We Should Really Go Barhopping!

Portland, Maine, USA

This was my brother Ben's big request. Apparently, Portland has the best barhopping scene in the country, with the most bars in a single square mile, so he thought it would be good if Lil and I came down to Portland, went barhopping, and crashed on his (formerly my) futon. So this afternoon, we gathered up our pillows and quilts, and made our way down to Portland.

I had called along the way to say that, while I don't like beer, I was rather in the mood for some cider, if he knew where it could be had, so we started at a brewery where Ben knew there was cider on hand. While we drank, he picked my brain about how he might write a grant proposal that would pay for his Model UN team to go to the international Model UN in Taiwan in the spring.

Then Lil said, if we were bar-hopping, we'd better have our second round at a second bar. Ben knew of another brewery, and we were off.

But when it came time for a third round, Ben confessed that he only knew 2 bars in Portland, plus Sebago's where we'd had dinner on my first night back, but it was more a restaurant than a bar. So we went wandering through town, but I guess we're getting too old for bar-hopping. Several of them were so loud, we couldn't have heard ourselves think, let alone talk! One was offering 50 cent PBR, and another offering 50 cent Long Islands. Eventually we decided that Portland's bar scene was too frat-boy for us, and went to Sebago's anyway, where we had more drinks with munchies.

From Maine 2009

And in fact, though some might think us sad and boring with our 3-bar tour, we had a great evening!

The Great Peach Debate

Bridgton, Maine, USA

"She brought how many pounds of peaches?"

How many is too many? My cousin's husband Christian is well known to love Pennsylvania peaches. I know, Georgia is supposed to be the Peach State, but Pennsylvania peaches are so much better than New England and German peaches that he fell in love. When my family still lived in southern York County, Pennsylvania, he and my cousin Gwen would time their visits for peach season. When we came up to Maine in August, he would always request peaches, and Mum would bring them in her special peach box, labeled Pat's Peach Box in thick black Sharpie, and originally obtained housing a shipment of genuine Florida oranges. When my parents moved to Maine, Christian was devastated. No more Pennsylvania peaches! So when Christian got a job in York, Pennsylvania, there was nothing for it but to send Pat's Peach Box back to Pennsylvania with Christian and Gwen.

So when Auntie Viv flew down to Maryland to pick up Mom's car that my sister had borrowed, and went to visit her daughter and grandson in York, they of course went peach picking! And, as Gwen put it, they just kept picking ... and picking ... and picking ... and picking ... until they had 138 pounds of peaches! And since Auntie Viv had only her small amount of luggage to bring back to Maine, she filled up the rest of the car with peaches.

And of course, when Auntie Viv called to say she had a hundred pounds of peaches, my mother said, "Well, you can't possibly eat them all before they go bad. They'll have to be canned!" And a couple days later, there was Auntie Viv on the phone again: "I'm coming on Thursday to can peaches!" Suffice it to say, it was a great drama, but in the end we canned maybe a quarter of Auntie Viv's peaches today. Here's Christian hard at work:

From Maine 2009

As for me? I babysat!

Meeting Seamus

Bridgton, Maine, USA

From Maine 2009

You're not supposed to have favorites among your relatives, but it wouldn't be hard to guess that Gwen is one of mine. To begin with, she's the inspiration for my globe-trotting lifestyle. When I started hearing about her trips to Ireland, Mexico, Russia and Ireland again, I knew I wanted to have that, too! She helped her mother-in-law save me when I was almost homeless in Europe. I've been her translator and teacher in Germany, and a witness in her beautiful wedding in Dresden. I counseled her through her engagement, and learned in the process just how badly and indelibly a divorce can scar the children. We've had long conversations about raising bilingual children, and worked together to derive many lessons from the way our parents raised us.

So when I left America last June in the middle of her pregnancy, it was with great regret that I probably wouldn't be back in the States when the baby was born. When I couldn't make it home last Christmas, one of my greatest regrets was not being able to meet her baby Seamus.

From Maine 2009

And yet, perhaps, I met Seamus today at the most auspicious time, just when he's beginning to look like his father, act like his mother, and have a personality of his own.

From Maine 2009

Of course, meeting our whole family all at once, and in an unfamiliar place, was overwhelming at the least. And of course, Seamus fussed a good deal, which embarrassed Gwen, despite my mother's best efforts to reassure her that, after 4 children of her own, she expected no less. Still, it's undeniable that he's an adorable little munchkin!

From Maine 2009

Gone Digital!

Bridgton, Maine, USA

One of the things on my To-Do list was to finally get my film from Budapest developed. I'd been dragging my feet about it because the only decent film developer I know in Amman is all the way over on University Street, a place I rarely have occasion to go. I'd been developing my film closer to home, but was not pleased with the quality. So on the way back from the spa yesterday, we stopped off at Rite Aid to get my film developed.

I waited and waited at the photo counter, rang the bell repeatedly, and no one came, so eventually I went over to the cashiers. The older of the two saw me coming with two film canisters in my hand, and said, "Oh, we don't do those here anymore. You'll have to send them away."
"How long will that take?"
"Oh, about a week."
"How reliable is it? Because I'm leaving in a week...."
"Oh, well, then," she said, lowering her voice, "you probably don't want to do that. They're very unreliable!" Then she turned to the younger cashier. "They don't still do film processing at Hannaford's, do they?"
"No," said the girl. "They're not doing it at Wal-Mart in Windham anymore, either. The policy is these days, when the machine breaks, you don't bother to have it repaired." Between them, they couldn't think of a single place within a good 50 miles that did one-hour developing.

When I went out to the car and reported this to Mom, she said, "You know, you're not going to be home for Christmas, so we could just buy your Christmas present for you now...."

So today, Dad and I went down to the camera store in Portland, which still develops real old-fashioned film, and got a sweet new digital camera: a FinePix S1500 from Fujifilm, if anyone cares for the details. It was on sale, so a lot more camera than I expected for my money. Most importantly, in the bright sunlight of the Middle East, I wanted a viewfinder, and I got one!

You can, therefore, expect to see a lot more of my own photos on Picasa!

From Maine 2009

Nerd Night

Portland, Maine

When we called Ben and told him we were going down to pick up Elizabeth at the Portland International Airport, he said, in a small voice, "Are you going to stop and see me on your way home?" And the poor extrovert sounded so lonely in his little loft apartment that we decided to visit.

We all agreed, after long conversations about politics, climate change policy, and Soviet city planning, that we just don't know many other people who would enjoy sitting for hours talking about this stuff. It's so nice to spend time with my family.

Where It's Green and Moist

Portland, Maine, USA

The worst part of traveling alone is not being able to nap on an 8-hour layover. I watched a few hours of Rome (thank you, Lowen, it is very good!), had a cup of coffee, and still had hours to go. Fortunately, luggage carts are free in airports everywhere but America, and I could put my bags on a cart and walk. And that's what I did. From one end of the terminal to the other. For hours.

Other than that, it was a beautiful trip!

And when I got through immigration and customs in Boston, there were Mom and Dad, waiting to deliver me to Maine! It's so nice to be home, were it's green, and a little humid, and it's just ... home! And then we went out to dinner at Sebago's Brewery in Portland (yum!) with Ben, and it was so great to sit around and talk about sailing and family and crazy things Republicans do....

I also got to see Ben's new studio apartment when we went to hang curtains there, and, oh, I am so glad to be home!

Jordan's Blogosphere

Amman, Jordan

I don't know if I count as part of the Jordanian blogosphere, or if Emily does, but we're definitely participating in the same community as Nas, Kinzi, Jad and many others who are legitimate permanent residents of both Jordan and the Jordanian blogosphere. But I'm interested nonetheless in supporting the latest move at the Black Iris:

Consider it an experiment in Jordanian social media. People are constantly asking me whether Jordanian bloggers have an impact on politics in Jordan - and I always say probably not. But let’s see if we, as customers and as citizens, can use blogs and social media to impact the private sector.

--Black Iris

What's all the uproar about? It's about the lifeblood of any blogosphere: Internet access. Nas is blogging about Orange Jordan, his service provider, which he feels is the worst offender. I'm responding to his suggestion, however, for Jordanian bloggers to broadcast their bad experiences with all of Jordan's service providers, to give an example of my own.

My provider is Wi-Tribe, apparently a rather recent addition to the fray, with wireless service in Sweifieh and Abdoun. Initially, I was very pleased with my service. We got a 2GB connection at what seemed like a reasonable price once split between myself and 2 roommates, and were generally happy with the speed and quality of the connection. On the one occasion that we exceeded our 13GB/month download quota, a phone call to customer service got our quota reset for the month at no additional cost. My only complaint at the time was that, although I had "pressed 1 for English," the customer service rep answered all my questions (asked in English) in Arabic. Thankfully, my Arabic's pretty good.

So, when I went to pay my bill a few months back and was told that if I signed a 1-year contract, I could pay 33% less for 50% more bandwidth, I readily agreed! But just like Nas on his Orange service, over the past month or more, we have averaged about 20% of the promised connection capacity.

Not only that, but there's been a significant fall-off in customer service. My roommate called to find out why the connection was so slow, and was told that they could only speak to me about our Internet connection. So I went yesterday at 4:30pm to pay our bill, get my roommate added to the account, and complain about our service, but the office wasn't open. Okay, I thought, it is Ramadan, and our company closes down at 3:00 (except for us teachers), so I'll just have to come back in the morning. When I arrived at quarter past 9 this morning, however, the office was also closed. And, typically for Jordan, no indication anywhere in sight of their hours, in Ramadan or otherwise.

Born In 1991

I don't know why (perhaps I'm channeling Alcarwen and Nicole!), but I paused last night to think about the character of this month's college freshmen. The details rather astonished me.

This year's US college freshmen were mostly born in 1991. This means that:

• They don't remember Pres. Bush the Elder.
• The First Gulf War was over before they could crawl.
• Osama Bin Laden has been their nation's #1 threat for their whole lives. (Communists? That's SO last century!)
• They're more used to computers than pen and paper.
• They've never known life without Internet.
• Not only that, they've never known life without Instant Messaging, and Skype's been around "for, like, forever!" (i.e. since they started high school).
  
• Say "Clinton" and they think "Hilary."
• They don't remember Monica Lewinski.
• They Google and YouTube as easily as they breathe.
  
• They probably don't remember the controversial Bush-Gore election fiasco, since they were mostly only 9 years old, in the 4th grade.
• They were 10 years old, starting the 5th Grade, when 9/11 "changed everything."
• They probably never wrote a research paper without access to Wikipedia.
• They were 11 years old, in the 6th Grade, when No Child Left Behind was signed into law.
• The Occupation of Iraq has been going on for a third of their lives, and Saddam Hussein was the biggest boogie man of their Middle School years.
• They were 14 years old, high school Freshmen, when Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans.

Just food for thought. Can you think of others?

Remember Me?

Amman, Jordan

Sometimes you can't predict the people who will remember and recognize you.

I needed a note from the college's doctor to go home early, and I knew the clinic was on Level B1, but I didn't know where, so I asked a security guard. She said, "Are you Maryah?"
"Yes," I said. Since my Peace Corps days, I've become accustomed to being the White Elephant, the person everyone recognizes in a crowd of locals.
"Don't you remember me?"
I get this a lot, too, and while I'm good at recognizing familiar faces, I'm very bad at figuring out why they're familiar. "You look familiar...."
"I'm Kawthar!" she says. "From Mshairfeh."
I take another look, and now I can see it. "Kawthar? How are you? What's new?" Four years ago, she was one of my students in the 10th grade at the girls' school in Mshairfeh where I taught as a Peace Corps Volunteer. "Do you come here every day from Mshairfeh?"
"Ali works here, and I come with him." Clearly I'm supposed to know who Ali is, too, so I smile and nod as if I understand, and change the subject a little. "There are two girls from Bleela [the village down the hill from Mshairfeh] who work at the college and come every morning, too!" She doesn't know them off hand, but maybe she'll figure it out and they can share the carpool burden that much more.
Ultimately, Kawthar can't help me find the clinic, and I really need it, so we part ways, but now I'll be sure to say hello when I can.

It's not a surprise that Ghadeer, Alia, Aaliya and Aiat remember me, or Amal whom I visited to congratulate on her Tawjihi results, or even the girl from my 8th grade class I encountered on the bus the other day. It's not surprising that Hadeel, Ziad, Khaled, FaraH and other little kids from my neighborhood remember me. But if you were to ask me which of my students was most likely to pick me out of a crowd in Amman and introduce herself, it wouldn't be Kawthar!

My 8th graders, May 2005

You see, the Jordanian 10th grade classroom is a very polarized place. By this time in their school careers, students like Alaa and Senabel knew that they would likely pass the Tawjihi and go on to university, and they were a joy to teach, really motivated and diligent. The other half of the class, including poor Kawthar, knew they would fail the Tawjihi, and that their only option in life was going to be to get married and have babies. They weren't going to get the pick of the litter in husbands, either! These girls came to school only because they could spend those hours with their friends instead of scrubbing floors, changing diapers and cooking for their mothers at home. Consequently, they were much more interested in socializing than learning, making them a classroom management nightmare.

It was my first year of teaching, and as a product of the American self-esteem culture, I guess I figured they just hadn't been given much of a chance to see themselves as learners. I had seen how other teachers treated this class, only letting Alaa, Senabel and a few other "smart" girls answer questions, not caring whether the rest of the class was keeping up or not. I used to try to include Kawthar and other troublemakers in classroom exercises. In retrospect, perhaps they thought I was trying to embarrass them, setting them up for ridicule, or trying to make a point about how "stupid" they were. In any case, it never went well, and it didn't help classroom discipline.

I do remember quite clearly how the headmistress lined Kawthar and other 10th graders up in front of the whole school at morning assembly one morning, and had each of them publicly paddled for failing to behave in my classroom. I was appalled, needless to say, and when I walked into their English class a little later, I found those girls, Kawthar chief among them, in furious, mortified tears. They berated me for taking a private matter of classroom discipline in front of the whole school. I'm not sure they believed me when I said that I had not uttered a word to the headmistress about their behavior in weeks (frankly, I'd given up thinking any such thing would make the least bit of difference), but that clearly one of their classmates had decided that the issue of their failure to respect their teacher had to be taken further up the chain of command. (I'm pretty sure it was the headmistress's daughter who tattled.) Ultimately, as I could have easily predicted, this public humiliation did nothing to improve the classroom environment.

Given my history with Kawthar, I would fully expect her to, at best, not admit she knew me, or at worst, to deliberately avoid me. I'm pretty sure I would in her shoes. But maybe, when it came right down to it, I really did make a positive impression on her and some of the other girls I felt were beyond my reach. I hope that's true. It seemed pretty hopeless, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, to make much of any effect on our students' English language within the constraints of the Ministry of Education's curricular requirements. We tried to focus on living as examples of strong, independent, ethical men and women giving back to communities in need. We tried to fan every spark of learning we spotted. I used to tell myself that if I couldn't get every student to pass their English exams, I could at least do my best to convince even the students who struggled the most that they could at least learn something. I hoped that maybe they would pass this on to their own children, and stop the cycle of "Don't ask those students. They're stupid. They can't be taught."

My 15 Minutes Remain Elusive

I finally found the YouTube broadcast of the panel that Queen Noor of Jordan participated in at last year's ServiceNation Summit.

I was sitting in my 2nd grade classroom at the Modern American School, having just sent my students off to gym class, when my phone rang. I put down the math homework I was grading, and picked up the phone, pleased by the serendipity of its timing. It wasn't a number I recognized, but I answered anyway.

"Is this Maryah? My name is Barbara, and I'm the Chief of Staff for Queen Noor." I was glad I was sitting down. "Her Majesty is participating in a panel in New York City next week, and someone recommended you as a Peace Corps Volunteer who loved Jordan enough to come back again. I wondered if I could get some stories from you about the importance of Peace Corps, and international service."

Of course, there are few things I love more than talking about my travels abroad, and especially about Peace Corps. I told her many of my favorite stories, including the story of the Jebel Bani Hamida bus station, which she thought would be too controversial for her purposes. Most importantly, I talked to her about Peace Corps' Third Goal, to bring knowledge of my host culture back to America. For the first time, I explained, I had come home from somewhere that people really cared about. Even the most unexpected people, housewives who'd never been 100 miles from home and never seemed interested in international affairs, had a thousand questions about Arabs, Muslims, Islam, women in the Middle East, public opinion of America in the Muslim world, the education system in Jordan, etc. And unlike the few questions I would get about the places I've lived in Europe, when it came to Jordan, people were very conscious that they really had no idea what the answers to their questions would be. People really listened to what I had to say.

Due to computer problems, I've not seen more than two thirds of the video myself, and I haven't yet heard Her Majesty mention anything that might have come from me. Nevertheless, what she and others have to say about public service, international service, and its importance to international relations are worth hearing.

Ramadan, Village-Style

Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

I'd forgotten how much time Jordanians spend cooking! The women, mostly, but even Abu Tareq got involved in filling the qatayef I brought along in response to Wijdan's reply as to what she'd like me to contribute: Bring something sweet like you!

I arrived in Mshairfeh around noon, laden down with juice, dates, cigarettes and the fixings for qatayef. Wijdan is always asking me when I'll be coming back to visit, and I had promised her I'd come during Ramadan, because it just doesn't feel like Ramadan here in Amman, without my Jordanian family to break the fast with. I know, though, that she can barely afford to feed her own children, so I always try to bring something along. Fruit juice because I know they never get anything but Tang. Dates because it's sunna to break your fast with a date. Cigarettes because she always asks for them (though this time I didn't think to bring a lighter, which she also needed). And qatayef because I love to eat one or two, but can't eat a whole batch, and although I know how to make them, I'm not very good at it!I hadn't even been there an hour when everyone gathered in the kitchen. Wijdan was making bread dough to be baked in her new oven later. Abu Tareq and the girls shredded dates, added them to the raisins and coconut I'd brought, folded them into the little pancake qatayef, and pinched the edges closed to make little half-moon pastries.

Then we all napped. There's a lot of napping during Ramadan, especially in these hot, long summer days of fasting. The other common way of passing the time and taking your mind off your stomach is to read Qur'an, but I chose the napping route!

Then, around 4 o'clock, we gathered back in the kitchen and spent the next 3 hours on cooking. Salad, siniiya, kufteh, qatayef, bread, rice.... And all the while watching little Taqwa (18 months) wander around the kitchen and take one bite of every vegetable (even raw potatoes!), bowl and plate, while Ghadeer (18 years) asked every 10 minutes, "Ya Maryah! What time is it?"

That said, there is no better seasoning than hunger, and when we finally tucked into the meal, I tucked away so much delicious food that it hurt for an hour!

Whose Education Is It, Then?

Amman, Jordan

I've said I like teaching business people because they know the value of their own education. They know how many hours they had to work for the money to pay for it, and they know the exact monetary value of success. But sometimes even business people have to be reminded.

My Beginner 1&2 classes are my favorite classes, because students come in knowing almost nothing, and make visible, often remarkable progress. This was especially true for a class we designed especially for Abu Dia3 and his colleagues, who arrived without even any confidence in their knowledge of the alphabet. Now he's in Beginner 1 proper, and while he finds the much faster pace challenging, in part because he's well into his forties, he was recently regaling his classmates with the new study habits he learned with me. "Miss Maryah, I copied out the whole text we did yesterday, spelling and punctuation and everything, and translated every word, and now I really know it!"
"Miss Maryah!" said another student. "Why don't you give us things to copy for homework? It would be so useful!"
"Why do you need me to assign it for homework, if you know it's useful? Why don't you just do it?"
"Because you need to threaten us with a big stick!" he laughed.

I have to say, it really hit a nerve. In my school-age students, I can understand it. Kids, whose parents are paying for their educations, too often see education as a burden, and will do as little as they can get away with. Unfortunately, when teachers resort to a big stick as motivation for completing homework, it has repercussions for the way those children see the world and education even as adults.

So I tucked my chin and lifted my eyebrows in my best disappointed schoolmarm face. "I'm not responsible for your education. I'm responsible for your lessons, but you are responsible for your education. If you think it would be a helpful exercise, you can certainly do it yourself."

You should have seen the sheepish looks on the faces of these businessmen half again or even twice my age...!

Language Is Intimately Interconnected

(As Are Our Lives, Now and Through History!)

Many is the student of Arabic who has complained about the vast disparity between Arabic and English and other European languages. "It's completely different from English!"

Well, not completely. Want to learn some advanced Arabic really fast? In this article are some cognates for terms most of us are familiar with from math, science, cooking, common luxuries, and nautical and equestrian lives!

Falcon

by Maryah Converse

I’m like a ship at light speed, flying a razor-edge
Between black hole and supernova.
You’re the star destroyer close on my tail,
With Luke on my right flank
And Han on the left,
But it’s the Dark Side I want,
Wrapped up in the light:
Nights in your arms and days at your side,
Kisses in your embrace, your words in my mind.
A little to the right and we fall forever;
A little left, we burn in glory.
But past the Kessel Run is illicit paradise
With stolen treasures and priceless bliss.
Tell me, Artoo, the course to plot
To reach Dagobar and the mystic art
Of keeping concentration
Above the beat of my heart,
To know when to hold back and live my life
And when to seek Cloud City in the sunset sky,
At the end of this razor’s edge
I’m trying to fly

I wrote this about completely different people than the ones who reminded me of it tonight, but the emotional core holds true!

Ryan's Home!

Just in time for a great party at Mutaz and Fadi's place!

She Puts the 'ifer in Joshifer!

Amman, Jordan

My first Arabic teacher is back in Jordan for a brief visit to her family, and we went out to dinner tonight. When I came to Jordan with Peace Corps, Jennifer was my Language and Culture Coordinator (LCF). She spent 5 hours 4 days a week teaching Arabic to me, Naureen, Audra and Jeremy (and a couple other trainees who left early). She also lived with us in the village of Ma'in, right next door to me. It was the first time she'd lived outside of Amman, and it was as much a culture shock for her as it was for us. Even though she, a Jordanian Christian, was living with Jordanian Christians in a village that had traditionally always been Christian, it was like another country. (I've always said that Amman isn't Jordan, it may as well be Eastern Europe minus the vodka!) Jennifer and I spent many evenings working through our culture shock together, and we stayed in touch throughout the rest of my Peace Corps Volunteer service.

Little did any of us know at the time, but Peace Corps Trainee Josh had a serious case of love at first sight of Jennifer, and not long after we became full-fledged Peace Corps Volunteers, he started getting to know Jennifer a little better. He was very discreet, and it was months before anyone but Josie knew anything about it! But once the secret was out, things moved fast. They were together as much as possible, and we started referring to them by just one name: Joshifer. By the end of my Peace Corps service, they were married, and on their way to a new life in Kansas City, Missouri.I kept telling Jennifer she was the bravest person I knew. Not only was she getting married and embarking on a new life a deux, but she was leaving all her family and friends behind and moving to America, too! She knew it would be hard, she told me tonight, and she'd thought she was prepared. But when I went to their American wedding reception in Missouri later that summer, it was clear that it was harder than expected. The sounds at night were different, she was struggling to find a job, she didn't have any friends except her sister-in-law to keep her company while Josh was at work.... Having grown up with bars on her windows like everyone in Jordan, she didn't feel safe in her home in America. It was a much greater challenge than she expected.

Three years later, she's quite well acclimated to the States. She and Josh are now living in Washington, DC, which is a city full of Arabs and Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, including many of our fellow Volunteers from Jordan. Jennifer has old friends and new ones, a fascinating job as a media analyst, and a husband she adores and who adores her. But it's been 3 years since she's seen her family and friends, longer than she expected, and that has started to take it's toll on her now.

It was fun, too, to compare notes on how Jordan had changed since we left it three years ago. She confirmed what I had only suspected (not being particularly familiar with Amman in my Peace Corps days), that women were generally far more conservatively dressed - more hijab and niqab than ever. She had noticed in Cozmo grocery store a phenomenon I became very familiar with at the Modern American School, children who spoke English with a heavy Arab accent, but hardly spoke Arabic at all, most likely because they'd been raised, not by their parents, but by their Filipina or Indonesian or Sri Lankan maids (of which Jennifer says there are a lot more than she's used to seeing). We compared our impressions of Jebel Webdeh, too. I know that neighborhood as the trendy place for young expats - students and young professionals - to live and hang out, but Jennifer knows it as the very Arab neighborhood where she grew up.

It's so nice to see her back in Jordan! I only wish she could stay longer....

A Premature Welcome Home Party

or, History Teachers Are Supposed To Be Good With Dates!

Amman, Jordan

From Welcome Home Party That Wasn't

Well, he can't say we didn't try!
I've been trying for a month to find out when Ryan's coming home, and he hasn't answered my emails, IMs or Facebook messages. He told Christine and Shauna that he was coming back to Jordan a week after them, which would have been the 18th. Then he finally appeared on IM and told me that he was going to be back on the 16th at 5pm. I told Shauna and Christine, and they just figured he'd flaked (not unusual!) and given them the wrong date. So we planned a surprise party, and invited all our mutual friends (mine and Ryan's).

So I got home from work at 7pm expecting to find Christine and Ryan in my apartment. But all I found was Christine. And we waited, and we waited, and then it was after 8pm, and we decided he must not be coming. Typical, flakey Ryan! But the guests had already arrived at Shauna and Christine's, so we went ahead and had a fabulous Welcome Home party without him!

From Welcome Home Party That Wasn't

Towards midnight, when people had started to leave, we finally got Ryan on the phone from the States.
Christine: Where are you? We're having your Welcome Home party without you, you idiot!
Ryan: What do you mean? Did I tell you I was coming today?
Christine: You told me and Shauna the 18th, and you told Maryah the 16th!
Ryan: No, no! I'm leaving on the 16th! You know me. You should have figured it would be the average, the 17th!
Christine (rolling her eyes): Oh, yeah. Our bad!
Ryan: I'll be there tomorrow at 5pm!

From Welcome Home Party That Wasn't

But that's not all! At 2am, Christine got a phone call and I got an email. Ryan's flight had been cancelled, he would be leaving Detroit on the 17th now, and arriving on the 18th at 5pm. I sure hope that's right, because he doesn't have a key to get into the apartment while I'm at work, so Christine has to know when to let herself into the apartment to meet him!

We Thought You Were Palestinian!

From Welcome Home Party That Wasn't

Meanwhile, I had another funny Arabic experience. I ordered the pizza for the party, because my spoken Arabic is much better than Shauna and Christine's. It took a long time, still, to get the directions across, and eventually I had to fetch Heba to do it for me. Meanwhile, friends of Shauna, one Lebanese, the other Palestinian, heard me on the phone in Arabic. "Who is that girl?" they asked Shauna. "Where's she from?" And when Shauna told them, they didn't believe her, so they came and sat next to me. "Where are you from?"
"I'm American."
"No, but you speak perfect Arabic! Your parents must be Arab!"
"My parents are American. My family's been in America for 400 years."
"But you sound just like a Palestinian!"
"Heba! You've infected me with your Palestinian accent! They're saying I don't sound like Bani Hassan anymore, I sound Palestinian!"
"I'm Lebanese, but he's Palestinian. There's nothing wrong with a Palestinian accent!"
"But you don't understand! I'm Bani Hassan! Maryah al-7ara7sheh! Just ask anyone in Jerash about Maryah the Foreigner. They'll tell you, She's not a foreigner. She's our daughter, Maryah al-7ara7sheh!"

...and what did they say on their way out the door? "Ma3a as-salaama, ya SalTiya! (Goodbye, girl from Salt!)"

Where the Women Are Strong...

Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

Wijdan: I have to tell you something, Maryah. I'm pregnant again. ... Sometimes I hate myself.

It's sad, because despite circumstances that make lesser women bitter and mean, Wijdan's a great mother. Her eldest daughter, Ghadeer, is one of the brightest students in the village, and Wijdan's doing her best to make sure that Ghadeer gets at least one university degree, even if it means no new Eid clothes for the rest of the family, and that she get it honestly. At the end of last semester, Wijdan went to meet one of Ghadeer's professors. "Did she get good marks? Did she deserve her good marks? Because if I hear that you've given my daughter a mark she didn't deserve, I'll go all the way to the Minister about it!" Her other children may not be particularly apt pupils, but she does her best to insure that they work their very hardest. Kids will be kids and complain about homework and housework and responsibility, but ultimately her children are good people.

That alone can't have been easy, given the influence of their uncle and cousins, who have the respect of almost no one, and are outright despised by many. As my father said when he visited, "I knew that was Wijdan's brother-in-law the moment he appeared, because everyone got stiff and angry. And I do not like that man at all." They didn't even have a common language.

And yet, when Wijdan's eldest son was accused during my visit of giving his female cousin's number to a young man who was making inappropriate phone calls, the family was outraged, and it was righteous outrage. We all know full well that he would no more give out his cousin's number than he would his sister's! He puts on a good facade of rebellious independence, but at his core he's fiercely loyal with strong moral convictions. He is what the Arabs call "ibn al-halaal," a kosher son.

It's easy to see where the children get this from. Wijdan is a one-woman contradiction of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, which says that if basic needs are not met, an individual will not be driven to pursue personal growth or societal development. Here's a woman who can barely put food on the table for her 7 children, but dedicates enormous amounts of time and energy to her position as the chair of the village's social welfare society. Not only that, but she's become involved through the local LDS Volunteers in helping other welfare societies in the area. As she was peeling the last of her potatoes for breakfast, she said to me, "If I could, I would take care of everyone. I would make sure that every girl could afford to go to university. I would help everyone."

Quote of the Day:
Abu Tareq: Umm Tareq never teaches me any English!
Hadeel (6 y.o.): What do you want with English? You're a man!

It was the most I'd laughed all week. But it reflects a definite phenomenon in many Jordanian communities, whereby women are pushing their daughters to learn English and get higher degrees because it's their only way out of poverty and misery, but putting far less emphasis on the education of their sons, who have many other options that don't require a university degree.

Strengthening Local Aid Societies

Mshairfeh, Jerash, Jordan

Anyone who knows me well knows that I have very little patience for people who lecture others in order to convert them to any particular religious belief. But anyone who truly knows me knows that I have no objections to people who seek to change hearts through their actions. Jesus preached social transformation by deeds, not words, and I have nothing but admiration for those who embody their love of Christ by doing good works to benefit others. While I regularly turn away the Mormons who come knocking at my door in the States, I have great admiration for the work that LDS volunteers are doing in Jordan.

On one hand, it's about the effect they have had on individual people who are dear to me, namely Wijdan's family and the social welfare society she chairs in Mshairfeh. In addition to the material support they provided for the latter, the previous LDS Volunteers provided tremendous moral and financial aid to Wijdan. In short, the series of LDS Volunteers who have aided Mshairfeh have been good friends to Wijdan and her family. They supported her through a major marital crisis, they've helped her manage the complex politics of chairing a voluntary society, they hired her for occasional translation jobs, and they took her to the hospital and home again when Taqwa was born.

On the other hand, it's the philosophy of development that the current LDS Volunteers were espousing to me at Wijdan's. Their impact has now spread from a dozen societies to over 3 dozen societies in the Irbid and Jerash areas, and in part their philosophy has changed because it's become impractical to serve everyone directly. At the same time, however, it has become possible for societies to help each other, with the LDS Charities merely facilitating, coordinating and helping to provide funds and supplies for the projects in place. The schoolbags they're providing for local children are being sewn and filled by a local society. Another society is assembling hygiene kits. Another is assembling kits for newborns. Another society is teaching villages in the region how to grow and market mushrooms. When a container load of wheelchairs arrives shortly in Jordan, they will be working with Peace Corps Volunteers and local societies like Wes's center in Irbid and Arwen's family's charity Eleanor's Project to distribute the wheelchairs where they're most needed (perhaps in response to the fate of the last load of wheelchairs, which ended up in some local official's private stash). Sustainability is their byword, they said, and I believe it's the only way to go! "Strengthening Families" is their motto, but they're doing more than that; they're strengthening the grass-roots civil society movements that support local families, too.

In fact, it's not just about what they do in Jordan. I remember how impressed I was with what I'd heard about the LDS Charities when I was mucking out houses in New Orleans. It took FEMA, famously, months to get relief supplies into the areas hit by Hurricane Katrina. The LDS Charities, on the other hand, had the essentials packed in container trucks and the drivers on standby 3 days before the hurricane struck, and were on the road as soon as it was clear where they would be needed. Consequently, their supplies were on site precisely when they were needed.

Amman: One Big Village!

Amman, Jordan

On my way to work this morning, I saw a fabulous sight from my taxi: a donkey yearling wandering down the street in front of the Safeway. It reminded me of a photograph one of my Peace Corps friends took several years back in Abdoun, the poshest neighborhood in the city:
This may have been 3 years ago, but it still happens. Just a year ago, I was having dinner with Marissa and her Arabic professor's brother and his wife in Abdoun. They told us several stories of herds of sheep in the empty lot across from their home.

Tawjihi Results Keeping You Up At Night?

Jordanian authorities confiscate hundreds of driving licences

The celebration was so raucous, Bob could hear it all the way from Washington DC! (Well, only because he streams Jordanian radio at work!)

Like the Germans, Swiss, Chinese and many others, Jordanians (and Saudis, Egyptians and most other Arabs) take a comprehensive school-leaving exam called the Tawjihi. Like A-levels or SAT subject tests, they take an exam in every school subject: English, Math, Geography, Religion, Chemistry, Computer Science, etc. The results not only determine whether a student can study at university, they also determine what subjects they're permitted to study. The exams were mid-June, and students have been waiting on pins and needles ever since to get their results, which were announced on national television Wednesday and Thursday nights. Wednesday night the general scores were released, and Thursday the detailed subject scores.

As a result, there were fireworks on every side of my house, cars circling the neighborhood honking repeatedly, and shouting in the street. It was so loud that I kept having to pause my DVD because I couldn't hear the TV over the neighbors' celebrations.

On the other hand, I have to say that fireworks are an improvement over the previously preferred method of celebration. I heard recently that fireworks were legalized about a decade ago in Jordan in an attempt to reduce the use of celebratory gunshots at weddings and other gatherings. Fireworks seem far safer!

Walk Jordan, Clean Orjan

or, Was She Just Speaking Arabic?

Orjan, Ajlun, Jordan

Two days ago, I was in a terrible quandry. I had paid my money to go with my supervisor Nina on an overnight trip to Dana Nature Preserve with the Friends Of Archaeology and Heritage (FOAH); it's a trip I was really excited about, because it's complicated to get to Dana without having your own car and camping gear. Then I found out that Walking Jordan was going to the Orjan Soap House, which I've been wanting to see since Tareef's trip to Wadi Feynan Eco Lodge, and even moreso after reading in the Jordan Times last Friday about the new Calligraphy Centre and the Orjan Soap House. So I wavered between pleased and disappointed when the FOAH trip was cancelled, and I was able to go on the Ajlun hike with Walk Jordan. I even talked Jad into going along and taking fabulous pictures (even if I tried to make him think it was his idea...)!

From Orjan Soap House

I've been to Orjan before. My friend Betsy was a Peace Corps Volunteer there, and I went and visited her one weekend. I have very fond memories of the visit. We were invited to dinner at her colleague's house, a geography teacher from the Haddad family, where I had the best, moistest, most tender chicken of my Peace Corps days. We also visited her neighbor, and I distinctly remember her daughter, who was mentally and/or emotionally handicapped and is usually terrified of strangers, but came right into the sitting room and sat down beside me almost as soon as I arrived. (Perhaps, as Karla did years ago, she took one look at me and thought, Now, there's someone who won't reject me!) Her brother absolutely adored Betsy, and brought us the geography book Betsy had brought him from America to show us what he had learned.

From Orjan Soap House

On this trip, we started at the Orjan Soap House, which has a gorgeous collection of olive oil soaps made from all local products. Then Dr. Ramzi handed out black plastic trashbags and plastic gloves, and we set off down the trail. We filled at least two dozen trash bags with bottles, tissues, potato chip bags and other trash, and that was just what was lying right along the roadside! It's a terrible shame, really. Orjan is a beautiful little valley, full of figs, plums, apples, almonds, and fat, gnarled olive trees known locally as "Roman olives," dating back to Byzantine days and before. When my students in the village asked me, as they often did, "Is Jordan beautiful?" I would say wholeheartedly yes. But when my students would finish their potato chips and throw the bag on the ground, I would say, "How is Jordan beautiful when the whole country is one big trash can?" It was amazing to find that, even after we had collected all that trash, we stopped to rest under an enormous old tree, and when we got up to go to lunch in local homes, members of our own group left soda cans and candy wrappers right there on the ground behind them. Oh, Jordan! Sometimes you frustrate me!

From Orjan Soap House

Where are you from?

About half the people on this trip were old friends from Tareef - Bassem, Ahmed and his kids, Salah, Rasha, Moayad and Taymour whose photos I'm constantly stealing, Nara who will soon be my roommate, etc - but there were also many people I'd never seen before. There was a predictable mix of English and Arabic, however, and I was no exception. Jad is, by his own admission, selfishly determined to practice his English with me, and I understand the urge to take advantage of a native speaking friend ... plus, it's just easier for me. Rasha would walk past us and, as usual, look me right in the eye and demand, "3arabi! 3arabi! [Arabic! Arabic!]" which never fails to delight me. And, as usual, I got the chance to eavesdrop on plenty of Arabic conversations, which is a treat for me, as I am usually surrounded by English. And several people got the story, from me or one of my Tareef friends, of how I had come to Jordan, how I'd acquired my Arabic, and what I'm doing here now. One such explanation was particularly fun:

I was making arrangements with Nara to come and see the apartment before she moves in on the 1st, and because she'd been insisting all day on speaking Arabic and not English (and her Arabic is amazingly improved since we first met!), I also spoke to her in Arabic. And as we were making our arrangements, I heard a voice behind my shoulder say (in Arabic), "Is she speaking Arabic?"
I smiled as Rasha replied for me, "Of course! She speaks Arabic very well!"
"But, she speaks English, so I thought-"
Now I interjected, with a grin to soften the sarcasm, "So everyone who speaks English doesn't speak Arabic?"
"No, but your accent.... Where are you from?"
And before I could respond, Jad jumped in. "She's from Bleela! She's a real Jordanian! Her mother's American, right, Maryah? But she's Jordanian." And for a few minutes, this poor guy at my shoulder couldn't figure out whether to believe Jad or not. I just grinned, wondering where this would go. After all, Jad hadn't said anything untrue about my parentage; it was merely misleading. (When I was in Egypt, I did manage to convince some people that my father was Jordanian and I was a native speaker of Arabic, so I wondered if it would work in Jordan proper.)
But Rasha took pity on the poor guy and explained that I was not Jordanian at all, I'd just lived here for awhile.

From Orjan Soap House

Keri, the Dead Sea, and good ole Mohammad Naser

Dead Sea Panorama, Jordan

From Keri Goes Biking

This afternoon, my roommate from last summer, Keri, joined Tareef for a Panorama Sunset Ride from Madaba towards the Dead Sea. She's a much better cyclist than I, especially since I had the flu this week, but I was pretty pleased with how well I did. This was my second time on this route since my month in Budapest, and the last time I did this route was disastrous. I even had to resort to the bus! But this time I walked less than on any of my half dozen trips down this road.

It was also wonderful to watch the sun set and chat with Keri, about what we're both doing with our lives, reminiscing about Peace Corps, and dreaming about the future. Not to mention catching up on the life of one Mohammad Naser. One day last summer, it occurred to me that I knew someone other than Keri at the University of Arizona - Tucson. My Peace Corps TEFL trainer, Mohammad Naser, had gotten a Fulbright to study there mid-way through my time in Peace Corps. I mentioned him to Keri, but she didn't know him. Since then, however, she's taken 3ammiyya classes with him, and it was interesting to hear what he's been doing. He's married with a very small child, still working on his PhD, and was recently given an award by the university for his workshops on non-violence. I think that's the kind of role that would really suit him. I dredged up some of my most memorable stories of Mohammad, and it was fascinating to think back to how lost and timid I was then, compared to being Kitty's "Jordan guru" now!

The Amman Party Circuit

It's been a rash of parties around here.

From Sam and Ester's Wedding

Thursday night, a couple friends of mine got married in a fascinatingly multi-cultural wedding. Ester is Czechoslovakian (literally ... one parent Czech, the other Slovak!), currently lives in Switzerland with her mother and her mother's partner and his son, and has also lived in Germany. Her friends and family came from all those countries. Sameh is Palestinian-Jordanian, but he and his brother lived in Canada for years, so his brother and a bunch of their friends came from Canada. And I've known them both for almost a year, and know a lot of his cousins and aunts and uncles, so it was a fun gathering. I also met Ester's mother and her partner at Sam and Ester's engagement party, and it was great to see them again ... and to practice my German! As I told Koni, aside from a little bit in Hungary, I think the last time I really spoke German was at that engagement party. Now I not only had Koni, his sons, the girlfriend of one of them, and Ester's mom to speak High German to, but also some other Swiss women who got a real kick out of my Baernduutsch and spoke Swiss German with me. That was a rare treat, indeed!

Friday night I had a very nice birthday party at my place - equally multicultural, with Heba bringing along her UN friends, my roommate Keri from last summer who had a great time practicing her Azeri with Darius from the UN, the French girl who's subletting from us this summer, some Jordanian friends, some American friends, my Scottish co-worker and her Jordanian boyfriend.... And a number of those people also went to dinner with me last night for a nice, juicy, fat USDA steak.... Yum! If only there'd been pie....

Then there was a party on Saturday night at Sameh's cousin's new husband's house that I wasn't going to go to, until I found out that one of my Peace Corps friends was going to be there. (He's also basically my cousin, since he lived with and was adopted by the same Bani Hassan tribe that I did.) Andy's teaching Arab kids in Nazareth in Israel, and I've been trying to catch him in Amman every time he's been here recently, with no luck until this past evening. But at this point, he'll be in Jordan pretty much until his school year starts in Israel, so I should be seeing a lot more of him. In fact, he converted to Islam and got married this week to a Jordanian girl he started dating in Peace Corps. Anyway, it was great fun to catch up with him, and watch him quizzing all his Peace Corps Language and Culture Facilitators (or LCFs for short) on just what he was supposed to do the next day to get married.... I'm looking forward to meeting his beautiful wife this weekend! Andy is an amazing photographer, and his pictures of Noureen are just incredible!

I don't know how I ended up, for once in my life, in the in-crowd, but it's quite fun!

A New Friday Ritual

Amman, Jordan

As the summer heats up, I find it harder and harder to see myself on a bike in the late morning sun. I'm not alone, it seems, as Tareef has begun offering more sunset bike rides, departing at 3pm as the day is beginning to cool off. This leaves my Friday mornings free, and the timing couldn't be better, because the summer brings a dramatic rise in Friday morning offerings.

I could go to the Friday morning flea market in Abdali, and that's on the agenda for next week, as I'd love to have some new clothes for summer but can't bear to spend much money.

From Fridays

There's always Friday breakfast at Wild Jordan and Books@Cafe, though, and now I'm free to indulge in three courses of breakfast deliciousness, sweetened with the delightful company of my best girlfriends (last Friday Emily, this Friday Heba, and maybe Keri next Friday). Not to mention, of course, that the views of East Amman are hard to beat. While Amman is quite gritty at the street level, from above it can be quite a stunning landscape of pueblo-like tiers of block houses, and occasional bursts of green like the Darat al-Funuun garden.

From Fridays

Then there's Suq Jara, where I spent far too much money this last Friday buying handmade goods at the booths of local artists. A creation of the neighboring Jordan River Foundation, Suq Jara is open every Friday all summer, offering not only art, crafts and jewelry galore, but musical and theatre performances, hookah smoking, and carnival-type food. Heba and I had the most delicious watermelon slushies on Friday.

I'm looking forward to more Fridays like this as the summer goes on!

Money, Money, Money!

Marj al-Hamam, Jordan

The Managing Director has been fretting and fussing over money and clients. Just as world economies were tanking, we were trying to open a new business. As the daughter of not one but two small business owners, it has been fascinating for me to watch this big business unfold. I know that a huge amount of money must be poured into a new business: investment in overhead, staff, marketing and training. In opening a school, you must also invest in a lot of "disposable" assets like books, paper and other materials for students.

We're very fortunate that the CEO knows this about business, is convinced of both the need and the market for what Bell can offer, and is willing and able to invest a great deal without much return. In fact, as I was discussing with colleagues recently, I don't think his businesses are really about money at all. Of course profit is a motivator, but I think he has a very strong, progressive vision about the future of Jordan and the role progressive ideas of education have to play in that future. Despite the many bumps and growing pains we continue to encounter, I believe that we're off to a promising start on a bright future.

Nevertheless, at present we are hemorrhaging money at an alarming rate, and the CFO is frantic. It's his job to be frantic, of course. He's supposed to make the books balance, and Bell is seriously upsetting that balance. For us, it means we're tightening our belts everywhere, and the strain is starting to show on the staff. I know I'm feeling it!

Still, things are looking up. Our Young Learners program has been a huge success, with about 4 times as many students as our maximum projections. I spent most of the first day of the program calling every English teacher I know in Amman (which is many, fortunately!), and having them call all their friends, to find 7 more teachers for the second day of classes. We are also beginning to sign more big corporate clients, and there's beginning to be talk of making a million by New Years ... talk that doesn't seem too terribly over-optimistic! The students we have keep re-enrolling, and say very complimentary things about us when they do. I'm becoming quite fond of our corporate students, even when their companies can make our administrative duties frustrating, because corporate students have such a dedication to really learning. They need English, now more than ever to keep their nice corporate jobs, and for the most part they're willing to do almost any silly game or activity I've asked them to do in the classroom.

It's been incredibly exciting to see this place open and grow, even as it's been frustrating in other ways.

Aa, ya Sid Ismahan!

Amman, Jordan

The encounter took me back to my first weeks in the village in Peace Corps, when the pictures were published from Abu Ghraib Prison in a two-page, full-color spread in Al-Ghad newspaper. Things are not so tense around here anymore. There seems to be a vague sense of cautious, qualified optimism here about the future of Iraq, or at least the prospect of Pres. Obama getting America out of the mess. Still, there are awkward moments.

Yesterday evening, as I was coming home from work, I met our new neighbors here on the third floor. Two or three middle-aged Iraqi men now live in the apartment across the landing. At least one of them speaks excellent English, and at first he translated for the other, until they figured out that I understand Arabic. That was when the other guy started rolling up the sleeve of his dishdash to show me a long, puckered scar that curved from his wrist around his forearm to his elbow. Then he explained that his son had been killed by the Americans in Iraq. I think I said, "God be merciful upon him," the usual response to a death in Arabic. After that, I lost the thread of the conversation, except that I felt sure that they wanted something from me. Then they excused themselves - they'd been on their way out the door anyway - and I let myself into my apartment. It was awkward, and I sat on the couch for several minutes trying to figure out what in the world I could have said.

I suppose there's nothing to say, really. Yes, as Miss Ismahan said to me years ago, those are my brothers over there in uniform in Iraq. They are my people. But that, ultimately, is why I am here. As John F Kennedy envisioned for the Peace Corps, as Rotary International envisions for their Youth Exchange Program, so I see myself in the world. Perhaps it's naive or idealistic in some way, but this is what I do: I travel not merely because I love to discover new places and meet new people, but because I want those people to see another side of America. I write this blog and run my mouth constantly about my travels because I want people back home and my friends elsewhere to understand the people and places I encounter.

Like Rotary and the Peace Corps, I believe that if we understand each other better, if we know that real human beings live in those supposed "bad places" on the map, people who love their children and struggle to eat and stay warm and put their kids through school just like us.... If we understand that all the places of the world are full of people just like us, then we won't have to fight each other. The Bible says, "Love thy neighbor" and "Love thy enemy." The Quran says, "We made you into tribes and peoples so that you might know each other better." The US Constitution says that "all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness." The UN Charter affirms "faith in fundamental human rights, in the dignity and worth of the human person." The Principles of the Unitarian Universalist Association "affirm and promote ... Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part." These are all fundamental elements of my moral, even my spiritual being.

While there is nothing I can do about my neighbor's loss, I hope that it is clear from my actions and attitudes to others that I am trying to mitigate that loss (as much as any death can be mitigated) by trying to work in whatever way I can towards a world where such losses can be prevented.

To my neighbors' great credit, they did bring me sweets this evening. No apology was made, and I would have rejected any attempt to make one, but I did see this offering as some tacit recognition of the awkward position I'd been put in last night. There was some question in the office this week as to whether the very considerate actions of Jordanians - e.g. how taxi drivers will, immediately and without being asked, pass you a box of tissues if you sneeze - were sincere, or because they expected to be berated. I think the Arabs really are that considerate; hospitality is not just a historic value of Arab culture ... it is a very present and prominent one.

Sunset Panorama

Madaba & the Dead Sea, Jordan

From Dead Sea Sunset

I've done this trip half a dozen times before, so I could really feel what six weeks without Tareef did to me! I just hope the heat doesn't keep me away too much over the summer!

From Dead Sea Sunset

Everything is amazing, nobody is happy...

Amman, Jordan, 06/06/2009, 2:50AM

Ahlan wa sahlan! Welcome to Jordan! You've been up all night on an airplane behind a row of teenage girls who don't know the meaning of the word quiet. The airport taxis are a protectionist racket, the almost-affordable taxi your employer arranged to meet you at the airport hasn't shown, you have the driver's number but the credit on your mobile phone has expired while you were in Hungary, all the kiosks in the airport are closed so you can't purchase more credit, and when you ask at the information counter for assistance, he shrugs and says, That's unfortunate. Welcome to Jordan. Ahlan wa sahlan. Ahlan. Ahlan.

Even as all of this is going through my head, I'm also thinking of this sketch from comedian Louis CK, "Everything is amazing, nobody is happy...":

of Hapsburgs & Hashemites

Budapest, Hungary

As the airport shuttle wended its way around the castle, over the river and through Pest, I wish I'd taken more time to see the city, to just walk around drinking in the sights, maybe playing with my camera a bit. I'll never be a photographer like Jad - let alone Moayad! - if I don't play around a lot. (Of course, that's much easier to bear when you don't have to pay for developing!) I wish I'd taken more time to contemplate and document what I would call the Hapsburg feel of Budapest. I've always said that Vienna is one of my all-time favorite cities, in part for its majestic architecture. Driving through Pest this evening, I almost felt like I was in Vienna again.

I'm finding it harder than expected to go back to Jordan. I really love Europe. I feel so comfortable there, even in a country where I don't speak a word of the language. (I think 'geselem' means 'thank you'....) I've been remembering when I was going back to Jordan after Sma's wedding, and from the Dulles Airport shuttle I saw a woman in a jelbaab and hijab and I thought, I'm going home! Now I look around me in the airport at the muhajjibaat, listening to the patter of Arabic, and I barely feel anything. Perhaps it's just the hour. I've been dreading this midnight flight for days ... maybe weeks! An overnight trans-Atlantic flight is fine. It allows for about 4 hours of sleep; you wake up disoriented, not well-rested, but having rested a little. Tonight I'll be lucky to get 2 hours between now and 5am.

Still, I'm returning to this new block of Beginners classes at Bell, full of new ideas, new strategies, and ready to take on the verb "to be" in new ways!

Get A Room!

Budapest, Hungary

Maybe I've just been living with the Arabs too long, but one thing strikes me every time I go out on the streets of Budapest. There are an awful lot of couples making out in public here! I don't just mean putting an arm around your significant other and giving them a little kiss. I'm talking about serious sucking face, here!

I mean, I'm happy for these people. I love that line in Thornton Wilder's Our Town when the mother says, "People are meant to go through this world in twos." And I remember the moment, in Jordan, when I decided that public displays of affection were an American right I had never fully appreciated, but that I would be taking advantage of as soon as I could get a boyfriend back in the States. (Of course, by the time Carter came along, I wasn't feeling the need to prove my American-ness quite so much, and didn't take advantage of that right quite as thoroughly as I'd thought I would.)

Still, I find myself staring with a sort of incredulous envy. On the one hand, I can't believe they're being quite so shameless in public. On the other, I wish I had someone to be shameless in public with!

I have to say, I can't exactly blame these girls, either. Maybe I've just been surrounded by Arab men for too long, whom I have trouble seeing as attractive given the disrespectful, sexist behavior I've seen so much of in the Jordanian bus stations. Whatever it is, I'm finding Hungarian men quite attractive. Tall, clean-cut, svelte…. It's so nice to be back in Europe!

CELTA-ology

Budapest, Hungary

When I went into the CELTA Training, I had very mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, I'd never had much for formal teacher training, and I knew it was hurting my teaching, regardless of how good my instincts might be. On the other hand, I remembered very clearly the education majors we'd tutored in the Writing Center, and was skeptical of just how much new information I'd get. But I've tried to keep an open mind, and keep my experience with Arabic classes at the front of my mind.

In the first year of graduate school, we used a very traditional textbook developed by Eckehart Schultz at the University of Leipzig, heavy on grammar and linguistics, and reading and writing. I loved it, and all my classmates hated it! The second year, we used the ubiquitous Al-Kitaab, which I found unsystematic, even chaotic, and endlessly frustrating. The rest of the class, however, was far happier with the new book's communicative approach of natural language. Upon consideration, it seemed pretty clear that the communicative approach really does work for most students, even if it doesn't work for me ... a good reason to learn how to teach it!

Now, more than half way through the course, I'm really glad I'm here, and I'm much more convinced that, given the kind of clear frameworks CELTA provides, the communicative approach really can work, and is an effective method for engaging and challenging students, as well as giving them skills to help them learn language from their environment. The communicative approach, as we've seen it here, also correlates quite closely with what I learned about inter-language and natural processes of language acquisition through the workshops I organized back in Indiana. While I still believe that the communicative classroom would drive me crazy as a student, as a teacher I'm becoming a convert!

What I'm interested in seeing in next week's sessions is how this can be applied to a beginners' classroom. With Beginner 1 students who only know how to ask and answer six questions, how do you make the classroom more communicative? Can beginners also learn through guided discovery? (I did that yesterday with my students, and it went brilliantly!)

I'm also hoping to have time to see some things this weekend. I've been in Budapest for more than two weeks. Other than one dinner out with Vicky and one trip to buy Kreinik braid at the mall for my cross-stitch project, I've only seen the city from my apartment to the school and back again!

Oy, vey!

Budapest, Hungary

Only a third of the way into my certification course, and all I can think is, "I'm so glad I don't have to teach today!" (Sorry, Sean!) This course is just exhausting! But ultimately I hope this will be a good thing....

Hung(a)ry without Hungarian

Budapest, Hungary

Yesterday I confessed to Carter how uncomfortable I am going to countries where I don't speak the language. "There are still places like that?" he asked.

Today, as I was trying to ask for the check for my goulash, I commented on how I feel like such a stupid American that I can't even ask for the check in Hungarian, and my new roommate assured me that with my German and Arabic, I was hardly a stupid American.

I could learn Hungarian, in between TEFL classes. I could learn just enough words to ask questions I wouldn't understand the answer to, add it to the list of increasingly random languages I know little bits of (Dutch, Kurdish, Swedish Battlestar Galactica subtitles...), and become even more confused. Or I could just spend the next four weeks asking, "English? Deutsch? 3arabi?" At least people will have options!

Not a Terrorist

Budapest, Hungary

When I first spotted him in line in front of me at the Queen Alia Airport in Amman, I was fascinated by his pants, which at first I thought were a pinstripe, Wahhabi-style (i.e. high-water) thobe. Then I realized they were extra-wide pants with an elastic waistband. I couldn't stop scrutinizing them from every angle, because I'd never seen anything like them (and I am my mother's daughter). Then I was struck by his long, Islamic cleric beard (I love how they stick out just like a pharoah's prosthetic) and how it contrasted with the rest of his head, which was shaved to mere millimeters. There was something oddly serene about the guy.

It wasn't until we were in the bus out to the airplane, he speaking in French on his phone with a plastic bag full of jumbo-sized Qur'aan at his feet, that the more ignominious thought crept in: "This is the kind of strikingly devout Muslim Arab we're supposed to be afraid of." And it was like the French philosopher's white horse. (Man could fly if he could just not think of a white horse.) Once the thought was in my head, despite my best intentions and years of getting to know Muslims of all stripes, both the devout and the more casual, I couldn't stop labeling him as a potential threat. He turned out to be sitting across the aisle from me, and every time he opened his Qur'aan or went to the bathroom, I thought, "This is the part in the movie where he turns out to be a terrorist!" Even knowing how ridiculous it was, I couldn't stop an edge of apprehension.

Imagine, then, what it must be like to work for the Transportation and Safety Administration. We spend a lot of time ridiculing and vilifying them for their post-9/11 paranoia, for all the things you have to unpack and take off to go through airport security today, for their alleged racial profiling. And there is something definitively Kafka-esque about the TSA. It's really pretty ludicrous to continue calling it "random selection" when every Arab or Muslim I know gets pulled aside for additional questioning every time they fly! It's our job as democrats and citizens to keep an eye on things, keep things from getting too Orwellian.

Still, if this were your job, day in and day out, to be suspicious of everyone, to be constantly under the pressure of preventing another shoe bomber, another liquid explosives ring, God forbid another hijacking...! If this were your job, wouldn't you be watching that devout young Muslim very carefully? Even with the best of intentions, with every reason to know that the vast majority of Muslims are peaceful people who love their families and their neighbors, I couldn't keep the doubt from creeping in. Imagine if doubting were my daily bread and butter!

Egyptians and the American Presidents

Cairo, Egypt

I never bring up politics in the Middle East, because politics are taken so personally here, but it comes up all the time anyway. I blame Bush ... and praise Obama. That's what I heard all week in Jordan.
Obama? Thumbs up!
Bush? We're glad he's gone!

Among others, I had a fabulous long conversation with a tour guide on the train to Luxor about American politics abroad, especially vis-a-vis Israel/Palestine. Why does America unconditionally support Israel? she wanted to know, and she displayed a deep understanding of American politics and political philosophy. American democracy, she said, is supposed to be about protecting the rights of minorities, about defending those who don't have the means to defend themselves against the tyranny of the majority (or the tyranny of the rich minority). Why, then, doesn't America step in and help protect Palestinians against the abuses of the Israelis? Yes, as the world's leading democracy, America has an imperative to protect and defend other democracies, but is Israel really a democracy? And what about Palestinians' attempts to establish democractic rule that are so roundly and routinely crushed by Israel and her allies? Besides, if America so loudly declares that Jordan and Egypt are so-called democratic states, then shouldn't America be supportive of their attempts to help their Palestinian brothers achieve freedom and democracy and self-determination?

Herself an Egyptian Christian, she also talked at length about how much she would like to go to the holy sites in Jerusalem, to see the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and walk the Stations of the Cross. As an Arab, however, she can't. Few Americans realize, as they talk about the Jewish state and Islamic parties, how many Arab Christians are caught in the middle. As Palestinian Christians like to say, they were the first Christians, and there are still many of them trapped in the West Bank and Gaza. Still others, like this Egyptian woman, can't travel to see the sites in Israel/Palestine that are holy to them, because they are concerned that their Arab neighbors will accuse them of supporting Israeli occupation with their tourist shekels. I wonder if the Christian Right takes this into account when they declare that it is their moral obligation as Christians to support the establishment of a Jewish State in Israel and drive the Palestinians out of the Holy Land.

She, like me, was heartened by President Barack Obama's first press interview as president, on no less than the Qatari satellite TV station Al-Arabiya, vowing to listen to Muslim and Arab as well as Israeli concerns. At the same time, I fear that Arabs may be pinning too much hope on Pres. Obama. Yes, he is the head of one of the most powerful nations in the world, the so-called "Leader of the Free World," but he's just a man. Just one man with a dedicated Republican opposition and serious domestic concerns that also compete for his attention. He's done a great deal of good on domestic issues in his first 100 days, but already Americans are pillorying the man for not doing enough. What happens when we get to his first State of the Union address, the end of his first year in office, and he hasn't yet solved the economic mess or brought peace to the Middle East? Idealism is all well and good, but as Pres. Obama himself is quickly learning in his new job, one's idealism must be tempered by realism.

Behind the Digital Revolution

Egypt, Cairo

I picked up all my photos today from a Kodak center down the street from Megan's apartment, and I'm very disappointed. I don't know if I over-baked my film, or if it was already bad when I bought it, or if it was just the development process. I do know that this photo shop scratched my negatives, so I'm leaning towards the theory that they did a generally bad job of developing my photos.

I'm going to try going back to the developer in University Street in Amman, and see if he does a more professional job, and we'll see if Hungary's developers are any better, but I'm beginning to think my camera is irreparably obsolete. Even though I'm years away from being able to afford a digital camera as advanced as my current film camera, I think I'm going to have to bite the bullet and buy a digital camera, or else give up on photography altogether in Jordan and rely on Facebook for my scrapbooking needs....

If anyone (Jad?) can recommend a decent film developer in Amman, I'm getting desperate!

Out With Megan One More Time

Cairo, Egypt
This was one of the things I was really looking forward to about going to Egypt ... seeing the town with Megan and her friends! We started out with a rooftop drink downtown. The girl with the very short hair is Lisa, who will be doing research in Amman this summer. She told us some fascinating stories about how she is repeatedly mistaken for a boy (7abiibi) in Arab culture, and the kind of trouble this gets her into. When she tries to explain that she's a girl, she's met with disbelief or worse; sometimes she tries to play the part of 7abiibi, but if she ever slips out of character, that's much worse. Interestingly, although in Israel/Palestine she also gets scripted as a Palestinian boy by Israeli military, there she says that she can "have fun with it." Through the whole story, I kept thinking, Dr. Scalenghe should hear this!

Then Megan and I took the other girls home and put them to bed (their loss!), picked up Galaal, and went out dancing! I should go dancing more often, it's fun and great exercise, but it's all about the right people to go with....