Language, lessons, learning

The language study continues! Arabic is such a beautiful language, but it’s not the easiest thing in the world to pick up. I just keep trying to remind myself that every new word I learn is progress, and I try not to take myself too seriously. I have encountered great moments of motivation in the form of the single elderly woman who lives downstairs from us. She always has her door open and says hi when we walk through the hallway. I came home by myself one day last week and she invited me in and fed me a stomach-full of homemade cookies. There are so many things I want to ask her about, but my Arabic is so limiting. I have gathered what her name is and that she has been living in Amman since she had to flee Basra, a city in Iraq, seven years ago. I can just tell by looking at her that she has so many stories that I want to hear and understand, but my language ability inhibits me. I leave my encounters with her feeling inspired to study harder—I want to understand her story.

This past week in Arabic class, we got on the topic of appropriate conversational topics within Arab culture. We went over some things that might be considered taboo and our Arabic teacher noted that asking about someone’s age is perfectly acceptable. People are quite comfortable telling you how old they are as growing older is nothing that one need be ashamed of. That got me thinking: Why is it, then, that we have such strong associations regarding aging in the West? How did Americans get to a place where it’s uncomfortable to ask people how old they are? I think most of our Western hang-ups on aging involve status expectations. By certain ages, society has produced for us a set of achievements that we ought to be taking into consideration. If you’re not making so much money by a certain age or if you’re not married by a certain age, then you’re not successful. Further, I think our fear of aging is also innately tied to our Western idea of planning and scheduling our lives to death. Most of us have pretty set ideas about where we want to end up over the next 15 years, and I think our fear of aging also stems from the fact that we’re scared to run out of time to plan things. I’m the first to admit that I spend so much time planning and hoping for the future that I do not take nearly enough time to enjoy my present. But I’m increasingly convinced that this is an unhealthy way of looking at life. Certainly, physical self-image is a part of the fear of growing older as well.

I’m not saying that there are no cultural expectations within Arab culture and that this what makes aging a more accepted part of life—that’s not true at all. But I am saying that I see a link between attitudes about aging, the cultural concept of time, cultural values of hospitality and collectivism, and even language. Time is not of the essence here—success is not measured by how much one checks off their to-do list by end of the day. Importance is measured in terms of family life, family name, relationship, faith, hospitality, and good conversation. This is even evident in language. The Arabic language is full of thoughtful, intentional syntax and word choice that lends itself to relationship, faith, and collectivism. I am oh-so-aware that I’ve been here for a few short weeks and I know close to nothing about the culture in which I am currently immersed. These are merely some hypotheses and silly observations I thought up during class one day. But it's a good example of how one seemingly isolated difference in culture (in this case, the appropriateness of asking someone about their age) can point towards a whole ocean of underlying differences. That is what makes living here so interesting.

Much has been going on, but I’ll highlight three particularly fabulous recent happenings:

1. Last week we got to meet Shoroq, the recently returned Jordanian IVEPer. Shoroq returned about a month ago from a year of service and cultural bridge-building in the United States. We ended up unexpectedly going to her house and spending the whole night hanging out with her and her extremely wonderful family. We experienced the epitome of Jordanian hospitality—they prepared a feast for us and the whole entire family welcomed us with open arms. Shoroq’s mother, father, and grandmother do not speak any English but they said “ahlan!” (Arabic for: “You are welcome!”) more times than I can count.
2. One evening last week, when we went up on the roof of our building to collect our dry clothes from the laundry line, there was a huge iftar feast about to begin. (Iftar is the name of the meal that Muslims eat right at sunset during Ramadan. It marks the end of fasting for the day.) Turns out it was a Ramadan staff party for all of the people who work in our building and, when we arrived on the roof to get our laundry, they invited us to join them. Being invited to break the fast with someone is such an honor, and we were so excited to experience our first iftar with a few dozen people. We spent dinner talking with and hearing the stories of some of the Darfuri/Sudanese men who work in housekeeping in our building. They told stories about their families back in Darfur, how they dream of relocating to America, and how they feel stuck because they can't make enough money to bring their families to join them in Amman. They reminded me so much of the Sudanese refugees that I worked with last summer at the resettlement agency.
3. Friday morning marked the end of Ramadan and the beginning of the Eid holiday. (Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar in which strict fasting is observed from sunrise to sunset by all Muslims. In Jordan, public eating, drinking, or smoking is grounds for detention. Eid marks the first day after Ramadan ends and is similar to Christmas in the Islamic world.) Thus, Friday was the first day that we could eat or drink publicly. But Friday morning, we woke up the sound of chanting all across the city at about 5:45 AM. Obviously, the call to prayer happens frequently here so the sound of Islamic prayers rising from every angle is not something new to us. But this was different because it was not the sound of one voice blasting from a multitude of minarets. It was the sound of thousands—perhaps millions—of voices raising up in unison. “Allahu akbar, allahu akbar!” rang from every direction. Trisha, Sara, and I went up on the roof to watch the sunrise and listen to the chanting. Needless to say, it was pretty neat.

Today marks exactly one month of SALT service which blows my mind. I can already tell that this year is going to go by much, much too fast. Last week we went to church with Nada, one of the Jordanian/Palestinian MCC workers here in Amman. She goes to a lovely Anglican church and was kind enough to let us tag along so that we could immerse ourselves in Arabic for a couple hours. After the service, we got to meet one of the pastors of the church who spoke excellent English and was excited to give us some advice for the coming year of service. He had worked closely with Julie, the SALTer who worked in Irbid last year in the placement that Trisha will be filling. He talked about how Julie went out of her way to love one of the special needs kids in her church community. The child was unable to say more than three words, and Julie went out of her way to take the time to connect. At one point he stopped, looked at us, and said,“Julie was truly a friend of the less fortunate.”

I think that if, by the time I leave next year, someone is thinking, “That Janae, she was really a friend of the less fortunate” then I’ll be doing pretty darn good. Way to leave a legacy, Julie.

Week one

We made it! As I write this, I’m sitting on the rooftop terrace of our guesthouse in Amman and listening to the petroleum truck drive past. That’s right, kids. We may not have ice cream trucks in the Middle East, but we DO have petroleum trucks. Suckers! But in all seriousness, it’s the same idea as an ice cream truck: when you hear the song trailing down the street and you find yourself craving some good petroleum, you just take a step outside to collect it.

On a related note, I’m exceedingly happy to be here. I feel like I have been here since the beginning of time—not since…oh my goodness, seven days ago. When we arrived at the airport in Amman, Daryl and Cindy, the MCC regional reps who live here, welcomed us warmly and brought us to the YWCA, a guesthouse for women staying in the city. Most of the YWCA’s residents are single women whose families live outside of Amman, but who find themselves in Amman for work or school. It also houses a lot of single elderly women who were so sweet to us. They would patiently try to engage in broken English/broken Arabic conversations with us and would always remind us that we were welcome there. The plan was to stay at the YWCA for the whole month that we’ll be in Amman doing language study, but Daryl and Cindy ended up finding us a small flat much closer to the MCC office in Jabel Weibdeh so we moved on Monday. The new flat costs half as much as our room at the YWCA did, it’s air-conditioned (!), it’s an apartment and not a room, and the view is amazinggg. While we really miss our conversation partners at the YWCA, we’re loving the perks of our new space and saving a lot of money. Since we’re in a flat now, we’ve begun the adventure of cooking for ourselves. We’re all pretty pumped about that! Trisha brought More With Less with her to Jordan so we’re delving into the depths of good Mennonite meals!

We arrived here on Friday (August 20) night and promptly started Arabic classes the next morning. So far, it’s going well. We’re doing four hours of language training every day so it can get a little overwhelming, but…we just try and encourage each other a lot. Our class is made up of seven English-speakers: us 4 SALTers, an Australian couple volunteering with the UNRWA, and an American girl who will be here for a year teaching English. It’s such a good group. We’re forming quite the little family bond. Today the Australian couple invited us to go to Petra with them on a little Eid (Eid is the weekend of September 9^th and marks the end of Ramadan. It’s kind of like Muslim Christmas. But different.) vacation. They said they’d have a lot more fun if they could bring their four new “daughters” along. We’re a little bit obsessed with them.

Our days have been mostly full of Arabic class and studying. A highlight of every day is lunch at the office with the MCC staff. We set up a schedule where two people prepare lunch everyday and then we all eat together. It’s the best. Right now, there are ten of us that make up the MCC crew in Amman: Daryl and Cindy, us four SALTers, Holly and Ryan (two MCC workers who will be moving to Tehran once their Iranian visas go through), and Nada and Suzi (two local MCC staff). I’m not even saying this because I know they’ll probably be reading: They’re all so wonderful and we’re so excited to get to know them more. I feel like God’s just opened the heavens and poured out so many amazing people into my life in the last two weeks.

So, the moral of the story is that life in Jordan is going very well. We’ve been learning a lot more about what the next weeks and months of life hold in store. I’ll officially be in Jordan up through the IIJP Fall Retreat which runs September 26-29. After that, Sara and I are Palestine bound. I cannot even wait!

This week at a little orientation meeting with Cindy, she handed me a book written by Alex Awad, the Director of the Shepherd Society. When Cindy met with Alex to discuss logistics about my arrival and service period, he gave her one of the books he’s written, Palestinian Memories: The Story of a Palestinian Mother and Her People to give to me. Inside of the cover he had penned:

“Janae,

Love God,

Seek Justice,

And Pray For Peace.

We look forward to welcoming you.

Alex

June 2010”

Literally. Probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever received. Since arriving in Amman, I’ve had countless conversations with Palestinians living in Jordan as a result of the occupation. Every time their stories center on how beautiful Palestine is, how much Sara and I are going to love it there, and how deeply they wish they could return. There are more Palestinian refugees living in Jordan than there are Jordanians living in Jordan so stories of how Palestinian families ended up here are abundant. Trisha’s mudiir (Arabic for “boss”) stopped by the office the other day and told us the story of how his mother walked 40 kilometers from Palestine to Jordan while she was pregnant with him in order to escape the violence that ensued after the creation of the Israeli state in 1948. Variations of this story are present in the life histories of millions.

Ah, I wish so deeply that you could all be on this terrace with me right now. The call to prayer just began and, as I look out at the hills of Amman, it’s ringing from a dozen different mosques in every direction. I know I’ve only been here a week so it should feel new and exciting, but I frequently stop and just reflect on the fact that I’m actually here and it blows my mind. Right now. I am on the other side of the world. Sitting on a roof. Listening to the call to prayer. There’s a man in a jellabiya sweeping the roof next to me. I’m looking at a sky that is a shade of cloudless blue that doesn’t really exist outside of the Middle East. I feel the warm air on my face. I am here. I am present.

Akron & Onward

Post From August 20:

Sorry for the lack of updates! Basically, all I have to say at this point is that if you’d like blogging from me at any point in the next 11 months, you should start praying that things go severely downhill. This past week of life was just too good to take time out to blog.

After an extremely life-giving, life-affirming week of orientation in Akron, myself and the other IIJP SALTers (Sara, Trisha, and Jo) are en route to Amman! Since these are names that will probably be reoccurring, let me give you the rundown on SALT Team Middle East. Sara and I will be SALTing in Palestine—she’ll be in East Jerusalem working with an organization called Sabeel (Do yourself a little favor and click on that link because Sabeel is the ultimate.) while I’ll be just a few miles away in Bethlehem. Trisha will be living in Irbid, Jordan and working as a teaching assistant at the Arab Episcopal School there. She’s not sure exactly what she’ll be doing yet, but it’s possible that she’ll be working with some of the deaf children that attend the school. Jo will be SALTing in Iraq and working as a teaching assistant at a kindergarten run by the Coptic Church. More exact details are also TBD for her. While not technically part of IIJP, Jordan (who is a person and not a country for the purposes of this sentence) will be living at a monastery up in Syria and teaching English as well as computer skills. Sara, Trisha, Jo, and I have collectively decided to make it our goal to adopt Jordan into our little regional team as he’s the only SALTer in MCC’s Lebanon-Syria region. We already have something mind-blowing in the works.

On that note, a shout out to all my fellow SALTers who may now be reading! As we’ve been travelling and exploring, Trisha, Sara, Jo, and I have been thinking of you all and missing you dearly! How rad would it be if we could all just tune in to each others’ adventures whenever we wanted? It gives me goosebumps to think about the places you all are right now and all of the beautiful people you are meeting—Bah! Live it up, my friends.

For readers at home, orientation in Akron was so great. I don’t know even know where to begin. It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so much in one week. The orientation was not only for SALTers going to countries all over the world, but also for volunteers coming from countries all over the world to serve in the United States/other countries so it was basically like one big cultural festival. The whole week was just a beautiful picture of the Kingdom—people from all over the world united around one vision and loving one another. The people that are a part of this program are just some of the coolest individuals on the planet; it has been a privilege getting to know them. My roommate in Akron was from Assuit so it was fun to talk Egypt with her! Sally is super passionate about a retreat center in Egypt called Anafora that I went to last summer so it was really neat to find a commonality there. That lead to a lot more discussion.

Then, at 1:30 PM on August 19, we began our journey from Akron, PA to Amman. After a quick but important game with some other SALTers at the airport, we boarded the plane and bid farewell to America for a year. The flight from Philadelphia to Pairs was unbelievably fabulous—I slept like a baby. With huge thanks to Chad SALTer Rosemary, we decided to make the most of our 5.5 hour layover in Paris! Rosemary had given us directions to Sacre-Coeur so we hopped on the RER from the airport and made our way over to Montmartre. Our journey there was uber impressive. We made it there in record time and then trekked all the way up the hill to this beautiful view:

[Just kidding. No time to upload. Pictures to come later.]

After enjoying some fresh French air, we stopped for some baguettes and chocolate croissantsand began the journey back to the airport. Unfortunately, the way back was not such a quick trip. We got on the wrong train back to the airport which was extremely unfortunate. We were all holding our breath hoping this mistake wouldn’t cost us a flight to Amman. It was a close call, but we made it!

So right now we are on the flight from Paris to Amman and we’ve been joking about how we hope that someone will be picking us up from the airport. If not, we’ll just roam the streets of Amman screaming “MCC?! Where are you?!” and see what happens. We also have no idea if we’ll be heading to live with host families tonight or…where we will be staying. But it’s no big deal. We’re just excited to get there!

As I’ve been thinking about what this next year of life may bring, I’ve been also been thinking about all that went on in this last year of life and I’ve come to the conclusion that a year is a really substantial amount of time in which a lot of things can change. I’m preparing for rather major worldview alterations.

I’ll update more once we get settled in Amman!

Celebrations

Friday night my friends threw me a surprise going away party! It was so sweet of them, and it was so nice to spend a few hours with people who are so dear to my heart. A few highlights included seeing people who I haven't seen in a long time, a huge sign that read "MA'A SALAMA" (which means "good bye" in Arabic), and Jamie making me the most adorable cake! It was a brown suitcase with New York, Seattle, Egypt, and Palestine travel stickers on it. I loved it! As a gift, they even organized a little travel fund for me! So thoughtful! I have some pretty awesome friends.

Yesterday I Skyped with Becky in Benin. I've used Skype for computer to computer calling before, but never computer to mobile calling. And it was fabulous! We talked for 5 minutes and it only cost $1.33! Rates very depending on what countries you're calling and whatnot, but I recommend that every single person reading this right now do the following:

1. Download Skype.

2. Search for me and add me as a contact.

3. Purchase Skype credit.

4. Call me frequently once I get my mobile number in the Middle East!

Getting to talk to Becky for 5 minutes was so good, and it just made me even more excited for what's ahead in my own journey! We couldn't talk for long because she was out celebrating Benin's Independence Day. I could hear the noise and excitement in the street behind her. After all, freedom from colonialism is something everyone should get excited about!

Unless divine intervention wills it, I won't be celebrating any independence days this year. Actually, I'll be living in the opposite of independence day everyday. But I will be celebrating! I will be celebrating the strength of a community of people with a vision and a strong identity. I will be celebrating vitality and vibrancy. I cannot wait to be there.

Dear friends

This post marks the beginning of this blog existing for anyone other than myself! I'm excited about that! Dear friends, family, supporters, encouragers, and partners in the journey that is ahead: welcome! My greatest hope is that this blog will be a place for me to share my reflections and involve you in life in the West Bank as much as possible!

I recognize that everyone reading these words comes to this blog with their own background and with their own opinions regarding the conflict that will serve as the backdrop for most everything reflected upon in this space. I hope that this blog will spur a healthy discussion surrounding the complexities of this situation. While I cannot apologize for my own biases, I do recognize them. I must admit--I am a little overwhelmed by the idea of trying to share this story in a way that is meaningful for all of us, but I will do my very best to be honest and real with myself and with you. Thanks for reading and bearing with me!

On that note, I'm 18 days away from flying out of Logan to Philadelphia where I'll attend a week-long orientation at the Mennonite Central Committee (MCC) headquarters in Akron, PA. My year of service is a part of MCC's SALT (Serving And Learning Together) program which connects young adults with placements in partnering schools, hospitals, resource centers, NGOs, etc. in countries all around the world. My particular placement is with an organization in Bethlehem, Palestine called the Shepherd Society which exists to extend emergency aid and development opportunities to struggling Palestinian families. So, after a week of orientation in Akron with all of the other SALTers, I will be flying from Philadelphia to Amman, Jordan with a brief layover in Paris. I'll be in Amman for four weeks of in-region orientation and intensive Arabic with the other SALT volunteers who also have placements in the the IIJP (Iran-Iraq-Jordan-Palestine) region. Together, our regional team represents a really stable area of the globe. I'm looking forward to some hearty discussion on political stability at its finest!

And then, by mid-September, I will begin my work in Bethlehem. I've just recently been in contact with the volunteer who did the placement at the Shepherd Society this past year. He's been super helpful in giving me some pointers. Although he wasn't quite sure about where I'll be living, he said it's probable that I'll be living in a small flat close to work and the Aida Refugee Camp. Now, if you know me at all, you recognize that this would be the equivalent of someone telling a small child that they will be living in close proximity to Disneyland. While I'm maintaining a mindset of flexibility, I can't help but get excited about the prospect of sharing a neighborhood with a camp of a few thousand refugees. Be still by heart.

At this point, my greatest feeling is one of excitement. When I tell people what I'm doing for this next year of life, the most frequently asked response is, "...Wait, aren't you scared?" But the answer is honestly, "No." The only thing I'm nervous about is the idea of not seeing my family and friends for a whole year, but other than that all I possess are feelings of great peace. I know that the next year of life is going to be extremely challenging and frequently heartbreaking, but I've never felt so certain about beginning a new season of life.

I have recently had Psalm 27 re-enter my life via multiple avenues. I like it when that happens. I'll leave you with these beautiful words written by David who, ironically enough, was born in Bethlehem:

I am still confident of this:

I will see the goodness of the Lord

in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord;

be strong

and take heart

and wait for the Lord.

I like this one

From Nicholas Kristof's column this week:

“War, want and concentration camps, exile from home and homeland, these have made me hate strife among men, but they have not made me lose faith in the future of mankind. ... If man has been able to create the arts, the sciences and the material civilization we know in America, why should he be judged powerless to create justice, fraternity and peace?”
~ Ladis Kristof (Nick's Dad)

The flotilla

I woke up to the news of the flotilla disaster a couple of mornings ago and my heart has been aching as I've continued to follow the story throughout the past few days. I am very aware that one of the major lessons that I am going to be learning in this next year of life is what it looks like to love and care for people who are causing other people so much pain and hardship. How do I unconditionally love in the midst of so much injustice? I know that God loves the individual members of the IDF and Hamas despite their short comings, just like he loves me despite my shortcomings. How do I extend grace and compassion for both sides? Perhaps by July 2011, I'll have a bit of an answer.

I talked with my language mentee and dear Arab friend, Ali, about the situation. It was refreshing to share in such deep sadness together. He expressed his disbelief that 9 people could end up dead because they wanted to bring food and resources for their neighbors who are in need. All I could really do was shake my head in agreement.

Every state has the right to self-defense. But when self-defense means that 1,400 Palestinians are killed in comparison to 13 Israelis in the 22 day War on Gaza in '08/'09 and when self-defense means that 9 international humanitarian activists are killed for trying to bring aid to the Palestinian people... I don't know. We just might have a situation on our hands where the U.S. should speak up rather than continue to exorbitantly fund. I'm not comfortable placing all of the blame on one side. I wasn't on those ships and I certainly don't know what happened. But when international humanitarian aid for the people of Gaza is labeled as a means for enabling Islamic extremism, I think we all need to take a step back.

And in the midst of all of this political dialogue and international attention, what gets lost? The increasing hopelessness of the plight of the innocent people who lost the lottery of privileged birth and are fighting to scrape out a dignified existence in an occupied land. These are people with a strength I can only dream of--these are people whose stories deserve to be told and heard and marveled at. But, yet again, these stories are lost and overlooked in a mess of politics.