The difference my love, is that when you laugh, I forget about the sky.

My lover asks me:

"What is the difference between me and the sky?"

The difference, my love,

Is that when you laugh,

I forget about the sky

- Nizar Qabbani (Syrian Poet)

The olive trees dotted the landscape as we drove through the rolling hills. Heading north from Amman the scenery slowly changes. Gone are the rocky hills and treeless streets. Replacing them are olive groves—some planted in neat rows, some planted as though the seeds were thrown to the wind. The sky was blue and the day was hot. It was only 8 am but I was well on my way to Ajloun to get my volunteer on.

A group of about 20 of us dedicated our Saturday to paint a village school outside of Ajloun. The all-girls school needed some major upkeep. The walls, once white, now were a dingy shade of beige. The desks looked as though they were from the 1800s. Each classroom had one chalkboard and barred windows. No technology was present in this school. The toilets- squat- were outside in another dilapidated building.

Our mission was to paint the classrooms and pick up the littered campus. Those in charge gave us white paint and brushes. No paint tray, no drip cloth, no scraper to scrape off the chipped paint. We made do; however, I ended the day covered in white goo. 

What proved difficult was the “village Arabic.” It’s not too often that I don’t get one word of what someone says. But I could not understand a word of the village dialect. The other two girls I was painting with seemed to be something of a novelty for the Arabs. The men sat outside the room smoked their cigarettes and laughed while pointing at us. It was a bit uncomfortable.

Upon finishing, we drove a few kilometers to a house that overlooked the city. A family offered to make us lunch. It was delicious. Stuffed zucchini, rice and chicken, green beans, tabouleh and potatoes sat before us on the floor as we sat on gold cushions around the perimeter of the room. The mayor of Ajloun even came by to thank us for working to improve the village. It was a very touching moment—until he yelled at someone on the phone in Arabic. No idea what that was about.

Culture Faux Pas: I needed to use the restroom. So I asked “Wein Muhim.” They looked at me really funny. Only after I found the restroom, I realized why. Instead of asking “Where is the bathroom,” I asked, “Where is the important.” Stupid words that are too close together…

The day ended with a trip to the Soap House, which is funded by the European Union. Five women work at this little shop and make handmade soap. The profits return to the community to help better the lives of the women. It was a lovely idea in an area where women often are relegated to home life.

About the poem: Nizzar Qabbani is widely considered to be the best, and most romantic, Arabic poet.