All My Children

Amman, Jordan

Well, I never thought of myself as an elementary school teacher, but I was right when I told everyone I would feel much better about myself as a teacher once I met my students.

I've got a lot of boys, most of them just bursting at the seams with energy, and several of them prodigious talkers, but so long as I'm interesting enough to keep their attention (which I should be moreso once we start teaching actual curriculum next week), they're really quite well-behaved. I have several girls who demand a great deal of affection, but it's nothing compared to having the whole village school trying to touch me all at once every time I went on break as a Peace Corps Volunteer! And despite a couple new international students with very limited English, I have a very quick, capable classroom (and I know from experience that the new international students will come up to speed very quickly!).

I feel confident that it will be a good year.

Another Hick Dialect Under My Belt

Amman, Jordan

After I had been an exchange student in Switzerland, I met with Prof. Uta Larkey, who IS the German Dept at Goucher College in Baltimore, to object to the results of my placement test, which would have had me in third semester German because my grammar was so bad. I had hardly said two sentences in my heavily Swiss-accented but very best High German, when Uta grinned and exclaimed, in German, "Oh, your accent is so quaint!" I felt like I'd just dropped in from Hicksville.

The same thing happened to me yesterday. Here in Jordan, there are two ways to pronounce the words in colloquial language containing the Arabic letter qaaf. If one prefers to sound Bedouin and therefore macho, one pronounces this letter like an English G. If one wishes to sound sophisticated, one prefers the Palestinian custom of dropping the letter qaaf in favor of a little hitch of the breath called a hamza, usually represented in English as an apostrophe ('). Most women in Amman prefer the Palestinian accent. However, having learned my Arabic from the Bedouin in the village, I never learned to use the Palestinian accent, and often even find that the missing qaafs make it really hard for me to understand city people at all! Once again, I speak with a hick accent.

So yesterday morning I lent my pen (gellam) to a Teacher's Assistant, and promptly forgot that I had loaned it at all, as things were crazy preparing for the first day of school. Later that afternoon, I passed the same TA in the hall and she called, "Maryah! Maryah! 'ellamik! 'ellamik!"
I'm translating in my head and thinking, "My flag? What flag? I don't have a flag!" But I stopped anyway to see what she wanted.
Now, the student teacher in the fourth grade just happened to be standing there, and said to the TA, "You have to say gellam or she won't know what you mean." Suddenly I realized, the TA was trying to give me my pen back.
The TA, meanwhile, was incredulous. I get this frequently, the look that says, 'How is it that a foreigner like you sounds like a bred-in-the-cloth Bedouin?'
"That's right," I said. "You'll have to speak Bedouin to me. I don't speak your city-talk!"

Culture Shock At Home

Amman, Jordan

I'd been having trouble getting along with my TA this week, and finally figured out why. In part, of course, it's because I've been really nervous about getting everything done in time and feeling like I might be in over my head, both of which make me mean (just ask my mother!). So some serious apologizing was needed.

The main thing, though, was a cultural misunderstanding. Neither she nor I has studied education, but in addition, Diala has none of my teaching experience. Perhaps more to the point, she's never been in an American elementary school before, so she has no conception of what I'm picturing in my head as my classroom. Added to that, with so many native speakers and fluent speakers of English on staff, I forget that Diala is very advanced but still very much an English learner, and I often talk too fast for her, she tells me.

So we sat down and I explained the major difference, as I see it, between Jordanian and American educational culture: In Jordan, the emphasis in the classroom is put on the information being transmitted; rote memorization is de rigeur here, and the classroom environment is more or less irrelevant, or at best, haphazard. American educators, on the other hand, tend to feel that the learning environment is at least as important as the material; if a student is comfortable and happy in his classroom and stimulated by bright colors and lots of informational input around the room, he will want to come to school and be more engaged in his learning.

I can't say I find either system ideal. I admitted to Diala that I often think American educators, and perhaps especially administrators, sometimes put too much emphasis on the environment and not enough on the curriculum, but I also recognize that the Jordanian philosophy is also flawed, and fails many of its students. In any case, we're in the American system here, and thus it's American educational culture we have to respect.

And when she told me that I often talk too fast for her to understand, I realized that we needed to go back over much of the material that was covered in lectures given to the faculty as a whole, in which native speakers of English had spoken too quickly for Diala to take in all the important information.

However, once we'd had a couple little pow-wows about the American teaching philosophy, once we acknowledged and began to bridge that cultural gap, things have been so much smoother in our working relationship!

All About Wasta

Sweifieh, Amman, Jordan

For those of you who haven't heard yet, after about 48 hours of being technically homeless because the State Dept stopped paying for my summer housing and my new apartment wasn't ready yet, I am now moved into an unbelievably nice apartment in Amman. And it's all thanks to this little thing known here as "wasta."

Or, as my father would say, it's all about who you know! After meeting with our tutor Saleh's uncle to see and apartment "like" the one we'd be renting from him, "but not as nice" (the previous tenants were still in it), we decided that however much we like Saleh, his uncle was decidedly sketchy. (Saleh seemed to feel the same way about the whole encounter.)

However, when I had mentioned to my supervisor Angela that we were looking for an apartment, she said she'd just found out that her rental property was going to be vacated the next day ... an apartment just two blocks from the Modern American School! And this apartment is just beautiful. A steal at the price she offered (since we're old pals, Angela and I!). It's in a posh neighborhood of Sweifieh, has windows on three sides for amazing air flow, one and a half baths with a washer, an American stove with an oven, three bedrooms, and an absolutely enormous common area. There's even a history teacher our age in the Senior School who's also looking for an apartment, which makes the rent an even better deal. So Megan and I told her on the spot that we'd take it, and Ryan from the Senior School will be moving in later this week.

Unfortunately, it took the previous renters a little longer than anticipated to move out, thus I was briefly "homeless," i.e. sleeping at Angela's with all my worldly possessions in the back of her car.

But I'm moved in now!

It's a Small Country!

Amman, Jordan

Jordan is such a small country! Geographically it's the size of Indiana, but sometimes it can seem like the whole country is more closely related than merely the population of Bedford, IN! (No offense, Michael!)

Three years ago, almost exactly, the U.S. Embassy and the Jordanian Ministry of Education ran a workshop series for English supervisors in the Directorates of Education. The plan was for these supervisors to learn about the Progessive Theory of education followed in most American schools, and then retrain English teachers in their Directorates of Education to teach the new Progressivist curriculum. An English teacher in my village, Emad (who was by then madly in love with me, but that's another crazy story for my other blog), was assigned by the northern directorates to be the go-to guy for the two women facilitating the Irbid workshop. Apparently Emad told them wonderful things about this fabulous teacher who was volunteering in his village, and the facilitators suggested that he bring me along to their next session. He did, and I really enjoyed myself, even though my dirty-old-man supervisor Ali was there, too. (Ali must have been glad I was there, too, because when he was supposed to teach the same material in Jerash, in the middle of the second of three Saturday workshops, he handed me his notes and said, "Here. You finish" ... yet another crazy story for my other blog!)

Now, when I met my supervisor Angela at the Modern American School on Thursday, she said, "Do I know you from somewhere?" But we couldn't determine where. Today, however, she mentioned in a workshop that she had taught a seminar for English teachers in Irbid for the U.S. Embassy, and I realized where we knew each other from.

She's still in touch with the co-facilitator of the Irbid workshop, too!

Eleanor's Project

Madaba, Jordan

A fellow Peace Corps Volunteer and friend (even after I became "that girl"), Arwen, had a younger sister, Eleanor, who was confined to a wheelchair, and died unexpectedly not too long before Arwen joined the Peace Corps and came to Jordan. She and her family run a private operating foundation called Eleanore's Project, which was already distributing wheelchairs to needy children in Peru. As a Peace Corps Volunteer in special education, Arwen established Eleanore's Project in Jordan, and has been back every August since to follow up with the kids they've already helped, and to help more kids.

I went down to Madaba after school today to see Arwen and her team in action, and I am so impressed with the work they're doing! Just before they came to Jordan, Arwen and her parents were at a conference on communication techniques for the disabled, and at the end of the conference, they went around to all the vendors to ask if there were any leftover products they didn't want to lug home with them and would like to donate to needy children in Jordan. The vendors did their obligatory spiel about how next year's models would be much better, but Arwen and her mother knew that even an outdated model would be more than what most of their kids in Jordan even knew existed. They came to Jordan with a treasure trove of communication aides, and that's primarily what they were working on with this trip.

Imagine being 17 years old and never having been able to say a work. This was the story of Yusef, a very bright, alert kid they've seen many times, who went on new medication in the last year that relaxed his muscles enough that he can now speak for the first time in his 17 years. Another girl was given a wheelchair last year, and at eight years old, finally learned to hold up her own head ... sort of. This time around, Eleanore's Project gave her labels to put on her table to indicate "yes" and "no" by gestures of her hands. That kind of control of her gross motor skills will take some practice, but she was certainly able to answer questions by looking very distinctly at one label or the other. Eventually, her family will be able to add more icons to her tray for more nuanced communication.

Arwen, I applaud you with all my heart! You are doing truly important, incredible work!

...and an old friend.
I also accompanied the Eleanore's Project team on a visit to the family of a Madaba shopkeeper who was good friends with many Peace Corps Volunteers. Yusef, in fact, is the one who sold me the locally hand-embroidered vest I gave to my godson, Nathan, which he insisted on wearing constantly for weeks!

Dialects Matter

Beidha (Little Petra), Jordan

A classmate of mine, Chris Shad, and I were talking to the woman who made the fabulous shrak bread for our Bedu barbecue in Beidha. (Shrak is a white bread, often two feet or more across, and paper thin, baked over a thin, domed metal surface propped over a wood fire, and it's my favorite kind of Jordanian bread.) I, of course, know all the right things to say to village women, and she had plenty to say in return about how wonderful a job Chris did when he tried his hand at making shrak with her.

Chris, however, had a bewildered look on his face. Finally he asked me, "Do you understand a thing she's saying?"

I laughed, and told him the absolute truth. "I understand her better than almost everyone I've spoken to in Amman!"

When I translated the exchange for her, the woman smiled and nodded and said to Chris, "You come and live in my house and make bread for me for a year, and you'll be a pro, and you'll understand me, too!"

The Expert Tour

Rajaf, Beidha and Petra, Jordan

Wow. These past two days have been incredible. You can see the best of my pictures here (and more will be coming).

I won't go into detail here, as the pictures are captioned with just some of the neat new things I learned about Petra, the Nabateans, and the various kingdoms and dynasties that followed them. We've been travelling around the south of Jordan with our program coordinator, Chris Tuttle, who is just finishing his dissertation on the Nabateans of Petra. But dissertating doesn't pay well, so he's also been coordinating our summer program as part of his job at the American Center for Oriental Research. When he's not shepherding around Arabic students (which is only part of his summer workload), he's hard at work helping archaeologists from all over the world come to Jordan and do exciting new projects. He also occasionally escorts media people, like BBC reporters, and the occasional celebrity, like FLOTUS Laura Bush.

This is, of course, not as easy as it sounds. There's a lot of bureaucracy and red tape, a lot of people who don't demonstrate much understanding of the archaeological, historical and cultural worth of many dig proposals, and the economic and logistical obstacles that plague any endeavor in Jordan. And then there are the treasure hunters and the tourists. The more Petra and its surrounds are opened up, the better known and more valuable they become. Since Petra was named one of the New Seven Wonders of the World about a year ago, tourism has leapt up 68%. This is great for the Jordanian economy, but it means that the archaeological information enshrined in the rocks and soil of Petra will be erased at a far faster rate. When I suggested to Chris that the Lonely Planet tour guide's entry on Petra needed to be updated, and maybe I should rewrite it with his help and split the proceeds with him, he said, "Great! Write, 'Don't bother. Not worth the trip.'" On the other hand, he'll also be the first to admit that more tourism makes it easier to get the grants to do the archaeology!

Actually, it's economics as much as archaeology that motivates Chris Tuttle, and this is perhaps one of the most amazing things about this trip for me, more than the sheer glut of information we got about dead people.

You'll see a picture in my album captioned "Chris Tuttle knows every Bedu in Petra." This is not much of an exaggeration. Chris has been in Petra every summer for eight years, and more frequently since taking the job at ACOR in Amman. While many archaeologists come and learn to say please and thank you to a few faces they recognize and go home, Chris has made a real effort to get to know the community. He seems to know everyone by name. Though he claims to speak virtually no Arabic, he speaks more than many Peace Corps Volunteers I knew spoke after two years in the village. And last night, while our group was having dinner with some local Bedu after our tour of Beidha (Little Petra), Chris told me that one of his primary motivations behind opening Beidha to excavations was to give some source of income to the families that lived in and around Beidha, whom he had befriended in his time in the area.

A Few Updates

In fact, Chris Tuttle knows the people I was hoping to see in Petra, both of whom were extraordinarily helpful when I came to Petra with Auntie Viv, and with my parents. Unfortunately, I didn't see Shaher (I think that was his name), who served Auntie Viv and I tea in his brother's shop when we were very cold, and gave us the best advice for seeing the sunset in Petra.

I did go back to Jeff's Bookshop, where Auntie Viv and I bought our cookbooks, and where I arranged cars for she and I as well as my parents and I to take us back to Amman by the scenic route. When Auntie Viv and I were arranging our car and commenting on how amazing the shopkeeper's English, German, Spanish and Japanese were, we learned that one of his brothers, Jeff, for whom the shop was named, was in Denver, Colorado, getting brain surgery for a malignant tumor. I asked about Jeff at the shop this time around, and got more details from Chris Tuttle. The operation was temporarily successful, and Jeff came back looking hale and on the way to recovery (I saw the pictures myself!), but after about 6 months he suddenly declined and passed away. Allah yarHamuhu.

Me and the Fishes

Aqaba, Jordan

It's been a great summer, but I find myself very tired and quite nervous about my new job as a second grade teacher. I really love the people I've been here with, and the circumstances of our stay, but I didn't have true introvert time, not a day completely alone without any human contact, for more than 2 months, and it's been starting to wear on me. As we arrived in Aqaba this afternoon, I could already feel myself getting crabby and unpleasant, particularly when there was all this wavering back and forth as to whether we really wanted to go to the Royal Diving Club or not.

Eventually, most of us did go, and it was exactly what I needed!

I don't think I've been so happy to be in the water since I was about 10 and would stay in Grandma's pond till I was literally purple. Snorkelling in the Red Sea was a more intense introvert time than I've had in a very long time. Just me and the water. You can't hear anything, you can't see any people more than 10m away, and you can't talk to them anyway. You have the fish and the coral to keep your attention, who make no demands and no judgements of you.

When I developed goosebumps, I got out to lay in the sun and warm up, but I couldn't take it for long. Too much chatter, too many eyes. I'm so glad, though, that I got back in the water, because just as the goosebumps were starting to get to me again, something had changed about the light, making the prismatic little ripples of light on the sea floor glow golden. Suddenly there were fish everywhere, with their unbelievable bright colors. Fish that I'd been trying to get a look at under ledges or in the fan coral all day were suddenly in plain view, with their enormous, light-sensitive eyes. Some new fish, fat colorful ones longer than my forearm and outstretched hand, had come up from deeper, darker waters. It was incredibly beautiful, peaceful and restorative.

Quote of the Day:
"I just saw an unfortunate Eighties fish next to a more stylish Seventies fish. No, really! One was neon blue with neon pink stripes, the other was a nice yellow and brown."
--Reema Hijazi

Updates

Pictures, Arab Names, New Job

Amman, Jordan

There are more pictures up on my Facebook album "Back to Jordan," from Wadi Ram and my trip to "my" village where I lived as a Peace Corps Volunteer:

A Brief Explanation of Jordanian Names

In order to understand some of the captions of my pictures, you might want to take note of some Jordanian naming conventions. These are pretty standard for Arab countries, although Saudi Arabia has a somewhat more complex system, as I understand.

In my village, almost everyone has the same last name, so it's useless to call someone Muhammad al-HaraHsheh; there's one in every other house. Instead, an individual is known by his name, followed by his father's name, and sometimes his grandfather's name. So, to take my "favorite" Jordanian (because he didn't speak more Arabic than I when I lived in Mshairfeh), we get Zayd Radhwan Ahmed al-HaraHsheh, i.e. Zaid, son of Radhwan, grandson of Ahmed, of the HaraHsheh family. His sister is Aiat Radhwan Ahmed al-HaraHsheh, i.e. Aiat, daughter of Radhwan, granddaughter of Ahmed, of the HaraHsheh family.

Similarly, people's homes are referred to by the name of the father of the family, so that Zaid and Aiat live in Dar Radhwan (House of Radhwan).

Radhwan, however, is rarely referred to as Radhwan. Instead, he has what's known as a kunya, a particular kind of nickname. Radhwan is usually known as Abu Muhammad (Father of Muhammad), because Aiat and Zaid's oldest brother's name is Muhammad. Their mother is generally known by her kunya, Umm Muhammad (Mother of Muhammad).

Kunya can be a bewildering concept for many modern Americans, who are loathe to be reduced to their roles as parents and feel that the kunya erases a parent's individuality. My mother, however, tells me that kunya is actually a common shortcut in American PTA meetings. "Oh, you're Wesley's mother!"

Employed!

I am now employed as an early elementary teacher at the Modern American School in Amman, Jordan. Teachers start work next week!

Moral Dilemma Solved

Amman, Jordan

After much equivocating over whether to teach needy Jordanians at the Greek Orthodox School in Madaba and pay only the minimum on my student loans, or to teach rich kids and expats at the Modern American School in Amman at a more generous wage, I have made my decision. A phone call home last night helped me feel more like I'm making the best decision in the long run. I intend to sign a contract with the Modern American School tomorrow. There may still be an opportunity for me to teach the Orthodox Patriarchy at the new location they hope to open in suburban Amman in September, and I will be interviewing with the Director of AMIDEAST/Amman on Monday to talk about moonlighting there as a test-prep or English teacher.

I'm also really looking forward to seeing Arwen in the next couple weeks and helping her translate while she's in Jordan distributing wheelchairs and interviewing potential recipients for the charity she runs in honor of her late sister.

I discovered in grad school that it's important for me to be involved in at least some work that benefits people in need, and I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for me to do that here in Amman, I need only find them. Among other things, by staying in Amman, and particularly by moonlighting at AMIDEAST, I hope to make contacts in the embassy and NGO communities that will help me move on to really exciting things when I'm ready to take my next step into the future.

For now, you will find me in Amman, Jordan, for at least the coming academic year, if not longer. Family and friends are welcome to come and visit any time; ahlan wa sahlan, as they say in Arabic: Be like family and be at ease.

Tawjihi Results

Amman, Jordan

There are fireworks going off all over town this evening. Today was the announcement of Tawjihi scores. Tawjihi is the exam that all students take at the end of the 12th grade here in Jordan, like the A-levels in the British system. You must pass your Tawjihi in every subject (English, Arabic, History, Math, Chemistry, Physics, Biology, Geography, IT, Home Ec/Tech Ed, Religion) in order to be considered a high school graduate, and your scores in different subjects determine what subjects you are permitted to study in University. In other words, your whole future depends on your Tawjihi scores, so today was a big day.

Of course, I called the village, because I knew that Ghadeer Nasri, Alia Muhammad, Mahmoud Radhwan, Reem Nasr, Amal and other students whom I helped after school with English and other homework were all on pins and needles awaiting their exam scores. But things were not as I had hoped. Mahmoud, who is far from the academic sort, passed all his subjects on the Tawjihi, while all the girls, at least in the al-faiHa' neighborhood, except for Amal failed in Math and Chemistry. (If I'm not mistaken, some of Mshairfeh's teachers are going to lose their jobs this week!) So it's not the celebratory day I was anticipating.

Also, my thoughts are with Wesley and Mom this week.