Al Badia

October has been a whirlwind of traveling inside Jordan and out, on top of a sudden bombardment of Arabic tests and projects within our program. The last few days of Ramadan, we were sent off to the rural Bedouin villages north of Amman, to live three days with a family and “experience Bedouin life”. I had an incredible experience in a little village called Umm Al-Qtayn. My family was amazingly welcoming and generous, including me in their daily life and showing me around the village. I had four host-siblings, the youngest being a little girl of only six months, and the oldest an eight-year-old boy. After a couple of days back in Amman to celebrate Eid, all of us (in my program) left for a week-long excursion to Cairo, Egypt, where I was able to add a whole new dimension to my thoughts and feelings about the Arab world. Now I am back for a week, scrambling to complete a research project dealing with water consumption and water conservation here in Amman. This Sunday we are off to travel around southern Jordan and visit the long-awaited sights of Petra, Wadi Rum, Aqaba, etc. I feel like I have experienced and grown disproportionally more during these past few weeks than during the entire previous month in Amman. I have so many new insights and reflections whirring through my mind, that it is virtually impossible to express them here in this blog. As part of our program, however, we were required to write a reflection paper of our stay in the Badia, and in an attempt to start somewhere, I will include it in this post in order for you to understand a small piece of what my Badia experience was like.

Egypt (hopefully) is next…

 

I came into this experience with clear images, expectations, and thoughts about what a Badia homestay would be like. At the same time, I realized that it is hard, and even dangerous, to make generalizations about lifestyle and culture of both the Badia and Amman with only two families to compare. Especially after talking to my fellow SIT classmates about their experiences when we arrived back in Amman, I realized that everyone had a completely different experience, and that there really is no such thing as a ‘typical Badia experience’. As I walked up to my house after getting dropped off by the bus, various stories, pictures, and explanations of the Bedouin culture and lifestyle that I had constructed before leaving whirred around my head. Yet, what immediately struck me where the incredible similarities, rather than the differences, between my homestay in Um Al-Qtayen and that of Amman. And even many of the differences were completely unexpected. Little things first struck me, such as the fact that there was no furniture, but cushions lining the main living room. Life centered more on the floor. Yet, the same culture of watching TV pervaded family life in the Badia as it did in Amman. I saw the same slow and relaxed sense of time and idleness in the Badia that has struck me about my family in Amman.

Similarly, the culture around meals and foods had such surprising similarities. The first night I arrived, my host mother and I cooked dinner – magloba and mluchil – both dishes my home-stay mother in Amman has cooked on numerous occasions. I recognized ingredients, cooking methods and utensils, thinking for sure that these dishes must be typical of broader Jordan. Yet, what struck me the most was the enthusiasm my host mother in the Badia had for including me in the cooking process and letting me truly participate from beginning to end. It was a truly collaborative process, which to my surprise, included preparing food while sitting on the floor! We made Qtaif, which I had helped with in Amman as well, and despite the language barrier, we were able to really connect during this collaborative activity. I was so accepted and integrated into the family, and within these three days, I felt closer to the family than one whole month with my family in Amman.

Despite this close connection that developed over the course of only three days, my major alienation and adjustment with life in the Badia was the pervasive gender separation and distinction. I had hardly arrived wearing my western clothes that covered my entire body and wearing a hijab, which I had put on that morning, when my host mother ushered me into the bedroom and made it clear that what I was wearing was not acceptable. She pointed to a baggy and enormous jeans outfit of hers that I should wear, but I politely offered to wear the Thob that I had bought only a couple days earlier, specifically for the Badia. For the rest of the weekend, I had to wear the Thob all the time, and always be covered when any man was in the house, even in front of my host father. At one point, I was reading in the main room uncovered when my host father walked in, returning from work. I hastily gathered my things, and we both avoided any recognition of each other, as I slipped out of the room to put on my scarf. Only after I returned with the hijab in place, did my host father acknowledge my presence and ask how I was. This clear denial of my existence without the hijab took me aback, and was a defining moment in understanding women’s role within this culture.

All this I accepted with intrigue, even enjoying experiencing and reflecting on such a different approach to gender and the subsequent lifestyle. On the last evening of my Badia homestay, however, I experienced something that evoked a very strong criticism and frustration with this gender separation. The entire afternoon on that Sunday was spent at my host mother’s family’s house, spending time with all her female relatives and their children. It was the day before Eid, so all the women were sharing stories about shopping for clothes, displaying them to each other, while the children played and entertained themselves all around us. I felt part of a great communal social gathering that seemed eerily universal. Women chatting, sharing their lives, and laughing like they could finally let go and just be themselves in their comfort zone. When we began cooking the Iftar meal for Ramadan, almost three hours before sunset, this atmosphere continued. Again I helped cook, all of us sitting on the floor chopping, pounding, or preparing the food. Although I didn’t understand anything, I felt that communal and comfortable solidarity of these women working together in a shared space. I did not see a single male relative that entire afternoon. At one point, the overhead light bulb went out in the kitchen, but I did not think much of it, because I knew we’d be done cooking at sunset. As Iftar moved closer, we began putting the food on platters, and I realized half the food was being reserved for the men. These we carried out of the kitchen into the fancy salon of the house and set upon a plastic sheet on the carpeted floor. This room was decorated with red and gold cushions, drapes and filled with luxurious decorations and mirrors. As I walked back into the kitchen, I saw one of the women lining the same type of plastic sheet on the kitchen floor. My suspicions were realized when we began placing the food reserved for us, right there on the floor of the dark kitchen, fully knowing that the men were sitting comfortably on cushions and carpet in the fanciest and most honored room of the house. We ended up eating in the dark, and though I understood and tried to accept this gender separation, I could not help realizing this went past a mere separation to a symbolic subordination of Badia women. It was the first time I became frustrated and almost upset with the placement I had within this society. I had been integrated, and with that came the way women were seen and treated in this culture. Although in Amman I often feel sexualized and stereotyped, this experience in the Badia gave a whole new dimension to this self-reflection of myself as a woman. I realized and appreciated the way males and females in urban society have a much closer connection than those in the rural Badia.

This experience further allowed me to explore my role as an American visitor in this society. I was able to meet relatives and friends of my host-family, and get a sense of how they approached me as an American. The first afternoon my host father, who spoke English relatively well, asked me questions about me and my life. The first ones involved my schooling and my family, followed directly by a discussion regarding American politics. His first question in this area was one I have been hearing over and over again, both by the locals and by our lecturers: Who do we think is going to win the upcoming presidential elections – McCain or Obama? And of course, which candidate we support. My host father, and everyone else I have talked to is pleasantly surprised that I too support Obama, though this doesn’t stop them from emphasizing the reasons why Obama is the better candidate. They mostly point to his more peaceful approach, and the hope that he will rectify and better the United States’s relationship with the Middle East. In my interactions in the Badia, the other question and issue that kept surfacing was the frustration and desperate desire to come to the United States. They kept asking how they could come, and if I could personally help them in this process. I felt helpless and frustrated myself that I had no answer for them, and kept emphasizing I was powerless in this respect. I have not come across this strong desire in Amman, nor the repeated questions regarding politics and my own role in bringing Jordanians to the United States. It was definitely an eye-opening experience, and one that I had trouble confronting.

Living in the Badia with this particular family was an incredibly positive experience, despite the difficulties and occasional critical reflections on their values and lifestyle. My three days in the Badia were an amazing opportunity not only to explore the differences and similarities between two societies within the same framework of the Jordanian experience, but also as a new dimension to my own personal self reflection of my role and placement here and how these clash, mesh, and shape my own values, attitudes and beliefs. 

Visual Jordan

I managed to borrow a photo cable from a friend here and upload most of my pictures of Jordan so far, though since then I've taken many many more pictures... but those are soon to come. Anyway, I decided this would be a good opportunity to show you through pictures some of my Jordanian adventures. Here goes...

Here are the very first two pictures I took of Amman - a general view of the city from the area where my school is... a sea of white buildings....

Here is a picture of the enormous amphitheater in downtown Amman that I visited my first few days here... it really was impressive.

A Taste of 'Allah

Last week, I got the unique opportunity to visit a mosque. You'd think that since I'm living in an Islamic country and culture, not to mention that I'm here during one of the most significant Muslim holidays, a visit to the mosque would not be unique. Yet, being an American non-muslim, it is harder than one might initially think. I can't just walk into the mosque and observe what's going on. Many mosques don't allow non-Muslims into the mosque - I wouldn't want to intrude, anyway. Also, being a girl complicates matters. When I asked my host mother if they did anything 'special' on Fridays (the holy day of the week/equivalent of our Sunday) she said her husband sometimes went to the mosque, but that the rest of the family didn't. A speaker in our seminar even explained that women were often discouraged from attending mosques for prayer. I have never seen seen my host mother or younger sisters pray, except sometimes silently to themselves. On the other hand, my host sister that left for the Czech Republic would get into her 'praying outfit' - a large white wide skirt and veil that covered her entire head and upper body - and consistently pray five times a day. I've occasionally noticed my host father pray in the salon or in the garden, as well as my brother, which involves standing in contemplative stillness, while mouthing some religious text and then kneeling with forehead on the ground. 

But I'm digressing. Our language coordinator and instructor, Khulood, offered to take the girls of our program to one of the traditional post-Iftar prayer sessions one evening. A handful of us met her and a few of her friends and then drove together to the mosque - an indescript and modern-looking building. On the opposite side of the street, she showed us how to put on the hijab. Actually, she and her girlfriends put them on for us - as we were all completely clueless. It was my first time with a veil here in Jordan, and I was surprised at how comfortable I felt with it on; especially compared to my experience in Denver, when I visited the mosque for a prayer there. Whereas in the US I felt a phenomenal change in myself when I covered my head and hair, both in the way I approached the world around me and the way I was viewed, here it seemed to make little difference. It felt completely natural to me - maybe because the role of the hijab in society differs so significantly in Jordan than in the United States. Or because during the course of my stay here, the presence of the hijab has virtually faded from my notice. 

In any case, we entered the women's area of the Mosque as one big awkward group and immediately drew attention from all directions. Although prayer was in session, I could immediately feel the significance of our entrance. I tried to blend in to the wall, which was impossible, and we all silently sat down in the back, observing and taking in everything around us.  

What stood out to me the most was the beautiful singing voice of the Imam over the loudspeaker. The voice was echoey and far-off, making me question whether or not it was live or recorded. Khulood assured us the Imam was in the hall above, in front of the praying men. All I experienced of the Imam during the whole evening was his voice, calling out from the unknown, almost as if from the heavens. In front of us was a sea of women, neatly lined in rows, facing one side of the room. The room itself was completely non-descript, with white-washed walls, and a dull blue color, much like those in public buildings throughout the US. Black and white dominated the women’s robes, while their headscarves added a touch of color and brightness to the otherwise simple and uniform dress of the women. All were long and flowing, hiding any form and shape of the body. While the women stood tall and erect, heads bowed, a hushed silence dominated the crowd. Only the occasional child’s whine, or shuffling of moving bodies coming in and out of the room interrupted the Imam’s voice and attentive obedience of his call. In one fluid movement, all the bodies moved down on their knees with foreheads on the floor. A pause, and then with the same unity, all the women sat up on their heels. Again, a short call, foreheads to the ground, until the final instructions had everyone on their feet, again standing tall with heads bent. This routine was repeated a few times, and after about 20 minutes, as if a spell had broken, the collective ban lifted and the women mingled and shuffled around the room.

We were the focus of much attention. In an almost unending flow, they came to check out who the obvious strangers were. Knowing no English, I could only discern what they wanted to know from quick translations within the barrage of curious questions. Poor Khulood had to explain over and over again who we were, what we were doing there, if we were Muslims, etc. With a laugh and our shocked reactions, Khulood told us that a few had asked if we were interested in marrying their Arab sons!! Apparently American women are seen as especially beautiful and highly sought for marrying purposes. If we had been Muslim, that would have been an added bonus! But alas, none of us were Muslims nor interested… J

As the new prayer session began, Khulood explained to us the meaning of the movements and encouraged us to participate in the praying. And so a few of us lined up, going through the same motions in unison with the others. At first it was awkward and slightly uncomfortable to be making empty motions that had so much meaning for everybody around us, but then I just took the experience for what it was. Being in the midst of the praying brought the whole experience one step closer. I felt the collective energy heightened by our coordinated movements. For me it was almost like meditating, feeling and hearing the Imam’s voice guiding us all along together. Despite that overwhelming unified energy, what also struck me was the individuality of everyone’s personal and spiritual experience. Everyone was focused on their own spiritual connection with ‘Allah – each prayer was unique. I too looked into myself and felt the dichotomy between that individualism and collectiveness. After a while, I stopped about anything, letting the sound and the experience take over. And then, before I knew it, another prayer session had ended.

Again, women mingled and chatted, women came to us in curiosity, and after a few questions to Khulood, the group of us left the room together. Before departing for the evening, Khulood explained and showed us the procedure for washing oneself before praying. The mosque had a large washing room, with sinks, basins (for the feet), even showers in the back. Even this washing had ritual and meaning attached, with the presence of the number three and the symbolic meanings behind this cleansing. I drew a connection to the baptismal cleansing in Christianity and it reminded me how many similarities and connections there are between these religions, and the way we focus more on the differences than understand the commonalities. As one speaker in our seminar emphasized, the veil exists in all the major religions. In Christianity nuns wear veils, the classic image of the Virgin Mary is a veiled woman…

The experience in the mosque was not only an exploration of Islam, but another opportunity to position myself and the Christian culture within and against Jordanian society. Within this small space, I experienced a microcosm of cross-cultural interaction, and came away with another dimension of the Islamic and Jordanian experience.

Taxi!

As my life here normalizes, I find myself struggling to pick out those moments and observations that stick out to me. While at the beginning, everything caught my attention, the world around me holds less and less surprises. Like I said, it's amazing how you can get used to anything. On the other hand, maybe I'm so used to seeing things that strike me as 'different' that I have gotten used to just accepting the most strange and random things. 

The taxis are a subject in and of themselves. Every morning, I walk fifteen minutes to a gas station where I meet another girl from the program and then we take a Taxi together to school. During the walk there, at least 7 taxis drive by, honking loudly at me, even when it is obvious I see them half a kilometer away. It is completely normal for cars to be honking at me, Taxis or not. About half the cars in Amman are Taxis, so even though I live far outside the city in a relatively rural area, Suzanne and I have no problem hailing one right away. Although I know hardly any Arabic, the first vocabulary words I've learned are directions and place names, such as 'es safarah britania' for British Embassy, since our school is just a few houses away from the embassy. Addresses don't exist, so any place is described in reference to place names, such big roundabouts (there are 8 numbered ones in Amman), embassies, mosques, and neighborhoods. Nobody wears seatbelts here - they don't even exist in the back-seats. Yet, that doesn't stop many Taxi drivers from going up to 120 km per hour even in the city, weaving in and out of traffic, passing left and right, all the while honking at any cars that are in the way. This past weekend, the driver ran a red light at about 100 km per hour! I've ridden in more Taxis in the past few weeks than I have during my whole life combined, and with that have experienced an incredible amount of crazy and interesting Taxi drivers. Many try their broken English with us, which almost consists of 'you're welcome' and 'nice to meet you'. One made it his personal goal to teach us Arabic, especially the words for 'international relations', having us repeat it over and over again, until he deemed our pronunciation satisfactory. One was so enthusiastic to meet us that he ended up pulling out a beautiful copy of the Qur'an (written both in Arabic and English) from the trunk of his car, and giving it to Suzanne to keep! One explained to us the whole history of the Palestinian and Jordan history within the fifteen minutes of the ride. Not all experiences have been so positive, however. Many definitely have tried to cheat me, since I obviously look like a clueless westerner. Although the meter was on and running during the entirety of the taxi ride, the driver turned it off right before we got to my house, and charged me twice the price that it had displayed on the meter! Some have refused to use a meter at all! Taxis are incredibly cheap, however. My 20 minute ride to the school costs me on average 2.5 dinar, which equals around 4 dollars.

Once during a ride through the city, one Taxi driver would not stop trying to talk to me, and kept repeating the same crazy phrase "welcome to Jordan... I'm sorry" over and over again. Don't ask me why that particular combination of the two phrases... Furthermore, he started singing to himself while randomly and madly gesticulating to himself and I definitely had to question his sanity :) Once, the Taxi ran out of gas halfway to our destination, and we had to flag a new one to continue our journey. 

My stories could continue, but I think you get the point. Every time I get in a taxi, I am subject to a new adventure. Nowhere else has the transportation made up so much of my experience in a place - but here it shapes and colors my view and impressions of Jordanian culture and life.  

Ramadan

Jordanian life right now is defined by the Muslim holiday of Ramadan: one whole month of fasting. Starting with the with the first call to prayer at sunrise until the evening call to prayer at sunset, all Muslims are prohibited from eating, drinking, smoking or making love . Even before I came, I was excited to be able to experience such a significant, and drastic, cultural phenomenon. People compared it to our Christmas, so I was expecting a similar cultural excitement and celebratory atmosphere. But it turned out to be vastly different from what I thought it would be. Here is a quick observational account of the first day of Ramadan in the house with my host family, and the evening where we broke the fast - the iftar.

Monday, September 1.

A heavy, languid quiet in the afternoon. Little conversation, moving sluggishly, and a tense communicative atmosphere. People living in their own world. Similar to any other day, just with more effort to get through it. Family members sleeping on the couch, the girls wandering in and out. Majd sleeping on the bed. Drawn out expressions, and even as the iftar moves closer, no sign of anticipation. Methodically setting the table - Lina, me and Jenny. I feel removed, almost in the way, feeling like any second I will do something horrendously wrong. Trying my hardest not to step on anybody's toes. Waiting, watching TV, and then shortly after seven, the call to prayer. I hear it, expect a rush to the table, but no, as if they didn't hear the call. Did I imagine it? One by one, slowly, heavily, trickle into the kitchen. Individually settle at a place at the table, while Lina hectically makes last-minute preparations. Everyone else waits to get served, still in their own world. As soon as food is put in front of them, they start eating. No communal, celebratory beginning, and little communication. Lina still busy serving everyone soup, hectically, half annoyed - she wants to eat too! The meal goes like any other meal. People serve themselves, eat from their plates, eat directly from the serving dishes. Use fingers and spoons. Fastest eating I've ever experienced. Whoever is finished, gets up individually and leaves the table. No post-meal lingering, enjoying each other's company. In the end, I am left still working at finishing my food as fast as I can. Leftovers on people's plates scooped back into the serving dishes. Sitting amidst a mound of unfinished platters of food, dirty dishes and a sense of finality. That's it? Family members scattered, some back in the living room, back to the TV. Where do I go? Also back onto the couch in front of the TV, taking in the Arabic which only exhausts me. At around 10, Lina brings in a dessert! Yes! Finally something unique! A type of cookie pie topped with jello. Strange, but delicious. Another evening spent relaxing in front of the TV, until I go to bed around 11:30. 

This was my impressions of the first night, when I was filled with expectation and anticipation for what this special Muslim holiday would be like. Now, after more than a week, the family's mood and the overall atmosphere seems less and less strained. Fasting has become normalized, not only for the family members, but for everyone here as well. It's amazing how your body can get used to anything.  Life during the day is frustrating for me, however. Things aren't open - I still can't figure out store hours. There seems to be no standard on what and when places are open. Friday, the Muslim holy day even outside of Ramadan, is the worst. Amman is dead. 

Yet, being here during Ramadan has been extremely insightful and fascinating. The best way I can describe it, is that society here during Ramadan seems to be so coordinated. The collective quiet of the afternoon, the intense wait hovering over the city, sleepy, hot and tired. The frantic driving of the taxi drivers around six, and the difficulty in finding a taxi at that time. They are all filled and speeding to their destinations. Ramadan is far from being only religious. It's a unification of society, as it seems to act, on the surface, as one homogenous body. I have asked myself how much of fasting is personal religious choice, and how much of it is connected to cultural expectation, and even law? It is against the law to eat and drink in the street for Muslims during Ramadan! Ramadan is virtually an institution. Stepping back, I wonder if our Christmas has the same role in our society, yet because we are so imbedded within a western, Christian, world, we don't even realize it? After the first day of Ramadan, I rejected that comparison of Ramadan and Christmas. Yet, on closer examination, Ramadan and Christmas may be more similar than they seem: both are indicative of a societal cohesion and collective experience, with roots in religious tradition. 

A Crazy and Overwhelming Start

Last Thursday I met my host family and moved into what will be my home for the next four months. That day, my 21-year-old host sister Sara and host mother Lina picked me up at the school office. Lina’s 24-year-old sister’s fiancée also came along, and the four of us, went out to lunch at a fast-food restaurant that served the national Jordanian dish, Mansaf. The first few hours were terrifying, trying to mentally handle the enormity of my new situation, while trying to make decent conversation (luckily all three spoke decent English) and eating on a nervous stomach. After dropping the fiancée off at his work, we headed to the house, with Lina pointing out important landmarks so I could learn the way and tell future taxi drivers which way to go. We drove southwest out of Amman, until we arrived after about 20 minutes at a beautiful and obviously up-scale neighborhood, where we finally arrived at the house. My host mother led me in and showed me to my room, or rather the room I will be sleeping in. The house has three bedrooms, one for the parents, and two for the ‘kids’. Lina and her husband have five children. After Sara, the oldest son Sultan is 20 and works with his father doing ‘wedding planning’. Then there’s Saif, a 17 year old in his last year in school.  Majd (12) and Ra-had (8) are the two youngest (girls), and sleep in the same room with me. Besides the five children, Lina’s youngest sister, Nour, also lives with the family, although she is currently at home in Hebron, Palestine, and won’t be back for another two weeks. She is a university student in Amman, and is spending her semester break at home. When she is here, Nour sleeps in the same room as me, but the last few days, the two youngest have slept in the other two beds in the room. I do have some closet space and two shelves to put my things, but one of the most defining differences between family life here and the US is the sense of privacy and individual space. Everything about life here is communal, so finding my own place within this family has been an interesting process. Not knowing the family schedule, such as sleeping, eating, and daily activities is awkward, and hard. Even now, there is so much I still don’t understand. Yet, really, my situation is perfect. My host mother is amazingly caring and understanding of my situation. Whereas in Paris, as an au pair, I felt like I was marginalized, here I get the sense that my host mother truly wants to include me in her family and the care that comes along with it. She is incredibly enthusiastic about helping me learn Arabic, and my attempts at learning vocabulary and asking about Jordanian culture make her extremely happy. Although we converse in English now, I know she will push me to speak more and more Arabic, as I get better at it. The rest of the family speaks little to no English, so that motivates me to really learn and speak it, because it is virtually impossible to talk to them otherwise. The two youngest girls are great, and even though it is hard to talk to them, we still find ways to communicate and have fun. Yesterday we threw around a soccer ball, and we make almost daily trips to the tiniest little supermarket a few minutes away.

I’ve had some delicious traditional food here, including ‘malubeh’, a dish of spiced rice, cauliflower and chicken. On Friday morning Lina took me to a local bakery, where you bring your own ‘zeht’ (oil) and ‘zatar’ (classic Jordanian spice mix) and they bake it with flatbread directly for you. We eat A LOT of pita bread, served with various toppings such as cheese, yogurt, eggs, hummus, or foul. Olive oil also seems to be in everything.

 I would say life in general is slightly shifted, with a late breakfast, big lunch, and snacking late at night, but even that changes from day to day. I never know when the family eats, and most of the time it seems everyone eats whenever they want. On Friday we had a big communal meal, but other than that, meals are incredibly varied.

Sleeping schedules also have been difficult. Sharing a room with at least three other people has me only sleeping during the times when everyone else is asleep. The girls are naturally noisy, and as of a few days ago, a 23-year-old Filipino girl, Janie, has moved in as a housemaid, who also sleeps in the room on a mattress. Janie is so nice, and we get along really well. She has a very annoying cell phone though, that keeps beeping at the times I most want to sleep. I really hope that in time I will become less sensitive to light and noise, because so far, I haven’t been getting enough sleep. The family goes to bed incredibly late, and now that it’s Ramadan, they really live during the night and sleep during the day. I don’t know how the two girls manage, since they have to get up at 6:30 to go to school every morning! There are more people in our house than beds, and from what I can tell, the two boys permanently sleep on mattresses in the living room. Even when it’s not Ramadan, they seem to live during the night and sleep during the day, since I see them sprawled out on the floor into the early afternoon.

Every weekday morning (Sunday through Thursday) I walk 15 minutes to meet Suzanne, a fellow SITer, whose family lives relatively close to mine. We then take a taxi together to the school, which is housed in a villa in Abdoun, a very wealthy neighborhood in Amman. There is a kind of commercial area not too far away, with cafes, restaurants, and a few stores. We have Arabic class in the mornings, a break for lunch, and our seminars in the afternoon. I feel like I haven’t seem much of Amman yet, although I’ve been out with friends a couple of times, once along Rainbow Street, the most touristy, western-oriented area here, and once to see the big Roman amphitheater in the center of town. It’s difficult to go out, since I live so far away (at least 20 min by Taxi), and with Ramadan, the best times for me to explore is rush hour where Taxis are scarce and getting anywhere takes twice as long. Also, my host mother is very protective and worried about me taking taxis alone, which is touching, yet does pose some constraints on my activities. I did take a taxi alone without a problem, and I try to ride with Suzanne whenever possible.

These last few days have been a roller coaster of feelings, attitudes, and impressions. I often have moments where I cannot believe I am in Jordan. I fully realize how incredibly lucky I am to be here and what a life-changing experience this is!

I cannot believe how long this blog is, and how little I have really expressed about my feelings, observations, and deeper insights into Jordanian culture and life, and my place within it. I wanted to give an overview, and will try to shorten, yet deepen my entries to focus on the little, but incredibly enlightening and meaningful moments I’ve experienced.

And so it starts...

I want to keep each moment I've experienced as a permanent mark in my memory. Though I know this is impossible, I hope I can not only capture as many of these thoughts, impressions, and adventures for myself, but also attempt to share them through this blog. 

As of now, I've been in Jordan for a little more than two days, and already I have more experiences to share than time. The first few days are always the most intense, where time seems to move unnaturally fast and slow at the same time. 

On the plane to Amman, I met a really nice Jordanian who was flying back home after finishing his 'Diplom' in Bremen, Germany. He had planning on getting his PhD in Political Science in Koeln (Cologne) Germany in October, and was taking a few months to gather materials this work and enjoy some time with his family. We had an amazing conversation about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, international politics, and life in Jordan. I told him my situation and he offered to let me use his brother's phone to get ahold of my SIT group upon arrival, and help me get a Taxi to the hotel in Amman. I was so grateful, and excited to have had met such an interesting person.

It turned out that there was someone from SIT to pick me up with her private car, so I didn't have to take a taxi, which was a very nice surprise. I met the group at the hotel that we have been staying at for the past two days, and we had a group buffet dinner where I met the other students for the first time. We are twenty-two total, scattered around the whole US. I was surprised to learn that most actually have some background in Arabic, and I am one of only a few that have never learned Arabic before. We have five main academic directors/coordinators, who have been amazing in leading us through these last few days. 

Because about half the student's luggage didn't arrive, a group of us went to the nearest supermarket to get the essentials. I tagged along, and it was my first experience in a Jordanian store. My biggest impression so far of Jordanian modernization is the extreme American influence in the commercial realm. I literally felt like I was walking into an American grocery store, with peanut butter, Kellog's cereal, and pancake mix lining the shelves. Especially after coming from Germany, this very American feel was quite the culture shock. 

The first day was a long and tiring day of orientation lectures, with two breaks for lunch and dinner. I definitely felt the extreme heat, walking up the street 15 minutes to the nearest commercial center, with a few shops and restaurants. One of my greatest apprehensions was knowing how conservatively to dress, but I was pleasantly surprised that short-sleeved shirts are perfectly acceptable and considered 'modest', even those that are pretty low-cut.  

Yesterday was a continuation of the orientation lectures, with one quick drop-off in the city with time to explore. We have and will be using taxis to get around the city, which can be quite the terrifying experience. "Lanes" don't exist in our sense, seatbelts are not used, and honking is the way to navigate through traffic jams. 

In only a couple of hours, we meet our host families, and get taken to the places we will be living  for the next few months. All I know about my family so far is that the family has five children older than eight, two of which are already out of the house. One of them was the SIT homestay coordinator before Dema, so this family is extremely familiar with the situation. They have had SIT students many times before, which will make it easier for all of us.  

So much information and impressions have bombarded me the last few days, with little time to breathe and take a step back. Hopefully this weekend in the family I can have a much needed break, though it will be, I know still one the most challenging parts of this trip - adjusting to a new family and its unique and very different lifestyle. 

There is so much more to say, but I hope this gives you all some idea of what the first few days of my experience in Jordan has been like!