My Arabic Mission

Helpful Posts for Jordan Study Abroad Students

2011-03-31T21:35:00.000-07:00

Today I was a "guest speaker" in the Jordan Fall 2011 Study Abroad prep class. I am pretty sure I terrified everyone there with my story about language exhaustion and discouragement. Hopefully some of them will look at a few of my blog entries and know that not everything was bad!

Anyway, even if none of them look at this, here are a few helpful entries about culture, things to do in Jordan, language learning, and other things.

Cultural Experiences
Weddings
Public Transportation
Mansaf
Phone Calls
Arab Greetings
Weather
"No Smoking"
Hints for Sick Travelers

Language Frustrations

"My X-Ray Vision is Gone!"

Arabic Boot Camp

Language Learning and Contact Lenses

"She Speaks Arabic!"

Organization and Overwhelmement

In and Around Amman
The University of Jordan
A Visit to an Arab Home
Museums of Folklore and Popular Culture

From the Branch in Jordan
Baptisms
The Branch in Al-Husn

Just So You Remember to Laugh
Arab Effectiveness
The Odd, The Creepy, and...Time
Strange Translations
On Being a Different Nationality
Watermelon Babies and Taxi Drivers

Museums of Folklore and Popular Culture

2010-07-22T07:44:00.001-07:00

There are two small museums on either side of the amphitheater in downtown Amman.

They are the Folklore Museum and the Museum of Popular Culture, and they are pretty cool. They are both quite small, so even if you aren't a museum person you can enjoy these and then go on to do something else.

These are pictures from inside the small museum--I think all of these came from the Museum of Popular Culture/Tradition.

This is the first thing you see when you walk in--traditional Jordanian army wear.

Check out those ankle bracelets! Let's hope you don't kick yourself...

Self-defense bracelets, maybe?

The largest plate for Mansaf that I have ever seen...

The University of Jordan

2010-07-10T17:42:00.000-07:00

The University of Jordan was a crazy place. Crazy because it was different in every way from BYU or other American universities. First of all, everything closed down at 5pm and all the building were shut and locked. When do these people do their homework? Even the library closed pretty early. Thing is, most of the students live at home or at a home with family members (if their parents live too far away) and most of them don't have jobs (and their parents pay for their schooling).

This combination of factors led to a lot of this:

College students sitting around on benches or curbs at the university throughout the day. Sitting, talking to friends, watching other people walk by, especially members of the opposite sex (since you can't talk to them or sit with them, if you are following societal rules), and making foreigners like me feel uncomfortable with all the staring.

Plenty of benches are provided to sit and stare.

This is a picture of the front gate of the university. The university had 4 gates that I know of and you couldn't enter the university without going through the gates. They have guards that stand at the gates and check your id card when you walk through and don't let people without their student id into the university. That is, unless you are a foreigner--then you just have to say "Markaz al-Lugat" (which means "The Language Center") or mumble something in English (or Arabic) or be a woman and just avoid their gaze and they will let you in, no problem. I usually went with the final option.

The library. Kind of foreboding; I went in a couple of times and could never find anything, including a place to study. Apparently in their opinion the library is a place for books, not a place for students. There are a few tables scattered throughout but only certain people could study in certain sections in the library--or maybe they just didn't want us foreigners in there taking up space...

The clock tower at the center of the university. This was a common meeting place for people, and at any time of day (until 5, when the university closed) you could find at least a hundred people within a hundred yard radius of this thing. Just sitting and chatting. If you can imagine, I got many of my speaking hours talking to people sitting by this very clock.

I thought this looked weird for a long time. I asked a couple of people why they paint their trees white--one answer (the more logical one) was that the paint keeps bugs from climbing up and eating the trees. The other answer I got was that they did it so it would look pretty.

But I just thought it looked weird...

"A Middle Eastern Jewel"

2010-05-13T18:07:00.000-07:00

Remember my entry "The Holy Land" that talks about one of the worst DU articles about the Jerusalem Center I had ever seen?

They redeemed themselves today. I think a big push has been started to get students back to the Center--Kent Brown said, "Come. It is safe. It will change your life for the better.” Wow. Talk about a plea to the students. Because for who knows what reasons, be they economic (it is almost $10,000 for a semester there now) or safety (it's just not as safe as, say, Heber City Utah) or any other numerous reasons, since the Center opened in 2007 (except for the first semester, in which there were only 44 of us), there have only been around 88 students at the Center.

It was designed for more than 160.

The best part of the article? No students were interviewed or quoted. Maybe that article in '08 really drove students away ("Safety was also reinforced by the Israeli soldiers scattered throughout the city..."I never saw them enforcing anything," Roeller said." ??? "I knew they were there to protect us. We'd take pictures with them."--how does taking pictures with soldiers who are not enforcing anything make you feel more safe?).

Anway, I feel that the article perhaps undid the damage the one in '08 did. Too bad they didn't publish this the second to last week of this past winter semester...

Egypt: City of the Dead

2010-04-26T20:36:00.000-07:00

Another little treasure (just as cool but slightly more dangerous than Garbage City) in Cairo is the City of the Dead. (Disclaimer: I don't actually know much about City of the Dead. If you want to know more, look it up online.)

Those of you still reading after that disclaimer will know that I, the adventurous spirit that I am, of course had to go to the City of the Dead. But it's not the safest of spots in the city (I don't recommend it to tourists unless you speak Arabic or have a guide) so BYU (meaning Jason and Spencer) insisted that if we wanted to go to City of the Dead, there had to be at least 3 of us but no more than 5 and we had to have a guy with us.

No problem, right? Nothing could stop Ginny (my friend) and I. So we recruited a male and went.

The reasons City of the Dead is so dangerous are many. It is a huge, ancient cemetery filled with both small tombstones and large stone houses for the dead. (The dead were usually buried beneath the ground and the large stone house built on top, I think.) Which makes it a perfect site for homeless people to come and live--either with their ancestors or with others'. Sometimes they just build on top of the tombs with cardboard boxes (and yes, there is electricity in those cardboard box houses!).

It also makes it a perfect site for drugs, harlotry, and other illegal activity. Even living there is illegal, but the Egyptian government does little about the several thousand who do live there--where would they go?

But don't worry, we went in the day. And I am pretty sure the locals were impressed by our awesome Arabic skills. The only thing that we feared was those who were begging for money.

This woman

was pretty good. She tried to give us some old dry pitas and then ask for money. But we didn't take her pita and pretended like we couldn't understand her, even though she followed us for about 10 minutes.

In case you are wondering why we were so thoughtless, if we had given her money at least 50 people would have come out asking us for money too.

That's kind of how it is in the Middle East.

But after walking through the cemetery/community and feeling sufficiently creeped out, we walked past a large tomb/house with children peeking out at us. Not wanting to pass up any opportunity (especially after they called us over!) we walked over and they invited us into their "home/store" to see their chickens. We were slightly nervous, terrified actually, that they just wanted to scam us or ask for money or do any number of illegal things. But they were all women and children, so we walked through the house to the back room, which was open (kind of like a 6 ft by 4 ft cement backyard...) They actually did have chickens, and the eggs had just barely hatched. And they had about 20 little chicks in their back courtyard!

After that excitement, we realized that we should probably buy something from these people--as a gesture of friendship (and safety). I don't know how many people lived in that tomb/house, but it had the front room (maybe 8x4), the bedroom (maybe 8x5), and the back courtyard. The front room was actually a store where they had drinks (water and soda) and a small selection of candy and cookies. They invited us to sit down and talk to them as we drank our sodas (it was Mirinda, in case you were wondering) and they offered us the only bed in the house as a couch.

Despite the warnings of danger, City of the Dead actually turned out to be a pretty sweet experience. I am not quite sure how they live that way, but most of them have no other choice. And living in a tomb is better than no house at all, right?

Weddings in Jordan

2010-04-22T16:52:00.001-07:00

I went to three weddings in Jordan. It was really an awesome, awesome cultural experience, but of course came with lots and lots of awkward stories.

The first wedding I went to was fine. I don't remember much about it, though, so it must not have been anything special.

The second and third weddings, though, I and my friend Lorien were guests of honor. (Even though we didn't know the bride or the groom...minor detail.) You see, I had many, many friends at the University of Jordan. This happened because I would walk up to groups of girls daily and basically ask them to talk to me. In Arabic. For two hours.

Instant friendship.

I spent a little bit more time than usual with one of these groups of girls (they were so nice! Really, really nice) and one day one of them invited me and my friend Lorien to her cousin's wedding.

We were ecstatic.

The day appointed for said wedding was Friday and was out in the middle of nowhere. We didn't really know where it was, but the girl gave us the name of the "village" and told us that it was the only wedding that Friday in that village, so we should be able to find it just fine.

Right.

So, after church (church is on Friday in Jordan--but Lorien and I decided that attending this wedding would be a good cultural outreach and we considered it a Sabbath-worthy activity) we got in a taxi and told the taxi driver where to go. We were hoping he knew where it was because we sure didn't.

Well, after driving for more than 30 minutes and getting farther and farther out into the middle of nowhere (and racking up the dinar on the taxi meter!) we finally drove up to this hill in the middle of nowhere. The taxi driver told us that this was probably it, since there were tarps set up and people sitting around, and then tried to charge us for more than the meter price, "because I won't have any customers on the way back in, we are so far in the middle of nowhere!"

Well, you should have thought of that before, buddy! After arguing with him for a minute, I gave him 10 cents more than the meter said. It's really not my problem that he didn't agree to a price beforehand.

When we stepped out of the taxi, we suddenly became the object of everyone's attention. We didn't know we were the guests of honor before (we didn't even know the bride or the groom!) but when two American females (who speak Arabic) attend a wedding in the middle of nowhere, it equals "instant celebrity." Mothers were bringing their children over to touch us and our hair and take pictures with us. And after the meal of mansaf, we found out that we had 2.5 hours of waiting time until the actual wedding.

Let me explain a little. Up to this point we had seen neither the bride nor the groom--we had just eaten mansaf (a traditional meal at more traditional (ie country-ish) weddings). There were about 200 women in attendance, and it was an outdoor setting, with tarps set up like canopies. We all sat on plastic chairs scattered around. And sat. Overall, we were in this hot dry desert hill for about 4 hours.

Which might explain why we all got so bored. The Arab women started singing, and soon they turned and looked at us--two American females at a Jordanian wedding--and figured that we must be able to sing. They finally convinced us to sing--but what? Lorien and I could only think of hymns, which didn't quite seem appropriate in this situation...

Finally I decided on "Eidleweiss" and "When You Say Nothing At All" (the only songs I could remember all the words to)--and sang them over and over again as the women recorded us singing on their cell phones.

What can I say, we were the guests of honor!

After the singing was the photo shoot, where everyone wanted to take pictures with us.

By this point, it was getting a little awkward. Lorien and I were relieved when the attention turned from us to the micro-busses pulling up in front of the tarps. When we asked what they were, we were told that these busses (all 4 of them) would take the women (all 200 of us) to the place of the wedding. Did I mention these busses nomally only fit 20 people?

Again, minor detail.

We shoved everyone onto the busses for the 15 minute ride. And what do Jordanian females do at a wedding when they are bored? Sing and dance, of course!

When we finally arrived, it was a mad house to try and shove everyone (all the females--the only male there was the groom) into this small house which was either the place of the ceremony or just a greeting area--with all the mass confusion, I wasn't quite sure what was going on. All I know is that we were pushed to the front of the crowd, my camera was taken by someone even closer to the front than me (so she could get "better pictures"), it was incredibly hot and stuffy in that little room, and the bride did not look happy. Not one bit.

Which is why I was so shocked and panicked when the girls we knew (the groom's cousin) shoved us to the front of the crowd after the ceremonial things (all I could see was that the groom put a lot of gold jewelry on the bride) to take pictures with the bride. I want you to notice my arm gripping Lorien's in a death grip and the look of extreme awkwardness on my face.

In case you are wondering about the bad Paint job I did, the bride is a muhajjibiya, which means that she only wears clothing that completely covers her body and a veil (hijab) that covers her neck and hair when males are present. At weddings, the only male present is her husband, so she (the bride) and the female members of the groom's family do their hair down or in updos. But I wanted to put this incredibly awkward picture on my blog, so I covered her hair and skin. I am not trying to mock or anything else at all--I just wanted you to get a glimpse of how awkward the moment was for us while still keeping the bride modest.

Well, after that ordeal, we told our most gracious hosts that we did need to return to Amman and asked if there were busses, or taxis, or anything that would come out to this area in the next half hour or so. Did I mention we were in the middle of nowhere and about 30 minutes outside of Amman?

Well, the girls were rather resourceful and told us that someone was going to town and would give us a ride in.

That "someone" happened to be the chauffer for the newly married couple, and the getaway car was already decorated!!

Once again, we were mortified, but they were already opening the doors for us. No, it wasn't a sign of chivalry, the car was falling apart.

Which we found out 15 minutes later as we were still travelling to Amman and had to pull over to replace the flat tire!!!

Could this trip get any more strange?

We finally made it back to a bus station on the outskirts of Amman, where they let us off and went back to the wedding.

As incredibly odd as the experience was, I was really so impressed at their hospitality and going way out of their way for their guests (us)--even when we had no relation whatsoever to the couple.

The other wedding, which happened two weeks later (another girl in the same group's relative--but luckily it was her sister this time and not a distant cousin), was much less awkward. It was in a wedding center just outside of Amman, and we went with two of the Jordanian girls in the taxi this time (so no fear of getting lost).

The bride looked much happier (perhaps due to the fact that the building was airconditioned!!) and instead of eating mansaf, we ate cake.

They took us up again to take a picture with the bride, but since she is also a muhajjibiya and I did such a bad Paint job with the last one, I will just leave you with these two pictures taken of us at the wedding (this is the group of friends that always hung out together).

Cairo's Garbage City

2010-04-19T21:51:00.000-07:00

Cairo has many, many delightful little locations that might not be seen by a "normal" tourist. But everyone knows BYU Arabic students are anything but "normal tourists." :)

This being said, one of the places in Cairo near the top of all of our lists was "Garbage City," also called Manshiyat naser. I might not get the history all right, but it is a small city started by the Coptic Christians. They collect and sort much of Cairo's garbage, and they do it in their homes and in their streets, thus giving themselves the name of "garbage city."

So of course two of my friends and I had to go. We took a taxi in and were almost attacked by children when we drove in. (Note to self: next time just walk in to the city...) They all wanted to touch the hands of these strange foreigners and get their picture taken.

We then had the good pleasure to run across a very nice "guide," who when he saw us step out of the taxi immediately ran over and offered to give us a tour of the city. Fearing a scam and figuring he would ask us for money at the end of the tour, we refused many times. But he, offended that we thought he was trying to hit us up for money (everyone else in Egypt was!) told us, "I'm a Christian! You are Christian! Christians do not take money from Christians!"

And then he gave us a tour of the "cave churches" in the city, which were built long ago into the caves. They were pretty awesome, and even though we didn't understand half of what the guide said, it was great practice for our Arabic.

This is a picture of our "guide."

And here is a carving on the rock just outside one of their churches.

Well, when he was done with the "tour" a little girl in the city attached herself to my side and became our tour guide for the rest of the time. She showed us where the bathroom was (which was quite clean; I was impressed) and kept all the other little kids from mauling us.

All in all, it was an awesome visit to garbage city. I was, however, quite shocked when I saw their daily life going on inside and around all this garbage!

Our guide told us, though, that the Coptics live here and get the garbage from the city, sort it, and then take it back to be recycled. If I understood his Arabic right, he said that most of the people in the city had received sort of a "calling" to come to Manshiyat naser. He himself had come maybe 6 years ago from another part of Egypt, and they all came to help Cairo's trash situation. This explanation made me feel a little bit better about the way these people live...that they choose to live this way and are not forced into this lifestyle by utter poverty (which is what I thought the case was).

Here are just a few pictures walking through town:

This is a truck taking out the sorted cardboard.

Maybe the ducks help sort the garbage, too. (I read online that the city used to have pigs who ate the non-recycleable stuff, but I didn't see any while I was there.)

This is a street, with sorted garbage lining both sides.

I'm Back!!

2010-04-17T17:27:00.000-07:00

Dear loyal fans and readers (all 1 of you)--I'm back from my mission to Taiwan. And I still have a few vague memories about Jordan, and a lot of pictures. And I'm pretty sure I said I would talk about Arab weddings, garbage city, Arabic style part 2, and a few other things.

So, although I might be the only one who would even read this blog anymore, time permitting, I will continue this record.

加油!!!

Last Post Before My Mission

2008-09-16T18:02:00.000-07:00

Dear friends and loyal fans, this is the last post before my mission. I had big plans to finish updating my blog with posts on the University of Jordan, Arabic Style Part 2, Food in Jordan, Weddings, and City of the Dead and Garbage City in Egypt, but those things just took lower precedence on my "things to do before I leave on a mission" list. So they (and you) will just have to wait until I get back.

Therefore, this blog will become inactive until approximately April 2010.

Until then, I will be in Taiwan, speaking Mandarin, and having a "real" mission this time.

An allergy...to my contacts?

2008-09-12T14:29:00.001-07:00

Well, I finally went to the eye doctor yesterday. I figured if I had something mortally wrong with my eyes I should probably go to a doctor before leaving the country again (even if I will be in the MTC for three months!). For those who don't know about my eye problems from the Middle East, you can read about them in this post.

Anyway, the doctor said I might have developed an allergy to my contacts, of all things. It is not like I am not already allergic to everything, so this shouldn't be surprising.

I am just relieved that it is not a side effect from the spider bite, or something like that!

Public Transportation: Jordan

2008-09-07T21:28:00.000-07:00

I suppose I should finish my "public transportation in the Middle East" two-post series before I head off to Taiwan and forget everything Middle-Eastish.

I have to admit that public transportation in Jordan was not my favorite. Perhaps it was because they didn't have a Metro (and no women's car), or perhaps it was because I had to spend so much money on it throughout my stay, but something just didn't sit right between me and the public transportation system. It was, however, always an adventure, and one that I was lucky enough to have any time I wanted to go anywhere, since I didn't live within walking distance of anything, and people just don't ride bikes in Jordan. (I think I saw two the whole time I was there.)

The most convenient and certainly most expensive type of public transportation was definitely the taxi.

In one of the guide books that I read, it said that 25% of the cars in Jordan are taxis. Which might make one think that taxis would be easy to catch, but that would be a wrong assumption, as I found out entirely too many times.

Most of the time taxi prices are calculated by a meter, which starts at 25 cents and goes up incrementally, depending on how much gas is used. So if you are stuck in traffic, the meter is going to be more expensive than if you were driving on a highway.

Taxis in Jordan are much cheaper than taxis in Israel, and they are even cheaper than Egypt, because they have a cannonized meter which is set by the government. You do, however, have to bargain prices if you are going out into the countryside, or somewhere that the taxi driver probably won't be able to find a customer for the way back.

Taxis also have a set of "rules," usually posted on the dash and written in both English and Arabic, which includes NO SMOKING (which is not observed, but you can call them on it, and they might or might not get angry), don't throw things from the vehicle, and this strange rule: "radio and cassette player prohibited with annoying form." ?! The Arabic makes a little more sense, being يمنع تشغيل الراديو أو المسجل بشكل مزعج (for those readers of my blog who speak Arabic), but I always laughed at the English translation.

Oh, and the final "rule"? "Driver is fully familiar with the rote and Should reach the final destination in each trip." The "Should," capitalized in the original, is the clause that makes this sentence true, as I found out that often my taxi drivers didn't know where to go (like my taxi driver who didn't know where the American Embassy was?!)

The best way to get around Jordan, since they don't have a metro, is the "micro," or mini bus. They have large busses too, but I couldn't ever figure them out, so I mostly stayed away from them.

A micro is about half the size of a normal bus, and they are cheaper, which was always a bonus for me. For 25 or 30 cents, you could ride on any set route around Amman, and for slightly more, you could take a micro to most cities (or villages near main roads) in Amman.

The micro has its "route" painted on the side of the bus, which includes the cities in which it stops (or the main parts of the city, if it is an inner-city micro).

The best thing about a micro is that you can get on or off anywhere along the route that you want. The "system" goes something like this: a micro will start at the beginning of the line, and when it fills up, it takes off. There are two people who work on each micro--the driver and the "micro caller," who walks around collecting the money, tells the driver when to stop, and opens and closes the door. This is usally a man in his late teens to mid-twenties, but once I saw a boy who couldn't have been more than 13 (and he thought he was pretty hot stuff) as the micro caller.

So once the micro takes off, the man walks around, collecting the 30 cents from everyone. He also starts calling off "normal" stops, like "the mosque," "the bridge," "City Mall," and the like. Of course, this is all in very fast Arabic, and if you are not familiar with the route it is more than a little difficult to know where exactly you want to get off.

You can also request your own stop, as I always did when I was going home, since I lived in the "rich" area and most people didn't ride the "dirty" micro around me--they had their own expensive cars and the like. Anyway, I could never fully communicate with the micro caller where exactly I wanted them to stop, since I lived in a remote area, so I would tell them "Elba House," and then when we got close to that company, I would stand up and say, "Stop here. I want to get off here." And then the micro caller would always try to get me to sit down, because I was a woman and clearly I shouldn't be standing when the vehicle was moving, and I had to tell him again, "right here. I want to get off at this street right now!" and the micro driver would pull over to the side and squeal to a stop, and I would get out, most of the time while the micro was still moving.

So here is the system. If you are standing on the side of the road and see a micro coming, you raise your hand and flag it down, and most of the time they will stop, even if they don't have any seats left (if there is only one or two of you.) They just pull over to the side and you hop on and they squeal away, weaving in and out of traffic to pick people up and let them off on the side of the road, and the whole time the micro caller is calling out destinations, taking peoples' money, and asking who needs change. When you need to get off, you just signal the micro caller, he tells the driver, and the driver pulls over to the side of the road, you jump off while it is still moving, and it squeals away.

This is a bunch of BYU students on the inside of a micro.

And these are two looks at the inside of a micro. I found that Arabs really like decorative things, and not just Arab women, either. This decoration with the tassels hanging from the roof of the micro was quite commonplace. And check out those hearts hanging from the rearview mirror?!

My favorite part of the micro, though, was how the cultural interation (or non-interaction) between men and women came across. If a woman borded by herself and there were only open seats by males, the woman would just stand there with a look on her face that said "I am not sitting by a strange Arab man," and then the micro caller would say, "Ok, one of you men need to move so the woman doesn't have to sit by a man." And if no one would move, he would pick someone and tell them to move so she didn't have to sit by a man. Since I was a foreigner, I am sure everyone expected me to not mind sitting by a man (because I am a Western woman and have no morals, right?), but there was no way I was not going to take advantage of this cultural expectation and sit by a man, so when I borded alone, I borded with the same look on my face, and most of the time it worked.

Oh, and people don't walk, by the way--perhaps because sidewalks are unpredictable and have trees planted in the middle of them!

Baptisms

2008-09-07T13:26:00.000-07:00

In honor of my almost-MTC date (for those who have forgotten, it is the 17th of September!), and with the joy that comes from watching others enter into full membership of the church, I thought I would post about the baptisms that I witnessed while I was in Jordan.

The man in front-center is Samir. I was able to help with the translating of several of the discussions that he received from the Cooks, the missionary/service couple (and district president) serving in Amman, as they did not speak Arabic.

Helping with Samir's discussions was an incredible experience, one that I am not sure will be replicated the whole time I am on my mission. He knew the Book of Mormon like one who had studied it diligently for several years, and when he came to discussions, he came with all of the material read and with questions he had while he was reading written down in a little notebook. Each time a new principle was introduced to Samir, he thought about it for a minute and then said, "That makes sense! I won't have a hard time having faith in that principle."

When he was taught the lesson on the Word of Wisdom, he immediately stopped drinking coffee and tea, although those liquids are Arab staples and an integral part of hospitality. Culture meant less to him than committment to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I think for all present at Samir's baptism, each person's personal committment to live the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ was renewed. Samir now has the Aaronic priesthood and my last day in Jordan, I watched him pass the sacrament. It was one of the most beautiful things that I witnessed there--a newly baptized member progressing in the church, line upon line and precept upon precept.

Shortly after Samir was baptized, Suleman and Amir were baptized. They are standing on either side of President Cook, the grinning senior missionary in the picture. I was also privileged to help with translations for them, and it was a beautiful experience to watch them as they learned that there was truth beyond what they had learned in their former Christian religions. Shortly after they began taking the missionary discussions, they decided that they, too, wanted to follow the example of Jesus Christ by entering the waters of baptism.

Their story is beautiful--they were Arab Christians who wanted to worship at a place closer to their home. One day Suleman found our small branch building in Amman and asked if he could worship with us. Muslims are not allowed to attend our church meetings because of Jordanian laws that the Church respects, but Christians are always welcome. He invited his friend Amir and six months after, took the missionary discussions and decided to be baptized. I would describe their faith as childlike--their faith in the truths of the gospel of Jesus Christ saturated their very lives, and while Samir's baptism was a thrilling and exciting experience, their baptisms (held on the same day) were a peaceful reassurance that Heavenly Father does love all of His children, in whatever country they may reside.

Three others were baptized while I was a member of that branch--an eight year old American boy, whose family was in Amman working with the Embassy, a sister from Syria who flew down to Amman with the other 3 (active) members of the branch to be baptized, as they don't have a font in Damascus (and I am not sure if LDS baptisms are legal or recognized there), which was also a beautiful experience, and a Phillipino sister who was married to an American in the branch, who was also working for the Embassy.

This many baptisms in such a short time is quite unusual, and I feel that it was a tender mercy of the Lord that I got to witness the restored gospel of Jesus Christ changing minds, changing hearts, and changing lives as people accepted covenants to follow the example of the Savior and be baptized in the name of the Son.

And if I never witness a baptism in Taiwan? That still does not take away my desire to serve my Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, by preaching the gospel of peace and glad tidings of salvation!

Arab Effectiveness

2008-08-31T20:33:00.000-07:00

What is the point of having a garbage can if the bottom is open? I am sorry to say this was not uncommon in Jordan!

Loyalty to the King

2008-08-31T20:31:00.000-07:00

And sometimes, when one wants to show loyalty to the king, one gets a whole bunch of tiny pictures and sticks them all together. Hey, look at me, I have all these sweet pictures of the king! And they are conveniently all in one place, too!

The Dead Sea

2008-08-31T20:19:00.001-07:00

Head in Dead Sea=death, or something equally scary, by the looks of this picture!

Is That Really What I Think It Is?

2008-08-31T18:52:00.000-07:00

Does it look like these fish are screaming to anyone else?

A peacock in the middle of a Catholic church complex?!

Umm, a star of David in the middle of Islamic art?

Cute, a scorpian!

The same cups I have in Provo?!! Found at Safeway in Amman.

Does this need a caption?

Here is a close-up, in case you couldn't see the other one.

How many languages are spoken here?

Really? No Swimmung? Too bad!

??????

If you look closely, you can see the blood pooling in the bottom of the bags...

A goat running through the middle of town?

Chicks for sale at a bus stop?

Graffitti on Dome of the Rock?

Jews on Temple Mount? (Strictly forbidden because of the holiness of the site, as decreed by the Temple Mount rabbi)

Shade, or the Lack Thereof

2008-08-31T18:20:00.001-07:00

I really have a lot of catching up to do before I leave on my mission, so I think my posts will come in spurts for the next two weeks!

Since I just posted about the lack of water, I thought I would post this picture to give an idea of how important (and sparse) shade was in the hot desert of the Middle East.

This is Ginny and Jason (who lived in Egypt for a year and a half--you would think he would be used to it!), crouching in the shade cast by other peoples' shadows as we listened to the tour guide in Luxor, at Queen Hatshepsut's funerary complex.

Water

2008-08-31T16:52:00.000-07:00

Today it rained in Utah. I didn't see rain once in Jordan, so I thought I would post about the water crisis in the Middle East, especially in Jordan.

(Side note: I love rain. I love it so much I ran outside and danced in it today because it has been so long since I have seen rain, not counting the airport in Georgia on the way back from Jordan. I guess it is a good thing I love rain so much, since I will be getting a lot of it in Taiwan, eh?)

Crisis is the one word I would choose to describe the water situation in Jordan. First of all, Jordan has very few natural water resources. (I am not a geography expert, and I haven't even taken Chad Emmett's geography class at BYU, so I really don't know facts and figures about this problem. Everything here is just what I saw and experienced in Jordan.) Israel controls the Golan Heights, which is where the water flows for the Jordan River begin, and whoever controls the Golan Heights controls the Jordan River (as I understand it).

Anyway, I don't really think that political and geographical reasons are that intriguing on a blog, so I will continue with my own experience. I will just say that Jordan has so little water that it (the government) bought water from Israel this year. This sort of explains the water problem in Jordan.

In most housing areas in Jordan, the water system goes something like this: instead of water pipes throughout the city, the government sends out a truck once a week to fill up each house's water tank(s), which are stored on the roof. You can get as much water as you want (within certain limits) but you have to pay for all of it, which greatly decreases what some people are able to buy (ie, it is expensive). This is all of the water that you have for that week. If you run out, you have to come up with creative solutions, like buying large jugs of water from the corner store by your house, or (as some of the married couples on our program did) taking your large water bottles and filling them up in places that have a lot of water, like a university.

These are the water tanks on top of my homestay. My host family, of course, were quite wealthy, and have a tank for each level of the house. We never ran out of water as long as I was there, but I was always afraid that we would.

Because each house has limited water, people use water as little as possible (well, they are supposed to, anyway). Showers become a real difficulty. I showered every day, but I did the get wet, turn off the water, soap up, and rinse off method so I would use as little water as possible. I did get to shower every day, but my feet were never in water long enough to rinse all of the dirt out of the cracks in my feet (sorry for being graphic). One thing that I really appreciate about America is that my feet are finally clean!

Most Jordanians, however, do not shower every day. Many of them only shower once a week--Thursday, because the water comes on Friday (not for everyone, but this is common out in the country-ish areas). As you might imagine, a once-a-week shower in combination with intense heat, crowded areas, and the overabundance of clothing that many of them wear (at least the women) did not help very much with the stench surrounding many people (sorry).

Although they have so little water, bottled water is actually quite cheap in Jordan. I could buy a bottle of Dasani or Aquafina for 25 Jordanian cents, which is only about 30 US cents. I was always shocked at how cheap the water was, and made good use of it, as most water is not safe to drink since it sits in the tanks on the tops of houses for a week or more (and that is definitely less than sanitary). My host family had a water purifier on their tap, so that was nice because we could drink the water there.

One other thing that shocked me was how much Jordanians wasted water. All too often (and sometimes everyday) I would see water running down the street (!) or people hosing down their sidewalks with water instead of sweeping them. There is a lot of dust in Jordan (no grass, you know) and so instead of sweeping, most people hose down an area (especially outside) and then squeegee the water into the street. Each tiled room in a building is also equipped with little holes in the ground where you can squeegee your water into. Really I was shocked to see such a waste of water when people can't even shower every day, but I guess it is just what is culturally acceptable, right?

Anyway, for your biblical twist, I really understood, even more than when I lived in Jerusalem, the importance of water in every day life and how precious it was. Stories like Elisha healing the water in Jericho, or Isaac's neighbors fighting over his wells, and most especially what it meant when the Savior spoke of the water of life made a lot more sense to me and became much more significant in my life.

And, for your enjoyment, here is a picture of the desert. This is the Negev, the desert in southern Israel. How would you like to be trapped in that for 40 years?

For the Enjoyment of All Viewers

2008-08-30T20:33:00.000-07:00

Arab Toilets

2008-08-30T20:20:00.000-07:00

I really like visuals, so I hope no one is offended that I put a picture of a "toilet" (or at least a human waste receptacle) on my blog.

Suffice it to say, I avoided using these as much as possible, but often there was just no choice...

Petra, Part 2

2008-08-29T12:34:00.000-07:00

Remember my Petra post? Well, I mentioned some steep rock faces that we climbed up, and I thought I would give you a visual.

It was after this stretch that we realized that we really didn't want to go back down the way we came up. Smart idea, eh?

The problem was, I was in the lead, and I am just not known for saying no to possibly dangerous things if I think I might be able to do them. The hike went something like this: I would pick a way and start climbing up, yell to Lorien and Gretchen when I made it safely and found handholds the whole way up, and then Lorien would scamper up while Gretchen would shout things like she didn't want to die or risk her life for a silly hike in Petra (which was probably wise, but who was she to damper my blind enthusiasm?), so I would hike back down and pull her up the mountain. Literally.

It was probably wise that I waited until all knew I was safe until I posted these pictures, eh?

My Journey Back: The Full Story

2008-08-26T18:01:00.000-07:00

Warning to readers who get bored easily: this will be quite a long post. I won't be offended if you take a few days to read it...after all, it took me a few days to experience it.

My final day in Jordan was...well, almost heart wrenching. Ok, let's be honest, not even a little. Two things I noticed, though--it was overcast. Overcast. I almost fell over, I was so shocked. I have seen clouds maybe 3 times in Amman. White clouds. But when I looked outside Friday morning, the sky was covered with greyish, almost rain clouds. But without the rain part.

Rain, by the way, is my favorite weather. I looked long and hard at the sky and thought, ok, Jordan, maybe I will miss you a little. But one day with clouds is not enough to make up for four months of intense heat and no rain.

The second: my branch. I took a little bit of liberty (and this would get me in a lot of trouble later--a mistake costing about $4000) and decided that I didn't have to get to the airport 3 hours early, realizing that I wanted to go to church for one last time more than anything. My branch in Amman, after all, was my favorite part of being in Jordan, and I could hardly resist this chance to attend, even the first part of sacrament meeting, since my flight had been changed to an hour later the week before. Ok, I'll admit it, I really just wanted to see everyone's reaction when I walked into church, since it was the first week that all the students would have been gone. (By the way, I wasn't disappointed. Everyone was so shocked and asked me if I had missed my flight or something. Don't worry, that will come.) And, I got to play the piano one last time there. It was beautiful. I almost shed a tear, realizing that I would miss the people in the branch, and maybe I did like Jordan. Just a little, though.

Fast forward about an hour. I am feeling slightly rushed because we only have about an hour until our plane leaves--but only slightly, because the Queen Alia airport in Amman is quite small, with only two terminals, and only one or two flights to America per day. Plus, the security there is, well, Arab security, and really not that tight. Imagine my surprise when I walk into terminal 2, where Delta is housed, and ask where the Delta counter is, and all the security men get a panicked look upon their faces and say "Delta is closed! Run! Leave your luggage here!"

Now I feel more than slightly rushed. I drop my luggage by the scanner and run through the metal detector and over to Delta. I stop at the first available Delta person and start explaining in Arabic that I need to get on the flight, and why is everyone telling me that it is closed when I still have 52 minutes?

Without changing his facial expression, the man at the counter waits until my tirade is over and then says in English, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Arabic." I almost burst into tears! "Neither do I," I said, and proceeded to explain in English. He again waited until my tirade was over and then said, "I am sorry, you will have to speak to the manager of the flight. I can't do anything for you." (Hint: if this is ever you, please interrupt the person before they finish their tirade if you can't do anything for them to save them time!)

Well, neither could the manager of the flight do anything for me, and neither would any of the Delta employees do anything for me. It turns out that the airport in Amman completely closes their flights one hour before the plane is supposed to take off because of "Middle East security precautions." Was this on my ticket? No. Was this in any of the information I received about my flight? No. Now really, I know that we are advised to be there three hours in advance for international travel, but remember the Queen Alia airport? I thought we would be fine.

After pacing for about an hour and a half, trying to get something done with the Delta employees at the airport, I realize that it is a futile effort. No one will do anything to help us. My father decides to call Delta in America, thinking that surely they would do something for us, so he asks if he can use my phone. (Remember the phone throughout this story--I was planning on giving it to members in the branch, but I completely forgot, and I was upset when I got to the airport and realized that I still had it. It was actually a miracle that I kept it.)

This would have been no problem, but I had just recently finished off my international phone card, so I had to buy another one. No problem, except for the fact that I am inside the security checkpoint, and the place to buy the phone card is outside of the security checkpoint.

I walk up to the metal detector and try to communicate with the security guard in Arabic that I need to leave the area to buy a phone card. No problem, he says, I just have to talk to the "Daubit," or the officer in the army, explain my reason for leaving, give him my passport, send all bags through the scanner, walk back through the metal detector, buy the card, and then repeat the process to get back in.

I walked up to the Daubit and explained my situation. I don't know if he had a lot of time on his hands or was curious about my situation or just wanted to talk to this strange foreign women who was trying to speak Arabic or what, but I had to explain for at least 2 minutes why I wanted to leave the area. He finally agreed to let me go (what was I going to do? All I wanted to do was leave the secured area, in the opposite direction of the planes. Now why did I have to leave my passport with him?) and I bought the card.

Passing through security again, I dialed the number on my phone card, only to have the same annoying Arabic message that I heard way too many times while living in Amman--the message that said that even though I was using an international calling card that doesn't use the minutes on my phone, I didn't have any minutes on my phone and thus would need to buy another Zain card just to use the international calling card.

On the verge of tears from frustration and anger, I went and talked to the Daubit again, gave him my passport, went through security, and went to buy a Zain card. The only glitch was the "wander" woman, or whatever those security officials are who pat you down, was really irritated because I had just passed through there 3 minutes before. She asked what I was doing (I wanted to tell her that it was none of her business and she should talk to the Daubit, but I didn't) and I explained that I had to get a phone card. Clearly irritated, she asked, "Did you talk to the Daubit?" When I verified that I had, she put on her angry face, sighed heavily as she rolled her eyes, and let me walk back through.

I wanted to buy just 1 dinar of minutes, since I wasn't even going to use the minutes anyway, but just my luck, the kiosk only had 5 dinar of minutes--and for some reason, the taxes for the phone cards was way more expensive at the airport than in Amman. I bought the 5 dinar card (and this would become very important later on) and went back through security, got my passport from the Daubit, dialed the number, and gave my phone to my father.

10 minutes later, he walks over to me. Guess what else, my phone had just died! Being the prepared person that I always am, I just happened to have my phone charger in my carry on. The next challenge? Finding a plug. Remember how we are in the check in area--between security and the outside world, but also between a plane ticket and the terminals? After unsuccessfully asking about 5 different people (in both Arabic and English, since they couldn't seem to understand in either language--I should have tried Chinese) where I could find an outlet, I finally found one in the bathroom. Of all the unlikely places, there was finally a plug in the bathroom (it was the first plug in a bathroom I had seen in Jordan, both public and private!). Relieved, I gave the phone to my father once again and he went into the bathroom to finish the phone call to Delta.

And I went back to my seat, sat down, and started crying. This was a little more than I could handle--trying to communicate in Arabic, missing my flight, not knowing when I could leave this country, buying all of those stupid phone cards, etc etc.

I finally calmed down and fixed my makeup in time to see my dad coming from the bathroom, holding my phone, and asking me to buy another phone card because the other one had just run out of minutes.

You are kidding, right? I thought. I don't think he would be so anxious to keep buying phone cards if he had been the one that had to pass through security each time! But of course, I was the one that spoke Arabic, so I got to do all the dirty work!

I spoke with the Daubit one last time, apologizing profusely but telling him that I had to buy more minutes. I passed through security and was almost out of the secured area when one of the other security officials (by the "pilots only" entrance) started shouting to me and asking where I was going. Not again, I thought to myself, and tried to hold myself together as I explained once again that I had to buy some minutes for my phone. He told me that I couldn't leave without my passport, and when I exasperatedly told him that the Daubit had my passport, he let me through, saying something like "I wouldn't believe you except I can see from your eyes that you are telling the truth." Or maybe he just said that he was messing around with me because I looked like I was falling apart. Some Arabic phrase like that that I had never before heard.

And just when I thought things were going to start settling down, I try to buy an international calling card for four dinar, but because of the incredibly increased taxes of the phone cards, I am five cents short. Meaning, that I would either have to buy a two dinar card and risk not having enough minutes (and I did use all of the minutes on the card and wished I had more) or go back through security again, get five cents, go back through security, buy the card, and go back through security. I looked at the card, looked at the man, almost started crying, looked at the card again, and just when I was about to say I would buy the two dinar card, he said he would give it to me. Well, I guess there is some good in the world, right?

Final call to Delta in America, and my father comes out with bad news. They, of course, would do nothing for us. Beautiful situation, we find out that the next flight out of Amman to America with space on it is the 31st of August.

Wait a minute, the 31st? We would have to stay here for 9 more days?! No longer did I feel like I would miss Jordan. I just wanted to get out of the country, that day. No way was I waiting 9 more days...that would give me approximately 1.5 weeks in America to get everything done before leaving on my mission!

In full panic mode, ready to have breakdown #2, I call BYU. BYU Travel, to be exact, realizing that I am having an emergency, and they have an emergency line, and if anyone could help us, they could.

Well, I was right. BYU is beautiful and wonderful and its employees are more than a little helpful. They are incredibly helpful, in fact, and Nancy at BYU Travel got us a flight back to America the next night. The only problem? There really weren't any flights out of Amman until September, and so I told her that we could fly out from Tel Aviv. There were flights out from Tel Aviv, but we needed security clearance from the Vice-President of BYU to fly out of Israel, since it is on the US Department of State warning list, or whatever that is called. And since it was 6:30 in the morning their time, she couldn't get the clearance until everyone arrived at work.

Wasting no time, my father decided that he would rather get to Tel Aviv immediately and sit in the airport all night rather than miss his flight again, so we took all of our luggage, passed it all back through the scanners (tell me again why we needed to have our luggage scanned when we were leaving?!), and got a taxi to the north border (we had conveniently dropped our rental car off in the parking lot several hours before--the rental car that we had rented from the only car rental at the north border!) asap, since we couldn't cross the border by Amman and Jerusalem (and much closer to Tel Aviv) because it was now Friday afternoon, almost Shabbat, and the Allenby bridge border crossing was closed.

Going through all of the security at the north border for the final time (!), we finally passed into the Israel side. And, of course, each piece of my luggage had a problem as they went through the scanner. You see, I had packed carefully and I had several books in each bag to help distribute the weight. So of course each bag had to be opened and inspected, and each book had to be opened and inspected. I winced as they pulled out my Arabic books, especially my Quran, and had to explain at least three times why I was in Jordan and why I was studying the language of their enemies. But I like organized stress so much better than disorganized stress, so I was fine, right?

Of course, when we exit the building, it is 8:30 Friday night, Shabbat is in full swing, and there are no busses, taxis, or anything. And of course the north border is far away from anything of convenience!

My father asked an Israeli guard to call a taxi, which he does, and which was decidedly more expensive than it should have been (what other option did we have? It was Shabbat!), and which picked us up from the border and droped us off in Bet Shean while the driver went to fulfill some other duty until he could pick us up again and take us to Tiberias.

So picture this: 3 adults, 7 pieces of luggage, and a phone that is still picking up Jordanian cell phone waves sitting in a deserted parking lot on the edge of Bet Shean in the middle of the night--more specifically, the Shabbat night, meaning that nothing is open and very few cars are driving by on the deserted road.

Thankfully, my phone was still picking up Jordanian cell phone waves, so I was able to call my branch president in Amman to figure out how to make phone calls to Israel from Jordan (you have to dial 00 first, and then 972, and then the number) and then call my friends at the Jerusalem Center to get the number for the new missionary couple in Tiberias, and call a couple of hotels to see if they had any spots open.

Of course, being the end of vacation season, as well as being Shabbat, no one does have any room. Self, great day! And, remember how my phone costs 25 Jordanian cents per minute to call another country? And since I was using Jordanian cell phone waves, even though I was in Israel, calling places in Israel was still long distance for me. Luckily I had 5 dinar of minutes, but those were eaten up quite quickly as we were sitting and waiting to see if our taxi driver would show up again.

Finally, the taxi driver did show up, we did make it to a hotel, they did have two rooms available, it only cost about $430 (as they only had suites available), and we even made it to the airport the next morning (which taxi ride only cost us about $250), and we got permisison from the Vice President of BYU to fly out from Tel Aviv. The tickets only cost about $1,000 each, since Delta would not refund any of our money from the missed flight (even though the flight was full! I don't see why they wouldn't give us Delta credit, since we still had a Delta flight just the next day and from a different country! Delta wouldn't have lost any money) and flying out from Israel is much more expensive than flying out from Jordan.

Oh, and we only got to the Tel Aviv airport about 12 hours early this time, so we had plenty of time to wish that we had gotten to the airport in Amman a little bit earlier.

Well, $4,000 later, we got home. It was quite possibly the most expensive church meeting I have ever attended!

My Mountain Home So Dear

2008-08-25T09:35:00.000-07:00

Friends, enemies, and countrymen, I am finally back in America.

A moment of silence, please...

It is beautiful. America, I mean. Silence is beautiful, too, but I am still waiting for that.

When we flew into Atlanta, I almost started crying. It was raining. Raining! Have I mentioned that rain is my favorite weather? And that I haven't seen it for several months?! It was a beautiful experience.

Then, the passport official in Atlanta asked me what I had been doing in Jordan, and when I said I had been there for study, he said, "Is this home to stay or just a visit." I told him just a visit, because I am going to Taiwan next!

The next words he uttered were the most beautiful I had heard in my life--"Well, welcome back to America."

Thank you, thank you! Life is beautiful. And in about 5 mintues, I head to Provo, my real mountain home. And for those of you who still read my blog, in a couple of days, you will get the full airport story, as well as more posts on Arab style, music, public transportation, and backroading in the Arabian desert.

Get ready...

Post #100

2008-08-23T12:33:00.000-07:00

Well, I was really hoping to get 100 posts in before I got back to America, and I got my wish. This post won't be much of anything (such a shame for such a dignified number) but needless to say, I missed my flight yesterday from Amman to America and after contacting Delta (who was not helpful at all, in Jordan or in America) and BYU (who was helpful, as usual, and answered my phone call at 6:30 in the morning and got us a flight) and realizing that there were no flights out of Jordan that had any space on them until September, my parents decided they would rather pay for 3 new tickets and fly out from Tel Aviv.

Naturally, I didn't really want to stay in Jordan either.

The story now? I am in the Tel-Aviv airport, using their free internet (as I have for the past 7 hours), and waiting to board my flight in the next half hour. Details to follow.

America, here I come!

Hebrew Adventures

2008-08-17T12:08:00.000-07:00

So as much as I like to claim that I know Hebrew, I really don't know much modern Hebrew at all. And by not knowing much modern Hebrew, I mean I can say about 20 words--and ten of them are numbers. Impressive, eh? What I do know is Biblical Hebrew, which is about as different from Modern Hebrew as Beowolf is from the New York Times, or if you want an Arabic example, as different as Egyptian Arabic is from Quranic Arabic.

Anyway, I have a lot more opportunities to practice my Hebrew in Israel than I ever had in Jordan (surprising, I know). Like when I say please and thank you, and sometimes I even throw in a hello or goodbye just to be impressive.

Today, however, I accomplished my greatest feat. I wanted to take my parents through the Kotel Tunnels (they are tunnels that run under the Western Wall), but when I went to make a reservation this morning, the attendant asked me if I spoke Hebrew--apparently the only tour she could squeeze us in was a Hebrew tour. I told her no, and she said "Even a little?" I quickly realized that my experience in Biblical Hebrew could qualify as "a little," right(?) so I said yes, we would take the Hebrew tour. After all, I had already been through twice, and I basically have this history memorized. And my parents wouldn't know what they were missing!

When I walked up to the entrance, a guard asked me what time my tour was. When I said 12:20, he asked "Is it in English?" I said no, Hebrew, and at his shocked look and hand motion which said, "Why are you going on a tour in a language you don't speak?" I answered with a shoulder motion which said, "What makes you think I don't know Hebrew? I know this site so well I don't need a guide!"

But really, I only did the shoulder motion because I don't know how to say any of that in Hebrew!

So the tour was fine. I understood so much more than I expected. I knew Arabic and Hebrew were close languages, but some of the Hebrew phrases were the same as the Jordanian phrases, which really surprised me! And my parents were quite impressed with my translating ability, even though my dad for some reason thinks I know modern Hebrew.

All went well until the very end of the tour. The guide stopped about 20 feet from the exit, about to explain a water cistern, and my parents and I decided to quietly sneak away. The guide saw us, though, and quickly told me (in Hebrew) that if I didn't leave with the group I wouldn't get an armed escort back. I wasn't worried (the Kotel tunnels come out on the Arab side) because I am not Israeli (and my Arabic skills are pretty much amazing) but I didn't know how to say that in Hebrew. And I was totally embarrassed to speak English to him (although I am sure he spoke it) after attending a whole tour in Hebrew. Awkward! And with the whole tour group looking on!

So I opted for the easiest choice--I just smiled and said "ok, thank you" in Hebrew and quickly walked away.

I thought I handled the situation pretty well, all things considered!

Windows of Jordan

2008-08-16T13:24:00.001-07:00

Ok, Jordan, I guess you can have a turn too.

Personal Business

2008-08-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

For those of you who care about my personal life in addition to my Arabic life, I finally finished my program. And my parents arrived in Amman. And we are now in Jerusalem.

I love Jerusalem. I really do. But I never realized how stressful directing my father in a rental car around the streets of East Jerusalem without a map could be. Directions are not a problem--I have the city memorized. Literally. But the problem is, I usually walk. And walkers don't care about one way streets.

Do you know how many one-way streets are in Jerusalem? Too many.

And, I accidentally made one of our hotel reservations for the wrong night. Hmm, that was a slight problem, since the hotel was full. Have I mentioned that I love Israelis? The hotel staff made a reservation for us at the next-door, more expensive hotel for the same price. Wait, do I really miss Jordan--already?! Ok, I just missed going to church on Friday. And I miss not having to be in charge. But I don't miss taxi drivers. And I don't miss smoke. I don't have to--there is plenty of it here!

Other delights--I went to church today and realized that, since the students went home three days ago, I knew all but 2 people in the branch. They were either my friends/co-workers from BYU who are now studying at Hebrew University, or they were in Jerusalem when I lived there last year, or I met them last time I was here (in June with the BYU Arabic group).

Small world, eh?

Ah well, six more days and then I get on a plane. And I am no longer in charge. And then three weeks later...

Mandarin.

Arabic Style, Part 1: Hijabs

2008-08-13T04:31:00.000-07:00

One thing that has intrigued me quite a bit while living in the Middle East is the "hijab style" that is so prevalent. There are almost as many styles of hijabs as there are women in the Middle East, at least in Jordan, so I thought I would give you a little sampling.

First of all, you must know that style is very important in the Middle East, especially for women. Society is definitely based on a class system, and the richer you look, the more respect you get.

In addition to the hijab (the hair/neck-covering veil), there is also the nikob (which fully covers your face except your eyes--even Jordanians call them "ninjas"), but I don't have any pictures of that.

The hijab itself can be wrapped several different ways. Most people use a stretchy spandex under-hijab thing, which I can only describe as like one leg from spandex bicycling shorts. This is worn underneath the hijab to keep all of the hair in.

On top of this spandex thing is wrapped a scarf, in any shade or color. Jordanians especially like glittery things and bling blings, and I have seen people who have a hijab to match every outfit.

My favorite hijab, however, is the double-spandex white one. My Jordanian friends dressed me up in hijabs once, and it was miserable. There was so much fabric on my head, and I could never wrap it right, and they had to stick a bunch of pins in to keep it together.

Not very efficient or comfortable, in my opinion.

But then, one day, I was in the girl's restroom in the library and I saw a double-spandexed hijabed woman take off her hijab and put it back on. I was shocked. The over-hijab was just like the under-hijab, made of white spandex, but it was just like a bigger pant leg. While other girls were un-pinning and re-wrapping their hijabs, she took hers off and put it back on in less than 30 seconds.

I was sold.

So, although I never will, if I had to wear a hijab I would definitely choose the white-spandex kind. It is so much more efficient!

The Old City of Jerusalem

2008-08-13T04:01:00.000-07:00

There is really no way to describe the Old City of Jerusalem. Crowded, noisy, chaotic, with religions clashing and tourists taking pictures. The smells of leather, olive wood, fabric, schwarma, pitas, spices, incense and pickled vegetables fill the air. Trash fills the street-but somehow, it seems to add to the atmosphere. Each part of the city feels different, and even if you are only across the street, you can tell when you have passed from the Muslim quarter to the Christian quarter, or from the Armenian to the Jewish quarter.

As I am about to return for the third time in a year and a half, I have been thinking about sharing this experience with others, most especially my parents. Those of you who have been, enjoy this reminder. Those who have not, I only wish I could add the sounds and smells and feelings that accompanied these pictures.

Enjoy.

Keeping Busy in the Middle East

2008-08-10T12:57:00.000-07:00

I bet you have all been dying to know what I do to keep myself busy here in the Middle East, besides church callings and studying Arabic. And everything else that comes with living in the Middle East--which entails quite a bit, don't get me wrong.

Well, like at every other time in my life, I wished to be busier than I had time for.

Wish granted.

Before I even came to the Middle East, I let the word spread that I give free haircuts in the Middle East. I give free haircuts in Provo too, but that doesn't quite sound as cool.

Lest you think that one would be crazy to take me up on this offer, I did go to beauty school. But I never finished. (Yes, I am a beauty school drop-out. Does this change your opinion of me?) This is why I don't charge--in case I know how to do everything but one side, or something like that. I ask them instead to donate to the Perpetual Education Fund, but I don't know if anyone has actually done that...

Anyway, everyone here seems more than willing to take advantage of this free haircut thing, and I have probably given 12-15 haircuts while I have been here, with a couple more on the schedule before I leave.

I also teach piano--also for free. Man, I obviously have no business sense! I could be making a killing by now...

I teach several people in the branch (I am actually the "piano lessons coordinator") after church on Fridays, which is always a joy and a pleasure.

And finally, I teach piano lessons to two of the children in my homestay. This one, though, I do get paid for.

Good thing, too, with what I have to deal with! :) The other day Hashem climbed out of his chair and onto the dresser behind him. When I, shocked, asked what he was doing, he sat down like this and said, "Taking a yoga drink!"

I thought it was so funny that instead of being frustrated, I laughed and asked him to wait while I grabbed my camera. I actually teach these two kids every day, so I am more like their piano tutor.

Oh yeah, and I keep busy by playing with the cutest kids in Jordan...

(These are the branch president's children, Halen and Savannah. Grace, 1, is missing from the pictures.)

His Majesty the King Abdullah Al-Hussein the Second

2008-08-10T12:38:00.001-07:00

Jordanians love their king. Alot. As I have never lived in a country that had a monarchy before, I find it somewhat strange--in America, we can say whatever we want about the government, but in a long-standing monarchy, not much is said against the king.

Ever.

Instead, pictures of the king are everywhere--from street signs to some in the LDS church building in Amman (that one I am still trying to figure out...).

In this one the king looks rather manly and kingly. Like a friendly king.

He is, of course, every man's king. Like here, he is the Bedoin king, looking rather Bedoiny.

People also really like pictures of the royal family--no matter how old the picture is.

Or how awkward--notice how the son is not even looking at the camera? Queen Rania is, as always, looking beautiful, as she was rated the 3rd most beautiful woman in the world, according to Wikipedia.

They also don't seem to care how faded the picture is...

This imposing structure is a record of kings past--King Hussein's father, grandfather, great and great-great grandfather. Intimidating?

And then we have this random assortment...

Be Aware of Paint

2008-08-06T09:34:00.001-07:00

Mansaf

2008-08-06T01:02:00.000-07:00

For those of you unfamiliar with traditional Jordanian food dishes, let me introduce you to Mansaf.

It is Jordan's national food, or something like that. And if you have lived in Jordan and not eaten mansaf, you are either very lucky or just haven't eaten at any Jordanian's house.

Or both.

Needless to say, I don't really enjoy mansaf. The actual "food" part of it is not so bad--it is rice and some sort of nuts sprinkled on on top of a big bread/tortilla type thing, with pieces of lamb on top (sometimes chicken, but "real" mansaf always has lamb. If you are lucky, there aren't any pieces of lamb hair still stuck to the bones and meat. If you aren't...well, does it make you feel better that I have been there, too?).

The worst part of the mansaf (and, according to Jordanians, what makes mansaf) is the "yogurt/lebene" sauce they drench the thing in. I don't really know how to describe what it tastes like. The actual taste is not so bad, except the first time I ate mansaf, I stuck the first yogurt sauce-covered bite in my mouth and my tastebuds started screaming and shrank back from this vile liquid that I had just subjected them to. Something about the curdled lebene in the sauce makes my tastebuds shrink back in despair and my throat close off, begging me not to swallow the thing.

I have eaten mansaf a lot here. Fun, eh?

This is a picture of the yogurt sauce the pour on the mansaf.

And this is my friend Lorien. Mansaf is eaten from a communal dish and it is eaten with ones' hands (although we have come to find out that many Jordanian women don't eat it with their hands--"we don't know how," they explain to us). Lorien is a pro at making "mansaf balls," which are then eaten. I am not so good at it, as you might be able to tell from my hand and the awkward mush therein, which is also in the picture.

Lorien doesn't like mansaf either. Maybe it is an acquired taste?

Arabic Boot Camp

2008-08-04T08:49:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking recently about how this Arabic study abroad (and learning Arabic at BYU in general) is kind of like boot camp, at least for me. Boot camp is long and miserable and hot, and no one signs up for the army thinking, "I want to go to boot camp!" At least, no one "normal."

Anyway, most people in the army think back on boot camp as a miserable time and love to complain about how awful it was. (I might be overgeneralizing here, but I am just making a point.) But no one tells them that they just should have had a better attitude and they would have loved boot camp! It is miserable on purpose. It is a means to an end--and not the end in itself.

Anyway, that is how I feel about this study abroad. For all intents and purposes, I really don't like being here. Learning Arabic is hard and tedious and dreadful, and it is so hot and everyone stares at me. And I am sick of people telling me that I should have a better attitude.

Just to clear up the question, in case you think I am the only one with feelings of dislike toward this country/language/study abroad, let me just say that many, many people here have complained some of the same things to me, including the director of the program and his wife, one of the American grad students/teachers here, and most of the girls and even some of the guys. Which made me think (side note)--does this happen with every study abroad and every language, or just with Arabic? Do people come back from Germany hating everything German, or do they come back fluent? Is there a correlation? Because, according to Dil, this happens on every Arabic study abroad to the Middle East.

Anyway, this study abroad is a means to an end--I just don't know what the end is! It is ok if I didn't enjoy my experience here and if I want to go home. Don't fault me for not enjoying boot camp! I am just happy that I have survived and that one day I will realize what the purpose of learning Arabic was for me--whether for the language or for the things I learned, like patience and humility, that will help me on my mission.

So, if you are going to do this study abroad and get scared from reading my blog, just remember that it is a means to an end--and everyone has their own "end" to figure out! And don't be afraid of being miserable--it is only four months, after all. :)

Sunglasses

2008-07-31T00:58:00.000-07:00

Sunglasses are one of the most brilliant things I brought with me to the Middle East. Not just because I look so attractive while wearing them, but also the protect my eyes and my honor.

Let me explain.

The first thing: my honor. Ok, so maybe it isn't so dramatic. But while I was in the America, I searched everywhere for a pair of sunglasses that were so dark that you couldn't see my eyes through them.

I think I suceeded--and they look particularly CIA-ish, cleverly disguising my face giving the impression that I am looking at you, even when I am not, or the impression that I am not looking at you while I am. Ha.

Actually, lets be honest, most of the time I just look silly, like I am a CIA agent in some comedy where I walk around whistling my own theme music. But most of the time I don't whistle out loud.

Anyway, everyone stares at me here in Jordan, as I look so much different than everyone else. I mean, really. I have two eyes (which happen to be blue) and hair (which is the really strange part, because I don't wear a hijab. And my hair happens to be red). The men don't wear hijabs either, and their hair is exposed, but somehow that is less tantalizing to the women than women's hair is to the men. More on this later.

Anyway, everyone stares at me because I am an "ignebia," or foreigner. Or maybe because I have big ears. In any case, I have noticed that I get a lot less attention when I wear sunglasses. People stare less because they can't tell if I am staring at them or not--which most of the time I am. Clever, eh?

Secondly, it is completely normal to wear your sunglasses everywhere here. Almost all of the Jordanian girls have them, especially at the university. And they sell them everywhere. The Jordanian girls really like the big sunglasses, with bling blings on the side, which I personally think look ridiculous. But they wear them everywhere, sometimes even inside.

When I am in the America, I find it rude when people don't take off their sunglasses when they talk to you--mostly it bugs me because I can't see their eyes. So when I was here for the first little while, I would take my sunglasses off when I walked into stores or was ordering food, etc.

That was a mistake.

I don't know what it is about my brilliant blue eyes, but people (and by people here, I mean men) would do a huge double take when they saw my eyes. It was startling, actually, and scared me a couple of times when they would jump backward because they were so shocked. It was like I had lasers coming out of my eyes, or something.

Anyway, now I keep my sunglasses on all of the time--riding busses, in taxis, walking into stores, etc. And so do all the Jordanian girls, so it is not so weird.

Secondly: eye protection. For those who don't know, I have been having major eye problems (but haven't found the nerve to go to a doctor here) in which air and light caused incredible pain to my bloodshot/infected eyes. (Did I mention that the sunlight is intensely burning here? Not so good for the eyes.) So for a week or so, I wore my sunglasses everywhere--in the middle of the night, in class, and even in the hotel in Petra.

All the other hotel guests stared at me as I was eating, but I am sure it was just because they were jealous, or wondering if I was part of the CIA.

So sunglasses. Definitely a necessary part of any wardrobe for the Middle East.

Taiwan in Arabia

2008-07-31T00:43:00.000-07:00

For those of you who don't know, I am going on a mission to Taiwan. In less than six weeks. (!)

Anyway, I have recently been wondering what I am doing in Jordan right now. I mean, three weeks after I stop living in the Middle East learning Arabic, I move to Taiwan and learn Mandarin Chinese. Logical? Not really. At least, not to me--the Lord keeps telling me that He knows slightly more than I do. Actually a lot.

Anyway, I have found bits of Taiwan, even in Arabia. For example, in the language center at the University of Jordan, there are posters on the wall advertising beautiful places in Jordan. And other places in the Middle East, and Turkey.

And...Taiwan?!

And secondly, right after I got my mission call, the first counsellor in the branch presidency here in Amman apologized because he had told Sister Cho about my call to Taiwan before he let me tell her. I was ok with that, because I didn't know Sister Cho was--TAIWANESE! She actually lives in Taipei and her husband is working for the embassy here--but they go back to Taipei next year. I will most likely see her and her family--I might even be in her ward again! What a small world the church is!

This is Tutu, Sister Cho's son. We were pretending to be sharks, after I distracted him for a whole Enrichment (while his mom was trying to demonstrate how to cook shrimp balls) by drawing an elaborate scene of sharks and fish under the ocean. My drawing skills are pretty much amazing.

Makin' Cookies

2008-07-30T00:32:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, my friend Lorien and I decided to make cookies after church. (Remember, the Sabbath is on Fridays for members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints here, because of the way the work week works--Sunday is the first day of the work week and everyone has Fridays off.)

It was really a beautiful idea. I have really been missing cooking (although lets be honest, how much cooking do I do when I am in school? Maybe muffins from a package occasionally. But that is really beside the point) and my former roommate, Ghee, left me a cupboard full of "making cookie" supplies. (Remember how I have my own kitchen?) I realized that I should take advantage of my rather large and beautiful kitchen, since no one else (except Karina and Spencer) on this program has a kitchen like I have, not even the married couples. Jason and Brian don't even have a stove--ha!

Anyway, taking advantage of the free kitchen, free supplies, and free time after church, Lorien and I made cookies.

True to form, I forgot to check and make sure I had all the ingredients before I started. I really like doing things--but sometimes the "preparing" part gets left behind in the rush. Thankfully, we had everything we needed except butter, but we got Crisco from Bashira (the mother of the family with whom I live). I am not really a fan of Crisco--I prefer butter. Actually, I prefer margarine, but that is a different story (everything's better with Blue Bonnet on it!). Sorry for those of you who like Crisco cookies. I just like tasting more cookie than Crisco, personally.

Anyway, we ran into only a few snags--first, the oven. I know how to light ovens in the Middle East, but I was afraid because I wasn't sure when the last time was that my oven had been used. Everything is run by gas here, and so to turn on your oven, you turn on the gas, get a match or a lighter, and then stick it into the gas pouring out of the bottom of the oven, hoping it doesn't exploed in your face.

Don't worry, it didn't explode, and I got it lit.

Next stop: conversions. I had a cookie recipie from my mother, and I thought I would have to change the measurements into liters, etc.

Well, I might have had to, but I forgot about measuring cups. They were conspicuously absent from my kitchen.

Never fear, though, because I know how to "eyeball" things, and we had some mugs that looked like they were about 1 cup. And I never measure vanilla--I found out early on that the lid on vanilla is almost always 1 tsp!

With several hurdles overcome, we ran into another--the brown sugar. It was so hard it felt like a rock. Definitely not stirrable, especially since we didn't have beaters and were stirring the cookies with a fork.

Again being the resourceful one, I had Lorien break it up with a fork and, after 15 minutes or so of stirring it with a little water, it became palatable.

Well, this post is getting long and kind of boring, but suffice it to say that after all of the hurdles, the cookies were beautiful. Amazing. Delicious. And so very American.

Don't they look beautiful and amazing? They were.

Suffice it to say, we were pretty proud of ourselves. That mug is what we used for our "1 cup" measuring source.

I, obviously, was more than a little excited for them. :)

Aren't Arab Children Beautiful?

2008-07-29T01:00:00.001-07:00

Sometimes they even look like me, with red hair or blue eyes--but rarely both. Whenever this happens, all of the women make a big deal about it--how this Jordanian child looks like me, a foreigner--and it is natural!

Weather

2008-07-29T00:39:00.000-07:00

Amman has recently been blessed with a cool spell. So cool, in fact, that it is almost chilly, like Utah in the fall.

Ah, Utah.

Anyway, the break from the intense heat made me realize that I have never written a post about the weather here, which would be quite helpful if any of you are planning on living here or visiting in the summer, and might even be intersting for those of you who are not. Then again, it might not, but who chooses to read this thing? You.

Anyway, enough with my sarcasm. The weather here in Amman is, in my opinion, anything but delightful--at least most days. Let me just start out with the fact that I really don't enjoy heat. At all. Actually, it is more than a non-enjoyment--it is a full out dislike. I actually have a heat disorder where I am unbearably hot without a coat on when it is snowing in January in Utah, but that is another story.

Needless to say, the heat here, although Jordan is cooler than most places in the Middle East (weather-wise), is more than I wish I was suffering through. For those of you who were with me in Jerusalem, remember how I complained about the heat in February?

Well, it is almost August now, and except for this beautiful cold spell (can I call it cold?), is getting hotter every day.

I don't know how hot it is in Farenheight, but it has been between 38-43 degrees Celcius lately. Ok, that converted is hovering just around 100 degrees Farenheight--I guess I do know what it is.

That's hot.

The best part? Most people here don't believe in air conditioning. And if they do believe in it, they don't know what central air is--it is more like an air-conditioning fixture, which is usually broken, like the ones in our classroom that drip water on the poor students sitting under them. My house, too, does not have air conditioning, and I sleep on the fourth floor. Blessedly, my floor has an overabundance of windows which create a nice air tunnel, and I have a fan in my room (pointed straight at my bed!).

Amman's weather has one redeeming grace. Ok, two. The humidity is usually between 40-60%, so at least most of the time we are only dripping with our own sweat, not everyone else's (or something like that).

Secondly, the weather cools down quite a bit at night. It is beautiful. It is wonderful. I keep wondering how it gets 20 degrees cooler at night than it is in the day, but it is still a mystery.

The final good thing? I live in a province of Amman, Sweileh, and it is the cooler than Amman because it is built on a bunch of large hills and has excellent wind most of the time.

Blessedly.

Arabic Phone Calls

2008-07-23T00:11:00.000-07:00

Now that I have introduced you to the world of Arabic greetings, I thought that a small taste of Arabic phone calls might be in order.

I don't really know how to describe in English how much I despise calling people or receiving calls in Arabic. I like it almost as much as I like going to the dentist to get 11 cavities filled, or getting an intensive, 3-month long Hep shot in 3 weeks, or taking a 3 hour Arabic final.

Ok, maybe I like Arabic phone calls a little more than I like taking a 3 hour Arabic final--but only a little.

First, you must know about cell phones in Jordan. People don't have minutes plans here, like my plan in America, where I got 450 minutes a month, free calls after 7 and on weekends, and 15 cent texting (a total rip-off) for $40 a month (another total rip-off, even though I got a BYU student discount).

Instead of minutes plans, people buy their minutes, minute by minute (could I have used the word "minute" more times in that last sentence?). So first people have a cell phone, and then they have a SIM card, and then they buy little cards that look sort of like credit cars with a big number on them, like "3," which stands for how many dinar one paid for said card. (A dinar is worth 1.5 dollars.)

To add to the confusion of this post, let me explain how I bought my phone and how I came to be stuck with Zain as a provider, instead of the ultra-cool Orange or the strange-sloganed Umniah.

Rewind to the first week I was here. Still living in the disgusting Ambassador Hotel (which gave us Ajax instead of shampoo--no joke) and not really knowing Jordanian Arabic but trying every way possible to get people to speak to me in Arabic instead of non-intelligible English garble, I went with my friend to buy a cell phone. It went something like this:

First store: Me (walking in with my friend, in Arabic--instead of walking in in English, which is what I would do in the America)--"Do you have used phones?"

Cell phone man--"We have really cheap new phones."

Me--"But not used phones? I want something cheap."

Cell phone man--(pulling his cell phone out of his pocket)--"This is the only used phone we have. I will give it to you for 25 dinar."

Me--"Too expensive!"

Cell phone man--"Ok, 20 dinar."

Me--"Maybe. I might come back."

Me--(exiting the store laughing, this time in English; I am still not good at laughing in Arabic)--"I can't believe that he tried to sell me his own cell phone! And for such a ridiculous price!"

Next store: Me--"Do you have used cell phones?"

Cell phone man: "We have cheap new ones."

Me--(remembering the old used cell phone trick) "How much?"

Cell phone man: "What do you want"

Me--"The cheapest."

Cell phone man--"These are 23 dinar..."

Me--(interrupting some long Arabic ramble) "I'll take it."

Cell phone man--"What kind of SIM card do you want?"

Me--(thinking, what is a SIM card? I have Sprint in America. We don't have SIM cards. We just have phones and batteries.) "The cheapest."

Cell phone man--"Zain cheapest...(Arabic ramble)...everyone loves Orange...(more Arabic)...Zain is 5 dinar, Orange is better and 8 dinar."

Me--(thinking I know the Middle Eastern trick of trying to sell you up and not falling for it) "Zain is cheapest? I'll take it."

Not bothering to change the instructions into English, or even finding out how to use the cell phones here or SIM cards, or asking why Orange was better (I didn't know that much Arabic, remember?), I exited the store, rejoicing that I had spoken Arabic the whole time.

Now, however, I am stuck with Zain. I recently realized that Orange would have been a much better deal, as I am paying way more for my cell phone minutes than those lucky folk who went with the trendy Orange. I seriously have to buy minutes like every other week.

Anyway, so people here don't really like spending their minutes on their cell phone. Did I mention that there are no answering machines on cell phones? Which I find very lame. Anyway, so people all the time will give you a "missed call," which means they call you and then hang up. Which means either they didn't want to use their own minutes and want you to call them back, using yours, or they want you to know they are thinking about you, but not enough to use their own minutes, or they are giving you their number, which you didn't have before.

The word for this in Arabic? "Missed call." No joke.

Since minutes are so precious, people speak very quickly on the phone. In Arabic. (Well, at least the Arabs speak in Arabic--the Chinese usually speak Chinese, and the Indonesions usually speak something else, etc.)

Normal Arabic phone calls go something like this (but in Arabic): "Hello?"

"Hihowareyouhowhaveyoubeenwhereareyou?"

Me--"I...am at the language center...had class, I...you at library? You meet me today? You speak Arabic with me now?"

"YesIamatthelibrarydoyouwantmetomeetyouatthelanguagecenterorareyoucomingtothelibrary?"

Me--"I coming language center. No, you coming library. No, I go to library."

"What?"

Me--"I come library. I see you in two minutes."

"Ok yalla bye."

The worst thing about Arabic phone calls is that they show off how I really don't speak Arabic that well. I have three stories about phone calls.

The first is by far the best. Back in the America, those who had lived in the Middle East before had warned us about giving our phone number away. Arabs call all the time, they said, and we have discovered that they send these strange "love texts" to their mass email list, too. Ask me when I get home about these.

However, my Arab friends really don't call me that often--actually, most of the time I have to call them to see if they want to meet and speak with me. I have given my phone number away to probably 30+ people but no one ever calls--at least not that often.

No one, that is, until I mistakenly thought that by giving my phone number to a 12-year old girl at the community center in Sweileh would produce the same non-results.

Wrong.

The day I gave her my number, she called. I was away from my phone, so she called again. And again. And again. Remember how there are no answering machines on phones here?

In all fairness, I answered her phone calls twice that night, and I had about 28 missed calls from her. No joke. And since then, she has probably called me another 25 times, including AT MIDNIGHT--5 times in a row before I turned my phone off.

The second funny story has to do with a man calling me. Now, I really don't like talking to men at all, and especially not on the phone, because I just can't understand people on the phone. Anyway, but I brought a trunkload of junk from America for one of my friend's family here in Jordan (I have a hard time saying no sometimes...) and I had to get it to his family. So I finally called his family, and I think I told them that I would meet someone the next day at the university with the stuff.

The next day, some man called me, and as soon as I heard his voice I said, "I am not at the University yet." After more unintelligible ramble, I told him (I think), "I will call you when I get to the University." I just happened to be going to the community center in Sweileh that day, and so when he called again, I asked one of the women at the front desk to answer for me and tell him what he was saying, because I couldn't understand him at all. When she answered, I heard her say, "This isn't Breanne because Breanne can't speak Arabic. She can't understand you. Oh, you speak English?" And then she handed the phone to me.

It turns out that he had just returned from getting his PhD at BYU. Small world, eh? And HE SPOKE ENGLISH! The phone conversation was much better after that.

Finally, this is perhaps the funniest phone call, in my opinion. One of my visiting teaching companions was a less active Arab member, and I had never met her. I didn't even know if she knew what visiting teaching was, or what to tell her about it, or how to introduce myself, or even if she was friendly to the church.

Fighting back a lot of fear, I finally called her and said this: "Hi, my name is Breanne, and I am from the Mormon branch in Amman. You and I are supposed to visit these girls from the church. Can you visit them sometime this week?"

After that awkward conversation and setting up a time to meet, and another awkward phone call, I found out that she, too, speaks English fluently. I asked her what she thought when I called the first time, and she said she had just awakened and was in that half-dream stage, and after it was over she didn't really know what had happened or if I had really called.

So the solution? If I didn't want to learn Arabic, it would be clearly to speak English on the phone and just hope that they respond. And secondly, be careful who you give your phone number to!

Arab Greetings

2008-07-21T10:59:00.000-07:00

Ok, enough with my hilarious adventures. It is time for some more information about Arabs and Arabic.

Arab greetings are one thing that I kind of wish Americans would pick up--but in English, of course. When you greet someone, it is a sort of mini-contest to see who can say the most greetings the fastest.

This is how it goes (between girls, at least--I don't really talk to the men here, so you will have to find a different source for that gender). A girl/woman (just know I mean female of whatever age when I say girl) will walk up to another girl, and start the greetings. These include sayings such as:

"Hi!"

"How are you?"

"Where have you been? I haven't seen you in [2 days, or some sort of long period of time like that]! Have you been avoiding me?"

"What's your news?"

"What's your color?" (My personal favorite, and which Iraqis say--I always respond with "yellow")

"How is your family/your studies/your work?"

And all of this while they are kissing each other on both cheeks.

After they finish the first round and the kissing (one on the right and anywhere from 1-3 on the left, depending on how good of friends they are) they start it all over again.

"How are you? What's your news? What's your color?"

This can go on for several minutes before they get to actual conversation.

So, how about it? What's your color?

In Iceland, they speak...Icelandic

2008-07-21T10:33:00.000-07:00

I am sorry for those of you who are bored by posts in which I talk about my different nationalities which I claim as my own. If this describes you, stop reading now.

Today I told my taxi driver that I was from Iceland. It was evening and I was coming home from the University by myself, and I didn't want him to know I spoke English so I could pretend not to understand him. And remember how it is more dangerous to be an American girl because of the Green Card issue?

Anyway, so when my taxi driver asked me where I was from, I said Iceland. I have been thinking about this for a long time, and I finally decided on Iceland as my country of origin--after all, who knows anything about Iceland? No one really knows what they look like, or what language they speak, or whatever, except for the people in Iceland and surrounding countries. With this country, I knew I would be safe.

It worked. As soon as I said "Icelandia," my taxi driver said "oh" and left it at that. He was so surprised, he didn't even say "Welcome!"

I tried to ignore the taxi driver for most of the ride, which was a lot easier because I pretended I didn't understand any of his English--because I didn't speak it, remember?--and that I didn't understand very much Arabic. He finally asked if I would speak some English, when I told him (in Arabic)--"I don't really speak English. I speak Icelandic."

He was so shocked that I think he missed that last part. (He obviously didn't know his geography, because he asked where in America Iceland was. I told him it wasn't in America.) He asked what language they speak in Iceland--French?

I said no, Icelandic.

He kept asking--is Icelandic like English? I said no, it is like Denmark or Sweden. And he kept asking me if I knew how to translate certain Arabic things into English!

I don't speak English, remember? I speak Icelandic!

It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing. Next time I come here, I am definitely coming with a man--but until then, Icelandic it is.

Windows of Jerusalem

2008-07-18T04:32:00.000-07:00

I don't want to let you all think that I only loved the windows in Egypt. As I said before, I am just fascinated by windows. These are from Jerusalem and surrounding areas.

Enjoy.

Petra and "Confirming my Hero Status"

2008-07-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

These pictures are mostly for my little brother, who is seven, and who obviously thinks I need my "hero status" in his eyes confirmed. But what can be cooler than a sister who has lived in 4 countries in two years and speaks 4 languages? Perhaps a visit to Petra and reenactment of the Indiana Jones film?!

Although I didn't run into any slicing knives or fireballs, I did have an encounter with something extra-terrestrial...

And rode a donkey up to the Monastary (up about 800 steps) which was one of the scariest things in my life (as there were steep drop-offs and I was on an animal with no quick way off if he fell!)

And climbed some amazing mountains and got some pretty sweet jumping pictures.

I do have two stories, though, that I will tell. The first is about a demon-eyed attack goat.

Yes, that apple in that goat's mouth was mine at one time. I was walking on a mountain and we came across a random little cafe-type place that sold water, tea, and coffee (although why anyone would want a hot beverage when it is 110 outside is a mystery to me) but which was empty...except for two visiting archeologist students from Canada and a herd of goats.

How cute, I thought, and went in to investigate--while eating an apple (all I had remembered to pack for lunch).

The baby goats were cute, and the white goat (with denomic eyes--but they were blue, not red) seemed to be more interested in me than I was interested in her, and walked up to me and jumped on me as I was talking to the Canadian girl. Realizing the goat wanted my apple, I screamed and threw it--right at the archaeologist! The poor girl screamed and ran away (as it had hit her on the shoulder) and the goat ran over and ate the apple.

She won, obviously.

The second story has to do with amazing free-style rock climbing skills that I discovered I possess.

The first day in Petra, we visited all the "normal" sites--the Treasury, the Monastary, the High Place of Sacrifice, etc. It was an exhausting day and I wasn't sure if I could endure another day like that.

The next day, however, I wanted to go on what I thought would be a simple hike above the Treasury which my friends had done the day before and which they had highly recommended. In addition to amazing views from above the Treasury (the Indiana Jones relic), the hike also included 3 Nabatean altars (which I am quite interested in), a water cistern, and broken pottery.
Clearly a must-do for one who studies the ancient Near East.

The hike started out innocently enough. As I had terrible eye problems which had escalated to the point of extreme pain the day before, I elected myself as guide. :) We started climbing some stairs that were cut into the rock face and soon found ourselves clearly not on a path and clearly free-style rock-climbing up some pretty steep rock faces. The only thing that kept us going was the thought that if we turned around, we would have to go down those sheer rock faces!

Well, after a heart-felt prayer by Lorien and some incredible maneuvers on all of our parts, we finally found the trail...right as it was ending above the Treasury!

Excited to find the trail, as we had only one hour to get back to the hotel before our bus left, we were more than disappointed when it ended with a large sheer rock face.

Definitely not passable.

(This is Lorien, looking worried when all of our "trails" dead-ended with cliffs)

We finally went down a "no climbing" zone rock slide and got back to the bus 5 minutes before it was supposed to drive away--with only a few scratches and very dirty clothes as proof!

By the way, for those who might try this hike at sometime in the near future, this is a trail marker.

A pile of rocks set up strategically and spread abundantly throughout the trail. Strangely enough, these were conspicuously absent the way we climbed up!

Culture Shock...for Arabs

2008-07-15T02:37:00.000-07:00

The other day some of the children in my host family came with me to my place of volunteering in Sweileh to help me and learn some new songs. This was exciting and fun for me, but quite an experience for these poor children.

Let me explain.

I live with an older couple, whose youngest daughter is 30. She still lives at home, but the rest are married and live all over the world. Two of the daughters, one who lives in Texas with her husband and three children and one who lives in a British compound in Saudi Arabia with her husband and three kids, are here with their families to visit for the summer. (Remember, I live in a large house, with a place for all of these people to stay for an extended period of time.)

I really admire the parents of these families, and especially the mothers (since the two fathers are in their respective countries working throughout the summer) who have raised their children bilingually.

But for both families, the primary and first language is English. My favorite is the children from Saudi Arabia, who have red hair and blue eyes (remember Zaina?) and who speak English (and Arabic) with a British accent.

Arabic, then, is a struggle for them, especially for the 7 year old (Hashem) from Saudi Arabia (Zaina, his sister, doesn’t speak Arabic at all). And although these kids are Arab through their bloodline, they are really American.

Imagine their shock and horror, then, to visit the community center at which I volunteer in one of the poorest areas of Amman. I don’t really think they had been exposed to this sort of trash-on-the-street, everyone staring at them and the women squeezing their cheeks, disorganized Arab society, and it was more than humorous to watch them.

First off, when we got to the community center, there seemed to be something large and important going on, because the room in which I usually teach was occupied.

With an overly large stack of clothing, spread all over the table.

Waiting for the room to be cleared out (this has never happened before or since, by the way), we sat in the front entrance. The community center is (I think) a converted house, so it is set up like a house and is in the middle of a tightly packed neighborhood, with people wandering in and out often. Like I said, something unusual was going on today, and there was a large amount of people in the front waiting room, including me and four children (along with men bringing in large crates of fruits and vegetables and setting them in the hall).

The women at the center naturally thought Raseel (9) and Jude (11) were adorable and kept squeezing their cheeks and asking if they were twins.

Raseel’s answer? “No, we’re not sisters…we’re cousins” (with all of it in Arabic except the word “cousins”).

And of course they were totally weirded out by the whole experience and kept complaining things to me, like “The room stinks!” and looking uncomfortable that everyone was touching their faces. And when I explained that we were in a poor area and most of these people were really poor, the 9 year old from Texas said to me, “Yeah, but at least in America poor people don’t sell you things at stoplights!” (which they do here—mostly “Fine,” or Kleenexes, but sometimes hats and little sweets and things like that through the window of your car).

I really would have expected the same thing if I had taken my little brother Bronson and my little sister Avalon to the community center—awkward smiles, a lot of complaining, and wanting to go home.

It was all I could do to keep from falling on the floor laughing—after all, these are Arabs!

And then, once class started, they kept speaking in English, and I had to translate for the rest of the class!

I guess all of us feel culture shock at one time or another in our lives!

A Missionary Update

2008-07-11T03:16:00.001-07:00

Ok, enough of my grumblings. Everyone gets trunky, and I allowed myself a little bit of self-pity on my blog. But lest all of you blog readers out there fear that my blog might become depressing and boring, never fear. I have plenty more funny stories to tell. Just have patience, my friends. To those who comment on my blog or email me, thank you. It is for you that I write this record.

On to the missionary update. As I mentioned before, I always wanted to serve a two-year mission. So, since coming here to Amman, I have tried at every opportunity to be a missionary--every legal opportunity, that is. I do not talk about the gospel with my Muslim friends, as it is forbidden by our program, but I do live my religion. And it sure comes up a lot when we talk about coffee and tea, since these are Arab staples but Mormons do not drink either.

I have, however, had the marvelous opportunity of participating in missionary discussions that the Cooks, the humanitarian missionary couple here, have been giving. This required quite a bit of proactivity on my part, but after a lot of work, I am now invited to every lesson.

Samir, our friend about whom I spoke before, has committed to baptism. He is getting baptized this Thursday evening, and he said his wife and daughter will be in attendance.

I could hardly contain my excitement when he committed to baptism at his discussion on Wednesday. He is more than ready and through participating in his discussions, not only has my Arabic improved, but my testimony has grown as I have seen his faith and humility. He will be a great strength to the branch here, which is severely lacking when it comes to the activity of the Arab members. (In fact, the last question Samir asked Wednesday night was why the Arabs here stop coming to church not long after their baptism. I am sure you can guess many of the reasons--they are found in every branch and every ward of the church, all over the world.)

Isabella has gone back to Brazil. I was in Israel when she left but I am working on getting in touch with her and making sure the missionaries where she lives is aware of her and her two sons.

And as another exciting note, the Cooks are teaching two older brothers in Arabic and they are amazing too. They have been coming to church for quite some time now and are quite familiar with the scriptures and the doctrine. I attended their first discussion in Arabic and it was a beautiful experience. I feel that they, too, will be baptized soon.

Missionary work is beautiful and incredible. And I have finally realized that ordinary members of the church, even those who can't speak the language very well, can be member missionaries and do a lot of good. And prepare for missions, even missions in different countries and different languages!

The Odd, The Creepy, and...Time

2008-07-10T11:57:00.000-07:00

In the way of creepy:

In the way of odd...

(Have any of you ever tried vine leaves-flavored Lays?)

And in the way of time...I was reading a book in Arabic (recommended by my friend, but more than a little boring) entitled "262 ways to use your time wisely"--loosely translated.

Imagine my surprise when, after reading page after page of Arabic, I ran into these strange English lines:

I think you will be more motivated to use time wisely if you repeat these English phrases to yourself over and over than if you just repeated the Arabic...the Arabic, after all, makes sense!

Just remember, "time is inclusti, we can not phase are use of it"

"My X-ray Vision is Gone!"

2008-07-10T00:50:00.000-07:00

One time when my little brother Bronson (who is 7 now) was 5, he was sitting in sacrament meeting, under the bench, just thinking to himself. Suddenly, he sat up, turned to my mother and said, "My x-ray vision is gone!"

This was quite tragic for him because he has always (does he still?) considered himself a super-hero, and to lose his magical powers--even if it was only his x-ray vision--was traumatic.

After living and studying in Jordan for several months now (and with only 5 weeks left!), I feel as though my x-ray vision is gone.

Unfortunately.

When I was in the America, before coming on this trip, I listened to Dil and Kirk talk about how others had failed in this program. The way to success, according to them, was to not spend much time with Americans, tolerate hanging out with Arabs no matter how much you don't like them, live with an Arab family, eat beans every day for breakfast, and not spend very much time on the computer/email to your friends/family in America--as that won't really help you learn Arabic.

Gung-ho as ever and thinking I was a super hero, I tried this for a long time. On the weekends, instead of going to fun places with my American friends, I stayed with my Arab family and did Arabic things, like studying.

At the university, instead of spending time at the Language Center with the Americans and the Arabs who speak English, I spent my time with Arabs, speaking (and sometimes understanding) Arabic, for hours at a time.

As for internet/Skype time, well, I tried to keep it to a minimum.

And then, after several months of this, I fell apart. As Spencer told me yesterday, Dil's way and Kirk's way to learn Arabic is not my way. I went from one extreme to the other, and now I no longer want to be here, I no longer want to learn Arabic, and I hate Jordan.

Fun, huh?

The hours and hours spent reading newspaper articles about bombings and people killed and earthquakes and Palestine and talking to people in the streets and seeing their anger and hopelessness is really getting to me. It is affecting my dreams/nightmares and tearing me apart emotionally. And I am just tired of learning Arabic, especially since in nine weeks I will start learning Mandarin Chinese!

For those who don't study Arabic and don't understand how this could happen, reading this article about how most Arabic programs go will help you understand that I can only be a part of these depressing things for so long without feeling some of that depression and hopelessness myself. (For those who do study Arabic, I am curious to know your feelings and responses to this article.)

Anyway, I don't want this post to depress anyone--just warn those who come after from making the same mistakes I so carefully made.

The solution? I am still working on it. But yesterday, Spencer said, "You are more important than the program." So, for the next five weeks, I will keep that in mind. If those of you who have learned other languages have any suggestions, I would appreciate them!

Language Learning and Contact Lenses

2008-07-07T00:35:00.000-07:00

As I have been having eye problems recently and haven't been able to wear my contacts, I have been thinking a lot about eyesight and what happened when I got contacts. I lost my eyesight rather suddenly during November/December (the doctor said it was because I studied too much--I personally think it was from the tiny fonts Dil used for my Arabic homework) and didn't realize what a problem it was until I got contacts.

The day I got home from the doctor, I stood in my apartment and looked out the window and was amazed at what I saw. I could see a stop sign a block away! It was absolutely amazing. The whole world was transformed because I could see now.

Language learning, at least for me, is not like this at all. I keep waiting for some miracle to happen, something to snap into place so I can finally understand conversations or I can make my wishes known without stumbling over every word.

Instead, learning Arabic is painful, tedious work. It takes 2+ hours of speaking to Arabs every day and not understanding half of what they say. It takes days and weeks of awkward conversations where I have to think about each word before I say it, and then saying several of the words incorrectly, or saying the wrong words. It takes hours of translating newspaper articles and memorizing vocabulary and writing pages and pages of Arabic...and still I struggle.

And each morning, I get up, already exhausted, and I don't want to do it for another day. I am tired, my eyes hurt, I hate awkward conversations, I don't like Jordan, and I am about to learn Mandarin Chinese. And I lose motivation, fast.

And then I kneel down and pray and tell Heavenly Father than I don't want to learn Arabic. And He tells me that He wants me to.

And somehow, that is enough. That gets me out on the streets and talking to people and translating newspaper articles and memorizing vocabulary. And mostly, it gets me to class, no matter how much I dislike my teacher.

In any case, language learning is hard. It is hard to be pleased with the little successes--but I am. I am pleased when I can argue with a taxi driver over five cents. I am pleased when I can give a prayer in Arabic. I am pleased when I can carry on a conversation for an hour with someone and understand most of what they say. And mostly, I am pleased when people don't speak English to me because my Arabic is better than their English.

And this, I guess, will have to be enough, at least for the next six weeks!

And Today, I Stood On American Soil

2008-07-06T02:23:00.000-07:00

Ok, so it was actually yesterday. And it was just the American Embassy. But it was wonderful. I ate bacon (not available in the Middle East) and played with the branch president's children (President Leavitt) and spoke English. I miss America just a little bit!

This is Savannah.

And this is Halen.

And their sweet goggles (the American embassy has a pool).

Aren't her eyes stunning?

Now really, do I look like I am from Russia?

Savannah is five and she took this picture. Pretty good, don't you think? (Quite artistic, with the chair in the background, etc.)

"She speaks Arabic!"

2008-07-04T06:43:00.000-07:00

Don't let this post color your opinions in a bad way about Arabs. But personally, as an American woman, I don't really like Arab "shabab." "Shabab" is an Arabic term that means "youths," but I apply it to the over-abundance of men/boys in their late teens/early twenties who seem to have nothing to do but stand around all day staring at people--and especially staring at me. And talking about me (in Arabic) (because they don't think I can understand) and occasionally, if they are brave and with their friends and I am alone, saying things in English loud enough for me to hear, like "what's your name" and "welcome" (remember the zoo in Cairo?).

Even for those who don't know my personality (although you get a rather large dose of it on my blog), this sounds like it would annoy me.

It does.

I have for quite a long time wondered why it is considered culturally acceptable to stare at foreigners as though they are some sort of oddity (but then I think of what people in America do when a woman walks by in a hijab or a burka, and I start to understand), especially since I am that oddity--with super white skin, red hair, blue eyes, and a backpack (the biggest red flag that I am American).

Anyway, shabab bother me. They really creep me out. And I try to stay away from them as much as possible, or ignore them (as I do most Arab men--for purposes of safety and annoyance) when not possible.

My "favorite" is when I am at the University. Especially when I walk around by myself, I can feel everyone staring at me (and see it when I wear sunglasses). Especially the males. Like, "what is this odd thing walking through our campus?"

It's me.

The other day, I was sitting on a bench waiting for my friend (Arab, female, 5'3"--just kidding about that last part). Two "shebab" came and sat on a bench next to my bench and just sat there, staring at me. Naturally, I ignored them, and naturally, they had nothing else to do but stare.

It was kind of awkward.

So then I called my friend and told her that I was waiting for her, etc. The conversation was all in Arabic, as usual, as she is Arab and speaks Arabic :).

As I hung up, one of the shebab said (in a voice loud enough for me to hear, obviously), "She speaks Arabic!" And then he said it again, in case the people around him hadn't heard him the first time.

I really wanted to laugh out loud, but instead I pretended to ignore him. He and his friend left soon thereafter.

And me? I felt triumphant. I guess I really do speak Arabic, if the shebab think so!

A Run-in With A Pharmacy

2008-07-04T06:22:00.000-07:00

Recently I feel like I have been getting the "Job treatment" (Job the man from the Bible) in the state of my health. Ok, not really, although I have repeated my history of strange boils recently. But I picked up some sort of strange eye disease/infection/scratch/allergy in Jerusalem, and after fighting it for several days there before I could see again, it came back with a vengence several days ago.

The left eye in the picture is the one with the problems (pay no attention to the large chicken on my plate).

The problem is, I wear contacts, my glasses (newly ordered from Costco) are in America (one of the "last-minute things" that didn't get done quite in time before my flight), and something is wrong with my eyes and I can't figure out what.

My left eye (the actual eye, and not just around it) got red and felt like some sort of sand had gotten under my contact and scratched it. After half a bottle of eye drops and several days of pain and squinting, I finally kept my contact out and it got better (this was in Jerusalem).

Well, it started again last week in Jordan, and this time it was worse. My eye hurt terribly, it was so red that people asked if everything was ok with my eye, and I could barely see.

So, I decided it was time to brave the pharmacy.

Pharmacies here are not really (read at all) like pharmacies in the US. They are just little corner stores stuffed with everything you could need, from band-aids to strong prescription medication. And I think they have real live educated pharmacists that work in them, but I haven't checked my sources on that.

I walked into a pharmacy in the middle of downtown Amman last week and tried to explain in Arabic what was wrong with my eye. It went something like this:

"Hi. I have a problem with my eye..."

(The female pharmacist)--"the red one?"

"Yes."

"Ok, you need these" (and she gives me some eye drops).

"No, I have like this (meaning the eye drops), but my eye is not getting better. I had this same problem last week and it came back a second time."

"Oh." (Rummages around in the small fridge in the back.) "Here, take this."

(reading carefully what this strange substance is) "How much?"

"4 dinar" (about 6 dollars).

"Ok, I'll take it."

It turns out that this strange substance was a strong prescription-only cortecosteriod eyedrop (basically a steroroid for your eye, although I am not quite sure how it works) that shouldn't be used while wearing contacts and leaves a nasty taste in my mouth about 10 minutes after putting it in my eye.

The result? The infection has now moved into my other (right) eye, I am considering getting glasses here because the contacts only aggravate the problem, and my left eye has no more redness but hurts terribly every time I blink (which is often, because I haven't been wearing my contacts and my eyes hurt when I leave them open for more than a few seconds).

I am pretty sure that the "solution" from the pharmacy might be part of the problem...

And More Often, I Love Being An American

2008-07-04T04:59:00.000-07:00

Happy 4th of July! This post is to counteract the post where I talked about how occasionally I feel that Americans get unfair treatment (in their favor), especially at border crossings into Israel.

Well, it is true. But today, especially, I am proud to be an American. Last night I was watching the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's "Tribute to America" at the Parker's home (Brother Parker is the first counsellor in the branch presidency here) and I suddenly got incredibly homesick for America as the choir sang "America the Beautiful." There was a movie of rolling hills and pine forests in the background, and I realized this sublime truth: I love America.

I do. I love her freedoms, I love her quirks (ok, some of them), I love her mountains and valleys, I love her Utah :), and I love her history.

So in honor of Independence day, here are the top five things I love about America.

1-I love her freedom of religion. I love the fact that the true church of Jesus Christ--The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints--was restored in America because of the freedom of religion that was there at the time. I love being able to talk freely about my religion and not worry that the government will send my church out of the country if people start realizing the truth and convert.

2-I love her laws. I love that the police can't be bought off, that mostly the justice system is just, and that the people have a voice in the democratic process. Even though I might not like any of the candidates for president, I love that we can all vote for one of them and add our voices to the system. I love her checks and balances that help to control power hungry people. And I especially love the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence.

3-What can I say, I love her mountains. Personally I feel that nobody does mountains like Utah--how they just rise up in the midst of cities as a permanent background against the rising or setting sun. I love their presence--something much bigger than man, something that can only be created or destroyed by the elements that God controls.

4-I love the priviledges that are offered to me because I am one of her citizens. I love that I lived in Israel last year, Jordan this year, and will be living in Taiwan for the next year and a half--without any difficulty. I love that I have the chance to go to school and get an education and learn about the world. I love that I don't have to worry about a corrupt government killing off members of my family or my friends because they disagreed with the government. And I love the fact that if I want to, I have an opportunity to do almost anything in the world, if I work hard enough.

5-Finally, I love her water. This one might sound strange, but after living in the Middle East for a time, I have really come to appreciate water. I love drinking water from the tap in America without getting sick. I love washing my fruits and vegetables in tap water to get them clean, and not having to clean them after I wash them in tap water. I love that America has water systems that bring the water to your house on demand, and you don't have to keep containers of water on your roof for the house. And mostly, I love taking showers without having to turn the water off every minute to soap up and only turning it on to rinse.

Although there are many other reasons, I think these ones suffice. Really, I do love America, and I am quite excited for the three weeks I will be back within her borders before I head off to another country (I don't count the MTC as being "in America"...).

Watermelon Babies and Taxi Drivers

2008-07-03T00:55:00.000-07:00

Ok, so as much as I complain about them, not all taxi drivers are bad here in Jordan. Especially when there is a male presence in the car (and I am not left to fend for myself).

So Tuesday night we had a fireside at the church (with Elder Neuenschwander of the Presidency of the Seventy, which was excellent--more to come on that) and we had a "mix and mingle" afterward with the branch members and the missionaries/service couples from Beirut and Cairo (and the two branches here) and Elder Neuenschwander--and, of course, watermelon.

After the mix and mingle, myself and three other people were among the last to leave. President Leavitt (the branch president) gave Jamison a watermelon to take home, I told him it was cute and looked like a little child, or something (it was a rather large watermelon) and that he should draw a face on it. He did, and luckily all four of us were sharing a taxi to get to our respective homes.

I say luckily because I got to see the look on the taxi driver's face as Jamison got into the front seat holding his "watermelon baby."

It was priceless.

Jamison immediately started up a conversation with this taxi driver (in Arabic) about his "watermelon baby." He asked the driver if he liked it, but the driver (an older man) said, "no, it's ugly. It looks like you!"

I almost died laughing.

After Jamison and his roommate got out, my roommate and I continued in the taxi to our home. The driver was in a great mood (because of the watermelon) and asked us, "how do you say 'batik" in English?" When I told him "water-melon," he practiced the rest of the way to our home.

It was quite possibly the funniest taxi ride of my life.

Eidlweiss, the New Arab Favorite

2008-07-02T00:53:00.000-07:00

These are some of my students, singing Eidlweiss (and some of them not singing).

Comic Relief

2008-07-01T12:42:00.000-07:00

I know that some of you check my blog. Often. And so I thought I would throw in some comic relief.

This is a jumping picture.

One of the best jumping pictures I have ever been a part of, actually.

I really like jumping pictures. You can get yourself and the cool scenery, but instead of looking stupid on accident, you look strange on purpose. It adds to the coolness of it--me jumping in front of the pyramids, me jumping in front of the Nile, me jumping in front of Mount Nebo--you get my point.

Some jumping pictures, however, just don't work out.

And sometimes you just have to try several times before you get it right (these are in Jerusalem).

"No Smoking"

2008-06-29T08:48:00.000-07:00

There are "no smoking" signs all over Jordan. When I first got here, I was relieved to see them. I am allergic to cigarrette smoke (I have asthma) and I was excited to see that there were places where people were "forbidden" to smoke (I know, why did I come to the Middle East if I didn't want to deal with smoke, right?).

Well, lets just say that they could have saved their money on the signs and stickers, because people don't really pay attention to any no smoking signs.

For example: on the outside of the "Markaz al-Lugat" (the language center at the University of Jordan) are two no smoking signs. And then they are posted inside the building, too. And on the outside of the "American Corner" office, which is in Markaz al-Lugat (in which are housed books about America for the Arabs who are studying Americans).

And, there is a "no smoking" sign on the guy's desk who supervises the American corner.

Right next to the ashtray.
Don't worry, he probably only smokes about 10-20/day in there.

Taxis are the worst, in my opinion (but at least most of the time you can open the windows). I hate riding to church in a taxi because I always get out smelling like I have been in a bar, or something.

One day, I saw a no smoking sign on a taxi. A taxi. I was excited and surprised--until I saw the driver smoking inside the taxi.
I guess just the passengers can't smoke?

When we were still living at the Ambassador Hotel, there was a grocery store/combination food court just a block away from our hotel, so I would go there to do homework occasionally. There were at least 20 no smoking signs in the food court, posted on the walls and hanging from the ceiling.

But somehow, I don't remember a time when I didn't see people smoking in there. Maybe the idea is that smoking is only forbidden "right under" the sign, so if you are right next to it you can still smoke.

Or something like that.

note bene

2008-06-29T03:54:00.000-07:00

By the way, I finally finished my Amazing Grace post, if you are interested.

Strange Translations

2008-06-26T00:55:00.003-07:00

The newest rage among the Americans here at the University of Jordan is stopping by the "notebook stands" outside the main gate of the university and checking to see if they have any new notebooks.

This might seem strange until you see the notebooks for yourself. English is cool here, but something is lost in translation...

(This one is my personal favorite)

A Souvenir from Jerusalem

2008-06-25T02:21:00.000-07:00

This is a spider bite, courtesy of Jerusalem. Isn't it cute?

(PS, for those who worry, like my mother, it isn't a brown reculse because I haven't died yet. And the swelling has started going down.)

Edelweiss in Arabia

2008-06-25T01:16:00.000-07:00

After my first class at the community center on Sunday, I was more than thrilled to go again yesterday (Tuesday) and see what fun and surprises awaited me. It would not be so scary if I was in the America or even speaking English, as I have volunteered often in elementary schools there and I absolutely love it. But being in charge for a rowdy class for two hours in Arabic is just a teeny bit intimidating.

This time, however, my friend and co-teacher Gretchen Belnap was there (thankfully, to help with crowd control). And, we were in another room, this time with a round table and plenty of room to get in and out of their chairs.

And the ones who didn't want to be in the Music class weren't there.

The whole experience was much better and made me feel so much better about my ability to control a large class in a different language (I have only been studying Arabic for a year, ok?!).

There was, however, one part of the class in which I felt that my entire purpose for studying Arabic was validated. Gretchen was teaching the class Edelweiss, the song from The Sound of Music, and she sang it for them before teaching them the words.

As she began singing in her beautiful clear voice, the whole class quieted down and sat mesmerized throughout the whole song. In the middle of her song, as the class sat reverently listening, I suddenly was overcome with a feeling of peace and comfort from the Holy Ghost. And I am sure everyone else in the class felt it too. It was as though a little piece of heaven suddenly became available to all of us through Gretchen's singing of this beautiful song about a national flower.

To some, it might not make sense. We weren't singing hymns, we weren't preaching the gospel, but the Spirit was present in a very beautiful way. As I sat thinking about why this moment was so significant, I thought of what the song meant to the Von Trapp family in the movie. The edelweiss was their symbol of hope and freedom and gave them comfort even while wars were swarming around them.

These little kids, even though they live in relatively safe Jordan, will most likely encounter wars in one way or another in their lives. They, too, will need symbols of hope and freedom and they struggle through difficult times in their lives...and although this is something probably none of them had thought about before, it was showed to all of us in a powerful way through Gretchen's singing.

This also gave me a greater understanding for why I am studying Arabic--it is for sweet moments like this. And I didn't feel quite so bad for my failure in class on Sunday!

An Exercise in Disaster

2008-06-24T02:42:00.000-07:00

Feeling that my life was not busy enough already, and definitely lacking interaction with children, I have started volunteering at a community center in Sweileh (where I live--but in the poor area) teaching a music class to children. At first, this seemed like an excellent idea. I would speak to children for several hours a day in Arabic (actually, twice a week for two hours a day) and I would be well on my way to changing the world.

Right?

Sunday (Friday is our Sabbath here) was my first day volunteering. Let me remind you that I had just returned to Amman after an exhausting week in Israel/Palestine the night before and probably hadn't gotten as much sleep as was needed.

The next morning, bright and early, I arrived at the community center, only to find out that instead of teaching at 9, as I had previously thought, I was teaching at 10.

No problem. I just sat and talked to the receptionist for an hour, praying to be able to teach my class and also trying to understand this dear woman who is Iraqi and was telling me about some of the problems she had faced in Iraq. (Side note: it is times like this that I am most frustrated with my lack of Arabic ability. Ordering food, going the wrong way in a taxi, getting lost--these are all minimal compared with times when people are almost weeping as they are telling you their life story and you miss the key verb about why they are weeping.)

At 10, I walked into my classroom. There were about 30 students, between the ages of 7 and 16, boys and girls (the girls, of course, sitting in the front and the boys all crowded into the back row) together (in the public schools in Jordan, they don't mix genders, so there are boy schools and girl schools).

After introductions all around, I started teaching some English songs. First I started with "Doe, a deer" from the Sound of Music to help teach them the scale (it worked for Maria, it should work for me, right?). Arabs have a much different scale/music style (I think they operate on 4th or 8th notes instead of half notes, like Western music) so I thought the scale would be best to start with.

Picture this: I am writing the words on the board in Arabic and English, teaching them the English, translating the meaning into Arabic, and trying to teach them the tune also. Meanwhile, each student has the need to go to the bathroom at least once an hour, which would not be a problem except they have to ask me each time (which is normal) and in order to get out, they have to either climb over the table or under the table (the classroom was set up with three long tables in a row, with no space behind to walk).

And, all the little boys in the back are definitely not singing and are definitely hitting each other and talking to each other loudly.

And picture me in the front, trying to keep the class under control.

In a different language.

It was kind of like in elementary school, when you had a substitute, and the whole class was bad. But think of how much worse it would have been if the substitute did not speak the language.

And that was me.

It was thrilling, to say the least.

To make matters worse (better?), one of the little girls in the class ran and told the administrators that the boys were being little pests, and she came in, yelled at them, and had the girls point out which boys were acting up. Then, she took all of the boys out, scolded them, and most of them went home, except for two which came back to class and had to apologize to me in front of everyone (in English, although I am not sure if that was part of their punishment or just a reflection of my bad Arabic), and then sat quitely the rest of class.

At the end of class, feeling like a failure, all of the little girls came up and kissed my cheeks (normal Middle Eastern practice) and told me they were excited for the next class, and one of the little boys who had been acting up came up to me and gave me a paper crane whose wings flapped (which he made) and which he had written on the wings, "I love teacher."

And the administrators asked me why I was only coming twice a week and not every day.

And then, as I was walking down the stairs from a pedestrian overpass going to catch a taxi the rest of the way to the university, I fell down the stairs. In front of a whole bunch of men who were staring at me at the bottom.

Self, great day!

Border Problems, Without Being Palestinian

2008-06-23T10:13:00.000-07:00

I have recently returned to Amman. Unfortunately. I miss Jerusalem already, and unfortunately I am not too happy to be back to my daily schedule of speaking for hours every day in an extremely hard language and memorizing vocabulary words that have to do with earthquakes and bombings. I guess I should get used to it, though, because in just a couple of months I will be learning Mandarin, having all the same problems! :)

However, I did almost have an opportunity to stay in Israel--not by any choice of my own, but because of problems at the Jordanian border. Picture this: the temperature is about 105 degrees farenheight. There is a large amount of humidity because of our proximity to the Sea of Galilee and the Jordan River (we used the north border crossing). We have just been driving for about an hour on the bus with limited air conditioning, and we are all in our Sunday clothes, since it is Shabbat. This means, yes, legs sticking to each other with sweat and uncomfortable sitting positions. And we have been working with a slave driver (Dil) for the past week, visiting tons of sites in the extreme heat. And we just all successfully got through the Israeli border crossing (with really nice air conditioning, I might be so bold to add) and shoved about 70 people on a bus with a capacity of about 50.

Without air conditioning.

The bus took us across the "dead zone" between the Israeli border and the Jordanian border, and then we all got off and piled into the very not airconditioned Jordanian border.

And sat. And waited.

What we were waiting for, I found out later, was our busses from Amman and our tour guide/expiditer. Although technically we did everything by ourselves and did not need an expiditer, the Jordanians will not let groups through the border without an expiditer.

This was problem number one.

Problem number two became apparent soon after we realized we didn't have busses or an expiditer waiting for us at the border and so Brian Harker, one of the student admins of the program, called Dakkak travel agency to see what the deal was.

That was Dakkak travel agency, in case any of you are ever looking for an office of incompetent people in Jordan.

The people at Dakkak told Brian that they were on their way, no problem, but when it because apparent that they were not on their way, the border police called Dakkak.

This time, Dakkak told the border police that we were scheduled to come through the border next week, and when the border police asked what they should do, Dakkak said, "Send them back to Israel!"

Which I personally thought was a very good idea, but not very practical for our university schedule. Or our pocketbooks, since prices are very high in Israel. But that deserves another post.

The border police then tried to convince their supervisors to let our group through without an expiditer, but to no avail. Rules are rules, even in Jordan. (If we were in Egypt, this never would have happened. We would just have to pay someone off and we could have gotten through, no problem.) The only thing that was missing was the incredible amount of tension that is present on the Israeli side, but I am more ok with tension than I am with incompetence.

Really.

Also, the border police told Dakkak that they would not send us back to Israel, and somehow things got worked out that a bus and an expiditer were sent to us.

One bus. From Amman. To the north border, about a 2.5 hour drive.

Meanwhile, picture 60 Americans stuck in a non-airconditioned small room in 105 degree heat.

For three hours.

It was really fun, to say the least.

Finally, the border police let us through to go through customs and wait for our bus. After walking through customs (they x-rayed our luggage, but we didn't even have to walk through metal detectors. Security?) we were met on the other side with people representing Dakkak.

With a free soda for each of us.

Sorry, but that is not compensation for incompetence and making us wait for 3 hours in 105 degree weather, especially since the Jerusalem Center uses Dakkak every time they come to Jordan. We are one of their biggest clients.

And, we are American. Surely we don't deserve this type of treatment with the country represented on our passports!

Then, we find that we do really only have one bus. So 12 of us were designated as "taxi people." I say us, because I was one of those who was designated to ride in a taxi. For two and a half hours. Without airconditioning. In the 105 degree heat. With a most-likely smoking driver. And I hate dealing with taxi drivers here.

I immediately started praying that I wouldn't have to ride in a taxi back to Amman.

And then, after everyone else piled on the bus and the taxi people were standing around waiting to be told what to do, (and me praying to avoid the taxi) Spencer came and told us to get on the bus.

The full bus.

As funny as it might sound, at this moment my prayers were answered. I didn't have to ride a taxi back to Amman. I did, however, have to ride standing in the aisle, which was quite exciting.

Supposedly, another bus was waiting for us on the other side of the border, somewhere, but we still had to have a border policeman get on the bus while we were still on it and check all of our passports, I guess to make sure they were all stamped.

But, this was a small problem. You see, the aisle was filled with students. And we couldn't get off the bus, in case we made a break for it.

So, the policeman had to get on and shove past all of us and check all of our passports at the same time.

It was really fun.

At this point, I dissolved in laughter. I have a problem with laughing when the stress and tension builds up in particularly inappropriate moments, and this was one of those moments.

Finally, we got through the border, and after about 20 minutes we ran into the other bus and half of us got on the other one.

And, waiting for me on this bus was another surprise.

The same tour guide I had last year when I went with the Jerusalem Center to Jordan. Yes, that annoying tour guide who talked about "tens of caves," "the Kings Highway," and "Mecca Mall."

All in all, it was a great day, taking only about 7 hours to get from the Israel side of the border back to Amman.

All this, and I am American!

(PS, sorry about the poor photos, but taking photos at border crossings is usually not a good idea, but I had to document it.)

A Matter of Perspective

2008-06-20T23:21:00.000-07:00

The other day I was eating breakfast at a convent in Nazareth. Although the breakfast was delicious in my opinion, my friend Jason Andrus started complaining about the peaches, suggesting that they really weren't very good. Instead of being yellow and squishy, they were white and hard. I told him that he just had to change his perspective--they weren't the yellow and squishy kind of peaches, they were the white and hard kind. If you were expecting white and hard fruit, they were really quite good. But if you were expecting yellow and squishy fruit, they were disgusting and unripe.

This is the way it is with the Holy Land. A lot of people come here to have a great spiritual awakening, or to see their testimonies unfold before their eyes, or to be overcome by the Spirit and have a marvelous vision in places like Capernaum, the Garden of Gethsemane, or Bethlehem. Instead, most of the time you get noisy, crowded streets, annoying street hawkers, pushy tourists, and piles of ruins. But the testimony builders and faith-strengthening experiences come in quiet moments, like what Sister Hinckley referred to when she visited Nazareth and saw a camel, which strengthened her testimony in a special way. Since the transcript is not available online, here is what she said:

"When I became an adult, my love for the Savior took on a new dimension when we visited the Holy Land. We came into Nazareth at noon. The main street in Nazareth is narrow, slightly uphill; it was crowded with merchants selling their wares: everything from fish from the Sea of Galilee to nylons and pots and pans. The noise level was high. School children were on their way home from lunch. And at the bottom of the street was an enormous camel. And there was a group of children gathered around this animal, just chattering with excitement. There were two boys, about age nine, who were walking up the street, one of them walking backwards as they threw a ball back and forth. I said to myself, 'Is this the way it was when Jesus was a boy? Did he go home for lunch with His friends, and did He stop to look at the camel? And did He throw a ball back and forth?'

"Even though He was divine, omnipotent, the Prince of Peace, the King of Glory, I began to understand more fully that He also was mortal. He lived in the same world that we live in. He had to overcome, just as you and I have to overcome. He had to discipline Himself to get up in the morning to do His chores. He had to study and do his homework. He had to learn to get along with His peers and learn obedience. My love for Him knew no bounds."

This is how I have found the Holy Land. The faith-strengthening times come in quite moments, sometimes when I am least expecting it. Like two days ago, when I visited the Church of the Annunciation, and then walked over to what was supposedly Mary's house. As I walked down among the ruins I was suddenly struck by a deeper love for Mary and a greater testimony of her goodness and purity. I pictured her doing her chores, perhaps overhearing the noisy street outside, perhaps just having gotten back from the crowded market, and having an angel appear to her and telling her that she would be the mother of the Savior of the world.

For the best experience in the Holy Land, then, you just have to change your perspective. You will get out of the Holy Land what you are prepared to receive--and what you are willing to accept.

(This isn't a camel, but it is in Nazereth. This little boy is riding in a suitcase on the back of a bicycle through town. I stopped them and asked if I could take a picture because it was cute. By the way, all three of them were riding on one bike.)

Israel: The Land and the People

2008-06-20T07:32:00.000-07:00

Ok, sorry for the lame title. I seem to recall that some movie or something was named this. In any case, it sounded like too great of a title for me to pass up to talk about my favorite parts of Israel, namely, the people and the land.

When I first came to Israel to live in Jerusalem last year, I was only interested in the land and the history. I had no idea what awaited me in the Holy City and I had no intention of being tied to anything but the land in Israel.

However, returning has taught me that the people with whom I became acquainted mean so much more to me than any tel or broken shard of pottery.

My favorite place in the Holy Land is, and will forever remain, the Jerusalem Center. More than my home, the Jerusalem Center was my place of refuge, my bit of BYU in Israel, and the place where I felt the Spirit more strongly than at any of the sites I ever visited. The first time I walked into the Jerusalem Center I felt like I was at home, and that feeling returned as soon as I walked through the gates this time around. While the Jerusalem Center is not a person, I feel that it is living and breathing with the life of the students and the workers and administrators therein.

The people in the Jerusalem Center also remain my favorite people in the Holy Land. In returning to the JC this year, one day for church, one day for a speaker, and one day for a “tour”, I ran into my favorite security guards, Tawfiq and Feras, and Eran, who is an Israeli and has been the director of the Center for the past 21 years.

When I walked into the JC for the first time, for church, I peeked my head into the guard room and waved, and the guard immediately recognized me and did the “shocked face” look. Then, when I went for the lecture, I ran into Feras in the hall, who did a double take, gave me the “shocked face” look also, and then said, “Welcome home!”

Thanks, Feras.

The Huntingtons, who were the professor/wife when I was there last year, were also there and I met up with them several times. I was given a special welcome in Relief Society (I hope that wasn’t awkward for anyone else) and Brother Huntington asked me to give the prayer at the lecture Monday night, introducing me as one of the visiting Arabic students from Jordan “and a former student of mine, last year” (and clearly a favorite, although that part was unspoken).

Perhaps my favorite part is that the lecture was Danny Sideman, who was an Israeli lawyer talking about the Israel/Palestine conflict and especially the separation wall. He gave us an incredible lecture last year and a tour of the separation wall, and I credit much of my knowledge in that sphere to him. After my prayer, he made special note of me and told everyone in the audience that he was especially touched by my prayer, noting that if someone had told him ten years ago that he would lecture to a group of Mormons about the separation wall and they would start with a prayer and he would be incredibly touched by the prayer, he would have laughed. But he was incredibly touched by the prayer, and I was incredibly touched by the presentation, once again (this is him last year).

Thanks Danny.

Tuesday, I went to the “tour” of the Jerusalem Center just to see if I could catch Eran in his office. Thankfully I was able to, and got caught up on news of my mission and how the program has been going since I left. Let me just say something about Eran—when I was at the JC, one night Sister Heyes (another favorite of mine but gone back to the States now) said this about Eran: “If he were to tell me to walk off a cliff and I would be safe, I would do it, because I would believe that it would be best for me, just because Eran said it.”

I totally agree. As much as I chafe against authority figures, when Eran told me to do something I did it, and I did it without complaining.

Thanks, Eran.

In addition to others at the JC, I was also recognized in several places in the Old City. I stopped by the place I used to volunteer, and even though the woman at the front desk was one I had not worked much with, she immediately recognized me. In fact, her words were, “Oh yes, I remember your face very well.”

And then I walked into a T-Shirt shop (this one always creeped me out last year and I tried to avoid it at all costs) and the creepy guy instantly recognized me.

Creep.

And then I was walking through Nazareth with a bunch of other BYU students, somewhat removed from everyone and wearing a BYU shirt, when someone on the street said, “Are you guys BYU students?” After answering in the affirmative and them introducing themselves as from Utah State, the guy said to me, “Oh yeah, I totally recognize you!” Although I never really understood how, I think they mentioned something about seeing us in a church in Jerusalem—although I am not sure how I would stick out so obviously so that someone could remember me.

Maybe I just have one of those faces?

And Sometimes, I [feel uncomfortable] Being American

2008-06-17T13:13:00.000-07:00

Really, I do love America. And I love being American. I have limitless opportunities, my country is a world power, and as an American, I can do almost anything I want.

And this is where the problem lies.

When I talk to people in Jordan about living in Jerusalem and travelling and ask if they have travelled to Jerusalem (1 hour away from Amman), most of them say no. It is too hard for Arabs to get through the checkpoints. And the Israelis don't have to let anyone in if they don't want to.

As we crossed the border from Jordan into Israel, our American tour bus whizzed past lines of cars waiting to cross, because we are American and get special privileges--and some of those cars had been waiting since early in the morning to be the first across when the border opens at 8 am. And then going through the checkpoint on the Israel side, we lined up in our own special room to go through the metal detectors and have our passports checked, while in another room, the Palestinians were crammed together, hoping to get through the checkpoint before it closed at 4 pm for Shabbat.

As much as I love special privileges, sometimes it makes the bile rise up in my throat. And I wonder what it would be like to go through a checkpoint every day to get to school. I wonder what it would be like to send my children to elementary school or junior high knowing that they had to cross a checkpoint to get there, and they may or may not get across.

As much as I love both the Israelis and the Palestinians, sometimes even I am aware of the discrepency in treatment that is given because of the country on your passport.

And for this reason, sometimes I [feel uncomfortable] being American.

(PS, I recently changed the title of this post. I really do love being American. But it does make me feel awkward and awful that I get special treatment when others are suffering. But I hate suffering, too. There is just no way to win with me.)

Back "Home"

2008-06-14T12:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends, I have returned home. Not home to the America, but home to the Holy Land--the part on the other side of the river. After gazing across to Israel for the past two months, I have finally returned to the land of my forefathers. :) (Ok, sorry, I will stop the Zionist talk now. But I really do feel like I have come home.)

One year and two months later, not much has changed in the thousands year old city of Jerusalem. Except now I can understand the Arabic. It is really exciting to walk around the streets and know what people are saying. Plus, my ability to read Hebrew totaly gives me an advantage. :)

We are going to all of the same places to which I have already been, and it is fun to know everything (yes, clearly as an ANES major who lived here last year I know everything about every site :) and to experience it all again. And in two more months, my parents come over, and I will give them a tour of my places of residence in the last year and a half. (If anyone ever wants a tour of Provo, just let me know.)

Special experiences so far? Many people remembered me. I walked into my hotel and saw Omar, the olive wood carver. I got to know him pretty well last year, so I walked up to him and asked "do you remember me?" Except this time, it was in Arabic. And you know what? He did! And at the Jerusalem Center, the guards at the front recognized me when I walked in, and the Huntingtons (who were over with my group as a professor/wife) were there, as well as my friend Besan from Ramallah (who was at BYU this past year) and a few other people I recognized. And about 10 girls from Women's Chorus who are students at the Jerusalem Center this term, all of whom recognized me. I guess I forget what a small world BYU is.

Finally, (and here I may be bordering on Zionist talk, but it doesn't count because I study Arabic, right?) I really do feel like this land flows in my blood. As much as I was loving Jordan, this land feels like home. And it did from the first day I arrived. And I am pretty sure that every time I come to Jerusalem, I will be coming home.

Amazing Grace

2008-06-12T02:36:00.000-07:00

The other night I watched the movie Amazing Grace. In addition to being a nice break from Arabic (although I did keep it subtitled in Arabic and read it for most of the movie--even I occasionally like English things), it reminded me of why I am here, why I am studying Arabic, and especially of what I feel is my Arabic mission.

According to a previous post, I feel the desire to change the world. I actually saw a lot of similarities between myself and Wilberforce, the main character in Amazing Grace--the fact that I get so busy with my work that my body falls apart (my favorite line in the movie? "He doesn't think he has a body. He thinks he is a disembodied spirit!" --said to the doctor when he was telling Wilberforce to not work so hard), "finding God" and wishing for a life of solitude, but realizing that you can serve God and change the world at the same time, etc. In short, I was incredibly touched by the movie, and was reminded of my purpose.

(Sorry, time for class. I will work hard to publish this before any of you wake up.)
(Sorry, guess I didn't work hard enough. Now I am in Israel and this post might not get done for a couple of days. Deal.)

Now, for those who keep up on my blog, my purpose, two weeks after the original post:

Most of the time when I meet new Arabs and talk to them (this happens daily), they ask me why I am studying Arabic. This question is almost inevitable--why study this crazy language? I know many people who study Arabic want to work for the government, but if you remember, I want to write a book and change the world.

In-sha'allah.

So this is the story I tell everyone (in my somewhat broken Arabic):

I lived in Jerusalem last year. While I was there, I finally saw Arabs, and especially Palestinians, as real people, not just terrorists represented in the news. There are a lot of bad ideas about Palestinians in America, and I want to write about book about Palestinian women--their lives and their dreams and their children. I want to show the world that Palestinians have dreams for a peaceful world for their children just like everyone else.

Basically, I want to change the opinion of Americans about Palestinians, especially Palestinian women.

It might sound somewhat gramatically awkward in the English, but this is the translation from what I say in Arabic, more or less.

Whenever I tell the people (and especially the girls) here this, they ask, "Why do Americans think Arabs are terrorists?" I look at them with their beautiful hijabs, fashionable (although rather heavy) makeup, long dress/overcoat type things over their clothes even in the heat (which is rather intense here), and their innocent faces, and say truthfully, "I don't know."

Call it the fault of the news, call it the fault of September 11th and terrorists who are Arabs, or call it the fault of a fearful and uninformed nation, but something is missing in the communication to the world about our wonderful Arab brothers and sisters.

And this is my own "Amazing Grace" mission. I, too, once was "lost" in my knowledge about Arabs, but now after living with them (twice, in two different countries), working with them, and laughing and loving with them, now I am found and now I see.

And perhaps someday I will help change the world. But first, a year and a half in Taiwan, preaching the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

And then...who knows. If I ever do write my book, I will definitely post it on my blog.

Hints for Sick Travellers

2008-06-12T02:17:00.000-07:00

(Warning: this post is about illnesses and might be too graphic for the faint of heart--or stomach)

Having recently recovered from a rather severe but short illness, I now feel that I have experienced enough "Middle East sickness" to give hints for future sick travellers. My first illness in Egypt was a mix of food poisoning and the curse of the Nile, and my second illness was a rather nasty virus that has been moving around Amman and that took most of my family here out for a couple of days. (For example, I was so sick that within ten minutes of drinking anything, I would throw it all up, rather violently, and this was even after I had thrown up several times and emptied my stomach of all food that had previously resided therein. I was so sick I could hardly walk the 20 meters from my room to the bathroom. Sorry for being so graphic.)

Therefore, I thought I would give hints for future travellers who would like to avoid, as much as possible, illnesses that come naturally from eating street food and living in a different country.

First of all, I don't drink Coke, or anything caffinated, in the America. I just don't. I call it part of my religion, although I know there are plenty of Mormons that will tell me that the General Authorities drink Coke. I don't care. I don't.

In the Middle East, however, it is a wonderful idea to drink Coke with your street meals. When I lived in Houston, we would use Coke to clean our toilets, because it eats away at anything in its path and completely destroys the mold in about an hour.

And this is what it does to your stomach. You can see that this might be harmful, except that when you eat street food, Coke cleans out your stomach wonderfully. At the very least, it is a good idea to drink something with carbonation, like the wonderful orange Mirinda drink that is abundant here. This helps prevent upset stomachs, and the coke syrup eats away at germs and bacteria.

If you do get sick and can't keep food in in any way, Coke is also another wonderful idea. After your stomach has been emptied and you have lost all sources of nutrients, Gatorade or electrolytes (you can get them in packets here and put them in your water bottle) help immensely. However, if you really can't keep anything in your stomach, drink Coke slowly. Like take at least 15 minutes to drink a can of it.

And then let it sit.

Several hours later, try a little bit of bread. If you can't keep this down (I have found pitas are the best), go back to just Coke. But if you can keep it down, gradually work your way up to other foods. Avoid meat for at least 24 hours after you have kept your bread down.

Above all, make sure you drink enough water so you don't get dehydrated. This is incredibly important.

Finally, I have also been told that "lebene" is excellent for sick people. My family gave me quite a bit when I was sick--but I hate lebene. It is like liquid cream cheese with lemon juice in it, and I can hardly swallow it when I am not violently throwing up. However, it seemed to help others in my family--mine just went straight down the sink, instead of sitting in my stomach for 10 minutes before going into the sink.

Oh, and make sure you have plenty of toilet paper. Carry it with you in your purse, buy kleenexes (or Fine) from the street sellers, or do whatever you want. Sometimes the "toilet hoses" just don't cut it when you are ill.

A Second Love

2008-06-12T01:35:00.000-07:00

For the past couple of weeks I have been enjoying Jordan but upset that it wasn't Egypt. We all know about how I fell in love with that country, germs, nargileh, cockroaches, and all, and Jordan is just way too Westernized for me. Way too many people speak English, and I live in a rich neighborhood, with no problems of overcrowding or horse carts in the middle of traffic. Basically, it was not exotic enough for me.

However, last week I went with my roommate (not from BYU) to Wasat-Al-Balad--the closet thing to an "old city" that Jordan can get. It is full of overcrowding, hassling men, sketchy sidewalk restaurants, fresh juice shops, and plenty of old windows. In short, it is very much the Middle East.

And then the other day I was walking through my rich neighborhood, enjoying the evening, when I almost stumbled onto a Bedoin tent.

In the middle of the neighborhood.

I am not sure what it was doing there, but they had sheep in a sheep pen and everything.

I guess I have enough love in my heart for Jordan as well as Egypt and Jerusalem!

My roommate and I at the great restaurant, Hashem. This is where I said I was from Germany and she said she was from Turkey.

This is the day I got my mission call. I am a little excited, can you tell?

On being a different nationality

2008-06-12T01:29:00.000-07:00

When I lived in Israel, I could often pass off as being native—most of the time native Israeli, but occasionally Palestinian (I can totally pass if off in a hijab). Whenever I was not in close proximity to other Americans, all of the Israelis would speak to me in Hebrew—which was fun until it came time to answer back, at which time I just smiled at them and tried to spit out some Biblical Hebrew.

However, I really don’t look like a native in Jordan. Maybe if my Arabic was better I could pass off as being Syrian, or as being a half-breed, with my father being Arab and my mother being something else. But mostly, I just don’t look Arab.

Apparently, however, I also don’t look American. Again, whenever I am not in close proximity to other Americans, people try to guess my nationality. Russia and France are the two top choices, although I usually choose Germany when they ask where I am from.

Before you judge me too harshly for telling a non-truth about my place of origin, let me suggest that I am sure I have German blood somewhere in me, and also it is much safer to be a woman from a country other than America—because not only do the taxi drivers want to practice their English, they also want a Green Card!

In Egypt, I told people all the time that I was from Germany. It was quite easy for them to believe it, and most of them did not speak much English. I found I was much less interesting and attractive as a German or Russian than an American.

I have two favorite stories about this from Egypt. The first was when myself and another girl (Gini, who also could look French) were walking down a street in Cairo. We were approaching the French Embassy, just talking with each other, when I saw the guards begin opening the gate for us. They weren’t even going to ask us if we were French! We didn’t even ask them to open the gate! This was when I knew I could pull off this nationality switch.

The second comes from a time when this same girl, myself, and another guy from the group went to a koshri restaurant in Cairo. We spoke to the waiters only in Arabic, and I didn’t think they knew much English (although when I was trying to explain that I wanted a “doggie bag” in Arabic, the guy finally understood and said, (in Arabic) “oh, you want a “boox” (that word in English—I guess you had to be there for it to be funny)). So when the waiter asked where we were from, I naturally told him that we were from Germany. He was shocked and said, “Wow! Wow!” Naturally I agreed with him, pretending that Germany was pretty much the most amazing country to have as my place of origin.

Gini heard, but apparently my friend Griffin didn’t, and the waiter went over to talk to him and told him, “You guys speak English really good!” Griffin was insulted and wondered if that was a reflection on his poor Arabic or something, but I elbowed him and told him not to blow our cover, since I had told the waiter we were from Germany. We laughed about that one for at least two weeks.

Here in Jordan, however, I only pull out the “Germany/Russia” card if I feel that my safety would be threatened by being from America—namely, when I am not in close proximity with other Americans. I am, after all, a female in an Arab country, and I feel justified in saying whatever I want to preserve my safety. (A note to fellow female travelers in Arab countries—it is always best to be engaged or married and from a country different than America—even if you are not. Especially if you don’t have a guy with you. Trust me on this one.)

However, I don’t even have to suggest it. People just assume that I am from these different countries. For example, the other day I walked into a copy shop, and one of the women in there said, “Are you from Germany?” As she was a woman, I told her that I was from America. (Side note—she was a doctor in Criminology and studied battered women in the Middle East. Very cool.) And then a couple of days ago, my taxi driver asked me if I was Russian. When I told him no, he asked if my father was Arab (although I am not quite sure how those two connect…).

However, I have found that I can get in trouble for pulling random countries out of the air whose language I do not speak and to which I have never even traveled, let alone lived. For example, the other day I was at a restaurant in downtown Amman with my American roommate. The guy asked where we were from, and I told him that I was from Germany, while she said that she was from Turkey (her fiancé is Turkish). He asked me where in Germany, and I randomly said Berlin. Turns out he had been to Germany six times, but never to Berlin, thankfully! And then as I was leaving, he almost introduced me to other patrons who were also from Germany!

Maybe I should try Iceland…

MISSION CALL!!

2008-06-05T00:38:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, I received my mission call.

I am going to Taiwan Taipei, speaking Mandarin, and I leave September 17!

I was shocked and delighted at how fast my call came. It came a week and a half after I sent my papers in!

I was also shocked and delighted when I saw that I am going to Taiwan. My main guesses were Russia or Germany, and no one guessed Taiwan! I think the closest was Tina, who guessed Hong Kong.

I am so excited to serve the Lord. My mission call says, "Your purpose will be to invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in Jesus Christ and HIs Atonement, repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end. As you serve with all your heart, might, and strength, the Lord will lead you to those who are prepared to be baptized. The Lord will reward you for the goodness of your life. Greater blessings and more happiness that you have yet experienced await you as you hombly and prayerfully serve the Lord in this labor of love among His children. We place in you our confidence and pray that the Lord will help you become an effective missionary."

Knowing that President Monson has placed his trust in me makes me even more anxious to be worthy and ready to serve the Lord. What an exciting time!

And how exciting to start learning Mandarin 20 days after I stop learning Arabic!

Transportation and Overcrowding

2008-06-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

One nice thing about Egypt is that traffic laws aren’t really enforced. Since there is limited space, a lot of people, and a lot of cars, you do what you can in terms of parking, driving, and even crowding into taxis and other public transportation vehicles. Everywhere I went I saw people double, triple, and even quadruple parked. I heard a rumor, and I am sure it is true, that when people double park, they leave their cars in neutral, so if the person next to them needs to get out, they can just push their car back or forward and then leave. I actually saw this happening several times and wondered at the inconvenience resourcefulness can cause.

In terms of driving, I think I already posted about this in one of my flashbacks, but people don’t really stay in their lanes. Actually, lanes don’t really exist. There are as many lanes as you can fit cars across, and that often changes on the same road. Thankfully I was never in an accident while I was there, nor did I witness any, but I am not sure how they get around driving and parking so close to each other.

Another thing is that the roads are like a free-for-all. There are thousands of breaking-down taxis, fast moving cars, and large busses, like you might expect, but also horse-drawn carts and people everywhere. Everyone just shares the road. (Even though there were so many cars in Cairo, it was easier to cross the road there than here in Amman because people expected you to walk across the road dodging cars. It was normal to see people standing in the middle of the streets, walking between fast moving cars.)

My favorite part of the overcrowding, though, was the fact that we could fit so many people into small vehicles and thus pay much less. Although I was never in a taxi with more than six people, one day a large group of us (24 to be exact) were in Alexandria. To save a bunch of money, we flagged down a large van (called a micro) and stuffed all of us inside.

All 24 of us.

On the way down, we grabbed another micro, and all of us piled in again. The door didn’t close on this one, so one guy stood in the doorway, blocking me from falling out (thank you Jason) as I was sitting next to the door, and people were standing and sitting on top of each other.

This is us piling out of the van. Yes, all 24 of us fit in that.

Finally, when we flew into the airport in Amman, due to some bad planning on someone up high in the administration’s part, we only had one bus waiting for us instead of two. We stuffed all of our luggage under the bus, and what was left we piled into the aisle, sat three to a seat, and had people standing in the stairways and the aisle.

I guess I am getting over my claustrophobia!

Public Transportation: Egypt

2008-05-31T08:37:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of things to say about Egypt still, even though I am living in Jordan now, so I thought I would write about public transportation in the Middle East in two installments: one about Egypt and one about Jordan.

This one, then, will be about Egypt.

I have to admit that I loved public transportation in Egypt. It was always an adventure, and my Arabic was still at the "barely surviving" point and so it was always fun to try and communicate what I wanted to the driver of said public transportation. I don't think I ever rode a public bus in Egypt, but while I was there I rode in tens of taxis, a sleeper train, a regular train, and the metro.

I rode a "regular" train to a day trip to Alexandria. This was really fun except the riding on the train part. First of all, I really don't like long trips in shaky vehicles, and the train was hot and smelled like urine. Oh, and it was a 2.5 hour trip--both ways! We had seats but I stood up most of the time, memorizing scriptures in Arabic. It was awful (the train ride, not memorizing).

I also rode a sleeper train from Cairo to Luxor, and then the next night I rode the same train back up to Cairo. They call them "sleeper" trains but I didn't get much sleep. I was quite sick both trips and the disgusting toilet did not help matters. The sleeper train went something like this. There were ten "rooms" per car. Each "room" had a couch that folded into a bed and another fold out bed on top of that (like bunk beds). A stowed ladder gave one the ability to climb from the floor to the top bunk, where I was banished because my roommate was sicker than me.

In addition to the two fold out beds, the room also came equipped with a fold out sink. It was in this small sink with 8% water pressure that my roommate washed her hair and I shaved my legs.

On a moving train.

I thought it was pretty impressive. This is the same kind of train that I rode last year when I was in Egypt, with the annoying "yalla" train man who I wanted to strangle at four in the morning. My train man was not quite so annoying this time, but he was getting pretty friendly with me when I first got on and asked if I was married.

I told him I was engaged, and the conversation stopped there.

A train-like experience that I enjoyed a lot more was the Metro. The metro in Cairo is, I am sure, just like any other metro in any big city, with stops at main cities along the route and crowds of people pushing to get on before the door closes (oh, and it only costs 1 pound--about 20 cents).

The one in Cairo, though, has a special feature--the women's car. Men are not allowed in this car, and if they accidentally forget to look on the outside of the car and step in, they immediately step off and run to another car. This is one thing that I love about the Middle East--women can ride in the other cars, but if you don't want to ride with the smoking, harassing, sweaty men in the crowded cars, you can (if you are a woman) ride in the women's car.

Needless to say, I rode in the women's car every time. It was wonderful. (And I took this picture without any one knowing. I don't just take pictures like a tourist!)

Finally, my favorite experiences came while I was riding in taxis. Taxis in Egypt, and Cairo especially, were something special. I think that there was a requirement that a car cannot be a taxi in Cairo until it is at least 20 years old and falling apart. Several times I was afraid that I would have to get out and push the taxi up some of the hills that we went up. Another time, our driver kept his window rolled down and every 3 minutes had to reach through the window and shut his door from the outside, because it wouldn't stay closed.

Haggling with taxi drivers was also fun. I felt quite confident in my Arabic haggling ability and usually got a good deal. I would flag down a taxi driver, tell him through the window where I wanted to go, and ask how much it was. He would say "20 pounds," I would say "Are you kidding me?! I am not paying more than 5" and then walk away unless he accepted my offer. One time, however, I was with a student who seemed to be having problems with his Arabic numbers. I finally agreed with the taxi driver on 10 pounds, when said student jumps in with his own price--"20 pounds!" I yelled at him and we had to get another taxi.

My favorite experience, though, was when our taxi driver pulled over (this is the same one who had to keep closing his door from the outside), got out, and offered to let my friend drive.

In the middle of Cairo.

I quickly starting arguing with him, since my friend did not speak Arabic, and finally got him to get back in and drive by telling him that my friend was a horrible driver and "this is my life on the line!"

For how much I detest public transportation, I am sure having a lot of experience on it here!

My House, in Pictures

2008-05-30T13:10:00.001-07:00

This is Zaina. She is feeling grumpy because it is morning.

This is the back of my house. The floor with all the windows is mine.

This is my kitchen.

This is my bedroom. (Do you like the car wallpaper?)

This is the front of the house--the top floor is mine.

This is my...dining room?

Life in a Palace

2008-05-30T06:29:00.001-07:00

Dear friends, I have now moved in to my home stay.

It is a palace.

When I saw the house, I was shocked. I had heard that it was a big house and that the family I would be living with was quite wealthy, and their home is in Sweileh (one of the richest—and poorest—areas in Amman), but I was not prepared for what I saw.

It is a four story house. The family that I live with lives on the main floor, which is large in itself. The mother’s sister lives in the basement. Supposedly a Kuwaiti guy lives on the third floor, but the door is always locked from the outside.

And I and two other Americans live on the fourth floor. We have two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a washer, a huge living room, a balcony, a computer room, and tens of windows to look out of.

Did I mention that the home is built on a large hill? Oh, and we can see the king’s palace from our windows.

Yes, I am spoiled.

I was expecting my homestay to be a miserable experience. I guess I have heard Dil’s philosophy for too long—that you can’t learn Arabic without being miserable. Hey, I experienced it myself, right? I didn’t realize that I could learn Arabic, shower every day, and have a place to be by myself whenever I wanted it.

This is why my homestay is ideal. The people who “technically” live in the house are the sister downstairs and then my “mother” (Basheera) and “father” () and their 30 year old daughter. When I first found out that I would be living with a retired couple with no little children, I was really upset. I requested three main things from my homestay: no smoking (I am allergic), I wanted to be by myself, and I wanted them to have little children.

Well, they don’t smoke, but instead of living by myself, I am actually living with two other people from my program, whereas most other people are in pairs. There are even a couple of girls that are by themselves, and I am not one of them. Like I said, before I saw the house and met the family I was upset.

But, I guess the Lord really does know what He is doing, even when I request otherwise!

I really do feel incredibly blessed and want to thank you all once again for praying for me. The family is also ideal. Like I mentioned before, they are incredibly rich and in addition, also great cooks. Each meal is a delight of Middle Eastern food not before experienced (so much with my diet of pitas and fake nutella that I had at the hotel!).The mother, Basheera, speaks only a little English, and I love talking to her because I understand her Arabic quite well. She is, as my coordinator said, “motherly but not overbearing,” and the only time I get overwhelmed is when she offers me so much food.

I haven’t talked much to the father and the daughter who lives at home, but they always have family visiting them. Right now, for example, their daughter Ruba and her 3-year-old daughter Zaina are visiting from Saudi Arabia. (Side note—Ruba’s husband is half-Turkish and half-Russian, so Zaina has pale skin, blue eyes, and curly red hair. Her mom remarked that she could be my daughter! Oh, and she only speaks English. She is really fun to play with!) And, they always have other family members there as well. Really, I can’t ever tell who is staying in the house and who is just visiting.

I feel that the situation is ideal because, as “homestay” girls, we are always more than welcome to hang out with the family (and work on our Arabic). We take our meals with them and can do anything we want with them. But, if I need some alone time, I have an entire house upstairs where I can go and be alone.

And, I can shower every day (although I only use about 3 minutes of frigid water—I take what I can get!).

A Funny Break

2008-05-30T03:53:00.000-07:00

Ok, so the last couple of posts have been really spiritual and the next couple will be really informative, so I thought I would throw in a funny break. I don't want you all to get overwhelmed when really my life is incredibly funny and awkward here all the time.

So last week I broke my shoes on the way to school. They were teetering on the edge of being broken, but I tripped over some random construction cement pieces in the middle of the road and broke my shoe the rest of the way. It was still wearable, but the top separated from the bottom all the way through right under the arch. Needless to say, it made walking slightly difficult through the undergrowth and dirt that sometimes passes as a sidewalk in Jordan.

Fast forward to later in the day (please remember, these shoes, as is customary for me, had about a 3.5 inch heel on them). I was at my friend Brian's apartment where I had just given him a haircut. He and Jason, who lives in the same apartment building, were going out to eat at a Yemeni restaurant and invited me to go with them.

As we were walking down the hill from their apartment to the street, I immediately saw a danger zone. They live on an incredibly steep hill, the tread on the road is completely worn off and very slick due to the car tires spinning and the run off over several years. To make it worse, water had for some reason been running down the road (there is no sidewalk) for the past thirty minutes or so, for some strange reason that seemed odd but unfortunately not unusual in a country that is so desperate for water. And remember my broken shoe.

I started walking carefully down the hill (my shoes also have no tread on them), thinking I could make it down without falling.

I was wrong.

About halfway down the hill my shoes no longer held up and I completely slipped. My feet flew out from under me and I landed flat on my backpack. (I apologize that I am not telling this as funny as it was in real life, but I guess I tell stories better in real life. There are no hand motions on my keyboard!)

Needless to say, I took my shoes off and walked down the hill the rest of the way!

Mission Prep in the Middle East

2008-05-29T00:29:00.001-07:00

Before I came to Jordan, I wondered how I was going to survive with keeping my enthusiasm for the restored gospel of Jesus Christ under wraps, as we are not allowed to proselyte in the Middle East.

However, I have quickly realized that the Lord provides a way when we provide the faith, preparation, and enthusiasm.

Before I came I made "spiritual" Arabic goals. My first desire was to be able to pray in Arabic, and my second was to be able to bear a ten minute testimony in Arabic. I wanted to be useful in the branch when I got here. However, as I will write about later, most of the people in the branch in Amman are Americans and speak English. They translate sacrament meeting (from English into Arabic) but you don't have to know Arabic to understand.

However, there is a branch up north in Al-Husn that is all in Arabic. I visited the branch before on a Saturday, but last Friday I went up there for church. Each week a group of students goes up to the branch up north, and last Friday was the first week anyone went. I wasn't actually in the group assigned to go, but I volunteered to go and show everyone how to get there. (The desire was also selfish--I really wanted to go back up there to the Arabic branch--I love those people!)

When we got there, President Cotton asked (half-joking) if any of us wanted to give a talk. I immediately volunteered to bear my testimony, so he put me on the program.

In Arabic.

It was a beautiful experience. Finally, my study of the vocabulary in the scriptures and Preach My Gospel is paying off, big time. I told the branch that I felt kind of scared to talk to them, but I do have a testimony, and I wanted to share it with them. I testified of basic truths: that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, that we have a prophet on the earth today, that God hears and answers my prayers, and that through the atonement, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, we can live with God again. (Side note--I was also able to help in the Primary and Young Womens, which was really fun and a blessing when I realized how much I understand--the church is the same in any language!)

Then, last night as I was cutting my friend's hair at my other friend (Brian Harker)'s apartment, he (Brian) got a call from the Cooks (the missionary service couple here and also the district president for the Middle East) asking if he would come and translate a missionary discussion they had with an Arab Christian that night. (To keep it short, Christians can become LDS in the Middle East, but not Muslims.) (Brian is one of the administrators here and studied in Jordan two years ago and Yemen last year.) Naturally, I asked if I could tag along and was once again pleasantly surprised when I could understand most of what was going on in the lesson. (Get this--the lesson they had for him that night I had just read that morning in Preach My Gospel.)

(Another side note--if you would like to keep this man in your prayers, his name is Samir. I have no doubt that he will be baptized--he has such an enthusiasm for the gospel and I feel he would be a great strength to the branch here in Amman. He has many questions but not about doctrinal matters--mostly he likes to discuss why he loves the Book of Mormon, but he frames it as questions. He is working to stop drinking coffee and tea, too, which are Arab staples.)

And tonight, I am going to another missionary discussion, this time in English (or perhaps Portuguese) with a woman from Brazil who works for the embassy and has been attending the branch here. She lived in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, so the first day I was here we became good friends. I am more than excited to go. If you would like to keep her in your prayers as well, her name is Isabella.

Finally, I have gotten more and more excited to share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and am waiting impatiently for my mission call. Each time I am able to testify that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, I am filled with the Spirit. The gospel is true, even and especially in the Middle East!

The Mission Call Guessing Game

2008-05-25T10:57:00.000-07:00

Just kidding. How about we change the date of my mission papers from May 20 to May 24th, and we have got it right. I just got an email that said my mission papers are in and I should expect the call in about two weeks.

And now the infamous guessing game. If you want to guess where I will be called to go, please post a comment or email your guess to me. Guess country, language, and when I am leaving (my availability date is September 1).

For the one who comes closest, I don't know what to promise you. A special treat from the Middle East? The first email when my call comes? Or just a feeling of satisfaction that you guessed right?

Whatever it is, it will be full of thrills and excitements.

A Visit to an Arab Home

2008-05-25T02:05:00.000-07:00

May 17

Today I went down to my new friends’ home in a village called Hesban, south of Amman (and just north of Madaba). First of all, let me tell you about these friends. This was the girl I met one of the first days here who became my instant friend and we decided to meet every day to practice Arabic and English. I have since become good friends with her and her sister and talk with them for several hours every day at the university. They had been wanting me to come and visit them in their home so I asked my friend Nikki to come with me and, not knowing what to expect, we got on a bus, hoped it would take us to Madaba, and set off on our journey.

After forgetting to get off in Hesban and riding all the way to Madaba, I called my friend Sawsan to tell her that we had arrived, but when she found out we were in Madaba she told me, “That is about half an hour from Hesban!”

Oops!

However, consistent with Arab hospitality, she and her father drove to Madaba and picked us up and took us to their home (even though I said we could get a taxi or a bus if she would give us directions). Now, I know that their family is not a catalyst for the entire Jordanian family culture, but they are a very traditional Arab family, so I will try to give you all a peek into Jordanian family life through describing this family.

They are quite rich and live in a “villa” on the top of a hill overlooking the town of Hesban. From their house we could see most of the town, and they pointed out to me where their relatives lived—which turned out to be about half of the town! (This is quite normal in smaller towns.) Their house was surrounded by fields of olive trees, fruit trees, and other delectable things…and I think they said they have sheep and goat too.

The first room into which Nikki and I were invited was the “salon,” whose American equivalent is something like the living room. This is the room where guests are invited to sit and visit, and most guests never see more of the house than that—only if they are quite good family friends. As stated before, the Ma-Sha’allahs (isn’t that a perfect last name?) are quite wealthy, so their salon was beautiful, with blue chairs, blue carpet, blue dipped chandeliers, and even blue lights to match.

After sitting in the salon for about ten minutes and looking out on their extended family’s houses, we were invited back for “breakfast.” Unfortunately, since we arrived at 11, I hadn’t realized that they would feed us so soon and I had eaten breakfast at the hotel, which was a big mistake.

The “breakfast” spread was quite enormous, with a “buffet-style” of hummus, olives, jam, falafel, olive oil, zatar, and a couple of other things with large pita-like things to dip in all of the different “dips.” And of course, normal Arab hospitality is such that if your guest stops eating for more than one minute, you must offer them more. I know how to refuse more, but I don’t know how to waste what I have in the way of an enormous piece of bread to dip in tens of dips. Needless to say, I left that meal very full. (An interesting side note—the mother is a very good cook and made almost everything in the meal—the jam was homemade (with fruit from their garden), the zatar spice was homemade, the olives were grown in their garden, and she had made the olive oil and falafel also. They apologized that the hummus was not homemade but that they had purchased it from the store. I was quite impressed.)

“Breakfast” was back in the “family room” area, which was also richly decorated. We ate from communal dishes, which means that we all had our own bread but we dipped it out of shared bowls that sat in the middle of the table. We ate breakfast with four of the sisters and the mother (they have seven children—five daughters, with the oldest one married and pregnant with her first child, the second oldest (24) engaged, and the other three ages 20, 19, and 12, and two sons, both high school/junior high age—and they all live at home except the married daughter, which is also very normal in the Arab world), and the whole time we were eating the conversation was lively, with Nikki and I trying to eat and converse in Arabic at the same time.

A side note about Arab women in the home—my friends belong to a devout Muslim family, and they are always wearing hijabs and wearing the traditional long overcoat-like-dress thing (I don’t know how to describe it and will have to take a picture sometime) out in public, but in the home they take their hijabs off as long as there are not strange men in the home (strange meaning anyone not directly related to them or their parents). Again, they are completely covered down to their wrists and ankles in public but in the home, anything goes, and I was shocked at first when I saw them skimpy clothing they were wearing. But, this is just in the home, and when their sister’s husband came over, they covered themselves fully again.

(sorry, this post is turning boring fast. I will have to finish when I am in a more exciting mood)

(Ok, I think I realized why this post is becoming boring. It is because I am trying to fit too much information into one blog entry. I like blog entries to be short and sweet and to the point—the point being humor. So, I will see what I can do to remedy this error.)

After breakfast and a few hours (really) of me “pretending” that I understand Arabic and throwing in a few phrases now and then, the girls thought it would be fun to dress me up like an Arab. The result? I have realized that I will probably never be able to fold a hijab right—they require way too many pins for me to be comfortable! After trying several colors, they finally decided the leopard one was best for me, and then we paraded around the house (feeling like an idiot) while everyone commented once again that I look like Nancy Ajram (an Egyptian singer who had plastic surgery to enlarge her cheeks) but with slightly smaller cheeks.

Thanks guys.

Other highlights from the day? The father tried to convert me to Islam and quoted several verses from the Quran to me, couldn’t believe that I don’t drink coffee or tea because there is no proof that they are bad for you (he kept bringing up the “proof” that pork is bad for you, and because of that it is forbidden in Islam—but did I bring up the fact that there is no “proof” for girls to cover their hair in public? Is hair bad for you? But again, as a guest in their home and country, I just told him in my broken Arabic that we do have a living prophet on the earth today who talks to God and he told us that we should not drink coffee or tea. I said as much as I could without crossing the “proselyting” line—which line-crossing is strictly forbidden in the Middle East), got tempted several times to drink “Arab” coffee, even though I explained that it was forbidden in my religion, and spoke Arabic for about 8 hours. And, I almost died eating a ridiculous amount of mansaf (the national Jordanian food--watch for a post about this later).

All in all, it was a pretty successful day.

May 20

2008-05-20T00:07:00.000-07:00

Dear friends, today is May 20.

For those who are less excited about this day, it is the day my stake president in Provo sends in my mission papers. To celebrate, I read D&C 4 in Arabic.

Now I just have to wait until my call comes...

A “District Conference” in Al-Husn

2008-05-18T00:59:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, the 10 of May, my professor mentioned that the Young Women in the North Branch (up near Irbid in Al-Husn) were having a YW activity, and if we wanted to go he would give us the number of the missionaries up there and we could call and find out when and where, etc. Of course I jumped at the chance of meeting with the branch up north which is held all in Arabic (the Amman branch is in both Arabic and English) and I thought it would be a wonderful opportunity to have a “missionary” type experience.

I was right.

After calling the missionary couple (the Cottons) up in Al-Husn and talking to the hotel clerk about which bus station to go to to find a bus to Irbid, and convincing my friend Gini to go with me, we caught a taxi, explained to the bus driver where we wanted to go in Arabic, and then figured out the bus system, found a bus that would take us to Irbid, and then rode for about 75 minutes to Irbid (can I just say that if I had not been on a BYU program I would have kept driving for about 30 minutes and crossed the border into Syria? That is how close I am to these forbidden countries!). Then, I got off the bus in Irbid, caught a taxi to Al-Husn, and then called President Cotton from Al-Husn, who came and picked us up and took us to the branch house.

It was thrilling.

As we were riding up to Irbid, I realized just how little I knew about where we were going. I didn’t even know if we were on the right bus, or if the taxi driver would take us to the right place, or where the branch house was, or even what the activity was or how long it would last. But hey, I had my Arabic skills and the Cotton’s number, and that was basically all I needed. I guess my Arabic skills were good enough to get us there and home, because we didn’t have any problems either way.

When I got to the branch house and started explaining about our travels, Sister Cotton asked, “Have you been on a mission? Because you sound like a missionary!” I was delighted and told her that I was actually waiting for my call, but I felt like I was traveling to a district conference or something!

The Saints up in Al-Husn are incredible. They are all converts and Jordanian natives from either Catholic or Greek Orthodox background, and it was delightful to meet with them and try to communicate with them in this incredible hard language called Arabic. I socialized with the women (turns out it was a joint RS/YW activity of making pizza and “cold pineapple cake,” which consists of jello on the bottom, then a layer of cooked cake on top of the jello, then pineapple juice poured over the cake, then cool whip spread on top with pineapple slices and pistachios sprinkled on top) and played “FISH” (or Sumuk, in Arabic) and some sort of question and answer game in Arabic with the YW…and I played with the branch president’s three young children, who were also present.

And again I realized how my “survival” Arabic skills just don’t cut it when I am playing with children.

The moral of the story? Going up to Al-Husn was the best thing I could have done with my Saturday—better than going to the Dead Sea or Mount Nebo or downtown Amman (and even better than going to Syria, I guess). And who knows, maybe I will be using public transportation all the time on my mission and I will have similar experiences of excitement and adventure!

A Day In The Life

2008-05-16T05:19:00.000-07:00

Some of you have asked about my daily schedule. I have realized that my posts are sporadic glimpses into my life and it is difficult to get a full picture. If you have been on a mission, please notice how similar my life is to a mission and remember how I always wanted to go on a two year mission. :)

Each day I get up (earlyish) (first of all, Amman is 9 hours ahead of Utah), get ready, and study Preach My Gospel (in English and Arabic) and memorizing scriptures in Arabic (I am trying to memorize the scripture mastery scriptures in Arabic--it is incredibly helpful for both mission prep and Arabic skills). Then I go downstairs (I am still living in a hotel--hopefully next Saturday we will move into our homestays) and eat breakfast.

Breakfast consists of a buffet, and I am taking full advantage of the only meal every day that is already paid for. I usually make a mixture of goat cheese, zatar (an Arab spice), chopped tomatoes and cucumbers, olive oil, and some sort of green salsa thing, and then put it on top of some delicious sesame seed bread. I eat a lot of this, and then if I still have room I eat fruit, or more bread (but with jam this time), and once I ate cereal (the milk was water with some milk powder mixed in, and I am pretty sure the cocoa puffs had sesame seeds in them. I decided to stay away from the cereal). Really, though, I just eat as much as possible so I can get away with not eating lunch.

Then, I go to the University of Jordan--by bus or by taxi, depending on how many people I can get to go with me (it is cheaper by taxi if there are four of us, but cheaper by bus if not). The University of Jordan is only a couple of miles away from our hotel, but one time I tried to walk there with a friend and it took way too long--and we weren't using much Arabic. Riding the bus is always an adventure and I have stood for several bus rides--in the middle of the aisle, trying not to fall over, because the bus was so crowded. (More about public transportation in the Middle East to come--and believe me, these will be fun entries.)

At the University, we only have two or three classes per day, depending on the day. We have class Sunday-Thursday, Friday is the Sabbath here in Jordan, and then Saturday is a free day, for us to squander or take advantage (language-wise) as we like. We have two classes every day--a current events class (in Fusha Arabic) and a Jordanian colloquial class (in Jordanian colloquial, naturally) about Jordanian customs, etc. Both of these classes are completely in Arabic. This sounds scary, and it is. Actually, the Jordanian colloquial class is not so bad, but I have a hard time keeping up in the current events class for several reasons. We also have a newspaper class each Monday and Wednesday (and this class is taught by Jason Andrus, a PhD student from the states who came over with us and not a Jordanian University professor) and this class is in English--but we go over the several newspaper articles we are assigned to read each day in Arabic.

This information is crucial to knowing why the current events class is difficult for me. Each day in the current events class we talk about the newspaper articles whose translation is due for that day (right now we have to translate 3-4 news articles each day). As stated, this class is in high Fusha, and this is the first reason the class is difficult for me. Unfortunately, I never took the initiative to memorize all of the news vocab I was supposed to in the states, and since I am not even kind of a MESA major, I really don't know what is going on in the news--not in Lebanon, not really in Myanmar, and not in any other place (except the Israel-Palestine situation).

And, my professors probably shouldn't know this, but for the past week I didn't even do the news articles before class. Which is kind of a problem, when you haven't memorized the vocab and your teacher is talking 120 words/minute in a different language and then asks your opinion about what she just said.

Usually I just pretend like I don't have an opinion, although we all know that is not true!

The rest of the day is ours to do whatever we want to improve our Arabic. We have to talk for two hours each day of the week with Arab natives and we have to do our newspaper homework, but other than that we have to take our own initiative to learn Arabic.

I usually end up spending many more than two hours a day speaking with Arabs, and I have been completely surprised with how good my Jordanian colloquial skills have gotten in the short time I have been here--partially because I am having such an easy time finding friends.

Finding friends here who will talk to you for hours on end is easier than you think. First of all, I have had excellent luck finding wonderful friends thanks to many of you who are praying for me back home. I can feel your prayers and I thank you for them.

Secondly, life at an Arab University reminds me a lot of high school in the states--most of the people don't have anything to do besides homework--most of them don't have jobs and many of them still live at home, especially the girls. Therefore, they just have classes and...nothing.

This shared circumstance has led to a somewhat strange phenomenon, at least in my mind. I call it a “glimpse into Arab social life.” The University of Jordan is filled with streets crisscrossing every which way, with raised sidewalks and benches on each side of the street. When people are not in class and not in the library (which is often, as their library is quite small and not meant to accommodate even a third of them, and the buildings are not study-friendly either), they sit on the benches or the ledges on the sides of the road and just sit. And talk. And watch people as they walk by.

At first I was quite intimidated, especially since everyone stared at me. At the university I am allowed to walk around by myself (a BYU rule) and I take full advantage of that so as not to get overwhelmed by always having to be with people (another BYU rule), but it is sometimes somewhat of a disadvantage because I stick out so horribly and am definitely an oddity to be stared at and talked about. I don’t know what sticks out more—my red hair, my blue eyes, my incredibly white skin, my lack of a hijab (or veil), my pants instead of long coat-like dress that most of the Muslim Jordanians wear, or my backpack.

Actually, my Jordanian friends told me the other day that if any doubt remained in anyone’s mind about me, the clincher that I am American is the backpack. Most (like 99%) of the Jordanian girls at the University just carry around a purse and the book and notebook they need for class. But as I carry my life around with me in my backpack (including hand sanitizer and toilet paper since they do not provide such “hygiene” at the university, my laptop, my newspaper, my notebook, and my textbook, as well as my sunglasses, my lunch, and a few other things), a purse just wouldn’t cut it for me. Plus, I just don’t have a purse to match every outfit well—but I will share a post about Jordanian style later.

Anyway, so it was quite intimidating to walk around as throngs of Jordanians sitting on either side of the sidewalk/road on which I was walking would stare at me as I walked past. I felt like I was back as a sophomore in high school walking though the zone of “popular seniors,” who at lunchtime would sit on either side of the hall by the office and stare at people and throw things at them as they walked by. Except this time I am an adult, the same age or older than most of these people, and no one is throwing things.

And, I am a foreigner.

However, I am quickly getting over my fear. I have an advantage in looking so out of place because everyone wants to talk to this strange looking girl from America who speaks Arabic.

This is where the missionary part comes in. So my goal every day is to find people to talk to. At the beginning of the day I make a “language goal” for the day, which usually consists of choosing a topic to “survey” people about, deciding how many new words I want to learn through my conversations, and writing down questions about said topic that I can ask people in case the conversation lags. (Let me put in a plug here for Preach My Gospel. The other day I studied the section on “finding people to teach” for my morning scripture study. Suggestions that have worked well for my language learning as well? Basically all of them, but especially things like talk with everyone, pray for the ability to see unplanned opportunities to [speak], talk to people about their families, look for clues to help you know how to begin talking with people, listen sincerely to what people say to you—especially important when you don’t understand what they are saying!—be warm, friendly and cheerful, and especially the direction that “nothing happens in missionary work until you find someone to teach”—or in language learning until you find someone to talk to. These are on page 157 of the English version of Preach My Gospel, in case you are interested in having, say, a FHE lesson or something on how to share the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and are looking for ideas.)

I have been astounded at the results.

Yesterday, for example, I walked up to these two girls sitting on a bench, introduced myself in the normal way (“I am a new student from America here to study Arabic, and for my class I have to ask Arabs about…”—the topic for yesterday was Jordanian marriage customs and the Nakba, or expellation of Palestinians from Israel in 1948), and asked them a couple of questions about Jordanian marriage customs.

Before five minutes had passed, five girls had come up and joined the conversation (friends of the girls I originally started talking to and curious about this strange looking girl speaking Arabic) and before the hour was over, I had ten new friends who asked me to skip class and go and eat traditional Jordanian food with them (I pleasantly declined).

And, they were impressed with my Arabic and couldn’t believe that I had only studied it for nine months and had only been in Jordan for less than two weeks.

I am always reminded of what Paul said in the book of Acts (17:22) about the men of Athens, who sat around on Mars hill, spending their time doing “nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.” Unfortunately I am unable to preach to them the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, as Paul did to the Athenians, but that time will come, both for me and for the Arabs. Until then, I am making friends right and left and am finally learning how to just sit and chat with people.

And, I am learning Arabic!

Glimpses of Egypt

2008-05-16T05:03:00.000-07:00

When I was in Cairo I fell in love.

With Egypt.

It is shocking, I know, but even with the cockroach infestation I feel this strange love toward Egypt. So much so that I think when I get back from my mission I will seek out opportunities to study Arabic in Cairo (sorry Mom). I will let you know how that goes in two years.

I have tried to express through these pictures the "trueness" of Egypt and what I experienced there--although I still have more posts coming about Egypt, enjoy this smorgasborg of what I saw and experienced.

Visual Aid

2008-05-15T00:59:00.000-07:00

For those who need visual stimulation, this is my laundry.

The Toilet Paper Scholarship

2008-05-12T07:46:00.000-07:00

Bathrooms in the Middle East are somewhat...strange. At least they are strange to my western mind. In my opinion, a bathroom should have several things: a toilet that flushes (and this is most important), toilet paper, soap, a sink with running water, and paper towels. I am not too picky and don't expect a mirror or other things in public restrooms.

Unfortunately, I have been in "bathrooms" here that have none of these things.

Before I arrived at the University of Jordan, I thought for sure that bathrooms at the University would be different. I thought at least they would have the essentials of a toilet, soap, toilet paper, etc.

Not so.

It is true that many of the bathrooms have toilets (but no toilet seats--go figure) and not just holes in the ground (although those are plentiful also), but I have seen absolutely no toilet paper, paper towels, or soap.

Anywhere.

I don't know why I think it is so weird that you have to carry around all of those things yourself at a university, but you do. But I think I have figured out why the university does not provide toilet paper for its students:

The first reason is that Jordan, and the Middle East in general, is severely lacking for water. Because of this, the water used to flush a toilet is used sparingly and there is not enough to flush waste and toilet paper. For this reason, they have "trash cans" in each stall into which you are supposed to throw your toilet paper after using it (contributing to a horrid smell in every bathroom). So the first reason is that if you are using your own toilet paper, perhaps you won't waste as much and not as much will get "accidentally" flushed down the toilet.

The second reason is that poor people here, and especially in Egypt, walk/sit around and sell little purse-size packages of kleenex (they are called "Nice"). So maybe the university does not provide toilet paper because they want to contribute to the economy by forcing their students to buy "Nice."

My favorite reason, however, was one provided by Andrew Grover, another student here. He related the story that at BYU Commencement they used to give brownies to all of the participants, but now they announce that they don't give out brownies anymore because they used the money to provide a scholarship for a student called the "Brownie Scholarship."

So now I just need to find out who is receiving the "Toilet Paper Scholarship" given by the university from the money they saved on toilet paper in public restrooms!

A Tribute to my Mother

2008-05-11T11:30:00.001-07:00

This post isn't exactly about Arabs, but since today is Mother's Day and I am in another country with no convinient way to call my mother, I felt the need to put a Mother's Day tribute on my blog. If you don't like mushy stuff and only want to read about Arabs, skip to the posts below.

I never appreciated just how much I expected my mother to be until I went to college. Only then did I realize all of the different roles I had taken for granted that she was able to play.

First of all, she was my doctor all growing up and even in college. When I was going through a medically-difficult year, I felt like I was calling my mother every other week, telling her my symptoms and asking her to diagnose them--and most of the time she was right. Not only did she diagnose my symptoms, but she also gave me a "prescription," telling me what foods to eat, what medicine to take, and what to tell the doctor I had, if it got to that point. For example, one time last year I had extreme vertigo for more than a week, and when I called and asked her about it, she suggested it could be an inner ear infection. Sure enough, when I took the correct medication I was fine.

All of this medical knowledge came not from a formal medical education, but years of experience through raising seven children. Impressed yet?

Not only has my mother been my doctor, but she has also been a friend to whom I could rant and rave--especially about Arabic. Last year when my classes and jobs were so intense I thought I wouldn't survive, I would call my mother, tell her I just needed to complain, shout about how much I hated Arabic, and then calmly thank her and hang up. She never felt the need to give me advice or tell me that I didn't really hate Arabic, which would have only irritated me. Instead, she realized that I just needed to express my feelings and listened accordingly.

My mother is also my biggest fan. Whenever I feel pleased with an accomplishment, I call and tell her why she should be excited for me--even if it is only the fact that I saved $75 at the bookstore and only spent $13. She is always appropriately happy for me, and once again I hang up and go on with my life, feeling better after being able to express my opinion to someone who cares.

One of the things I love most about my mother is that she is always there. Since she began having children she and my father made an executive decision that she would stay at home with the children, and I have never heard any complaints from her about having stayed at home for more than 25 years while the rest of us went off and had adventures. Last year, while I was living in Jerusalem, she and my father went to Hawaii for their anniversary--the first time my mother had been out of the continental United States. My parents are coming at the end of my program in Jordan and I will give them a tour of Israel and Jordan, and it will be the first time my mother has been out of the US.

Finally, I have seen extreme sacrifices that my mother has made, without complaint and even happily if it blesses the life of her family. For example, this past Christmas my mother received a wedding ring from my father to finally replace the one she sold more than fifteen years ago to pay the bills. When your children are hungry, your husband is in school, and your grocery budget is $10/week to feed 5 children and 2 adults, the expensive ring on your finger somehow loses its value in your eyes. Several years ago she got a nice CTR ring and wore that on her wedding finger until my parents felt good about spending the money on another wedding ring.

Basically, I can agree with Abraham Lincoln and say that all that is good in my life has been taught to me by my mother. Thanks Mom, and happy Mother's Day!

An Arab Magnet

2008-05-10T23:54:00.001-07:00

This is what I was in Egypt—an Arab magnet. I don’t know what it was—whether it was my beautiful Egyptian eyes, or maybe the passionately angry scowl that I threw out at the men sometimes, or the short reddish-brown hair that was continually in a pony tail (since my straightener burned out), or my CIA-ish sunglasses, but for some reason wherever I went I got a lot of attention. And I mean a lot. All the men asked me if I was married (“I am engaged” quickly became my favorite Arabic phrase) and continually told me how beautiful I was. Perhaps they were just impressed with my incredible Arabic skills.

But if it I was popular with the men, I was like Santa Clause with the children. Everywhere I went children would run up to me, say hi, ask me if I would take a picture of them, and offer to give me favors.

My favorite was when I was at the biggest park in Cairo (Hadiqa Al-Azhar) and I was casually walking to the bathroom with another student. Some little children having a picnic with their families waved at me, and I of course waved back happily (what can I say, I love the children as much as they love me!). They immediately ran over to me and asked in Arabic, “Do you want some of my drink?”

Do I want some of your drink?! Repulsed by the idea of drinking a strange child’s Coke from a communal bottle that probably wasn’t washed before it was filled again (ever!), I quickly refused, pretending to be polite. The girl (she was probably about 7) insisted, and again I refused. After doing this several times, I think she finally got the idea. After exchanging names with the group, I used the restroom (and got away without tipping!), and then had to walk past them again. They ran back over to me and started following me around the park!

I was more than happy to speak with them in my broken Arabic, and then they wanted a picture with me. I, of course, obliged.

And then there was the girl in the bathroom in Garbage City (more about that to come) who, immediately upon my entrance, asked, “Will you take a picture of me?” and then followed me throughout the city.

Or the family who rushed up to me, also in Garbage City, with their little baby (I think it was her christening day—they were Christians, obviously) and asked if they could take a picture of me holding her. This time, however, I had my camera ready and had them take a picture with it too (although the guy who took the picture couldn’t figure out how to work my camera and pushed the “off” button instead of the “take the picture button”).

Or the little boy in City of the Dead who ran up to me and asked if I would take a picture of him and then, unsatisfied with the result when I showed it to him, asked me to take another, this time of him “standing on his hands,” or something.

And, of course, my favorite tour guide, who was twelve years old and lived near Coptic Cairo. I asked her if she knew where a certain church in Coptic Cairo was, and she said she would take me (her seven year old brother followed us). She talked animatedly the whole way in Arabic, and then when we got to the church, she showed me where it was and then started to walk away. Then, she turned around and ran back and asked if I would take a picture of her!

What can I say, I am just an Arab magnet!

Laundry

2008-05-10T23:48:00.001-07:00

I have long been wondering how I would do laundry here, especially considering that by the time we move into our home stays (if we even move in to our home stays!), we will have been living in hotels for a month. (Now please tell me, how does living in a hotel with other Americans help improve my Arabic? If I had known this I might have just gotten an apartment close to the University. Can I tell you how much I am beginning to hate hotels where they don’t change your sheets and they refill your shampoo bottle each day with lemon-scented Ajax? But these are stories for other days.)

Since I brilliantly realized that I should bring way more clothes than they suggested so I wouldn’t have to do laundry so much (even though everyone continually makes fun of all the luggage I have—who’s laughing now?), I didn’t really have a problem with it in Egypt. I had to wash one shirt, so I washed it in my sink with body wash (I forgot to bring my Tide with me! I knew I had forgotten something) and hung it up in the shower to dry.

Once we got to the Ambassador Hotel in Amman, however (our home for 2-3 weeks), I realized that laundry might be somewhat of an issue. I am used to washing one or two things in the sink and hanging them up to dry (I can thank my disgusting apartment in Provo for that skill), but all of my clothes in the sink might be a problem.

The next solution is naturally the bathtub, but somehow my roommate and I were blessed with a “shower space” with a two foot by two foot square of tile protected by a six-inch ridge surrounding it, with a shower curtain hanging down to about 8 inches above the top of the “shower ridge.” (This makes showering quite a problem, as the water sprays out all over the floor. No wonder they have a drain in the middle of the bathroom floor and not just the shower!) And there is no stopper for the tub (there is no need! Why would anyone need six inches of water?).

Laundry, therefore, has turned into an adventure. The other day I bought some laundry soap called “Sar” which also doubles as dishwasher soap, kitchen cleaner, and a few other things. (How good can a sop named after a deadly disease be? And anything that is so multi-purpose is going to give you strange results.) To stop the drain in my “shower space,” I used a plastic bag filled with orange peels. Then I filled up the “square” with as much water as possible and dumped a bunch of “Sar” in, hoping to take some of the “Cairo smell” (a mixture of cigarette smoke, disgustingly sweet water pipe smell, sweaty bodies, urine, trash, and other filth) out of my clothes. Then, I dropped a few articles in, let them soak in Sar for a couple of hours, and then rinsed them out and hung them up to dry for two days.

The result? I still smell like Cairo. And I have decided today to look for some stronger laundry soap. The Sar just didn’t cut it for me.

“His eyes are like the moon”: Arab Compliments

2008-05-10T23:45:00.000-07:00

When I was in Egypt I struggled to know how to compliment young male children in Arabic (specifically, compliment their mothers about them). In the States, you can use such meaningless compliments as “He is adorable!” or “His [dark black curly] hair is darling!” This, of course, always makes the mother feel good and is an act of social politeness.

Not so in the Arab world.

For example, I know how to say “Your baby [daughter] is cute,” but the word for cute is too femmy for male children. However, it is a great way to start a conversation and to explain why I am staring at their child. I tried once in Egypt to tell someone that I loved her son’s hair (he was about one, and his hair was thick and black and curly), and this is what I said: “I love your son’s hair!” She looked at me totally not impressed and said, “What about it?” However, I couldn’t think of the Arabic word for curly, so I just said, “I like it!” and smiled at her widely.

She was totally nonplussed.

So, after a few failures like that, I finally asked Jason Andrus (who is our newspaper teacher on the group and who, coincidentally, is also the son of the man who was the first counselor in the bishopric in my ward at the Academy) how to compliment mothers on their young male children.

He told me to compliment them “like the Arabs would,” and this includes phrases like “his eyes are like the moon” or “he shines like the sun.” I thought for sure he just wanted me to make a fool of myself in front of someone, but he said, “The more awkward you feel saying it the better. The Arabs love it when it is cheesy.”

Well, armed with this information, and sure that I was going to make a fool of myself, the next time I saw a mother with a little boy I told her, “Your son’s eyes are like the moon!”

Expecting her to break out into laughter, I was surprised to see her smile widely and thank me for the wonderful compliment.

So what do you know? Now whenever I compliment anyone about anything, I think I will throw in how it is like the moon or how it shines like the sun.

“I love this bread! It shines like the sun!” “Your house is beautiful—it is like the moon!” “Your face is happy like the sun!”

I will have to let you all know how it goes.

An Eternal Blind Date

2008-05-09T07:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I made my first “real” friends at the University. It went something like this: I got to the University of Jordan campus with one goal: find a friend who will speak to me in Arabic. This is more difficult than it might seem because so many people here, especially at the university, speak English way better than I speak Arabic. After wandering around by myself for about 15 minutes, “exploring” the campus and asking about 8 different people where the language center was (even though I already knew—I was just trying to use my Arabic!), I realized this was not working.

I needed an extended conversation, but how do I go about speaking to people in Arabic? Just sit down in the middle of a group of giggling girls, tell them that I am a new student and I don’t have any friends, and I need to speak in Arabic? Will you please be my friend?

Awkward.

However, I realized that I could “make up” a story about having to do an assignment for my class (although it is technically true). I could walk up to people, tell them I was a new student from America studying Arabic (all in Arabic, of course), and for my assignment I was supposed to speak with people about their families and their studies in Arabic (both safe topics, considering the Arabic vocabulary words that I know!).

The problem? It is a lot more awkward than you might expect to just walk up to people (especially since Arab girls are more often than not in groups and rarely by themselves) and ask them to talk to you. Again, I realized that this was great practice for my mission, and somehow that made it easier.

After walking around for a couple of minutes, looking for my first victim, I saw a female student sitting by herself on a bench near the main gate.

Just sitting.

Not studying, not talking to friends, not even eating. I was as though she knew that I was coming. I saw my chance and took it, walked over to her, sat down, said my “Arabic line,” and asked her if she would talk to me for a minute or two about her studies. I was expecting ten, maybe fifteen minutes, and then I would use the line on someone else.

I was not expecting six hours, which is what I got!

She immediately started speaking in fast Jordanian colloquial Arabic (which is still unfamiliar territory for me—more on that later), telling me that she was studying English (but her English is not very great—which is excellent for me!) and she would love to talk to me in Arabic. We “talked” for about an hour (well, at least I tried—it is hard to keep up with my limited vocabulary!) and she bought me lunch, which was very nice of her.

Then she had to run off to a lecture and I had to take a test, but we exchanged numbers and met up after my test, and this time her sister was with her. Her sister is a master’s student in English teaching, which is somewhat detrimental to my Arabic ability, but when she spoke to me in Arabic she spoke in fully vowelled, beautiful Fusha (the formal Arabic language—“normal” people don’t speak it, but I am learning both Fusha and colloquial so it is helpful).

We talked about everything under the sun—literally!—and the took me to dinner.

This is where the eternal blind date comes in.

As I was sitting there eating dinner, I started thinking about what an awkward situation I was in. Half the time I didn’t fully understand what they were saying, which made communication even more awkward than it is on blind dates with strange men.

Some of the issues: should I pay for myself? Should I offer to pay? Would they be offended if I offered to pay? (They come from a very rich and well established family.) I got my wallet out of my backpack when we got to the restaurant, and they made fun of me as if they thought I thought someone would steal it. So I guess that was a tip-off that they didn’t want me to pay (I didn’t offer, by the way—I thought it would be best that way).

Another problem that I ran into was knowing how much to express my opinion and how much I should pretend like I think the other person was right (see the blind date resemblance? I thought of a certain experience in the Bookstore at this point…). Because there was also a language barrier, half of the time when they asked for my opinion about something I just validated their point.

Another opinion that became a problem included wondering what I should say when they asked me where I wanted to sit in the restaurant. Should I express my opinion that I wanted to sit by the window? What if they didn’t want to sit by the window? If I don’t care where we sit, would they think that I just don’t ever have an opinion? How much should I laugh at their jokes? And how much should I talk in my broken Arabic as opposed to just listening, nodding, and smiling, pretending I understood? Were they secretly laughing at my accent? Could they even understand what I said? Do I pretend that I don’t know what is good because I don’t know how much they want to pay and ask them instead? How fast should I eat? Should I take on their Arab friendship ways (including touching the other person a lot, perhaps in case they try to run away or something) or should I be my American self? How much should I truly tell them about my life, and how much should I make up to make myself look presentable to girls from a rich Arab family?

And we were together for six hours yesterday!

Really, I thought it was fun and I am excited to talk to them every day. I couldn’t help but see the similarities, though, between making Arab friends and going on blind dates!