The lengths to which we go

The other night I was just starting a chat with a friend online, when I suddenly knocked a glass of water over onto my keyboard- that is my computer, since it's a laptop. "Oh no!" I said, or something to that effect. I unplugged everything, opened up the computer and dried it out... and when I reattached it it seemed to be working fine. What a relief. However...

Obviously I didn't do the job very well. I should have let it drain out longer, or used a hair dryer on "cool" to finish it. A few random keys are no longer working- the ~, the =, the [, and the up and down arrows. What a narrow escape, you may say! Who needs those keys anyway? Not being a programmer or needing to type in Spanish, except for web addresses, I seemed to be (mostly) saved. But alas... my new relationship with the bracket key as an essential letter in the Arabic alphabet forced me to find a solution.

Take it in to get fixed? Buy a new keyboard? I couldn't face the thought of not being able to type in Arabic. Without the oh-so-important ج (j), I would be hopelessly hobbled. But just now a bright idea came to me- I could select a different keyboard layout for Arabic! It would mean relearning the location of the letters and moving all the stickers, but it could work. Better yet, though- I can just open the little "Keyboard Viewer" window and click on the right letter from my old familiar layout... Yay! Of course this could slow me down just a little...... and somehow clicking on the up and down arrows doesn't attract as a time-saving device; but I really do feel glad- temporarily. I think an attempt at repair would still be wise.

The Next Step

Well, it looks like I won't be returning to the Middle East this summer. Instead I'll be studying Business Arabic during the summer term here in Ann Arbor. Spring term will give me a chance to sort through my heaps of possessions and pack for a move to Washington, DC at the end of August.

It was a real shock to be accepted to Georgetown University, because they have such a wonderful Arabic program, with specialists in dialectology and lots of classes that I am looking forward to taking. The ultimate goal (so far as I know) is a Master's degree in Arabic Literature and Linguistics, with linguistics being my area of interest.

"In the course of studying the Arabic language, my interest in the Arabic language has grown. The dialects, the vocabulary, the experiences of Middle Eastern culture, have all converged to increase my motivation to learn Arabic. Yes, the more Arabic I learn, the more I want to do a Master's degree in Arabic, with the goal of speaking Arabic fluently and being prepared to use it in the professional world (where I could earn money). Arabic as a language has so many interesting linguistic features. I want to contribute to the great task of writing Arabic dictionaries, designing Arabic curriculum, and more!" You see how writing numerous Statements of Purpose could eventually craze someone, especially a susceptible person like me.

The only hitch right now is that I need to find someplace to stay for part of July and August, someplace close to downtown so I can easily get to and from class. My landlady sadly is not extending my lease for a month to make my life easier...

In case you're wondering what Business Arabic involves, I will be learning more than I ever wanted to know about Islamic banking procedures. Business correspondence, advertisements and transactions will also be involved.

In the meantime I have my last exam on Thursday and am planning a baby shower for Friday. I've been tutoring a few people in Arabic this semester, which is a lot of fun and keeps me interested in the language after I've been numbed by the detailed grammar in Syntax and Semantics.

There are several posts I've been planning to make, and hopefully it will happen soon- different topics from last summer.

Wrapping up?

Back online- now to tell you about last week. I arrived home on Thursday morning, taken aback by the weather. 66 degrees and rainy was not what I expected for the end of August, and it was a drenching feeling after baking in the sun for two months. As a matter of fact I'm fighting off a cold at the moment. I'm still not used to the moistness here; hot and cold water on demand, doing laundry whenever I please, no fear that the phantom tank on the roof will run dry. Green things are popping out of every crack, and there are so many trees! Also clothes and dishes take forever to dry, whereas in Amman the moisture was immediately spirited away from them.

The big adventure last Wednesday was the trip to visit Mount Nebo and the Baptism Site of Jesus on the East bank of the Jordan. Several earlier attempts to go with others had fallen through, so I called my trusty friend Khalid to drive me out. We left early in the morning and drove through parts of Amman I hadn't seen before, streets lined with men waiting for buses, till we emerged in the dry, flat wasteland. After about an hour we reached the mountain. Khalid does not belong to the class of men who won't ask for directions- he asked repeatedly rather than relying on the signs. I myself was wondering whether the signs were a joke, since they claimed Mt. Nebo was nearby, and not a hill was in sight. But suddenly, the flat roadside rumpled up and became all hills; soon we were on an upward incline. There were several soldiers hanging out at the entrance to the mountaintop, though I was the only visitor. Khalid came with me to see the stone set up at the visit of John Paul II, the Byzantine church, and the view of the Dead Sea. It was an interesting exercise to imagine the ancient Israelites trekking over the wasteland and up the mountain; but the visit of John Paul II was so much more recent. Strange to think that Moses is buried somewhere on the mountain- no one knows where. Now I've been near the burial places of both Aaron and Moses. Those poor Israelites; now I know what the desert was like.

From there we went down a verrrrry steep road towards the Dead Sea, and turned off to get to the Jordan. It was about 5 or 10 km from the mountain (sorry, no memory for numbers). We hopped onto a tour bus that would take us down to the river. My fond hope of praying on the hill where Elijah was taken up was dashed since only the Pope is allowed to do that. The area is a military zone, so we were not allowed to get out there, and no wandering around, either. The sun was in its glory now, and down by the river it was not humid but sweltering. We were dripping. There was a path through strange trees to reach the river, and we heard water birds in the trees. The river was so narrow after all the damming upstream, I could have easily splashed across to the Israeli side. We saw the Baptism site, which no longer had water in it, and visited the remains of three churches which were being excavated, as well as a very new Greek church.

Khalid and I recovered in the gift shops. He had a rule of only drinking cold water; so as soon as water lost its chill it was discarded. The shopkeepers were kind enough to give us some refrigerated bottles, and Khalid quietly instructed me to leave my large bottle behind.

Here is Khalid by the Jordan. Interestingly enough, his father still resides in Jerusalem, which can be viewed across the river. It was very gratifying to travel with him, since he had never seen Mt. Nebo or the Baptism Site himself.

Then we took a quick detour to the Dead Sea (through a military checkpoint), which I paid a ridiculous entrance fee to wade in. The soldier who interviewed me acted as though I'd escaped from the zoo- maybe because I was speaking Arabic, and alone. He was a little cheeky too, which got on my nerves, and asked Khalid how old I was. That might have been avoided by wearing hijab, but I'd taken it off after the mountain. I was praying that nothing would happen to make me miss my plane that night. Not the best time to go swimming- it was so hot, and the "beach" had to be sprinted over to avoid burning my feet. I just couldn't pass so close to the Dead Sea and not go in!

Now we were totally exhausted, and headed back to Amman. Of course we had to replace a tire along the way. Khalid invited me to have lunch at his house, where I met his wife, three of his daughters, and two granddaughters, all very nice. We had kebabs and bread, and it was the best food I'd had in Jordan. His wife wears an abaya and hijab outside the house, but his daughters do not.

The last remaining adventure was to be the trip to the airport, since there was a mix-up and the driver from the institute didn't come to take me. I'm just glad I made it there on time, and the flight back wasn't nearly so bad as the one to Beirut.

I'll probably be posting here about the ongoing things in Lebanon- thanks for coming with me in thought!

Racing to the Finish Lineٍ

With just a few days left here, I have been shopping madly, and trying to visit some places. (I haven't been studying much because I won't have time to take the exams, and my brain is overloaded.) Tomorrow I should be going to see Mount Nebo, from which Moses viewed the Promised Land. This is if all goes well with the taxi driver, who is very nice but doesn't speak English. We had a little trouble arranging our meeting time for tomorrow, and the rest remains shrouded in mystery.

Like many of my classmates, who do cover their faces. However, to answer the question very late, I am only covering my hair. I'm thinking if I happen to return to study here, I may cover my face at the school. Why struggle to look wakeful and interested during hours of class when one can simply wear a veil? Of course there are other, less frivolous reasons why it could come in handy.

This evening I went out to eat with some friends, and tried mansaf, the "national dish". It's a Bedouin specialty- meat with rice and yogurt. Tasty. I did cheat and have chicken instead of goat or lamb, though. Calling it the national dish is kind of optimistic, since the population is largely Palestinian. The royalty and original people are of Bedouin background, though, and seeing as it's not a democracy, the king can decree whatever he likes to be the national dish.

On the way back, we ran into a traffic problem- a crowd of young men celebrating a soccer win. They streamed through the six-lane divided highway, stopping traffic completely for a couple of minutes. All the rules of decorum were dropped as shirtless (!) guys grinned at us and banged on our car. They even opened one of our doors, so we had to lock them. Our extra-religious driver, who had asked us when we got in the car where we wanted to go, if God willed, and hoped to take us there if God willed, breathed a sigh of relief when the tide had passed and muttered, "There is no god but God."

This photo is of the doorperson at the Umayyad fort (ruins) in Amman. He offered to take a picture of me, which I wasn't keen on, so he stood and had me take a picture of him. Then he tried to take my picture after all, but it didn't work right for some reason. Then he looked in all directions and whispered urgently- "a dinar!" I protested that there was no picture! However he was insistent, so I gave him a few coins, which he clinked dolefully in his hand while I strolled around the building trying to figure out what it was. He didn't seem to know.

The driver on the way to the fort had been a classic- my only information on the Archaeological Museum was from the Tourist Bureau brochures, in English. So I got in the taxi and asked to go to the "historical museum", on Citadel Hill. He wasn't sure which museum I meant or what Citadel Hill was. Repeating didn't help. I said surely someone else must know, and could he ask. The other driver he asked had no clue either. Finally I decided to call it "Fort Hill" in Arabic, and the breakthrough arrived. He berated me for not telling him earlier that that was where I wanted to go. My excuse that I hadn't known the name in Arabic was no good. I still wasn't sure if I would end up in the right place, but I did...

A Muslim Country

Jordan is a very religious place, much more obviously so than Beirut. Almost all the women wear hijab, and those without are most often Christian. The standard greeting is "Assalamu aleikum", and if you reply in kind you are assumed to be Muslim (a pitfall for me). Time is referenced in terms of prayer times, so I've been getting familiar with them. The call to prayer from the mosque nearby usually wakes me around 4:30 a.m., and we are treated to mini-sermons before the prayer times during the day. I see men in robes and caps streaming toward the mosque in the evening. I'm also learning a lot in class and out. For example, it's not okay to sit on a table if the Koran is on it (oops).

The weekend is Friday and Saturday. The Qasid Institute decided to have class on Saturday and Sunday to avoid a two-day weekend. Yesterday being Friday, I got some shopping done. I met a friend at the Hyatt Hotel lobby (after going through a security screening) and headed to some places. Two of the taxi drivers involved were playing sermons or the call to prayer in their cars.

The security checkpoints are ubiquitous as well. They are just like the ones at the airport- you pass your bag to the side, and walk through the "doorframe". They are at the major supermarkets and malls. An interesting feature of the one at Mecca Mall is the two separate points for men and women. This separation of genders isn't unique, it permeates the society. You often don't go shopping as a family, but in groups of men or women. I noticed this at the Global Village fair. There were families, but the majority were little teams of 4-5 men or women of various ages strolling around together. And no unrelated men and women- an impossible thought!!

Even construction workers wear long-sleeved shirts and long pants. They are also very respectful and do not stare when you walk past. As a matter of fact people are very courteous here, except when it comes to taxis and lines. Lines are a totally foreign concept.

Before I came here, I thought I would feel uncomfortable and restricted in a majority Muslim country; but as a matter of fact it is quite nice. Jordanians are mostly very welcoming to foreigners, and I've had some great conversations with taxi drivers. I can't deny that I would probably not feel quite so free if I were not wearing a veil; but as it is I blend in fairly well. Yesterday I bought an abaya (long black robe) so I can go to the gym without changing. The gender separation, which is also in place at Qasid with separate lounges for men and women, means I don't talk to men very often; but I don't feel I'm being prevented from talking to them. All the teachers are male, so I am not in a single-gender world.

In all the impression from the surface is that everyone is living in peace and harmony, most people very religious, and nobody planning any protests or civil rights movements. Of course there are issues lurking beneath... but for the moment this kingdom is a great place to be!

Sadness

While those around me are continuing with what they were doing before, my heart is moving occasionally out of shock and paralysis. Waves of anger and sadness wash over me. To think about what is happening in Lebanon is to grieve.

If only I could do more- I wrote a letter to my senator, but feel powerless and exploited in general. The government seems to be deaf. Over everything there is a sense of unreality. Can the bombing really still be going on? Can people really be in support of this? Why isn't there more of an outcry? Is America blind to its own self-interest and that of its citizens? Where is justice?

Next to me in the line to get off the boat in Cyprus was a family of four, husband, wife and two kids. They had been visiting family in Beirut, and were fixing up an apartment in the suburbs south of the city. They got a stove, a fridge, etc., and had them installed. The apartment and appliances are now dust. Meanwhile, the parents of the wife were both serious ailing, but she hadn't spent much time with them yet because of the work on the apartment. She doubts she will see them again.

My seatmate on the way from Cyprus to Amman was Imad, from a village in the south. He'd escorted his wife and four daughters on the British evacuation because he is the only one with foreign citizenship, and they were safely in London. However he was returning to Beirut by land in order to be with his parents. He apologized for his beard and emphasized that he was not a member of Hezbollah, but simply hadn't been able to shave. He was sure the airline staff had been looking at him funny because of the beard. I told him he shouldn't worry, there were lots of people with beards who weren't connected with Hezbollah. We talked quite a bit, and he helped me on arrival in Amman, but he disappeared before I could take a picture of him.

I'm thinking about my professors at AUB, who lived in the southern part of the city and couldn't make it in after the first night of bombing. Where are they now, and are they able to get supplies? I'm thinking about the cafeteria workers who also didn't appear, and all the students and their families.

One of my friend's roommates in the dorm was from Sidon. She couldn't go home because the road was hit right away. She was stuck in the dorm far away from family. I couldn't help being sad for her, especially since she was Palestinian. I can't find a word to describe this double tragedy. There were more students in similar situations, including one who was an ardent Hezbollah supporter. She was very articulate and approachable, and seemed full of confidence about the fight Hezbollah would put up; but she was suffering from the same anxiety as everyone else.

I read an article yesterday about the destroyed villages in the south of Lebanon. The reporter remarked that the man he interviewed "claimed not to care whether he lived or died", but was showing signs of constant anxiety. I don't believe it was an empty claim- even if you are ready to die, and even feel mentally calm, your body and behavior cannot remain unaffected by the threat of calamity. My thoughts are with those who are still there, so many with the additional trauma of fleeing their homes with no warning. May there be an end to all this soon...

Repairs

Here I am waiting for Ahmed, the building handyman, to come up with some lightbulbs. Both of the bulbs in the main area have burned out, one yesterday and one today. I called down to tell him what the problem was, but I think I had the wrong word for lightbulb or something, maybe the Syrian word is not understood here. Anyway, I finally said "khallas" and hung up. The landlord's wife was much more helpful, and said she would send Ahmed up with the lightbulbs. I didn't feel like putting on a hijab and long-sleeved shirt, especially because I have tons of homework, but so it goes.

A couple of days ago a repairman came at the odd hour of 9:30 p.m. to fix a few things. We were grateful, but I happened to be frying some beans on the stove, and was really hungry. He took everything off the kitchen counter and climbed up on it to fix the outer window shade, a metal thing that goes up and down. One of my roommates was there and discreetly told me that I had to leave the kitchen since I couldn't be alone in a room with a man. The first time I needed to stir the beans I asked her to come with me, but after that I gave up and just went back in as needed. About half an hour later he went to work on something else and I finally ate. I'm sure it's terribly improper for Ahmed to come with lightbulbs now, since I am the only one home, but darn it, it's dark in here! Ok that makes it sound even worse, let's just say I need some light!

On another note, we took a trip yesterday to visit al-Balqa' University in Salt, the ancient capital of Jordan. The reason- a rebuilt minbar (pulpit), a replica of the one built by Saladin to commemorate the recapture of Jerusalem from the Crusaders, in about 1160, I think. The original in al-Aqsa mosque was burned down by a Zionist in 1969. It's finally been replicated at this school of traditional crafts. The original was cedar, and was gilded centuries after the installation; the new one is walnut, and has other minor changes. It's made with traditional joinery, and is carved and inlaid to the hilt. We were lucky to get a chance to see it, since it's just been finished after 5 years, and will be shipped off to Jerusalem soon. However they may want to postpone the transfer because of the current violence. I have some really cool pictures, but they're not in good focus, and iPhoto won't save my changes... so you'll have to wait to see them.

I had my first tiff with a taxi driver today. The drivers here are much more ornery than the ones in Lebanon. The most grouchy one I had there was really a softy; here they can be more manipulative and critical. I climbed into the taxi and shut the door; he started complaining that I'd slammed the door, and wanted to know why. Wasn't sure how to say I hadn't slammed it, I'd just closed it, so I just sat there and steamed. When I got out he said with a smile, "Be careful with the door!" I was still annoyed from before, so I really slammed it... He yelled, "What's your problem?" I wanted to ask him what his problem was, but decided to just walk away... Grrr... How stupid- both me and him!

Ok, Ahmed finally arrived with the lightbulbs. Turns out he's Egyptian, which explains why we can't understand each other very well. I said, maybe you can't understand me because my dialect is Lebanese. He said, are you Lebanese? I said no. He said he was Egyptian. I said, oh, that's a problem. He laughed and said no, it's not a problem! I said, just in terms of understanding... And he had a very different word for lightbulb. However, it all went smoothly with no awkwardness whatsoever. Yay!