A Call For Moderation

Amman, Jordan

I am not a touchy-feely person. It takes a great deal of effort for me to not laugh or at least roll my eyes at touchy-feely people. But what I have seen on Facebook today has really hurt me. I am literally crying as I write this. What is happening in Gaza is tragic, it really is. It is painful to watch. It has also engendered some real positive movement, like the food and clothing drive I contributed to today, and the decision of the Tareef Cycling Club to donate the rental fees for Friday's ride to the Red Crescent Society.

Unfortunately, there has also been a lot of vitriolic response as well. I have seen a lot of hate on Facebook and elsewhere on the Web today, and it really pains me. I know that a lot of it is engendered out of fear, anger and frustration. I've seen fellow Goucher Girls rail at Palestinians out of fear for their families in Israel. I've seen my Arab friends, whether Palestinian or not, lash out at Israel with equal vehemence. It really saddens me.

After the 2006 Lebanese War, an interdisciplinary group of Arab and Israeli professors (and all good friends) was formed at Indiana University, calling themselves the Mid East Conflict and Reform Group, and they began a series of guest lectures with a panel of those same IU profesors on the 2006 Lebanese War. I asked in this panel discussion if it was not true that economics has a great deal to do with the Mid East conflict, that from the Arab side of the border, Israel looks like a green, modern paradise, built on unequal water rights, unequal treatment by the West, and unequal military power, and this frustrates many on the Arab side. The Lebanese political science professor, Dr. Abdulkader Sinno, said something to me that has really changed the way I look at this conflict. He said that life is not a paradise in Israel, that poverty and especially child poverty are very high, and that this is largely because Israel chooses to spend its money on fighting its neighbors rather than providing services to its own people. The Bank of Israel released this report 18 months ago, including the following statistic:

Child poverty, as measured by the relative indices, rose by 2 percentage points in 2005 to an unprecedented 35.2 percent, which is high also by international comparison. The high rate of child poverty not only harms the children's current standard of living, but also adversely affects the creation of human capital, which is important for future earning power.

This is one of the highest child poverty rates in the West, right behind the good ole US of A!

I took a class on Palestinian nationalism from another member of IU's Mid East Conflict and Reform Group, Dr. Shaul Magid, who grew up and raised his own family in Israel, whose son is in the Israeli Defense Forces right now, and who is blacklisted on the Internet as a "self-hating Jew" for his views on the Israeli-Palestinian issue. He told us a horrific story about a triathalon in Israel, during which a bridge collapsed under a dozen professional cyclists, who fell into the river; half of them died of the effects of pollution in that river. This is not, he assured us, the only instance of ecological disaster in Israel.

I am generally pro-Palestinian because I feel that they have definitely gotten the short end of the stick in this conflict. As a teacher, a woman, or simply as a human being, I cannot help but be touched by the plight of children in the Palestinian Territories, generation after generation of them, who have lived in fear and uncertainty all their lives, who are dealing with enormous and weighty issues of traumatic and post-traumatic stress, all because they were unfortunate enough to be born on the wrong side of some arbitrary line in some "Imagined Community."

I simply don't understand why this isn't obvious to everyone! We don't choose where we were born, we don't choose our ethnicity, our mother tongue, or our childhood cultures. None of us did. We can grow up and change our language, our culture, our community, our identities (though not our ethnicities, if there even is such a thing), but Palestinian children are trapped in their parents' hell, as are Iraqi children, Sudanese children, Zimbabwean children, Tibetan children, Kashmiri children, Afghan children, and many Israeli children.

I do not believe in collective guilt or collective punishment. Not for Gazans, not for Lebanese, not for Iraqis, and not for Israelis. When we close a border to basic humanitarian aid, when we bombard a civilian population, when we cut off the electricity or water to an entire community, when we pray for a painful New Year for an entire nation, whenever we inflict or call for collective punishment, and whenever we are silent and allow it, we are also condemning large numbers of undeserving children and adults who are victims of circumstance and genetics.

So I beg you, my Arab friends and my Jewish friends and all my other friends alike, that when you speak of this conflict in Gaza or any conflict anywhere, remember that every community is made up of a great many diverse individual stories, many of them only just beginning to be written!

Scrapbook Of My Summer

Amman, Jordan

Happy New Year!

I've spent my holiday week working on an electronic scrapbook of my summer Critical Language Scholarship program, and I finally managed to get it onto the Internet where you can all see it! It's a big file, so it takes awhile to load, but I hope it's worth it.

Enjoy!

Tom and Jerry, plus Spike and I

Amman, Jordan

My roommate Ryan's boss Eric and his wife Judy (my second favorite Filipina!) took us out for Christmas drinks at the Dubliners last night, Ryan and I and his friend Shauna who's been staying with us, and Lowen who teaches history at the Middle School of the Modern American School. Judy said again how much she loves to give Ryan and Lowen a couple drinks and watch what happens (as do I), and then she explained why. It was a perfect explanation of the relationship of Ryan and Lowen (and Fadi the former MAS drama teacher).

Lowen is Tom, and Ryan is Jerry. Ryan, an avid Marxist obsessed with the imminent fall of the American Empire and the rise of a more perfect world order, starts out challenging Lowen, an ex-Army socialist frustrated with Ryan's Marxist rants devoid of any practical solutions. Eventually, however, Lowen become entirely exasperated, even angry. That's when they're most like Tom and Jerry: Ryan always needling Lowen, Lowen constantly trying to crush the little nuisance!

And then there's Fadi, who is also a Marxist, but somewhat less adament about it, and more able than Ryan to sense when the argument has gone too far. Like spike, he will step into the fray and can usually bring it to a decisive end. When Fadi's not around, as he has not been lately, it is often I who step in. While I am philosophically probably closer to Ryan's positions, I get just as frustrated as Lowen with Ryan's inability to sense when he has gone too far,and find myself defending Lowen.

Like Judy, I never tire of the ongoing argument between them, and in fact find myself wishing, as I did while listening to the Poli Sci instructors at nerd camp, that I had spent more time learning about political theory so I could jump in the fray with something approaching expertise.

Employed!

Amman, Jordan

I signed a contract today to be an English teacher for the newest location of Bell International here on the outskirts of Amman. I'll be doing much the same thing I've been doing for AMIDEAST, teaching English to adults, but Bell provides full-time contracts to their teachers, with opportunities for vertical and lateral movement that are much harder to get with AMIDEAST. If I work with Bell long enough, I can move up to be a Senior Teacher or administrator, or could apply for contracts to teach all over the region (or the world!). Bell has facilities in Libya, Qatar and Saudi Arabia at this time, and may expand into more of the Middle East if I stick around.

I'm also really excited about their professionalism. They screen their students much more carefully to place them in the right classes, and there will be a full week of teacher training before we even start registering and testing students.

I should have more variety in teaching assignments, too. I will start out teaching adult beginners; I was hired in part because my command of Arabic will allow me to do so, whereas the other teachers don't speak much, if any, Arabic. However, I was also hired for my experience teaching writing, and with young learners, and will be given the opportunity to do both as Bell's classroom space is finished and they begin expanding their palette of courses.

They may also ask me to teach some basic, taxicab Arabic to foreigners later this spring. I was thinking about this and laughing about teaching foreigners my hick village accent. It won't be so bad for the men, because village Arabic is a sign of strength, but the women in the city are supposed to speak a far more delicate accent that I've never mastered. I was reminded, though, of my experience teaching Arabic to my cousin Gwen; despite my thick Swiss accent, she managed to come out of my lessons speaking a more sophisticated Berliner German, because everyone else she encountered spoke that way.

Not only has Bell re-awakened the excitement about teaching that was nearly killed by the Modern American School, but my financial worries have been solved for at least the 6 months of this contract. This is the most generous pay package I've been offered in Jordan, which will allow me to start my student loan payments and pay off my credit card debt without effecting my lifestyle here at all. I should have some money to travel with, as well, and I have hopes to visit friends across the region this spring: my current roommate Megan in her Spring Semester at American University Cairo, Ann who will soon be studying in Ramallah on the West Bank, and Chris who is thrilled to be studying at American University Beirut. (Plus, there's that Swiss Chics reunion in Switzerland this summer that I'm hoping to squeeze in....)

Best of all, but I got a nice Christmas surprise on my way home from signing the Bell contract yesterday. I stopped off to check the balance of my bank account at the ATM in Safeway, and was quite disturbed to see that I had only about 150 dinar left to tide me over till my first paycheck from Bell in February. Then I remembered that I should have a small paycheck waiting for me at AMIDEAST for proctoring the SATs on the first of December. I was walking over there when they called me to say that there was a check waiting for me, but when I arrived, the SAT checks weren't ready. What I picked up was the November paycheck I thought I'd already deposited, a nice cushion of 600 dinar to keep me till February. So I won't be buying extravagant gifts for my friend Chris's family in Madaba, where I've been invited to spend Christmas, but at least I can get them something, and not have to pinch pennies too strenuously!

Giving Cycling One More Chance

From Dead Sea Biking

If Eshrak is willing to try, I can certainly give it another go!

Bethany Beyond Jordan, by the Dead Sea

Though I had totally wimped out on the last bike trip, Megan and Stephanie and Aktham and the guys convinced me that it was worth another try, so there I was a week later, at 8am on a Friday, getting on a bus for the Dead Sea with the Tareef Cycling Club. I reminded myself that it had been my intention in graduate school to become competent on a bicycle (until I realized that southern Indiana isn't flat!), and that the last trip proved that I am sorely out of shape. This time, at least, the route would be warm and almost completely flat.

Not only that, but I was really looking forward to seeing the people. I had learned that Jad is a friend of my friend Emily, who used to sometimes go on trips with the cycling club. Megan and I had also met a very nice kindergarten principal named Muna while getting our nails done by our favorite Filipina Angie, and Muna said that she'd been a frequent participant in Tareef events, except that they are generally too early in the morning on her only day off. She had said, however, that she'd be coming to the Dead Sea. There are, unsurprisingly given the activity, a number of Germans in this group, too, and the prospect of maybe practicing my German is generally too good to pass up. There was also an Internet journalist who studies at UWashington, and wrote this article with a short video about the trip. Plus, as meeting Aktham proved last trip, it can be a great networking opportunity, and that's something I should be learning how to do if I'm going to be having so-called "real jobs."

As it worked out, this was a perfect trip for a wimp like me. The first long, slight incline got tough after awhile, but then it was a little up but mostly down a few little bumps hardly worth calling hills, and the scenery was wonderful and the weather perfect. And it felt so good to know that I didn't have to walk my bike even once, and was right in the middle of the group, neither fastest nor slowest. And afterwards we had a great lunch, met some more fun people, and Aboud even showed up in his cool paraplegic car for a cup of tea!

From Dead Sea Biking

...I'm much more comfortable hiking!

Wadi Ghwayr, a tributary of Wadi Araba, Jordan

From Hiking in Wadi Araba

This is more my pace, a nice moderate hike up the Wadi Ghwayr, a tributary valley to the Wadi Araba. I only wish I'd known in advance that we'd be wading in the stream on the way up, or I would have picked up some hiking sandals instead of wearing my hiking boots, which gave me blisters when they got wet, and are going to take days to dry!

I couldn't help but think, as I picked my way across the rubble-strewn ground, of the Eastern side of the Cascade Mountains in Washington State, USA. After our Swisschicks reunion for Christi's wedding in Seattle, Karla took Staci and I hiking up a very similar mountain valley on her side of the Cascades. It was also a trip in which I failed to keep the water from spilling over the tops of my hiking boots. I remembered, too, how I had said, on my first trip to visit Karla in the desert of Eastern Washington, how much the cliffs and hills looked like Jordan, and she said, "That's why I didn't need to visit you in Jordan!" (I still think she needs to come and see Bethany Beyond Jordan, Mount Nebo, Um Qais/Gedara and the other religious sights in Jordan, plus Petra, Jerash and Wadi Rum, of course!)

After the halfway point, though, the Wadi Ghwayr looked less like the Cascades and more like the siq at Petra or any of a number of other sandstone canyons across Jordan. At one point, the most athletic and confident of the group had to brace themselves horizontally between the siq wall and an enormous boulder so that we could, essentially, walk across the sides of their feet in order to pass. Next time Wesley comes to Jordan, I'll know just who to introduce him to!

There's one club member in particular, Anis, who fascinated me on the hike. He's one of the professional cyclists in the group, so of course I barely even saw him yesterday. On the hike, though, I was first struck by how much he looks like Carter, and how, like Carter, he can interact in a group like natural introvert, but as we were hiking it seemed more likely that he is actually a solitary sort. While everyone else was hiking in clumps of two or three or five, Anis always hiked alone. A couple of times, he took the high road, scrolling effortlessly along the slick sandstone walls of the siq some 10 or 20 feet above the rest of us. That was when it occured to me how much he looks and acts like my brother Wesley, too!

It all just goes to show you that Jordan and America are not all that different after all. The scenery can be similar, and of course, people are essentially the same everywhere I've travelled.

Despite how sore and blistered I was by the time we got back to the bottom of the wadi, I'm so glad I went on this trip! Glad because, despite my wimpiness on a bike, I proved perfectly competent for a moderate hike. And glad because the people I've met are fun, lively, interesting and engaged, and constantly plannning for something new and exciting.

From Hiking in Wadi Araba

Conservation Meets Job Creation

Feynan Eco-Lodge, Wadi Araba, Jordan

At first, when the Tareef Cycling Club said we'd be staying at a hotel with no electricity, there was skepticism, especially from high-maintenance Stephanie, who was only convinced to go on this overnight trip when it was revealed that there was electricity in the bathrooms. We were all worried that it would be cold, especially after coming over the mountains from Wadi Musa to Wadi Araba.

We were still more skeptical when our two rented kindergarten buses, one laden with two dozen mountain bikes on its roof, began bumping across a dirt road so faint that, for all intents and purposes, we were off-roading. There was some disagreement among the men in the back of the bus as to which faint dirt track, exactly, we were supposed to take, and we seemed to bump about in circles in the dark for a very long time. And then, right there in the middle of the desert, the busses stopped and everyone was ordered off. There was a stream to cross with a low embankment on the far side, and the busses couldn't make it with their passengers aboard. This really raised our eyebrows, but we switched on the flashlights in our mobile phones and filed out of the bus.

However, as the two busses carefully maneuvered the obstacle, Megan, Stephanie, Nara and Ester quickly determined that this was the perfect opportunity for a much-needed bathroom break, and crept off in the dark, determined to believe that no animals live in the Jordanian wilderness. Everyone filed onto the first bus, and the man in charge came looking for the riders of the second bus. "They're waiting for the girls," I said. He got an annoyed look on his face and began to say, "Why are they waiting for the g--Oh!" Even as dark as it was, he quickly turned his back on the direction the girls had gone and hurried back to the busses.

When we did get to the Feynan Eco-Lodge, however, it proved to be an amazing place full of indoor courtyards, wrought iron furniture and fixtures, and candelabras and shelves and chandeliers of locally made candles bathing the whole place in a romantic glow. They served us tea and assigned our rooms, putting Megan, Stephanie, Nara and I in one room, and we went up on the second floor to find the corridor open to the sky and the full moon. The room was built like a Nabatean triclineum, with a wide shelf on three walls holding our mattresses, with mosquito nets draped from the ceiling over each bed, and niches on each wall, lined with fragmented mirrors to reflect and refract the light of three candles so it filled the whole room. It was surprisingly warm, considering how cold it was outside, and we all stripped down to the lowest of our sweaty layers of clothing. The brochure on the table said no showering after 7pm, because the water was only hot when the sun was shining, but it proved warm enough for showering. And in the bathroom I discovered Orjan Soap, handmade by the women of a village up north in Ajloun where my friend Betsy was a Peace Corps Volunteer.

Normally, I've read, the lodge serves a vegetarian menu, but we were visiting with a significant number of Jordanian men, and when Jordanian men travel, they grill meat! With all the outings we've been on with Aboud and his friends, or the regulars of the Dove Bar, we should have known better, but we girls made the very American mistake of offering to help. We were very kindly but unequivocably told that we should just wait and let them handle it. And I have to say, they did an excellent job with shish-kebabs and gallayat bandoora (tomato and onion cooked in a frying pan, in this case with added big chunks of the men's excellent grilled beef).

Much to our chagrin, we girls were so tired when we'd finished eating at 10 that we went to bed, except for Nara, who filled us in the next day on the games and singing that went well into the wee hours of the night.

From Hiking in Wadi Araba

I tried the biking....

Beidha (Little Petra) and Wadi Musa, Jordan

From Biking in Wadi Musa

I woke up this morning remembering the dog, Thomas, that belonged to my first host family in Switzerland. I was staying in the bedroom of the oldest son, Niklaus, who was studying in Philadelphia, and along with the bedroom I inherited his responsibilities, including taking Thomas for a run every day after school by bike. While Niklaus was a pretty typical Swiss cyclist who frequently biked the 30k to school and back, I was not. More often than not, Thomas took me for a run, until such time as I crashed the bike and Thomas could escape to do what he loved best, chase cows. After a number of bloody knees, my host mother said to me, "Maryah, I have never seen a girl your age who was so bad on a bicycle!" I've barely been on a bike in the decade since. This memory was not an auspicious start to the day of my first biking excursion with Tareef Cycling Club of Amman!

I gathered my determination and went anyway, and I'm so glad I did!

In the bus on the way down, Megan reassured me that the trip had been labeled "moderate" on Facebook, and if all else failed, I could always ride in the backup bus. I made some great new friends, including Aktham, who does exactly the kind of work with Iraqi refugees that I would like to be doing, and offered to help me find a similar job for myself. (He also DJs at my favorite radio station, Mood FM, which our Filipina manicurist friend Angie always turns up loud for Megan and I at the salon.)

When we got to Wadi Musa in the south of Jordan, we made a brief incursion into Beidha, aka "Little Petra," while the bikes were unloaded, and then we were off. For about the first 90 seconds, I felt pretty confident, but then there was just the slightest long incline, and by the top of it, I couldn't remember why I thought this trip was a good idea, anyway. Those of you who know me well are probably wondering the same thing. (It was because of tomorrow's hiking in Wadi Araba, where I've long wanted to go but have never been, because it's virtually impossible without my own wheels!) The club members, particularly the ones who are professional cyclists, were very patient and encouraging, and they convinced me to do the long downhill portion. But when we turned off the paved road at the Wadi Musa Water Reclamation Project, a startling patch of green in the mostly red and brown mountains, the ride turned sharply uphill, and I took to the pickup! My host mother was right about my bike riding abilities back then, and it's probably more true now, out of shape as I am! And, to my credit, most of the cyclists agreed that this was one of the most difficult excursions they'd done to date in the club.

There are distinct advantages to riding in the bed of the rescue truck, though. You really get to see the scenery that way, putzing along at the pace of the slowest cyclist, and you don't have to stop to take pictures along the way. Unfortunately, my old-fashioned camera hasn't fared well in the desert this time, with the heat of our trips this past summer washing out all my film beyond what I know how to fix with Photoshop, so my pictures didn't come out nearly as well as other people's. But the scenery was simply breathtaking, especially when we got to the overlook of Wadi Araba at the top of the mountain!

From Biking in Wadi Musa

There are many more pictures of the two days of biking and hiking by Jad.

Megan Saves Maryah from Marriage

Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

From Megan and Maryah do Eid al-Adha in Mshairfeh

After all the Eid al-Adha festivities at the homes of Abu Saleh's sons, many of them went to Amman to help Dar Saleh make a sacrifice, as Saleh himself has been tragically incapacitated by a brain tumor. My roommate Megan and I stayed in Mshairfeh and went down the hill to celebrate with Dar Nasri, the family of my best friend and Arabic teacher in the village, Wijdan Umm Tareq. (To better make sense of these names, read this earlier entry.)

Though I have managed to avoid him till now, Wijdan's dirty old man of a brother-in-law Nasr came to visit, along with his second son, Sahem. He started out talking about politics and telling us how the US legal system works, since he's recently begun a law degree at Jerash University (God help us!), and is always eager in any case to make himself look smart. But eventually, as always, he wanted to know why I hadn't married an Arab yet. Before he could recommend his own son as a groom, Megan said, bless her heart, "Maryah! Don't you have a list of requirements for your future husband?"

She was referring to a defense mechanism I had developed in my Peace Corps days to fend off marriage proposals from my colleagues at the Mshairfeh Girls School. I told them that they shouldn't even bother to mention any man to me who didn't meet these 5 minimum requirements, which I began to relate to Nasr, his son Sahem, his wife, and all of Wijdan's family.

1. He must have at least a Masters degree, as I have a Masters degree and don't want him to feel he's less educated than I.
2. He must speak English, not because I don't like to learn new languages, but because it's the global language, and with it we could live anywhere in the world.
3. He must have lived abroad and liked it enough to do so again, because I hope to continue my globetrotting lifestyle for some time.

At this point, Sahem leapt to his feet and stormed out of the house.

4. He must make me his first and last wife.

Now Sahem returned to the house, just in time to hear the last condition, which I didn't always have to mention, but which has never failed to make a Jordanian throw up their hands in disbelief and admit defeat:

5. He must allow his children to choose any religion they choose, by which I don't mean merely Christianity or Islam. My children must be free to choose anything: Hinduism, Taoism, Wicca ... or none at all.

As predicted, they told me that these were absolutely unreasonable requests. Children always follow their father's religion, for a start! It would be absolutely impossible to find someone who met all those requirements!

But of course, this is very good news for me. It will be a very long time, if ever, before anyone asks me again to marry Sahem!

From Megan and Maryah do Eid al-Adha in Mshairfeh

Later, Wijdan wanted to know how I could possibly expect to find someone who would meet my high standards. I pointed out that I had met many men in America who met those requirements, they just weren't the right men, or weren't available. But what about love? she asked. If I fell in love with someone who didn't meet all those requirements, would I still be able to marry them? Of course, I conceded, all of these requirements are ultimately negotiable, but they sure do a great job of fending off marriage proposals in Jordan!

From Sheep To 2nd Breakfast by 10:30am

al-Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

This is the day, Eid al-Adha, that Muslims believe the Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham in English) was supposed to sacrifice his son Ishmael (in Judeo-Christian tradition, it's the other son, Isaac) in Mecca (not Mt. Moriah, as it is in the Old Testament), when an angel intervened and told him to sacrifice a ram instead. In honor of Abraham's extraordinary willingness to obey his Lord, Muslims go on Hajj to Mecca at this time to sacrifice a sheep there, or try to sacrifice one at home as they can afford to. Megan was so fascinated by the stories and pictures of Auntie Viv's Eid al-Adha in the village that she went with me to see for herself. That's her on the right with the big cheerleader smile! So we got up early with Dar Radhi for a fabulous breakfast that included homemade olive oil, home-cured olives, and homemade apple and fig jams, and went out to see the slaughter.
Dar Mohammad and Dar Radhi both sacrificed a sheep apiece. There was great enthusiasm about watching every step of the way. I remember that when Auntie Viv was in the village, everyone was trying to keep the littlest kids, Ziad and Saddeen, away from the sacrifice so they didn't see the sheep die, but not this time. This year, everyone watched every minute of it, except for Megan and I, who got a real ribbing from the Jordanians for not being able to take it.


All of this was watched by Grandpa Abu Saleh with great sanguinity.
Later, when one of his sons asked him why he wasn't helping with the sacrifice, Abu Saleh turned to me and said, "Why should I have to help? I did this for years for these guys! I paid my dues, now it's time for them to do it! Why shouldn't I sit and watch?"

Auntie Viv was much missed in the village this Eid al-Adha, because when she was visiting, we chopped meat with Umm Anis and the other women, but this year Megan just took pictures, and I kept her company, while everyone worked to chop up the sheep...

From Megan and Maryah do Eid al-Adha in Mshairfeh

...deliver bags of meat to all the houses in the neighborhood, and then fry some up for our second breakfast!

From Megan and Maryah do Eid al-Adha in Mshairfeh

almost NO degrees of separation!

Amman, Jordan

So, another student in my program, Chris, knew this girl, Heba, who had been a Fulbright Scholar at Smith, teaching Arabic at the Five Colleges. We only met once, and very briefly, during the summer, but we've become friends since. Heba went to Smith with this girl Abby, who's now working here in Amman. As I recall, Abby first came to Jordan as a volunteer teaching English at the Greek Orthodox School in Madaba, which is doing really amazing things I seriously considered becoming part of, and all for the Jordanians who really need it most.

In any case, Abby knows Emily, who's doing this really cool project, "Meet the Foreigners," trying to introduce Jordanians to us odd duck foreigners who've decided to give up what many Jordanians would love to have in America in order to come here for as many different reasons as there are expats. Heba put us all in touch, and I agreed to do an interview today, which I will put up on this blog and on Facebook as soon as it's available.

But it doesn't stop there! Oh, no! The network of expats in Jordan is much more complex than that. Because when I found out that Emily was working in Madaba at the Orthodox School, I realized that she had probably taught with my friend Chris, whom I taught with at the Modern American School. Not only that, but Chris's husband is still teaching at the Greek Orthodox School with Emily. And, of course, Emily and Heba have met through Abby as well.

So Emily, Heba and I met for the fabulous Friday breakfast at Books@Cafe, where we determined that we really have a lot in common, and should do this more often. Then Heba had to go home, and as I was finishing up my latte with Emily, her friend Arnoux showed up. (He's using Books@ as his office for the week, between trips to Lebanon and Iraq.) I recognized him immediately from a concert we went to in the park of the National Gallery for Fine Arts to see Ramallah Underground, where some of the other girls from the CLS Program had a nice chat with Arnoux. (Come to think of it, I saw him again in the crowd at Ramallah Underground's subsequent appearance on the back patio of Books@.) Oh, and Arnoux used to teach at AMIDEAST, and I noticed when I was dropping off my timesheet yesterday that his phone number is still up on the bulletin board in the teachers' lounge. And he gave me some fantastic suggestions for finding my next job!

I could go on, about how a friend of Abby's I met tonight works with my roommate Ryan at his second job, and how another friend of Abby's who also interviewed with Emily tonight was just at the home of the current financial guy at Peace Corps. And then there's the copier repairman I met at AMIDEAST this week who is also the copier repairman for the Peace Corps....