Petra Photos

 
 
 
 

Trip South

A few weeks ago for our semester break we boarded a bus headed to the south of Jordan. Our first stop was Wadi Dana Nature Reserve, where we spent the night in very comfortable tents at a camp in the middle of the mountains. I'd seen pictures of Wadi Dana before visiting and, to tell the truth, I wasn't very impressed. When I arrived though, I was blown away by the views of green mountains, valleys, and caves nestled into the mountainside. Pictures couldn't do this place justice. As soon as we arrived my friends and I threw our stuff in tents and raced off to hike the cave trail before it got dark to see the caves that used to be used as houses in prehistoric times. One was even a church. We hiked up to see them, took some cool pictures inside them, then returned to the camp for a delicious meal. The stars in Wadi Dana were brighter than I'd ever seen them anywhere else in Jordan (before I went to Wadi Rum that is). We slept well in our nice, comfortable tents, then hiked more in the morning. From Wadi Dana we headed down to Sloavak Castle to see the ruins there. The most exciting ruins were the networks of caves and tunnels that run for miles under the castle. We were warned by our guide that it wasn't safe to go explore them too far, maybe 15 feet in at most, but they were so cool we couldn't help ourselves. We climbed down into the earth below the castle where the air smelled old and damp. We never saw the scorpions and snakes we'd been warned frequent the tunnels these days. I was disappointed we didn't have very much time to explore the tunnels, but the castle was really just a short break on our way to Petra. Once we arrived in Petra we had a few hours to swim in the hotel pool, eat lunch, and rest. That evening we all took the bus to Little Petra, where I really enjoyed myself. Some Bedouin men helped us rock climb up into the ancient buildings and take pictures in them. I liked Little Petra as much as I liked normal Petra, because, even though the sights weren't quite as impressive at Little Petra, the temperature was much more comfortable for exploring the ruins. The next day we went to Petra. The ruins were impressive, as was the desert scenery. The heat, though, got to me after a while. If anyone reading this plans to visit Petra at some point I would advise either going in the winter or being prepared to spend a fair amount of money on transportation (camels, donkeys, carriages) because walking around in the heat you'll get too tired and uncomfortable to see everything.

Note: Having trouble posting the actual Petra pictures. I'll probably add them in my next post.






One of the caves in Wadi Dana.













Wadi Dana














Little Petra. We climbed up into this building.













Dinner by candlelight in Little Petra.

Visiting Seeham and Family

Yesterday we went to Marka again, where we've been practicing English with Iraqi refugees.  I realized, after hearing my friend Ahsal introduced, that her name wasn't Ahsal, it's Shahad, which means Ahsal, which means honey in English.  After we sorted out that confusion we sat down together to talk some more.  When her mother went to prayers, Shadad asked us to come into the kitchen, where she was starting dinner for the family.  She made "finger potatoes," which are a lot like french fries, cooked in oil with cauliflower and eggs.  We asked what kinds of things she liked to do on the weekend and she told us her favorite thing was swimming at the beach, while she lived in Libya.  She says the beach by the Dead Sea in Jordan is too salty to swim in, and the Red Sea is too far away.  She's not allowed to go out with her friends; only with members of her family, so she hasn't met many people in Jordan.  She told my friend Miriam and I that we were like her clique ("shilla" in Arabic) of best friends, even though we've only met her twice.  Her sister is still a little shy around us, but insisted on painting my nails a second time this week.  I did manage to convince her though that a top coat of gold and silver glitter wasn't necessary.  Hopefully we'll visit them again next week or sooner.  Shahad wants us to spend a whole day with her on one of our free weekends.  I hope we do.

Before we sat down to eat the finger potatoes, our director called and said we needed to walk back to the main house where we all met to take taxis home.  We apologized to Shahad and her sister, explaining that we wanted to stay, but had to go home with our group.  They invited us to spend the night, but, since we had class at 8 AM we told them it really wasn't a good idea.  Despite our protests, Shahad wrapped up the majority of the finger potatoes on a paper plate, covered it in foil, and gave it to us for the ride home.  We told her we really didn't need it, that we were full and would just have a taste, but she wouldn't listen, and you can only refuse food so many times before it becomes extremely rude.  We felt horrible, walking away with the better portion of their dinner but there was no way to refuse it without being offensive.  We decided next time we come we're going to bring a pizza for them to share with us.  They love pizza and Western fast food in general.  They asked us what our favorite foods were, and tried to guess.  "You like hamburger?  French fries?  McDonalds?"  That's all they think Americans eat.  Sometime soon my friends and I might visit an Iraqi restaurant nearby to sample traditional Iraqi cuisine.  Seafood (not my favorite thing) is very popular in Iraq, so we'll see how that goes.  Below are pictures from our visits with Seeham, her family, and several other families CLS students have been meeting with. 

A birthday party for Hussein (little boy on the right)and his younger sister (little girl in the middle).  Hussein turned 6, she turned 2.

Hussein helps his mom cut the cake.

Michelle, Shahad, Me, Morgan, and Shahad's sister. (Left to right).

In Seeham's living room with her family.  Morgan, Shahad, her sister, Me, Seeham, an Iraqi woman who works at the refugee center, Michelle, Miriam.  (Left to right).

Lighting the candles.

The cakes!

Best candles ever.

First meeting in the English classroom.

Fireworks.

The birthday girl and her dad.  He lost a leg and the use of his right hand to a car bomb, but he's still trying to learn English even though he can't write. 

Singing happy birthday.

The birthday girl and her cake.

Shadad cooking us finger potatoes.  Her sister is hiding outside the window.

Miriam and Shahad with her sister peeking in the background.

The finger potatoes before the cauliflower was added!

Second Tutoring Session with Iraqi Refugees

 Last night a group of us went to Marka to attend and help out with the English class taught by the Fulbrighters and to go to a birthday party.  Almost all of the men we met with last week are students in the English class.  When we arrived the volunteer coordinator asked if there were any girls willing to meet with a family who lives next door to the school instead of going to the English class itself.  My roommate Morgan, Michelle, Miriam and I all volunteered.  We were welcomed inside the family home and were introduced to the family, Shahar, Ahsal (which means honey in Arabic), their brother Hassan and their mother.  Hassan is the oldest, at 24.  Shahar is 21 and her sister Ahsal is 13.  After we were seated in the living room Ahsal brought in a tray with glasses of fruit juice for all of us.  After she handed them out we took our time drinking them.  A few minutes later her mother explained that, in Arab culture, you must quickly finish any drink you're offered when visiting a home or an office.  It's considered very rude to refuse.  Hearing this, we emptied our glasses right away.

After leaving Baghdad in 2003, the family moved to Libya where their mother taught English.  As she explained it, she understands grammar very well but isn't yet conversationally fluent.  She was really enthusiastic about practicing English with us.  Even if she wasn't fluent, she was able to tell us about her life and past without any major problems in understanding.  Four of her brothers and one of her sisters were killed in Iraq over the last five years.  After her husband left the family in Libya, she had a lot of financial trouble.  Six months ago they moved to Jordan when conditions got especially bad in Libya.  I tried to ask the girls more about what they meant by this and Shahar mostly talked about how hot it was there and how lots of the men they knew there did heroin.  It took about 10 minutes of Shahar miming sticking a needle in her arm and me watching, confused, before I figured out that this was what she was saying.  At first I thought she was trying to tell me she worked as a nurse.  She did attend one year of university in Libya, where she studied to be a laboratory technician (try saying that in Arabic.  The word has about 20 syllables).  She wants to go back to school but right now there's not enough money.  Her mother told us in perfect English, "in the hearts of the Iraqis there is only sadness."  She wants her daughters to learn English, but, even though their home literally shares a wall with the English classroom, they aren't allowed to attend because there are men present who aren't related to them.  

As we sat in the living room I noticed some family pictures.  I thought this might be a good conversation starter.  I asked Ahsal if she was in the picture.  She pointed to her mom's stomach and told me (I think) that her mom was pregnant with her when the photo was taken.  She then showed me everyone else in the picture, telling me "this is my uncle, he died three years ago, this is my other uncle, he died at the same time, this is my aunt who died last year. etc."  It seemed like more people in the photograph had been killed in the war than were still alive.

We talked with the girls for about an hour, then went to Ali's house for his daughter Howla's 3rd birthday party and his son Hussein's 6th.  (They were born on the same day three years apart).  Ali's been studying English for a while, but has been having a hard time since he lost the use of his right hand to a car bomb in Iraq.  He also lost a leg in the Iran-Iraq war and so uses crutches.  Ali told me that his family is moving to the United States two months from now, but he's not sure what state they'll be in yet.  I told him I lived in Massachusetts, which is probably the hardest state in the U.S. for Arabs to pronounce.  People always ask if I live in Texas; everyone knows Texas.  If I say no, they ask if I'm from New York or Washington.

After the party I went back to Shahar and Ahsal's house to bring them cake.  They weren't allowed to come to the party because there were men present.  When I came in they brought me into the bedroom they share and offered to do my nails.  I told thanks, but it's really okay, I don't need my nails done, but they didn't listen.  They decided to paint my fingernails and toenails, giggling and laughing the whole time.  I didn't really understand much of what they were saying but hopefully I'll get better at Iraqi dialect as I spend more time with them.  

Morgan came by to let me know our group was getting ready to go, but as soon as she came in Ahsal and Shahar insisted on giving us some of their temporary tattoos, after painting my fingernails and toenails.  They also insisted on giving us each a pair of their earrings.  We wanted to refuse; we don't need any more earrings and they didn't have very many, but refusing a gift is one of the rudest things you can do in Arab culture.  Then Ahsal ran to get her pack of gum and gave us each a piece before we left.  As we were walking out the door, she ran up to us offering us each a popsicle for the road.  We told her no thank you, we were really full, but she wouldn't listen.  We mentioned to one of the coordinators how generous the girls had been to us, and she thought it was probably because they really wanted us to come back.  They made us promise to come visit for a day so that we could all cook together.  Morgan and I don't have long enough chunks of free time to visit them in Marka very often, but when we are free we're planning to return with something to give them for their hospitality.  I'm thinking of giving Ahsal a jar of honey I brought from Massachusetts.  

Below are some pictures I took this week.

 

Burger King and McDonalds, Jordanian style.  The signs literally say "Boo-jerrr King" and "Mak-doo-naldz."
 

A cafe by the University where I like to sit and do homework.
 

Boo-jer King

Hiking Wadi Mujib Slot Canyon

Last weekend some of our group traveled to Wadi Mujib Nature Reserve.  In the reserve is the Wadi Mujib slot canyon, which we hiked through.  The hike begins in a fairly wide gorge with a river running through the middle.  As you walk up the river the path gets narrower and the walls of the canyon get closer.  Very quickly into the hike you reach a point where walking on dry land is no longer an option, which is fine given the pleasant temperature of the water and the daytime heat.  In the spring, fall, and winter, it's sometimes necessary to swim through parts of the trail but, since we were there in the summer, the water was fairly low.  Throughout the trail are waterfalls, which need to be climbed with ropes.  (These waterfalls make great slides on the way down!)  At the end of the trail is an enormous (50 foot?) waterfall, which is impossible to climb up.  To hike back down you just turn around, lie on your back, and let the current carry you.  You'll definitely get bounced around my rocks--my whole body was pretty cut up at the end of the day, but it was an amazing experience.  I climbed up my favorite waterfall three or four times to slide down it again.  For anyone even considering coming to Jordan, you should come to for the experience of hiking Wadi Mujib alone.  It was probably one of the coolest things I've ever done and definitely one of the most beautiful places I've ever been.  I didn't trust myself to bring my camera and keep it dry, so I'm posting pictures my friends took of us in the Wadi.  

Climbing up one of the waterfalls.  My friend on the left is using the rope, I'm waiting to climb up after her on the right after climbing halfway without it. 

• Another waterfall we climbed, viewed from the bottom.

Me sliding down a small waterfall.  

The end of the trail waterfall.

Climbing the biggest of the falls. 

Language Exchange with Iraqi Refugees

Today was my first day of volunteering with the Fulbright program in Jordan, helping Iraqi refugees practice their English.  Several of the CLS students volunteered to meet with some of the Iraqi refugees who are studying English so that we'd have a chance to practice our Arabic and they'd have a chance to practice their English.

We all met in one of the homes they're living in, in the town of Marka, which is on the outskirts of Amman.  We sat in the living room and were served cookies, soda, and other snacks at the beginning of the meeting.  I was nervous that I wouldn't be able to understand Iraqi Arabic, because it's different than the Jordanian dialect I have been using since I arrived.  However, it turns out that Iraqi dialect is much closer to Modern Standard Arabic, the language of official communications, newscasts and print journalism.  I've only Modern Standard Arabic at college, not any of the dialects, which are what people use to speak to each other in daily life, so communication is a challenge.  Speaking to people in Modern Standard Arabic would be a little like using Shakespearian English in everyday life.  People understand you if you speak to them in MSA, but they think you're pretty weird.  Iraqi dialect sounds a lot like MSA though, so I found it easier to understand than Jordanian.

I spoke first with an Iraqi woman, Omm Ali, (literally Mother of Ali)  who works at a community center for Iraqi refugees, helping them adjust to life in Jordan and also teaching English.  I was hesitant to discuss any kind of political issue since I wasn't sure my Arabic would allow me to say anything substantial and I would just wind up looking ignorant.  As an American I couldn't help feel guilty about what the Bush government did to their country, even if I'm not personally responsible.  All of the refugees I spoke with had family in Baghdad, many had relatives who'd been killed or injured in bombings.   Some of the men I talked to told me they had started practicing their English with American soldiers when they were still living in Iraq.  One man told me how he would have soldiers over to his home for dinner where they would speak in a mixture of English and Iraqi Arabic.  I was surprised to hear how friendly relations between some of the soldiers and Iraqi citizens were, which is not to say that they approve of the war.

Omm Ali said to a friend of mine that it seems like America wants to control the Middle East and asked why so many Americans think they know enough about the region to support the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan when the reality is that most Americans couldn't even find either country on a map.  I have the same question.  Speaking with Omm Ali and some of the Iraqi men was an incredible privilege.  We're meeting again next week on Monday and Wednesday.  I feel so honored that they would invite me, an American, into their homes, despite the unjust war my country is waging on theirs.  

Jerash

Friday morning my roommate Morgan and I took a minibus to Jerash for less than a dollar.  We explored the ruins, took lots of pictures, and ate at a delicious restaurant, Beit Lubnanee or Lebanese House.  There's plenty of information about the ancient Roman city of Jerash online, so I won't give much here, but I wanted to post pictures for anyone interested.  My favorite five are below, more are uploaded here http://picasaweb.google.com/110531768025162610549.  

 

 
 
 The entrance to the city

City center.

Roman theater.

City gates.

Update on the Cultural Activity Lecture

As I expected I understood about 5% of the lecture tonight. I consistently recognized about 10 words: Muslim, Jew, Christian, Saudi Arabia, Obama, the economy, Denmark, America, Ghana, and the World Cup. I'm trying to imagine what kind of talk could coherently link all of these subjects, but apparently his did. Will update more this weekend as soon as I go somewhere interesting. For now it's وجبات ووجبات و اكثر وجبات (homework, homework, and more homework).

Scavenger Hunt

Saturday we were divided up into teams to explore Amman on a Scavenger Hunt. We visited all the main sites: the national art museum, the citadel, downtown, and Abu Darwish mosque. Pictures can't really do any of these places justice, but I have a lot more posted here http://picasaweb.google.com/110531768025162610549. Definitely check them out if you're interested in seeing the ruins! Today we went back to classes at Qasid, which went well. This evening we have Cultural Activites, a 2 hour class that happens 3 times a week, which are an opportunity for us to interact with Jordanians in Arabic. Tonight a professor is coming to speak about the coexistence of Christians and Muslims in the Middle East, in Arabic, of course. It's definitely an interesting topic, but I doubt I'll be able to understand much of it considering that this morning I had trouble ordering a sandwich. By the end of the summer though, I hope I'll be competent, or at least less incompetent, in the language and able to accomplish daily tasks smoothly without having to resort to clumsy gestures and head shaking.

The Roman Theater.

The Citadel.

Me climbing the ruins.

Abu Darwish mosque. One of my favorite sights in Amman.

Our first week of school ended yesterday. In Jordan, the work week follows the Muslim calendar, so our weekend is made up of Friday and Saturday, while Sunday is a school day. I didn't have time during the school week to write at all, which turned out to be fine since I didn't have time to do anything either. As promised, we're assigned an hour of homework for every hour of class so, with 4 hours of class, at least 8 hours of my day is taken up with Arabic study. My class is extremely challenging, but I know I'll learn a lot. Almost everyone else in the class spent their first year of Arabic studying Al-Kitab, which is the standard textbook for nearly every Arabic program in the United States. My class at college, though, was probably the one class that didn't use this book, so I'm doing my best to catch up and learn the Al-Kitab vocab. Most people's classes were also taught in Arabic, just like our classes are at Qasid, so they're used to having grammar concepts explained to them and homework assigned to them, all in Arabic. I'm adjusting to having Arabic spoken to me and people actually expecting me to understand most, if not all, of what they're saying. Both my professors are great, although they assign a lot of homework.

We celebrated the end of the week by going out and exploring the city of Amman. First we went to Abdoun, an upscale neighborhood filled with mansions and expensive (well, relatively) stores. We had heard that this was the place to go for the best ice cream in Jordan. I got one small scoop of Double Chocolate Cake for 1.5JD, a little more than $2US, which could buy me lunch for 2 days here, if I ate at our favorite falafel and hummus place near our school. Then we headed downtown to the King Hussein Cultural Center, where a free film festival was going on. We saw the independent film London River, which was very well done. It's a little slow moving at first but, without question, a must see. Probably one of my favorite movies. From there the plan was to walk to Rainbow Street and find a sports bar so that people who were interested could watch the game, but somehow we got turned around and ended up downtown. Our program director Joe happened to be with us, and he asked a man walking near us how to get to Rainbow Street.

You have to be careful when asking for directions in Jordan and most of the Middle East. Even if someone has no idea how to get to your destination, they'll make up specific, detailed directions because they don't want to seem unhelpful. It's best to ask two people and see if their directions match up. This guy seemed to know where he was going though. He walked with us to a steep staircase, going up one of Amman's many hills. We climbed and climbed what seemed like thousands of stairs. As we climbed the staircase got progressively narrower. After a few minutes all 8 of us were walking single file up a staircase that we realized was part of someone's house. We had come up through their basement. We were confused and tried to turn around, but the Jordanian leading us insisted tfadli, tfadli, which means come in, so we did. He escorted us through the front room, where a group of men were gathered, watching the soccer game. He opened the front door of his home and let us out onto what turned out to be Rainbow street.

This morning I went with my roommate to get her hair cut and straightened. I was hoping to be able to practice my Ammiya, the Jordanian dialect, with some of the women in the waiting room. It's hard to find places to practice this dialect since it's considered flirting for me to make conversation with a man and there aren't many women just hanging out, free to talk. Hair salons here are segregated by gender. Women who wear the hijab, the Muslim headscarf, come in, remove their scarves, get their hair done then cover it back up before they go outside. Today, though, we were the only customers at the salon and so didn't practice much Ammiya.

One of the most difficult things about studying Arabic is the diglossic nature of the language. The Standard Arabic used in newspapers, literature, speeches, television and radio broadcasts is not the Arabic people speak everyday. Verbs are conjugated differently, prepositions change their meaning, and even different pronouns are used. Speaking Standard Arabic to someone you meet would be like speaking Shakespearian English to friends in the U.S. It's considered the language of formal communication and isn't used in daily interaction. Ammiya and Standard Arabic are just similar enough to make it incredibly confusing to switch back and forth between the two. During my first 3 hours of classes we speak and are spoken to in Modern Standard. However, during the last hour of class we're supposed to use Ammiya, and are corrected if we use words from Modern Standard that aren't appropriate in Ammiya conversation. I'm glad I'm learning the Jordanian dialect though, because it's understood throughout a large part of the Middle East, unlike the Moroccan dialect, a mix of French, Arabic and Berber, which nobody except Moroccans understands.

Rania, my professor of Modern Standard Arabic. My roommate Morgan is on the right.

A Jordanian toilet in downtown Amman.

The city at night.

King Hussein Bridge (I think?)

View fromt the rooftop hookah bar.