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