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.