Ramadan Kareem

Someone once told me that Arabs know how to celebrate like experts because it helps them escape the cruel reality of injustice and pain. I thought that statement was a bit dramatic, but there may be an element of truth to it. Two nights before Ramadan fireworks were being launched throughout the city. The sounds screamed and popped in the night air and it was very entertaining (especially because I was trying to complete an important document). I puppy-guarded the kitchen window for about 2 hours trying to catch a nice fireworks picture. Unfortunately, my efforts were in vain and this is the best that I could get. Once the fireworks subsided for a minute, gunshots rang freely throughout the area - near and far. Everyone was ringing in Ramadan with a bang. Some thought it was very irritating to listen to celebratory gunshots and fireworks for hours, but I couldn't help but smile.

Fight Club

In the end, they love each other, but it breaks my heart when they fight.

My Boys!

Over the past 2 years, my boys have grown and changed dramatically. I have such an affinity toward them and LOVE taking them out on outings with their amazing mother. The other night while talking to my roommate, we came to the agreement that this family is one of the greatest things in Jordan. Since the passing of my Teta, this little family has been a constant that has made my time here so enriched and grounded. Without them, I know that I would feel more lonely. Before returning to Jordan in May, I was very concerned that much of my time in Jordan would be consumed by depression and memories. My first week I was almost constantly in tears. I try to embrace the memories as frequently as possible with a smile, but when I miss her badly enough I still can't help but cry. It's devastating to me that she is gone, but it would be worse to have those sweet memories taken from me. Thank you to everyone who has made Jordan so welcoming and lovely this summer. I have many kind faces that keep me coming and I am very grateful for the family members and friendships that I have here.

I think one of the simplest but most telling times are our Abu-Majdi runs. As we cross the street and scamper up the hill, it is apparent that I am quite possibly the worst guardian in the world. As soon as we enter the shop, the boys immediately snatch up anything that could be deemed unhealthy and ask me to purchase it. My response is always a scold and an eyebrow raise because they know that all they'll ever get from me is ice cream, fruit, real juice and sugar-free trident. (Due to my lack of an oven, I have completely given up cooking all together and have assumed a lovely juice and fruit diet. Healthy? Heavens no. Delicious and slimming? Yes!) The heat is so penetrating in my apartment and in the streets that food has lost its savor and I fathom eating anything that is not freezing and refreshing.

If I read glances correctly, people often say, "wow, she's a demanding momma!" In public, I make my boys behave and at home, all rules go out the window.

Um Qais & Jerash

Although I believe that most of these images are quite explanatory and do not require, some commentary will explain some trends.



This was my first outing in which I wanted unfocused images. This image represents memories. My memories are typically faded and do not maintain the vibrancy and zest of reality.

The trees in the above images overlook the Sea of Galilee and the city of Tiberias. My eldest uncle was born in Tiberias and I can't help but think of what was lost when I peer out into the horizon and see this quaint city hugging the Sea of Galilee.


By the end of the trip, I was dubbed the lizard oracle because I spotted five million. Each time I see a lizard in a historical site, I think of my trip to Ajloun when I was 8 years old. During this visit, my cousin chased and successfully smashed a lizard with her shoe. These pictures are a tribute to her and that memory.

A small military post overlooking the Sea of Galilee

The sweet sound of bagpipes is the pride and joy of Jordanian music.

The Woman of Many Faces

The other day I went to an art gallery and saw a piece of art that struck me and caused me to think. This piece was a statue of a woman amidst a lush green garden. Her clothelessness exposed her deep red skin and the simple shape of her body. In her right hand, she held up a temporary face in place and in the other hand was a chain with three other faces dangling from it. As I studied her, I saw myself in this seemingling simple women. More questions overwhelmed my thoughts. I am eager to forget my questions and my encounter with this telling woman.

What is an American?

Some questions that have occupied my mind are related to identity - more specifically, my identity. Not a day goes by that I am not asked where I am from. Some of my favorite guesses are Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Iraq and Lebanon. My least favorite guess is Russia because of the negative view of Russian women in Jordan due to their activity in prostitution. (And the assumption that I can't speak Arabic well at all... That's always a pride bruiser!)

Honestly, where am I from and where do I fit into the larger picture? I am an Arab-American that could potentially become a future president. (That's assuming that I wanted to be the president.) When I am on the streets of New York, Chicago or Denver, there are no inquiries related to my heritage or nationality. My heritage is almost irrelevant, in part because my accent and attire reflect that of a typical citizen. In the US, heritage enriches the citizen, but does not play an active role in the life or capacity of the citizen unless they allow it. Instead of heritage playing an obligatory role in one's life, I feel as if it is almost optional. At the same time, I belong to a select population who actually qualify for Jordanian citizenship. I have chosen not to become a Jordanian, but if I changed my mind, it would be a doable procedure. Because of my intimate connection with both worlds, I am a dichotomy.

Admittedly, I do have firsthand experience with rejection of my Arabic heritage. As most youth do, I completely rejected the facet of my identity that was embarrassing to me. I think I was ashamed because that phase of my life immediately followed the terrorist attacks. I hated the connection that people made between Arabs, Islam and the attacks and instead of standing as an advocate, I was a coward who wanted to be "normal." I claimed that I was 100% American and anything beyond that didn't matter. As I began to interact more with relatives and cousins, I quickly realized that being an American without roots excluded many rich traditions and relationships that could not be ignored. Heritage adds dimension and meaning to life and gives a person purpose and direction.

In the Middle East, states are derived from nations. These nations are groups of people that are all ethnically homogeneous and exclusively grouped. They are linguistically unique, yet have overarching similarities. An outsider cannot become a citizen of an Arab state (unless an Arab man marries a foreign woman and offers her citizenship), even if that is one's wish. Because the population is so ethnically homogeneous. I find that I have a difficult time validating that I too belong to this land, because my phenotype is not quite consistent with the majority of the population and my accent is quite confusing. I sound like a Lebanese woman who has spent considerable time in Iraq and Jordan. I'm sure that I would be more widely embraced as a Jordanian or Palestinian if I dressed differently and if my language capabilities were stronger. I guess those are both very superficial factors, but they seem to substantially influence the way that I am perceived by my community.

The culture of the United States is a large melting pot in which all that is necessary to be an American is birth on American soil or a series of tests and procedures that deem one worthy of being an American. An American is any color, shape or size whose heritage hales from any continent. The official language of the US is... Oh wait! We don't have an official language, but it is an overwhelming consensus that Americans speak English.

What values and beliefs make America so peculiar?

What foods and activities are dubbed American enough to eat or do on independence day?

Is it wrong to celebrate independence day silently, yet gratefully while abroad?

I also have a rant... It is unnerving to me that some people are unable to embrace their own heritage, while appreciating another culture. There is a young woman in my Arabic class who said that she is Arab in her heart and wishes that she were Arab. Although I am proud to be half Arab, it seems very trite, juvenile and ungrateful to wish to forfeit one's identity because another ethnicity seems more hip, interesting or unique. I am in the process of learning how to strike a respectful and grounded balance between two contrasting worlds so that I can more fully understand my limitations and capabilities and become an engaged Arab-American in the Middle East. If you have any incredible insights, enlighten me.

(Lots of revisions to come... I just needed to throw my thoughts out there so that I would have a starting point...)

What is an American?

Some questions that have occupied my mind are related to identity - more specifically, my identity. Not a day goes by that I am not asked where I am from. Some of my favorite guesses are Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco, Iraq and Lebanon. My least favorite guess is Russia because of the negative view of Russian women in Jordan due to their activity in prostitution.

Honestly, where am I from and where do I fit into the larger picture? I am an Arab-American that could potentially become a future president. (That's assuming that I wanted to be the president.) When I am on the streets of New York, Chicago or Denver, there are no inquiries related to my heritage or nationality. My heritage is almost irrelevant, because my accent and attire reflect that of a typical citizen. In the US, heritage enriches the citizen, but does not play an active role in the life or capacity of the citizen unless they allow it. Instead of heritage playing an obligatory role in one's life, I feel as if it is almost optional.

In the Middle East, states are derived from nations. These nations are groups of people that are all ethnically homogeneous and exclusively grouped. They are linguistically unique, yet have overarching similarities. An outsider cannot become a citizen of an Arab state (unless an Arab man marries a foreign woman and offers her citizenship), even if that is his wish. Because the population is so ethnically homogeneous. I find that I have a difficult time validating that I too belong to this land, because my phenotype is not quite consistent with the majority of the population and my accent is quite confusing. I sound like a Lebanese woman who has spent considerable time in Iraq and Jordan. I'm sure that I would be more widely embraced as a Jordanian or Palestinian if I dressed differently and if my language capabilities were stronger. I guess those are both very superficial factors, but they seem to substantially influence the way that I am perceived by my community.

The culture of the United States is a large melting pot in which all that is necessary to be an American is birth on American soil or a series of tests and procedures that deem one worthy of being an American. An American is any color, shape or size whose heritage hales from any continent. The official language of the US is... Oh wait! We don't have an official language, but it is an overwhelming consensus that Americans speak English.

What values and beliefs make America so peculiar?

What foods and activities are dubbed American enough to eat or do on independence day?

Is it wrong to celebrate independence day silently, yet gratefully?

Noise

Arabs are loud. They like to listen to their music loudly. The men speak loudly. The women wear big and bold colors and shapes. They are big and bold colors and shapes. The absence of this noise to the untamed ear is soothing and delightful, but to an Arab noise is a much appreciated companion that makes life zesty. Everything has a distinct sound; the gas truck, the neighbor's pigeons cooing and cocks crowing, cotton candy guy, vegetable trucks, and everything in between. About a week ago, I was at the vegetable souq minding my business and bustling about finding everything that I needed for our Thursday meal when I stumbled upon a lovely scene.

There was a tomato vendor and his friend, who was naturally a cucumber vendor. As they were cleaning loose dirt off of the vegetables, they sang portions of a little song about their bandoorat w kheear. They sang about how cheap and fresh their produce was and alternated between verses and stanzas. It was so entertaining to me that I caught myself just listening while I gathered suitable cucumbers and tomatoes. I wish that I could have videotaped. Although I do get tired of all of the constant noise, it definitely adds character and flavor to my days. Like the dirt that constantly browns my feet, there is a point when one just has to embrace it and realize it isn't going anywhere, so enjoy it.

Aqaba took me for a ride

After spending some time with my cousin and his lovely wife in Aqaba, he insisted on taking me to my hotel and instead took me to a beach between the South Beach and the city. I figured the South Beach according to the locals was the same beach that my friends and I had been on just a month prior. I was clearly mistaken!

As I walked the beach, there were makeshift tents lining the shore with families hiding from the sun and busily talking and eating. I could not believe how many people were situated on this beach and walked for half an hour toward what I thought was our portion of the same beach. The further I walked, the more obvious it was that I was not going to find my friends and that I was in fact 1 kilometer away from correct beach and several kilometers away from the city.

In the beginning of my searching, I had been trying to figure out where I was and where the others were and hadn't let myself get lost in the scenery of the interesting beach scene. It was really breath-taking to watch the sunset on all of these beach dwellers and me. I took videos on my little camera of the waves, the rocks on the beach and the sunset. I tried to make the most of the situation given I was lost and completely alone on a crowded and very dirty beach. The people that I passed asked me where I was from. I said Amman and they gave me a look that said, "clearly you are from Amman! That explains your attire and your current situation." As a side note, I wasn't wearing anything provocative, just some capris that went to my calves,a t-shirt and flip flops.

As the night ensued, I knew that I needed to get back to the city immediately, and went back to the Baraccuda hotel that was situated on the beach to hail a cab. When I got there, I asked the Egyptian attendants if they could hail a cab for me, so they made a quick call and told me that a cab would arrive in 5 minutes. FALSE! I sat and waited for about half an hour until the attendant led me over to the cab. Several fears always enter my mind at night and sitting idly for half an hour gave my thoughts plenty of time to be unbridled and scare me half to death. The cab driver did indeed ask for 4JD which I was reluctant to pay, but I was exhausted and did not want to fight too much. I made a commotion for about 20 minutes and then just looked at him and told him that I didn't want any trouble and that he better take me EXACTLY where I wanted to go. When I arrived at the lovely restaurant, I graciously thanked the driver for the ride and waited for my friends to arrive. I was relieved that I had arrived in one piece and thought for sure that I would not have any more mishaps for the rest of the night. Little did I know what would ensue...

During my time in Jordan, I have become a very smart traveler despite myself. I take a minimal amount of money whenever possible, leave all valuable cards and IDs stashed away and take the bare necessities wherever I go. This proved very beneficial when I realized after dinner that I had lost my wallet. Inside was my NIKON COOLPIX camera (which I loved and adored), a 1 GB memory card for it, 10 JDs and my driver's license. Now, realistically, this sucked and I would have preferred not to have lost my beloved purple camera, but given that I did, I am grateful that I lost the lesser things in life.

After discovering that my wallet was lost, I scoured the area and let our waiter know. He immediately took me down to a very large man at the front desk who escorted me to the camera and surveillance room above the restaurant. I was absolutely shocked that they had one at all, but was even more impressed when I saw its complex capabilities.

We pinpointed when I went to the bathroom, when I left my wallet in the bathroom AND who had stolen my wallet. Two unsavory young women walked into the one-person bathroom together and were in there for a LONG time. They were the only two individuals who had entered the bathroom since I had left my wallet and were the last women in the restaurant. It was clear to everyone that these two women took it. My friend Kaiti came up and joined me in the surveillance room and looked through the videos and then another friend, Jeremy also joined us. While we were pinpointing the women who had taken the wallet, Jeremy and Kaiti were mesmerized by a large brown cockroach who weaseled his way around the door and made it's way under the couch that they were sitting on.

After we videotaped all of the scenes from the video recorder to a little camera, we were directed to go to the police and report the crime. As soon as they said that, I knew I would never see my cute little camera again. A waiter from the restaurant volunteered to ride his bike up and down the beach and look for the girls. It was a kind gesture and I thanked him for his efforts.

The three of us made our way to the police station and asked a few people for directions along the way. When we entered the complex, we explained the situation to a police officer who called the manager of the restaurant and had him explain the scene to him. The officers were very helpful in explaining what action we should take and helped me by writing a police report for me. Then, they read it over to me to ensure that I understood the content before I signed. The police officers were eager to help us in any way that they could and were enthusiastic that they would do their best to find my ID and camera. About 100 cigarettes and 4 1/2 hours later, we left the police station and staggered our way back to the hotel at 3:00AM. It was an absolutely exhausting ordeal and continued the following morning when I returned at 10AM to finish up paperwork. After another two hours, I was without a group and without a plan for 6 hours in Aqaba. It was extremely hot, I had no spare clothing or shoes... Considering this, I used the only thing that I had, money. I went shopping at a deserted mall that was really creepy, window shopped at a few boutiques and walked the street until I was completely exhausted.

At that point, I broke down and purchased a Bario and water and sat in a public area in the shade and drank them. Our tour's bus came through around 4:30, so I switched out my shoes and put my heavy shopping trophies on the bus and took my camera for a spin on the beach. I trekked out the beach and put my feet in the water and sat on a rock away from the people. It was nice to sit there... Out of no where, I saw this beautiful Arab man with a canon SLR taking pictures near the dock. I watched him for about 15 minutes and then followed suit and pulled out my camera and went on my merry way taking pictures along the beach. This is the point when I acquired a tall and skinny stalker. It was a little unnerving to me, but it definitely wasn't the first time that this has happened to me, so I dealt with it by being vigilant. I kept my distance and did my best to lose him, which I eventually did.

I was relieved when I was about to meet up with the gang again. A day in Aqaba without a plan or friends really sucks. If it had been premeditated, I could have had a blast, but since it was foisted upon me, it sucked. Life got tremendously better once we made it back home. I would have to say that was the worst experience I have ever had in Aqaba.