Blog 21 July 29, 2010
Hi, from 34,000 feet above the Shetland Islands. I tell ya, from this high those ponies are even smaller!
Our last two days in Amman were spent having final experiences, the last lunch, the last dinner, the presentation of gifts for our American leaders and our Jordanian leader, Salaam. I spent a good deal of that time fretting over whether the purchases I made would all fit in my bags and then, if when I sat them down on the scale at the airport, whether or not the scale it would explode. In spite of the fact that I could barely lift my bags they did get through and are checked through to Detroit. Well, at least one of them is. The other one is only checked through to Chicago. Shouldn’t be a problem. I think. There are two other travel-related things I am worrying about. First, we were delayed about an hour leaving Frankfort because they had to find and take baggage off the plane for 14 people who didn’t show up for the flight. What worries me is that we are a group of 14 people. I suspect I’ll be able to update this before I get a chance to post the blog. The other thing I’m worrying about is exactly how the United States Customs Agency defines the word “soil”. Now, in my book, soil would only be materials that you could grow something in. There is no way anything could grow in the chunk of salt I dug out of the bottom of the Dead Sea with my bare hands. Anyway, I’ve been carting this chunk of salt/sand for three weeks. I don’t think I’ll have any luck arguing it is for educational purposes.
Some final thoughts on…
Our group…
• Has done a remarkable job of maintaining itself. Yes, we are a wide range of personalities, interests, and…idiosyncrasies, but in spite of all that, actually maybe because of all that, we’ve had a remarkably smooth time of it. If you’d have bet me we would have had a knock-down-drag-out sometime along the way I would not have taken the bet. Hang on, technically, there is still time.
• Did a nice job of maintaining a positive interest in who we were listening to and what we were looking at.
• Is looking forward to eating some food with a less Middle Eastern vibe going for it.
• Is not, repeat not, a big fan of “meat yoghurt” or as the Jordanians might put it, “Got Jameed?”
• Is profoundly grateful for the opportunity it has had this month. That gratitude has expressed itself in a number of different ways. Last night we presented Patty/Dr. Kubow with a couple books of poetry, one by a Jordanian poet and the other by a Palestinian poet. We also gave her a copy of the same group picture that we had framed for our guide, Salaam.
Our Jordan…
• The constant hospitality and generousness of the Jordanian people in general came as a surprise to me. I wish it hadn’t been a surprise.
• Jordan is a developing country. It is a country of remarkable beauty. The largest contrast to this beauty has to do with Jordanians attitudes towards cleanliness. Most of the areas we visited were to varying degrees coated with refuse. That being said, when its all you can do to provide enough classrooms for your children to learn in, should the garbage problem receive more funding?
Coming Home
• In many ways, I’ve been looking forward to this day for 29 days now. I love my wife, Heidi. I love Matt, Grace, Tim, Bob and Mattie. Each of them made sacrifices big and small that allowed me to take this trip. I especially thank Heidi for making my participation on this trip possible for me. Her patience, perseverance and strength are just a few of the many attributes that I admire about her. I thank you all.
Postscript
It’s Friday morning here in Bowling Green and I’m a happy man sitting here in my kitchen finishing this blog. An amazing experience. Thanks for reading, if you actually are reading this, it musn’t have been too dull!?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Mr. Hakel Gets Ready to Leave
Blog 20 July 25, 2010
Visited the University of Jordan today and will make a return trip tomorrow morning. The campus was pretty actually. The main roads were lined by a double line of pine trees that were only growing about ten feet apart. The trees were quite mature so it was kind of like walking under a very large hedge. One of the six or so presenters really did a great job and was very interesting. A couple did alright including a Jordanian/American woman from Cleveland. A couple were pretty forgettable. Not really their fault though. I just wasn’t interested in their topic, but a number of a our group did find the possibility of returning for intensive Arabic instruction pretty intriguing.
We ate lunch in the cafeteria that the students eat in. wow. Imagine the worst cafeteria food you ever had in the United States. Now imagine it is that with Middle Eastern food. The lunch lady meets mansaf. I’ll only describe my dessert. It appeared to be a thin layer of cake with maybe a strawberry cool whip on top. Wrong. It tasted like a mild, mild soap. Didn’t eat much of that.
Dinner made up for it all though. We ate at Sara’s Seafood. Our Sara was pretty excited. We sat out on a rickety looking balcony over one of the main shopping streets in Old Amman. The meal started with the traditional first dishes. A plate of hummus, a plate of Baba Gannouj, a bowl of a spicy tomato mixture called Gallia that is similar to salsa, but still pretty different. These three dishes are served with pita before every meal. Three other salads were served, a green salad that is very bitter usually, I discovered last night that squeezing half a lemon over the top helps quite a bit. There was a potato salad that was just flat out weird, and a final salad that looked like chunks of vegetables slathered in a yoghurt sauce of some sort. I’m told that one was good, but I’ve come to fear foods in yoghurt sauce. I also noticed that while some said it was good, almost the entire bowl sat unmolested for the whole night. After awhile fried potato wedges on top of pita chips were served and then the first seafood course came out. Up first were a platter of fried fish with a Jordanian wrinkly to it. At home this kind of platter would have chunks of thick white fish in a shape that bore no relation to what the fish looked like in the first place. No problem with that here. The entire fish from head-to-tail was dipped in the batter and deep-fried. Not much to look at, but that actually was delicious. They were not large, maybe 8 inches all together, so I had two! Next up was a platter of large shrimp. Died and went to heaven. Then it was a platter of calamari a few minutes later. I actually enjoyed that too. Then it was a large platter of broiled fish. Actually I should word that differently. Then it was a large fish on a platter. Yes, the head was present, Zach and Josh ate an eyeball a piece…well, Josh had half an eyeball… And that was all! Between the conversation, the constant din of traffic and a rare chance to watch Jordanians without them doing the same to you, and the sunset, it was quite an evening.
This morning we had our last presentations at the University of Jordan. Dr. Asfour, pronounced with an “ahhh” at the beginning for reasons that should have been obvious to everyone, is the assistant dean of the Faculty of Arts. The doctor had received his training/Phd in Italy and was quite the “italophile”, if I can coin the term. His italianess was quite evident and he gave a rambling/entertaining talk that was fascinating and impossible to understand at the same time. At one point he shared a story about Sophia Loren bringing mortadella, an Italian bologna basically, into the United States. I wish I could tell you more about it, but that’s all I caught. The most interesting outcome of the talk was the varied ways in which our group received it. A couple members of group felt he’d been on the anti-american side, but I and at least one other member didn’t get that vibe at all. It’s always interesting how witnesses to the same event can come away with totally different impressions.
In a couple minutes, I’ll stop typing and leave for…..the Turkish Bath. Almost wimped out, but I’m solid. The next sentence you read of this blog will be post-Turkish Bath.
Well, it was actually pretty nice. The steam room was incredibly hot, the hot tub was almost unbearably hot, and the rest was pleasant. The whole treatment would have been pretty expensive for almost all Jordanians, but pretty darn cheap compared to the same back home. It was about $30 and included a massage and exfoliation. We guys tried to maintain our macho-ness and dignity, but all but one of us ended up liking it quite a bit.
We’re in our last hours and I’m ready to return. As I type today, Tuesday, we are 36 hours away from our departure time. I’m trying to find words to sum up our experience here. I think I’ll need a little time.
And now for something completely different…
• Yesteday’s presentation by an Ohio State Math Education Professor at the University of Jordan brought me a cultural relevation that the more I think about it really does help me understand some of the differences between our cultures. Dr. Halah Shirwa was asked if a Jordanian student would feel free to ask a teacher a question about islam. Her answer was very revealing. She shared that the teacher might reply, “There are some things that just are. Do not always be asking why, why, why. You might as well ask why does the sun come up? Why do I have two hands and not three? It is this way because God wills it.”
I think this is reavealing for a number of reasons, but most important to me is that it helps me understand that what I believe might be a Jordanian/Arabic and maybe even Muslim attitude towards fate, science, authority, innovation and God. While we are taught to always ask, “Why?”, it appears that here at least in Jordan, asking “Why?” is actively discouraged. I believe this would have incredibly wide-ranging consequences for a nation, a region and a culture.
Salaam,
Mr. Hakel/Lane/Dad
Visited the University of Jordan today and will make a return trip tomorrow morning. The campus was pretty actually. The main roads were lined by a double line of pine trees that were only growing about ten feet apart. The trees were quite mature so it was kind of like walking under a very large hedge. One of the six or so presenters really did a great job and was very interesting. A couple did alright including a Jordanian/American woman from Cleveland. A couple were pretty forgettable. Not really their fault though. I just wasn’t interested in their topic, but a number of a our group did find the possibility of returning for intensive Arabic instruction pretty intriguing.
We ate lunch in the cafeteria that the students eat in. wow. Imagine the worst cafeteria food you ever had in the United States. Now imagine it is that with Middle Eastern food. The lunch lady meets mansaf. I’ll only describe my dessert. It appeared to be a thin layer of cake with maybe a strawberry cool whip on top. Wrong. It tasted like a mild, mild soap. Didn’t eat much of that.
Dinner made up for it all though. We ate at Sara’s Seafood. Our Sara was pretty excited. We sat out on a rickety looking balcony over one of the main shopping streets in Old Amman. The meal started with the traditional first dishes. A plate of hummus, a plate of Baba Gannouj, a bowl of a spicy tomato mixture called Gallia that is similar to salsa, but still pretty different. These three dishes are served with pita before every meal. Three other salads were served, a green salad that is very bitter usually, I discovered last night that squeezing half a lemon over the top helps quite a bit. There was a potato salad that was just flat out weird, and a final salad that looked like chunks of vegetables slathered in a yoghurt sauce of some sort. I’m told that one was good, but I’ve come to fear foods in yoghurt sauce. I also noticed that while some said it was good, almost the entire bowl sat unmolested for the whole night. After awhile fried potato wedges on top of pita chips were served and then the first seafood course came out. Up first were a platter of fried fish with a Jordanian wrinkly to it. At home this kind of platter would have chunks of thick white fish in a shape that bore no relation to what the fish looked like in the first place. No problem with that here. The entire fish from head-to-tail was dipped in the batter and deep-fried. Not much to look at, but that actually was delicious. They were not large, maybe 8 inches all together, so I had two! Next up was a platter of large shrimp. Died and went to heaven. Then it was a platter of calamari a few minutes later. I actually enjoyed that too. Then it was a large platter of broiled fish. Actually I should word that differently. Then it was a large fish on a platter. Yes, the head was present, Zach and Josh ate an eyeball a piece…well, Josh had half an eyeball… And that was all! Between the conversation, the constant din of traffic and a rare chance to watch Jordanians without them doing the same to you, and the sunset, it was quite an evening.
This morning we had our last presentations at the University of Jordan. Dr. Asfour, pronounced with an “ahhh” at the beginning for reasons that should have been obvious to everyone, is the assistant dean of the Faculty of Arts. The doctor had received his training/Phd in Italy and was quite the “italophile”, if I can coin the term. His italianess was quite evident and he gave a rambling/entertaining talk that was fascinating and impossible to understand at the same time. At one point he shared a story about Sophia Loren bringing mortadella, an Italian bologna basically, into the United States. I wish I could tell you more about it, but that’s all I caught. The most interesting outcome of the talk was the varied ways in which our group received it. A couple members of group felt he’d been on the anti-american side, but I and at least one other member didn’t get that vibe at all. It’s always interesting how witnesses to the same event can come away with totally different impressions.
In a couple minutes, I’ll stop typing and leave for…..the Turkish Bath. Almost wimped out, but I’m solid. The next sentence you read of this blog will be post-Turkish Bath.
Well, it was actually pretty nice. The steam room was incredibly hot, the hot tub was almost unbearably hot, and the rest was pleasant. The whole treatment would have been pretty expensive for almost all Jordanians, but pretty darn cheap compared to the same back home. It was about $30 and included a massage and exfoliation. We guys tried to maintain our macho-ness and dignity, but all but one of us ended up liking it quite a bit.
We’re in our last hours and I’m ready to return. As I type today, Tuesday, we are 36 hours away from our departure time. I’m trying to find words to sum up our experience here. I think I’ll need a little time.
And now for something completely different…
• Yesteday’s presentation by an Ohio State Math Education Professor at the University of Jordan brought me a cultural relevation that the more I think about it really does help me understand some of the differences between our cultures. Dr. Halah Shirwa was asked if a Jordanian student would feel free to ask a teacher a question about islam. Her answer was very revealing. She shared that the teacher might reply, “There are some things that just are. Do not always be asking why, why, why. You might as well ask why does the sun come up? Why do I have two hands and not three? It is this way because God wills it.”
I think this is reavealing for a number of reasons, but most important to me is that it helps me understand that what I believe might be a Jordanian/Arabic and maybe even Muslim attitude towards fate, science, authority, innovation and God. While we are taught to always ask, “Why?”, it appears that here at least in Jordan, asking “Why?” is actively discouraged. I believe this would have incredibly wide-ranging consequences for a nation, a region and a culture.
Salaam,
Mr. Hakel/Lane/Dad
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Mr. Hakel Gets His Goat
Blog 19 July 24, 2010
Things are showing signs of wrapping up around here. While we have two-and-a-half full days of meetings yet at the University of Jordan, it would appear that most of the heavy lifting is over.
Yesterday was our visit to a Palestinian Refugee Camp. Yes, that was heavy lifting. It had the potential to be our most difficult, yet most rewarding visit, but either by hook or by crook, it didn’t turn out that way. The camp we had permission from his Majesty’s Government to visit was the one we had driven through two weeks before on our way back into Amman from the North. From the road, it looked like pretty much any other neighborhood in Amman. From the inside, elements of that remained, but it was also clear that the population was much denser and the levels of income and employment were significantly lower. The term “camp” will be misleading to you. Remember that the last wave of Palestinian refugees was when I was 4-years old in 1967. Palestinian Refugees have Jordanian citizenship and at least legally enjoy the same rights as any other Jordanian. The camp we visited then is over 40 years old. The tents are long gone, but the conditions remain cramped. At one point in time 130,000 people were living in 2 square km. Houses are 70cm apart from one another. Like all housing they are constructed from poured concrete. Water is delivered to tanks on the roof of their house once a week. This is also how almost all Jordanians receive their water. You do the clothes washing on water delivery day to make sure you have enough water to finish the job.
We had been told that when we arrived at the camp we should go to a certain address and pick up our escorts. Our escorts would show us around and answer questions, but also keep an eye on us and give us the “official” answers to our questions. When we arrived at the address given, it was locked up tight. It was Friday and despite being assured there would be someone waiting there for us, there wasn’t. Our guides, Absalaam and Ibrahim conferred together for awhile, we no longer have a tourist police officer accompanying us, and decided that our best bet was to make an unofficial private visit to a friend of Absalaam’s (Absalaam appears to know everyone in Jordan). I should note that the camp is open. No fences, no checkpoints or anything like that. If I had arrived in a private car and got out and walked around, it would have aroused curiosity, but no official response. On the other hand, a group of 15 westerners arriving in a bus with no escort would have aroused some kind of response and it most likely would have involved our guides being held responsible.
So, we visited Yusef’s home in the camp. Yusef has had an interesting life. He fled the West Bank during the war of 1967 with his family. He was quite young. His father became the head of the communist party in the camp. This allowed Yusef to have the opportunity to be included as a part of a group of Palestinian children that visited East Germany in the early 70s. Yusef became ill during the visit was hospitalized there long after the rest of his group had returned to Jordan. Yusef was eventually adopted and raised in East Berlin. He returned to Jordan something like ten years ago. He renounced his German citizenship and is now married and leads german tour groups through Jordan. His wife is a teacher. Yusef is building his dream house, on a hillside high above the camp in the valley below. We also visited his beautiful house. The contrasts between his home in the camp and his unfinished home on the hill couldn’t be more stark. He hopes to move in in another two years or so. The exterior and structural interior are complete, but he’ll wait to complete the house until the economy improves. He’s out of money.
We had a long talk with Yusef Ibrahim translated his Arabic for us. His final point was asking how the Israelis can do unto them, the Palestinians, what was done unto them, the jews of Europe. I have no answer for that.
The rest of the day was spent having a picnic on a hillside south of Amman. The hillside was tree covered and quite lovely in spite of the trash which littered the ground. The amount of trash left all over the country is quite shocking to those of us who are lucky enough to take a cleaner environment for granted. In spite of the broken glass, empty plastic shopping bags and other we had a lovely time sitting in the shade, watching the Jordanians doing the same watching us. Playing Frisbee, first with each other and later with some children from groups near us. I studied lines for both my upcoming plays. Then we ate a late lunch all off a charcoal grill. We started with lamb chops, then home made kebab, which is kind of like gyro meat patties. The most exotic was the skewered goat. It was also the best tasting. I passed on the kidney though. Ibrahim, the jokester, had brought his entire family with him. It was the first time we’d met his wife. Apparently, it was uncommon enough because Absalaam had shared with one of us that while he and Ibrahim are like brothers, he would not recognize Ibrahim’s wife in a crowd. Even in married life socialization between genders is rare in this traditional society. Ibrahim’s wife greeted the women in our group warmly, but not the rest of us. The men that is. I did work in a smile and a “Salaam” later, and she did address me once to ask if I wanted some watermelon. Otherwise, in spite of being within a few feet of her for an hour, I didn’t exist. I imagine you can tell how unsettling this seemed to me. I suppose it was even more unsettling for her. Ibrahim had said that his wife was much more religious than he was and she did keep her head covered the entire time, but not her face. I am really wrestling with how I feel about these aspects of Arabic culture. I don’t expect I’ll be able to resolve my conflict.
Idle thought of the day
• Jordan is liberally decorated with thousands and thousands and thousand of pictures of the king. His boyish face that looks all the more incongruous with the thin mustache and beard he often sports adorns every hallway and every office in every public building we have been in. Nearly every major intersection in every city and town in the country has a picture of him strategically positioned. Private businesses have his picture hanging on their wall. Sometimes his picture is a part of the sign advertising their business on the street. We have eaten maybe two or three meals in restaurants where the king was not “watching”. It is by far the dominant form of “art” in the country. The pictures frequently repeat, but the number of different pictures is also astonishing. I have been taking pictures of these pictures for awhile now and plan to do a lesson with my students on what the pictures might be trying to show. I see most of these pictures from the windows of our bus, which complicates my ability to collect them. Three photos I saw I really want in my collection, but have not managed to find again. I’ll let you know, if I can find them and snap them. I’ll be pretty excited if I can.
That’s it for today.
Apparently we are going to a Turkish bath this afternoon. I only have a dim understanding of what this means. In any case, if an airline pilot ever asks me if I’ve ever been in a Turkish bath, I’ll have to reply “yes” after this afternoon. (that’s a reference to the movie “Airplane” for those of you too young to know it.) Well, what is it they say? “When in Jordan, do as the Turks”?
Salaam,
Dad/Lane/Mr.Hakel
Things are showing signs of wrapping up around here. While we have two-and-a-half full days of meetings yet at the University of Jordan, it would appear that most of the heavy lifting is over.
Yesterday was our visit to a Palestinian Refugee Camp. Yes, that was heavy lifting. It had the potential to be our most difficult, yet most rewarding visit, but either by hook or by crook, it didn’t turn out that way. The camp we had permission from his Majesty’s Government to visit was the one we had driven through two weeks before on our way back into Amman from the North. From the road, it looked like pretty much any other neighborhood in Amman. From the inside, elements of that remained, but it was also clear that the population was much denser and the levels of income and employment were significantly lower. The term “camp” will be misleading to you. Remember that the last wave of Palestinian refugees was when I was 4-years old in 1967. Palestinian Refugees have Jordanian citizenship and at least legally enjoy the same rights as any other Jordanian. The camp we visited then is over 40 years old. The tents are long gone, but the conditions remain cramped. At one point in time 130,000 people were living in 2 square km. Houses are 70cm apart from one another. Like all housing they are constructed from poured concrete. Water is delivered to tanks on the roof of their house once a week. This is also how almost all Jordanians receive their water. You do the clothes washing on water delivery day to make sure you have enough water to finish the job.
We had been told that when we arrived at the camp we should go to a certain address and pick up our escorts. Our escorts would show us around and answer questions, but also keep an eye on us and give us the “official” answers to our questions. When we arrived at the address given, it was locked up tight. It was Friday and despite being assured there would be someone waiting there for us, there wasn’t. Our guides, Absalaam and Ibrahim conferred together for awhile, we no longer have a tourist police officer accompanying us, and decided that our best bet was to make an unofficial private visit to a friend of Absalaam’s (Absalaam appears to know everyone in Jordan). I should note that the camp is open. No fences, no checkpoints or anything like that. If I had arrived in a private car and got out and walked around, it would have aroused curiosity, but no official response. On the other hand, a group of 15 westerners arriving in a bus with no escort would have aroused some kind of response and it most likely would have involved our guides being held responsible.
So, we visited Yusef’s home in the camp. Yusef has had an interesting life. He fled the West Bank during the war of 1967 with his family. He was quite young. His father became the head of the communist party in the camp. This allowed Yusef to have the opportunity to be included as a part of a group of Palestinian children that visited East Germany in the early 70s. Yusef became ill during the visit was hospitalized there long after the rest of his group had returned to Jordan. Yusef was eventually adopted and raised in East Berlin. He returned to Jordan something like ten years ago. He renounced his German citizenship and is now married and leads german tour groups through Jordan. His wife is a teacher. Yusef is building his dream house, on a hillside high above the camp in the valley below. We also visited his beautiful house. The contrasts between his home in the camp and his unfinished home on the hill couldn’t be more stark. He hopes to move in in another two years or so. The exterior and structural interior are complete, but he’ll wait to complete the house until the economy improves. He’s out of money.
We had a long talk with Yusef Ibrahim translated his Arabic for us. His final point was asking how the Israelis can do unto them, the Palestinians, what was done unto them, the jews of Europe. I have no answer for that.
The rest of the day was spent having a picnic on a hillside south of Amman. The hillside was tree covered and quite lovely in spite of the trash which littered the ground. The amount of trash left all over the country is quite shocking to those of us who are lucky enough to take a cleaner environment for granted. In spite of the broken glass, empty plastic shopping bags and other we had a lovely time sitting in the shade, watching the Jordanians doing the same watching us. Playing Frisbee, first with each other and later with some children from groups near us. I studied lines for both my upcoming plays. Then we ate a late lunch all off a charcoal grill. We started with lamb chops, then home made kebab, which is kind of like gyro meat patties. The most exotic was the skewered goat. It was also the best tasting. I passed on the kidney though. Ibrahim, the jokester, had brought his entire family with him. It was the first time we’d met his wife. Apparently, it was uncommon enough because Absalaam had shared with one of us that while he and Ibrahim are like brothers, he would not recognize Ibrahim’s wife in a crowd. Even in married life socialization between genders is rare in this traditional society. Ibrahim’s wife greeted the women in our group warmly, but not the rest of us. The men that is. I did work in a smile and a “Salaam” later, and she did address me once to ask if I wanted some watermelon. Otherwise, in spite of being within a few feet of her for an hour, I didn’t exist. I imagine you can tell how unsettling this seemed to me. I suppose it was even more unsettling for her. Ibrahim had said that his wife was much more religious than he was and she did keep her head covered the entire time, but not her face. I am really wrestling with how I feel about these aspects of Arabic culture. I don’t expect I’ll be able to resolve my conflict.
Idle thought of the day
• Jordan is liberally decorated with thousands and thousands and thousand of pictures of the king. His boyish face that looks all the more incongruous with the thin mustache and beard he often sports adorns every hallway and every office in every public building we have been in. Nearly every major intersection in every city and town in the country has a picture of him strategically positioned. Private businesses have his picture hanging on their wall. Sometimes his picture is a part of the sign advertising their business on the street. We have eaten maybe two or three meals in restaurants where the king was not “watching”. It is by far the dominant form of “art” in the country. The pictures frequently repeat, but the number of different pictures is also astonishing. I have been taking pictures of these pictures for awhile now and plan to do a lesson with my students on what the pictures might be trying to show. I see most of these pictures from the windows of our bus, which complicates my ability to collect them. Three photos I saw I really want in my collection, but have not managed to find again. I’ll let you know, if I can find them and snap them. I’ll be pretty excited if I can.
That’s it for today.
Apparently we are going to a Turkish bath this afternoon. I only have a dim understanding of what this means. In any case, if an airline pilot ever asks me if I’ve ever been in a Turkish bath, I’ll have to reply “yes” after this afternoon. (that’s a reference to the movie “Airplane” for those of you too young to know it.) Well, what is it they say? “When in Jordan, do as the Turks”?
Salaam,
Dad/Lane/Mr.Hakel
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Mr. Hakel Makes Some Observations
Blog 18 July 22, 2010
Two days in one
We are in the middle of our visits to various locations in Amman listening to various presentations on aspects of Jordanian life. About half of these visits are quite memorable, which isn’t that bad a rate at all actually. It does mean that half of them aren’t memorable, but I won’t burden you, the reader, with anything more than the knowledge that they exist.
Yesterday’s highpoint was a visit to the National Center for Human Rights. This center is one of 110 around the world and is currently the chair of the Asian-Pacific region. They hope to be named world-wide chair this coming spring. The center is funded by the Jordanian government, but there is no oversight of the personnel, the budget, or even government auditing of the center. It is independent. The center receives and investigates reports of human rights violations in Jordan. We met with an exceptionally dignified older man who turned out to be the Director General of the organization. His degree is from Purdue. He taught at University of Wisconsin. He became a dean and then a university president. He served as Jordanian ambassador to several European countries and served as a minister in his Majesty King Abdullah II’s government. I did say “exceptionally dignified”. I’ll go as far as saying he has gravitas, actually… he reminds me of my dad. He discussed the activities of the center and answered questions for an hour and a half. (The Commisioner General, not my dad.)
We’ve discussed the subject of honor crimes with several different people both before and after our arrival in Jordan. He presented to us a wrinkle that had not been mentioned on the subject. Honor killings in Arabic countries are killings made by a father, son, brother of a female family member who is believed to have besmirched the family’s honor by having sexual relations outside of wedlock. In order to restore the family’s honor, the parents may encourage one of the sons to murder his sister. Up until about one year ago in Jordan this crime carried a six-month prison sentence. (You read that right. Six months.) The law has been changed, with the urging of a number of different organizations including the center and our embassy, to a minimum of seven years. It also set up a separate court to deal with these cases so that the law is administered by the same judges in all cases. The wrinkle that the commissioner general added to our knowledge was that many of the dead girls had been proven afterwards, during an autopsy, to be virgins and that the real motivation was to solve what some men saw as inheritance problems. The killer’s sister was going to inherit more than her brother thought she should. Horrifying. This happens in Jordan, but at a lesser rate than any other Arabic country. There had been no claims of honor killings in Jordan in 2010 until three weeks ago. There are now three.
At the conclusion of our session, I talked with the second in command in the office for awhile. I asked him what he attributed Jordan’s relative stability in “a sea of troublemakers”. He replied that the credit belongs to the king and that “he is a wise man.” This is not the first time I’ve heard this sort of comment, but hearing it from this man, in this office and in this position carries a considerable amount of weight for me.
Today’s most highlight was a visit to the Ministry of Political Development. The discussion was in a rather swank conference room on the top floor of the ministry’s headquarters. We learned about Jordan’s efforts to build a functioning democracy within the monarchy in the style of any number of European countries. I honestly believe that these efforts are genuine on the King’s part and are proceeding at a reasonable pace. A major hurdle for Jordan is the relative lack of civic support. The most active, best funded and therefore strongest political party is the Islamic Action Front and just the name tells you all you need to know about this group. The speakers did not pass judgment on any of the parties they discussed, but did say that beyond this one party, the other 17 are far behind in terms of funding/organization. The discussion was interesting, but the fact that the minister himself was giving it. If we had been in the U.S., it would have been the equivalent of having a briefing from the head of the Federal Elections Commission. Way cool.
I’ll update this blog with the names of these people, but my brain is not yet conditioned enough to retain Arabic names for more than an hour or so. To compensate, I’ve been taking notes, but I don’t have my notes with me. Sigh. It’s always something with me. ;)
Just a few side notes…
• David found out the hard way that taking pictures of an ambassador’s residence is frowned upon. After explaining to the seven police officers with machine guns and the Chilean ambassador himself, that he didn’t know he was taking a picture of an ambassador’s house they seemed to feel better. Especially after he deleted the pictures.
• Jordanian Food. The food is almost always very good. There are many, many things I very much like. The problem for me is repetition. The chicken fest continues, the lamb that interrupts from time to time is quite welcome, but is beginning to lose its novelty as well. That being said there are a few things that must, at all costs be avoided. Number one on this list is the yoghurt sauce that is poured over the top of the Jordanian national dish, mansaf. The yoghurt that wasn’t poured over the top was offered to us by the glass one night. Not wishing to be rude, I sampled the yellow-white slightly thick liquid. It was the worst thing I’ve ever voluntarily had in my mouth. Zach coined the term that we all call it to this day. If any Jordanian offers you a glass of meat yoghurt the polite reply is, “La’a Shukraan.”
• Also, at least in Amman, it turns out that an internet café is probably the last place you should try to access the internet. Dave, apparently the most adventurous amongst us, was seeking a place to upload some pictures. After five stops and no internet, but still costing him a few dinar, he visited a café where the internet worked fine, but the price of his milkshake went up as his time on the internet continued. He was eventually able to leave paying around 8 bucks for the milkshake which included an apparently traditional, but heretofore unknown milkshake tableside delivery surcharge.
• Also try to avoid confusing a suspected miniature golf course with a mosque. Sara mistook the bright green carpet on a mosque floor for the first hole of an indoor miniature golf course. Fortunately, she realized her error just before she took her second shot. I mean before she walked in.
• If you forgot something in your hotel room, that you want to retrieve withing say thirty seconds or so of having checked out, it might just be best to forget about it. Josh, my roommate, decided he did in fact want the yoghurt he had just left behind in our room. When he returned to the room the young man from housekeeping had just finished smacking his lips.
• When doing laundry in a hotel room, do not, repeat do not hang it to dry above any electronic devices like say, an Ipod Touch. Don’t ask.
• The most popular spectator/participant sport in Jordan is driving. Accidents are not as common as you’d think though. You drive with the expectation that the truck on your right is about to turn left. That being said I was in a “traffic” accident in Wadi Rum. Wadi Rum you might recall is a huge desert. It turns out the accident was as inevitable as the sun setting at night. If you only have three motor vehicles in say, one hundred square miles, two of the three will collide. It is inevitable.
Salaam,
Dad/Lane/Mr. Hakel
Two days in one
We are in the middle of our visits to various locations in Amman listening to various presentations on aspects of Jordanian life. About half of these visits are quite memorable, which isn’t that bad a rate at all actually. It does mean that half of them aren’t memorable, but I won’t burden you, the reader, with anything more than the knowledge that they exist.
Yesterday’s highpoint was a visit to the National Center for Human Rights. This center is one of 110 around the world and is currently the chair of the Asian-Pacific region. They hope to be named world-wide chair this coming spring. The center is funded by the Jordanian government, but there is no oversight of the personnel, the budget, or even government auditing of the center. It is independent. The center receives and investigates reports of human rights violations in Jordan. We met with an exceptionally dignified older man who turned out to be the Director General of the organization. His degree is from Purdue. He taught at University of Wisconsin. He became a dean and then a university president. He served as Jordanian ambassador to several European countries and served as a minister in his Majesty King Abdullah II’s government. I did say “exceptionally dignified”. I’ll go as far as saying he has gravitas, actually… he reminds me of my dad. He discussed the activities of the center and answered questions for an hour and a half. (The Commisioner General, not my dad.)
We’ve discussed the subject of honor crimes with several different people both before and after our arrival in Jordan. He presented to us a wrinkle that had not been mentioned on the subject. Honor killings in Arabic countries are killings made by a father, son, brother of a female family member who is believed to have besmirched the family’s honor by having sexual relations outside of wedlock. In order to restore the family’s honor, the parents may encourage one of the sons to murder his sister. Up until about one year ago in Jordan this crime carried a six-month prison sentence. (You read that right. Six months.) The law has been changed, with the urging of a number of different organizations including the center and our embassy, to a minimum of seven years. It also set up a separate court to deal with these cases so that the law is administered by the same judges in all cases. The wrinkle that the commissioner general added to our knowledge was that many of the dead girls had been proven afterwards, during an autopsy, to be virgins and that the real motivation was to solve what some men saw as inheritance problems. The killer’s sister was going to inherit more than her brother thought she should. Horrifying. This happens in Jordan, but at a lesser rate than any other Arabic country. There had been no claims of honor killings in Jordan in 2010 until three weeks ago. There are now three.
At the conclusion of our session, I talked with the second in command in the office for awhile. I asked him what he attributed Jordan’s relative stability in “a sea of troublemakers”. He replied that the credit belongs to the king and that “he is a wise man.” This is not the first time I’ve heard this sort of comment, but hearing it from this man, in this office and in this position carries a considerable amount of weight for me.
Today’s most highlight was a visit to the Ministry of Political Development. The discussion was in a rather swank conference room on the top floor of the ministry’s headquarters. We learned about Jordan’s efforts to build a functioning democracy within the monarchy in the style of any number of European countries. I honestly believe that these efforts are genuine on the King’s part and are proceeding at a reasonable pace. A major hurdle for Jordan is the relative lack of civic support. The most active, best funded and therefore strongest political party is the Islamic Action Front and just the name tells you all you need to know about this group. The speakers did not pass judgment on any of the parties they discussed, but did say that beyond this one party, the other 17 are far behind in terms of funding/organization. The discussion was interesting, but the fact that the minister himself was giving it. If we had been in the U.S., it would have been the equivalent of having a briefing from the head of the Federal Elections Commission. Way cool.
I’ll update this blog with the names of these people, but my brain is not yet conditioned enough to retain Arabic names for more than an hour or so. To compensate, I’ve been taking notes, but I don’t have my notes with me. Sigh. It’s always something with me. ;)
Just a few side notes…
• David found out the hard way that taking pictures of an ambassador’s residence is frowned upon. After explaining to the seven police officers with machine guns and the Chilean ambassador himself, that he didn’t know he was taking a picture of an ambassador’s house they seemed to feel better. Especially after he deleted the pictures.
• Jordanian Food. The food is almost always very good. There are many, many things I very much like. The problem for me is repetition. The chicken fest continues, the lamb that interrupts from time to time is quite welcome, but is beginning to lose its novelty as well. That being said there are a few things that must, at all costs be avoided. Number one on this list is the yoghurt sauce that is poured over the top of the Jordanian national dish, mansaf. The yoghurt that wasn’t poured over the top was offered to us by the glass one night. Not wishing to be rude, I sampled the yellow-white slightly thick liquid. It was the worst thing I’ve ever voluntarily had in my mouth. Zach coined the term that we all call it to this day. If any Jordanian offers you a glass of meat yoghurt the polite reply is, “La’a Shukraan.”
• Also, at least in Amman, it turns out that an internet café is probably the last place you should try to access the internet. Dave, apparently the most adventurous amongst us, was seeking a place to upload some pictures. After five stops and no internet, but still costing him a few dinar, he visited a café where the internet worked fine, but the price of his milkshake went up as his time on the internet continued. He was eventually able to leave paying around 8 bucks for the milkshake which included an apparently traditional, but heretofore unknown milkshake tableside delivery surcharge.
• Also try to avoid confusing a suspected miniature golf course with a mosque. Sara mistook the bright green carpet on a mosque floor for the first hole of an indoor miniature golf course. Fortunately, she realized her error just before she took her second shot. I mean before she walked in.
• If you forgot something in your hotel room, that you want to retrieve withing say thirty seconds or so of having checked out, it might just be best to forget about it. Josh, my roommate, decided he did in fact want the yoghurt he had just left behind in our room. When he returned to the room the young man from housekeeping had just finished smacking his lips.
• When doing laundry in a hotel room, do not, repeat do not hang it to dry above any electronic devices like say, an Ipod Touch. Don’t ask.
• The most popular spectator/participant sport in Jordan is driving. Accidents are not as common as you’d think though. You drive with the expectation that the truck on your right is about to turn left. That being said I was in a “traffic” accident in Wadi Rum. Wadi Rum you might recall is a huge desert. It turns out the accident was as inevitable as the sun setting at night. If you only have three motor vehicles in say, one hundred square miles, two of the three will collide. It is inevitable.
Salaam,
Dad/Lane/Mr. Hakel
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Mr. Hakel Meets Ashraf
Blog 17 July 20, 2010
Happy Barthday to the benefactor of the feast, Dr. Patty Kubow. We’ve just finished celebrating with Patty here on the Jordanian shore of the Dead Sea. Today took me out of my comfort zone. Sure enough, every time you are asked to stretch, you do. Today we visited the SOS Children’s Village of Amman. An orphanage.
A word about how the orphanage is structured and then a word about the people and children we met.
This orphanage is a permanent placement for the children who come here. They are assigned a bed in a three bedroom house with three beds in each room. The people they find there are a family. There is one mother who lives with them full-time 24/7. There may be an auntie who assists. An auntie is a mother-in-training who served a 2-3 year apprenticeship. Brother and sister units are kept together. They attend public schools in the area. Mother’s are paid and given an additional monthly food budget and they do all the traditional work of a stay-at-home mom. Cooking, cleaning, rocking, help with homework and so on…They become a family. The orphans have a mom. After they reach 14 and before they turn 15 they will move to a youth house. The youth house is staffed by a youth leader, an adult that doesn’t assume the title of mom, because they already have one of those. A 22-year old was home for lunch with his mom today. When they turn 18, its off to the real world, but with support, job services, assistance with college tuition and finding scholarships.
Now, the people. The adults we met were kind, committed, generous and smiled a lot. The children we met were polite, clean, generous and smiled a lot. Ashraf, a boy of 11 years was in one of the houses a small group of us visited. While all the children in Jordan begin learning English in first grade, that doesn’t mean there isn’t still shyness. Ashraf does not bear that particular burden and has an unusually strong command of our language. One of the adults was kidding him that he may know more about English than he knows about Arabic. Ashraf became our tour guide as he showed us around his house and the rest of the village. He introduced us to the children in the house next to his and read our larger group a story. “Bacteria” was the only word he got stuck on very long. He received a lot of praise and was just glowing with pride. I would think he’ll remember this day as long as I will.
The second event I would like to tell you about is ourlunch. We were split up into pairs and we were each the guests of one of the houses. Leilani, a group mate, the name is Hawaiian, not Arabic…and I were led by Muhammed to his house. When we arrived, the TV was on in one corner. Several pictures of the King smiling with his family were above the table. The table itself was set with enough plates and food to feed an army. Leilani and I were asked to sit by the Auntie who was in charge while the mother was on vacation visiting her parents. We ate chicken with rice and a cucumber salad. Our early attempts to communicate were halting and wooden, but things gradually loosened. Seated next to me was an irrepressible boy, Samid, who was six. I pulled out my phrase book and started pointing at things and trying to say the Arabic name, which provoked some laughter and then pointed to a glass and said, “Baid” which I knew was egg from my phrase book but provoked a lot more laughter. The oldest girl who is fourteen disappeared for a moment and appeared with an egg, which provoked a great deal more laughter. After that it was magical. No, we never did talk about Jordanian/American relations blah, blah, blah, but we did make connections. Two Americans and nine Jordanians.
Our next stop was one of the youth houses. It turned to be a large apartment in an apartment building. This was a boys house. The youth houses are separated, but the villages are not. It was a nice apartment, both the village and the youth house were considerably more decorated than any of the Jordanian family houses we’ve visited up to this point. We had a nice visit and my group was able to talk with several of the youth. They brought a birthday cake for Patty, we sang, badly.
If you are in a position to be able to donate funds to SOS Children’s Village, I urge you to do so. They are active around the world. The website for Jordan is www.sosjor.org.
By the way, that wasn’t a typo at the beginning, the cake really did say, “Happy Barthday!”
Salaam,
Lane/Mr. Hakel/Dad
Happy Barthday to the benefactor of the feast, Dr. Patty Kubow. We’ve just finished celebrating with Patty here on the Jordanian shore of the Dead Sea. Today took me out of my comfort zone. Sure enough, every time you are asked to stretch, you do. Today we visited the SOS Children’s Village of Amman. An orphanage.
A word about how the orphanage is structured and then a word about the people and children we met.
This orphanage is a permanent placement for the children who come here. They are assigned a bed in a three bedroom house with three beds in each room. The people they find there are a family. There is one mother who lives with them full-time 24/7. There may be an auntie who assists. An auntie is a mother-in-training who served a 2-3 year apprenticeship. Brother and sister units are kept together. They attend public schools in the area. Mother’s are paid and given an additional monthly food budget and they do all the traditional work of a stay-at-home mom. Cooking, cleaning, rocking, help with homework and so on…They become a family. The orphans have a mom. After they reach 14 and before they turn 15 they will move to a youth house. The youth house is staffed by a youth leader, an adult that doesn’t assume the title of mom, because they already have one of those. A 22-year old was home for lunch with his mom today. When they turn 18, its off to the real world, but with support, job services, assistance with college tuition and finding scholarships.
Now, the people. The adults we met were kind, committed, generous and smiled a lot. The children we met were polite, clean, generous and smiled a lot. Ashraf, a boy of 11 years was in one of the houses a small group of us visited. While all the children in Jordan begin learning English in first grade, that doesn’t mean there isn’t still shyness. Ashraf does not bear that particular burden and has an unusually strong command of our language. One of the adults was kidding him that he may know more about English than he knows about Arabic. Ashraf became our tour guide as he showed us around his house and the rest of the village. He introduced us to the children in the house next to his and read our larger group a story. “Bacteria” was the only word he got stuck on very long. He received a lot of praise and was just glowing with pride. I would think he’ll remember this day as long as I will.
The second event I would like to tell you about is ourlunch. We were split up into pairs and we were each the guests of one of the houses. Leilani, a group mate, the name is Hawaiian, not Arabic…and I were led by Muhammed to his house. When we arrived, the TV was on in one corner. Several pictures of the King smiling with his family were above the table. The table itself was set with enough plates and food to feed an army. Leilani and I were asked to sit by the Auntie who was in charge while the mother was on vacation visiting her parents. We ate chicken with rice and a cucumber salad. Our early attempts to communicate were halting and wooden, but things gradually loosened. Seated next to me was an irrepressible boy, Samid, who was six. I pulled out my phrase book and started pointing at things and trying to say the Arabic name, which provoked some laughter and then pointed to a glass and said, “Baid” which I knew was egg from my phrase book but provoked a lot more laughter. The oldest girl who is fourteen disappeared for a moment and appeared with an egg, which provoked a great deal more laughter. After that it was magical. No, we never did talk about Jordanian/American relations blah, blah, blah, but we did make connections. Two Americans and nine Jordanians.
Our next stop was one of the youth houses. It turned to be a large apartment in an apartment building. This was a boys house. The youth houses are separated, but the villages are not. It was a nice apartment, both the village and the youth house were considerably more decorated than any of the Jordanian family houses we’ve visited up to this point. We had a nice visit and my group was able to talk with several of the youth. They brought a birthday cake for Patty, we sang, badly.
If you are in a position to be able to donate funds to SOS Children’s Village, I urge you to do so. They are active around the world. The website for Jordan is www.sosjor.org.
By the way, that wasn’t a typo at the beginning, the cake really did say, “Happy Barthday!”
Salaam,
Lane/Mr. Hakel/Dad
Monday, July 19, 2010
Mr. Hakel Visits the Embassy
Blog 16 July 19, 2010
Short entry today. Two visits, one to United States Embassy and the second to the “Fulbright House”.
The visit to the embassy was to meet with representatives of USAID. They are the federal agency that administers programs and funds spent by the United States taxpayers to improve the lives of Jordanians. My impression was very favorable. Our country is doing good work in this country and I’m proud of our work.
The first hour was spent with George Kalal, who is the team leader for USAIDs efforts in political and legal reform. George is Jordanian and did an excellent job of explaining not only the successes of our government here, but also the remaining challenges. He was generally complimentary to the King who appears to be a reform-minded individual. The slow pace of change was laid more at the feet of the bureaucracy and the powerful ministers of this and that. One of the success stories has to do with a request of USAID from the Jordanian Parliament. They asked for assistance in obtaining an electronic voting system for legislative votes. Our country was willing to help grasping the power of such a system to bring more transparency to legislative votes. Prior to the electronic voting system’s implementation votes were held in secret. Imagine the reaction in our country if our legislators’ votes were kept in secret. Members of the Jordanian Parliament wanted to get rid of the system, but the system remains.
Our second speaker was the team leader for USAIDs efforts to aid Jordanian education. These efforts are on as small a level as paying for two bookmobiles to operate in Jordan to large scale efforts such as the building of 28 new schools in different parts of the country.
Before I describe the stop at the Fulbright house I want to mention what a visit to an American Embassy in a Middle Eastern country entails. Our bus first approached the embassy from the West and we were stopped by a Jordanian manned security checkpoint who told us to come from the East. We hopped back on the bus and made our way around. As we stepped off the bus we went through the low concrete barriers we use in construction areas back home. This was the first perimeter. The second perimeter took us through a couple of metal turnstiles. The kind your older brother used to stop with his hand trapping you between the rows of bars. Between the two we went through our first metal detector. As we stepped back outside I managed to snap a picture. As far as I know, it is the only picture of the embassy any of us got, because at the third perimeter our cameras, cell phones etc. were confiscated for the duration of our visit. (My theory on the picture was that since they hadn’t already confiscated my camera or told me not to take pictures, it must be alright…) The third level of security was also interesting because we each entered the building where this was taking place individually. Here our bags were screened with a machine. My watch, which I just bought yesterday, caused some interest because it happened to be lying in my bag in a straight line, which made it look like some kind of stick. They rescanned it at a different angle and let me keep it. All the security was being done by a private security firm. It appeared that even the gray/black camouflaged F-150 truck with the gigantic machine gun, with the soldier standing behind it was a member of this security company. Blackwater comes to mind.
After receiving a ticket to retrieve my cameras, it was through another turnstile and we were through the high wall surrounding the embassy. Only two heavy blast doors and one more metal detector and we were in. Our host welcomed us to “Fortress America”.
In contrast the Fulbright House only had one local police officer with one relatively small submachine gun in front of it. The door was secured, but no security checks. We were ushered downstairs to the library where several hundred well worn paperbacks from fiction to Islamic study were available for checkout. We were immediately served pizza and soda for lunch and spent the next hour and a half talking with the Executive Director of the Jordanian-American Fulbright Commision, Alain McNamara.
He was an absolutely charming man, would have been even without the pizza, he described Fulbright’s mission in Jordan with exchanges going both directions. My trip has been funded by this commission to the tune of the better part of a hundred thousand dollars. Our host continued with an interesting disscussion of other funding possibilities for those interested.
I talked to Heidi on the phone today for the first time. That was great.
I miss you all, too, and can’t wait to be able to share in a more personal fashion some of my experiences. If you are going to be in my Social Studies class this year, you’re going to be my captive audience!
Salaam,
Mr. Hakel/Dad/Lane
Short entry today. Two visits, one to United States Embassy and the second to the “Fulbright House”.
The visit to the embassy was to meet with representatives of USAID. They are the federal agency that administers programs and funds spent by the United States taxpayers to improve the lives of Jordanians. My impression was very favorable. Our country is doing good work in this country and I’m proud of our work.
The first hour was spent with George Kalal, who is the team leader for USAIDs efforts in political and legal reform. George is Jordanian and did an excellent job of explaining not only the successes of our government here, but also the remaining challenges. He was generally complimentary to the King who appears to be a reform-minded individual. The slow pace of change was laid more at the feet of the bureaucracy and the powerful ministers of this and that. One of the success stories has to do with a request of USAID from the Jordanian Parliament. They asked for assistance in obtaining an electronic voting system for legislative votes. Our country was willing to help grasping the power of such a system to bring more transparency to legislative votes. Prior to the electronic voting system’s implementation votes were held in secret. Imagine the reaction in our country if our legislators’ votes were kept in secret. Members of the Jordanian Parliament wanted to get rid of the system, but the system remains.
Our second speaker was the team leader for USAIDs efforts to aid Jordanian education. These efforts are on as small a level as paying for two bookmobiles to operate in Jordan to large scale efforts such as the building of 28 new schools in different parts of the country.
Before I describe the stop at the Fulbright house I want to mention what a visit to an American Embassy in a Middle Eastern country entails. Our bus first approached the embassy from the West and we were stopped by a Jordanian manned security checkpoint who told us to come from the East. We hopped back on the bus and made our way around. As we stepped off the bus we went through the low concrete barriers we use in construction areas back home. This was the first perimeter. The second perimeter took us through a couple of metal turnstiles. The kind your older brother used to stop with his hand trapping you between the rows of bars. Between the two we went through our first metal detector. As we stepped back outside I managed to snap a picture. As far as I know, it is the only picture of the embassy any of us got, because at the third perimeter our cameras, cell phones etc. were confiscated for the duration of our visit. (My theory on the picture was that since they hadn’t already confiscated my camera or told me not to take pictures, it must be alright…) The third level of security was also interesting because we each entered the building where this was taking place individually. Here our bags were screened with a machine. My watch, which I just bought yesterday, caused some interest because it happened to be lying in my bag in a straight line, which made it look like some kind of stick. They rescanned it at a different angle and let me keep it. All the security was being done by a private security firm. It appeared that even the gray/black camouflaged F-150 truck with the gigantic machine gun, with the soldier standing behind it was a member of this security company. Blackwater comes to mind.
After receiving a ticket to retrieve my cameras, it was through another turnstile and we were through the high wall surrounding the embassy. Only two heavy blast doors and one more metal detector and we were in. Our host welcomed us to “Fortress America”.
In contrast the Fulbright House only had one local police officer with one relatively small submachine gun in front of it. The door was secured, but no security checks. We were ushered downstairs to the library where several hundred well worn paperbacks from fiction to Islamic study were available for checkout. We were immediately served pizza and soda for lunch and spent the next hour and a half talking with the Executive Director of the Jordanian-American Fulbright Commision, Alain McNamara.
He was an absolutely charming man, would have been even without the pizza, he described Fulbright’s mission in Jordan with exchanges going both directions. My trip has been funded by this commission to the tune of the better part of a hundred thousand dollars. Our host continued with an interesting disscussion of other funding possibilities for those interested.
I talked to Heidi on the phone today for the first time. That was great.
I miss you all, too, and can’t wait to be able to share in a more personal fashion some of my experiences. If you are going to be in my Social Studies class this year, you’re going to be my captive audience!
Salaam,
Mr. Hakel/Dad/Lane
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Mr. Hakel Goes to Market
NOTE: Our schedule hasn't allowed me much time so all grammatical/spelling/typos are intact. I think it lends to the authenticity of the recollections, don't you? You're right, I'm lazy. Anyway, sorry about that.
Blog 15 July 19, 2010
Hello from Amman, Jordan’s capital city. In about an hour our group will be heading to the United States for the morning. Technically, when you visit any country’s embassy you are legally in that country while on the grounds and in the building. So, for a few hours anyway, we’ll be back home. Sort of.
The sight-seeing portion of our trip has for the most part been completed. Two days ago, we drove up from Aqaba along the Jordanian-Israeli border to the south end of the Dead Sea. I was curious to see the differences between this shared border and the border to the North of the Dea Sea because the only difference would be the lack of the Jordan River, which flows from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. This country side while decidedly in a valley was amongst the most desolate I’ve ever seen. The road crossed several large dune fields. One area looked like stepping off the road meant instant death, but nevertheless the bus slowed to allow a shepherd to finish crossing the road with his flock of goats. I can’t imagine what the goats were grazing on. The only vegetation was the occasional bush the size a medium-sized pumpkin. I guess that’s what they ate then.
When we reached the south end of the Dead Sea we were able to see one of Jordan’s lone industrial pursuits. The Dead Sea on this end has dried to the point that it has become separated from the main body of “water”. It has been further segmented into what looks like large fields and the salt, along with other chemicals, is being harvested from the water.
At one point along the Sea we stopped for a close look at a pull out. Along the shore were large outcroppings of white salt. These were amazing to look at because of the crystalline structure that made it very interesting to see. I hope the pictures turn out, but we were a little far away.
A few minutes later, we were in familiar territory as we drove past the area we swam in last week.
Yesterday in Amman, we visited the Roman citadel that has been preserved and partially reconstructed. The most fascinating activity yesterday though was visiting the market area in the old city. There were plenty of tourists wondering in and around the streets, but this was by no means a tourist set up. This was discount stalls next to high fashion and a gold store next to a shop selling freshly crushed sugar cane juice. This stall had a line waiting for service. The vegetable and fruit market was piled high with items both familiar and exotic. From the largest watermelon I’ve ever seen to cactus fruit being sold in piles on the side walk. An old woman selling cigarettes from a blanket arranged on the ground. You could buy the pack or just one at a time. A butcher shop with half goats hanging in the windows and two severed cow heads complete with tongues hanging out. I was surprised the cows were able to maintain that contented look giving their current circumstances. Fresher meat was available as well. A cage full of relatively peaceful chickens sat next to a cage full of decidedly unhappy ducks. The people wore a mixture of western and eastern clothing. The greatest variety was amongst the women. A large minority wore western dress, most wore the full length robes, most black. Occasionally, robes of different colors appeared. The most variety was seen in the types of head covering. The women who stood out the most wore a black head-covering that exposed only their eyes. In Jordan I have not seen any women wearing a full face covering, or burka. Common in Amman are the white coverings that seem to make a women’s face look like a full moon. I did not see this covering much in the rest of the country. Finally a large segment of women use colorful scarves in a variety of styles to stay in tune with the customs of this country.
Most conspicuous of all in this cacophony of color, smells, and car horns was the 46 year old foreigner walking down the street with his camera in hand and fanny pack on his waist. I suppose I was stared at some, but I did feel very, very obvious. Sometimes that’s a good feeling, but here I wished I could have blended in a little better. The black shorts I was wearing were a dead give away. My ball cap and shirt were ok, but I didn’t see another man besides members of our group wearing shorts. I did make a couple purchases. I got a watch for 12 JD when he opened for 22. I bought a couple of books for school. One is about the Islamic holiday of Ramadan and it is written in Arabic, English and Spanish. The second is a Harry Potter, or as it would be pronounced in Arabic, “’arry Botter”, book in Arabic.
I also bought a traditional Bedouin Men’s robe that is bright white, long-sleeved and hangs to the ground. I’ll be purchasing some other items for my students that will have them dressing the part as well.
Finally today we visited three different museums. In one of them I was able to see, with my own eyes, several large fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls. We also visited the Jordan Musueum of Fine Art, which was interesting because art is not a part of Islam. Dinner was in an old, old residence that was built of stone vaults that gave us the feeling of being far underground in a cavern. It was a lavish buffet with maybe a hundred different items on it. We ate very well and the company was good. We also said “Good bye” to our friend, Ibrahim, who had been our in-bus guide for the last ten days. Ibrahim also brought two of his children to the meal, which made it more special.
Off to the Embassy.
Salaam,
Lane/Dad/The Sheikh;)
Blog 15 July 19, 2010
Hello from Amman, Jordan’s capital city. In about an hour our group will be heading to the United States for the morning. Technically, when you visit any country’s embassy you are legally in that country while on the grounds and in the building. So, for a few hours anyway, we’ll be back home. Sort of.
The sight-seeing portion of our trip has for the most part been completed. Two days ago, we drove up from Aqaba along the Jordanian-Israeli border to the south end of the Dead Sea. I was curious to see the differences between this shared border and the border to the North of the Dea Sea because the only difference would be the lack of the Jordan River, which flows from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. This country side while decidedly in a valley was amongst the most desolate I’ve ever seen. The road crossed several large dune fields. One area looked like stepping off the road meant instant death, but nevertheless the bus slowed to allow a shepherd to finish crossing the road with his flock of goats. I can’t imagine what the goats were grazing on. The only vegetation was the occasional bush the size a medium-sized pumpkin. I guess that’s what they ate then.
When we reached the south end of the Dead Sea we were able to see one of Jordan’s lone industrial pursuits. The Dead Sea on this end has dried to the point that it has become separated from the main body of “water”. It has been further segmented into what looks like large fields and the salt, along with other chemicals, is being harvested from the water.
At one point along the Sea we stopped for a close look at a pull out. Along the shore were large outcroppings of white salt. These were amazing to look at because of the crystalline structure that made it very interesting to see. I hope the pictures turn out, but we were a little far away.
A few minutes later, we were in familiar territory as we drove past the area we swam in last week.
Yesterday in Amman, we visited the Roman citadel that has been preserved and partially reconstructed. The most fascinating activity yesterday though was visiting the market area in the old city. There were plenty of tourists wondering in and around the streets, but this was by no means a tourist set up. This was discount stalls next to high fashion and a gold store next to a shop selling freshly crushed sugar cane juice. This stall had a line waiting for service. The vegetable and fruit market was piled high with items both familiar and exotic. From the largest watermelon I’ve ever seen to cactus fruit being sold in piles on the side walk. An old woman selling cigarettes from a blanket arranged on the ground. You could buy the pack or just one at a time. A butcher shop with half goats hanging in the windows and two severed cow heads complete with tongues hanging out. I was surprised the cows were able to maintain that contented look giving their current circumstances. Fresher meat was available as well. A cage full of relatively peaceful chickens sat next to a cage full of decidedly unhappy ducks. The people wore a mixture of western and eastern clothing. The greatest variety was amongst the women. A large minority wore western dress, most wore the full length robes, most black. Occasionally, robes of different colors appeared. The most variety was seen in the types of head covering. The women who stood out the most wore a black head-covering that exposed only their eyes. In Jordan I have not seen any women wearing a full face covering, or burka. Common in Amman are the white coverings that seem to make a women’s face look like a full moon. I did not see this covering much in the rest of the country. Finally a large segment of women use colorful scarves in a variety of styles to stay in tune with the customs of this country.
Most conspicuous of all in this cacophony of color, smells, and car horns was the 46 year old foreigner walking down the street with his camera in hand and fanny pack on his waist. I suppose I was stared at some, but I did feel very, very obvious. Sometimes that’s a good feeling, but here I wished I could have blended in a little better. The black shorts I was wearing were a dead give away. My ball cap and shirt were ok, but I didn’t see another man besides members of our group wearing shorts. I did make a couple purchases. I got a watch for 12 JD when he opened for 22. I bought a couple of books for school. One is about the Islamic holiday of Ramadan and it is written in Arabic, English and Spanish. The second is a Harry Potter, or as it would be pronounced in Arabic, “’arry Botter”, book in Arabic.
I also bought a traditional Bedouin Men’s robe that is bright white, long-sleeved and hangs to the ground. I’ll be purchasing some other items for my students that will have them dressing the part as well.
Finally today we visited three different museums. In one of them I was able to see, with my own eyes, several large fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls. We also visited the Jordan Musueum of Fine Art, which was interesting because art is not a part of Islam. Dinner was in an old, old residence that was built of stone vaults that gave us the feeling of being far underground in a cavern. It was a lavish buffet with maybe a hundred different items on it. We ate very well and the company was good. We also said “Good bye” to our friend, Ibrahim, who had been our in-bus guide for the last ten days. Ibrahim also brought two of his children to the meal, which made it more special.
Off to the Embassy.
Salaam,
Lane/Dad/The Sheikh;)
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