Part of the difficulty of keeping my mood up has definitely been the lifestyle change. I needed the last week to acclimate to the mode of transportation, environment, and schedule. One week in I feel like I have to start getting busy or otherwise I won't be able to successfully make the transition. I need to get on a regular sleep schedule and start exercising. I also have a lot of reading to catch up on and a paper to write.
Don't let my complaining fool you, though. I couldn't be happier with where and how I'm living. This is an experience I've been waiting for my whole life.
I live in a hilly area of Amman called Tla'a a Ali, in a three story home owned by one family. My host grandmother, Rhada, lives on the first floor with the house keeper and two other American students studying at AMIDEAST, Chris and Hayden. The second floor is occupied by Rhada's eldest son and his family. The third floor, where her youngest son, Ihab, and his wife and 2-year old daughter live, is where I stay. Its a big apartment with a view of nearly the entire city from the living room window. I sit by it when I'm reading or writing. Looking out onto the city I still feel detached from it, as though I'm looking at a picture or out from inside of a bubble. At least that means I feel safe and at home in this chair.
Rhada has a garden where she grows her own figs (tiin), apricots (mushmush), and a few other things. The first fig picked off the tree this season was given to me to eat. The morning after trying my first apricot, a bowl stood on the breakfast table with barely day old apricot jam. The food in the house is wonderful. I can't imagine a single place in the country where traditional Jordanian fare is made better than in Rhada's kitchen with her and Sally, the housekeeper, at the helm.
I use a taxi to get to anywhere I need to go. I've had a lot of trouble making use of landmarks to get a feel for the geography of Amman because of my perception that many of the buildings, homes, and infrastructure look similar. It doesn't help that neighborhoods have recently had their names changed; as well as streets - most of which are named after a city in the Middle East or a King, Queen, Prince, or Princess. You tend to have to know the directions to somewhere if you want to get there without much trouble.
The taxi drivers are relatively pleasant though. When I take a taxi alone I manage to make it about three or four minutes before I have to identify myself as a foreigner: etekelom arabee shway (I speak a little Arabic). Sometimes they're surprised that I'm from somewhere else, pointing out that my face looks Arab. I've been asked if I'm from Turkey. I reply ehna amreeki (I'm American). Some will ask what I'm doing here. Ehna tawleb fii arabee (I'm a student of Arabic). Others don't attempt to communicate. Welcomes abound; ahlan w'sahlan they tell me. I thank them.
One taxi driver told me he loved Obama. He made a gesture of holding a gun and said something in an excited and grateful tone about Saddam Hussein and then Afghanistan. I want to say he was lauding our military interventions in the region. At least someone in that cab was happy about what our country is up to, I joked with a classmate sitting in the back.
Mohammed, a taxi driver from a few days ago, bought some fruit on the side of the road towards the end of our time together and handed one to me. He knew few English words but we did manage to have a conversation of some sort. He proudly showed me a tattoo that looked like he had done it himself. Philstiin (Palestine) it said fi arabee. Below it were his children's names. We talked about how women in Jordan have so many kids and how in America they have far less. He told me his wife's name. He was so pleased to know the word "fuck" he repeated proudly in several instances of hitting traffic.
Iman, a taxi driver who took a few of us to Wasat al Balat, spoke wonderful English. I mentioned him in passing in my second post. He told Paula how much she should pay for a hookah and that to make sure its from Egypt, they make the best ones. Conor got some advice from him on how much he should buy a John Cena shirt for. Iman told me how much I should spend on a koofiyeh and how the price will tell me where its made. He told me of a hotel his brother manages in Aqaba and that I should mention his name if I call to make a reservation.
Of course, I haven't been spending all my time in taxis and exploring Jordan. My Peace and Conflict class is from 9 am to 12 pm, Sunday through Thursday, the Jordanian work week. It has been pretty enlightening. So far we've had three prominent Jordanian figures speak with us, most recently former Prime Minister Abdelsalam al-Majali.
Amman stretches into the horizon, even seen from its highest point. The window at which I sit faces East. The moon becomes visible in the sky hours before sunset and slowly becomes brighter and brighter as the setting sun steals light away from this part of the world. The call to prayer rings out from a mosque. Where the sky meets the city you can see that night has fallen in the East. The grey darkness stretches across the horizon, the height of a thumb on an outstretched arm. Between the incoming night and the moon an ascending blue sky quickly turns purple, then pink, and finally, slowly, orange. Orange fades into evening's intended blue without hesitation. The almost full moon gets brighter. The colors in the sky follow their creator down below the Western horizon.
Street lights turn on. Some don't work. Mosques across the city illuminate their minarets in a green light. Another call to prayer, this time from further away. The air has cooled. The skyscrapers I see from my window, which you can count on two hands, tower above the city. Most stand unlit, either under construction or currently unoccupied. The city lights in the distance score the horizon. Another place to draw a line, a border to fight over, an attempt to make different us and our side from them and their side.
I haven't completely unpacked and settled in yet even though I've done laundry. I'm going to do that now and then go watch the Spain v Italy soccer game with my classmates.
Salaam.
