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September 28 2005
The days are getting longer and the season is beginning to change. The mornings are now cold enough to need a jacket,
the sky is becoming occassionally cloudy, which indicates that the winter rains are not too far off. Until recently,
the weather has been sunny, blue skies in the 80s every single day. Jordan comes off DLSTime this weekend, and Ramadan
starts next week. Already, the stores are preparing for Ramadan with their "ramadan" tables set up - nuts, dried fruit,
dates, and lots of other treats that are specific to the month of fasting.
This afternoon, I went to a bakery near work to put in the order for Omar's birthday cake for his party on Friday.
The shop is a beautiful, French pastry shop and I was surprised when I asked if they could do children's birthday cakes, that
the woman behind the counter pulled out 3 binders of templates for me to look at. Imagine my even greater surprise when
I discovered they could do a "Thomas the train engine" cake!
As I put the order in, I had this story run through my head that a colleague told me recently that had me laughing to
the point of tears. For his daughter's second birthday, they were stationed in some eastern european country where
people did not know English very well. He went to a bakery to order a cake, and was shown a folder of templates, much
like the ones I was given today. They chose a cake with some cheesy cartoon character (barney, or winnie the pooh or
something). The day of the party, they picked up the cake, gathered all the kids around the table, opened up the cake
box and written on the cartoon character were the words, "Have a grand f*%$ing day" . Thank god the
kids couldn't read yet, and all the parents were howling in laughter. Apparently the bakery used some old t-shirt template
or something of that sort to make the cake and had no idea what they were writing! Too funny. I'm going to
be checking Omar's cake before I even take it out of the store.
Omar had a past few difficult days, I think he's adjusting to his grandmother being gone. But he had a tremendous
day to day. I, on the other hand, am completely exhausted and really feeling like I need a break. One of the mother's
from Omar's class last night called me to check in on me - it was sweet. She said I looked tired and exhuasted, and
it felt really good to have somebody to vent and talk to.
September 26 2005
There were anti-war protests in DC this weekend. I would have loved to be there. Let me be clear about this
- I oppose the war in Iraq and I don't think there are any legitimate foreign policy goals that it achieves, unless you include
making George Bush's cronies rich from the oil and contracts. I do believe that we should pull our troops out, at this
point it would have to be a slow, gradual and well-planned pull out becuase to do it quickly and dramatically would automatically
shift all the blame to the US for everything subsequently going wrong. I also believe that Iraq will NOT errupt
into a civil war if we do pull out our troops.
The fact is, there is a life, a rhythm, a pace, in Iraq that is of its own making, independent, and operating as if the
war did not exist. This is the life of what I see in the small business loan applications I review everyday. This
is an Iraq where carpenters, auto repair shops, wedding planners, funeral arrangers, midwives, barbers, dentists, women's
clothing stores, bakeries are all making very large and consistent profit margins from their day-to-day businesses, that,
to be fair, do exist, have existed, and will continue to exist whether or not US forces are in Iraq or not.
Yesterday, I was discussing with a colleague the fact that when the US forces go into a town to fight insurgents, they
call it "cleaning" operations. This term down-right disgusts me. It makes it sound like these towns are full
of some dangerous germ that must be soaked in bleach to get clean. Yes, you could call the insurgents (especially the
foreign fighters recruited easily from their anger by bin laden likes) "dirty" and "germs". But what makes me cringe
is that this term "cleaning" completely dismisses the fact that in these towns live families, business-owners, children, and
sincere, god-fearing people who have called this place home (bayti) for their entire lives. I do believe that the insurgents
need to be fought, but perhaps naively, I believe that ignoring them would be a better tactic in this case. If US forces
were not there, not stirring up hate by their sense-less and culturally-inept practices, then there would be no anger from
which to recruit insurgents, and more importantly, there would be no targets for them to go after in Iraq. And that is why
I think pulling out US troops is necessary.
September 24 2005
The other night the mother of one of Omar's classmates invited us over for dinner. I had been to her house 2 days
prior, and thought I could find the place pretty well on my own. How wrong I was. We spent 1 hour and 20 minutes
roaming around the city of Amman. I think I was in the northeastern part of the city - whatever it was, it was not an
Amman I've ever seen before (this was not even part of the city I had been to previouly when I worked in the Palestinian refugee
camps). I have never, ever been more lost and disorientated in my life. I called the hostess up probably a dozen times
- it was awful the first few times, because I realized it was useless calling when neither she (they've only been in Amman
for 6 weeks) nor I had a clue where I was. It was this nightmare, where every time I tried to re-trace my route, I ended
up even further off course
One hour and twenty minutes later, I arrived at her house only by being on the phone with her every minute and asking
directions every 50 meters. Nightmare. But here's the best part - we later discovered that the distance between
my house and her house is only 2km, it is literally walking distance.
The good thing about this experience was that I learned exactly where some other major landmarks that I wanted to get
to are in the city. Namly, King Hussein Park which has several playgrounds and lots of space to run around. Omar
and I went over there this morning, but it was a bit of a sketchy scene - I guess Saturday mornings aren't peak playground
time in Jordan (unlike the States) and I found myself practically stalked by several men. Omar had a good 20 minutes of play,
but I really needed to get out of there, it was way too uncomfortable.
As we were driving back, the office manager called me to tell me the DSL guy was going to stop by my house to give me
my account password (long story, but I've been waiting 3 weeks to get it and they refuse to give it over the phone, not to
mention by mail). So when I pulled up to my apartment, there was a big, blue van sitting directly in the entrance of
the apartment building (wierd site in itself, looked like the van was going to drive right into the front door!). There
was a young, well dressed guy sitting in the van, so I assumed it was the DSL guy. They stared at me, I stared at them
and finally asked them, "Are you from Wanadoo?" The driver stepped out of the car and asked me if I'd like some milk.
I was utterly confused. Did I understand him correctly? He finally pulled out a silver milking bucket from the
back of the van and told me it was 600 fils (80 cents) per liter.
I suddenly was really excited about the idea of having fresh cow milk (I love the taste of fresh milk, and all I can
find in the stores here is the boxed milk, or fresh milk that only stays good for 3 days and tastes bad to begin with). I
thought it would be fun, too, to actually show Omar how you can get fresh milk that is not out of a container. So, the
guy came upstairs with me, I took out a pitcher, and he filled it with the best tasting milk I've ever had! He told
me it will stay good for 5 days, and he makes a stop in the area twice a week.
I paid him and closed the door, and then 2 minutes later my bell rang again. I opened up the door, and there was
the DSL guy, the same guy who was sitting in the passenger seat of the van. I was so confused - does this guy combine
his milk and DSL business together? And, if so, why didn't he just come in with me when the milk man did? Wierd.
This is the kind of funny stuff that when you live in a foreign country, you just file it in that "not how it would be done
in my own country" category of things that I'll never be able to understand, but it takes on a funniness to it.
A colleague-friend emailed me to see how I'm doing in Jordan. I emailed her back and told her that despite the
long work hours, I felt totally happy and relaxed here. She said she was so incredibly happy for me because, "I don't
think I've ever heard you use those words!" (in the 18 months she's known me).
September 23 2005
This morning was a chance to discover Amman-by morning. I had to drop my mother at the airport at 5:30 AM.
Omar did pretty well, although he definitely cried and whined a little. We are both going to miss her tremendously.
I can't believe she was here 3.5 weeks.
Anyway, Omar wanted his raisin bran when we got back to the apartment, but I had run out of milk, so decided we should
roam around the area a bit to see what morning-Amman consists of. I had a feeling it couldn't be much, since the Jordanese
are definitely not morning people. I found one bakery open, and the "24 hour" safeway didn't open until 7am. I
also found a donut place - it was 5 minutes to 7 and they told me they didn't open until 7. When Omar began to whine
in protest, they invited him in and gave him a free donut - that was very nice!
September 21 2005
I am not a habitual coffee drinker at all, tea is my drink of choice actually. However, my office in Amman happens
to be situated directly next to the only Starbucks in town. I was actually shocked to see it when I arrived, since it
wasn't here the last time I was here in May.
It also seems to be one of the few places in Amman that I can get a real croissant. So, my drink de jour has become
a cappucino flavored with Almond. While it looks and smells like the starbucks I would patronize in Silver Spring, the service
is extremely slow. I think one of the guys who serves me my cappucino is beginning to feel an intimacy that is in fact
not present. He greets me like an old friend when I walk through the door, tries to flirt like mad, shows off his English
language skills by yelling off barrista-phrases to his staff. He's cute enough, but this is down-right uncomfortable.
Although, come to think of it, perhaps this isn't so far off from Starbucks in the State. While I was going through
my annual heat-of-the-summer-iced-coffee-addition in July, I was completely annoyed by the young kid at the Starbucks in Silver
Spring who would continually flirt with all the women as they walked through the door.
Anyways, men imagining a intimacy with a western woman they barely know is hardly uncommon in the Middle East.
A have a colleague-friend who is here right now doing some work - she's blond, smily, friendly, and can't figure out why she's
continually accosted by Arab men when she's in this part of the world. I rarely am (maybe its my coloring), but I decided
to give her a lesson in "distancing" behavior so she can feel more at ease, for example, in a taxi.
My lesson was this: when you get in a taxi, do not look the taxi driver in the eye, even if he can't understand
what you're saying, just keep repeating it while minimizing eye contact. Do not smile. Do not laugh. Do
not answer any questions with more than 2 words. And keep your hand on the door handle if it seems like he doesn't really
know where he's going and is just driving around. I have a hard time taking taxis to school with Omar, because he wants
to play and laugh, and the one thing I do not want to do in a cab is laugh. Arab women don't laugh, and if they do,
it is very shyly.
Today when I was waiting outside Omar's classroom to pick him up, two of the other mothers, both Jordanians, were standing
in front of me talking and I was listening to their conversation. They were talking about the classroom, the teachers, the
kids,etc. I joined in and one mother started talking about how old and dirty the floors were in the school, she
was comparing it to the "modern american school" which is privately run by Jordanians. She asked if I agreed. I told
her, I thought, sure the place and furniture didn't look brand new and clean, but that was comfortable to me because heck,
they're 3 year olds and I want them to be in a place that they can make a mess in. The other mother looked at me and said,
'This is typical American, isn't it, so laid back about these kind of things?!" (if she only knew me!) But I sort
of laughed, and I said, Yes, I guess so, I'm more concerned about whether my child is happy in the class than whether the
facilities are sprakling clean!
September 18 2005
I am desperate for a good night's sleep. Sometimes it feels like the more exhausted I am, the more dificult sleep
is. First, it took some time getting to the street noises and calls to prayer, since I've been sleeping with my windows
open to get the nighttime breeze. Then, I went through a few nights where I kept worrying if Omar was going to wet his
bed (he's 99% potty trained, but had a accident about 3 nights after we moved into the apartment). And the rest of my
sleepless nights have been caused by general anxiety and such.
Finally last night, I felt like it was going to be THE night for a restful sleep. But I was awoken probably about
midnight to the family downstairs making lots of noise. It sounded like a dometic dispute, to put it mildly. Actually,
when I woke up in the morning, I was sickend by the idea of what might have gone on. I was half asleep, but I remember
hearing the whines and sound of a toddler (both my mother and I got up seperately to check on Omar because we thought it was
him), the the incessant cries of an infant, and banging and yelling. I was so tired, that I never fully awoke to listen
to the entire commotion, but it sounded like it was coming from the apartment underneath us.
I do think domestic violence is probably a serious issue in the Middle East. Although I have never witnessed it first
hand, I have heard lots of stories. An Arab colleague of mine was telling me last week after he met Omar that I
was doing a great job, and it was important to let him "be". I asked him what he meant and he said, "Well, most parents
in the Arab world will physically hurt their children and break their spirit instead of letting them run around and be independent
like your son." I was surprised to hear this from an Arab, but perhaps was not too surprised. I mean, like
I said, I've heard stories that make my stomach turn, but people have been extremely kind and gentle with Omar.
September 17 2005
Change can be painful? Ugh, I'm completely exhausted and doubting my ability to handle the next few months.
I'm at a completely different place than I was 10 days ago, maybe the honeymoon is over. I think I've just been going
at a break-neck pace, and truthfully, I can't wait until my mother has left so I can slow down a bit. I'm doing a lot
for her sake - spending my little free time doing touristy stuff, which I am way too tired to do.
I'm an intovert, so I'm really missing my alone, quiet, down time to re-charge my batteries. This is the problem
with trying this overseas alone, I can't hand Omar off to his father every 14 days, and spend some time doing what I want
to do. Not that there is a lot of things to do on my own, but just feeling like there is nobody around me demanding
things from me would be a relief. I got upset yesterday and just said to my mother and Omar - can I have 30 seconds
of neither of you asking for something from me, really, please, that's all I need!?
September 12 2005
Omar had a haircut last night! He was in desperate need of one and I didn't have a chance to get it
done before we left the States, I'm glad I didn't. Everyday when we walk down the street to catch a yellow taxi (prounounced "yellow
gaski" by Omar) to school, we walk past a very nice place called the "sanabel hair salon for men" (sanabel is the arabic
word for "shaft of wheat"). There is a kids haircut place at the big mall, called Mecca Mall, but I tought it'd be nice
to try the place in the neighborhood instead. I want to expose Omar to as much "local" and authentic places as possible
so he can hopefully learn that things are done differently in different places, that's what travelling is all about,
right?
Anyway, a place in the middle east that is called "for men" makes me quite hesitent to go in as a woman, even though
I was pretty sure they did cut children's hair. So I decided to be strategic about my timing. I decided to go
right after the sunset call to prayer when I knew most men would either be at the mosque praying or at home eating dinner.
The timing was perfect! When we arrived, the barber was just finishing up his prayers and the place was completely empty.
I walked in and noticed for the first time that not only was the place impeccably clean and modern, it also had a little kid's
car pearched on a bar, so the kids could sit in the car while they had their haircut. It was just the thing needed to put
Omar at ease!
The barber scooped up Omar, set him in the car, asked me if I wanted a "marines" or normal cut (normal please!!), and
began to snip away. He did a marvelous and meticulous job.
By coincidence, yesterday at work I spent some time doing "loan review committee" where 2 of us go over the loan applicants
from Iraq and agree on the amount and terms of the loan we give for each applicant. Since most of the application is
in Arabic, I can not read it all and so my colleague translates some of it to me. Three of the applicants were barbers.
In the middle east, barbers are sort of like "untouchables", in the same catergory that they put those who prepare
the bodies of the deceased for burial. I assume it is because the work they do is considered "dirty"
that they are of a special class. For example, I wasn't surprised to see that the man who cut Omar's
hair yesterday also had a limp. I am already quite familiar with the fact that in the Arab world, the disabled are already
categorized in a different class. Most kids with disabilities are considered embarrasments by their families, and
often kept in the house so nobody can see them. Most families will put few of their resources towards helping these
kids. Sad.
The ironic thing is that in the Middle East, barbers make a lot of money, because there is some exclusivity in the market
since it is only "certain" people who do such work. It was amazing the loan applications for Iraq that we were reviewing
yesterday, the 3 barbers averaged montly salaries of between $400-$600/month. Teachers in Iraq, positions much more
esteemed by society, only make $198/month.
The "developing" situation at work came to a bit of a conclusion yesterday. The Country Director called me to tell
me that the lead manager of the department had resigned and that he and the rest of the HQ team accepted the resignation.
I guess this department manager was a little surprised, he had been making a lot of threats over the past 2 weeks, and I guess
he thought that we'd be so scared by the threats that we'd do whatever he wanted us to do. Truth be told, I think Iraq
has caused this man to be slightly mentally unstable (as it would for anybody who spends long amounts of time there), and
it was really time for him to go. The Country Director told me the news but asked me not to spread the word to my colleagues
yet. There was a bit of an akward silence when I bumped into this guy at Omar's school today, he was dropping his
daughter off for her first day of kindergarten. Luckily, he kept the conversation child-based.
September 11 2005
It's the truth, traffic in Amman is a nightmare. Actually, I don't know an Arab country where it isn't a nightmare.
First of all, traffic circles do not belong in countries where people have not learned to drive in Britian. The logic
of traffic circles is something that needs to be carefully learned so that they are driven correctly, in my opinion.
In Amman, they are bottlenecks to traffic as people threathen each other in 2 tonne vehicles. It just does not make
sense to me. Second, I believe I am the only person nutty enough to use my signal to indicate that I am going to make
a turn. After having a car at my disposal for 4 days, I think I prefer the taxis.
On a different subject - call to prayer is 5 times a day, but there are only 2 times of day that it stops me in my tracks.
The first one is the prayer before dawn. It is still waking me up, but I know I will soon be sleeping through it as
I did in Yemen. This dawn call to prayer reminds me of the early mornings during Ramadan when I was fasting. It
was this call to prayer that would signal the last meal before the new day of fasting began. The second call to
prayer is the sunset prayer. The past few days, I've found myself pausing and looking at the evening light when I hear
this call. It brings back a flood of memories, mostly good ones, and the signal of another day ending brings relief.
The call to prayer in Amman seems like every else in Jordan - very esthetic and boring. The call to prayer is done
from the 1 main mosque (King Hussein) and broadcast out to all other mosques simoultaneously. This can not compare to
Yemen, where each mosque has its own loudspeaker and person who calls the prayer (can't remember the correct name right now),
and the sound is like a chorus of different calls and different voices in slightly varying speed. And it is song quite
beautifully.
The audit team has arrived in Iraq, and he pace here now is a bit more relaxing. However, there is a strange situation
developing with one of the departments and people are coming, asking to talk to me because they trust me. Unfortunately,
I don't trust anybody at all and am just trying to play the role of sympathetic listener. I think there are a few
people trying to manipulate things for pesonal gain, but I can't be sure who they are since I'm hearing so many versions of
the same story. The Arab rumor mill is fast and quick at work. Somebody even told me yesterday that there was
a rumor that I had applied for the position of Country Director. I couldn't stop laughing, I told the person, first,
I would not accept that position because to me it is essential that person travel frequently into Iraq. Second, I am
not willing to travel into Iraq because I am more or less the only parent Omar has and I am not willing to risk
that. It comes down to the fact that this is not a job I'm willing to risk my life for.
September 9 2005
Omar will be the death of me, I’m convinced of it. I watch him as a 3 year old and have no idea how either of us will make it past his 18th birthday.
The Marriot Dead Sea resort has something like 6 different pools. It has one small kiddie pool that interested Omar for about 10 minutes.
The other more interesting pool for him was one that was about 3-5 feet deep depending where you stood. That was a manageable depth for me trying to make sure Omar stayed afloat while I was in the water with
him. When we were in the pool yesterday afternoon, Omar discovered that he could go under for long periods of time and hold
his breath. I was so impressed, we made a little game of it where I would put
out a certain number of fingers, he would put his head and whole body under and then come up (with my help) and tell me how
many fingers he saw.
We played the game again this AM and must have been in that pool for about
an hour. We then go over to the kiddie pool, and he’s playing with other
kids and being really good and enjoying himself. He would wander occasionally
back towards that deeper pool (there was maybe 8 feet distance between the 2 pools) but would come right back when I called
his name.
My mother, who was inside getting a massage, comes out of the hotel, says hi
to us and we start talking about her massage. The entire time I’m watching
Omar whose running back and forth with a toy car that another kid abandoned by the side of the kiddie pool. Suddenly, he puts the car down and decides to jump into the big pool, as if it was the most natural thing. I don’t recall the next 30 seconds of my life, but my mother tells me that I
screamed and ran like lightening and jumped in after him and pulled him up. He
was in the part of the pool that was 5 feet deep, and I’m pretty sure he almost went down to the bottom and was trying
to swim back up. A part of me was pretty confident that he wasn’t choking,
because he had really been holding his breath for a long time under water when we were playing earlier. So, we are both back on the surface, looking at each other in the face, mother to son, and I think we crack
a small smile at each other (me for sort of being proud of the courage he has) and him for thinking that was so much fun (Mommy,
can I do it again!?). But then I turn around, and see that one of the lifeguards
is in the pool next to me. OMG – the poor guy, my mother says as soon as
I screamed and he saw me run, he got up on bridge over the pool and dove in.
At that point, it hits me how serious the situation is, and as the adrenaline
rush subsides, I sit Omar on the side of the pool and give him a stern talking. He
immediately starts crying, he hates being scolded, especially in public. But
I knew I had to hit home to him the seriousness of what he just did. I
just kept telling my mother, “I can’t believe this, I haven’t taken my eye of the kid or been more than
2 feet from him the entire morning, and the one second I was, he jumps!”
The ironic part of the story is that I saw 2 other Arab kids do the same thing
earlier in the morning, and watched as their parents scooped them out of the water from the edge. The lifeguard never made a move. I wonder if the lifeguard
was more scared of seeing a western woman running for her life and jumping into the pool, than of the image of a kid going
under. lol
September 8 2005
We are on an overnight trip to the Dead Sea. It won’t be relaxing, but
I think it will be fun nonetheless. I had to work a half day on Thursday, and
I was scrambling to get out of the office by 1pm. I had use of one of the office cars. One of the staff, an American guy who
is near fluent in Arabic, asked to take the car at 11:45am. I told him he had
to be back by 12:30 so I could leave to pick up my son by 1pm (I even was hoping to arrive earlier since they were having
a pool party at the school with all the parents from 12-1, that was wishful thinking!)
I was meeting and working intensively with the auditors all morning, since
it was to be there last day in our Amman office, and there
were a few things outstanding. Anyway, at 12:45 I finally finish everything up,
but my colleague is not back yet with the car. I was absolutely steaming. In the past week, I’ve learned to get myself all over a good part of Amman by taxi as a western female with my broken Arabic. Why in god’s name the Arab men and fluent Arabic speakers think they absolutely can’t do without
the car, is beyond me.
I managed to scramble to pick up Omar, who was exhausted from a very busy day
at school, and get back to the apartment to pick up my mother and our luggage. Then, I walk in the door of the apartment,
and my phone is ringing off the hook with all these issues people are having (I was put in
the role of Acting Country Director while the Country Director is in Beirut for a conference for 4 days). I was so upset – it is a 6 day work week, and I am very very protective of my family/private time. I guess I should have known that coming on this assignment wouldn’t allow me
that time, but I’m going to have to struggle and learn to set better boundaries in this area. I think the staff out here have gotten in a very bad habit of not limiting the boundaries, mostly because
of the kind of people they are and the life situation they find themselves in, but it’s also a bit of a hang-over from
when they were all based in Iraq, working on intense program start-up at 80-90 hours per week.
Well, back to the story at hand, which is the Dead Sea
outing. So, we finally get on the road about 3pm and embark on what has to be
the longest trip by vehicle between Amman and the Dead Sea. The trip is only 45 klicks, and shouldn’t realistically take more than 30-40
minutes. I think it took us an hour and a half.
My mother wanted to stop at Mt. Nebo
on the way, signage on the road was really poor, and I ended up taking a turn down a road into a small town where every time
I asked directions, I got a different answer. And most people could not understand
me - “jebla nebo” really is not the most difficult thing to say in Arabic.
After a nice site-seeing detour of a part of Jordan that I couldn’t
point out to you on the map, we got back on the road and decided to just forgo the Mt.
Nebo stop. So, we’re
making our way through the winding hills down to the Dead Sea (oh yeah, forgot to mention, I was driving a stick-shift, which
I haven’t driven at all for 2 years), and we pass a little touristy monument that says “Sea Level”- the Dead sea is about 400 meters below Sea Level.
I think this would make a good touristy photo that I can show Omar one day, so I insist on trying to make a U-Turn
and going back. I make a U-turn, about 500 feet from a check point (in retrospect
not a great idea at all, because they may have thought I was trying to avoid the check point), and start making my way back
up the mountain to the Sea Level sign. It’s a steep climb, and I end up
getting behind a line of single-lane traffic following a truck that is barely going more than 10mphs up the mountain. And, to make matters worse, the next place where I could make a U-turn to go back
was another 10kms up the road.
We turned back, made our way down the mountain, stopped for the photo op, and
go through the check point again. This time, I’m so distracted by trying
to make it through the check point without stalling the car, that I take a wrong turn again, and am now making my way towards
the Israeli border. Granted, it was beautiful scenery – Banana plantations,
and donkeys which Omar got excited about. But we were still far from our destination.
So, I make another U-turn, go back up the road, and in order to catch the road to the Dead Sea, I have to go through that
Damn check point again. The guard was so nice, since I couldn’t stop laughing
at what a comedy routine we must have looked like, and he pointed me in the right direction with a friendly “Welcome,
welcome to Jordan”.
Finally, we’re closing in our destination and Omar tells me from the
back seat that he needs to go pee pee. From a kid who is newly potty trained,
I know there is only one course of action – slam on the breaks of the car and get him out of his car seat as quickly
as possible. We find maybe one of 10 trees in a mile radius for him to pee under,
and omg, the kid watered the tree for the next century!
Back in the car again, and little further down the road there is a sign for
“Baptism site” (where Jesus was baptized on the Jordan River). My mother being
a pretty religious person, I know she’d be interested in seeing this. So
we agree to make a detour to try to take in this holy site. I’m driving
along this empty road while she’s reading out of the Lonely Planet guide. As
soon as she says “The Israelis claim to have a similar site on the other side of the Jordan River”,
my cynicism kicks in. We pull up to the site and the guy tells us that it’s
a 30 minute bus ride to a drop-off point and from there it is another 1 hour walk to the site.
The thought of actually trying to do this in 95 degree weather with an exhausted 3 year old and a 67 year old woman
who has knee problems just did not seem like a good idea.
In the car we got once again. After
seeing a few camels on the Dead Sea road, we finally arrive at our destination and are sweetly
rewarded – we are upgraded to a suite on the top floor looking right out to the Sea.
The trip was worth it!
September 7 2005
I don't know what was more exciting today - being able to get a taxi to Omar's school and then on to work alone with
my pigeon Arabic, or how easily and happily Omar adjusted to his new preschool!
I've enrolled him in the American Community School. The administration of the school seems slightly disorganized,
but all the kids in the elementary school seem so very, very happy. The class make-up seems to be in general, Americans,
Asians and Arab-Americans. I love that there is another kid named "Omar" in his class. Mrs Makawi is the teacher
and Ms. Tina is the assistant. Miss Tina I think is Jordanian and wears a head scarf.
When I dropped Omar off at class he immediately set to busying himself with the toy train. It was difficult
to get his attention to get him to see where his cubby is and where the toilets are. I would say Omar is officially
potty trained, since even with all the transitions, he is staying dry and went to the bathroom 2 times today when the teachers
asked him (I"m sooo proud of him!). I gave him one big hug as a goodbye, and he turned around and went back to playing.
Everybody was quite impressed (most of the other kids are still making the adjustment to being away from their parents for
the first time). Strikingly, all the other kids are a few months past their 3 year old birthday and they all look so
huge compared to Omar. I guess this means that Omar will go through a growth spurt in the next few months.
When I went to pick him up (the school day is 8-1), the door of the classroom was closed, and there were 3 other mothers
standing there. We introduced ourselves and did the standard, "I'm so and so's mother". The mother of a
little girl named Nour told me that when she dropped her daughter off in the morning, Omar was in the classroom alone
with Ms. Tina because he did not want to go outside with the other kids. But he did eventually go out. The teacher lines
the kids up before she opens the door, and I could Omar's voice saying "Mommy, Mommy"
When she opened the door, Omar burst through with a big hug and smile for me. He was so excited! He immediately
showed me the Humpty Dumpty picture he colored. The schedule of the day is set up so that they go to a different classroom
for 1 hour for Music, Gym, Art and Arabic - 1 each on rotating days. Today was Art, and they said he did really well
adjusting to a change in classroom and teacher. The teacher told me that she could tell that Omar had spent a lot of
time in preschool previously, since he sung along with the songs, new the letters, was good at taking turns, etc.
Oh, I'm so proud of my little boy!
September 6 2005
There is a certain "smell" in the Middle East. There is a certain light, a certain feel of the air, a certain pace
to life, and certain noises. The truck that comes by with the bottled gas in the morning plays a funny, child-like
tune. There are school buses that drive down our street picking up the kids who go to the private schools. I have
to remember to turn on the water pump and water heater before I take a shower. I have to remember to turn off the bottled
gas after I cook. It's so different from the convenience of life in the US.
It was so nice to wake up in our "own" place this morning. I made my own tea, Omar and I sat in our pjs and had
breakfast together. The apartment is huge, I think it is bigger than our house in Silver Spring. As is typical
in Middle Eastern homes, there is a seperate space for entertaining guests. In Jordan they call it a "salon". In our
apartment, it consists of a large formal dining area and 2 large open living-room type areas., and a half bath. There
is a door between that area and the rest of the house, so we'll keep it shut all the time. I think
of it, as in the case of yemen, as place where you would entertain the male guests out of site and sound of the women
and the rest of the running of the household. Omar's room is a child's room, and we really lucked out in this regards.
It has a toddler bed, and a couple of plastic, child's chairs, as well as a children's wardrobe and dresser. It is really
great to be in a place that is child friendly. In fact, when we met the landlord yesterday and she saw Omar running
around, she told me she had a "little tykes car"in the basement and brought it up for us. Omar couldn't have been happier
when he saw it. He got into it and told me he was going to the grocery store to get some milk and asked for some money.
lol
I am very happy to be here.
The pace to life in the Middle East cracks me up. An "urgent" assignment at work can take somebody a week to complete,
and not even get started until somebody is screaming in their face. Yet, you should see them in their cars - so impatient
to get anywhere as if being late one minute will determine their fate. It is an oxymoron.
Work is progressing well, and my honeymoon period is coming to an end. Staff are starting to bring all their grievances
to me about the odds and ends of the office operations. I don't mind this, and take this as a sign that I have gained
their trust by working with them for the past year and a half. And most of their grievances are well-founded, but in most
cases I have neither the authority or ability to respond. I can only bring this to the attention of the country director
and hope he responds appropriately.
Yesterday I did some grocery shopping to stock up the house. I decided to go to a small store near the office,
rather than the Western-style Safeway. As is the norm in the middle east, any packaged and shelved food is quite expensive,
while all the beautiful, fresh produce is cheap. When I lived in Yemen I really learned to cook since everyting I made
was from complete scratch since the vegetables are so cheap. It may be the same here, although I doubt I'll have the
time to prepare a proper meal from scratch every single night. This will be a big change, since for the past few months,
Omar and I have been practically living off of frozen foods or going out to eat for dinner.
September 5 2005
I can't believe I left a week ago. It's been a crazy-busy week. I found an apartment and will be moving in
today. I can't wait. Part of my current situation that is driving me nuts is not having a place to myself.
Omar doesn't seem to mind the hotel, even seems to enjoy it. But I can't stand living out of a suitcase, and I haven't
had a good night's sleep since we're all trying to sleep in the same room.
And unfortunately it makes work a lot less enjoyable when all that isn't straightened out. The auditors are asking
for lots of documentation, and I'm scrambling to find them in an office that isn't well organized at all. The Project
Director called me from the States yesterday yelling at me about how everything was already copied and I shouldn't be asking
her for any documents. I was pretty upset and made it clear to her that I wouldn't be asking her where documents were
if I hadn't searched 10 times everywhere I knew already for myself.
This is the first time I've been the victim of her verbal abuse in the 2 years that I've worked with her, although the
stories about her behavior are quite well-known in the organization. I decided to take a deep breath and just try not
to engage her on it after everytime I tried to defend my actions she yelled back, "Stop yelling at me and listen 'to what
I'm telling you."" I guess what I was really feeling at that moment and what I really wanted to say was, "look it, my
3 year old son and I dragged ourselves over here to live out of a suitcase for 3 months, I am doing the best I can so get
off my back!" Instead, I kept silent and waited for her to rant and rave for 10 minutes and then come to the conclusion
herself that it was probably best for her to just email me the documents she had already sent the auditor (who misplaced them).
I was then upset that she wasted 20 minutues out of my day screaming at me, when all I was originally asking from her was
for her to send the documents to me. Ugh.
Honestly, things are very disorganized here. But, having worked in the Arab world for several years, I'm accustomed
to it and try not to let it stress me out to much. I have a German friend that has a very very difficult time dealing
with this and I don't know how she manages to work in the Middle East without giving herself a heart-attack.
Case in point, I had a meeting set for 6pm with a real estate agent to show me some apartments. The appointment
was set 2 days prior. He arrives on time so I'm immediately under the impression that this guy is extremely well organized,
since even that is quite a feat among Arab men. Well, then we spend the next 2 hours driving from place to place where
there is either no key to the place or the owner is not around to show us the place. With Omar in tow, you'd think the
guy would have realized that I really didn't want to waste my time. I just kept reminding myself, "This is the middle east,
this is the middle east."" What was funny was how clearly it brought back memories to my time in Yemen and all the house-searching
I did. There was one particular place in particular that a friend and I went to 6 times before we actually got to see
the apartment, either because the key seemed to be missing with some mysterious person, or the owner was not available at
the scheduled meeting time.
In Yemen, somehow, you learn to accept in. In a place like Jordan where everything is so modern, people so well
educated, and the semblances of an organized life exists, it does strike one as a bit surprising.
September 2
My first and only day off this week - but boy did I need it just to catch up on my jet lag. I have a tendancy to
be very forgetful and air-heady when I'm suffering from jet lag. I lost my cell phone yesterday, temporarily, thank
God! And the first day of work, I was late for the first meeting with the auditor because I mis-read my watch.
So embarrasing!
The audit is progressing well enough, altough I hardly feel capable of responding to all the issues, but the staff here
are doing a great job. T'hey're all working non-stop this week, and I feel a bit guilty for taking the day off today,
but I want to be around for Omar as much as possible as we make the adjustment.
To make him and my mother feel like they haven't been couped up completely in a hotel room for 3 days, we went out this
morning to do some sight-seeing. We went to the Citadel which was mildly-impressive, I've definitely seen larger and
more intact ruins, but considering this is down-town'Amman's best shot at something touristy, it was pretty good!
Omar and I are planning on hanging out at the hotel pool this morning. On the whole, he seems pretty happy and
content in his new surroundings, although I'm already sick of trying to live out of a suitcase. We have an appointment
tomorrow with a real estate agent to see a few more apartments, so hopefully we'll be in a more permanent place soon.
I've been watching the coverage of Katrina on CNN - just sickening! I can't believe this is the United States,
we are supposed to be more capable to deal with this kind of thing.
September 1 2005
Jordan is a strange place, the country of brotherly-Arab love it is not. In the past year, they have had over 800,000
Iraqis take "refuge"here in one form or another. CHF alone has moved 2 Iraqi staff to Amman in the past year.
One is the widow of one of our staff members who was killed, and she is also a senior staff member with us. She has
two young kids. Jordan schools (even private ones) are refusing to allow Iraqi children to attend unless the have a
1 year residence registration card, which Jordan is no issuing to any Iraqi at this time. Jordan has a history of treating
the Palestinian refugees even more callously.
What gets me upset about this is that Jordan's economy has profited extensively from the war in Iraq. The
number of businesses that have set up shop in Amman just to cater to US companies, humanitarian agencies, and the defense
department is amazing. The hotels are packed with contractors enroute to or on R&R from Iraq. Not to mention,
the majority of these 800,000 Iraqis are quite wealthy and contribute to the real estate and general market economy of Jordan.
I believe that Jordan's economy would probably be in a major recession if it weren't for the war in Iraq.
I was sitting having lunch yesterday with one of our Iraqi staff when he received a phone call. He immediately
got this awful look on his face and just kept saying "dear God, dear God" in shock. It's quite frightening since you
never know what the news will be out of Iraq. When he got off the news he told me the news of hte 1,000 estimated died
in a pilgrimage in Baghdad. The war and the insurgency in Iraq has made the average Iraqi continually on edge, scared
of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Panic can be created at the strike of a match. That is
what happened.
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