Blogging Fail

Yes. It’s true. I am rubbish at this. I am probably, the least prolific, most uninspired, lazy twat who has ever attempted to keep and maintain a blog ever. Perhaps its because I lack a certain exhibitionism (see previous post) that would compel me to expose the intimate workings of my psyche in digital form for all the better motivated voyeurs of the interwebs…

Maybe I suffer from a unique sense of profound inadequacy that leads me to feel that my life is terribly uninteresting, and not worth taking the time to document, preferring to live instead, in a realm of relative but peaceful anonymity. It’s possible that I am infinitely more comfortable in obscure mediocrity, even though I speak often about how it is a deeply held phobia of mine. Or maybe it’s more simple than all that and I’m just lazy and apathetic about any pseudo-creative endeavor that doesn’t end in a paycheck. Yes, it’s probably that, as anyone who knows me personally will likely not appreciate my playing the humble card here. Humility or lack of confidence have never exactly been considered in the laundry list of my many character flaws. And let’s be honest, I am probably the most interesting person I know.

So, as I prepare for the next phase of my Middle Eastern life, I shall make a promise, as solemn as digital promises can be. I promise to write more about the random provocative experiences and mild frustrations I suffer on a daily basis while living in the Middle East. I’ll take more time to thoughtfully compare my experiences to the experience of living stateside. I plan to finally tackle those important subjects, such as negative stereotypes and ingrained cultural bias, and political solutions that create more problems for life here than they aim to solve. I’ll upload more photos of things I see on a daily basis that no longer cause me to pause, but might be poignant visual descriptions of the experience of living that defy linguistic delineation. I’ll even discuss new aspects of Arabic language and culture, as I pick them up and adopt them into the ever expanding lexicon which paves the challenging path to my linguistic and cultural proficiency. Maybe even an Arabic joke from time to time, or a short history lesson on something as innocuous za’atar. I plan to expand my subject matter to include even the simplest aspects of living, right on down to struggling to learn how to cook in the countries that rain forgot…

Yes, we’ll start there…with Beet Salad and Bedouin Soup. Sa7tayn!

Arab Men Exposed!!!

Really exposed. As in, broad-day-light-penis-in-the-wind exposed.

Now, let me set the scene for you. I have a guest visiting from Malaysia. A very sweet girl of South Indian origin, and I have agreed to put her up for a few days and show her a bit of the city as time allows. The two of us had just left my favorite café in Amman, and were making our way down the famously tolerant Rainbow Street towards downtown, where we hoped to pick up a lovely pashmina or two from the souq.

As we were making our way down the cobblestone road (a rare and charming site in Amman) towards the steep stone steps that cut into the mountainside leading to the balad, I saw an Arab gentleman (I use this term loosely) leaning up against a parked car with one hand while his other hand was suspiciously out of view. His back was to us, and was on the same side of the street as we were. As we neared him, lost in aimless chatter, I half-noticed his arm (presumably attached to his absent hand) moving quite furiously in a rhythmic fashion. I thought for a moment that he might be masturbating, then thought better of it and kept my pace.

As my lovely female companion and I passed him on his right, we heard a most unsettling groan. I instinctively turned to look at him, who was now no less than three feet to my left, and noticed his face clenched in what can only be described as mid-orgasm expression. I then looked down to find his (thankfully) circumcised member in his otherwise unaccounted for palm, and discovered he was certainly mid-orgasm. He seemed rather unperturbed by our intrusion on his special moment; in fact our presence might have been what caused him to explode all over the charming cobblestone street. By the sheer grace of God, I presume, we were spared any “spillage” as  his ejaculate appeared to have missed us.

While a native of the States, where this sort of thing, though not common, is certainly not unheard of, it’s a bit of a shock here. Without missing a beat we continued to walk, while I calmly shouted back to him, “7aram alayk!” A lovely muhajiba woman was just behind us, quite aware of what he was doing, and without looking just stepped over the gelatinous pool on the sidewalk and looked to us half giggling and half horrified. She just said, “majnoun” and walked on towards downtown. We did the same. I have decided that perhaps my lovely cobblestoned Rainbow Street might be a bit too tolerant. But at least my traveling houseguest got to see a bit more of the “natives” than she had anticipated….

Happy World Press Freedom Day!

I have just recently learned that May 3rd is World Press Freedom Day. The UN website says the day  “is an opportunity to celebrate the fundamental principles of press freedom; to evaluate press freedom, to defend the media from attacks on their independence and to pay tribute to journalists who have lost their lives in the line of duty.”As an ever faithful proponent of free speech and freedom of the press, you can imagine my sadness when thumbing through Amman’s English language paper this morning, the Jordan Times, and reading a rather disheartening article regarding the freedom of press in Jordan.

Since I arrived to Amman a month and a half ago, I have managed to meet several expats who work, in one capacity or another, in Jordanian media. I have met newspaper reporters, freelance writers, and most frequently, people who work for any one of the locally produced and glossy Jordanian fashion and culture magazines. Suffice it to say, I asked each one about the freedom of press here, and nearly every one of them said that according to the Jordanian constitution, freedom of press is guaranteed, but journalists in the Kingdom by no means consider themselves free.

Today’s Jordan Times has published a poll stating that the majority of journalists in Jordan practice self-censorship. Of the topics they feel most inclined to downplay or avoid altogether, 98 percent stated that they voluntarily avoid writing or publishing anything critical of the Jordanian army. 81 percent avoid discussion of religious issues, and 74 percent claimed that they don’t discuss issues related to sex.

In general, criticism of the Government is discouraged, though only half the respondents claimed to voluntarily avoid such criticism. One wonders, given the results of this poll, whether the other half voluntarily refrain, considering that the article discusses the most common complaints by journalists in Jordan are the “denial of freedom, via threats, harassment, electronic piracy, detention, libel and publication and coverage bans.” Of these complaints in Jordan, 47 were registered last year. Also interesting to consider, is that a study evaluating the level of press freedom in Jordan is published in a Jordanian daily paper, so one must stop to consider if the most scathing accusations of interference with the liberty of the press have also been “self-censored.”

So, I am compelled to wonder, how exactly is “self-censorship” voluntary when it is used as a means to avoid persecution?  Sounds more compulsory than voluntary to me. Even if the persecution is by no means clearly stated, outlined, or routinely engaged in, the fact that most journalists here know and understand that there are certain topics you should avoid if you want to keep your job, or not be harassed by representatives of the government sounds uncomfortably like censorship.  But then, I think perhaps the situation might be similar in the states, though to a lesser degree. I recall several instances under the Bush administration where the American media claimed to experience “pressure” regarding what they could and could not publish. I also recall the level of outrage expressed (mainly by FOX news viewers) if anyone were to publish anything even remotely critical of the American armed forces and their actions in Iraq (and there was plenty criticism to go around). In a way, we all practice “self-censorship” on a daily basis. I refrain from informing my manager that I think he is a nitwit, and I certainly don’t tell my critical thinking professor that he is a lazy, apathetic and worthless excuse for an “educator” which is only a slightly more polite euphemism for “ass-face”  (at least not until grades are posted).

Well friends, self-censorship or no self-censorship, Happy World Press Freedom Day. If you enjoy a relatively free and uninhindered media system, sit back, smile and enjoy it. We owe a considerable thanks and appreciation to those journalists who have risked much  to shine a bit more light on a relatively shadowy world.

On the Renewal of Purpose

The past several weeks have been…well…difficult. Not exceedingly so, but frustratingly hard nonetheless. As I am generally a highly confident individual, and have traveled and lived in Jordan before,  I rather assumed all that I have heard or read regarding culture shock was quite frankly, stupid. I pictured it as being something that affects intellectually lazy and ethnocentric people, and someone who was as flexible and open as I am would never experience such a thing. I have discovered that I was quite wrong. I no longer think of myself as either flexible or open. It seems my spirit is not as unconquerable as I once thought. The past several weeks have been a downright struggle to acclimate, sprinkled with bouts of sudden and unexplainable depression, and I think by finally accepting this “failure” of tolerance, I can hopefully over come whatever unseen force that has been like an immovable boulder blocking my path.

The past two summers that I lived in Jordan, I was definitely experiencing Amman, the land and the people, as a spectator, a visitor, a transient soul only here to observe, reflect and make any and all necessary comparisons and contrasts to the familiar. I was quite happy to welcome the strange, the exotic and the new, and not once did I long for the comforts of home. In fact, I had convinced myself that those comforts were unnecessary shackles to my existence, and I had been quite glad to be rid of them for a time.

Since I have returned however, I have realized I am no longer a spectator here. I am no longer a guest, and allowed all the fumbling mistakes guests, no matter how gracious, inevitably make. I live here now…and I can’t simply sit back and observe any longer, I am compelled to enter what is known as the participant stage of my time here, and I can’t say this transition has not been without its own inherent madness and I am often wholly unprepared to deal with any of it.I generally don’t suffer from mood swings, so I am not entirely sure what I must do with myself when, for no apparent reason I am suddenly infuriated over the fact that I can’t for the life of me locate a shallot.

As expected, since I have arrived I have had to learn to contend with an entirely all new set of circumstances and stimuli, and struggle to process them all as neatly, efficiently, and as quickly as possible. I have a new home, new roommates to get to know, a new job to get accustomed to, new co-workers to interact with and understand, a new neighborhood to explore and learn my way around, and an entirely new schedule and routine that, as of now, is still completely unworkable. What I did not expect, was how poorly equipped I was mentally and emotionally to adjust. I have been an absolute basket case since I got here. I have been cranky, irritable, and easily frustrated or excited. Other times, I am just so exhausted that all I can manage to do is curl into the smallest possible ball and hide under my covers, which are not the thread count I am accustomed, and lack any of the familiar smells from home. You only realize the importance of smells, when you notice their absence.

Nothing about where I live now looks like me, feels like me, or even smells like me. Nothing is familiar, despite my having already lived and worked here for a short time last year. Its funny the turns your personality might take when persistently confronted with the unknown. You become quite unknown and unrecognizable to your own self.

The beauty is, as one is eventually inclined to remember, is that this is all temporary, part of the process, and there is in fact nothing “wrong.” Its just all different. Suddenly, but only after it has all become almost unbearable, do you remember why you are even there to begin with. Of course, only when you feel that you have dealt with the last of it, and have perhaps finally found a rhythm that you can hum in the shower or tap your toes to, the record skips and you realize quite sadly that you are still not quite there…and there is still a considerable amount of “adjusting” left to be done.

Its a tiring process.

There are bright moments of course, moments that almost sear your very soul with a white hot and indelible beauty. Quiet moments when you remember who you are, even in such a strange place, and get the smallest glimpse of how you might find your way and build a life…and what you might be able to take with you when you eventually return home, and what good you might leave behind that didn’t exist there before. And then there are those moments where you try your best to speak Arabic to a little girl who asks you a question, only she giggles at your language skills and you think how you can’t even impress a four year old anymore. Then you realize that you never had to in the first place.

I am still floundering in my courses, and have witnessed what was a once proud and shiny GPA be decimated in a matter of weeks. I have been walking this line between utter apathy and relentless dedication, but I can’t seem to just go with one and call it a day.

Then yesterday, I meet with a potential Arabic tutor, who quite gently forced me into using and recalling Arabic words and expressions I am embarrassed to admit I have forgotten entirely, and a small part of my life becomes hopeful again. Then the bookstore I work in receives a large shipment of Edward W. Said books just when I need to start working on an important paper on the conflict in Palestine…and I think, this just might all be okay. I might keep struggling for a time, but one day I will wake up and this won’t be hard anymore and I’ll barely remember the time when it was. One day, and hopefully soon, someone will walk up to me on the street and ask me a question in colloquial Arabic and I’ll respond without flinching….

In the meantime though, I’ll still be looking for that shallot. But not to worry, because the Jasmine should be blooming soon…

Sex, Pornography and the Case of the Missing Cosmopolitan

XXX

Last year during the month long Ramadan holiday, local restaurants and cafes that served alcohol were forcibly shut down across Amman. The restaurant and cafe that I work/ed for was part of the closures. I was terribly sad for the place, but a large part of me was wildly curious about all the juicy details. As I was back in the States during this time, I was actually sort of bummed that I wasn’t here to witness for myself the level of religious influence in the kingdom on private businesses and lives.

For the most part, aside from a few obvious details, the influence of religion isn’t nearly as visible as you might think. At least not as seen from the eyes of an evangelical atheist (have you heard the good news?), who would be generally quite mindful of such things. Of course there are more mosques per square mile than pharmacies in Ft. Lauderdale, and loud calls to prayer several times daily, but this doesn’t really come off as all that imposing or noticeable after a while. You just accept it as part of the culture. Its  just the way things are done here, and so it doesn’t seem oppressive or forced upon you in any real or tangible way. You not only grow accustomed to it after a time, you almost begin to quite enjoy it. In fact, I would offer that I am more likely to be proselytized to in the States than here. I am openly non-religious here, and I have yet to experience anything negative stemming from my lack of religious belief. I am asked often about my faith, or assumed to be Christian, and I have never shied from outright informing people that I am a card-carrying infidel. Contrary to what it might say on most people’s drivers licenses, I am finding more agnostics that I originally thought I might encounter. It’s 3adi!

True, you are required to list your religion on your national id card (atheists are asked to identify with the religion of their parents or any major religion as atheism is officially and legally unrecognized), and yes, there are definitely some tricky religious laws pertaining to marriage, divorce, inheritance and conversion rights, but those matters don’t really apply to little old me living here as a student for a year or two (at least not yet, but I have already decided that if I am required to obtain a residency card I will mark myself down as Muslim for sheer convenience). And of course a lot of women practice hijab (or covering) in deference to their Muslim faith, but again, I sort of just chalk it up to culture, and in general I don’t find it all that strange or even compulsory. Some girls wear it, some don’t, its honestly not really a big deal either way.

Now that I am working in a bookstore, I have also noticed that religion isn’t a huge deal or impediment to stocking certain titles, and I have yet to notice any straight forward censorship regarding foreign media; though I am well aware from my friends who work in the local magazine industry that self-censorship is common practice (more on that later). Overall though, I have been pretty impressed by the openness of Jordanian culture compared to some of the ridiculous regulations and laws I have read about for other Middle Eastern countries.

To illustrate my point, my bookstore carries a wide selection of titles, including authors that have been explicitly banned in other Muslim  countries. I have even noticed several titles that are critical of religion in general and some specifically critical of Islam. Salman Rushdie’s, Satanic Verses or Hitchen’s, God is Not Great are just two titles you can easily find among the shelves where I work, along with several books about human sexuality, including this personal favorite of mine. Popular Hollywood films play at the cinemas and American pop songs play on public radio (with all their depictions or references to sex and drugs).  Pirated DVD storefronts litter the city and I have yet to see or experience a blatant case of censorship or editing out of gratuitous nudity or sexual encounters. Further, flip through the channels on satellite television any given evening and you will inevitably stumble across an airing of a “Sex and the City” or a “Nip Tuck” re-run. So, you can imagine my surprise when I came to work yesterday to find our human sexuality section missing entirely, and several of the women’s magazines conspicuously absent from the racks.

As of now, its been a bit hard to get a complete story regarding precisely what happend, but here is what I have gathered so far; the religious arm of the government paid the bookstore a visit, and said citizens had been complaining that we were displaying  “pornography”. Of course we weren’t, but there were apparently concerns about the most recent issue of Cosmopolitan magazine (the issue in question pictured above) and its frequent use of the word “SEX”  on the cover. The magazine seems to have offended some people’s religious sensibilities.

I was told my owners removed the human sexuality section as a precautionary measure, considering the scandal that was created by a single magazine cover, the books about growing up gay in a straight man’s world might not have gone over so well. So for now the questionable books are safely tucked into the back store room, and the shelves sit empty and the sign indicating its former contents has been removed.

From what I have learned, the issue isn’t with the bookstore but with the magazine distributor, a well known shipping and media distribution company here in Jordan that I will not mention just yet. Its unlikely that our clientele would have made such a complaint, and from what I have been told so far, the government is aiming to crack down on those who distribute the questionable media and see to it that the offensive copies aren’t being displayed for sale at this time.

We don’t really have much control over what magazines the distribution company sends us anyway, they pretty much send us random titles, and we display them. We return the unsold copies when they ask for them and they work up an invoice based on what we’ve sold. Its usually a pretty standard mix though,  fashion and business magazines, current affairs and special interest publications, nothing really noteworthy at all. I still have to say I am a little surprised that an issue of Cosmopolitan (or as my manager explained just the prominence of the word “sex”) could have caused such a stir. Whether its a temporary situation or something indicative of a more serious crackdown I don’t know yet.

I have a friend who works for the shipping company, and when I have some time to investigate, I’ll provide some updates. As of now, I have had some considerable difficutly in learning what the actual Jordanian laws are pertaining to media, and I am not even sure what official governement division visited our little maktaba (bookstore) and what enforcement rights they actually posess. When I learn more, I’ll let you all know, but for now all I can say with any certainty is that the whole situation seems incredibly incongruous given my experience in Jordan thus far. I have always been rather impressed with what I have seen as a relatively impressive tolerance for diversity and openness of a Muslim nation. It would be a shame to have this view damaged.

Invasion of the Couch Surfers

So, what do a Swiss couple, two Israelis, a Lebanese girl, Syrian guy, a German, a Jordanian, a four or five Americans and an Australian all have in common?

Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke, right? Well, it would appear that this is my new life. What they have in common is that they were all sleeping at my house last night. On the couches, the floors, in the beds and on the roof.

I have recently rented a room in a house just off the famous, bohemian Rainbow Street in Jabal Amman. At first, I was thrilled. My roommates, a German guy and a French girl both living and working in Amman, are two lovely people. My neighborhood is one of Amman’s most famous, open and tolerant, as well as a short walk down the Jabal from the crowded and historic downtown Amman. I am just a five minute walk away from my new job, working in the bookstore division of the internationally known Books@Cafe restaurant and expat destination of choice. What could be more perfect? What could possibly be the downside of my good fortune?

Two words: Couch Surfing.

Couch Surfers is an international network of travelers, who register and meet online and agree to help one another out by sharing their accommodations with other international travelers when they pass through town. Sounds brilliant doesn’t it? My roommates informed me when they were interviewing me to rent the room that they did couch surfing on occasion. They spoke very highly of it, mentioning the great people that they have been able to meet and get to know through the network. A visit to the couch surfing website will show that the whole experiment isn’t just about couches, or free places to sleep; its about cultural exchange, and being exposed to the different ways of life around the world. Its about creating lasting friendships and learning more about a city/country and its people in a way traditional traveling doesn’t provide, you get to see how the people actually live, and see it first hand by being welcomed into people’s homes. It all sounded right up my alley, as I am definitely committed to the concepts of citizen diplomacy, I thought it would be an excellent way for me to meet and engage as many people as possible. How clever!

That was last week. Today, I feel a bit differently about the whole thing. For one, my roommate has a slight tendency to go overboard with his spirit for hospitality. Since I have moved in a week ago, no fewer than perhaps twenty people have slept  in my home, I think it could be more, but to be honest I have lost track at this point. My second day in my new home, I came home from work to be welcomed by a French woman that was using my living room as a waiting room (her flight back to France was several hours away). None of my roommates were to be found, and I was in a rather awkward posistion to enetertain her. I found it all a bit strange. Next, an American chap from San Francisco was to be staying with us for a few days. He was pleasant enough, but then my roommate starting offering him my food. MY FOOD! I don’t mean to be stingy, but it would seem to me that if someone was your guest, he should be eating YOUR food, not mine. I get paid less than two dinars per hour here, and after taxes I have perhaps thirty or forty dinars per week to live on. I quite frankly can’t afford to be feeding the world here.

So, last week, I made a lovely Indonesian red curry and coconut milk soup that I had been craving since I arrived nearly a month ago. I spent around ten dinars (a good chunk of my weekly allowance) on the ingredients and then spent a good three hours preparing it. I had one very tasty bowl and left the rest neatly packed in my refrigerator for future consumption. I came home the next day to find it completely gone, along with a few of my soda’s and an Amstel Light bottle I had looked forward to enjoying after a long day of work. I was devastated. All of that money and time for one lousy bowl of soup.

That is only the beginning, imagine being quite late for work and rushing to the bathroom in the mornings only to find you are fifth in line to use it. Then imagine how expensive your water bill might be after several people enjoy free hot showers in a country where water is certainly scarce! I have alone purchased eight rolls of toilet paper since I moved in, and a couple large rolls of paper towels. They were both gone in less than five days. My roommates invited a Swiss couple to stay the weekend, only they informed me that I should host them as they were both going camping and hiking out of the city. When they returned from their hiking trip, they brought with them no less than fifteen people they had met along the way and invited them all to stay with us. I was feeling a bit under the weather and brought home the ingredients for good old fashioned chicken noodle soup, only to be quite shocked by all the visitors. I didn’t dare prepare my soup, as I knew if I did I would be rather expected to share with the group. So I just hid the ingredients in my room until the lot of them fell asleep and sneaked back in the kitchen to cook at three in the morning.

So after all of this, I have decided that I am likely not cut out for couch surfing. I intended to have a good old-fashioned mafioso sit down with my flatmate, but the German (who is the one who invites everyone over) left for a week long meditation trip in Beirut. So, it will have to wait. The French girl who lives with me says its not usually like this, but I think its a bit out of control and I am not pleased that I am paying rent to feel in the way in my own home, and not able to use my kitchen and my bathroom when I wish without having to share with people that I have never met before and quite frankly know nothing about. I don’t have a lock on my bedroom door, and quite often my roommates will leave guests unattended in our home, and I feel distinctly nervous about keeping my valuables there.

When my flatmate returns I will either have some very clear rules agreed upon regarding couch surfing, or I will have to start looking for a new place. I’m all for hospitality, but forced hospitality is something I don’t feel comfortable with.

If anyone reading has any experience with couch surfing, is this normal? What is expected and not expected with regards to couch surfing? Am I rude to hide in my room and ignore them all? Am I overreacting?

I generally like the idea of meeting new people and sharing culture and conversation, but there is a limit, and we reached that limit days ago…

Changing Times and Evolving Minds…

A dear friend (thank you Matt!) came across this article yesterday and brought it to my attention. As it happens, the cafes mentioned in this article are either ones that I frequented, or worked in last summer. In addition, many of the people quoted are either personal friends or local acquaintances of mine. I thought this might give some of you a better idea of the emerging Middle Eastern youth culture, which I have found shatters nearly every stereotype you can imagine. I often wish I could bring everyone back home to the cafe I worked in, and watch their jaws drop and their expressions of surprise when they go, “this is the Middle East?”

As usual, I am re-posting the copy for you all to read here.

Taken from the Huffington Post:

YOUTH IN THE NEW TRENDY MIDDLE EAST BREAK DATING TABOOS

GlobalPost |  Tom A. Peter   |   March 24, 2009 10:16 AMAMMAN — At nine on a Thursday night, La Calle — a popular bar in Amman — is just starting to fill up.

A Jordanian woman in a low-cut shirt shares a love seat with a man with slicked-back hair; the two lean in close, talking quietly and laughing. Upstairs couples mingle on the balcony where it’s not uncommon to see a pair steal more than just a friendly kiss.

This is the scene of the new, trendy Middle East, where (for a small group) sex before marriage is possible. While fundamentalists tend to grab most of the headlines, throughout the region a growing number of young people are breaking with tradition. Dating and sex are no longer so taboo.

In Iran, for example, a recent government survey showed that one in four men between the ages of 19 and 29 had sex before marriage.

Back in Jordan, a wave of child abandonments last year prompted one medical official to call for lifting the ban on abortion in Jordan, a topic so taboo here it’s generally considered outside the realm of discussion.

Although just a limited segment of the Jordanian population appears to have embraced the lifestyle — and it’s easier for men than women — their numbers are growing.

“It’s still a certain part of the community, it’s not the masses, but there are enough numbers now for it to be seen,” said Madian al-Jazerah, owner of Books@Cafe, a trendy bar in Amman. “This younger generation has broken quite a bit of the barriers.”

In the last five years, Damascus has seen a proliferation of nightclubs that are still hopping until the early hours of the morning.

To be sure, the core cultural concerns about dating and sex remain. But for those interested in exploring, “there are more opportunities and there are better opportunities to keep it private,” said Andrea Rugh, an adjunct scholar at the Middle East Institute in Washington, D.C.

At the bar in Books@Cafe, Mohamed Qawasmeh and his friend Shadi Al-Saeed flirt with a group of American girls. The two Jordanian 20-somethings said that a few years ago there were only one or two places where they could go to get a drink and meet girls. Now there are more choices than they can list.

“It’s not weird for anyone to say I’m going clubbing. It’s a style of life now,” Qawasmeh said, adding that with more options, nightlife has also become more affordable for a larger number of people.

Qawasmeh’s only complaint is that most Jordanian girls are off limits when it comes to casual flirtation or more. Still, he thinks even this may change. “Every year it’s improving. I’m thinking that next year you can go talk to any Jordanian girl and she’ll be okay with that,” Qawasmeh said.

The shift has been several decades in the making, said Husein Al-Mahadeen, a sociology professor at Mu’tah University in Karak, Jordan.

Beginning with the oil boom in the 1970s, many Arab families became increasingly fragmented as people moved to the Gulf for lucrative jobs. Today the trend continues, as people move to cities or abroad for work. Away from the gaze of their families, many young people begin to push the romantic boundaries.

In addition, women are entering the workforce in greater numbers here, creating more opportunities for gender-mixing. In Jordan, the number of female workers has more than doubled in recent decades, from 6.7 percent of the workforce in 1979 to 14.7 in 2007.

Meanwhile, technology has made it easier for young people to connect. The Internet and cell phones have provided young people with the means to privately communicate. All the while, western media has flooded the Middle East, exposing people to more liberal lifestyles.

“We’re moving from a conservative society to a more open society,” Al-Mahadeen said. “It is expected that people’s personal freedoms will continue to grow still wider.”

In the corner of a noisy bar on a Thursday night, Sheila, a Jordanian who asked only to use her first name, snuggled with her boyfriend and chatted with two friends. Unlike years past, she said, young couples like her and her boyfriend can now spend time alone together. Many of her friends have taken advantage of this shift and are now sexually active.

How far young people take their relationship “depends on how you were raised and how open your parents are,” Sheila said.

Additionally, the growing number of liberal hangouts afford couples and singles the opportunity to flirt and mingle without the possibility of running into someone who might report back to their family, said Khalil “KK” Hareb, who works at La Calle.

“Dating, in general, has changed,” Hareb said. “People are going out more, it’s very open, and now you can walk down the street in certain places [in Amman] and no one will bother you.”

Read more from GlobalPost.com.

Ahalan wa Sahlan!

HI everyone,

Sorry for the delay in posting. So Amman is just as I remembered it, if perhaps a bit more cold. Its been a chilly and rainy few days, and I have kicked myself several times over for electing not to include my winter coat among my packed belongings. Brrrrrr. Amman is not exactly designed well for rain;  drainage systems are poor and inadequate and the dusty roads can become quite slick and dangerous quickly.  It is on account of the weather, to some degree, that I have not really ventured out into the city on my own yet, so I have little of interest to write about today.

I have been the grateful house guest of a particularly lovely Jordanian family, and most of the past week has been filled with delicious lunches, cat naps (with actual kitties), and visits with old friends. Some actual “business” did get done though, just not as much as I would have liked. I have managed to keep up with my online courses, as well as visit with a few people about possible living arrangements, but Amman is a city that both defies and disappoints expectations.

The two possible apartments I have personally visited leave quite a bit to be desired. On one hand, West Amman can be a place great opulence, decadence and refinement. Having been the guest in an absolutely beautiful home, stuffed with beautiful Middle Eastern art, intricate carpets, lush upholstery, fine table linens, and delicate china, I have forgotten the sort of places that I will be residing in once I find something suitable. Its rather unfair actually.

I will say both women that I have met with about sharing a flat are fabulous, nothing bad to say about either of them. The first apartment I visited was in an old building directly behind a mosque, which would be fine were it not for the very loud adhan (call to prayer) that occurs every morning around 4 am. I was told the area was once government housing, and it definitely has that good, down home, project sort of feel. It was really large and fully furnished, but the walls were dirty and dingy, the home had few windows and very little natural light. The bedroom that I would be taking  had two very worn twin beds pushed together, and an awkwardly positioned baby crib in the corner.  It didn’t exacty scream comfort. Add horribly depressing flourescent lighting to the mix and you have yourself one very sad apartment. But, it IS cheap, though perhaps not nearly as cheap as it should have been. Again, perhaps its only my expectations, my budget is quite small until I find a job.One other major drawback is that the landlord forbids any male guests from entering the apartment at any time. So inviting over a few friends of mixed company for lunch would be out of the question, but the woman seeking a roommate was really lovely and fun. I initially asked if she would be willing to find a new apartment after a few months since she was so lovely, but her lease has her quite shackeled. Ho hum. Still not out of the running for consideration yet.

The second place I took a look at was much happier, but I would hardly call it an apartment. It was in a commercial district of Amman named Swaffieh, and just a few steps away from a great wide boulevard that serves as a pedestrian mall. Great Western and European brand name clothing stores and cafes line the boulevard (might be rather dangerous to ones pocketbook though, almost like living in a mall). The entire street is wired with internet because of all the cafes and this is a great plus. The apartment though only has one bedroom with two twin beds (meaning I’d be shacking up dorm style with my flat mate) and one very small bathroom with a tiny stall for showering. The kitchen was smaller than in most hotel rooms, and barely even qualifies as a kitchenette. The apartment was also rented unfurnished, so the current tenant is slowly purchasing furniture (the wood sofa frames were lacking cushions for example). No television, satellite (no CNN international!) and no oven, just a portable cook top and a sink basically. The rent was unbelievably low, unheard of for that area actually, and I am honestly considering this place in spite of the prospect of sharing a bedroom as a grown woman. The space has a very clean, light and airy feel and is very cheerful. The super fun, cute girl that lives there was willing to do a month to month deal, in case the cramped quarters got the best of me.

I also posted an ad at a local cafe soliciting roommates, and have received some emails, but few sound promising. I have just received one about a house that is being rented by a German guy and his French roommate and they are looking for one more to share the space. It’s in a liberal and bohemian part of town, very close to where I might be working, so I would save a considerable amount of money every  month on transportation. I have yet to learn of the details (rent, utilities, etc.) or see the place though. Hopefully, he will be in touch later today and I can swing by and have a look if it is in my budget.

After lunch I’ll be hitting the pavement around the cafe, looking for “for rent” signs (in Arabic no less). No classified ads or “Craigslist Amman” unfortunately. This entire endeavor has to take place via personal investigation or word of mouth.

I have set up a local phone number and I have spoken briefly with the owner of the cafe I worked in last summer, and he said he would be happy to make room for me to return (when I get settled of course) and arrange for a work visa (this is GOOD news). But as of yet, I am still in limbo land, living out of suitcases; albeit quite comfortably and being fed quite well out of the virtues of Jordanian hospitality, which is of course, second to none. On another note, the family cat and I have also become quite close, her name is Falafel and I might just try to steal her when I leave…I wouldn’t mind taking the sweet, Phillipino maid with me when I go as well. I have no idea how she manages to fold t-shirts so perfectly while  being  so polite and accomodating. Its funny when I think that I have come to a “third” world country and am becoming accustomed to living in the lap of luxury. Live-in domestic servants are a big part of life here, and one I am struggling to understand. I accompanied my host family to lunch at a relatives home, and our meal was served by three, THREE, servants! Its a strange experience for a ten year veteran of the restaurant and hospitality industry, but more on that later.

Apologies for the mundane play by play, and I hope to write more interesting stuff later on once I am settled and have a predictable routine. I am at the mercy of others at the moment, and I dare not miss family lunches. This past week has been more of an acclimation than cultural investigation, and I expect that to continue for some time before I’ll be able to write effectively about any of the wonderful or surprising aspects of Jordan and Jordanian culture. I miss you all back home, and I can’t wait to get started on my real work here (studying Arabic, teaching, volunteering and engaging in citizen diplomacy whenever possible). Until then, my full time job is to find a place and employment. I’ll upload some photos soon!

With love,

Tara

Back to the Sandbox!

Hi all,

Sorry for my incredibly long absence, but I will be returning to Amman, Jordan for an extended stay on March 16th!

I realize that my professors might have referred a few of their students who are studying or are interested in the Middle East  or different cultures, and I want to take a moment to welcome you and invite you to participate by asking any questions you might have!

I love questions, I relish controversy, and I am very rarely offended. If my experience or perspective can be of any benefit to any of you in your struggles or desires to understand or learn about this beautiful but often troubled and misunderstood region of the world, please speak up!

I will be in Amman for more than a year and a half this time around, and I absolutely intend to get as involved as I can in the efforts of citizen diplomacy and in doing my part to improve intercultural and interfaith communication and dialogue. I can’t fully express how vital every personal voice is in this effort, no matter how small. So I both need and want to hear from all of you, and we can shape the future discussion together, breaking down harmful stereotypes, prejudices, and perhaps forge some new intellectual  friendships along the way.

No subject or viewpoint will be taboo or censored, but productive and mutually beneficial contribution is preferred.

I look forward to hearing from my known friends, associates and readers, and even more so, my unknown and anonymous viewers.Yallah! Lets go!

Stay tuned…much, much more to come.

Linguistic Tripartites and Other Menageries..

Frustration is my new best friend, but his sister Ambiguity and I have an unspoken understanding…

So, it seems I am finally khalas! Today was our language program’s final day, and in the ever accommodating spirit of better late than never, perhaps I will actually have the time to discuss here what it is I had intended to all along; stereotypes, cultural differences and similarities, as well as a healthy measure of all the wonders and frustrations of learning a foreign language.

Naturally I will begin where I am most comfortable, the realm of complaints, and the indignant irritation I get when I just want things to be more like home. I am, after all, wholly American.

First, my language program is (was) an absolute train wreck. Since I experienced the same language program last summer, I more than half expected this. As I am always the faithful glutton for punishment (I did choose to study Arabic after all, and that requires near the amount of personal insanity one requires to run for president) I returned for yet one more summer of, “you have got to be kidding me!”

My father, whom I consider to be incredibly wise, if not completely incapable of heeding his own advice under even the most obvious of circumstances, used to remind me (often) that you can never teach anyone anything. Ever. After twenty seven years of being enrolled in the school of hard knocks (I graduated Magna Cum Laude) I have to agree with him completely. There however, remains the secret that though none can really be taught, all can (with the right amount of gumption and self sacrifice) perhaps learn something in spite of their inherent human ineptness. I can accurately state that over the past two months, my teachers haven’t taught me a thing. But it just might be possible that I have learned a few things here and there. Exactly what and how to describe what (if anything) that I have learned is still being formulated in my head…but I shall bore you with explanation anyway…sort of the goal of these things, yeah?

I somehow managed to place into level four (of seven) at the language center following my entrance exam and this is still a monumental mystery to me. My classmates and I discovered at the start of the program that there was, in fact, no text book for our course. This is an irritating situation on its own, but even more so when levels one through three had texts, just us pesky level four nerds didn’t get one. For the first week many of us were simply scrambling for a study plan. Anything! We all had our flashcards and markers at the ready…just please give us a glossary or a vocabulary list with conjugation exercises…something, anything! The fact that we are even here attests to our will and determination to learn this brutal language and more than likely each of us were over achievers in our stateside university classes. Please, let us continue on in our comfortable nerdom. We NEED to be tedious, it’s all we know! For the love of Allah….

A few of us dropped to level three, and perhaps they fared a bit better than those of us who stayed. A revolving door of instructors, all with difficult to pronounce names and completely undecipherable handwriting (oh the horror!) did their best to fill the time while a make shift text could be compiled and printed. Each brought with them a different lesson plan and each had a very different idea of what we should and should not know at level four. It can be quite frustrating when one teacher conducts her lesson as if we were all relatively fluent but merely increasing our intellectual and abstract vocabulary, while another teacher feels that perhaps we might need to learn the Arabic word for “cat.” I taught myself the phrase for “my brain is going to explode” during this first week.

After two weeks things did settle down a bit. Our level was gutted into separate, smaller sections, new teachers assigned, and eventually we did receive a text of some sort. It was actually a compilation of newspaper articles (they were so kind to leave the typos in) with simple question and answer exercises, sentence practices to activate any new vocabulary contained in said articles, and a few sheets of lined paper for us to write a “report” on what it is that we read (mind you, understanding what you read is not a requirement at this juncture, just the ability to creatively rearrange given sentences and expressions).

One of our teachers was simply fabulous, kind, encouraging (though I did overhear her tell another student that she was the best in the class not three seconds after she had just blown the same smoke up my skirt) and above all, quite patient. For this I am and will be eternally grateful.

Our second instructor however might have recently escaped from a rehab facility or an institution of some sort. The class consensus was that he was the epitome of uselessness and more than at least half the compliment of the class simply stopped attending his lectures after a few weeks. I hear that he at one point attempted to bribe his students to attend with candy and sweets…but I never really did have much of a sweet tooth, so my frustration with him was relatively short lived. In a stark contrast from my usual best behavior (as I consider myself to be representing all of America and not just myself) I didn’t even bother to try to hide my disdain for him. His class consisted mostly of writing Arabic words and their translations (pulled entirely from a tourist Arabic instruction text available at any of your fine local booksellers) and then insisting that we break off into groups and hold a discussion based on these words and perform a skit for the rest of the class. For example, we would “learn” the words one would need to open an account in a local bank and then act out a scene taking place in a bank. This was rather like the blind leading the blind, as none of us were actually sure of the correct usage, pronunciation or manipulation of any of these new words (and most surely they were all forgotten instantly) and our “teacher” offered nothing in the way of assistance or corrected any one of the many mistakes we all most definitely made. Sometimes, our teacher didn’t know the English translations and so he wrote them on the board in French. This was REALLY helpful. Seriously? Thanks guy…now where did I leave that apple I was meaning to give you?

But as most of us can be described as dedicated students, we eventually mucked our way through, each developing his or her own method to assimilate all the new vocabulary (and we are talking about at least a few thousand new words) and we were all relatively confident for our final exams.

Ha ha ha…silly little language students…

So for our exams today, after all of us had painstakingly reviewed and familiarized ourselves with the vocabulary, expressions and phrases that we had worked with over the past two months, we learned that for all our preparation, we would not be demonstrating our newly found command for any of it. The test…was…painful. We were given a text with absolutely NONE of the now familiar vocabulary, and two hours to try to figure out how to pluralize and conjugate verbs we have never seen before. For any of you familiar with formal Arabic, this actually isn’t the easiest. While there are definite patterns to the language, many native speakers do not even know them (um…I have a chart with at least sixty of the basic forms of one ‘root,’ and there are at least thirty more that are not included due to their rarity). I can’t even count the times I asked a native speaker to define a word found in my text and was met with a rather infuriating shrug. “Well, search me, I have no idea what that means.” I usually think of Bernard Lewis’, “What Went Wrong” at this point. As well, formal Arabic is incomprehensible to many. So while perhaps I haven’t learned much, I have earned a good measure of respect from my native  friends and co-workers who watched me pour over a text they themselves couldn’t understand fully.

I won’t even start trying to explain how our listening comprehension test went. Were it not for a class wide act of defiant resistance, we would have all surely failed…but our bonds of American hatred for the ‘other’ and self-importance coupled with a general unwillingness to be jerked around at this point won out. That and perhaps the fact that said teacher might not retain his position at the language center following the numerous complaints regarding his methods (or lack thereof). We were able to successfully manipulate him into administering the test in a way that ensured all of us A’s (we basically forced him to give us the answers…we’re cheeky Americans after all, and sometimes we just like things handed to us). Mission Accomplished! (For reals…anjed!)

So, frustration and ambiguity, my dear and darling travel companions, it seems we won’t be parting as soon as I had hoped. Since we are such good pals now, would you like to grab some sheesha near first circle?

*Oh, I absolutely MUST mention a comparison my neighbor made upon first setting out into the city together. Amman proper is organized around seven ‘”circles,” and the clever darling remarked quite suddenly how this reminded him of Dante’s vision of hell. Tee hee. Well, it may be hot enough…but as it is a Mid East country…it does lack some of the debauchery one would expect to see in Hell. But I still have a week or so…my companions and I will work on it.

**Also, though this post has taken the tone of a rant, I assure you my negative tone (while not wholly feigned) is meant more to highlight a few of the stereotypes held of Americans that I have encountered, as well as inject a bit of humor into an otherwise humorless day. I had tests for four straight hours. A girl needs and outlet every now and again.