode ahead is border control.

Fact #13:  I don’t like milk in my tea, even goat’s milk

Fact #14: I would never be able to work at a nursing home.
Fact #15: Ayat and Aya’s hand-knitted dresses were made from the same stitching that my own childhood blanket and still-current pillow is made from.

Day 5

Words learned: Jida (grandmother), Daraja (bike)

Color of hijab: grey

# of Camels sighted: 0

# of Dranks (tea/coffee): 3

Battery Power left in ipod: 32%

Taboos committed:
 1) I could not bring myself to properly say goodbye to Faleh's frightening grandmother creature even though I slept at her house the last night.

My sisters Aya and Ayat and me.

The bike to my right in this picture had a label on it that read "Security: Police for Peace".  I thought that was a funny message for a shoddy Arab children's toy and it was in English.  The value of this subliminal message was lost on me but Aya and I had endless fun exploring the compound on it.  This morning I bid goodbye to my family.  They gave me their blessing and invited me back but I knew that that was unlikely.  I learned all I had come to learn.

There are many similarities between Native American and Bedouin culture.  They both sit "Indian style", have cultural tattoos,  have a history of herding animals, living in tents and stressing the community.  Yet Indians often wore close to nothing and Bedouin males and females dress modestly as the Hadith and Quran indicate.

Look's like an adobe house to me.

Most of the time I did feel helpless, restless and inadequate, not helped by the unfamiliar constricting clothing.  Nevertheless, I had some memorable, and great times.  I also answered many questions regarding Jordanian culture.  I better understand...
1) emphasis on family
2) the origin of Jordanian food
3) the sense of communal identity
4) the customs
5) the politics
6) their relationship with technology

I’m ultimately glad that my jaunts with the shaky death reaper and people who have plus/minus 5 teeth are over but I've got to say: thank goodness that actions speak louder than words.  My greatest memories will include playing marbles with Abdullah,  leading my mother into the cave, getting to the top of the mountain with my young guide, skipping through the desert, playing soccer against some Uncles, playing "hand" with Ayat, pushing Aya on the tricycle, and smiling every other moment to embellish my gratitude.

My favorite picture.  The love between the extended family is visible.

 Ultimately, I am glad I went if only to deepen my understanding of a culture.  Those of us who "survived" now have what one of my friends referred to as "the Badia Bond".  We've all sat on floor contemplating philosophy in our own minds for hours on end drinking tea.  Now Andy Dufresne isn't the only person to crawl through shit and come out clean on the other side.  (All right, that was a hyperbole).  This shared experience brings our program, the "SIT Tribe" closer together.