The Aftermath: Update regarding trip is a lil belated, I know XD

The morning after we returned from our little mini-break to see his country, Shadi and I slept in while Momma Aicha went to her fathers' house, Thamer went to school, and Babba Hassan went to work. In Jordan, and possibly other Islamic cultures, when a relative dies the family gather in the home of the deceased for 3 days after the funeral to accept condolences from other family members, friends, and members of the community. In Islam, we are directed to bury the body as soon as possible in order to shorten the deceased's time spent out of the grave. We are told by the Quran that when someone dies that their soul remains attached to their bodies to be buried with them. Any pain inflicted on the remains after death that person also feels. Another reason why autopsies in muslim countries are rarely done. So we bury them usually a few hour after death and that doesn't leave much time for letting other relatives even close ones attend the funeral. 3 days of hosting guests makes up for this. The day was rather slow (the only quick part being Thamer and I chasing after a cat to find her kittens) but that evening Shadi and his brother and Father had to meet the men of the family at a location in town to begin the 3 days of mourning and Momma Aicha was to join the ladies at her Fathers' home. They did not expect me to join her at first, but by the end of the night it was decided that as a new member of the family I ought to represent it at the gathering. (Also we were certain that if we did not go to them, they would come to us as part of the string of gawkers who just had to see me since I arrived)

Momma Aicha's family home was only a 5 minute walk from ours, and also adjacent to her sister Fatimah's apartment. At the door I nearly faceplanted over the largest pile of shoes I ever saw. (Just like in India, in Jordan it is customary to remove shoes upon entering the home) I must say I was not adequately prepared for the sight that greeted me. Women. Women. Women. I had never seen so many women in one place at one time like... ever. A sea of black with small colorful accents (this community is a big fan of the abaya) And, of course, all eyes were on yours truly. I should say first off I was wearing a blue and yellow tunic, jeans, and a mustard yellow scarf over my brilliant red hair. Even if I were tanner than them I would have stood out.



Furthermore, lucky me, not ONE of them spoke english. The room we occupied was of the same kind of floor couch I had seen so far, with Momma Aicha, me, and Khalty Fatimah in the center to accept visitors. Over the course of 2 hours we must have seen half the neighborhood. One by one women lined up and came the room to make the rounds and give kisses and express condolences in Arabic. Half stuck around for 20 minutes or so afterward just to chat with their neighbors and stare at me. I knew enough arabic to know that most of the conversation was about me as I had expected, but as my conversational skills are sorely lacking I stuck to what I knew best: the kids. :D For some reason children seem to be naturally drawn to me back home, and when I arrived here it turned out to be the same story. To my right a corner contained 6 children, and two more came later to sit at my feet. Children speak all languages, but their best comprehension is in the subtle tones of "silly faces". After a half hour of back and forth silly facing, the women ceased separate conversations and watched us instead. I remark to Momma Aicha that I am glad I could be entertaining, to which she translated to the room at large creating more laughter. Even with the kids around I was still incredibly uneasy and just as I was about to consider registering this with Momma Aicha, her phone rung and it was my Shadi. He had just left the male gathering a bit early and wanted to know if I wanted him to pick me up. The women watched and grinned as I answered in the affirmative. Not 10 minutes later his cousin Rusia came to tell me he was here, so I bid my respectful adieus to the gaggle of women and immediately attached myself to my fiance. Shadi told me he left early because he figured I would not be enjoying my time with so many women (its no secret I have only a select number of female friends anyway) and he missed me. We went home for tea and to wait the return of the remaining household members.

The next day Shadi had to go to Amman for work and so I slept in hoping that by the time I woke he would be back as he promised no later than noon. Noon comes, I rouse. Very quickly I discover I am alone in the house. Dad at work. Shadi still at work. Thamer school, and Momma Aicha presumably again at her father's house. Now, if this had been my apartment or parents' house back in the States scenario of shower, lunch, read book and browse Facebook would have ensued. However at Casa Alkhazaleh, even as a new family member, I still did not feel entirely comfortable and at my leisure; it was not my house yet. Not to mention that waking up half dazed and realizing you are alone when you shouldn't be activates the old adrenaline pump. I panicked. I realized that my arabic was not sufficient enough to use outside the house, nor understand anything on the television. I wasn't sure what was edible in the fridge. The shower water was cold. Isolated. Just as the panic rat began biting hard, the phone rang and I instinctively answered. It was Shadi. He told me he'd be late, more like 5pm and like that I went off on him. As I am yelling and tearing up, Momma Aicha walks in. When I hang up, she hugs me, takes me aside and in mixed arableezi (arabic/english spoken in Jordan) and russian asks why I am crying. She explains I should not have panicked, and that this house is mine now, and that Shadi should not make promises he can't keep (like being home in time). She also explained that as a woman that type of behavior is unbecoming because women are stronger than men and it is in our blood to be the ones who handle things with patience and not panic and give up. That's the man's job :D And from what I have seen in Jordan, that is certainly true. These women here are tough and certainly in charge, though to an outsider it appears the opposite. They make my favorite movie quote very true.

"Listen to me Tula. The man may be the head, but the woman is the neck, and she can turn the head any way she wants." --My Big Fat Greek Wedding



We did more the same this day later when Shadi returned, off again to someone's house to meet mourners. Shadi took me to see his masjid before sunset. The next day was my last day in Jordan and we still had not found a ring. It is important for the bride to have her engagement ring in any culture, and in this one doubly so. In Jordan, the plain gold band comes first. The sparkles come later. Only women in Islam are allowed to wear gold; men can only wear silver. We had searched high and low in Ramtha for a ring only to come up empty-handed literally. First of all I detest wedding ring style in Jordan. Somehow they make real 24k gold look fake, like something 25 cents from a machine at the grocery store. And secondly, none of them fit. Rings are buy as they come, not ordered, and my finger was the smallest in town. So this night, despite it being unseeming for the daughter of a deceased father to be out shopping, Momma Aicha came with us to the neighboring city of Irbid to help the process along. 3 stores and we finally find a semi-plain, not fake looking wedding band. We buy, we rejoice.
Mine looks something like this:



Afterwards the men went their separate ways to the male gathering for day 3, and Momma Aicha and I join cousin Rusia (a darling woman near my age who also speaks no english but at least spoke fashion) to buy me an abaya. Momma Aicha had promised me either a hookah or abayas this trip, but with so little time I chose what I knew would please her best and went clothes shopping. Hey, I like clothes, this should be easy and quick. WRONG. Momma Aicha and I definitely have different tastes in clothes, for sure. After 45 mins of "la", making faces to express opinion, and her trying to put me into a dress resembling a Star Trek spoof Galaxy Quest uniform



Rusia and I spot the thobes. A thobe is a regional dress, and not nearly as plain as most abayas. I dig the color on black combo, so I quickly grab a purple and blue mix and the long search is over! I wanted to go home after, so Rusia and Momma Aicha return to the female gathering and I go home to start packing. Not 20 minutes later however Thamer enters with Rusia and two other cousins who insist in hand motions and arabic that I put on my new apparel, style a hijab up, and accompany them back to the house so everyone can see. After some cajoling I reluctantly do so. All the women fawn over my choice of attire, and I apparently impress an INCREDIBLY old woman, as well as seeing my towel-headed Aunts again. Shadi comes to pick me up and is in love with my appearance. For some reason my husband seems to find me more attractive in hijabified attire than a skimpy tank top and shorts. Never said he wasn't weird; had to be to have married me. He brought home my favorite knafeh (a tasty arabic dessert)and his Aunt brought me gifts (a prayer rug,zamzam water, prayer clothes, and a brand new watch). Shadi presented me with my ring in front of the family and we all chilled together until my man and I retreated to be alone. We went to be late, and before we knew it, it was time to wake and go. I promised Momma Aicha I would return for good soon and we left for the airport. My only regret is not getting a long enough goodbye; by the time we arrived at Queen Alia Royal Jordanian informed us they were final boarding my flight. Babba Hassan had stepped out to go to the bathroom, so after a hasty goodbye to my Shadi I dashed through security to make to a calm waiting room that didn't seat us for another 25 minutes :( The flight back was exhausting and eventful; 6 hours in I fell ill like at the Sharia court. After a flight attendant called for a doctor onboard, 2 doctors, 1 nurse, and 3 other flight attendants "attended" to me in the form of holding me down on a row of 4 seats and injecting me with something. I passed out for the rest of the flight.


As I write this I still really really miss Jordan (and not just cuz it houses my Shadi). I am literally counting the days until I return sometime in the middle of Ramadan (that's august this year to us Roman Calendar nuts).