Many Meetings

I've only been here a week; that's right only 7 days, and already I feel as if I have been here more than a month. I am accustomed to the routine of the day insofar as Ramadan is concerned. We normally all stay awake (or nearly) from مغرب (maghrib; sunset prayer) until سحور (suhoor/breakfast) and we eat intermittently throughout that period. After suhoor and fajr prayer we sleep. Shadi wakes mere hours later to rush off to work (luckily he leaves an hour later than he normally would b/c its Ramadan; at least that's his excuse) and I will sleep until ظهر (dhuhr; noon prayer) and try to pass the last 7 hours of the fast in the most distracting way I can find. The heat makes it hard to do much of anything, and the family members who remain at home normally lounge around in the coolest room in the house trying to avoid said heat. Today, because I was up nearly 24 hours the day before, I managed to sleep right up until عصر (asr; afternoon prayer around 4:45 here). My husband arrived home in time to wake me and give me crap for sleeping all day. Momma Aicha would also wander in and remark in her arabic and broken english that she supposed I was dead, as well as calling attention to my muffin-top peeking out from the blanket and affectionately deeming me fat.

Last night I finally got to fire up my hookah after much cajoling on my part to Shadi, who promised as part of our earlier bargain to fetch me smoking supplies whenever I requested them since he does the same حرام (forbid/bad) thing for his mother all the time. After finally convincing him, I got under way only to discover that it was missing a ball bearing. I had to jury-rig it with electrical tape just so it would at least pull. Tedious. I had Shadi inquire to the hookah store owner (whom he knew from masjid) and the guy try to pull a fast one by saying it was built in or some crap like that. Good thing I know a thing or two about hookah maintenance. Today he gave us the part on the way back  تاراويح (taraweea; a sunnah Ramadan prayer).

For the past 2 nights now Shadi has taken me to taraweea prayer at his masjid. Momma Aicha expressed an apprehension about me going since I did not know the women there, but as I have been welcome at every masjid I have ever entered, I was certain this would also be the case here. One of the things that saddened me to hear about my husband's community was the state of the women in their Islam. While they may all walk around dutifully in their hijabs and big bulky abaya; stay away from strange men, marry and not date, etc, the culture here regarding what they do is somewhat amiss. In Islam, women are full partners and also wholly encouraged to be deeply involved in their religion. Prayer, education, quranic memorization and recitation, etc. And yet here in Ramtha it is nearly what the Western Non-Muslim fears about Islam. The women are at home, nearly all day if they are not teachers at the local schools. They cook, clean, host, serve --all the things a classic housewife does. A woman here is not brought up to expect to go to college and find a job; she is groomed to be mistress of the house and be a wife. A cousin-in law of mine is only 15, and already engaged. My worst fear for her I know will be realized; 16 and pregnant, home-ridden, uneducated beyond reading and writing and how to make kebsa. Women's participation in the masjids here is very little. Some places do not even open their female sections because none ever show up. It is not the masjid's that are keeping them from coming, but themselves and this culture. Not so in Amman, where it closely resembles Chicago, and thank Allah. I would much rather live amongst like-minded people (obviously). 


 Tonight we went across town as a family to visit with Khaly Mohammad and his family. He is a self-made man; having gone to school for engineering in the 60's/70's in the former Yugoslavia, he did not finish but was hired in Libya to translate Arabic to Yugoslavian for a company. He made quite a bit of money, came back here and worked as a fuel transporter for several years while building an enormous compound of a house, getting married, reproducing, and finally now retiring. It is at his house I discover both pomegranates and a new fruit tree, فيج (figs). Shadi, Khalty Fatimah, the two youngest cousins, myself, and Thamer are enlisted to truss the fig tree for ripened fruit. If you saw a little boy and grown man climbing a tree at midnight with a flashlight the size of a baseball bat knocking down fruit you'd have thought you'd lost your mind. I'd never had a fresh fig or pomegranate before, only ever in differing forms like Fig Newtons or Pomegranate Flavored Italian Soda.

   

How a fig really looks

How Americans think they look

I had both tonight (figs and poms), not entirely ripe yet but still rather tasty. At an Arab household, when a visitor stops by (and I mean "stops by" as in does not give notice of visit prior to arriving) it is customary to serve several tapas or tasty snacks along with a juice or tea. The end of the snack would include another round of tea or arabic/turkish coffee. Khaly Mohammad's wife and daughter pulled out all the stops tonight, first with the figs and poms with oddly enough Tang as our beverage of choice, followed by almonds pulled right off the tree behind Rakan, petit fours, tea, and then the aforementioned coffee. I have yet to have a turkish coffee better than the one my Palestinian friend Haneen makes back in the states.

Oh Haneen, I miss your coffee

We decided to walk home from our Uncle's place after I forcibly removed yet another cookie from Shadi's hands (he's a sweet freak, and we made a deal to severely limit our intake of said desserts until after the wedding) but along the way managed to run into some ice cream :) As we were heading in the gate to his house, we spotted Ashraf inside our neighbors supposed garage. Instead of a car however we found about 15 cages full of birds. Parakeets, doves of all sorts, lovebirds, canaries and giant pigeons the size of cats everywhere. Shadi translated for his neighbor to me that he collected the birds out of interest and hobby. He said he also had a snake living somewhere in his old car.  In the states, this might be called Animal Hoarding, but here its a "hobby". Another night of staying up till fajr, and hey, maybe I'll sleep another day away.

                                                                              Elena

She forgave us after a nice snack.

By the way, we accidentally locked Firdaus 

out when we left for our Uncle's house.