On Running Away

The following blog post was written on August 7, 2011:

A chapter of this blog is in the process of closing.  Although there are some stories yet to come, my time in Jordan has ended.  Undoubtedly, this is a period of my life that I will never forget.  On the flip side, it’s a period of my life of which I didn’t take full advantage, and I’m sad to say that it took until my last day here to realize it. 

Prior to leaving for Amman, I was struggling physically, emotionally, spiritually.  I looked to my time in Jordan as a sort of release, a period where I could flesh these things out away from family, away from friends.  I looked at it as a time where I would uncover a lot of things about myself.  To be cliché, I wanted to use the time to find myself. 

Looking back over the trip, some of this was accomplished and some of it was not.  Did I utilize my trip as a release?  Yes.  But not a release in which I revealed deep-rooted truths.  Instead, I used it as a time in which I could tuck and run from the problems that were facing me.  With the time difference, the lack of internet, the new faces, the new challenges, this was all very easy to do.  In fact, I often forgot that certain problems existed at all.  Goal accomplished?  NO.

Tomorrow, I’ll be returning home, and I’m interested to see how things go.  Will my struggles be awaiting me at the airport with open arms or will they too have taken a sweet vacation?  Guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

I tell you all of this not in order to be dramatic, not to seem like I didn’t enjoy Jordan, but to warn you so that you don’t lose time.  I’m well aware that I’m going to face the same old issues at some point, probably sooner rather than later.  I only wish that I could have dealt with them here and not there. 

It’s time to stop running.  There is no where else to go.  America, I’m coming home.  Ready or not.  

The Post Office Fiasco of 2011

Once upon a time, a good friend of mine sent me a package here in Jordan.  My teacher brought me the slip during class one day and told me that I’d have to go downtown to the post office to get it, but the catch was that the post office closed at 2:30 pm.  Since I have class until 4:00 pm every day, I wasn’t sure exactly how this was going to be possible. 

The next day, during my break between classes, I headed out for the adventure.  Being wise to the traps that often come from this culture, I asked if I needed anything in particular before leaving.  My teacher assured me that I didn’t, so I headed out.  After two buses and a serveece, my roommate and I finally made it downtown.  We walked into the post office and got in line.  After being shuffled back and forth between lines and into various waiting rooms and after having several broken conversations in Arabic, I learned that my good ole’ Tennessee state drivers license wasn’t going to be sufficient for identification.  Dejected, we headed home.  I’d have to come back tomorrow, passport in hand.  In my frustration I paid about 5JD – far too much - to get home.  Keep a count on that, we are currently near 7 total.

Next day.  Woke up, grabbed my passport, headed to class.  At the break, I headed out for the post office, solo this time around.  My teacher took me near downtown so that the taxi wouldn’t cost as much.  I got in the taxi and started into one of the best Arabic conversations I’ve had since moving here.  We talked about what I was doing here, how I liked it, where I was from, what I thought about American politics, etc., etc.  I noticed that he didn’t have the meter on – a common scheme here in Jordan – so I asked him about it.  He shrugged it off, and I asked him how much then.  Patting my leg like an old friend, he told me it was on the house.  Now, this particular instance has happened several times since I’ve been living here.  You meet a nice cabbie, show him that you speak some Arabic, and, in his natural Jordanian hospitality, he gives you a free ride.  This seemed to be one of those times. 

There happened to be tons of traffic on this particular afternoon, so it did take some time to get to the post office.  When we finally stopped, I started to get out of the cab, and the man stopped me.  I just looked at him, and he said, “Ok, money?”  I told him that he said it was free, and he looked at me like I was crazy.  I then asked him how much.  A taxi ride across town costs no more than 3JD, so I was prepared to hear 1, maybe 2.  Out of his mouth flowed the following words, “Ashreen dinar.”  What does that mean?  TWENTY dinar.  TWENTY.  That’s nearly 30USD for a cab ride that probably lasted 20 minutes.  The conversation then went like this – translated for your viewing pleasure:

Kirby: Are you kidding me?

Cabbie: Taxi very expensive, much traffic.

K: Seriously?

C: I swear to God, 20 dinar.

K: There is no way that I’m giving you 20 dinar!

C: Listen, I fear God.

K: I MIGHT give you 2 dinar and that’s far too much.

C: Much traffic, 20 dinar.

It’s much more fun to hear this in Arabic, but then that wouldn’t be any fun to read.

This continued and escalated to both of us yelling at each other in the middle of the street.  Alone and not knowing what to do, I couldn’t just run off.  We kept bargaining until I got absolutely fed up.  At 9 dinar, I wadded up the money and threw it in his face. 

After me, two women tried to get in the cab.  I refused to let them in and explained to them that this man was a thief.  He was screaming at me.  Then, he called me back to the car.  He said, “Here, take this,” as he handed me back ONE dinar.  I smiled at him, took the dinar, wadded it in my hand, and threw it at him.  In parting I said, “I hope that one day you find God so that He can forgive you for what you’re doing here.“

After that little rendezvous, I was not looking forward to the post office.  I made it in, and after shuffling through more lines and rooms, I finally made it to the customs inspection.  This good friend of mine sent me one particular item that was just a tad bit crude but also very funny.  The officers, however, didn’t see the humor.  Luckily, I had a great story of an American getting ripped off in a taxi to keep them occupied, and this story just happened to save the items in my package.  Without a doubt, they felt sorry for me.

So then, I headed home.  Let’s just tally up the dinar for good measure.

2 dinar for the first day to the post office.

5 for the way home.

9 dinar for the ripped off taxi.

3 dinar for the package.

2 dinar for the way home.

Grand total: 21 dinar = 30 USD.

Winning. 

A Lesson In Cross-Cultural Communication

Having been immersed in a culture where very few people speak my language, I have been able to observe so many important lessons in the art of cross-cultural communication.

When two people speak different languages, all you have to rely on is what little you hold in common, accompanied by intermittent gestures.

A couple of lessons:

Listen!  This might be one of the most important things that a person can do, and it's probably the most difficult.  The natural reaction - at least for Americans - is to keep talking, to fill the void of silence.  What we often don't understand is that all this talking does is jumble things up for both speakers.  Furthermore, this can lead to putting words in someone else's mouth, preventing communication.  Take time to listen.  Listen well.  This will make everything smoother.

Empathize.  One of the things that has helped me is to put myself in that person's shoes.  Think about history, about backgrounds, about linguistic influences, and then use those to interpret messages.  For example, Arabic doesn't contain the letter "p."  Knowing this, it's easy for me to interpret when a speaker says "beoble," that he is, in fact, saying "people."  Another example, I was at a cafe the other day, and I asked the man for hummus or bread, or anything to eat.  He said that he didn't have anything, and then he proceeded to continue the conversation in Arabic.  Knowing literally nothing that he was saying, I thought about how giving the Arabic people are, and I was able to surmise that he was asking me if I wanted him to walk down the street to get me food.  A little application of cultural knowledge can give way to linguistic understanding.

Recognize Patterns.  Much like empathizing, certain patterns can be seen in a language, and they can help out a lot.  For example, I have noticed that people here call grocery stores subermarkets.  Not thinking about it, I asked my Iraqi roommate what time the grocery store opened.  He looked at me, confused, and said he didn't know.  This left me really confused because it was such a simple question, and I knew that he knew the answer.  Later, I was able to discover that he didn't even know the word grocery store because everyone here says subermarket.  This also includes acknowledging filler words.  Here, the word "yani" gets said all the time.  There is no definite meaning in most cases.  Just a filler.

Make It Easy.  Don't read incorrectly.  I said make it easy, not dumb it down.  Communication can be achieved with increasing difficulty depending upon the grammatical structures and words employed.  Therefore, it's usually best to communicate in the simplest ways, even though they may not sound as smart or polite.  Don't try to impress, just try to get the point across.

Accept Nuances and Adapt.  Sometimes there will be words that are misused, phrases that are taken out of context, things that are misunderstood.  Most of the time, it's best to take it for what it's worth and just move on.  Again, the goal is getting the point across, not achieving perfection.

Cross-cultural communication is not easy.  It's messy, and it takes time to get it right.  I'm doing my best here. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.

For example, today in class, my classmate was trying to say 'exactly' (bizaBt), and she accidentally said 'naked' (bizaLt).  Hilarity ensued, followed by the other guy in class and myself using bizaLt in our next few example sentences.  The lesson?  Never will I ever forget how to say 'naked' in Arabic.

Dead Sea and Wadi Mujib

Yesterday was without a doubt one of the top five best days of my life.

We headed out in the morning on our way to the Dead Sea.  It's the lowest point on the Earth, and the water is about ten times saltier than what's in the ocean.  There are some hotels and beaches, but there are no boats allowed on the sea, so the water is so peaceful.  I have never seen anything like it.  The drive through the valleys of Jordan was beautiful in itself.  I could have stopped right there.

After passing the road that leads into Palestine - it's closed off currently because Jordan refuses to recognize it - we made it to the Dead Sea.  Now, I knew that it was going to be big, but I couldn't have imagined this.  It's absolutely massive.



We parked the car and headed down to the sea.  Again, could have stopped here.  The hike through the rocks and along a little inlet was enough for me.  We made it down to the coast, white from all the salt buildup, and started to get in the water.  You have to be really careful getting in - see the face I'm making when I'm getting in the water.  The water is so salty, I can't even imagine what it would feel like in my eyes.  Instantly, the differences between this body of water and others present themselves.  First of all, you are literally floating on top of the water.  No lifeguard needed because it would be nearly impossible to drown.  The salt causes buoyancy, so you can sit back, float, stand up, run, jump, (sort of) swim, without getting your head wet.  Secondly, if you take a look at your hand under the water, it looks just like you are swimming in a vat of oil.  It was crazy, a surreal experience.


We got out of the water, and yet another difference.  Your skin doesn't know what to do without all the moisture that's been sucked out, so your it's soon as dry as it's ever been.  That sticky feeling that comes from the ocean is definitely there but multiplied by ten.  We hiked up to a waterfall to wash off before heading on for the rest of the day.  Could have stopped, but the day only got better.

Next, we headed to Wadi Mujib.  Basically, it's a huge canyon with a river through it.  We hiked up the river, which included rapids and huge rock formations that required us to use ropes to climb up rock faces and waterfalls.  The river also included leeches, which nibbled at your ankles the entire time.  Wadi Mujib was definitely one of the coolest things that I have ever done.  The sheer beauty of it all was astounding.  At the end of the wadi, there were three huge waterfalls.  On the way back, there are many parts of the river that are deep enough to float down, and there are several points where sliding down waterfalls is the only way to get back.  I was floating down the last part of the wadi and noticed a Jordanian sitting in the river.  As I passed by, he pulled my leg over to him and held me baby-style.  All I could hear was him asking, "Masaji?"  Over and over.  Embracing the culture, I obliged and settled in for my massage.  Couldn't ever come by that in the U.S.  In typical Arab fashion, he offered me a cigarette, which I declined, and then sent me on my way.  Nice to meet you, too, sir.  Have I told you that I love this place?

A Taste of Home

Last night, I was invited into my first Middle Eastern home.

We went to church with a couple of our teachers.  Afterword, much like my fellow Baptists, the Jordanians stand around and talk before leaving the sanctuary.  Naturally, we stuck around and chatted with people in broken sentences and motions.  All of the culture books that I have read talk about how inviting these people are, and I can't count the number of times that I've been told that I will get asked to someone's home within the first week.  I never believed that it would be true though.

Being from the south, I have observed my fair share of hospitality.  Sure, people say that they would love for you to come over and visit, but they rarely, if ever mean it.  It's a simple pleasantry that people often say but never intend to follow through with, and everyone knows it, so it all works.  All that I have read says that these people are the same in intention but quite the opposite in expectation.  Translation: if they invite you over, they mean now, and you better not say no.

Back to the church.  We were standing around when my teacher looks at me and says that her mother would like for us to come over.  Awestruck at the opportunity arriving so early into the trip, I'm pretty sure that I made a fool of myself through the excitement on my face.  I said yes probably ten times and couldn't stop smiling.  My Middle Eastern dreams were coming true, and I didn't care who knew it.

So, we started out on the walk.  I don't know if you noticed, but in the last blog, I mentioned the hills of Amman a lot - think San Fransisco.  In other words, this was a long, hard walk.  After climbing several of these 90 degree hills, we made it to the house.  Entering, I noticed that there were a lot more people there than I first expected.  Everyone got up to shake hands and speak what little English they knew.  There was a grandfather, grandmother, mother, father, uncle, brothers, and even friends from next door.  Somewhere close to fifteen people in a space that Americans would seat maybe four.  As soon as I sat down, plates of apricots, peaches, cucumbers, and some sort of berries were thrown my way.  "Eat."  Was all I heard before I was picking up the fruits and indulging in their goodness.  Everyone was talking and having a great time despite the fact that it was nearing ten o'clock - American parents totally would be heading to bed, definitely not inviting guests over.  I loved the feeling of family that was so present in that house.  I, myself, felt like a member.  That feeling is hard to come by in the states, especially from total strangers.  After about an hour, the tea came out along with another plate of delicious desserts.  "Eat more," was the popular phrase of the night.  Literally everything that I read about being invited into a home was true.  Can I say that I love this place too many times?  Never.

So, with my first home visit behind me, there are some resolutions that I'd like to make before coming back to the states.  I want to be like these people.  I want to focus on relationships before business, to put the comfort of others before my own, to be inviting and welcoming no matter the time or place, to offer my home and my food to those whom I love and even to strangers.  Everyday, I find something more that I want to take home.  My visit into the Middle Eastern home was definitely one of those moments.

I live in Amman, Jordan

Jordan is incredible.

I love absolutely everything here: the heat, the people, the language, the food, the culture, everything.

After many hours of traveling and a small spell of dehydration on the plane, I was so ready to have my feet on the ground.  Upon arriving, I was picked up at the airport and taken to my apartment.  I stepped out of the car to be greeted by a lovely dead cat lying on the sidewalk.  Jordan may not have the cleanest streets, but there is definitely something to be said for the views you can get from atop its dusty hills.  Our apartment is incredible, much nicer than what I had envisioned for this summer.

Several hours later, my roommate arrived.  When he got here, we went back to the apartment to unload our stuff.

The next several days were filled with getting to know people and exploring our neighborhood.  This can be fairly difficult when you know little to nothing of the language, but we made due.  We were treated to some very nice dinners by an American family here and were able to just spend time with their family, including their two awesome kids.  We met the third student who will be studying with us, and we got a new roommate who isn't studying with us - because he has been speaking Arabic since he was born.  He's awesome, and I'm sure he will provide some much needed assistance over the next 9 weeks.  I'm super excited to spend my summer getting to know these people.

One of the things that I have come to love about this culture is the aspect of community.  Yesterday, I was sitting out under the arbor at my apartment, and two men just walked right up and started speaking to me in Arabic.  Answering what little I could, I quickly realized that they were our downstairs neighbors just coming up for a chat.  Although it wasn't any lengthy conversation, it was something that almost never happens in the states anymore.  Secondly, last night, when we were watching a movie, my Iraqi roommate asked me if I liked Pepsi.  Replying with a yes and not really expecting much else, he jumped off the couch, ran to the kitchen to grab me a cup, and poured me the last of his Pepsi while he went on and on about how much he loves the drink.  Being a male college student, I'm well aware of how rare this would be in the states, as well.  Nine times out of ten, I'm begging my roommates to share food with me, much less for them to get up and fix me a drink at their own will.

Yesterday, we visited Tel-Amman, which includes the ruins of the old city.  It was so legit to see a place with such ancient history.  The United States, being such a young country, just doesn't have the richness that can be found among the hills of Amman.

 A view of Amman from one of the hills.

Some of the ruins in Tel-Amman.

The Roman amphitheater.            

The hand and the elbow of the state of Hercules.

I start Arabic classes in just a few hours.  I'm nervous but also really excited to start learning this language.  I've picked up several words already.  For instance, if you need me to direct a taxi for you, I've got you covered.  What I don't have covered are food words.  I have eaten some of the most delicious food of my life, but I honestly can't tell you the name of one thing that I have had, nor can I go to a restaurant and order it.

Needless to say, this has already been an incredible trip.  Every time that I walk through the city, I have to remind myself that I'm living in the Middle East.  Six months ago, I never would have imagined that I'd be here.

I live in Amman, Jordan.  Woah, still sounds crazy.