3/30 Irbid/Amman-- Muslims, especially Arabs, are known famously throughout the Western world as those backwards people who marry their cousins. While this practice has begun to decline, it is still largely popular here in the Middle East. The people, however, are not ignorant to the genetic troubles some related couples have when reproducing. They do not consider it inbreeding, however. In response to this notion though, many countries' governments, including Jordan, have instituted pre-engagement/courtship blood testing. So today to complete the requirements of the Sha'ria Court for legal/religious courtship, Hassan & Khaly Mohammad (Maternal Uncle) took us to a clinic in Ar-Ramtha for said testing to make sure we wouldn't produce mutant offspring in the event we decide to marry. I was slightly offended at the idea; also not looking forward to once again having blood drawn after the medical study I did last month. The clinic we went to looks nothing like what I am accustomed to. The building houses several things besides this clinic, and the state of it was not up to code, American standard-wise. As I eyed the Arabic phlebotomist wearily, I noted that all the female employees were hijabi; some even wearing the signature white niqab as well, and completely uninhibited in their work. Shadi assured me it would be quick and painless; the irony of his wince as the phlebotomist took his blood was not lost on me :D My experience however makes me want to write to the American Medical Association and complain. I never felt the needle, nor the draw; no wound, no digging for veins, NOTHING. It may have never happened. Why when at a "clean" and standard American medical compound did I experience a fair amount of sadists getting their jollies digging in my veins causing deep pain and torment, when this woman trained in what many still refer to as a 3rd World country was the expert I'd always dreamed of? Worth pondering.
I could tell you that I waited over 60 minutes to see if I would produce 3-eyed children with Shadi, but that's not what happened... it took 6 minutes. We pass with flying colors apparently, the nice Doc gives me a lollipop (Shadi's explanation of this behavior is that I spread joy wherever I go; ok baby :D ) and we depart to Irbid to the Shar'ia court. At this point I'm feeling ill, but by the time we get to the Sheikh's office I look like and feel like an ad for Death. A high temperature, paler than the average non-arab, and dizzier than a Whirling Dervish. The Sheikh offers me aspirin (which he enthusiastically reports to me in broken english is American) but as we sit outside I am death warmed over. At this juncture in our story I am pleased to report the first experience I have had with Jordanian women in Jordan that far from hostile. 2 concerned ladies handed me water, a fever reducer, and antibiotics. I turned down the antibiotics because firstly its not wise to take other people's prescriptions and secondly, after the fever reducer was down mixing more than 2 medications could have tipped me over. Still feeling an inch from 6 feet under, a squat woman in a white niqab approached me and asked in mixed english and arabic whether or not I was feeling well as if that weren't apparent. She immediately snatched the water bottle, poured water generously over my face and head with her hands, and like a preacher pulling a demon from a petulant on local cable access, she placed her hand on my head and recited Surat Al-Fatiha as many times as I could catch it. Over a period of 10-15 minutes she did this, alternately repeating the cycle of water and prayer. (According to Islam, the cure for any ill is the recitation of this most important Surah and the very first featured in the Qur'an)
Whether it was the meds, the prayer, or the water, after that 15 minute session my fever had broken; my dizziness dissipated and my headache was gone. The woman's name was Huda; she had 2 daughters, one my age and one teenager. She gave me her number and requested Shadi's so that she might check on my condition at a later time. I am grateful for her attention, and for being one of the first Arab women who was not related to Shadi to not treat me like a dangerous germ. In response and to return a favor in kind for her, Shadi acted as a witness for something she needed done in this court. She would call later to inquire as to my health and hope to see me again. Thank you (shukran jazeelan) Huda..
20 minutes later, after affirmation of both parties as to their intent to courtship and formulating a document regarding their wishes (this would be made official at a later date if both parties eventually agreed to marriage), the whole sordid affair was finished and we were now free to engage in common relationship-type activities ;) In essence my Non-Muslim, Western friends we are now going steady LOL. Shadi would tell me later that both his father and the Sheikh praised my conditions I insisted upon placing in the document (a muslim woman has the right to include anything she wishes in this document, and upon signature the man MUST honor it. Same goes for him) They said that most women ask for a separate home, or money, or jewelry, or something frivolous. That I required practical solutions was different but a very good thing. Inshallah should we decide on marriage in the future, I am certain I have protected and guarded my interests securely.
Shadi's father Hassan and Khaly Mohammad (Paternal Uncle) dropped us off at the Irbid bus station afterwards where we purchased tickets for the Jordanian equivalent of a Greyhound bus to Amman in lieu of taking yet another taxi. While we waited its arrival we purchased panadol from the local pharmacy, fatayer and meat stuffed breads at the brick oven stand beside it, and sat munching and medicating until it was time to leave. The bus ride was an hour long like the taxi, but unlike the cars that inspire shirts such as "I survived Amman traffic" and "I can't believe I miss traffic lights", this one was speedy yet steady, and high enough off the ground to see over the embankments. The views from this vehicle were even more spectacular than they had been the last 3 days. I was frequently reminded of the deep river valleys of Arkansas and the high cliffs of Utah. Home really isn't that far from here. In Amman we took yet another taxi to the travel agency that would take us to Petra, Wadi Rum, and Aqaba (As I write this, Sultan our agent has just informed us that the particular trip we booked is not complete and will not be offered so new plans are being made; I am not happy, I was looking forward to camping in the Wadi and seeing the sky as it was before electricity)
We hopped another taxi to the station, then ANOTHER taxi to Ar-Ramtha in time for a lunch of falafel sandwiches. I should mention that in the previous days small tricklings of Alkhazaleh family members made their way in 2's and 3's to sneak a peek at me. Starting with this day they came in packs of 4 and 5. New ones would be awaiting us as we returned from Amman. Aunt Fatimah made the classic Arab noise you often hear bellydancers like Jen make. Apparently this is a sign of celebration. The awkwardness of meeting family is relate-able of course, but the awkwardness of meeting family who speak no english, never met any Americans before, are fascinated by you and spend most of the visit talking about you in Arabic to each other cannot be described. Thankfully this time I had a distraction in the form of a sulhafa (turtle) wandering into the garden. Turtles, like cats (especially tabbys ironically enough) are rather common to stumble on, and Arabic turtles while unremarkable to look at are quite quick and rather hilarious. Video to come regarding said turtle. After their departure I spent "quality" time with my boyfriend which included chasing little brother Thamer out of the room and/or ignoring phone calls. After ishaa that evening, Shadi, Momma Aicha and I took a 1 mile walk to their family owned land (which included an olive orchard). After nearly tripping over some chickens and a few ducks on the road in the dark, we arrived to find a family of tabby-mix kittens, not 10 months old, playing tag in the orchard. We had arabic cheesy poofs, orange juice (asir portugal) and near flavorless ice cream. After watching the cats for some time, the temperature got unfriendly so we made the trip back, once again nearly face-planting over some farm fowl. After a much more successful shower we both slept.
3/31 Ar-Ramtha -- For the first time since arriving I slept until 8am. We had nothing in particular planned today besides my plan to keep my boyfriend in bed for once. We had a breakfast of cheddar cheese wrapped in khobis and dipped in honey and some apparently expensive goat-curd substance. Sounds strange, but tasty as all hell you betcha. More relatives would arrive before noon, totaling 11 by Dhuhr. 2 "aunts" in particular stand out in my memory and I still grin when I think of one. Nearly identical looking by first appearance, these incredibly old, cliche looking women were related to Shadi in some form or another. They wore long, unremarkable abayas and black hijab. But tied around their heads were what turned out to be kitchen towels from Germany. (Shadi would explain later that there are two forms of tribes in the Middle East; the Bedouin everyone is familiar with in the West, and the farm tribes that settled the lands; Shadi's tribe were such farmers, and women after WWII began wearing those tied around their heads as a symbol of their domestic work. Now only the oldest of tribe women still wear them) One Aunt in particular stands out. In addition to the towel on her head she had 3 gold teeth; two of which were front incisors. She was incredibly old and her eyes were rather squinted, but she had a rakish grin for me everytime I caught her eye. She looked like a a pirate, or one of those old irish grandmothers who smoked a pipe and drank old whiskey pints. I imagine if I could understand her language better she'd have a million stories. I hope one day I hear a few without too much translation. They departed around Asr and Shadi left to the masjid to pray promising to return quickly to fetch me there to see it. Here I must explain why this seems illogical. The women of Ramtha apparently do not regularly attend masjid enough to warrant the perpetual opening of the women's section. Even juma'a is spare of female presence. Heretofore the section of the masjid is locked except for holidays and etc. It would have been a very strange thing indeed for a woman of any origin to come and pray there while the others were at home. Shadi requested of the Imam that I be allowed to, and the Imam agreed that there was no reason for them to keep me from praying there, but that I should come Friday. We are to be 5 hours from here at that time, so no dice.
We decided to visit instead after Asr prayer, but an untimely argument about whether I should wear jeans underneath a perfectly good ankle length skirt ensued and we ended up skipping masjid and a visit to Shadi's grandfather in favor of a makeup that included flowers snatched from the garden. Hassan would return later to check our progress. I love this man; he reminds me so much of my own father (Miss you Dad!) that I do not feel entirely without my family here. Aunt Fatima, Momma Aicha, and Babba Hassan all insist I consider them relatives anyway and I already regret this coming Wednesday when I must leave them for a few months. Hell even Thamer is growing on me (like a wart). Looks like our travel plans have adjusted to us staying in a hotel in the mountains of the Wadi instead of tents which is rather disappointing but que sera sera. Will try to maybe update from the hotel in Moab. TTYL!
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