Benjamin N. Duke University Scholarship Program

Day 7 -- June 30 2008 Picture an old Muslim woman in grandma glasses, her head wrapped in a hijab, smiling and shaking her breasts. And grabbing her breasts and laughing. I swear to you that I saw this tonight. And there was no alcohol involved (against the religion). Tonight, possibly the most fantastic night of my life, was the birthday of Mama Fadia’s grandson Adam. The result was a gathering of family and neighbors (who are all best friends because they spend all their spare time happily hanging out together in one of their houses) at Dana’s house; there were very very loud techno-Arabic versions of “Happy Birthday To You” and hats and silly string and 6 deserts and sparklers. But the best was yet to come: all the women were on the porch when the men went off somewhere – little girls, old women, middle aged, my age – and we had the most insane dance party I have ever seen. Dana got out her bellydancing wrap with the coins on it and everyone took turns shaking themselves, with the others clapping and catcalling like crazy all around. The younger women had their robes and hijabs off, giving the impression that we were at an Arabic exotic dancing club. They said they practice for an hour a day in their house. They even tied the thing around me despite my protests and made me do it and told me that my body needed to “go harder like this (slap).” I really did not see any of this coming from our other time together, sitting in parlors on couches all wrapped up in layers of clothing… The best part was the grandmother mentioned above – I have never seen anything like it. The second best part was an older aunt of healthy size twirling her prayer beads over her head to the music while she shook things. I took a picture of this and everyone stopped the dancing and freaked out and made me delete the picture – apparently they cannot have photos taken of them without their veil so this was a very serious offense. I apologized profusely and deleted the pictures and then they kept dancing – at this point we were banging on food containers and singing, making our own music, because Fadia was watching Noor inside using the stereo. The aunt then let me twirl the prayer beads and I wasn’t sure it was ok. I asked her and she didn’t seem to understand my concern of irreverence: “We just use them to pray like this [demonstrates, reciting Muslim prayer]. They are just beads.” She gave them to me to wear as a necklace, so I will remember them when I return to ‘my country,’ and to twirl when I practiced bellydancing. My idea of Islamic women, Islamic feminism, of the veil, of how seriously Islam is taken….its all out the window at this point. Then the men pull back up in the car and everyone scuttles to veil themselves and robe themselves and the dancing stops immediately: “Halas!” (Enough!) They cannot have their fun in front of the men. But what letting loose it was, without any incentive from substance abuse, with family old and young, acting in a way scandalous to liberal westerners whose grandmothers do not ecstatically grab and shake their low-hanging mammary glands. I am wearing the beads and I wonder how this attitude can be so different than that toward the close cousin of these beads, the almost identical Rosary, which American Catholics do not think should even be worn as a necklace…let alone swung while, say, pole dancing. Perhaps it is because, unlike Catholics (those idolatrous Pagans!), Jordanian Muslim statues, beads, etc.…these things are not in themselves holy. I thought that the desert was hummus and olive oil when it was a sweet and liquid sugar (also became famous story told in Arabic around party). The one Arab thing I have to hold onto is my Debke (Lebanese folk dance) but when I did it the little little girls pointed and laughed and apparently Jordanian debke is completely different. Also, they have clearly caught on that I say “Alahandulilah” when I don’t know what has just been said (it works in all situations as it means “praise Allah”), forcing me to finally admit that it was my go-to-never-fail-word, and that I laugh really loudly when I don’t get the joke or even the remote context of the funny story that was told. I have never been more included, more quickly taken into a cultural circle to which I could relate so little; and despite that I myself must seem crazy and need constant translations and am culturally awkward. Sitting with three year olds and ninety-year olds and everything in between, all our feet in the fountain Dana’s husband made, I have never felt a greater sense of the importance of extended family or neighborhood – nothing comes close. This is a whole different kind of family – the intense warmth of what my strangely close immediate family is, extended to a really large circle, and circles like this throughout the city, the country, where everyone knows everyone and their family (meet someone and in five minutes you’ll know how you’re deeply related). The emphasis on family and neighbors is even reflected in the soap operas here. MY FAVORITE MARRIAGE PROPOSAL YET: one of the children with Autism – well, in this case, perhaps a 20-something man with Autism, as there are balding older men in the program – walked into the classroom where I was sitting and upon beholding me squealed and tried to run back out. He kept pointing at my and blushing and smiling and going on to the other teachers about me. He told everyone that I was his “habibi” and that he was going to marry me! He made every other person with autism come up to me, his wife, shake my hand, and say “Salaam.” His name is Anas and he shouts all the time and has one eye looking up. This happened two days ago; yesterday the children with Autism still teased me about him but he divorced me, his wife, his habibi, completely. Today, he married and divorced and remarried me. The other workers at Idrak marveled loudly to me and each other that I was not extremely fat, since American women are very fat. Things are better there in general – I had a great day today in another classroom, where we did sports, and exercises, and sang, and painted faces, and had a picnic, and laughed and smiled all day and I am growing so fond of the kids like I did at the Richard’s program. Random notes: 1) men here are very affectionate to each other and kiss each others cheeks and hold hands as they walk around. Love it. 2) I was told by another host family’s kid that Arabic rappers are just trying to be American and are losers. There is absolutely no American music here (or culture, really) and I like that unlike Italy here this is a real pride in what we have made. Also by comparison all American music of all kinds is starting to feel soulless, without the Arabic trembling up and down melodies, the songs that all generations know and love and sing and dance to together… 3) Apparently I look Asian to these Jordanians? Because while some people here say I look very Arab, Salma said I look just like Kirty Wang, exactly like her, which neither of us understands. 4) Mama Fadia said that they divorce more in the US than here because women here are financially dependent on the husbands, and many would like to leave but can’t for that reason. 5) There is a big tower near Shireen’s house where people watch and if you cut down trees you get arrested by police immediately – so what Jordan lacks in littering management and recycling, they make up in the environmentally friendly competition with small cars and intense enforcement of the lives of every tree. Ivis’s friend Winkie who is wonderful gave a presentation to me and the interns from UNC yesterday – it was fantastic and I truly want to be her…..she is the exec of JOHUD which is one of the three royal NGOs in Jordan. We talked about lots of different things, such as that NGOs here have a rights-based approach (versus welfare approach in US). A huge obstacle to efforts to ‘help’ a Jordanian business is that the people here are not entrepreneurial – they have no desire to just get more things, so they will often not make ‘improvements’ to their business (such as would create ability to charge more money, etc.) because they see no need to get lots more money. Another mistake made by places trying to give ‘aid’ is to give sheep and goats, because while (as one man said) you wouldn’t have to kill a cow if your father came back from the dead, you must kill that sheep or goat if a second cousin comes to visit (mental note: gift a cow, not a goat, if given the choice). This sense of honor, family, reciprocity causes the economy to operate in a different way than in US. According to JOHUD, the greatest obstacle to women’s empowerment is that women own less than 10% of the land – they have no assets. They also say that moreso than ever, men are exercising their rights over women but not their responsibility. Yet another (according to JOHUD) misguided attempt to ‘improve’ these people’s life is to give microcredit and loans – it is too hard here to run microcredit. Another problem with women’s business: women sell to other women and other women don’t have money! Also, if they once did hair or some service for free and they now try to charge their friends will be so offended they will probably rather go to another business. Pockets of poverty in Jordan, such as Kahrain, have as much as 23% poverty. And there is a huge increase in sex work (!) – perhaps because the cost of marriage even for a poor man is so high that he must save for years and years and years and marries around age 35; this is why some women want to go back to Islamic rule, because then the man only has to know the Koran to marry them (that is the one requirement) and they wouldn’t have to worry about a dowry, but the fathers and brothers say ‘no, we want these things and so we want that dowry money… _______________________ Day 8 – July 1 2008 I went with Dana, Shireen (Shu Shu), Aiwa, and one pair of twins (there are three) and three small children to King Hussain park. There were tons of kids and tons of women there. We raced around a sort of racetrack and I won hardcore in my sandals, which I do think is due to the lack of sports and exercise for girls as well as their confining garmets. Also I’m way taller than everyone here – I guess Americans are tall. Then we walked all around and up to the Mosque and ran up to it as there was a call for prayer, and some girls ran in and I was just outside when a man came and yelled at us because my head and arms were exposed and we had to go sit on the curb on the other side of the street. Lord. I felt really bad but they were really nice about it; some of them would have had to stay outside anyway to hold the purses because you can’t take purses into a mosque either for some reason. Then we bonded over their love for Denzel Washington and Will Smith. It is very sweet how they always include me as family. And this morning shireen sent me a text messege: “Good morning my sister.” Lots of people say “This is your house and I am your friend.” Either this is a very sweet culture, or broken English is very sweet. _____________________________________________ July 6, 2008 On Friday, went to Petra and Wadi Rum. I heard that Petra is one of the world wonders, and whether or not this is true it deserves to be so. Ruins and temples carved into the bumpy rock face; then canyons that you walk through, with more temples in the rock face and insane colors (bright yellow! Purplish red! Anything!) and striped textures all over the inside of the canyons. Then at the end through the canyon a peek of the great temple of Petra, carved into a Rock face at the end of the canyon. So many foul smelling caves, so many Bedouins, so many donkeys and camels and goals! It was absolutely fantastic. Except that I really thought I was going to faint after the hot trek all the way back without a place to buy water on the way… also apparently part of an Indiana Jones movie was filmed here or nearby because there are tons of Indian Jones gift shops there! And I heard Arabs saying, when taking pictures, “Yala cheese!” Which is perhaps even better than the common phrase “Yala bye!” Then toward Wadi Rum – on the way, we encountered lots of ‘camel crossing’ and ‘goat crossing’ signs. Wadi Rum is a desert in the middle of a very rural and sparsely populated Bedoin area. I have never seen so much sand. Hills and hills of sand with little teeny ripples and camels to ride and some rocky areas jutting up like mountains where some of the Bedoins sleep on just mattresses on the rock (ya haram!). There, I RODE A CAMEL!!!!!!! Which I can check off my list of lifelong goals. Between Wadi Rum and Petra, I don’t know when I have seen anything more beautiful. Or more reminiscent of the first Indiana Jones. I wish I had brought a friend named Salah. At night, there was a giant dance party to Arabic music (plus a little Shakira) which I danced to by myself and then little girls wanted me to teach them to dance, which is really quite hilarious as they were (non-Jordanian) Arabs and I am a whited-out Arab American teaching them basic Americanized debke and the c-walk and some cheesy moves to American rap songs, and so the cultural experience was rather backwards. Random notes: 1) The bus that took us to Petra and Wadi Rum and back played lots of Backstreet Boys and even “Uptown Girl” along with the Arabic fare because it is really cool here for boys to listen to boy bands. 2) There is a woman in our neighborhood who always walks by with tons of goats as if there are nothing more than many unleashed dogs and she has a giant bag of (?) on her head. 3) Weirdly my friend’s neighbor here lived in Carrboro, NC for years and is friend with the people who run Med Deli. Small world, considering the size of Carrboro and the fact that people in NC don’t know where it is. Embarrassing moment: I say in perfect Arabic to Mama Fadia and her sister / next door neighbor Fatwa: “Fatwa, Mama Fadia, do you both know Hamoodi? He rides with me every day in Salma’s car to work. He is a very nice boy and lives near us.” Fatwa: “Hamoodi is my son.” This is now another popular story that is recounted in Arabic at my expense in the neighborhood / family. Dana has had to quit the only two jobs she’s had since married. Said made her quit the police station because there were men there and he was jealous. Then she was the boss of a beauty parlor (a place women can usually work because it is almost if not all women) but two young men worked there with all the women so he made her quite again. I asked if she was upset and Fadia said a little but “she has to do what he want…because he does what she want, he is her husband.” But would Said ever have to quit his job if Dana was jealous because he worked with women? To Fadia this was laughable: “Said is a good man, he does not look.” But Dana is a good girl, I bet she didn’t look! “But Dana she is young maybe 16 when this happen, and Said much older.” (So the different rules for genders are here justified with differences in age, differences which are themselves gendered since the man is usually older.) Oh, the power of a popular soap opera! Noor has been kidnapped by Abdeen the not-good-man and she is pregnant and may be dead. As Mama Fadia said today: “They forget about Palestine, they forget about Iraq, the Middle East only worry about Noor!” Recipe: “Chicken with trees” (dejaj wa shajar) So… I come home and there are about a million leaves on the dining table. Enough for a kid to jump in quite happily. Green though. What the heck are these for? I politely ask. We will eat them! Says Mama Fadia. With chicken! This dish has some Arabic name I don’t remember but to me it will always be “dejaj wa shajar” or “chicken with trees” which is what I like to call it. “Not trees!” says Dana. “We are not goats!” But seriously I cooked several trees’ worth of leaves today in a pot. It was very difficult and now they look like spinach and I told Matthew next door that we’d have to trade families for a day because I don’t eat trees. Am excessively happy to finally see Mo and Leila my Duke friends – went downtown with Leila and with Mo to the poshest café in the whole world / possibly the most aesthetically pleasing café I have ever seen which is called Books@Cafe. It feels crazy to have a Duke reunion across the world – there were lots of other Dukies there who are in Amman for various reasons and I flattered myself by imagining the group of us to be artsy ex-pats at European cafes a la Fitzgerald. Also great to talk to Jordanians in a completely different culture than the one I’ve been in – all the girls they know are out until 2 on weeknights (versus the idea that only prostitutes go out at night) and most of the people they know don’t wear hijabs and they let girls talk to boys and etc. The top 1% seems to have so little in common with whatever percent I’m living in; they were really stunned to hear about my family here – and its not just my family but my neighbors, coworkers, etc. Awkward moment that was actually not my fault for once: I meet the new teacher in the class with very small children with autism (this is the class of ones who cannot talk) and her questions go like this: “Where are you from?” “Are you married?” “Are you a virgin?” She was completely serious. After I answered she said, “Very good! And I am a virgin, praise be to Allah! If you are not a virgin they -- [makes slashing motion across throat] – you.” She then smiled at me warmly and now we are friends, praise be to Allah, and I forget that said friendship began so strangely. Also, today at Idrak I met one of the fathers who was excited to meet me as he lived in NY for 24 years. He said he was very American but he had two wives one here and one in NY. I said I felt very sorry for the one in New York, and he said nonchalantly that I shouldn’t because she understands why he took the second wife and left her, as she couldn’t have children. Ouch. A wife is only as good as her womb, eh? Overall, I feel weird that I am in such a sexually repressive culture and yet the music videos and advertisements are rather sensual and the dancing within same-sex groups is quite sexual and sex is talked about all the time in public with talk about virginity and bearing children etc. All the time. I swear if the “Like a Virgin” video were to air here, my colleagues here would love it rather than be offended because it can be seen to enforce the important virgin / whore dichotomy. Everyone thinks I am Bahai do to an earlier misunderstanding, and one of my host family’s distant relatives he told me that Christian and Jewish are ok religions but Behai are corrupt unbelievers. I don’t know what to say because if you say you have no religion they get really upset and if you are not one of the main three that doesn’t even count and you are godless and I already told them I’m NOT Christian and I can’t fake being Muslim and its not a good idea to say I’m a Jew. He is the first and only Jordanian person I have encountered here who has said offensive things about different groups, but oh my! He said the Holocaust was exaggerated and the Jewish are barbarians (not all Jews but those with Zionism as one of them wanted to cut off his sisters hand for her bracelets in Jerusalem) and what Jews do in Palestine is worse than the Nazis and they have no respect for human life. He accused me of being with Zionism as I am Bahai. My retorts served no purpose. And he assured me that he is “not a fanatic or radical” and doesn’t even pray or go to a mosque and has a Jewish friend. In other news, seems like pretty much everyone around here thinks Bush brought down the towers (aka 9-11 was an inside job).

The Virgin Homocides

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