|
Loan applications
and Eid Preparations 10-30-05
Loan applications, loan applications,
loan applications – they have been my life for the past 6 days. I think
I have reviewed and signed off on over 400 applications. We are on our last stack
of applications for the month, probably about 80 left to do, and they’ll be completed tomorrow….Insha’allah
(god willing!).
My colleagues call the work
boring, I don’t think it is boring, tedious, yes, boring, no. I learn so
much about life in Iraq from these applications. My favorite
one of the week was a 34 old male applicant who had 2 wives and 11 children, and had a business as a cigarette wholesaler,
making $1000/month – this man is considered wealthy, in more ways than just monetary income!
Preparations are underway
for the Eid (end of the month of Ramadan). The streets and stores are packed
with people buying traditional Eid gifts – new clothes. The money exchange
and transfer places are also packed with lines out the doors – people give money traditionally during the Eid.
The doorman was on my step
promptly on the 30th of the month asking for next month’s salary. I
gave him a box of chocolates along with the money.
Ramadan Kareem! 10-26-05
Just when I start to get
really bored and annoyed by the inconveniences of Ramadan, the month is almost ending and I’m caught up in the excitement
again of the spirit of the season and the preparations for the Eid celebration.
As I was walking out of the
apartment on the way to an Iftar with some plates of food in my arms, there was a family walking into the building with the
pots of food too. We smiled at each other, exchanged a “ramadan kareem”
greeting, and I felt the “holiday spirit.” The feeling and
excitement around Ramadan is not too different for me from the preparations and celebrations around Christmas – it is
about family, about sharing, about thinking of and doing things for those less fortunate, and about being present in the happiness
of the season.
I enjoyed another Iftar meal
with colleagues, and then we went out again to listen to live music. We stayed
for several hours, smoked a shisha/hubbly bubbly, and had a lively conversation about regional politics, families, and of
course, work. We try to steer the conversation away from work when it gets too
heavy.
A warm sweater. Frustration 10-20-05
It's rained for 2 days straight and it is cold. It is shockingly cold - it went from warm summer weather to bone-chilling
cold in a snap.
Part of the frustration of living here is my ineptness with Arabic. It feels like I'm trying to operate as a
2 year old in a grown up world. Here I am, this fairly articulate, well spoken woman (most of the time?), and yet,
when I need to speak Arabic, I can't even express my basic needs. And I feel like no matter how long I've lived in the
Arab world, no matter how fluent I become in mannerisms and politesse, and the basics of the language, I'm still in a place
where I can't read the rules.
It took me 5 days to figure out how the heat worked in the house. It got progressively colder each night, and it
was only by piecing together all the various parts of instructions that 6 different people gave me, that I figured it out.
I mean, I just don't get it. Why couldn't somebody, and these were all Arab men with a good fluency in English, just
walk me through the process from A to Z about all the different types of pipes I needed to open (its radiated heat), and buttons
I need to press (one to turn on the water heater, another to turn on the pump), and that if it didn't work I might be out
of deasel (tank located in the bottom of the building), which I would then have to ask the doorman to go and purchase for
me. FIVE days, it took me 5 days to get the heat operating. I feel incompetent.
I was invited to the US Embassy for a small gathering yesterday evening. Oddly enough, I knew several people there
- well, I guess the only other people outside of work that I know in Amman, and it made me feel like I already have a good
circle of friends here in such a short time. In any case, there was a contigent of former Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs).
PCVs have a tendancy to end up in similar places in life, half of the people at CHF are former PCVs. I met a woman who
was a PCV in Yemen in 1985. We had an interesting talk.
The woman who is the lead trainer with Peace Corps in Jordan is really nice -I had met her last week at a party and she
was at the gathering last night. I was complaining to her about how I came totally unprepared for actual winter.
She recommended I go to the used-clothing Souq (market) in Abdili (old town Jordan) to pick up some nice sweaters really cheap.
The market is only open on Friday (prayer days), is located near the main mosque, and is a very local place. The crowd
would certainly be very conservative. It's difficult to put into words, but even thinking about going down there was
anxiety-provoking. I am still not used to feeling comfortable in a very local (ie conservative) environment where I
may be looked upon strangely as a foreigner. Then again, I didn't want to pay $30 for a cheap sweater that I didn't really
like from one of the expensive stores in the "5th Avenue neighborhood" of Swefia where the office is located.
So, I managed to get a taxi, who understood my Arabic easily, and found the Souq. And it was great! It reminded
me of something half-way between a flea market in the States and the weekly markets in small towns in France which have both
clothing and fresh fruits and vegetables. I quickly found two nice, warm sweaters - 1 Dinar ($1.25) a piece. Best of
all, even though the place was crowded, I felt very comfortable.
I made my way back home easily via taxi again. I really felt good. It reminds me that I sometimes need to
step outside of my comfort zone, that things rarely turn out to be as scary as they are in my imagination, and that I do have
some competency in this culture. I am my own worst enemy.
Winter and Strangers 10.17-05
It appears as if winter has arrived to Jordan. I use the term "winter" quite loosely, as it rarely snows in Amman,
and technically, I think Jordan is a country of only 2 seasons, one of them definitely being winter, the other would be summer
or the "hot" season.
I only know its official arrival by my intuitive thermometer. I went out of the office yesterday at noon to run
an errand and there was not a bit of warmth in the air, it was definitely cool. It was the first time I felt that
coolness. The wind picked up at sunset and howled well past midnight. When I awoke this morning, the sky was threatening
rain and the air was chilly. It was the first day I needed a sweater on my way to work. It hasn't rained yet, but
a colleague did inform me that the rains have "arrived in Lebanon". The arrival of rains in climates all over the world where
there are only 2 seasons is the definitive sign of the annual change of seasons. This whole wet and dry
season phenomenon is absolutely awe-inspiring to me, for the sole reason that I grew up in the northeast where it rained all
the time.
Did I mention how much I dislike riding in taxis in Amman? Please, let me just say it again here to reiterate my
point - I HATE riding in taxis in Amman!! And did I also mention how much it angers me to the core to see how Jordanians
treat the Palestinian refugees in this country? Eight years ago I worked in the Palestinian refugee camps in Amman and
was shocked by how Arab "brothers" treat each other (abysmal!). Here it goes....
Today was one of the days that I didn't have access to the car, so I left the office and hailed a taxi. I get into
a very clean car, music playing softly, and the driver understood my broken Arabic and knew immediately where I wanted
to go (all rare phenomenon in the Jordanian taxi business). As he drove, I soon lost myself in my internal checklist
of thoughts about what work I needed to complete this afternoon. Suddenly, the taxi driver starts talking about the
Jordan University Hospital, in Arabic. I thought he was talking on the cell phone, but then I realized he was talking
to ME?! He was waving his hands while he was talking, so I thought maybe he was trying to point out the landmark
to me, but we were nowheres near the hospital in question.
But he keeps rambling on and although I am not fluent in Arabic, I realize this guy is telling me a story about his wife
and son. His voice grows in intensity and pace. Thoughts start running through my head..."Is this guy nuts? Do
I play along? Shake my head in pretend understanding? Jump out of the car at the next intersection. Call 911 on my cell
phone..does Jordan have 911?!" But I was barely half way to my destination. So, from the backseat I try to
concentrate on exactly what this guy is saying, because I'm suddenly convinced my life may depend on it.
The story he narrates sounds like this to me: "I go to the Jordanian University Hospital...after I was at
the other hospital (he kept saying the name, but I can't remember). They told me I had to go to the University Hospital
to be treated, my son needed an injection (or he was shot in his arm, I'm not sure which). I go to the University Hospital,
they tell me the injection costs 200 dinars ($300 USD), I tell them, I am a Palestinian refugee, I am only a taxi driver,
I have no money, please help and treat my son. My wife is crying, she is pleading, she is holding my son, all he needs
is the injection, in his arm, this is my child, my SON! They refuse, they tell me to leave, they tell me they won't
treat me unless I pay." (guess the hypocratic oath does not apply in Jordan, no surprise there. I wouldn't
be surprised if they had the oath posted on their welcome board with a note underneath, "Does not apply to Palestinians")
As I'm starting to wonder where this story goes, the driver becomes more and more agitated and angry, hitting the
steering wheel with his hands. I'm starting to worry that he's thinking of steering the car into oncoming traffic.
But he carries on with the story, and I am amazed by my understanding of the words as they are quickly strung together.
He tells me of his wife carrying his son, with blood streaming down her dress. And how she is crying and yelling, asking
for somebody to take care of her son. Now, partly due to my lack of Arabic abilities, and partly due to the nonsensical
way the man is telling the story, I don't quite understand what has actually happened. What I do understand are the
following significant details - he's Palestinian, he's trying to make a living driving a taxi (a 3 mile ride is about
80 cents, so you get an idea of their pay scale), his son is sick or injured, his young son has been refused medical
care by the University of Jordan Hospital because of his inability to pay $300 for treatment (which for a Palestinian refugee
living in Jordan, would be the equivalent of asking a DC taxi driver to pay $8000 cash).
As the man is talking, images are running through my head. The image of a mother scared and terrified of losing
her son, the image of a father unable to provide for his family, the image of a man being humiliated because of his country
of origin (which brings with it its own traumatic story I'm sure) and his inability to pay. Suddenly, the taxi
driver puts his head in his hands and starts sobbing (the car is still moving). I am moved to tears myself...I put my
hands over my eyes and tears run onto my own cheeks. I don't know what to say. I feel as if I've been frozen in
time to be a witness to the world's catostrophes. Or is this guy purposefully trying to pull my hearthstrings?
How am I supposed to react? Telling him I'm American probably wouldn't be a good start (chuckle chuckle), but I think
its a fact that thankfully probably hasn't occurred to him.
I sit silently, trying to rummage through my brain to find the words of compassion. I can barely do that in
my native tongue, much less in a language that makes me feel like a 2 year old when I attempt to speak it. I direct
him calmly to my destination. As he stops the car, trying to wipe the tears from his cheek, this is what I tell him
in Arabic, "I do not understand everything you say. I do understand that you have a son who needs to go to the hospital.
I know what a problem it is. I wish I could help."" I lay down the fare on the seat next to him, along with $60.
He seems surprised, but definitely not gratified. He says thank-you, giving thanks to God then asks if he
can have $70 more. When I say I don't have any more, he gets angry. Now I really start to wonder who is the fool.
I have never done anything like that, I don't know what moved me to do it this time. I'll admit, I am very stingy
when it comes to helping others this way. I rarely give money to somebody begging on the street. I guess
I was touched by an genuiness of suffering. I think it wasn't a matter of who was sitting in that taxi, I think the
story would have unravelled exactly that way even if he had picked up somebody else, I don't really think he was
aware of who it was sitting in his taxi.
I have spent the past 2 weeks listening to staff complaining non-stop, mostly about the unfairness in their salaries
as compared to others, or whining how they have to work 6 days in a row, despite getting a 10% differential on top of their
salary, everybody trying to one-up each other on the ego scale. I have absorbed so much of this crap the past 2
weeks with this feeling like people are looking for me to help them answer questions of their own integrity - adult men
looking for some ego boosting.
And then...I walk into this very unexpected scene where I am witnessing somebody's raw grief, and for the first time
in a long time, I feel real human pain. The world feels a mess.
Massage and Modesty 10-16-05
To celebrate my temporary freedom from the demands of single-motherhood, I spent yesterday at a spa/lounge place for
women that I came across during one of my lost ramblings in Amman. The "spoiler" package that I indulged myself in included
a facial, an indian scalp massage, a massage, and a manicure and pedicure. It was the first time I had a facial, not
sure if I want to do that again! The manicure and pedicure were a blast - I literally had 4 different people working
on each limb at one time, wierd.
The indian scalp massage was nice - warm oil dripping on my forehead as it was massaged into my hair. As soon
as the massseuse touched my back, I knew what she was going to say - it was extremely tight. Usually, when
I have a massage, as soon as the masseuse starts on my back, I feel tingles in my toes. This time - nothing! Part
of it is because of all the incredible stress I've been dealing with it, but its also a sign that I need to get back into
a yoga routine.
The other day, I was having a conversation with a mixed (American and Arabs) group about Arab women's modesy, vanity,
etc.. A couple of the Americans commented that they found it funny when they saw fully veiled women wearing lipstick
and thick make-up. I tried to explain to them that veiling is a form of modesty, but that in Arab culture, wearing lots
of make-up is generally not seen as immodest. You will find lots of Muslim women who forgo make-up during Ramadan, but
it is not done for reasons of modesty, but more religious reasons that are not necessarily linked to modesty. It is done to
show respect to the somberness of Ramadan, as men also often forgo shaving and fancy dress during Ramadan. Also, the
veil is something (in my opinion) done by women for men (as if to say that women should be responsible for how men feel!),
but when Muslim women are among themselves, they wear some of the sexiest and immodest clothing I've ever seen. Quite
a discusion ensued around this subject, as I believe Americans and Westerners apply their definitions of modesty, sexuality,
and conservatism to Arab women when they interpret the veil. I think those definitions do not apply.
This struck me especially clear when I was in the spa lounge, which was strictly a female place - no males allowed, heavily
curtained windows, and they had no robes, and were asking me to walk around in just my bra. They laughed when I asked
for a robe to cover up, explaining it was just women. Yikes, well I like to be a little modest in front of women
too! When I was living in Yemen, the same thing happened at a women's public spa (turkish bath/spa) that we went
to - all the Yemeni women were walking around fully naked, and us western women were not comfortable at all doing that.
This to me is further proof that we have different definitions of modesty.
HubleeBubblees, Grenades and Taxi Drivers - 10/11/05
Last night I went out with my colleagues to a Ramadan tent, it was fun! Ramadan tents are usually put up by restaurants,
hotels and cafes, like enclosed seating outside, where late night ramadan revlers can enjoy live music, food and drinks, games
and....hubbleebubblees, also known as Sheesha, water pipe, etc.. Inside the pipe, they put flavored tobacco, and I really enjoy
it.
A few nights ago, we had a grenade attack on one of our offices in Iraq. The security manager said he discovered
later that when the attack happened, the guards had been inside the office smoking hubbleebubblee. For reasons I won't
go into here, I was rolling over in laughter when I learned that. Maybe humor is the only way to deal with these otherwise
extremely scary events. I will never look at a hubleebublee the same way.
I'm getting to the point of not really liking taxi drivers in Amman. I no longer seem to have a problem being understood,
but a whole lot of them are just very unfriendly. I tried to get out of a taxi today and the door wouldn't open.
I think it was locked. The taxi driver just kept telling me, "It's locked, it's locked." I didn't understand and he
was making no effort to open it, so I scooted over to the other side of the car, and got out. As I was walking away, the cab
driver yelled to me in Arabic, "What's your problem?" I was so angry, I was like, "What is HIS problem?" He wouldn't unlock
the door for me, and he wasn't offering any help. I don't know, maybe there was something lost in translation.
In any case, I've started to walk to and from work more frequently, it's only about a 25 minute walk, not scenic at all, but
the hills get my heart going.
Jasmine and Iftar 10/10/05
If there is one smell I associate with the Middle East, it is the smell of Jasmine. In Yemen, people would stand
on the streets and sell these beautiful garlands of all sizes of Jasmine through the car windows. I rarely could resist
buying a small garland for about 5 cents and hanging it my bedroom to smell the aroma for days.
I don't like perfumes, but I love the natural smells of flowers. When I moved into a home in Yemen with a big,
empty garden and a perfect covered porch where I hung a hamock, the first thing I wanted to plant was jasmine. Within
6 weeks, the climbing jasmine covered the porch. In the evening, I would sit in the hamock, often with Saleem, and just
relax and take in the sweet smell. I'd keep my bedroom door to the porch open in the evenings to smell the aroma.
The smell of Jasmine seems to intensify in the early evening hours between 7-9pm.
It is true that smells are a strong and powerful force that can illicit long, forgotten memories. Soon after Saleem
left me, I was walking down the street in Washingon and suddenly smelled Jasmine. I was almost brought to tears by the
memories the smell invoked.
Imagine my pleasant surprise when I moved into the apartment here in Jordan and discovered that there are Jasmine plants
bordering the fence and sidewalk below! It made me smile. Then, Omar started a funny habit - every morning when
we leave the house to go to school, he stops at the Jasmine plants, picks me a white flower, and makes me hold it between
my fingers all the way to school. He has no idea how much meaning this little flower and this little habit of his carries
so much meaning for me. Saleem arrived in Jordan on his way to Yemen a few days ago, and as we were walking all together
out of the apartment one evening, he smelled the Jasmine, stopped, looked at the plant and asked, "Is that Jasmine?!"
"Yes" I responded, but said no more. I didn't want him to know that even though the smell evoked some sadness from all
the beautiful memories he cheapened, it still also evoked some happiness which has nothing to do with him.
For the second time in a week, I've been invited to the house of my colleauges for an Iftar (breaking fast) meal.
I was surprised by the second invitation today, as I thought I had sort of invited myself the first time. I was telling my
colleagues, that although I'm not fasting, I would fast if they would introduce me to a Jordanian Iftar. Well, silly
me, my colleagues consist of a Lebanese man and two Palestinian men - 2 of them are bachelor's here as their families are
in the neighboring countries, and the other is a young, single bachelor. I was sort of shocked when they invited me
to their house for an Iftar that they would cook, as I know few Arab men who actually cook, and cook well.
The first Iftar was wonderful. They were all teasing each other about the food, but it was really wonderful - very
tasty, well cooked and spiced. Admitedly, I didn't enjoy the meal fully as I hadn't fasted that day since they invited
me late in the afternoon. After the meal, they set out a bowl of fruit and 3 different kinds of dates (dates are eaten
by the pounds during Ramadan) and we really relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. I was feeling good that I was
beginning to earn their trust, as they revealed a lot to me about office politics that I wasn't aware of. I was expecting
this to be a one time deal.
But this morning, they started talking about cooking a special dish called "Meliesh". They described it, and I
had never heard of it (actually it is hard to explain, its made from a green vegetable plant that I don't know what it is,
and looks very similiar to an Indian dish I know, I've never seen it in the Middle East). So they invited me to join
them for Iftar tonight. I was so happy to get a second invitation, I immediately said yes and decided to fast for the
rest of the day (except water).
The meal was wonderful, although being bachelor's, there are limits. Soup is a main course during Ramadan,
and I love the traditional Ramadan soups, always very tasty and full of protein. But unfortunately, these guys
make soup out of a can. The Meleish was a little too bitter and under-seasoned for my taste, and there was some argument
as to how the Lebanese ingrediants didn't fit in with the dish. The rest of the meal was delicious. They served
a juice called "Sous" - I have to find out what the fruit was, it was much too bitter for my taste.
The best part, is that I thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated the meal because I fasted. And after I break the fast, I've
always found that it is so good to feel my blood sugar rising again and I feel very fulfilled. This is one of the purposes
of Ramadan, as I understand, to better appreciate the essentials of life - food and water.
I've been so adamant that I wasn't going to fast this year, but I am slowly changing my mind, especially if my collegial
Iftars are going to become a regular thing.
Fasting, I think I like Amman 10/ 9/05
Ramadan is a holiday that is not fully appreciated unless you join in the fasting and the modification of your daily
rhythm. I have fasted several times in the past, but have chose not to this year. And although there are several
non-fasting colleagues at work, I still feel out of synch with things.
No restuarants or cafes are open in the middle of the day. Stores open for only a few hours in the middle of the
day. But things come alive at night. To what hour, I have no idea. It does sound quite quiet though after
midnight, but since it is still the beginning of Ramadan, changes are minimal at this point.
The audit report came in and it is mostly very minor findings. I'm busy now coordinating te response to that.
After a staff meetng today, I feel a lot more relaxed about things now We have a good team that's done a great job.
I'm starting to change my opinion about Amman to even a more positive one as I get to know the city a bit better.
I found a nice women's gym, a yoga studio, and other such places. I've decided to start walking to and from work. It's
about a 20 minute walk and I just have to dodge the horrible drivers.
Earthquake and Moon Sitings 10/3/05
Got shaken out of bed by an earthquake this morning. It certainly gave me a scare, but Omar didn't even notice
it. It was 6am and he was wide awake, had been for about 15 minutes. We changed clocks back a few days ago.
He had gone into the living rooms, after I pled with him to give me 10 more minutes of peace, and as I felt the quake increase
in intesity, I knew exactly what it was. I started to run into the living room so I could grab him and go into a doorway,
but by the time I stepped out of bed, it was over. Just 2 weeks ago, there were rumors that a deadly quake was going
to hit here in Jordan and people panicked.
Ramadan may start tomorrow. I forgot how the build up to Ramadan is, but it came quickly back to me when I've witnessed
some things over the past few days. One thing is that people go nuts shopping before Ramadan. It's the scramble to make
the essential purchases for the fasting meals, as apparently prices shoot up on all basic food goods (flour, oil, eggs, sugar,
nuts) during Ramadan. The streets were absolutely packed and crazy on Thursday, Friday and Saturday night when I was trying
to get ready for Omar's birthday.
If the muslim scholars see the moon with the naked eye before sunset tonight, then tomorrow will be the first day of
the holy month. There are shortened office hours during the month. I will probably stick to normal hours, but
leave work a little earlier than normal so I don't have to be on the roads or trying to catch a taxi 30 minutes before the
breaking of the fast (the craziest time of the day when everybody tries to rush home), and then work in the evenings.
Almost all of my colleagues will be fasting. I'll miss our daily "breakfast" of sesame bread, hummus, falafel and
foul (cooked beans and tomatoes) that the staff have been bringing in almost every morning about 10am. We take a
small break to eat together, and then begin our loan review committee. It is a routine that I've really come to enjoy.
It's a protein-packed meal that is tasty and healthy since I'm insistent about starting my days with as much protein
as I can. The more protein I eat earlier in the day, the less hungry I am in the evenings when I'm too
tired to cook. Breakfast has always been my favorite meal, and is more so in the middle east. In Yemen, one
of the staff would always bring me something that resembled a soft taco made with eggs.
Arab Television, Arab Honor 10/1/05
The television in the house has not been operational since I moved in. A friend of a colleague came to try to set
it up to get a cable subscription. When he told me he could set it up for $250 (some new things needed), I refused because
I don't have cable in the States and I really don't enjoy watching TV that much. The guy literally got angry with
me - I think he was shocked that somebody would say no to more TV - Arabs LOVE their television. I had to pretty much
kick the guy out of the house.
Anyway, the colleague who referred the guy to me was in my house this weekend for my son's birthday. I think he
was embarrased in front of everybody else that I didn't have a working television. Like I said, TV is a major thing here and
they can't imagine how anybody could do without. So to my surprise, he sent somebody to install a new satellite receiver
and hook up the satellite that is on my roof (at no cost to me!). I walk in the house yesterday afternoon to Omar sitting
in front of the TV watching the powder puff girls - ugh. I was not happy and had a few stern words with the nanny.
In the evening, I turned the TV on and discovered that it is entirely Arabic channels, except for the BBC (yey!).
I enjoy watching Arabic TV just for the language, to see how much I could understand. My ex-husband always use
to get a kick out of how I would sit in the evenings and watch the old black and white Egyptian classic movies when I could
barely understand a word they were saying. Despite not understanding most of the words, the stories were almost always
the same (man falls in love with girl, girls parents refuse for her to marry him, she is supposed to marry somebody else,
the two lovers sing songs and persever, and finally get married).
My arabic is improving, although my recollection of words is scattered. It must be the aging process, but for days
I could not remember the word for "in front of/before", and yet in an instant I could recall the strange world for flour (dageeq).
|
