Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Side Note



Before I go into all of the absolutely incredible things I had the opportunity to do this weekend I’d like to take a minute to address the issue of culture in the Middle East. When I first decided to come to Jordan I told myself it was going to be a great way to learn about Middle Eastern culture. Everyone asked me how I was going to acclimate to such a different culture. What was the main difference between Middle Eastern and Western culture? What did they do? What don’t they do? I asked myself these questions as often as they were asked of me. But I got something quite fundamentally wrong.
Even the study abroad office gets it wrong. They ask you to write out the differences you experience like you’re tallying off answers to some finite, definitive vocabulary box that describes the “Middle East”. The first thing I learned here was that there aren’t any words that can define the culture here. It is multifaceted and an experience entirely different to every person in it. Who is Jordanian? Who defines the culture? A major issue here is migration, which has had an incredible effect on the economy. Many people here introduce themselves as Syrian, Iraqi, Saudi, from the UAE, or Palestinian. I don’t recall the last time someone told me they were “true Jordanian”. Just like in the West there is an amalgam of people here with very different experiences and traditions that they bring to the table. I thought I would be able to bring home a paragraph that could state what Jordanian culture, at least, was. But I can’t.
Women’s issues have become more confusing an issue to me than ever. I’m a proud badge-wearing feminist, and I thought that would make my experience with women’s rights here very clear cut. But for every negative, angering experience I have or am witness to I hear from women positive and confident responses. Women here love the hijab. Not only is it something they feel brings them closer to God, but it protects them from the discomfiture of being ogled by men (which I can attest is something I would be relieved not to experience) and is a major fashion statement. All of our female language partners wear the hijab, and every one of them has nothing but wonderful things to say about the experience.
And then things happen like being told we’re not allowed to sit in part of a restaurant because we’re women. Or go into the restaurant. Being ogled is expected. Being harassed is normal. Being followed, shouted at, even touched is not surprising. Our female friends tell us they are not allowed to work, and I can’t help but wonder why their fathers even send them to college. There is such a fine line between respecting and understanding someone else’s traditions, experiences, and culture, and standing true to your own beliefs and ideals. And then sometimes you question whether your ideals are even correct. Do I have a right to let my hair show in public? Yes. Do I prefer to exercise that freedom or to feel safe from leering men in the streets? Is it oppression or common sense? Do we live out of fear or in danger? Is there a way to live without either?
There are no answers, only living here and going on every day, and learning that you are surprisingly good at going on with your life despite any adversities.



Pictures from Wadi Rum




























Wadi Rum



Wadi Rum
This was an incredibly fun and adventure-packed weekend so I might have to break it up into three parts—one for each day: Wadi Rum, Aqaba, and Independence Day.
Let me begin this by saying that I have never lived before this weekend. When you step into Wadi Rum you breathe air that is sweet, dry, and full of movement. Everything is both still and ceaselessly moving. The sky is so vast and the desert endlessly stretching before you. There are certain things which neither pictures nor words will ever be able to convey to you.
Our trip started, as most trips here do, late. Arab time runs at least half an hour to an hour late.  By the time we finally got started on our 5 hour drive we were already antsy. Ten minutes into the drive, not even outside of Amman, the driver stopped for a smoke break. This is life here. There were several children on the bus, and the Arabs in the back of the bus clapped and danced in the aisles to the dubka music the driver blasted through the speakers. For. Hours.
Along the way we were stopped four times at check points. There is nothing quite so terrifying as looking out your window into a tank with four stern soldiers astride it. Every time the bus would stop the dancing, clapping, music, and merrymaking ceased and everyone made a mad dash for passports, drivers licenses and student IDs. I don’t know that I’ve ever dealt with on-duty military or military protocol, and I can’t say I want to repeat the experience. A soldier would come on board, gather the passports of the men, and sometimes order them off of the bus. When one of our friends was told to get off the bus I had to remind myself through the oppressive fear that calling the soldier a fascist would be neither intelligent nor productive. Luckily, our friend returned after a while, safe and sound. But that is something different here: military presence is very common and threatening. They are on the side of the road, sometimes lurking on Rainbow Street, sometimes outside of the school, discreetly observing the students going about their mornings. Even when driving with some locals we were pulled over and asked for ID. Our shaken driver would only relay to us that we had been let go only because the officer knew his father.
But we did finally get to Wadi Rum after the maze of checkpoints. There are colors there that cameras cannot capture. Everything is smooth and speaks of eternity as though the hills have retained everything they have ever witnessed, and as though that were the entirety of history. There is not a sunset or sunrise more beautiful. There isn’t sand softer. The mountains are easier to climb than stairs, though the same could not be said of the sand dunes. Talk about work out. Those things are painful to climb.
Being there felt like being in a movie about learning how to love the world or like being in an Edward Sharpe song. In the middle of the camp site was a giant ring strung up with lights where dancing went on for hours, late into the night. When the men spun you around and around it felt like those slow motion moments in movies when two people who love each other stare at one another while the world spins around them as they dance. And you are in love. With every ounce of your life, the world, and everyone around you. We dubka’d and twirled and tangoed and chacha’d to our hearts content, then climbed the mountain and slept under the stars in the chill wind and wondered how we’d ever thought we’d known joy before this. Poetry is an important part of Bedouin culture, and staring at the stars bright and clear in the sky above me, I understood why. There were flies everywhere, I was laying on unforgiving, hard rock, I was cold, I was lying 5 feet away from a 100 foot drop, and the bathroom was a dark rock, but I’d never thought the world more perfect or life more simple and beautiful. How could you not be a poet? The stars were in reaching distance and it felt as though you could fly if you just decided to run and leap from the cliffs.
At 5 we woke up (if you ever really wake up from such sleep) and hiked up a nearby dune to watch the sunrise. It was still cold and the world was pink in the pre-dawn. Camels waded through the silky cool sand and we trudged behind, refreshed though we’d not slept two hours the whole night. When the sun rose from behind distant hills it was something like watching the birth of the world, I imagine. The sudden streaks of light that reached toward us from across that vastness seemed to kiss us with stirring life and warmth. The world was a song and it sounded like the rustle of grass and waves and rainstorms and sunlight. Part of me will sit on that mountain forever.
Can a place be both starlight and sunlight? Can it be the essence of night and then the definition of day? Can you stand to sit in your homes? Can you hear it calling your name?


Saturday, May 17, 2014

Warnings!

The next post down has lots of pictures that are explained in the post directly after it! The pictures aren't in order because blospot is difficult, so it jumps location to location back and forth, sorry sorry!


Pictures/Videos from the Citadel/Kerak/Dead Sea/Al-Mazra Tomb of Ja'far ibn Abi Talib

The Dead Sea

"But Lot's wife looked back as she was following behind him, and she turned into a pillar of salt"

More Dead Sea! But it wasn't dead-it was sparkling and pulsing in the heat!

Outside of the tomb of Ja'far. He was one of the first martyrs of Islam.

Both of his arms were cut off in battle, and the Prophet PBUH had a vision of him in Heaven with wings. He was the brother of Ali.

Most of the crew and all of us who went to the Citadel!

View of Amman from the hill.

Roman theatre

Ancient fortresses no more than dust and ruble

The old masjid. I have a video of the inside that I'll include!

Citadel

Another view of the mosque
Inside the masjid

The garden--I love anything green I find here, and this was lush and shady!

More masjid!

Stone door, the children were knocking on it, opening it, etc. I love how you can do whatever you want, go where ever you want at these sites. They really let you interact with the space and it makes everything a lot more real and touching.

Secret stairs!

Beautiful details.

A tomb of lions
The largest ruins--and an excellent place to climb and monkey around!

A pretty area in the shade to look out over Amman!

The archaeology museum!
 Beautiful green tree in the middle of the ruins covered in gorgeous red flowers. I hope you can see it--in the middle of the desert all color is beloved!
A Roman statue, well preserved
 Roman statue in the Citadel Archaeology Museum
Islamic art
 Treasures of the Islamic era
Roman era statue
View from Kerak
 Kerak
Lookout windows at Kerak
 What a view, huh?
 Kerak
 A statue of Salahudin, hero of the Muslim/Arab forces during the later Crusades. He led an attack on Kerak that was dispelled by his and the King of Jerusalem's efforts at diplomacy.
Our buddy just trying to fit into the culture.
 Sitting on top of Kerak. Living the life.
The view from where I was sitting in the picture above!
 
The hand of Hercules (Citadel)

Ruins of the Roman citadel
Can't wait to swim in the Dead Sea!!

So pretty!