The City On The "Hill"

This past weekend was my 26th (shhhh) birthday. Islamically there is no precedent for celebrating the anniversary of one's birth, so many if not most people in the Middle East don't necessarily celebrate them after a person has reached maturity. However Western Culture has a large effect on Jordan and my family here being still rather cosmo for conservatives decided it was in my best interest to keep to my traditions. They attempted to surprise me with a cake, however my husband isn't the best liar and is usually none too subtle. I tested my theory by attempting to enter the kitchen and was called back hastily by aforementioned partner.

The cake tasted like packing foam, but its the thought that counts :)

Btw, do I look 26? Don't answer that. Shadi had promised me that he would do something special for my birthday since it was our first as a couple. So, the next day we took pubic transport to the city of Umm Qais to see the ruins of the ancient Roman city of Gadara. Our bus driver was a bit lazy and dropped us off on the wrong side of the hill instead of the entrance, so from there we hiked past abandoned and sacked roman tombs filled with donkey doo and food remnants. Im slightly appalled at the state of this historic site as residents seem to be using it as a midnight party hideout and the tourism board just up the hill completely ignores it. The only consideration I noticed was the choppy bricking up of one entrance within the tombs, presumably the one that belongs to the roman buried within it. Once we get to the hilltop we are lost as it seems to be deserted. We wander downhill through an abandoned Ottoman village. A veritable ghost town and one I should have been taking proper pictures of I think, but Shadi was convinced it was a recent area that was cleared out by the tourism board. (Ottoman Umm Qais) Once we got the entrance however we realized we'd made a complete circle but I wasn't upset; that Ottoman village was purdy cool. While waiting to purchase tickets we met a Mormon family from BYU who were studying abroad at a school in Irbid. They had their baby son with them and some humanitarian volunteers as well. Shadi and I helped them with their arabic questions and also discovered to our delight that residents and their spouses have free fare (explains the lack of respect for the area).

Road to the former temple of the Gods & a Byzantine Church

Warrior #1 at the amphitheater :D

Business district

My habibi

From the "hillside" the Palestinian Golan Heights and Lake Tiberius or Sea of Galilee

Along the way there were lizards of every variety scuttling along the ruins and, naturally, I attempted to catch one. No dice. At the entrance though we had found roadkill of a different kind; a yellow  European chameleon. While researching for this post, I discovered to my delight this website and organization within Jordan The Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature. Click there to see the flora and fauna of my new home :)  After an hour we were starving so we climbed the hill to the Umm Qais Resthouse, a well-placed restaurant that overlooked both the city and the valley below with the border of Jordan and Palestine just beneath our seats and Lake Tiberius in view, some 2 miles away and 700 feet below sea-level, the 2nd lowest lake on earth following the Dead Sea.

For those of you who are uneducated in the Biblical histories, this lake is the scene for many of the miracles that Prophet Jesus performed, including walking on water, healing the possessed man from Gadara

And He (Jesus) asked him (the man), "What is thy name?" And he answered, saying, "My name is Legion: for we are many." -Gospel of Mark 5:9, Luke 8:30 & Matthew 8:28-34.

recruiting 4 of his "Apostles" fishing in the sea


                 ¹⁷ Then Jesus said to them, “Follow Me, and I will make you become fishers of men.”   
                                                                                                                 -Gospel of Mark 1:17


and his famous Sermon on the Mount was also reputed to be along the hillside overlooking the lake. Such events are also corroborated in the Qur'an. So, needless to say this was a very cool place to be having a birthday meal. Afterwards we discover the bill at 13 dinar is nearly doubled
due to an unmentioned taxation and now we know how they make their money on such a cheap menu. Food was good though, so hard to complain. We give our table to a Jordanian woman and her mother who just returned from living in Denver and say goodbye to our Mormon friends to head off to Irbid. We stopped by the Museum of Archaeology and Antiquities to see the recovered artifacts from Gadara along the way. The building itself, Beit Rousan, was the former home of the Ottoman Governor before the fall of the Empire and the subsequent abandoning of the town.

These babies are the great (50x) grandfruit of Roman pomegranates. Tasty, too.

The courtyard of the Ottoman Beit Rousan with Roman artifacts.

Ceres, the patron Goddess of Gadara.

After catching a bus back to Irbid, we arrange to meet an expat-lady named Sherri I met on a website for people living abroad Expat Blog: Jordan in her new apartment. She and her husband Ayman lived in the US for 15 years until moving here last spring. They have a pair of fraternal twins (Hanna and Zain) and a 6 year old girl named Layla. We only intended a short visit, but liked them so much we ended up staying 3 hours including dinner! We hope to see them again soon. Upon getting home we spoke to my parents via Skype, giving them the scoop on the day, my birthday the night before, and of meeting a supercool relative of Shadi's that past Tuesday, a man named Ahmed who'd married an American woman and lived in the States with her for 44 years until she passed 2 years ago. He's 78, remarried, and is now the father of 2 toddler girls. The Arab Charlie Chaplin. He once managed a restaurant inside the Watergate Hotel and his first day was when the scandal broke. He also knows Bob Dole pretty well, too. Yesterday was an engagement party for my cousin, another Ahmed, which was another different experience. I finally saw what the girls at the salon were getting all dolled up for. In Jordan, the women's party for engagement parties involves the bride dressed up in a barbie-doll type ball gown and her hair and makeup done up nearly resembling a drag queen while the guests sing and clap to folk songs. Candy was also thrown at me an everyone else in attendance.

Yes, its this bad, only without pink hair and Hello Kitty.

Salazen Grum

I know its been about a week since my last post, but its been a VERY long busy week for me. 2 days before my wedding, I spent nearly every waking hour either shopping with my Momma Aicha in Irbid, or in the car watching my family hand-deliver wedding invitations. This post will not be about the actual wedding day because I don't have any pictures or video yet, and I feel I cannot do the event justice without them. This particular post will be in regards to the night before and all 3 days of my honeymoon in Irbid, as well as the past 2 days. Will this satisfy you for the time being, Genny Lindner? ;)

2 days before the wedding Aicha, Ashraf, myself and my "cousin" Hamoode went to Irbid to buy the last of the required wedding attire. We still had not gotten anything for Momma Aicha to wear, nor a suit for the groom yet. Shadi had gone earlier to Amman to pick up his paycheck and speak to an apartment broker. He would be incredibly late that day getting to us in Irbid. We must have been to 6 shoe stores and a clothing retailer (from which Momma Aicha would purchase my Eid clothes, a cute shirt w/belt and a new hijab at a booth down the street) before I found shoes that would match my gown. Apparently, ivory or off-white is not a color found in Jordanian shoes, according to one shop owner. It is at this shop where I notice the multiple birdcages hanging from the ceiling. From here on I would notice them in every shoe store and menswear dept. When I would inquire to Shadi about it later, he would tell me that the store owners keep them for the ambiance. Huh. (btw as I write this I am jamming to Freddie Mercury; thanks Google Doodle!) Once Shadi got there it was nearly maghreb and the last day of Ramadan so we only had time to stop by one store as we were all too starving to go further and had missed 3 prayers by this time. The store we went to check for a suit was a typical menswear store, complete with pop culture t-shirts in the window displaying incredible acts of Engrish and lack of cultural awareness, such as this beauty:

Right... and wrong, on oh so many levels.

Momma Aicha and I found funnier engrish at the women's pajamas section of a store, but didn't have a camera at the time. The suits were in the back, and clearly not tuxedos and also clearly too big (despite being "made in america" oooh) were not suitable and so we booked it to the car to make it back to Ramtha by sundown. We broke our fast with water in the car since the athan sounded before we arrived, and was given kebob and kusa by Mariam and Turkia. That night we got roped into driving around Ramtha to deliver the rest of the invites. While driving through "downtown" Ramtha, all the power went out. Now if this happened in the states there would be screaming, pinching from strangers, groping, and the conceiving of blackout children. Here, since this happens around once a week anyway, the reaction was cheering in the streets. By the time we got to an obscure aunt's house to complete our delivery, our car broke down in front of it, which happened to be right beside Grandpa's house. A cadre of children who'd been watching the FCB game crowded around us to help push the car to a cousin waiting down the street. I watched him hotwire our car while the aforementioned obscure Aunt gifted us with a giant bowl of fresh figs. All of the children were Shadi's cousins. ALL OF THEM. It is here I will try to explain the family dynamic that baffles me and will continue to do so as I live and breathe. Shadi's parents are first cousins. Their parents were brothers. This makes Babba Hassan's father in law also his Uncle, and Momma Aicha's father in law HER Uncle. These would be Shadi's grandfathers, but also thanks to this his Great Uncle's as well. His 1st cousins are also now his 2nd cousins. The children of those relatives are his 2nd and 3rd cousins respectively. They all share the same great-grandfather. Lost yet? I will never know how our children will be related to whom. I guess this is why its so acceptable to marry cousins around here; you never know if they are actually related to you.

We get home and are exhausted, so as we sit at the table snacking and watching television KSA announces Eid and the next day becomes the day before the wedding. Good thing our reservations at the Union Hall and Hotel فندق held up. Shadi returns with his father from Ramtha proper having found a suit and I am aghast as it is a shiny silvery blue. I tell him he looks like a used car salesman, which he does. For the first time in a month we nearly all sleep in instead of getting up at 3 to eat suhoor, and have a nice breakfast of leftover goodies. The next day is chaos as relative upon relative would arrive for congratulations and prep. I would skiddadle after a quick nap to Khalto Fatimah's house for Faiza to complete my wedding henna on both arms and my left leg. It tickled :) My new friend and cousin-in law Aia came to translate to the henna artist and chill for awhile, but would leave after I was complete. Fatimah and I would watch Monk until Shadi arrived to help clean me off and take me home to prepare for the party that would begin after sundown. Around 20 people were already hanging around in the garden when I got there, covered in a sticky paste of lemon, sugar, and olive oil that would preserve and bring out the color of the henna design. I was not to shower till the next day, hours before my salon appointment.  By ishaa the party was in full swing, with around 40 women and their children stuffed into the patio/parking garage singing and clapping along to Hamoode and his arabic woodwind instrument (sort of like a buzzy flute; its that sound you always hear in arabic music) and an Aunt and Momma Aicha on the classic arabic drum. The men, numbering around 20 or so were in another part of the house until it came time for Shadi's henna treatment, which consisted of dyeing a single finger on his right hand and wrapping it in gauze and a 50 dinar note.

Hamoode plays his "flute" while the ladies sing folk songs

Large pile of mud is actually large pile of Henna

Habibi cleans off henna from my face

:)

The night was long and insane, ending with several attempts by relatives to make Shadi and I dance, Momma Aicha a madwoman on the drum, and Babba Hassan displaying his dancing "talent". After nearly falling asleep on Shadi, I would be allowed to retire as my salon appointment was very early the next morning. Best Eid I ever had. :)

The next day of course was the wedding and the wedding night, but as I mentioned previously I do not possess any photos or video of that day as of yet, so onto the wedding night and beyond. Naturally I cannot go into detail for a fair few parts of the evening ;) just rest assured a good time was had by all. Since our hotel (Plaza Irbid, the nicest one in town although that's still not comparable to "nice" in Amman) was prime location, center of the city and near just about everything by walk or a real short cab ride, we were in great shape. Although we wanted to spend our first dinner as husband and wife in a really nice place, for some odd reason we were both craving pizza like mad. To my delight, a Papa Johns was 1 minute from our hotel. Eager to have Shadi try American-style food, I steered him there though he didn't protest. The location was quiet and we were only 2 of maybe 8 patrons total. The interior looked like an Ikea catalogue. Menus were in english and arabic. Although the breadsticks let me down, we ordered a Halal Hawaiian pizza (smoked turkey replaced the ham but a learned taste bud couldn't have told the difference) and we were in Heaven (Jannat-al Firdaus).

Oh hells yea

Enjoying his first slice of Heaven (Hawaiian)

Afterwards we were too tired to do much wandering, so we headed back to our hotel to enjoy its amenities and make up our missed prayers. The next day we took a quick cab back to Ramtha for the traditional family breakfast the morning after the wedding night which consisted of tasty treats and همام (pigeon). It was today we found out why our wedding party was a lot smaller than we'd feared; around noon of the wedding day a relative in Amman had died. Half of the family went to comfort the surviving relatives instead, missing the wedding as some had feared that attending a party was in ill-taste when in mourning. Shadi attended the burial that afternoon, and after maghrib we returned to Irbid for dinner at another pizza location, that of Pizza Hut. I have to say I was incredibly disappointed, and so was Shadi. The pizza wasn't half of what it is in the States, unlike PJ's, and both the waiter and manager tried to pull a few fast ones on us regarding the menu items and the bill. Luckily for Shadi's wallet I picked up on the finkery, but we still left annoyed. That night we would walk down the main Uni street in Irbid, picking up some gifts for my family, and quite a few for me including a new ring, some hijab, a few shirts, and some Nina Ricci perfume that would have been 80 bucks in the US, came out to 45JD.

I would also discover my favorite shisha, Al Fakher Watermelon, at 5JD (7.50US) at a hookah store, which is nearly 1/3 of what I paid in the States for it. Again, a JD goes a whole lot further. We returned to our suite to snack and watch M*A*S*H, as well as other engagements. I am pleased to report how much Shadi enjoys my favorite show, and now he suggests it whenever we have downtime. The next day we caught a cab to Ajloun Castle.

This huge fortress was built by Izz al-Din Usama, a commander and nephew of Salah ad-Din al-Ayyubi (Saladin), in AD 1184-1185. Check these links :)

This town is the largest Christian community in Jordan, the tribes of Haddad and Rabadi. According to Shadi the communities here are big fans of Nordic beers :) Ajloun is also home to one of Jordan's oldest mosque's, dating back 600 years. For your viewing pleasure;

On a clear day, you can see all the way into Israel/Palestine

Entrance to main tower

Shadi at the drawbridge

Its only dangerous cuz I'M there ;)

Right guard tower

I discover to my chagrin that my mother in law was right about my white skirt; its too short. The wind blows and you can see Philly, so we waddle on the stairs to hide my underthings down to a lower turret to enjoy some Mirinda and a bag of Bugles. There are many foreign أجنبي tourists here, and while I am the only American, I am hardly the only "white" woman in attendance. After our tour we snag some fresh tea on the main stairs and sit next to a Christian priest with the largest, blingiest cross accessory ever. Shadi's phone battery had died earlier so we missed out on better pictures. He and the Priest attempted to swap phone batteries as he had a similar model but no dice; his was this much smaller. After finishing our tea, we start to head out and Shadi gets a wild hair and decides we should walk the 2 miles to town, steep hill the entire way. I am reminded of every old American male's whining about having to walk to school in 5 feet of snow uphill both ways as we inch our way down. Luckily a federal gold prospector on his way to his assignment in Wadi Rum picked us up and to my extreme gratitude drove us all the way back to Irbid for around 8JD. When we got back to our suite, we discovered this:

The hotel housekeeper had used what we'd left out to trick out our room.

Including using our new clean towels

We almost didn't want to remove it :)

The next day was check out and we returned home to a large lunch prepared by cousins and aunts, another tradition. That night we had endless guests come to both congratulate us and say goodbye to Rakan, Ashraf and Babba Hassan as the first two were returning to Uni in Russia (med school students) and Babba was going to Medina, KSA to teach. Yesterday the boys left, and we hung around mourning their loss. Today Shadi returned to work, and Thamer to school, so Momma Aicha and I were left to entertain up to 20 female relatives from Dhuhr to Maghrib.

Always Room For Jello At The Hatter's Tea Party

Its only been 2 1/2 weeks, and the days are starting to bleed together. Everything I relate to you in this post has no real chronological order since I cannot recall said order.

Babba Hassan took charge of ordering, assigning, and delivering the wedding invitations. Everything in Jordan, it seems, is done at the last minute. For instance, the wedding is in 5 days and invites are still being hand-delivered to homes. Apparently mail takes forever here. I will post a picture of the invites soon; Shadi's cell camera is all we have at the moment and it takes crappy pictures. There was a little tiff regarding the wording of the invites when I finally saw them: I, the Bride, am not mentioned AT ALL. As I come to understand it, the groom's family issues invites and the wording is similar to a US invite as such: "Mr. Hassan Mahmoud Khazaaleh invites you to the wedding of his son, Shadi, at this date and time blah blah to the daughter of bla bla Elena..." except, since no one knows my father here, my mention gets the boot. Maybe its petty, but I feel kind of like the anonymous or inconsequential bride (despite the fact that I KNOW everyone invited will come to this wedding especially; all the arabs I know love scandal or intrigue) Anyway, I don't know who is invited other than random family members I have met or, as was the case of last night, a girl I'd been running into at masjid every other night and her family. She remarks to me in her broken english that I am to be married in 7 days and that she is attending the wedding. She also inquires about my "foustan"/dress, and upon hearing its from the states and not from Jordan a worried look crosses her face. Understanding of course she believes, like all the rest here, that American apparel is all inappropriate and scandalous, I assure her that my dress is just fine.

We had to return to Irbid a few days ago to register my presence in Jordan and to begin the process of applying for citizenship. A nice taxi driver who worked in NY for 7 years was our chaperone across town for the first half of the day. The police station and registration office, it turns out, is all the way out in East Jesus. Thank Allah for an air-conditioned cab. Along the way we discover that the city morgue has the best view in town; perched atop a scaling hill it peers down into a large valley that when green I'm sure is beautiful. At the police station I am cheered to see at least 6 hijabi female cops busy at work, none looking like women you want to mess with. The registration/application process is long, drawn-out and complicated, making me feel right at home of course. Hello, Bureaucracy! As we wait we come across another Jordanian man registering his Ukrainian wife and she and I size each other up accordingly. This reminds me, of course, of a story Shadi had told me earlier this week about his family. Apparently 25 years ago, his cousin Sami married a Ukrainian woman and brought her here. Some years later however, he would die of some illness, leaving behind his wife and 2 children. As it turns out, his brother would marry the widow in turn. In Islam it is allowed and sometimes encouraged to marry the widows of your brothers or cousins, etc as a way to keep the women in the family. It also dates back to the time of the Prophet where many husbands were killed in battles for Islam, leaving behind many widows or orphans. A revelation n the Qur'an would take care of that. Anyway, they've been married now over 20 years. My hope is that they eventually fell in love, hopeless romantic that I am. Meanwhile, back at the Ranch, we go upstairs, downstairs, back to the cab, copy our Ids, back to the station, and off to where my entire hand, left and right, are printed with the stickiest ink ever. A german woman also seeking citizenship helps us locate a sink which is apparently located in the police station barbershop. No camera, but a barber shop. Oh, Jordan. Naturally everyone in the building follows my movements like paparazzi as my type of personality and behavior is clearly not something seen in this country. When finished, we are informed i have a 3-month temporary grant to return Nov 8 to complete more paperwork and pay more money. Lovely.

All we have left to do is make a payment to the فندق/ hotel and are once again forced to prove our marital status. With his minimal english a manager deigns to tell me its just country policy after I bristle at the request, and Shadi remarks that he thinks it should be that way. I won't get into the reasons I disagree. It is only 2pm by the time our normal errands are over, and since neither of us are eager to go home, we make a trip to the Safeway again to fetch more koolaid  (oh yea!). Once inside however we also end up with M&M's and Oreo Cookies, as well as tweezers and Colgate toothpaste (the last 2 my desire for western hygiene products). Firstly I note that soda can and soda bottle shapes are of course different here, as well as sizes. This cracks me up:

16-32oz representative in liters, respectively. Too lazy to convert.

And then it gets even better:

Hijabi flakes! Way to stay current.

And of course, the piece du resistance:

Introducing Hijabi Barbie!

Abaya included! ZOMG!

Of course as we leave I am in a fey fit of humor and that carries us, heat or no, all the way back home where Momma Aicha soundly reprimands Shadi for spending money he shouldn't have (me not knowing he was broke till payday) and kisses me for taking her side (as someone who is famously terrible with money management, I felt it necessary to avoid  happening here with my husband).



That night, on our nightly walk, I express a desire to hunt down the elusive Ferris Wheel we'd spotted at a distance. Once we arrived we found it functional in a mini carnival that took permanent residency here. We got tickets, and discovered that the man operating the rickety looking machine had actually shared a taxi with us back in April when he remarked to Shadi "now she will take lots of pictures like she did of you when you were sleeping" referring to the video I snuck of him while he snoozed in the cab last Spring. I guess its easy to remember such an event, both "white" people and tourist photos being an oddity in Ramtha. Its on the ride, a thing Shadi has never been on, that I once again lament he camera and only manage to get these shots:

The view of Southern Ramtha at the top of the wheel.

With the low buildings, can be spotted over a mile away.

On the way back we stop at his cousin Aia's house, one of the few relations who speak English. Its a beautiful house with an even more fabulous evening view than the Ferris Wheel. I am seated with the women and the young baby Zaid. Aia's mom serves me several snack courses starting with tea, water, candy, fruit, and qatayef. I can feel myself getting fatter and when I remark so I am greeted with uproarious laughter by the girls. This family, in stark contrast to Shadi's, is populated of 5 girls and 1 boy. The eldest girl, I am glad to learn, is a 29 year old OBGYN who only now has had her first child, little Zaid, and only recently married as opposed to Shadi's soon to marry 15 yr old cousin. The other girls are in Uni or have graduated, like Aia who will go on to be a nurse and cherishes a wish to work at KAUH (King Abdullah University Hospital) Most of them speak fair english. The baby is adorable, and keeps wandering on his knees outside to the patio where the men are chilling. At the end of the evening they serve us a jello mold remarkably similar to this:

I remark to Shadi the american idiom: There's always room for jello.

His Uncle offers to drive us home, and that night we rest, pray, rest some more, nearly miss fajr, and I get sick again from trouble digesting the food here. Almost everything is fried, and contrary to foreign belief, American dinners do not mostly consist of McDonalds or KFC.

As Many As 6 Impossible Things Before Breakfast

The last couple of days have been affected by the first thing that occurred on Saturday morning. Shadi and I more than often sleep on the roof as it is the coolest part of the house while the sun is below the noon. Saturday is the last weekend day in Jordan (as opposed to Sat/Sun in the West, it is Fri/Sat in Jordan) but since Shadi has taken off both the last 10 days of Ramadan and a week after our wedding for our mini-break in Irbid, getting up early was not a priority. We had planned to mayhaps do some shopping with his mother in town that day after Dhuhr prayer. Shadi had already gone downstairs to make wudu and attend prayer at the local masjid, and at 12:45 it was baking on the roof, so I decided to join the family in the second coolest part of the house, the living room. There is a painted over stone staircase that climbs unevenly to the roof, and on Friday I had slid a bit and bashed my arm on the stone "railing". Today was different.

Readers, I fell. I use the word "fell" to describe what happened although ferociously slid might also work in this instance. The top stair is 1.5 inches higher and longer, and on a slant, than the corresponding step below it. Sliding on this, I pitched backwards and slammed into the next stair, left calf first, then right butt-cheek and slid on my wrists all the way down, screaming as I went. No sooner had I landed at the bottom than my Father-in-Law and brother Thamer came racing up from the living room to help me. Shadi came seconds later and would carry me to the floor cushion despite my protests (the unorthodox way he carried me, which was underneath my butt, caused me considerable pain). Momma Aicha brought an ice pack and began assessing my injuries as I had fallen on my ankle. In the end we determined I'd sustained 4 contusions (according to future doctor brother, level 3-4 respectively) and a few abrasions. My wrist swelled slightly as did my left ankle. It was incredible luck or last-minute forward thinking that I'd leaned backwards when I felt myself falling or Momma Aicha said I could have broken my ankle. 11 days before my wedding was no time to do myself such an injury. I'd escaped a hospital visit, but I haven't had bruises this painful since I crashed into my Aunt's truckbed on my bike (my knee was black and blue for a week and stiff, hard to move). I've been praying on a chair for the past few days as coming up from sujood caused me considerable pain. The plate-sized bruises still in residence had better be gone from my sight by the time my "rehearsal dinner" comes around.

The meal Momma Aicha made that night more than cheered me from missing shopping that day. Look below:

3 of the dishes present I have already introduced you to; the bottle at the top right is Mazola, a mayo.

I declined Tarawee that night for obvious reasons, and I slept early that night. Yesterday we went to Irbid to run errands, starting of course at 8:30 since Babba Hassan was to drop Rakan off at King Hussein Hospital for some outpatient surgery. When we arrived at the police station to report my arrival in town, despite the mass presence of police officers we were informed that they probably wouldn't open till 10:30 or 11am, and would close at 2pm. I miss American beaurocracy; at least you can count on the boys in blue (ones here wear blue too) to be open 24 hours. So we hailed a cab (only having around 40 dinar on us for errands since Shadi didn't get paid until the end of the month; 36 of it being mine and all I had in the world since I had to use my emergency fund to take my 3rd baggage with me aboard the flight) Our first stop was a favorite place of mine, the office of the official documents translator. In a previous post, on my first visit to Jordan, I mentioned that his office was something straight out of a Rudyard Kipling novel. Except the addition of a tv to replace government radio, it was exactly how I'd remembered it.

The patio that overlooked the Market street; note the sulhaffa.

My favorite shot

Left wall of the outer office; parakeets, canaries, and a lovebird.

The sulhaffa! Came right up to me when I stepped on the porch

Canaries and 3 infant blue budgies

The man informed us it would take an hour to translate our marriage contract/niqaa, so we decided to window shop in the interim. After 3 stores of women's clothing and accessories (not much choice, that was the scene of this particular street) we found a store that sold what I was looking for (solid color, non-fru fru looking hijab scarves) An amira set (the easy pull-over kind; Mine looks like this ) another long flowered scarf and a blue headcap to match only set us back 5 dinar (the US$ equivalent of $7) and I'm over the moon. The amira alone both online and at the hijab store the girls and I used to frequent typically runs $9-10, a cap from $3-5, and a scarf $12-15. I walk out with a value of over $30 for 23% of that. Needless to say I will be shopping again very soon. We return to the office, help finish off the translation and verify it, then catch a cab to the Irbid Plaza Hotel. Our relatives had suggested Aphamia, which after my extensive expat review search yielded very little to say and only an archived facebook page rather than a fully functional webpage, I had declined. Irbid only has 3 hotels, and the plaza is the best. Aphamia would be a mid-range, and Al-Juede would be a notorious motel in Western standards. We'll spend our wedding night and mini-break here. I'm pleased with the hotel and location, as it is surrounded by shops, and both western/jordanian eateries such as McD's, Papa Johns, Lee's, Pizza Hut, Subway, and KFC.

Afterwards we hit the local Safeway in search of ingredients to make biscuits and gravy for suhoor, and I am disappointed that very little Western items exist at this location. At the very least I find Tropicana Orange Juice I'd been craving as well as kool-aid which is now a hit at the Khazaaleh house. I also found what I'd come for in the first place, Meow Mix cat food for Firdaus. No more feeding her table scraps, and no more eating whenever she smells meat. Her feeding schedule starts today. We catch a cab back to Ramtha and home to store the cold items and to take a nap after being told by the police station we had to go back to Irbid, only to be told we had an appointment with cousin Mariam and Momma Aicha to go BACK to Irbid and set up my salon appointments for Aug 29 and Sept 1, respectively. Exhausted and starving we protest, and when Momma Aicha discovers that Babba Hassan had not told us this in advance she chews him out soundly in arabic. Prayer, a short nap and we are out again driven to Irbid by Ashraf. This is another instance where I witness other people plan my wedding. I cannot understand a word they say, also because I know nothing about beauty salons, especially the arab version. I return for a cleansing in a week, then on the day of my wedding I will spend 6 hours here being prepped. Shadi will join me afterwards for pictures, and then off to the hall he showed me which for standards of buildings around here is rather nice. Momma Aicha and Mariam then insist on traversing market street on foot, in several layers of clothing, to search for jewelry, wedding shoes, and to my horror, wedding "underwear". My facial expression is still causing Shadi random laughter. I tell you buying sexy lingerie to wear on your wedding night with your in-laws in something I won't readily forget. Shadi doesn't understand my horror, or the image I cannot get out of my head when Momma Aicha remarked that my choice in lingerie was her "favorite one". Also, the combustive laughter I couldn't contain when I read the translation of our marriage contract and saw next to Shadi's "single" status, my status was marked "virgin". I'm still laughing.

That day we get very little sleep as we are due at Mariam's mother Turkia's house for iftar. A massive spread of food including lamb, grape leaves, a meat dumpling and yogurt type gravy, and a variation of kusa awaits us. I am singularly interested in the beverages only as today's events left me dehydrated as never before. Tang, water, and pomegranate Shani satisfy me. I am to spend the evening with these women as the men are in another room and Shadi goes off to Tarawee at Masjid Hamza. In typical arab fashion, after dinner I am served mass amounts of tea, followed by coffee and katayef, then fruit which Momma Aicha bullies me into eating. In between servings I fall asleep and awake to find even more women talking over my head in arabic about my wedding. It is nearly 11 and Shadi is not back. I asked him to return to me after Tarawee to fetch me home as I was exhausted. I inquire Momma Aicha as to his location, and she says he's been back since 10. Adrenaline from anger wakes me at being forgotten by my fiance yet again, and he is summoned to my side to take me home. I berate him soundly all the way home, and we attempt to get some sleep before suhoor.

This little girl, named Sidra, is the bane of my existence.

Sandra however, was adorable.

Shadi wakes me for suhoor but I am not hungry I find. 2 glasses each of water and Tropicana satisfy me, and as I go to the roof once more, and Shadi is praying at masjid, I hear pitiful cries of a kitten. As I look to the street, I see a boy around Thamer's age or younger throwing stones at a cat that seems to keep putting itself in harms way. I yell to stop in arabic, but am unheeded. As I run outside to accost the child, Shadi catches me and I tell him my errand. We hurry to the scene and it makes me want to cry. A  2 month old kitten is at the bottom of a 7 foot wall wailing up at its mother at the top. The boy was throwing large stones at it as it tried to climb the wall back to its mother. The mother's attempt to fetch it herself were blocked by the stones. Shadi begins to shout at the boy to stop as I attempt to corral the poor kitten. It looks just like Firdaus. She is scared however and avoids me. The boy continues despite our anger to throw stones and Shadi stops him. A little girl who was watching comes up to stand beside me and stare at me while the baby finally makes it up the wall and to the safety of its mother. My fiance is redeemed of his earlier transgression by being a hero. :* We stay up awhile longer to watch on both Al-Jazeera and CNN as more and more of طرابلس or Tripoli's districts fall to the revolution. We are certain Qaddafi's days are numbered. :) It is great to watch a true revolution in the region experiencing it. We can only hope Syria is next. Viva La Revolucion!

How Doth The Little Crocodile

Yesterday promised to be another one of those either slow and monotonous days, or the quick kind due to my sleeping all day. It was neither; I woke earlier than I have in the previous week, around 11, and wandered downstairs to discover everyone else awake as well (also unusual for that time) Thamer would show me pictures of الشلالة (Al Shlaleh), a freshwater spring on the outskirts of Ramtha on the way to Irbid. I'd remembered Shadi showing me pictures of it, and posting an album of him "farting around" (as Dad would say) there last fall. Naturally I expressed a desire to go, having no idea if my request would be honored as I could not understand Momma Aicha's reply. LOL.An hour later though, while I am immersed in How To Survive A Horror Movie for the 80th time and jammin' to my Mp3 player on the couch, everyone is dressed and wondering why I'm still in pajamas! I rush to get dressed and make myself presentable, and when I make it to the car of course Aicha has to criticize my skirt for being "too short" despite it reaching my ankles. She said it would be "windy". As I give up and turn away to go back to bed, as I had no suitable alternative since everything else I had was dirty, Babba called me back and we got on our way.

This is Shlaleh as seen from the stairs, and during the summer. Its greener in Spring.

We park and there are many cars there already. We brought along a large plastic container with my husband's name written across it. He told me it was from Umrah and he used it to carry back  زمزم   (Zam Zam Water) from Mecca. Babba reveals we are here to collect drinking water from the natural spring. He leads us to a small tent and instructs us to stay. I'm a little bristled, since I came to see the spring and they want me to stay away from it. My brother-in-law Thamer informs me that I cannot go up there as there are men. I inquire as to how that possibly matters, and he states matter-of-factly "Well look at how you are dressed." Naturally I'm flabbergasted as I can see nothing wrong with my long sleeve shirt, long skirt, and rather heavy scarf on my head. Feeling mutinous, I sit down next to Momma Aicha and explore instead with my eyes. There is a quantity of fig trees growing in the circumference of the little valley, and near us I find the biggest chives I've ever seen in my life. Of course I have to dig them up and come back with three بصل (bussel/onions) and Aicha just shakes her head and laughs. A few more minutes pass and Thamer and Babba Hassan finally whistle and wave for us to climb the steep hill to the spring.

This is the first thing I see, minus the copyright stamp and photographer shadow

I enter a man-made cave about 10 meters deep, with sides carved like pipes to carry the quick flowing ice-cold spring water down to the pool carved at its base. The walls are covered in a thick green moss with little flowering plants here and there. Small holes in the caves porous walls have traces of wax in them for I assume both seeing and nighttime ambiance. As we sit playing in the water, Thamer spots this guy:

Savigny's Tree Frog, a misleading name since in Jordan we find him in wet caves and such.

Once again I wish I had taken these shots, but alas Google will have to help me out until a camera is procured :(  I caught him and handed him to Thamer, who then handed him to Aicha who is not your typical woman when it comes to wiggly slimy things :D  We return him eventually to his haunt, and his next move is to perch photogenically on the words

 اللة جل جلاله             

 which translates to "God Almighty" that was painstakingly carved into the wall, along with other such inspiring messages such as خالد (Khaled). Graffiti is the same no matter where you go. On the walls of school grounds, even cemeteries, we see


من أجل مكالمة الوقت المناسب ٠١١٨٦٧٥٣٠٩   


 (for a good time call 0118675309) We mess around a little longer when a stranger trudges up the hill with a long black hose in one hand and a sandbag in the other. He's wearing a corn-farmers hat, a green thobe bunched up around the knees, and some Timberland low boots. I watch in fascination as he rigs the hose by manual suction (he pulled on the hose with his mouth) to drain the water from the spring down the hill to his waiting truck, also blocking the flow to the pool with aforementioned sandbag. I can only stare on as he and my in-laws yack for half an hour about politics with him before taking our leave. Its not long before Shadi calls Babba wondering where we are and especially of course where I am. Babba Hassan attempts to trick Shadi that I am not with them, but he hears my laughter and the ruse is spent. We make one more stop at the family plot of olive trees, and from there we can see the Syrian border and the first house one would pass as they cross into it. Last time I saw into one country from another was Eilat, Israel when we were in Aqaba last spring. We got home to be with Shadi where he and I took a quick post-asr nap. Food was again great, with more shorabat maggi, a fried steak dipped in hot pepper Mazola which was amazing if not about as tough as beef jerky, and I would fall into a comfortable sleep, declining Tarawee for the night and awaiting my husband's return. We finished watching Happy Feet and I fell asleep while he started Signs. 

Today I waited semi-patiently for him to return from Jumaa' prayer, meanwhile I'm laying on the roof hearing 4 masjids duke it out over whose Khutba (friday prayer sermon) can out crazy the other making it sound like a anti-war protest. When he returned he would go to spend his 2 hours with his islamic study group and I would keep his Aunt (one of the towel on the head ladies and mother to my favorite cousin-in law Rusia) her husband, and of course Khalty Fatima. Fatima brings me house slippers, a block of musk from KSA, and also some nail henna. Many thanks Aunty, will use it at my wedding, which by the way is being planned for me. Invites have already been chosen by Babba Hassan, the location by Shadi, the Henna artist by Momma Aicha, and soon the salon by Fatima. Oh well, less stress on me right? (that's how I'm choosing to look at it) Fatima invites me to go to her neices' wedding that evening, and at first I'm excited at the prospect of viewing what mine will be like. Then I realize I have nothing fancy, at least not wedding appropriate, in my wardrobe. As it is a female party, I think that the knee-length black dress I have will be suitable but Fatima puts the kibbutz (no pun intended) on it saying its "haram" since men from the house could see my legs from 3 floors up. I decline then the invitation, and later Shadi and I have another one of our famous arguments regarding hijab. Business as usual. That night after Tarawee we avoid the wedding and head out to his 100 year old grandfather's house. Approximately 20 children play outside, and I am told that this is only 1/3 of his great-grandchildren. In his 100 years, with one woman he fathered 9 children that includes my father-in law, and those 9 children fathered so far at least 3-4 each themselves resulting in a tribe that could take up half a city block. He speaks no english, so all he does is stare at me like I'm an interesting statue while I make friends with all the children, as usual. According to Shadi I'm a hit, and he has to tear me away from the house at 1am. We finished watching Signs tonight and I am delighted to have converted another person to the Church of Shyamalan (استغفر الله). After suhoor and a shower we are off to bed, another full day awaits us tomorrow. 

Too Much Upelkuchen & Eating With Arabs

I have been here now nearly 2 weeks. At this stage, everything that happens, even what was commonplace in the States, is new and different to me. I'm sure the novelty will wear off eventually, but on the other hand I am a person who finds adventure in everything, even the things I do or attend regularly. However, one thing I know I will not get used to quickly is the food. I've mentioned this in previous posts, and I'm certain I've done well in the telling. This time I think I will fully illustrate precisely what iftar was tonight, although I cannot help you to understand how TASTY it was :D

I'm well aware that بطاطا is spelled wrong.

First we have homemade french fries, which have literally been cut and fried just as they do at In-N-Out, if you need a reference :D Beneath those are a Jordanian favorite of fried in spices cauliflower (zahara mqlea) which I myself am not really partial to, but will eat paired with something else. Directly below that is another kind of shoraba (soup) made from maggi cubes and lentils (adis; tastes JUST like Dhal, an Indian favorite dish of mine). On that note, arabic cuisine and Indian cuisine share striking similarities, naturally due to their close proximity's to each other. A dessert I had tonight is essentially Gulab Jamun with less syrup. There is of course arabic fried chicken (djaj mqlea), which is oddly enough not fried but baked, a crunchy skin the only similarity to actual fried chicken. Below that is a plethora of pickled vegetables (mghal alkhdar; something I detest) including carrots which I discovered to my chagrin. And of course no Arabic meal is complete without a quantity of bread (khobis). Now on the side, even and especially at breakfast, there is usually a bowl of yogurt, lebn (a sour milk paste of sorts) and hummus naturally. This picture does not feature those. Standard condiments in arabic dining.


As for non-standard fare, Shadi and I are avid fans of a beverage found in the Mid East called Al Waha Float Drink. It has about 6 different varieties. I'm currently stuck on Pineapple. For those StL readers who are Vess soda fans, you would notice the similar flavor, but the best part is the floating fruit pieces!

I have yet to try the other flavors, but reader I will!

We took our usual walk tonight and along the way picked up fresh  فلافل (falafel), and when I found Twix I was overjoyed at our acquisitions (the only candy I have found here so far has been of the Turkish variety, which I have to say does not compare in the slightest to Western sweets). Ice cream was also procured for the family back home, and while nice, still also does not compare. I find it poignant in this stage of the tale to backtrack the night a little bit to Tarawea prayer 2 hours previously, as all this food (upelkuchen referenced in title) is the reason for a question asked of me there.

I have now gone to Tarawea for 3 nights, and every night I go more and more ladies seem to show up. If I was a member of the community, I would chalk it up to the approaching last 10 days of Ramadan, in which the Night of Power (ليلة القدر) is hiding. But arabs are often shrewd, and as I am also, I know for sure that it is because of me. Tonight I was the subject of study. Its very hard to communicate with the ladies (men too) here due to my appalling lack of conversational arabic skills. My reading and writing is superb I'm told, but speaking to people is a different matter. Its a struggle everyday. At the masjid we laugh it off, and attempt hand signals. They all become aware I am married to Shadi, and here's the tie-in: one older lady pats my muffintop belly hidden under a dress and asks in mixed hand signal/arabic whether I'm expecting already!! I knew I was overweight.. but damn. Luckily I am charmed minutes later when another friendly woman nearer to my age indicates to me that my husband is a hottie, good job for catching him, and we are a cute couple. Shadi finds this info entertaining, naturally, and Momma Aicha laughed herself silly when he told her of the pregnancy inquiry. Well, its late, so I'm off to bed. Btw, Happy Bad Poetry Day!

The Mad-Hatter's Tea Party or Ramadan In A Muslim Country

It's a bit overdue, but RAMADAN KAREEM!

                                  

My Arabic & Pakistani Muslim friends told me for years how different it was to celebrate Ramadan in a Muslim country rather than a secular one like the States, and I was excited to see for myself. Indeed it has been different, and to my great pleasure somewhat easier to do. Back home, it was always a struggle to maintain my fast. Whether it was pressure from non-Muslim acquaintances who always seemed to want to have lunch only in August, couldn't understand why I wouldn't break it just this one time, or such things like my yearly summer illness, school, work, and etc. Here among a wholly Muslim community it has nearly been a cinch, despite the incredible dry heat and lack of A/C. It doesn't hurt either that for the first time in 8 years I find myself without a job or school at this time in the summer, and the first Ramadan completely uninhibited. However, now the challenge is finding things to DO, instead of finding the time. Time I have in abundance. With the heat keeping most people indoors all day, and for me no Jordanian license until I get permanent residency (I couldn't drive my in-laws car at any rate; its a stick shift) , no A/C, very little english channels on tv, my books back in storage with my parents, and blocked favorite webpages here, I find myself with so much free time I could puke. I usually end up sleeping! One can have too much sleep, I find.

Despite the dry heat, the cool nights more than make up for the time fasting. Iftar is always delicious and filling thanks to Momma Aicha, and the nightly walks Shadi and I take around his neighborhood are a singular delight. Its much like walking through my own hometown during a snow-less Christmas season, complete with oftentimes tacky lighting decor in honor of the celebration.

Pretty much all the lights resemble this one

There remains only 13 more days, or under 2 weeks, to this month of mercy, and I intend to get everything I can from it. To cap off the month, my wedding is the day after sanctioned Eid, and tonight after iftar and my cousins-in law showed up for a visit we got down to brass tacks. Invitations, arrangements, and etc are all on the table. (Apparently it takes a very short time, down to weeks in Jordan to plan a wedding and execute it unlike the year we take in the States. I guess it helps that all your relatives live in the same town and half of them don't have jobs they have to take off of). Its to be a short post tonight; I didn't get my usual amount of sleep post-suhoor and Shadi has already nodded off. So I leave you with images of Ramadan in Jordan. :)

A decorations vendor in Jordan

More lights!!

The main masjid in downtown Amman