Coast to coast

As I approach the end of my time here in Jordan – I leave the Middle East in only two and a half weeks! – I’ve been unable to avoid reflecting on some aspects of my time here. Overall, being American in Amman is a great experience. Many people here speak English, which, although detrimental to the process of learning Arabic, makes getting around the city and interacting with people very easy.

I have yet to encounter any very strong anti-American sentiments, and most people respond with ‘I love Obama!’ when I mention that I’m American. The other night, I had a lengthy conversation with a cab driver about how the death of Michael Jackson was a global tragedy, before we listened to Billie Jean together.

Last week, I went with a group of friends, American and Jordanian, to Aqaba, a city at the southwestern tip of Jordan. It’s must warmer than the rest of the country, rather touristy, and very beautiful, with big pleasant beaches. The trip itself was very fun; myself and 3 other American girls from my program spent about 22 hours with a group of young Jordanian men and women, mostly dancing and talking about the same things young people talk about in the U.S. (a.k.a. dating).

One experience that particularly stood out, in the context of this reflection, was our entrance to Aqaba. At the checkpoint crossing into the zone, most tourist buses are boarded, and IDs are checked. I had a passport and an International Student ID card with me, and handed the very serious security guard my English langauge ID card.

He looked at it, frowned a little, and looked at me. “Where are you from?” he asked.

“Emrika,” I replied, smiling politely and using my best Arabic pronunciation.

Immediately the frown vanished. “USA?” He asked.

I nodded. I swear he almost smiled. The lack of a scowl – until then all but painted on his face – remained as he checked the other three cards. He turned to leave, then glanced back, and, practically waving, called “Bye!” to us.

Like I said, being American is very easy in Jordan. The only problem I’ve encountered are some stereotypes men here tend to have about America girls, and given the music we export (“Grapes” by the Black-Eyed Peas and “Hotel Room Service” by Pitbull come to mind), I don’t know that I can really blame them.

We are told, over and over, about the Jordanian culture of hospitality. When we were going to the Badia, they warned us that if we went to the wrong house, we would be invited in and asked to stay for tea and dinner, even overnight, without the slightest hesitation. Visiting family and friends, just to talk and hang out, is a stable of Jordanian culture. In every interview I’ve conducted in my research here, I’ve been offered multiple cups of tea and coffee, even food – an apple or granola bar – if the subject of the interview happens to have it on hand.

People always seem to want to give you directions, to try to be helpful, even if they really have no idea where you’re going. I once had a complete stranger climb into the front of my cab to direct my hopelessly lost cab driver to the place I was trying to go.

At the same time, non-Americans can be subject to severe discrimination here in Jordan. The subject of the research I’ve been doing here in Jordan is working conditions in garment factories, which tend to employ large numbers of South Asian workers. Unlike Americans, women and men from South Asia who come to Jordan can face horrible discrimination. A friend of mine interviewed a Korean woman working here, and was told a story about another Korean, who was walking down the street when rocks were thrown at her, hard enough that she needed stitches.

The most serious violations of worker’s rights – and human rights – in Jordan seem to take place against domestic workers, also mostly South or Southeast Asian, who work as cleaners and caretakers. One sees them all over Amman. My family employs a young woman from the Philippines, who takes care of the elderly grandmother that lives upstairs. I have never seen anyone be cruel to her, but I’ve also only seen her leave the house once, and I somehow doubt she gets a day off.

She is one of the lucky ones. Some of these domestic workers face abuse and harassment from their employers. Their passports are taken away, they are paid half or less of what they are owed, and there is no one for them to turn to, no way for them to improve their situations. Running away is considered a violation of their contract, and can lead to imprisonment. The Jordanian government feels like it can’t necessarily legislative against these abuses, as they take place within the home, not the public sphere.

Egyptians are another migrant group that also face discrimination in Jordan. One hears stories of Egyptian guest workers being abused by the police, deliberately discriminated against. In general, non-Jordanians are prohibited from holding certain groups of jobs. For example, only Jordanians are allowed to be accountants.

I am a firm believer in the adage that ‘those who live in glass houses should not throw stones,’ and the recent immigration law passed in Arizona is proof enough that perhaps someone from the US shouldn’t criticize how any other country handles immigration and immigrants. Still, the contrast between how I am treated, and what I have seen and heard of how others are treated, is striking enough that I feel compelled to mention it.

Blog posts on lighter subjects (probably) to follow.

Okay, so I haven’t actually posted here in a month. Oops! Things have been really busy, but also amazing.

I want to use this post to finish talking about our trip to Egypt, before I completely forget all the details.

On Tuesday of the trip, SIT gave us a free day, and almost the entire program decided to go to Alexandria for the day. So, free of our chaperones, we boarded the train to Alexandria early in the morning. Honestly, I think Alexandria was one of the best places I’ve ever been. After being in the thick, dirty smog of Cairo, the salt air at Alexandria felt rejuvenating and cleansing.

We spent most of the day wandering around various tourist sites. My favorite was the Citadel, this huge old fortress that faced the city from the edge of the semi-circle harbor.

Wednesday, we visited Cairo University to meet some students. As we approached the university, we quickly realized that there was a huge student protest going on at the gate where we had planned to enter. We drove past, slowly. A big square outside the gates, with a large statue in the center, was more or less filled with students, almost entirely men, chanting loudly. Surrounding them was literally a ring of police officers, with long batons and riot gear.

We took a vote on whether to continue to the university, or go back to the hotel; unsurprisingly, we all wanted to visit the university. Dr. Raed, our program director, made us swear that we wouldn’t approach the protesters, or do anything else unusually stupid. We all knew that the cause of the protest was Israel’s then-recent actions with regard to Al-Aqsa mosque; that day, in fact, there were protests all across the Middle East, including in Jordan, largely because Israel was preventing worship in the mosque.

Cairo University, of course, sees a number of these protests every year, although this was one of the bigger ones. We were told that they rarely turn violent. I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but I was worried. As we entered the campus’s political science building, I couldn’t help worrying that if the riot did turn violent, a busload of American tourists would be a great target. If there was nothing to worry about, then why had our police escort wanted us to return to the hotel? Why had we seen reinforcements pouring into the square in front of the university?

After sitting through an hour-long lecture on political science at Cairo University, and multiple presentations on their equivalent of Model UN, I felt much calmer. Then we took a tour around the university, and, perhaps unsurprisingly, ran into the protesters again, on the other side of the same gate we’d driven past before.

This time, they were marching, carrying signs and chanting. I couldn’t really understand the words – Egyptian Arabic more or less eluded me for the whole trip – but they didn’t feel particularly angry, just like the same chants I’d used the fall before, marching in DC for marriage equality. It made me feel a bit guilty for being so worried earlier.

We had lunch with our student guides, and I asked them what they thought about the Israeli-Palestine conflict. One student said very confidently that she thought the eventual outcome would be war, that it was inevitable. Others disagreed; everyone agreed, however, that the conflict needed to be resolved, and the US had to play a role in facilitating that resolution. The specifics, however, were open to debate.

One difference between my experience in Egypt and my experiences in Jordan were the presence of a livelier art and music scene in Cairo. While there, we went to several concerts, including one with a Nubian band. I didn’t get the chance to see them, but some other students saw this great band called Wust el Balad; I’m still bringing their music home though.

Another fun activity in Cairo was our boat ride on the Nile. Somehow, it still hasn’t set in that I visited THE Nile, that I road in a boat and drank apple juice on a river I’ve heard about my entire life. That night, we did a little more bazaar shopping, and got black henna tattoos. Although the dye wore off my skin after a week and a half, some of my hairs are still a little darker than they were before.

The next morning, our last in the city, we went to Coptic, or Christian, Cairo, and the National Museum. Coptic Cairo was full of old churches; we inadvertently went during the morning services, and stood awkwardly at the back in a few different worship sites while priests chanted and swung thick, sweet-smelling containers of incense around. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. We also visited the oldest known synagogue, in the same part of the city. It’s almost funny, considering modern history, that the oldest known synagogue is located in Cairo.

The National Museum was amazing; we saw sarcophagi, huge temple statues, carved stone tablets, and all sorts of ancient Egyptian art. Perhaps by accident, I was never asked to give up my camera, and – without flash, I promise! – managed to sneak a few pictures of glass-covered marvels.

After that, we went back to the airport, and left Egypt. Overall, it was an absolutely amazing trip. I definitely want to go back, and particularly I want to go to Luxor and Aswan in the south.

I can’t believe, now, that I only have three weeks left in my program, and I go back to the US, literally, in just over a month. This semester seems to have flown by; I feel like I’ve changed in ways I don’t understand yet. Although I’m excited to be back at William and Mary next semester, part of me doesn’t want to leave Jordan.

More posts will follow soon, I promise!

One of my first nights in Cairo, some friends and I went for a walk after dinner. Our hotel was near a big street; it was well lit, and, after spending so much time in our bus, we thought it’d be fun to experience a little corner of the city on foot. We were all girls, and, unsurprisingly, we rarely went more than a few feet without catcalls or stares. We knew, coming to Egypt, that harassment would be much worse than in Jordan, and pretty much just tuned it out.

We kept walking, and on one street corner there was a tree. I looked over as we passed and noticed a man lurking behind the street, staring at us from just a foot or two away. “Hey sexy,” he said, grinning a little.

I immediately looked forward, and did my best to ignore him until we’d crossed the street. I’m glad I did; it turns out that, had I looked down, I would have seen what my friends did – unzipped pants and a busy hand.

Students on our trip have had equally unpleasant experiences in Jordan, but I don’t think that sort of thing would have ever occurred on a public street in Amman. If it had, I would have tried to find a policeman, or just do something. In Cairo, we just kept walking, went back to our hotel, and felt thoroughly grossed out.

As foreigners, we received a lot of attention from people in Cairo. Some were friendly, nice – “Welcome to Cairo! Hello! Where are you from?” Others were rude, creepy or just weird – “Kiss me! I like your shirt!” or just the sort of noises one would make at a dog, puckered lips and all.

In the National Museum, small groups of children and young girls, maybe in their early teens, would routinely swarm us. First, they’d stare and giggle to each other. Then a braver one would approach, flanked by the others, to ask our names, where we were from, how old we were – harmless but perhaps a bit annoying. They’d also take our photos, on occasion. As a brunette – one with apparently Egyptian features, as many, many people asked if I was Egyptian – I got a lot less of that.

On some level, I think I understand the harassment. If what you hear of America is songs like “Damn, you’s a sexy bitch,” and “I wanna make love right now,” and you watch the sort of music videos and movies we produce, it’s easy to imagine over-sexualizing American girls. In addition, we don’t wear hijab, and our clothing, while mostly conservative, is more revealing than what most girls in Jordan or Egypt wear.

Of course, Egyptian and Jordanian women, even those covered from head to toe but for their eyes, also get harassed. Still, I think – I imagine – that it’s for a different reason, one I’m not sure I understand at this point.

How men and women interact in this part of the world is an issue more complex than I feel ready to tackle, but it is something I’ve thought about a lot. I consider myself a feminist, and that means I think men and women are equal. In Egypt, and in Jordan, men inherit much more than women, a much larger percentage of the family’s wealth or land.

To me, that difference seems unfair; if I had a brother, I’d want to be treated equally by my family. However, the justification is based on the roles of men and women in the Quran; women have no obligation to spend any money on their family, and can keep all the money they have or earn for themselves. Men, on the other hand, are obligated to take care of the family – their wife (wives?) and children, their parents, any unmarried sisters, or any female relatives who need help. In Egypt, parents can sue their sons and put them in jail if they fail to fulfill their familial obligations.

The idea, as I understand it, is that men and women are equal before God, but different in their roles. A woman’s first responsibility should be to her husband and children. She can work, of course, but she shouldn’t have to. Men are responsible for bringing in the family’s income.

My favorite class here in Jordan is our Thematic Seminar on Social Change and Modernization, which consists of series of lectures from Jordanian professors, ministers, officials, etc. Before Egypt we had a lecture from a woman named Dr. Samira al-Khawaldeh, a Literature professor at Jordan University. She criticized how some Jordanian men treat women, but she also criticized the UN and other international organizations for their imposition of Western cultural norms on the Middle East – for example, she said she strongly opposes sexual freedom for women, as she believes premarital sex is a sin.

She held views that were, to me, with my background in the United States, contradictory. For example, she believes that boys and girls should be given equal education, allowed and encouraged to study whatever they’d like. She sees the hijab as an act of worship only, which shouldn’t be forced upon anyone, and sees the neqab as too severe. At the same time, she thinks that a fertile woman who chooses not to have children is selfish, is not fulfilling her duty.

Many people I’ve talked to have stressed that, for example, wearing neqab, or forbidding women to divorce, or allowing polygamy not subject to Islamic restrictions, are due to culture. They are not inherently Islamic, nor should they be treated as such. Islam does differentiate between men and women, but it does not encourage sexual harassment, female genital mutilation, keeping girls from being educated, or so many of the other things attributed to it in popular discourse. What I’ve discussed and will continue to discuss come from the particular, peculiar combination of religion and tradition here, and may not even apply to Cairo outside of my neighborhood or Jordan outside of Amman, let alone to the Arab World or Islamic World.

These themes are something I will continue to study and think about throughout my entire time in Jordan, and I’ll keep documenting as best as I can. I’ll also write a bit more about Egypt, Alexandria, and the protest we saw at Cairo University, as soon as I have the opportunity. Please let me know if you have any questions or comments about the things I’ve written.

We arrived in Egypt Friday afternoon, for the start of a weeklong SIT visit. It’s basically our spring break, but with lectures and 8:45 am morning meeting time.

The best analogy I’ve come up with is this: Cairo is to Amman as Washington DC is to New York. Right away, it just felt more like a city. Amman is full of short buildings, generally no more than three or four stories, and mostly the same sandy color. Cairo shoots up into the air all around you, filling the skyline with color and shapes. Our hotel is on Sphinx Square in Giza – technically a part of Greater Cairo – and there’s traffic outside at all hours of the night, cars moving slowly but steadily, jaggedly changing lines, with the occasional moped weaving through.

The city is always bustling; last night at one in the morning it was busier than Amman sometimes seems during the day, with even some women out and about. Late one night, we sat at a café near the Nile, drinking tea, and a woman wearing a nekab sat at a table nearby, subtly lifting and sliding the tip of a bottle of water beneath.

Saturday, we visited the Great Pyramids of Giza, the same complex where the Sphinx is. I expected to drive for the desert for a few hours, to see the slowly rising tip of a pyramid, until, against the sandy vast nothingness, I would see an enormous stone construct…

Yeah, it turns out that the Great Pyramids of Giza are practically in Cairo; actually, they are in Giza, which is included in Greater Cairo. We first saw them from the freeway, and drove through a row of restaurants, hotels and houses before heading slightly up a hill and reaching the pyramids complex.

After visiting the pyramids, which passed far too quickly, we went to a viewpoint and rode camels. They were led by boys from 6 or 7 to older men, who knew bits of English like “hold on and lean back,” and “I take your picture,” and “give me tip please.” Riding a camel isn’t anything like riding a horse; they stand up in a way that bucks you way back then forward. The gait feels uneven, plodding almost; I have yet to see a camel gallop, and I think it’d be a truly bizarre sight.

After the pyramids we went to see the Sphinx, which was absolutely incredible; the sheer size was stunning.

I also love being on the Nile; our first afternoon here, we ate lunch on the Nile. Much of the city seems to be on huge islands between wide stretches of river. It’s amazing to realize that this is THE Nile – the only river that runs south to north, where Moses floated amongst the reeds, the longest river in the world. Every time I stop and think about it, I feel almost overwhelmed.

Today we also went to Alexandria, which is completely different from Cairo. I’ll write about that, as well as sexual harassment here, soon (I always say that, but this time it’s true!)

Last Thursday, I left Amman for a five-day rural homestay in what’s called the Badia, or the sparsely populated desert region of Jordan. The Badia is home to the Bedouin, a formerly nomadic group known for riding camels, facial tattoos, and living in tents woven from goat hair.

My family lived in a small village known as Rodet Bsmah. I had a host mother, known exclusively as Mama, and two host sisters, Marram and Reem. They also had another sister, Anood, who visited somewhat frequently with her two young daughters. Mama and Reem live in a small home; it has a guest/sleeping/sitting room, a hallway, a kitchen and a bathroom. Marram technically lives with her husband, but because Mama’s home is closer to the hospital where she works as a nurse, she spends a fair amount of time there as well.

The guest/sleeping/sitting room is where the family spends most of their time. It has six sleeping pads, spread along the walls, which serve as ‘chairs’ during the day and beds at night. There are also maybe 14 or 15 matching pillows, which are usually stacked in four neat piles around the room. One corner of the room is covered with a plastic mat, and basically functions as the family’s dining area. Although many Bedouin households eat with their hands, Mama, Marram and Reem mostly used spoons, at least while I was there.

For whatever reason, very few Bedouin homes have what one might call a “modern” toilet. Mama’s room was not an exception to this rule. The family also does not appear to use toilet paper, nor do they have a garbage can in the bathroom where one might throw such things away. This, to be honest, was a little inconvenient, but ultimately not a very big deal.

The lack of a man in the household is extremely, extremely unusual, both in the Badia, and, it seems, in Jordan more generally. Mama is married, but her husband hasn’t lived with her for over a dozen years. I had initially assumed that the father had died, as I didn’t understand why else he wouldn’t live with them. The truth was an entirely different matter.

Polygamy is permitted in Jordan, although the permission of the first wife is required. Islam permits polygamy as well, although the Quran stipulates that the man must care for all of his wives and children equally. But, as Reem told me several times throughout the weekend, “some men are good, and some men are not good.”

It seems that Mama had ten children with Reem and Marram’s father. Three of them were girls, and they survived. The other seven, all boys, all died before they were a month old. Here in Jordan, especially in more traditional areas, having a son is very important to many men. Reem and Marram’s father decided to take a second wife; when she had a boy, however, he promptly severed financial and emotional ties with Mama, Reem, Marram and Anood.

Reem told me that she and Anood both dropped out of school to work. Marram, who was older and liked school, managed to stay in, and of course is now a nurse. Reem, however, hasn’t been to school since age 7, and is barely literate. We spent some time sitting together, reading out loud some of my Arabic work from SIT – she reads more slowly than I do in Arabic, which is really saying something.

SIT basically said that, as a girl, I should expect to spend most if not all of the homestay, from Thursday to Monday, sitting inside. Women in the Badia don’t do things like walk around outside, or take trips to different places for no reason, or just to sightsee. I went in with that expectation, and, in fact, stayed in the same three or four feet of space for all of Thursday and Friday.

Saturday, in an extremely exciting development, I walked around the outside of the house in the morning. I thought that we wouldn’t go outside again, but, to my surprise, I accompanied Marram and Reem on a walk across the flat, rocky plains behind our house, beneath gray stormy skies and through bitingly cold wind. Reem, whose English is not quite as good as my Arabic, told me that her face was “ice cream” because of the cold.

Still, the plains were beautiful, if exceptionally cold. Maybe twenty minutes from the house is a more traditional Bedouin family, with a camel and a large tent home, made of goat hair. Their children were pretty excited by my camera, and we took a number of pictures of me posed with sheep, the camel, and the children.

Sunday was even more exciting. Mama has a heart condition, and goes every month to the hospital in the nearby city of Mufraq for a check-up. Marram went with her, and Reem and I followed an hour later to do some shopping and meet them for lunch. I should mention that I spent all my outside time wearing at least a scarf over my hair, but usually a scarf and a hijab, which, technically, is the strip of elastic fabric that covers one’s hairline. The trip to Mufraq was no exception, and probably the longest period for which I wore hijab.

I am aware that I approach the hijab with a very different perspective than someone who’s grown up around more of them. For me, it has always been portrayed as restricting women, as a symbol of repression. These preconceived notions – and the fact that it really hurt my ears – undoubtedly colored my perception of it. Honestly, I felt muffled, both literally and metaphorically. Literally, because it’s really hard to hear with a hijab covering one’s ears, and the scarf restricted my peripheral vision a bit.

I felt muffled metaphorically, because, honestly, I love my hair. I love how it looks and feels, the way it brushes my face and shoulders. I’ve spent years coming to terms with its wild curliness, its stubborn, frizzy nature. The idea of hiding it away, as though it’s something to be ashamed of, was not pleasant for me. Yet at the same time, the more time I spend here, the more I become aware of different perspectives on the hijab, and different reasons for wearing it – and the more I feel that maybe that sense of shame is, in fact, misplaced.

Other highlights of my trip to the Badia were the nightly dance parties I had with Reem and Marram. One advantage of not having men in the house, I think, was a very relaxed atmosphere. Marram especially loves to dance, so we spent a few hours playfully wiggling our hips in front of the TV. I love children, so getting to hang out with Anood’s kids was great fun. I taught the 4-year-old, Shedda, how to say “How are you?” in English and how to do a somersault.

One of my mornings there, Reem and Marram decided to play dress-up, with me as the doll. They put me in several different formal outfits, and put more make-up on my face than I think it’s ever had. At one point, I was wearing foundation, powder, blush liquid eyeliner, pencil eyeliner, mascara, two shades of eye shadow, lip liner, lip gloss and lipstick. I still feel like I might be wearing some eyeliner, despite having spent probably over an hour washing my face since they last put it on.

After I had been dressed up, I was then posed around the guest/sleeping/sitting room, with various items, such as a coffee pot, as well as with Mama. I felt silly, but Reem, Marram and Mama were all having such a good time that it was impossible for me not to.

Overall, I think that’s a fairly accurate characterization of my time in the Badia. It was painfully obvious that Reem, Marram and Mama have had a hard life; they were even homeless for a time. Yet they filled their house with warmth far better than their small gas heater. It was such a fun and loving environment that I felt fun and loved just by association. Despite the existence of a considerable language barrier, I felt that I really connected with them, especially with Reem, and am planning to go back and visit as soon as possible.

In my next posts, I’ll talk more about the food of the Badia, as well as women’s rights and equality here in Jordan. Let me know if there’s anything else you want to hear about!

The main mode of transportation in Amman for those without a car – like me – is riding in taxis. It’s not too expensive; a trip from one end of the city to the other costs about 5 JD, or 7.50 USD. I take a taxi every morning to get to SIT, which costs about 1.80 JD each way, for a 10-15 minute ride.

Being in a moving car itself is terrifying. Lane lines, street lights, directional signs and stop signs seem more like guidelines than rules. Horns are used with startling regularity, often just to announce one’s presence on a street.

Most of the cabs are yellow cabs, with signs on the top that are sometimes lit up. By now, two and a half weeks in, I can reliably get from my home to SIT and back without using English or excessive pointing, which really helps. It definitely forced me to learn directions in Arabic very quickly. I can even put basic sentences together – for example, I say “Lef ala yamin baudain el jiser min fudluk” or turn right after the bridge please, pretty much every day. It’s not very exciting, but it’s good practice.

Most of my cab drivers have been pretty nice, and haven’t really tried to overcharge me; that usually seems to be the case when you know where you’re going. Last week, though, I tried to take a cab to somewhere I’d never been before, a friend’s house. The cab driver eventually got me there then proceeded to drive in circles around the neighborhood. I told him to stop and said that I wanted to get out. He asked for 5 JD. I refused – the meter said 2 JD – handed him 2 JD, and got out of the cab as quickly as I could.

Most of my cab drivers speak only Arabic, or Arabic and a little English. If they seem friendly and interested in conversation, I like to practice a little with them. I’ve had two so far that spoke excellent English – one was an Iraqi, and the other a Jordanian who’d lived in New York for four years.

Talking with the Iraqi taxi driver was one of the hardest moments I’ve had in Amman so far. He was very friendly; he immediately explained to me that he, and all Iraqis, loved the Americans. He said that he’d come from Iraq six years ago to try and find work in Jordan and send money to his family still there. He had six children, the youngest of whom were six-year-old twins. He showed me a picture of them as babies and said, mournfully, that he hadn’t seen them in six years.

He explained that as a cab driver, he makes only 5 JD a day – he spends 3 on food and 2 on housing, and, he said, he hasn’t been able to send money back to his family in four months. I have to confess that at this point, I started to wonder if he was going to ask me for money. He said that he’d been to all sorts of places in Amman, but no one would help him get money to bring his family here. “When they hear I am Iraqi,” he said, “they say no way.”

At this point, we were stopped at a light. I had looked out the window, and when I looked over at him, I realized there were a few tears trickling silently down his cheeks. I didn’t know what to do, what to say – he kept driving, and we talked about other things, like the weather, until he dropped me off at school.

Other than that, most of my taxi drivers have been pretty normal. Several have offered me cigarettes – one man smiled at me and asked if I was “hungry for a cigarette.” So far I’ve politely declined. Another cab driver stopped to get Turkish coffee with me in the car. A different driver once yelled at me because he thought I’d sent him the wrong way (which, incidentally, I hadn’t – he just didn’t know the street names where we were). Another driver got into a bit of an impromptu drag race on the street outside my house, speeding up and pulling in front of a car which had honked at him and slamming on the brakes. He did apologize for that, somewhat profusely.

The cab drivers often listen to music or talk radio while I’m in the car. The radio consists of rapid streams of amiyya that I usually can’t understand at all. I prefer it when drivers listen to music, since even if it’s in Arabic, I can at least enjoy the sound. Usually, if they are listening to something in English, they look back at me and smile and gesture at the radio. I usually smile back encouragingly. A couple days ago, we listened to a song which included the lyrics “maybe if you’re lucky you’ll get a peep show,” while the driver, who didn’t speak any English, smiled and nodded (politely) at me.

One of my instructors likes to joke that cab drivers are a part of the SIT program, since one learns so much about language and culture from interacting with them. So far, my time in taxis has definitely been interesting and instructive, if sometimes also awkward or strange. I’m sure by the time I leave Amman, I’ll have many more stories about the taxi drivers that I’ve met.

This is some food from one of our first nights in Amman: falafel, hummus and pita. Delicious, or zachy in Arabic!

The SIT building is located in Abdoun, which is the nice, diplomatic area of Amman. The bridge leading to it is really cool.

This is Lujein, or Lulu, my homestay sister. She’s holding Hassan, my homestay nephew, who doesn’t live with us. He’s three months old, and has very, very red hair, which you can sort of see in this photo. They keep him in two jumpers and at least one blanket at all time, since it’s so cold out.

My second day with my homestay family we went to a little amusement park. This is the “Taitanic.”

Snow in Amman!! It’s a bit warmer now, but it was so cold last weekend. Only some neighborhoods actually got slow. Luckily, mine wasn’t one of them. The city really seemed to shut down; snow is very rare here, so no one really know what to do.

If anyone wants to know about any topic in particular, just ask! I’m planning to write about riding in taxis, and our upcoming trip to Salt. Also, I found out about Jamal’s first wife! I’ll write all the (scandalous?) details soon.

My homestay family consists of a mother, Khadijah, a father, Jamal, and an 11-year-old sister, Lujein, or Lulu. Khadijah is Jamal’s second wife. I’m still unclear on what happened to the first; she and Jamal had two children. The older one, Dina, is now married and has a baby of her own, named Hassan. He’s three months old and unbelievably adorable, but I’ll write more about him later.

They live in a nice apartment near one of the biggest malls in Amman, called Mecca Mall. It has a large sitting room right inside, but no one seems to spend any time there. Instead, Khadijah prefers a small room right off the kitchen, with big windows and two comfortable couches. Across the living room is a small corridor with three bedrooms and a bathroom. Lulu and I each have our own bedroom, and we share that bathroom. Khadijah and Jamal have the largest bedroom, which has its own small bathroom.

One of the first things Khadijah said to me was that she likes her students to be “clean and neat.” She said, several times, that as long as I am clean and neat, we will have no problems.

Khadijah has hosted four students before, and also wasted no time in telling me how each of them was clean and neat, except that this one made a mess in the bathroom, and that one kept her dirty underwear in a drawer, and the other got blood all over the toilet during her period. Honestly, that made me pretty nervous, and I’m trying very hard to keep my bed made, my clothes folded and put away, and the bathroom clean.

Khadijah and Jamal both speak English, and Jamal’s is excellent. Lulu speaks only a little English, and both Khadijah and Jamal have asked me to help her improve. It’s actually nice, though – when I’m around Khadijah and Jamal, it’s very easy to speak English rather than trying to use my admittedly limited Arabic. With Lulu, on the other hand, I’m forced to speak a strange mishmash of the two languages, as she only sometimes understands me in English.

Jamal works as a tour guide, and according to Khadijah, gets home very late most nights. He spends most of his days in Wadi Rum and Petra, both of which are a decent distance from Amman, meaning that he leaves early and gets home late. He has Fridays off, I believe, but I think he works most other days.

With Jamal gone, that means it’s just Khadijah, Lulu and me around the house. Khadijah cleans the entire house daily quite thoroughly, with Lulu’s help. She and Lulu also watch T.V. together. Lulu seems to prefer Turkish and Egyptian soap opera-like shows, but Khadijah usually watches American movies with Arabic subtitles.

I think Lulu is sort of lonely. She always wants to color in my room or spend time with me, which is harder because of the language barrier. My first night she wanted to watch this Egyptian movie on my computer with me. I was hesitant, but, wanting to be a good sister, I agreed. Unfortunately, there were no subtitles, and the thickness of the Egyptian accent meant that I literally couldn’t understand one word. I think it was an action movie, based on the gun-toting pirates, but, honestly, I’m not sure. But, we’ve had fun coloring together. She also gave me an Arabic lesson, complete with a little test at the end.

Overall, so far I still feel a little bit like a stranger, but a comfortable one. I definitely want to find out more about Jamal’s first marriage, and what exactly Khadijah, who retired from being a teacher two years ago, does during the day.

This is a blog for my study abroad in Amman, Jordan. I’m here with a program called SIT, studying Arabic and Modernization and Social Change in Jordan. We spend most of our four months here in Amman, but there’s also a week-long trip to Egypt and a week-long homestay with a Bedouin family in the desert.

So far, I’ve been in Amman for 48 hours. I took off from SFO at noon on Sunday, California time, and arrived at the Amman airport at about 3:30 pm on Monday, Jordan time, roughly 17 and a half hours later.

We’ve been staying in a hotel so far, but we’re starting our homestay tomorrow!! My family consists of a mom and a dad, an older sister who’s married with a baby of her own, a brother who’s 21/22 and a younger sister who’s 11. I don’t know much else about them yet, but apparently my homestay mother is really nice, and will help me with my Arabic. They all speak English though (phew!).

I don’t really know how to describe Amman. What I’ve seen so far is definitely beautiful. We’ve been mostly in the wealthier areas, but I know that some parts of the city are also very poor. The buildings seem to be mostly sandy in color, with lots and lots of windows. The city is pretty hilly, so you can usually see houses winding their way up and down the slopes.

We’ve ridden in quite a few taxis so far. Driving is crazy. No one signals, and people honk constantly. We’re actually forbidden to drive in my program, and honestly I’m kind of grateful.

I’ve been trying to dress very modestly. The women you see here really wear a mix of things. Some are completely covered in very traditional Islamic clothing. Others wear a long skirt and shirt with a hejab (head covering). Still others wear jeans and a t-shirt with or without a hejab, and others wear clothing you’d see in the United States. Overall, however, women tend to dress much more conservatively here. The men also wear more formal clothing. Pretty much, I’ve just been trying to keep my arms covered out to the elbow, and my legs completely covered.

It’s actually kind of cold here; today it rained a bit while we were walking around. Apparently it’s supposed to snow tonight and tomorrow! Inshallah (that means God willing) it will!

The food so far has been amazing. Last night, we had really, really delicious falafel. I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to go back to the falafel we eat at William and Mary. Today, we went to Reem, this amazing shawarma stand in the middle of Amman. Shawarma is a huge chunk of meat roasted with spices. It was only about 65 piasters, or approximately 1 dollar, for a shawarma sandwich, which is basically a piece of pita filled with meat and veggies. Obviously, I’m doing quite well no longer being a vegetarian.

Anyway, I’ll write more soon! Please comment with questions or topic suggestions if there’s anything you want me to write about.

My boss at the World Bank, Don Larson, actually encouraged me to attend presentations at the Bank or elsewhere on topics that interested me. At first, I felt like it was irresponsible of me to be at the Bank or in DC and do something other than work. I’m glad I changed my mind.

The first event I attended was about governance in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It was technically a training for Bank Staff, but they didn’t seem to mind that I was there. Improving governance, which basically means improving transparency and accountability in government, is currently a Bank priority. One staff member coordinated a series of learning sessions on governance implementation in various countries. She managed to arrange it such that the country team from the country being presented appeared by way of video conference, to talk about their agenda and progress.

The session I attended began with a brief history of governance in the DRC, then moved to the governance agenda, which more or less supports the government’s agenda. The first thing I noticed – something I would notice often during my time at the Bank – was the prevalence of acronyms. The presenters would say something like “The main goal of the CGAC section of the CAS is to reorganize SOEs and implement a CAF,” or “The support of the CD, of AFTPR, CMU and priority sector TTLs were all key in this proposal.” Everyone else nodded and seemed to understand, but, after only a week at the Bank, I honestly had no idea what was going on. I eventually started a list of acronyms in my notebook, which reached several pages in length.

Apart from attending Bank events, I also attended a number of events at the Center for Global Development, an organization near Dupont Circle. They host panels on the research of their fellows, on topics ranging from “The Human Footprint on Climate” to “Use of Geographic Information Systems (GIS) in Health Care” to “Does US Military Aid Finance Armed Groups? Evidence from Colombia.”

My two favorite events (yes, I attended quite a few) both took place at the World Bank. The first was about the National Solidarity Program in Afghanistan, which is a program run through the Afghan government. It creates community development councils in rural villages in Northern Afghanistan. These CDCs, as they’re called, are responsible for analyzing development needs in their own communities, and writing proposals to the government to satisfy those needs.

The second was a presentation by the Colombian Viceminister for Strategy and Planning, Juan Carlos Pinzón Bueno, who has previously served as the Viceminister for Defense. The presentation was titled Security and Development, and dealt largely with the current efforts of the Colombian government against what he referred to as the “Narco-terrorist threat.” They focused on recent decreases in homicides, kidnappings and extortion and on improvements in literacy and social services. The overall message of the presentation was the “Virtuous Cycle of Security”: Investment in Security leads to Confidence and Stability, which leads to Private Investment, which leads to Economic Growth, which leads to more Taxes/Social Investment which leads to Social Well-Being and the Satisfaction of Basic Needs… which (apparently) leads to more Investment in Security.

I tried to balance all the interesting things going on in DC and the work requirements of my internship. I think if I had to do it again, I might attend one or two more events, but overall, I was very satisfied with everything I went to. I’m so grateful that my boss was flexible, and allowed me to do so many interesting things.

Isabelle