Jordan: The only place where cutting is acceptable/I am turing into a Mango

I hold a carton of mango nectar and a chocolate covered, chocolate filled Twinkie in one hand and my wallet in the other. I am simultaneously trying to wrangle 5 JD out of it.

I’m at the Village, the local convenience store on campus which stocks the usual munchies (chicken flavored Doritos or a can of corn) as well as decadent deserts and made to order burgers. My two snacks cost 90 piasters (roughly $1).

Forget what you learned in Kindergarten. Lines don’t matter here. It’s all about the cutting. Basically whoever shoves their money first at the cashier will be the next one served. So far, I’m succeeding. Despite a swarm of hungry college kids, I shoved my money at the guy first and got out of there in 20 seconds. It was lovely. I think I can adapt to this.

I know this cutting thing is common in the Arab world. I have been told the only place in Jordan where a line ACTUALLY forms is for the cafeteria. Now, the cafeteria is interesting. I ate there for the first time a few days ago. A plate of rice, hummus, pita and a tub of plain yogurt cost me only 60 piasters, which is so incredibly cheap for the amount of food I had. It wasn’t fantastic, pretty plain, but for that price, I can handle it.

Now for the mango part. I LOVE MANGO JUICE. I don’t know why we don’t have it in the states, but oh my god, I could drink it every day, for every meal—including snacks. It is FANTASTIC. I know its somewhere around 30 percent sugar, but it is so delicious (can I say that enough). It is thicker than regular juice and is sweeter than a mango. In the past 2 weeks I have consumed no less than 6 1.5 liter bottles of the stuff. In fact, I have been known to grab the jug out of the fridge and drink it straight. 

My own brand of Leprosy

I look like a freaking leper. People have asked what is wrong with me. I don’t know what kind of mosquitoes are over here, but I definitely prefer the Iowa kind. Maybe I’m just tasty or something.

I have at least 10 bites on my right hand, 15 on each leg, one on my clavicle, one next to my eye, and a few on my feet. I will probably have at least 5 more by the time you read this.

I don’t even know how I get bitten, I wear pants all day and I think I would notice them on my arms. It must be at night, which the thought of all those bloodsuckers taking my blood really grosses me out.

When I first got here, I quickly improved my mosquito killing ability. Let’s just say there are several splotches of dead mosquito on my white walls, and a handprint on my mirror where I squashed one.

After that, I had this mosquito repellant machine, where I placed a fragrant tablet in this zapper thing and hoped for the best. It didn’t work.

I now have a fan that is put on high and blows directly at my face. I’m praying the air circulation keeps them away, but I’m not thinking so. 

The crazy 24 hours

I’m not exactly sure how to make a cohesive blog post from the events that have transpired in the past 24 hours. But I am going to try. It may be jumbled and have no transition, but you are going to have to deal.

Art Fair

Once I got to the top of the Zara center where the Amman Street Art Fair was being held, I realized I found where all the “Western Jordanians” were hiding. I felt overdressed, and quickly removed my cardigan and scarf. The art fair showcased local artists from Amman, and if I had an extra 70-120 JD to spend, I probably would have bought some of the gorgeous prints they had. I did get a fun souvenir bag out of the deal, so it wasn’t a total lost cause.

Arabic Play

Amal gave me a kiss on both cheeks and her perfume lingered for hours after. Amal is my land-mother’s old friend, and they offered to take to a play down at the Hussein Theater. Now this was an experience.

Observations:

1.     As a thespian I was PERTURBED by the lack of respect for the performance! People were coming and going as if it was a movie theater. People were yakking on cell phones and using flash photography. Although this is normal here, I just found it disrespectful.

2.     I only understood words like “happy” “beautiful” “My name is” and “His name is.” WOO Arabic skills.

3.     The fake gunshots in one of the “dream” scenes scared the living daylights out of me. I almost peed my pants. I think the girl who was sitting next to me, who ran out after they were fired, might have.

4.      Apparently the play was bad. Well, I didn’t understand it, so it could have been award winning and I wouldn’t have known the difference.

“Teambuilding”

Well, we were supposed to get students from the university to be our language partners, but well, mine was taken by another Laura W. EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS MINE. So all of the CIEE group spent the day doing lovely “teambuilding” activities, which all my fellow STLFers know quite well.

We had shwarma for lunch, which was quite delicious and a desert that I thought was disgusting. It’s Knefe. It consists of melted cheese with caramelized sugar and phyllo dough on top. I can handle cheese. I definitely can handle phyllo dough. Don’t ever put them together. Blech.

Water

OK. The most awful development in the past 24 hours is that we ran out of water. Turn on the faucet—nothing. Turning on the shower—nothing. Flush the toilet—a little trickle. Oddly enough our kitchen sink still sputters water, so I resigned to washing my hair in the kitchen sink (just like grandma used to do when I was little!) We are also out of drinking water. Tap doesn’t come until Tuesday and drinking water doesn’t come until Monday. So its showers and surreptitiously filling gigantic water bottles at the gym, which is quickly becoming my home away from home. 

A slice of Nightlife

Well I inadvertently found gay Amman. Obviously, homosexuality is frowned upon, and there are only 2 “out” Jordanians in Jordan. One happens to own the posh ex-pat bookstore/bar “Books@Cafe.”  It’s well known among Westerners (and Jordanians) as a place you can go to have a drink and smoke a little Hubbly Bubbly (Arguileh, Shisha, Hookah) or read the Economist while Lady Gaga blares from the radio.

The “club” part is upstairs and outside. Couches with orange and turquoise pillows sit low to the ground, and a mix of Westerns and Jordanians puff away on the hookah. It definitely has an urban vibe, one you would find in any big American or European city—which is why it probably is so popular with Westerners.

It is by no means cheap, however. One beer cost me 5 JD ($7) and a shot runs around 7 JD. But the atmosphere and company was nice, and it was awesome just to be out and around Amman at night. By Jordan standards, Books@Cafe is open LATE. We left around 1 and it was still hopping, showing subtle proof that Jordanian society is going through a youth movement.

Oh yeah, I saw another fight of sexual frustration, and gave a cabbie a $20 when I meant to give him a $1. There goes a week’s worth of groceries. GRRRR. 

The Arab Obsession With...

Nes Café (Ali Café and the like)

I have no idea why people like instant coffee! Go to the grocery store and walk into the coffee aisle and you will not see Maxwell House or Folgers…you will see Nescafe granules in all different shape and size plastic bottles. Where is the KaHwah Arabayya (Arabic coffee) that I was promised? I have no idea. All I do know is I do not want to pour hot water in a cup and stir in coffee. That just seems wrong.

Babies

Look at a majority of the notebooks on campus and you will find they are covered in pictures of babies. And frequently these babies are saying some bizarre English saying like “flowers need water like poets need pain.” Even though they also have flowers and are in colors like purple and pink, guys and girls are carrying them around….And they make fun of Americans for wearing backpacks.

Air Freshener

This is by far the most bizarre habit I have seen while here. Arabs LOVE air freshener. I first got a whiff of this when I was shopping in the grocery store. I was looking at canned vegetables and all of a sudden an employee comes behind me spraying air fresher. I mean, it couldn’t have been me, I showered that day—and besides, most of the men could use some deodorant. As I was pursuing the store, they have an entire ASILE devoted to air fresheners.

I again experienced this later at the gym, when employees would come around and spray air fresheners around the machines. I really don’t get it. I really don’t.

When it Rains

Maybe all I needed to zap me out of my bout of homesickness was a gloomy rainy day. Yeah, rain. I didn’t think I’d see any form of precipitation here until at least mid-December. Guess I was wrong. But I’m not complaining.

You’d think with the way Jordanians react to a sprinkle the world was coming to an end. Never have I seen such bad driving! Since it was rainy (ish), my land-dad offered to drive us to school. He said we couldn’t go down the big hill because the car wouldn’t make it.  He crept around each turn, going so slow it probably would have been faster to walk. When we came to a hill a few blocks later, he slammed on the breaks and the car continued to slide down the hill. He said it was because the road was covered in dust, I don’t know if I believed him.

My first thought was if they were better drivers their tires would have better treads and break pads and therefore the cars wouldn’t slide down the hill. But again, driving isn’t an Arab strong suit.

It misted most of the morning and did it ever feel good. Then the wind kicked up—that wasn’t so fun. It was basically a sandstorm. Litter, branches and sand were being swept up and blown about. I put on my sunglass to try to shield myself from the debris with little avail.

It didn’t rain much more, but the sky turned this funky yellow color—the color right before a tornado, before turning lavender. I have never seen the sky that color. 

WATER DAY!

Tuesday is water day in the Al-Rabia neighborhood. You can hear the water truck playing its ice-cream truck-like melody as it fills the water tanks at each house. I have yet to distinguish that song from the song the butane truck plays.

So yes, each Tuesday the metal pipes that snake along the side of the house are opened and water is pumped through them to a tank on the roof. One tank of water should last entire week. If you run out….well tough luck. One girl in a homestay already ran out of water.

Typically, water day is laundry day and one load a week is the usual. So here I was trying to figure out this contraption called a washing machine. It looks like it was made in the 1940s. First, you plug it in, and be careful not to electrocute yourself. Then turn on the water from the pipe, let it fill part way (this is only probably a third of the size of the standard washing machine in the US), add the suds and throw in alllll your clothes. It’s cold water, so all colors of the rainbow went into my load today. Once filled with clothes you turn off the water, select the cycle (regular, medium or strong) and set the minutes…It said 15 minutes, I think it was 10.

Now for the tricky part. Once the 10 minutes are done, you detach this little hose on the side of the machine and put it into a drain on the floor. This drains out the water. Next, fill the “rinse and spin” section of the washer with a bit of water, make sure you re-attach the hose. Put a small amount of clothes in that section and crank the timer. If you don’t get the amount of water right, your clothes will either come out sopping wet or the machine will get angry and start growling.

Oh, there’s no dryer either. So all my clothes are currently soaking up the dusty air in Amman. Sounds fun doesn’t it?

Today my roommate McCahey and I decided to walk back from the gym. After having the best shower I’ve had while here, I trekked 30 minutes to get back home, and became ridiculously sweaty….again. Anything to save a JD, right? Here’s the thing about Amman. You can’t walk ANYWHERE. Whoever was the city planner was clearly high. The sidewalks have trees built right in them. YOU CAN’T WALK THROUGH A TREE. So we were ducking trying not to get hit by a car—this is not a pedestrian city. Traffic accidents are the second leading cause of death. We basically ran and hoped people stopped. But again, saves me some money.

Oh, we then got lost. Never assume anything is a shortcut. Because you’re wrong. 

Fights of Sexual Frustration

If you look around any classroom at the university, you will notice several things. One, they lack of any sort of technology that an American university would have. Two, the walls and desks are graffitied in Arabic. The thing you may not notice, however, is probably the most telling. Look at the desks. They are bolted to the ground.

The explanation I got when I asked why was a bit, um, revealing. It is obviously frowned upon to have sex before marriage in a Muslim culture. All the pent up sexual frustration comes out in what was called “tribal warfare,” basically the male version of the Mean Girls. When they get angry, they tend to through anything insight, which is why the chairs are bolted to the floor.

I got to see a fight today. I don’t know if it was one based in sexual frustration, but it very well could have been. I was buying a two liter water bottle (50 cents!) and I noticed there was a group of young men all fighting. The police were there, but they didn’t seem to actually stop it. The storekeeper told me and a few other girls to stay inside where it was safe. (well, I presume that’s what he said…I don’t speak enough Arabic to actually know.)

Otherwise, today was my first full day of classes. My colloquial class was all in Arabic, so I only got about ½ of what was actually said. My other two classes, Economic transformations in the Middle East, and The Politics of Water, seem like they will be interesting classes. The first thing my Econ teacher said was “Those Bloody Chinese never make good products.”

I also joined a gym today (when I became a gym rat, I don’t know) but it is a nice facility within a decent walking distance. Since it is a coed gym, I have to wear sweatpants to keep my legs covered, which kind of sucks since it is already 90 degrees outside (I miss Iowa falls!)  

First day of school and fancy shoes

Women touch up their makeup in the bathroom and walk around campus clustered together in groups. All wear their best hijabs and fanciest shoes—many even daring to wear high heels. Men are dressed in the European fashions. It’s obvious just by looking around that the campus seems to be largely female. That’s because it is. 65 percent of the student body is female.

 

I feel like a freshman all over again. I have no idea where anything is. On Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday, I only have one Arabic class from 9-12. On Monday and Wednesday, I have my other 3 classes from 11-5. Campus is centered around the “clocktower” a famed meeting place for Jordanian students. The University of Jordan has about 35,000 students, and CIEE makes up the largest international population on campus.

After class I went and got shoes from Mecca Mall (Yes, that is what they call there mall.) I needed new sandals since mine broke climb all up in some ancient ruins yesterday. I realized as I was perusing the shoe racks that Jordanian women love their feet. Their feet are their accessory. And do they ever accessorize. All colors, all styles. Want a gladiator 4 inch stiletto in purple suede—they will have it. Want to wear tennis shoes with out wearing socks. They got that covered with shoes that have built in socks. Want to have the business in the front party in the back shoe in a floral pattern, check.

Needless to say, I found myself in shoe heaven and ended up buying some insanely cute sandals and another pair of studded gladiators all for around 21 bucks. T’was lovely. 

The Nasty Bits: Things no one will tell you

Nasty Bit #1: Driving

“Oh Lord sweet Jesus don’t let me die” is generally what I mumble under my breath before I get into a taxi around here. The driving in Amman makes driving in ANY city in America look like a piece of cake.

The drivers here are absolutely bonkers. For instance, on my way back from Mecca Mall to get my wonderfully not- to be-taken-for-granted high-speed Internet, I about was in a car accident, oh, 17 times. And that’s normal around here.\

Deductions:

1.     .Amman has no real traffic system. There are speed limits. No one obeys them.

2.     There are no lanes of traffic. Drivers speed up and cut each other off, just to get right back into the same lane they were in previously.

3     No one uses turn signals. They are stupid, apparently. Instead, one honks an obscene amount of times at the car in front. That driver will get annoyed and stick his hand out the window, showing, he will, in fact, let you pass.

4.     Taxis are UBER cheap. A taxi ride across Amman should only cost oh, at max 3 JD or about 5 bucks.

5.    Women sit in back. Men NEVER sit in back if it is just them. It is disrespectful.

6.     NEVER enter from the left side. It’s illegal. Don’t ask me why.

Nasty Bit #2 Bargaining

This morning I went to Abdali market. It happens every Friday and is a big flea market selling used clothes, pirated movies, shoes, one of the guys on our program bought a nightstick just for kicks. Fresh produce is abundant. I bought grapes and had a delicious Falafel sandwich for about 45 cents! Getting it down to 45 cents was not fun. The man making the sandwiches gave back a male customer in front of us more change then the ladies behind him. One girl got very angry and began yelling at him until we got our correct change.

Spices at Abdali

At Abdali I had the pleasure to buy AWESOME pants. They are fun and polka dotted and breathable for only about $1.40! The market itself was insane. People were everywhere. Children were hawking used clothing, men were smoking, and people were generally interested in getting the best deal. And this market went on for blocks.

(Really) Nasty Bit #3 Plumbing

So as Jordan is the 4^th water poorest country in the world, there plumbing system is a bit different. Meaning—it sucks. In an effort to save water, toilets don’t really have any in them. Which means, it can’t handle toilet paper.

So, next to toilets there are lovely little buckets to throw your used toilet paper in.

Of course, this is only an issue if you can FIND a public toilet. There aren’t really any. Not in any cheap budget restaurant anyway (McDonalds BTW is a nice restaurant, you dress up to go there, and Applebee’s is out of this world expensive for the average Jordanian.)

The restrooms at the University of Jordan are pretttty sketchy as well. No toilet paper and squat toilets are the name of the game. And this whole no hand soap in any bathroom thing—what’s up with that?!

Moving Day!

Imad sits smoking a cigarette outside his three story apartment. “Here pussy pussy” he calls to the five kittens sheepishly hiding behind the palm tree. The garden has green grass, rosemary bushes and climbing roses despite the water shortage in Amman. Imad, now retired, was a mechanical engineer and clearly he made a living well above the average Jordanian. As we sit outside sipping tea and coffee, the call to prayer came over the loudspeaker. For Imad, life does not stop.

Imad is my “step father,” my “dad” and my “while you are here dad,” as he tells my roommates and myself. He is older, well traveled, and considerably liberal, as I could tell by the glass of whiskey he sipped between feeding the cats (Alcohol is frowned upon and taxed up to 200%). His wife, Ashman, is my step-mom. They have three children. One lives in Boston, one in Toronto and one in Dubai.

Although I chose to live in an apartment, this is a cross between a home stay and an apartment. Imad and Ashman live above us, and Imad built this building by hand-- for himself, children and parents. They are a sweet couple, feeding us an amazing middle eastern meal—telling us to eat More More More!

The Israeli embassy is right down the street, which is a good or a bad thing depending on the state of the world. The apartment over looks the city, and the view would have been spectacular if not for the accelerating growth of Amman. Now, that view is marred by apartment complexes. You can still see it though, in crevices, and standing atop the balcony railing.

Our apartment is situated on a hill so steep that “you need to take a ski lift to get to the top” as one of my roommates (a fellow Iowan!) said. At the bottom of the hill is a papa johns, burger king, and Popeye’s mega fast food building. America is never very far away.

My room is awesome. I instantly fell in love. The cabinet, vanity and headboard are all 1970s style lacquered wood. A single bare bulb hangs from the ceiling. But what I love most of all about this room is the headboard. It looks like the dashboard of an old school Cadillac, complete with a now defunct radio, although the buttons still work. The living room and kitchen are also 1970s style.

Water isn’t drinkable here, but our land-family (that’s what I will call them from now on) bought us drinking water in jugs that you see in offices. An entire jug costs 1 JD—roughly $1.40. We are allowed a stipend of 150 JD a month for travel and expenses. The average Jordanian family makes that much in a month. I feel rich.

Tomorrow I venture down that giant hill toward my first day of class and my first taxi ride in Amman. Let the adventures begin.

Oh, side note. My roommates McCahey and Sarah want me to let you know they are very cool and awesome. 

To the Dead Sea I go!

Hey everyone! I’ve been in Amman for a solid 24 hours and it has been PACKED. First off, I’m not sure how often the blogging will be happening as the internet here is not easy to access and, if it is, it takes 20 minutes to post a fb status.

But on to the happy stuff.

After a marathon flight and a six hour layover in Amsterdam I arrived as the sun was setting, so I didn’t see a whole lot of the city until this morning.

After a relatively good nights sleep (I woke up at 4:47 for the call to prayer blasting from the nearby mosque) we left for the Dead Sea. It was unbelievable and SO strange.

Obviously, it’s salty. But it’s so bizarre, you literally float.  I was trying to swim and the water pushed me into the dead mans float position, and I had to flail to get my self into a somewhat standing position. But even then the water will push you onto your back. Don’t get the water in your eyes…believe me, it burns.

Another really cool thing is the Dead Sea mud. Known for its minerals and healing properties, people will pay to slather themselves in mud, let it dry, and rise it off. Luckily, I got it for free. So there we were, 70 Americans, covered in brown goo, prancing around the beach. I’m sure we looked attractive

I think the best part of the day though was watching the sunset over the West Bank. You could see the lights in Israel twinkling in the distance. I think it was the first time I actually believed I was in Jordan.

Since I’ve been here, I still feel Westernized. I’m with about 70 students and were being bused around. The resort, The Dead Sea Spa, obviously caters to Westerners/Europeans. Women still wear skimpy bathing suits and men wear speedos. There were, however, women wearing “water buquas” for a lack of a better term.

Tomorrow we move in to our apartments, and from there, real Jordanian life begins. I am quite excited. 

Pre-Departure Packing

I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I love packing. I’m sure this statement will elicit gasps from many of you, but it’s one (of many) of my oddities. I love rolling out my trusty navy suitcase—the one that has traveled with me to Taiwan, to college and to Canada—and plopping it down on the floor. It’s quite satisfying.

I know its mine from the well-worn beige and gold ribbons on the handle and from the pink nail polish splotch on the front. No matter how much is neatly packed (ahem…shoved) into it, there is always room for me to slide (scrunch) a hairdryer or a box of pop tarts into the last crevice. It even has a sweet dirty laundry zippered compartment on the back that can be used for its said purpose or, if you shove enough stuff in it, you can make a wicked little balance board and try to get an abs workout in. Believe me, I’ve tried. 

Lots of Clothes 

So, here I am, clothes splayed across the floor sorted by color, by season and by what I can semi-match with what. (I say semi because I am not known for my matching abilities.)

I leave for Amman, Jordan in eight days and I cannot be more excited to PACK. As a woman, I am not allowed to show excessive neck, chest or arms. So I raided my mom’s 80s clothes for some sweet silk scarves that I’m sure will appear in every photo for the next four months. It’ll be hot when I get to Amman, but as a desert, nights cool off. By December, highs are in the low 50s, lows in the 40s. Snow is not unheard of.

A little bit about Amman:

Amman is the capital of the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan-- Jordan for the linguistically challenged.  It’s the country smack between Israel and Iraq. Basically, what could be considered the heart of lots of angry feelings. But surprisingly it’s not so. An ally of the West, Jordan signed a peace treaty with Israel in 1994, one of only two countries to do so. The other is Egypt.

From what the CIA world fact book tells me, it is a Muslim country of 6.5 million people. Arabic is the main language, but English is widely spoken among the elite. There aren’t many natural resources, and water is scarce. In fact, Jordan is among the 10 most water-poor countries in the world. Jordanians use 1/10^th of the water Americans do. So, I’m sure that will take some getting used to.

Of course this information is all provided to you sight unseen, the juicy details will have to wait until I actually get there.

 Ma’a Salama