Missing In Action

Oooh! How cute are the camels at Petra?!? (photo by Grace Peacock)

Sorry I've been M.I.A. I was off work nearly all of last week: took Monday off to spend with Allison (who was visiting here but is now back in the U.S.), had three days off for the Eid-al-Fitr holiday, and Friday and Saturday were the weekend.

I feel a little daunted by the amount of information I want to share. I've been to Petra and back. To Aqaba (again) and back. To Ramtha and Irbid, oh my! I'll do what I can, since the alternative (and what I'm tempted to do) is not write at all.

Last Sunday morning I had an interview with a Jordanian that took me to downtown Amman. After I found a taxi in Hashmi Janoubi (this is where I live), I called Ghazal, my friend and translator at the paper, gave the phone to the taxi driver, and Ghazal told the chauffeur where to go. I hate being stupid and mute, I think I've already mentioned, but c'est la vie. The driver deposited me on a traffic island, across from a mosque in busy, bustling downtown Amman. Ghazal sent a text to let me know he was on his way, and I held that traffic island like Leonidas at Thermopylae. I stood there like a champ, ignoring the stares and playing Snake Xenzia on my cell phone.

He arrived and we met our interview subject (who shall remain nameless) in a second-floor apartment called the Duke's Diwan, where the duke (not a real duke, but someone nicknamed the duke by King Hussein) exhibits art and photos and handicrafts made by Jordanian women. It is a gathering place, an altogether pleasant place to have free mint tea and knaffe (a dessert with a "white cheese" bottom and crunchy orange top) from the sweets shop downstairs (except during Ramadan).

This is the balcony of the diwan. The lovely turquoise paint on the window trim continues on the bottom of the walls inside. My camera is broken, otherwise I would have my own photos to share. Instead, I borrowed this from Humeid on Flickr.com.

Our interview subject was gracious and erudite and spoke perfect English. I forgot it was Ramadan and accepted the tea he offered. He had a cup too, but Ghazal declined because he was fasting.

Interviewee told me it was an honor for me to meet him. I was taken aback, but Ghazal didn't seem to be. He then told us that the diwan was for everyone to enjoy. He said people could come and look at the art and experience the old part of the city from this refuge. I was a little seduced by this, I have to admit. He spoke mostly in English, breaking off into Arabic to Ghazal only every now and then. His grey eyes seemed grandfatherly and sincere. The diwan is lovely (think shabby chic) with plenty of sunlight and fresh(ish) air flowing in through french doors that open onto three separate balconies.

Later, I was informed that the grandfather, in his Arabic asides, was making nasty comments of a sexual nature, even suggested that the diwan would be a nice place for a young man to bring his girlfriend. Hint, hint, nudge, nudge.

Several lessons learned here: People are usually not what they seem. And, learning Arabic is a must. I have another story that drills this last lesson home, but unfortunately it will haveto wait. I've exhausted all the time I set aside for blogging today. Tomorrow inshallah.

In the meantime, check out Grace's other photos from Petra. I didn't go with her, but she also went over the holidays.

Stranger in a Not-So-Strange Land

Early this morning (or late last night, depending on how you look at it) Abir, my friend and host, and I drove to the airport to pick up her brother and his family who were flying in from Belgium. We were sitting at a stoplight and I turned to look at the car beside us. The man turned and looked at me, turned back to the road, and then looked back at me, as if he had woken up. The light changed and we both moved. A few seconds later, I looked back and he was literally driving with his head turned fully sideways, staring at me, not the road. Abir and I both laughed. I told Abir that he probably thought he had fallen asleep and awoken in a different place.

The whole thing reminded me of something that happened my second week here. Abir and I were standing at the window of her sister Sousan's home, watching people on the street below. It was just before iftar, the evening meal that breaks the Ramadan fast, and everyone was hurrying home. A crescent moon and a star decoration, like Christmas lights, was illuninated in our window and in many of the other windows on the street. The man who lives across the street pulled up to his driveway, but there was a car parked in front of it. He honked and talked to pedestrians and waited. It's not an uncommon occurrence here to wait for someone to move his car so you can get where you need to be, so he was still in a good mood. He looked up and saw Abir and I watching the scene unfold. He smiled and motioned and said something jovial in Arabic. Abir laughed and then translated. He was talking to me. He said: "What's going on? You are dressed for another place, not this one." I was wearing a t-shirt and jeans and had my hair pulled into a low ponytail. Abir stood next to me in a hijab and a long robe-dress, her beautiful, almond-shaped eyes rimmed in kohl. We all looked at one another again and laughed.

p.s. The speed limit for cars on the highway to the airport is posted as 100. In my sleep-deprived delirium I forgot that that is in kilometers per hour, not miles. I just realized it this very moment. Ah! The beauty of the metric system.

Ancient Land

People call the Middle East an ancient land, but it seems a little ridiculous - it’s no older than the land anywhere else. Of course, it’s the history of the place that they are referring to. These mountains and deserts are, after all, the birthplace of the world’s three major religions. I’m convinced, though, that people also call it ancient because it looks and feels old. It is dry and rocky and majestic, giving the impression that it has always BEEN and will always BE.

I have settled in here. This week I’ve felt almost entirely at ease (there is still the language barrier) in my new country. I’ve been out several times and forgotten for hours that I am in the Middle East. Yesterday I tried to plug my hair straightener directly into the outlet without an adapter. This can only mean one thing: I have arrived.

I feel safe. Everyone still stares, but I just ignore it. Most people are really friendly, and if they aren’t, I don’t know what they’re saying anyway. I have friends too. Yay! I find it easier to make friends here than in the U.S., although I’m not sure why.

Over the weekend I traveled four hours south to Aqaba to cover the Goodwill Campaign story. Aqaba is a resort town, for the most part, and the sea is gorgeous. I stayed in the numerous-starred Movinpick Hotel, and I loved it – a huge bathtub, a comfortable bed, a fantastic view… What more does a girl need?

I did not, however, love anything about the ride back to Amman. The original plan was to leave at 1 p.m. I set my alarm for 9 a.m. so I could work on my resume for a - get ready for this - j-o-b. My phone rang at 10 and the voice on the other end was one of the journalists with whom I was traveling. He said: Can you check out now. I wanted to wring his neck. I am not a huge planner. We all know this. I do not like schedules. It’s true. But I cannot handle this lackadaisical attitude about timetables and agendas. Don’t make a plan if you’re just going to change it at the last minute anyway. That’s what I say.

So I did the only thing I could do - I packed my things and went down to the lobby, where I sat not speaking to anyone, as I had ceased to be the pleasant American. Mostly I just wanted everyone to shut up. A four-hour ride in a van with seven Arabic speaking dudes (fellow journalists) followed. One of them smoked a cigarette every 80 kilometers. Love it. Cigarette smoke in a CLOSED van with no ventilation. I found myself becoming very self-righteous. I am, most of you know, an equal opportunity organized religion rejecter (for myself). I am not fasting for Ramadan, not on purpose anyway, but by the second cigarette, I wanted to yell at the guy. What about Ramadan?! WHAT ABOUT RAMADAN?!? Huh?!

All’s well that ends well, though. I made it back in once piece, hamduallah, finished my resume and ended the night with a lovely meal and argilleh (water bong with flavored tobacco, also known as a hookah). Mmmm…Arabian nights.

Geez-o-pete!

Of course I don't really think Republicans want to destroy the world.

Things I'm Thinking About Today

I appreciated Tom Raum's AP story, which ran on Page 1 of the Jordan Times today. His lede:

President George W. Bush keeps revising his explanation for why the US is in Iraq, moving from narrow military objectives at first to history-of-civilisation stakes now.

Raum's disgust is barely disguised. He mentions Bush's references to Islamo-fascism, which caused an uproar that I missed in my preparations for leaving D.C. and traveling to the Middle East. If you missed it too, here's the part of Bush's August speech in which he refers to the new fascists.

And it takes a lot of work. This is the beginning of a long struggle against an ideology that is real and profound. It's Islamo-fascism. It comes in different forms. They share the same tactics, which is to destroy people and things in order to create chaos in the hopes that their vision of the world become predominant in the Middle East.

I think I was watching this speech but then turned it off, because I couldn't bear to hear Bush say, "It's hard work," one more time. I mention all of this, because I have had several Jordanians bring up Bush's remark in conversations with me. As much as I don't care for him, I don't think he was refering to all Muslims when he used the term Islamo-fascists. That said, I do think he's an idiot (surprise, surprise) to use such a loaded term in what seems to me more and more everyday like a global environment of Muslim persecution.

European countries are focused on the "immigration problem," which seems primarily to be a problem with Muslim immigrants, not foreigners in general. Here's this from the LA Times as well.

Fawaz A. Gerges' column in the International Herald Tribune today mentions Bush's reference to Islamo-fascism. He argues that Bush and his administration seem to have no concept of how they are radicalizing mainstream Muslim opinion.

Along the same lines, but on a more personal note, I was smoking argilleh and chatting with a friend recently, and he asked me to characterize the different priorities of the Democrats and the Republicans. I said, very generally of course, that Democrats are more interested in social issues domestically and abroad. "And Republicans want to..." I paused, trying to think of something as unbiased as possible to say. I was having trouble when he inserted, "...to destroy the world?" We laughed and laughed. I said, "Yes, of course."

Persistance

I managed to walk into the building yesterday morning without incident. I received nothing more than an innocuous kefhalic (how are you?) from my admirer downstairs. Today, though, he loves me too much. How do I know? He told me. I started my day with a bahebek kathir from the Arabic version of Gomer Pile. I say that only because a few of you have asked what he looks like. Please note, fair reader, that it is said with the greatest amount of affection an English-speaking girl can have for an Arabic-speaking guy she's encountered at the threshold of her workplace every day for all of two weeks. Of course, he doesn't know that I know what the hell he is saying. So there's that.

More tomorrow, I hope. I haveto catch a cab and get myself to Hashmi Janoubi. Salaam.

Link It Up

I hope you're enjoying the new Links section as much as I am. A few words...

Byeline.com is the website of my friend and classmate Steve Stanek, who is working at the AP in Jerusalem this quarter. Check out his great clips, but don't miss his photographs.

Many of you are already familiar with Catallarchy, the Libertarian blog that trentingham contributes to. I've linked to it in the past.

The Company Bitch is one of my favorites. It's written anonymously by a witty, blonde, twenty-something living in NYC. She hates her job; she ridicules her Re-boyfriend. She's hilarious. We have much in common.

Dangerous Articles is my friend Barrett's blog. It's sooo dangerous, in fact, that I've been blocked from it on my computer at work. When I try to go there, I receive the following message: "This page will not be displayed because it contains prohibited words or it has exceeded its tolerance of questionable words." If that doesn't make you want to read it, I don't know what will.

Another classmate is posting on his blog Hits from the CPT in Cape Town, South Africa. Check out his post about driving in Cape Town. He has made a similar observation about car safety in his city. My favorite, though, is The Homeless World Cup.

Finally, go to Grace Peacock's blog, Tales of a Peacock, to find out what I did last night. It's good. And convenient. Now I don't haveto write it. Grace is one of the Canadian interns I'm working with at the Jordan Times.

A Love Note

I'm so tired today, and I'm not really sure why. I was going to wake up at 9 but slept until 10:30 instead, with the exception of the time that I spent cursing the muezzin this morning at dawn when he did his call to prayer over a loud speaker. He sounded so clear, he could have been right outside our window. I usually wear earplugs, but I'm a mejloon (crazy person) and I removed them - I know not why - at some point during the night.

When I arrived at work today, the guy who sits checking people's bags at the metal detector at the front door gave me a love note and little, yellow flower that he clearly picked in the yard or in some ditch somewhere. He always talks to me in Arabic when I come into the building. He says keefik (how are you?) and I respond with my stock statement, mopsuta (excellent), and then he speaks a bunch of Arabic that I can't understand. Yet. Today, though, he gave me the little missive and the flower.

The note says: I love you (underlined)
kol mee. (followed by something unintelligible and his number)
Pliec. (followed by something else unintelligible)

Seems a little quick to me, but it's a nice change of pace. I'm usually the one throwing around the unreciprocated I love yous. Cheryl, one of the Canadian interns I work with, said, "what's his name? K..o..l..mee? OH! CALL ME!"

I was going to try to fast today, but two hours into the work day, I broke down. I've been stuffing my face with "sandwich biscuits with cocoa cream" (aka cookies) and "be natual orange drink" (aka orange soda) for the last, oh, two hours. I'm going home now. Long day at the office.

p.s. Check out the new links section. It's under the Archive. A shout out to Geoff who helped me figure out how to do it...And I am good at computers, for your information.

Adventures in Reporting in Amman

Okay. So. I was riding to Irbid with Mahamoud (one of my hosts) and his family yesterday when I got a call from the office. The night secretary at the Jordan Times said she needed me to cover an event today. She received a press release, but it didn't say what time the event started. She tried calling to find out, but it was 5 p.m. and people don't work past 2 during Ramadan. I would need to come in early and make some calls.

This morning I woke up early so that I could report on something, that was somewhere, at some time. This sums up my experience in Jordan thus far quite nicely, I think. I arrived at work at 9 a.m. and started my search for the time of this event. I should have been able to find out with one call, but nothing is that easy in Amman. So I looked for the organization's number on the website. Nothing. I asked a colleague, who said I should press 9 and ask the operator. Oh, you mean the operator who only speaks Arabic? I tried anyway and then handed the phone off to aforementioned colleague. He was able to get a number of the Ministry of Environment (one of the numbers I needed) for me, which I called and heard a recorded message. In Arabic. The ministry doesn't open until 10 a.m, colleague said. He then found the number of the original organization I was trying to call. I dialed. No answer.

At 10 a.m. I made my third call to the Swiss Embassy. Where, lo and behold!, a woman answered the phone, she spoke English and she knew what time the event started - at 10 a.m., of course. Already late, I went to the secretary (who was not yet in) to find out how to tell the taxi driver in Arabic that I wanted to go to the Ministry of Environment. Another office worker was there, and he made some calls and wrote me a little note to hand to the driver. I hate communicating with taxi drivers via notes written by others, people who are clearly smarter and more competent than I. Nevertheless, this is what I did, and I arrived at the event twenty minutes late. They seemed happy to have me there and said the coverage was important, despite all the evidence to the contrary.

The batteries on my camera died before I could take any photos, and the woman taking pictures for the organization said she would e-mail me some tomorrow. I explained that I needed them today if they were going to run in tomorrow's paper, and she said she would said them tomorrow. I explained again, and she promised to send them today. I expect them tomorrow.

Fingers crossed that I have all the information I need, because I think it will be next to impossible to get anyone on the phone for follow-up questions.

Driving Stats

My post about the dangers of driving in Amman was more timely than I knew. A brief in yesterday's Jordan Times says officials met Saturday to discuss the traffic situation in Jordan. It cites Traffic Department figures, saying there are 710,000 cars on the kingdom's roads (one for every seven Jordanians) and more than 83,000 traffic accidents annually. More than 18,000 people are injured in car accidents and 800 are killed. I thought this sounded like a lot, but then I compared the number of fatalities to the number in Indiana, which, according to the CIA Factbook is only slighlty larger than Jordan. The midwestern state had 938 fatalities in 2005, or so says the National Center for Statistics and Analysis. I'm not sure how many cars are on the road in Indiana. I looked but can't find it. It might not be a very good comparison anyway, because it's Indiana, after all.

I Saw a Camel

Check it out. This guy greeted the guests (the press corps. and board members) at the Iftar following the King's Academy press conference and tour. He bent forward, pouring tamarind juice from the spout and into the glass. Then he stood up, emptying the liquid back into his cumbersome contraption.

About 30 or 40 reporters (myself included) met yesterday at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in Amman to catch a bus to Madaba for the press conference about King Abdullah's new boarding school. The hotel was one of the three damaged last year by suicide bomb attacks. Yesterday was the grand opening of the renovated bar and deck of the Grand Hyatt. It's beautiful. The back wall of the lobby is now one huge glass window that looks out on the deck and the whitewashed buildings that rise up beyond. Outside there are couches arranged under wooden shade rooms and lots of comfy chairs. I remember the sound of water so I want to say there is a fountain too, but don't quote me on this.

We were almost an hour late by the time we left the Hyatt, but I wasn't really surprised. On the way to Madaba (a 30 or 40 minute drive) I watched the country fly by outside my window. On the side of the road, I saw a donkey lumbering along with his wares and goats grazing just off the highway. I saw trash, trash and more trash. It is carelessly thrown out of car windows and litters the roadside and blows into fields. I saw a luxury resort and patched-together tents, I took them to be bedouin, but I might be wrong. I didn't know what to make of a dusty man in a gray suit and blue tie, who sat on the shoulder of the road. He either had his legs tucked under him or had no legs at all. As odd as it seems, I think it was no legs at all. Finally, once we turned onto the gravelly road that led to the school, I saw a camel!

Rules of the Road

When I said I was going to the Middle East, there was a bit of an outcry from friends and family. Understandable, I guess, but now that I'm here, I can tell you that the greatest threat I face is not terrorism, but basic car safety. I'm not driving - I wouldn't dare - but I'm doing a lot of riding. Here's a primer:

The first rule for driving in Amman is there are no rules. If you need more guidance than that, gentle reader, please continue.

RULE 2: Lanes are marked on some streets and not on others, but mashalhal (It's nothing). Either way, completely disregard any attempt for order. Pick a lane or don’t. Drive three-wide or six; it matters not.

RULE 3: There seems to be no Arabic translation for the term “Right of Way.” Just as in geopolitics, whoever can hold the road owns it.

RULE 4: Pedestrians beware, and while I have your attention, Get the hell out of the road!!! Which leads me to hemse, or number 5.

RULE 5: Should you be driving and come upon a grandmother and her eight grandchildren (ages 3-25) walking in the middle of the road, kindly slow down a modicum, honk your horn and hope that you don’t take out half of them as they nonchalantly shuffle to the side.

RULE 6: Don’t wear your seat belt. You will not crash into that cab that just slammed on its breaks three inches in front of your car, and you won’t break your skull open like a coocunt when you fly through the windshield and onto the pavement…inshallah (God willing).