Meet Me in the Middle (East)

Toys for Zawter

2006-11-04T15:23:00.001+02:00

Perched in the mountains of southern Lebanon overlooking the Litani River is the small town of Zawter.

The tiny village has been ravaged by the recent war, though some towns have more damage and others have less. How do you measure the level of destruction or the real impact of war and violence? Can it (should it) really be assessed in buildings destroyed or bombs detonated?

Cars shake as they drive into Zawter over the shrapnel-pocked road. The school bears the scars of blast marks and shattered windows, though the walls are intact. At least the structure of the building has survived. This feels like a relief. This is what qualifies as ‘good news’ in southern Lebanon.

Other good news, the mine action and recovery teams have come to sweep for cluster bombs.

Zawter is filled with them. They have been marked off but have only been removed along main roads and public places. People are walking freely in the streets now (though not out to tend crops, many of which are beginning to spoil unharvested).

Entire blocks of Zawter are just gone. One block had 22 houses and a center for kids. All gone.

You can still see the wall painted by the children along the base of where the youth center used to stand.

The municipality has offered some space to the people who ran the youth center – two rooms and an outdoor area -- to create a new safe area for kids.

The first time I visited one of the rooms was filled with piles and boxes of the books, desks and chairs they had managed to pull from the rubble. The second room was entirely empty and the open space was empty aside from a few plastic chairs and a UNHCR tarp on the ground.

Armed with the resources of a small group of individuals in Jordan, I have been to Zawter several times with the pleasant mission of helping the youth center create this new space for the town’s youth.

After coordinating logistics and negotiating the purchase of supplies through Maria (from the Jaber Center in Nabatieh) we are able to buy toys, art supplies, books, two computers, desks, shelves, chairs, a slide, a seesaw, a merry-go-round and a sound system for Zawter.

The energy and appreciation from the adults and children alike is heart-warming. There are so many large organizations investing in Lebanon, but some are finding themselves caught up in the political chaos and bureaucracy that is threatening to paralyze the country. . .or push it into chaos.

Without the resources or support of those larger organizations, we were also free of the official restrictions and hoops other programs are caught in. This is the blessing of small programs. And goes to show what a difference just a few motivated people can make. This I try to tell myself time and again.

Driving through the devastated towns, distracted in the bars of downtown Beirut, listening helplessly as another person tells me of the damage inflicted on her home or another loss in his family, I want to believe each little bit counts.

But the little bits could be so much bigger. And they are not adding up to enough. Not fast enough.

The amount of aid money pouring into Lebanon is in many ways impressive, seen by most as a competition for the 'hearts and minds' of the local population. In some ways this is a good thing, but it is problematic for the less notorious areas of Lebanon devastated by the fighting, and for international (especially U.S.-backed) agencies who are forbidden to work with Hezbollah at any level.

The Lebanese government has also been criticized for being slow to implement relief efforts and distribute aid. The politicians quibble over how to reform the government or who should distribute aid or how to leverage the rebuilding to win support from the people. But as the debate goes on, winter is creeping in and countless broken homes, physically and emotionally, are left to face the rains and the cold alone.

Still Here. Still Proud. Still Waiting for Change...

2006-10-08T18:49:00.000+03:00

You can see more on TV than you almost ever do in person, but there is always something unique about actually being there.

Knowing that, and aware that sweeping aerial shots and cutaways often mask some of the realities and emotions of large events, I found myself in a service taxi toward the Hezbollah rally on Friday, Sept. 22. It took some time to find a service willing to take us toward the chaotic and crowded streets, but finally we hailed one and the woman riding with us adopted a motherly attitude toward us as soon as we stepped out into the streets. She was probably in her 60s, no more than 5’ 3” tall with a black headscarf and a sweet smile. We had been dropped off far from the main rally site but as close as any cars were driving at that point as waves of people moved through the streets. I struggled to speak with her in Arabic, easily discussing the usual topics, where I am from, how long I have been in Lebanon, what I do here and what I think of the country (this is the moment where everyone thinks my Arabic is great, then launches into another topic of discussion that I absolutely cannot follow).

But on this day there was no time for long discussions anyway, we were late and making our way hastily toward the rally site. People had begun gathering in the morning, crowds and caravans had left from parts of the south days earlier, driving, walking, carpooling their way to the city in response to Hezbollah leader Sheik Hassan Nasrallah’s call for a ‘victory rally’ in the war-ravaged southern suburbs of Beirut known as the Dahiya (or 'suburbs' in Arabic).

The charismatic Nasrallah and this rally celebrating ‘The Divine Victory’ received significant media attention and made for a great visual (the crowd was estimated from half a million to 800,000) but paint an inaccurate picture of the real mood in Lebanon. Our motherly guardian kept an eye on us as long as she could-- walking with us, directing us to make sure we were headed in the right direction and looking over her shoulder as we made our way through the streets -- until finally she disappeared into the growing masses.

Almost everyone in the crowd was in an upbeat and jovial spirit, there were groups of youth dancing and singing, with Hezbollah supporters vastly outnumbering anyone else but a distinct presence of the green flags for Amal, the other Shi’a political party, as well as the bright orange of Christian leader Aoun'sFree Patriotic Movement, and an array of Palestinian groups, Communists and even some people sporting several of these flags at the same time.

Notably absent were any supporters of the March 14 forces, a coalition of political parties currently controlling the Lebanese parliament. The alliance consists of several groups including Saad Hariri's Future Movement, Druze leader Walid Jumblatt's Progressive Socialist Party and Samir Geagea's Lebanese Forces. The March 14 group is named after the massive protests held in Beirut on that date, one month after the assassination of former PM Rafik Hariri, which led to the withdrawal of Syrian troops from Lebanon.

With Aoun's Christian party and the mainly Sunni-based Palestinian factions showing their support, the break does not fall along religious lines but distinctly into anti-Syrian and pro-Syrian alliances. These rifts are just the rumblings of a major political debate about the future of Lebanon that was underway before the fighting erupted and clearly must be addressed in one way or another. Only time will tell if it will be through dialogue and transformation or violence.

But that is a challenge for another day. On this day the focus was on the excitement of being alive amid the rubble and witnessing the emergence of Nasrallah for the first time since July. Many people came to the rally for that reason alone. “I am not a Hezbollah supporter but I support Nasrallah,” one woman told me, and several others said they were just there to see him in the flesh and hear him speak live because he has become such an icon.

We navigated our way through throngs of people in an attempt to move toward the main rally, even the side streets blocks from the stages were filled with people who had chosen to watch from the comfort of a plastic chair with a hubbly bubbly at their side, clustered around TVs placed outside so large groups could gather around.

There were leathery faces of farmers, the pale skinned conservative women with black hijabs to their chins and robes to the ground, children with painted faces, fashionable girls with Hezbollah flags and matching yellow hair ribbons, shirts and assorted accessories, teenage boys in packs and families with young children on their parents’ shoulders.

Finally we had moved as far into the crowd as we deemed possible without risking actually being compacted, jostled by those still trying to move and mingling in the hot sun and sweat of the crowd just at the edge of the main rally location (long-filled hours before our arrival). Pinned alongside a young Muslim girl in a beautiful light blue hijab with Gucci sunglasses and an older man with a leathered face dripping in the heat, I looked up at the surrounding buildings at the groups of people watching from the comfort of their balconies and rooftops. Security guards were also clearly present, peering down from the roofs of residences, gas stations and businesses as well as along the gated perimeters controlling the flow of the crowds.

A stream of five or six women in black hijabs and their children aggressively pushed around me just as a rowdy group of Palestinian supporters tried to make their way forward through the crowd from the right. The ebb and flow continued throughout but as Nasrallah stepped to the microphone no one moved or cared, there was only cheering and chanting. Throughout the speech the mood of the crowd remained upbeat and positive. Although I couldn’t understand most of it, I know “Amewika” and “Condoweezza” (yes Nasrallah speaks with a lisp) when I hear it, but while most ‘booed’ the real emotion remained festive and jubilant -- more on a loud celebration of the end of hostilities, the survival of Lebanon and the loud proclamation that Lebanon has survived this ordeal and will not be silenced or bullied.

People seem happy to be alive, happy it is over and proud of the resilience of the country. Regardless of the politics I hear this as a sentiment. The anger and sadness are there, mixed with a sense of total abandonment by the world. There is a deep disappointment and fury over the rampant destruction of Lebanon, the use of American-made weapons to wreak havoc and suffering on the entire Lebanese population and the sense of never-ending exceptionalism offered to Israel by Western powers -- yet that is exactly where the strength and energy of the crowd comes from, celebrating one tiny nation’s ability to stand up against all of that and survive.

These sentiments are echoed across the city, often in the form of banners or graffiti. In the Beirut suburbs and across the south there are bright red banners across rocketed buildings that read “Made in U.S.A.” One wall in the city reads “We are not afraid. We are Lebanon.” and there are several other more graphic comments to be found.

Despite the size of the 'victory rally' and the attention it received, it is only one in a wide range of events and perspectives that are shaping this turbulent chapter in Lebanon and the region. Most of the Lebanese I know stayed at work during the rally and continued on with their normal activities. Within days of this event, other rallies were held and speeches delivered by the predominant anti-Syrian political leaders including Saad Hariri (Sunni politician and son of slain former PM Rafik Hariri) and Samir Geagea (leader of the Lebanese Forces – a Christian-based militia turned political party after the civil war).

As the struggle for power through politics, posturing and reconstruction gains momentum, it is also important to note that while the U.S. may have dubbed Hezbollah a ‘terrorist organization’ similar allegations could be leveled at many of the key political players in Lebanon. Most of them led militias and carried out attacks, authorized assassinations and betrayed alliances and committed crimes of all scales against one another throughout the fighting in Lebanon during 1975-1990. Despite the management and participations in these transgressions, Geagea was the only one of the militia leaders (some would say warlords) to ever be imprisoned for his actions. He spent 11 years in solitary confinement until the Lebanese Parliament an amnesty law releasing him in 2005. A broader amnesty law was passed in 1991 (the first law passed by the reconstituted parliament) and pardoned all Lebanese individuals and groups for virtually any crimes committed before March 1991.

No reconciliation, investigation or national dialogue was ever held. Maybe this is due to the significant Syrian military and political control of the country until 2005. This could also be partially due to the fighting in southern Lebanon, which lasted another ten years after the end of the civil war. By the time Israeli troops withdrew in 2000, large reconstruction efforts had already been underway for years in Beirut and the northern parts of Lebanon.

Regardless of the reason, this gaping lack of discussion and examination results in virtually no accountability, forgiveness or divulging of information that may help Lebanon and the families of those killed, tortured and abused (as well as those who participated in all those activities) to accept the past as that and move on to what has the potential to be a new era for Lebanon. For now, the history books remain unrevised, crimes remain unpunished and families remain without answers.

While other countries have tried truth and reconciliation commissions and international or national tribunals, Lebanon appears to be solidly embracing the idea that such a phase can be skipped entirely.

Is it possible to just sanction a national amnesia and go forward? What impact does this have on the victims, the perpetrators, the leaders and the nation? How does it affect the families, communities and children living in the environment those violent times created (physically and politically)? And if there has been no open dialogue or exploration of how and why it happened, what is to keep the same from happening again? How much has really changed?

The Aftershocks of War

2006-09-20T18:16:00.000+03:00

Every drive south is a new experience along a different route, the construction is transforming the traffic patterns daily and there seems to be no ‘best route’ along some portions where cars are forced to abandon the main (and only) highway. I’m in no real position to talk about the ‘south’ as I have only been down as far as the Litani River, but it is far enough to be a dramatic shift of scenery from the heart of Beirut. Of course that was always true but now the chasm seems to have widened between these two segments of Lebanese society.

Beirut is getting back into the swing of things. The swelling number of people out and about is easily apparent in the bars and restaurants even in the time I have been back. The two major universities (AUB and LAU) opened last week and with the air and sea blockades finally lifted there are plenty of flights to bring those who fled or were stranded back in to Lebanon.

In addition, all those who stayed were mostly isolated with their families in the mountains for the duration of the war. For young Lebanese, like everyone else, this was not the vibrant summer season they had anticipated and many are eager to return to their lives – whether that is studying at the university or dancing until the sun comes up at the late night hotspots like BO18, where I was a week ago. Unfortunately I only made it until 4 a.m. but the line to get in as I was heading to bed was a clear testimonial to the commitment of the Lebanese youth to reinstate the vibrant nightlife that made Beirut a favorite for vacationers and businessmen across the region.

As the Lebanese socialites trickle back in from their summer vacations in the mountains and across Europe to fill the emptied streets of Beirut, the south is also swelling with returnees seeking to embrace a return to normalcy. But those in the south do not return to empty streets, they face roads blasted with craters, mountains of cement and rubble where the businesses and homes they frequented used to stand and croplands scattered with cluster bombs that continue to claim lives. As Beirutis return to long nights out on the town (arguably an important contribution to re-starting the economy and tourism industry), others spend long days trying to distribute food and aid to those even less fortunate.

Back at the Jaber Center in Nabatieh last weekend, I spent half the day filling bags for distribution – soap, powdered and fortified milk, antibiotics, instant cereal, washcloths, diapers and feminine products. In a huge room with boxes lining the walls I filled bag after bag as others outside faced the massive lines of women coming to collect supplies. Some impatient people banged on the door or yelled through the windows. Another one of the women at the center collapsed during the day. Everyone has been working long hours day after day with no end in sight and their exhaustive efforts are starting to take a toll, though no one will admit it or slow down. The stress and frustration is also rising among the people coming for supplies, with extensive lists and procedures I cannot claim to have a clue about, there are inevitably families or individuals who want more than what they are given, or to be attended to faster or feel as though they deserved special, different or more immediate attention.

I only spent one day in this space. What a dedication and work ethic. I cannot imagine how they are doing it day in and day out. Even as their own families struggle through this strange time of recovery and rebuilding.

Back in Beirut, September 11th came and went and marked, among so many other things, my first day of Arabic. While I am at last able to conjugate verbs, I wonder if this endeavor is really a surmountable task or if I will be forever forced to enjoy my ability to hold idle conversations while being entirely lost as soon as the discussion starts to get interesting. I understand just enough to know what people are talking about, and just little enough to not know what they have to say about the subject. Very frustrating.

I have found myself in some interesting conversations lately with amazing mixes of people; Armenians, Moroccans, Sudanese, Brazilians, Turks, British, French (and of course Lebanese). The level of discourse surrounding Lebanon’s current and future status has risen, which could be a positive sign of engagement among the people, although most seem to think little has changed in the overall equation. People seem stuck struggling between two emotions: the desire to believe in the (repeatedly tested) strength, resilience and dedication of the Lebanese . . . and possibility that the transformation they had hoped so much for will never emerge from the cycle of violence that has continued to rock Lebanon, from car bombs through 2005 to the recent onslaught of rockets and cluster bombs.

One small shift since the end of the war has been in the discussion of Hezbollah itself. The name along used to only be whispered in hushed tones or marked with an almost unconscious cautious glance around the room. Now it is open season on the topic of Hezbollah, their role in Lebanon, the impact of the war, their actions and what will happen next.

It is still unclear whether more people in Lebanon will be coming or going now that the official state of war has ended. What counts as the end of war? Is it supposed to be finished now that the bombs have stopped falling from the sky? Does it feel that way to the families stuck in their homes or cautiously making their way down main streets as mine teams mark off unexploded ordinances? Or to the farmers who can now look out at their crops but not harvest them for fear of exploding?

It is a bit like the aftershocks of an earthquake. The power outages. The cluster bombs. Scuffles over food supplies and aid. The shifting demographics of the nation as thousands of international forces pour into Lebanon to protect. . .who? Lebanon? Israel? Why are they only on this side of the line?

Israel has announced it hopes to withdraw the last of its troops by the weekend. A big weekend to be sure – Friday sunset will mark Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year and the next morning (depending on the moon) will most likely mark the start of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting and religious introspection. And the official onset of autumn.

Nasrallah himself has not missed the significance of this day either. He has called for a rally in Lebanon on Friday in the southern suburbs of Beirut, where the Hezbollah headquarters were housed and an area severely damaged during the war. Nasrallah encouraged all Lebanese to attend the rally and although the debate is raging about whether or not he will appear (since Israel has threatened Nasrallah himself is a “legitimate target” no matter where he is), I would bet that he will be there. Along with a couple hundred thousand Lebanese, foreign journalists and assorted other observers. And love him or hate him, blame him or praise him, he will be untouchable.

Long Days in Nabatieh

2006-09-04T19:26:00.000+03:00

The energy and focus of everyone at the center may be directed at helping those most in need in Nabatieh and across the region, but every one of them has been through this war too, and slowly the stories start to come out.

Maria, her husband and their daughter had stayed in Nabatieh longer than most because of sick relatives, but finally fled to Beirut. By the time they left, Nabatieh was a ghost town as families and individuals risked the drive north toward Beirut, Syria and the mountains in search of safer ground. Maria said they opened up three houses in Beirut, filling them to the gills with about 60 families. Each morning she would go with her husband at 4:00 or 5:00 a.m. to stand in line for bread and other food supplies, then return to cook and take care of everyone.

Her home in Ansar, just outside of Nabatieh, sustained minimal damage, glass blown out by the blast from rockets on a nearby hillside. Only the fully closed windows shattered from the pressure of the explosion, namely the sliding doors in her daughter’s room (which makes me think if I was her, I would probably never close another window all the way the rest of my life. . . )

In the afternoon I found myself chatting in the hallway with Maysa. Quiet and sweet with a very strong work eithic, she is the administrative support and basically keeps the Shabab Center (and all of us) organized. French-educated and giggling with embarrassment as her brother teases her, she huddles against the wall to show me how she spent the first 15 days of the war -- fearfully planted in a corner of their room. She stayed in that corner, refusing to move, until she was finally coaxed out and into a car headed toward Beirut. Her brother Hassan, one of the theater teachers, stayed in Nabatieh for the duration of the war.

Ali Baalbaki stayed as well, volunteering with the Lebanese Red Cross. He is a psychologist by training and works with the environmental club at the Shabab Center. Speaking almost no English, though he understands it well, he has become a close friend as well as one of my best and most patient Arabic teachers, making me repeat words again and again (and again!) until I get them right.

Around 5:00 p.m. I go with Ali and his friend Ali (yes, it's like 'John') drive one of the girls from the center home. Ali points out buildings that were hit as we drive through town. I only got details about two of them.

We passed right along one home that had four young children sleeping in a bed together and their mother inside when it was hit by an Israeli rocket. Two of the children died instantly, the others are still hospitalized and the house is a mountainous pile of cement and fabrics ripped to shreds. I couldn't tell you how many stories it used to be if I had to, it has been reduced to complete rubble.

A second building, a school for the disabled hangs in tatters halfway up the hill, a huge building ripped open by a rocket. Luckily no one was inside but more than half the structure is missing and collapsed. Alone on a hillside it seems a strange target (though not as 'strange' as some like the Liban Lait factory).

According to Ali, during the war the air strikes would mostly come after dark, when it was far too dangerous to move around. There was nothing they could do but listen and wait for the light and the silence to settle across the empty town. Then they would race around in Red Cross ambulances, hoping the vehicles would keep them safe, and trying to identify where they had heard explosions during the night. Once they located the sites hit they could then try to get to those stuck under rubble before the next round of rockets began to fall.

Back at the center in Maria’s office, though she has been upstairs in meetings for hours, we all talk as people come and go. Everyone asks about whether I watched what happened from the U.S. and how it was portrayed in America. It is a difficult question to answer and I feel myself trying to explain . . . what do you say? How do I explain where the U.S. perspective comes from, about lobbying and political influence and the level of ignorance and war fatigue?

What kind of answers are these? What excuses? How do you look at people and say I’m sorry my country did nothing as you were attacked and struggling to save the lives of innocents hurt by missiles America sold to Israel? As children are injured by cluster bombs scattered through the homes and fields of farmers and gardeners? That someone decided your town and family and community are all acceptable casualties of a militarily-obsessed political strategy that is failing time and again but refuses to change?

I look at them and I hear Lebanese Prime Minister Fouad Siniora pleading for help in the first week of the war, with already more than 300 killed, 1,000 injured and half a MILLION displaced LEBANESE (not Hezbollah):

“Is the value of human life in Lebanon less than that of the citizens of other countries?” he asked. “Is this what the international community calls self defense? Is this the price we pay for aspiring to build our democratic institutions? Is this the message to send to the country of diversity, freedom and tolerance?”

These people, who I have worked with so closely, have dedicated their lives to working to change their communities and foster dialogue. These Lebanese who spend their time working to foster creativity, provide alternatives to violence and instill a sense of global connection in the midst of this ‘Hezbollah stronghold’. I am not saying the characterization is wrong, but it is never that simple (especially in Lebanon). There are good people everywhere. And people with different beliefs and perspectives. And back when we were small and thought there were only ‘good guys’ and ‘bad guys’ and the good guys always won . . . and we were always the good guys . . .

So what do you say?

What do I say? To Amer, our theater instructor, whose brother just died on Sunday.
A doctor who stayed behind to help those wounded in the war.

He died from injuries he sustained trying to help pull a family from the rubble of another home rocketed in the midst of all this chaos.

The whole town is mourning for him, he was a kind soul people tell me, the sort of man who would treat anyone even if they could not pay. “Goodbye…to the protector of the poor” one banner hanging across the street by his family’s house reads. A large tent extends from the house, creating an area for mourners to gather and pay their respects to the family. I climb the stairs to the porch with a heavy heart, holding Maria’s hand, it is 10:00 p.m. and we have just left the center. We stopped on our way out to visit Ghadeer, a kind, vivacious girl about my age who works at the center. During the afternoon she stumbled into the office and collapsed into a chair. Taking a sip of water she began to shake, sweat and mumble incoherently. I held her head and her hand as someone checked her pulse and patted a cool tissue along her brow and down the edge of her headscarf. Looking pale and shaking with increasingly violent spasms, she was carried out and taken to the hospital. Now at her home she is curled in bed, drained and being forced to rest. Her mother offers us fresh juice and cigarettes as we apologize and say we must head to pay our respects to Amer and his family.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes as we reach the porch and I see Amer step toward the door. He has no idea I am even in Lebanon. Mohammad is there too, I hug them both and say I am sorry, struggling to express myself and immensely aware of my deficient Arabic skills. But glad that I could be there. We sit for a bit. More cigarettes and Arabic coffee and then we head on our way, home to Maria’s house for dinner.

Around 11:00 p.m. we finally climb the dark stairs to Maria’s floor, always one farther up than I think. The power is out but once we get inside her husband goes to turn on the generator and we all slip into our pajamas before sitting down to eat. Curled on the couch, talking and watching the news, I feel myself starting to fade and realize Maria’s daughter has already slipped off to bed. And I do the same.

Arriving at the Shabab Center

2006-09-03T22:56:00.000+03:00

We had left Beirut at 11:00 a.m. after waiting for petrol (the stations open at 10). After the intense drive down from Beirut to Nabetieh, I could hardly contain myself as we pulled up to the youth center where I have spent the last six months helping create the Shabab Center.

It is 1:30 p.m. and the building was abuzz with activity. Mercy Corps has taken over one whole section as the coordination office for their relief operations in southern Lebanon. The main entrance was crowded with families and women coming to collect food and supplies as children and staff wandered in all directions.

The center itself has quite a presence. It is a huge building of white stone, two parking lots and a basketball court out front. Built on a hill, the entire upper level houses a massive open-floor theater with stage, plus a sitting room and one large office used by MP Yassine Jaber when he is in town as well as by the director and others for meetings. The main floor of the building has three entrances and contains a library with six computers, the director’s office, Maria’s office, half a dozen classrooms, a new computer lab and a large open room (formerly for sports and folklore classes, now filled with tables piled high with biscuits, tuna, condensed milk and the like). Boxes are everywhere.

I probably know 2/3 of the people I see and only a few people knew I was coming so I cause a bit of a stir, lots of hugging and “I’m so glad you are safe” and me explaining how I would scan the pictures in the news looking, and hoping not to see, any of them.

The good spirits and energy of the center are impressive, the relief efforts have been in full swing since the moment the ceasefire (a-hem, ‘cessation of hostilities’) kicked in and they are in the thick of it, coordinating and distributing aid as well as preparing to resume regular activities at the center this coming week.

Maria is racing from meeting to meeting as her phone rings constantly and she greets me with wide open arms “Baby! It is so good to have you back! Can you believe the center?” she says. It is crazy, so much activity, everyone is working long days and late nights, some of the distribution crews got back at 1:00 a.m. she tells me, but mostly people are happy to be back in Nabatieh.

There is so much work to be done -- here it is not a question of right or wrong or who is to blame or who won the war -- it is time to salvage what can be saved, help those in need and do what needs to be done so everyone can return to their lives. There are discussions, snippets, comments here and there, but the focus is on rebuilding, helping and easing the suffering.

Road to Nabatieh

2006-08-31T13:11:00.000+03:00

Just when you thought the driving in Lebanon couldn’t be more chaotic and nonsensical...add in a war and you have the most unique driving patterns. Ever. Heading south from Beirut the roads are initially fully intact, albeit flanked with crisp new Hezbollah billboards brandishing images of fighters in action and rocket launchers while proclaiming “The Divine Victory” in three languages.

After driving about 15 minutes south, we passed the first rupture created by an Israeli rocket on the left, relatively small hole the size of a car with all the rubble long cleared away.

The bridges and overpasses stand with huge sections ripped from their arches one after the next after the next. Some places the roads have already been repaved, and almost the entire drive the rubble has been removed from the roads. The pavement surrounding each targeted part of the road is also pocked with potholes created from the blasts. There are also several with significant damage that have yet to collapse.

In some places the extent of the destruction made the road impassable and cars would be diverted into the oncoming stream of traffic (normally a two or three-lane road in each direction) but there are no official markers designating this to the drivers in either direction. Once we had to leave the main road entirely and make our way through town to detour around a missing section of the road, then we were back on our way.

As we approached Saida, the multi-lane overpass to the right hung in the most mangled of all the bridges along the road, a spider-web of twisted metal with concrete chunks of all sizes dangling in the air. We would drive for a while on clear, functioning roads and then suddenly hit traffic as people slowed to inch around a large crater blown into the center of the road, crawling along the edge of the remaining pavement.

I discovered I had done a decent job of following the areas I knew that were hit as I anticipated the bridges I had accurately identified through the news. The exit for Oceana, a beach we went to frequently, used to be advertised on an overpass. When I saw the rubble from the bridge I recognized the signs. The same was true, though it was a bit more shocking to see, at the exit I had always taken for Nabatieh.

Driving into the village itself -- which is a complete misnomer by the way, estimates vary significantly but the lowest puts the population of Nabatieh around 35,000, not exactly ‘village’ -- was lively chaos. Although we did arrive at noontime prayer, I have rarely, if ever, seen the streets as active and filled with shoppers and wares as they were on Monday.

I was relieved by the level of destruction in Nabatieh itself, which was less extensive than I had anticipated. The damage is certainly significant, there are entire buildings destroyed and collapsed, but they are relatively isolated structures and the vast majority of the town is functioning.

People were everywhere, traffic was heavy, Beirut may be empty and quiet because everyone is abroad or in the mountains, but the south has returned!

(More on the center and everyone in Nabatieh soon…)

The Corniche Revisited

2006-08-27T23:33:00.000+03:00

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect as I walked down to the Corniche for the first time since I got back late Friday afternoon. Like so many things it was in many ways as I remember it, but with subtle shifts that mark changes far more significant than their initial appearance.

It was the usual crowd of people, children on bikes, chasing each other around in circles, cruising around on rollerblades or futilely attempting to consume an ice cream cone faster than it drips. All while parents watch on, seated in folding chairs or leaning on the rail, talking, smoking hubbly bubbly or eating figs (now in season and the best thing about Lebanon in August, or so I have been told). The families are matched in numbers by small groups of girls walking together and even larger numbers of boys lounging against the railings watching the day go by.

There are a few fishermen scattered along the rocks and even fewer, but definitely present, number of men swimming in the water. Brave souls. Or crazy. The beautiful rocks on which they are all perched are only the white stone I remember above the waterline, the rest has been darkened to a grimy black by the oil slick that has now affected at least 105 miles of the coast and is spreading out into the Mediterranean Sea.

The Beirut coast is not as bad as some parts of the coastline, and much of the slick has dispersed but the damage is done and getting worse by the day.

Somewhere around 15,000 tons of oil were dumped into the sea when Israel made the horrific decision to bomb a power station in a three-day attack.

This is almost the same magnitude of the Exxon Valdez tanker disaster in Alaska, which was 40,000 tons, but this situation is worse in many ways because the initial strike was July 13-15 and the oil has been spreading, sinking and contaminating continuously since then.

The immediate and long-term impact on marine life and the full extent of the slick will take time to assess, and billions to clean, not to mention the impact on the greatly anticipated and now evaporated summer tourist season.

The cleanup alone is expected to take more than a year, cost more than $64 million and so far Israel has refused to authorize helicopters to perform an aerial assessment of the spread of the slick (though I hear this may happen in the next few days).

As I walked around a bend in the Corniche and approached the Riviera I looked up to see the lighthouse, which had been struck by the Israelis in another attack. About half of the top section containing the beacon is gone but the rest of the structure is entirely intact and the café down below was filled with people.

I stared captivated as always by the rhythmic movement of the water along the rocks, discarded bottles strewn across the surface, clear waves and pools of water shimmering the rainbow colors of oil. Next to me two guys puffed away on a hubbly bubbly and watched the girls passing by as two kids racing on tricycles careened around the pedestrians.

Is it really so different? Is it really so much the same?

You can’t wallow in it, you can’t act like it didn’t happen…how do you live with it, through it, after it, beyond it.

I cannot tell. I cannot tell. I do not know how to feel or what to believe or what will come next. I guess no one does. It feels as though I have been gone for years. So much has changed, people have come and others have moved away, businesses opened and closed, buildings have been destroyed and the population has shifted.

AUB (American University of Beirut) is re-opening tomorrow and I spoke with someone from there on Friday who said they have no idea if either the students or the professors will show up. It is a complete unknown. With the airport taking steps toward re-opening, despite the sea and air blockades still in place, the question is will more people be coming back to Lebanon? Or leaving?

Airport Conversations

2006-08-26T19:23:00.001+03:00

One of the women on my flight to Beirut struck up a conversation with me while we waited in Amman airport for the delayed flight to depart. She had fled to the Gulf to stay with her sister once rockets started falling in her village.

After she left her house had been hit by a rocket and destroyed. She knows because she recognized it when she saw what was left of it on the news.

She offered me chocolate until I took some and told me she would stay with her sister when she arrived. She was all smiles, her weariness showing as she lifted her legs up onto a chair with a sigh, but mostly vibrant and fueled by what I presume to be the relief and happiness of returning to Lebanon.

Another man sitting with us said what everyone keeps saying -- the Lebanese are used to this and are accustomed to rebuilding, they have done it before and they will do it again. This is just the Lebanese spirit. The Lebanese way.

Can you imagine, losing everything you have? Your home destroyed in an instant?

Picture it for a moment. Try. Stop reading this and think. Of your home. In rubble. Pictures scattering in the wind. Broken dishes. Torn clothes and shoes tossed in all directions. All you have is what you took when you left this morning...

First Impressions. Back in Beirut.

2006-08-24T02:06:00.000+03:00

Flying back into Lebanon was surreal. After an unexplained four-hour delay due to ‘technical problems’ in Jordan (argued by some that clearance from the Israeli army would be the best ‘technical’ explanation) we finally departed Amman and flew into Beirut around 1:45 am.

Coming in to the airport, on a plane filled with the usual crowd of people, young men, women in hijabs gorgeous young women in jeans and tight shirts, businessmen and assorted foreigners everyone tried to act normal. As we landed the first round of applause erupted, some were hesitant, as though the approval was preemptive as we had not stopped or made it to the gate yet. A second round of applause erupted as we slowed and reached the terminal.

As we taxied in the darkness to the gate, we followed a little car with lights on the top, looking out the window there were bulldozers hovering over what I could only presume to be holes made by incoming rocket attacks, and of course the emptiness of an airport without a single other plane in sight, either moving or resting at terminals. Not one plane.

Inside it felt like business as usual with customs agents and baggage claim, glowing with advertisements for beach resorts and luxury apartments. As I collected my bags and headed into Beirut, I first noticed the large overpass we circled on our way in to the city and I couldn’t help but think “I thought all the bridges and overpasses were destroyed?” Coming into Beirut felt strangely normal, it was the middle of the night and I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except two things. There were two billboards along the road with images of rocket launchers and Hezbollah flags that said “The Divine Victory” in English, and once I got to my apartment I stepped out onto the balcony, and heard almost nothing. I have never heard the city so quiet in all my time here. Ever.

Walking around the city on my first day, the cafes and restaurants are open, the stores have full shelves and the petrol prices have already dropped dramatically from what I have been told. The intense sun beats down with unrelenting heat and humidity that makes my clothes cling to me after only a block. I cannot imagine what these conditions are like for the aid workers digging through piles of rubble that have been lying for weeks as they search for bodies. Or for hundreds of thousands of other homeless Lebanese as they return to their towns to sift through those same piles for any semblance of their former lives. Or for the mine awareness workers who are painfully inching along trying to identify, mark and remove or detonate unexploded ordinance (UXO) strewn across Lebanon...but for now that is not what I see....all I see are the streets of Beirut. As others come out of the shock and the chaos of war, I step in, and I feel out of place. In over my head? Definitely unsure what I think I have to offer these people who have been through so much...all I can offer is my help, my hands my spirit and my dedication.

It is estimated that around 14% of the munitions dropped by the Israelis did not explode on impact, this means there are more than 10,000 UXO scattered across the country, and some of those were cluster bombs (for those of you lucky enough to NOT know what cluster bombs are, yes, your imagination is probably correct, it is a container that releases dozens or hundreds of little bombs about the size of a “D” battery, scattering them across fields, lawns, gardens, etc).

So the hundreds of thousands of Lebanese who just returned to their homes, could stumble onto any one of these anywhere. Any time. As could anyone else. Some Israeli soldiers were killed by a landmine this week too. Some say it was planted by Hezbollah but other reports say it was probably one of their own munitions. Probably no way to know for sure. And would it really matter? Just in case anyone needed further convincing that war and bombs are terrible, but the human cost and aftermath is even worse.

Politicians and pundits keep talking about who “won” this war. Such conflicts are always discussed in these terms. Why? As though there must always be two parties. A winner and a loser. There is no winner. Only losers. And the greatest loser is Lebanon and the Lebanese people, followed by the U.S., then by Israel and lastly Hezbollah. But everyone lost.

The pain and suffering inflicted on the Lebanese people and this beautiful nation is unconceivable. This destruction of land, spirit, people, resources, economies and families is of an unacceptable scale (I hope and wish that everyone can see this through the political arguments and stances, this is not about policy, it is about people and remembering what makes us all human).

This is why the U.S. lost. America. A country that said it wanted to ‘promote democracy’ in the region and support emerging democratic movements. America who touted the nonviolent “Cedar Revolution” held in Lebanon just last year to finally drive out the Syrian troops from the country. America, instead of supporting a fledgling government struggling for legitimacy and sovereignty over its own land. As Lebanon searched for its identity and began to face challenges it found the world and the U.S. have short attention spans and little tolerance for creative democracy.

Lebanon has such potential to evolve into a unique model for the region and the world. But as the Lebanese have struggled to find their identity and emerge as a sovereign nation, they were abandoned when they were in the most need of support. New democracies do not create stability, they create chaos that must be worked through. Now the U.S. government wants to support the Lebanese government? Now they want to give the Lebanese Army support and training? Now they want to help the country rebuild? Where was this support when it was first needed? WHY did no one see the impact this sort of support could have had on helping stabilize the country long before we arrived at the place we are at today? Why did Israel really think they could come in and ‘root out Hezbollah’? I could have told you six months ago that was impossible, that it is a part of the social structure and cannot be separated from the people. That they are everywhere and nowhere at the same time and will disappear into the countryside and the population without a trace.

What was anyone expecting to accomplish? What has been achieved? Losses and more losses. And yes, Hezbollah has lost too, for all their PR campaigns and all the cash in the world cannot replace the lives and livelihoods they destroyed. Many of their own. Many more of innocent and disapproving Lebanese who had no love for the group before and even less now. Even among their supporters, Hezbollah may be able to hand over large sums of money (in U.S. dollars, which is amusing) but that does not replace the photographs, the student artwork on the refrigerator, the blanket that grandma made and every cozy home that was painstakingly built with bare hands. All of which were destroyed in an instant. They cannot stack those bills high enough to hide the mass graves that people will wake to for years to come, or the beaches blackened by oil that is oozing into the earth and the sea, or the summer of optimism and tourism that had Lebanon more vibrant and alive with hope than ever before. Not all the money in the world can erase that. In addition, they may have deep pockets, but not bottomless. There are some people now being told they may have to wait up to four months for their payments. I think this is interesting and presents a very real window of opportunity for the Lebanese government and the international community to get into gear and provide support and aid on the scale they should have been giving long ago. There is hope here. There is potential. The Lebanese streamed back into the south on the day of the ceasefire with astounding ardor and dedication. This enthusiasm and perseverance is the same energy with which they tackle all challenges, including the last reconstruction and this one and every little bump in between. Whether it is good or bad or right or wrong is a discussion for another day, but the bottom line is the Lebanese have suffered, they continue to suffer, and they continue to live and love life and believe.

In a country smaller than Connecticut, in a land more diverse than most, with mountains and beaches, wineries and mosques, churches, car bombs, over-the-counter birth control, fashion shows and armed militias...Lebanon cannot and will not be defined by just one group. Or by anyone else.

And that, is all that one unemployed American girl in Lebanon can say. For today.

Updates and Apologies

2006-04-09T22:16:00.000+03:00

To everyone who has been waiting for my latest ramblings and updates on the world as viewed through my dusty window by the sea in Beirut...sorry! I have several blog entries I am dying to write churning around in my head. Time is passing so quickly I hardly know what to do and I plead overworked exhaustion and chaos as my excuses for lapsing on posts.

My two excuses. Work has been insanely busy as my two projects have decided to crescendo simultaneously, thanks to the project in southern Lebanon being pushed back. We have been down in Nabatieh the last two weekends doing a training-of-trainers in time for the official project launch and student arrivals on April 7 (yes that was last Friday). Nicely combined with the YouthCaN project, which culminates in an annual conference that is MONDAY. Both programs are really interesting and exciting (and exhausting).

Added on to that is the fact that I still have a few small details including one project and assorted paperwork to complete to finish up my MA.

If you're really interesting in my work projects, I have started a second blog that is linked through the office website. It is at prairie.wecblogs.org.

Other updates I hope to be writing more about some time or just fun stories I want to share:

*Driving in the craziest floods I have EVER experienced. In bumper-to-bumper traffic. After a 10-hour day of work. On a Saturday. I even saw the car in front of us float!

*Adventures in the Bekaa Valley. Wineries. Newly invented beverages. Distinct wines. Cozy fire and delicious food. Wine cellars and behind-the-scenes tours. Roman ruins and the never-ending flow of delicious food.

*Working in Nabatieh. All my new friends and trainers. A few comments on the concept of 'time' and lessons in Arabic, understanding and learning through experience.

*Only one run-in with the Lebanese Army. But my advice. Carry ID. All the time. (but only if you're male, women need not worry).

*Speaking in Arabic (two whole sentances!) On stage. In front of hundreds of kids.

Happy Valentine's Day

2006-02-14T21:44:00.000+02:00

For Lebanon, a different kind of occasion. Pictures from today's rally in Martyr's Square.

The Cartoon Conundrum

2006-02-12T23:13:00.005+02:00

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Last week a friend of mine asked me if I could shed any light on why the Danish cartoons of the Prophet Mohammad had the Muslim world in such an uproar. I have avoided writing back, resisting the challenge of attempting to voice my own uncertain perspectives on the issue. This is however, is my attempt to respond, not to answer the question, but provide some perspective and help inform so that everyone can form their own opinions.

I truly don’t think most people in the West understand what is so upsetting and many are genuinely shocked at the momentum and level of anger this controversy has generated. I think extremists are exacerbating and manipulating the situation and it is important for everyone to do their best to learn and inform themselves on this. Not just about cartoons. But about the bigger picture. Because these are the tips of some very large icebergs that are not going away any time soon.

There are a few (may I stress few) facts. Most other information is tainted by subjective interpretation, political, religious or cultural spin of varying degrees.

Fact: The cartoons were published last September. Little controversy was raised at the time. The BBC has a useful timeline of events outlining key events from the publication through to today.

Most people have not actually seen more than one or two of the cartoons, and it's no surprise the most provocative ones are the most re-published. The wide array of creativity and emotions depicted in the full spectrum of cartoons provides a more thought-provoking perspective on their publication and those involved in the issue. If you would like to you can see them here.

Fact: According to Islam, the Prophet Mohammad is not supposed to be ‘depicted’ (Despite this fact, there are numerous historical examples of this, by both Muslim and non-Muslims alike. There is GREAT website exploring some of these images in the present and historical contexts.)

The cartoons are also perceived by some as an attack on the Islamic faith and culture designed to foster seeds of hatred. As the BBC notes,

Many Muslims say that the cartoons are extremely and deliberately offensive, expressing a growing European hostility towards and fear of Muslims. The portrayal of the Prophet Muhammad and Muslims in general as terrorists is seen as particularly offensive.

An attack on Mohammad (which is how the cartoons are perceived by some Muslims) is like an attack on Islam. I have seen a few descriptions explain this mentality like this: Imagine if someone was defaming or denigrating your wife or your family? Now Mohammad is someone that is beyond even that.

On one hand those protecting the cartoons and their publication have anchored themselves firmly to the ‘freedom of the press’ defense. As the Universal Declaration of Human Rights outlines in Article 19, “Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.”

That being said, there are professional, moral and ethical responsibilities that come with this freedom and power.

As one opinion article in The Daily Star, the largest English newspaper in Lebanon, noted:

These rights must be carried with reason, conscience, and shall be implemented in a spirit of brotherhood (the same set of standards which are widely applicable to any portrayal of the suffering of Holocaust victims). Furthermore, the offensive nature of the cartoons and the ill informed messages they carry do not meet the minimal standards of journalistic integrity and professionalism. Finally, a word of caution must be said: while the cartoons in themselves underlined the immediate causes of the current crisis (the spark that unleashed hell), its underlying causes are rooted deeper within much of the Arab and Muslim world.

Would these mass protests have been as violent before the U.S. carpet bombing of Afghan refugee camps following the September 11, 2001, attacks, before the deceptive American war against Iraq, under the false pretext of eradicating Saddam's WMD, or before the horrors of Abu Ghraib prison in Baghdad, among other atrocities committed in the name of "democracy" during recent years?

Part of the problem with comedy, in my opinion, is that most humor is rooted in some element of truth. The Muslim/Arab world (which are not the same, but that is another discussion entirely) knows this. These images were not published in a void, but at a time where tension is already running high.

A few other articles I highly suggest reading (and I’ve read literally about a hundred now so I really suggest you read a bunch. Then judge for yourself.):

Before reconciliation with Muslims, things will get worse by David Inatius
The Right to be Offended in The Nation
Editorial from The Jordan Times (link no longer active)
What Mohammad Means to Muslims (link updated, original no longer available)

One Week Later

2006-02-12T22:20:00.000+02:00

One week after the protests turned riots in Beirut...the building housing the Danish consulate...and statues downtown wrapped in the color of 'The Truth' campaign as Lebanon prepares to remember the assassination of former PM Rafik Hariri, one year ago Tues. Valentine's Day.

Violence and Silence

2006-02-09T17:45:00.000+02:00

Extremist voices have been drawn to the surface by the cartoon controversy that is gaining speed like a brushfire. Unfortunately such polarized momentum leaves little room for the voice of moderates or any form of engaged discussion and dissent. The debate over the cartoon depictions of the Prophet Mohammad and its implications have burst into such sensitive territory that some of the responses are reminiscent of the post-September 11th mentality in America.

Following the terrorist attacks in the United States and the U.S.-led invasion of Iraq, those who wanted to speak out against the war in Iraq were quickly labeled as anti-American individuals that did not support U.S. forces. Some even went so far as to say those against the war were on the side of the terrorists.

The idea of being condemned as anti-American is an upsetting concept to many living within the U.S. and such allegations had a strong chilling effect. People were intimidated into silence. They were unsure how to voice their views without being instantaneously attacked by their own countrymen.

This is the same crisis that faces Muslims today in the face of the widespread rioting and violence that the controversial Danish cartoons have sparked worldwide. Anyone who speaks out against the protests and violence is criticized for not being upset with the defamation of the prophet or the degradation of Islam, when in fact there is no such correlation.

A person could easily be upset by the images AND upset by the reactionary violence and hate speech prevalent in the protests. Yet the issue has been hijacked by the voice of extremists that say they are defending Islam. They protest that the cartoon images are slanderous, incite religious intolerance and hatred, while carrying signs that say “Exterminate those who slander Islam” and “Europe you will pay, your 9-11 is on its way!!

How dare they. I live in Lebanon and as this controversy has erupted I have been both Beirut and in the southern region of the country. Many Muslims and Arabs are angered by the cartoon images and by the response of the Danish government. Most are ashamed and humiliated by the physical and verbal violence of the protests. But some are also at a loss of what to do. They are afraid to speak out and be condemned for standing against the protests (i.e. for the cartoons and their acceptability). This correlation may be fictitious, but in the realm of public opinion the connection has been drawn, and that makes it a social reality.

The escalation to screaming threats and condemnation has silenced the real debate about where lines should be drawn and what should be done from where we stand today. People on all sides are victims of oppression. No one is being heard. There is a need for debate. There must be room for an open and engaged dialogue. It is important that the issues brought to a head by this situation are addressed. And that requires the active participation of Muslims, Christians, Europeans, Iranians, Lebanese, Afghanis (the Arab world, though I hesitate to use the phrase), the United States and anyone and everyone else who feels affected by this controversy.

Anger does not assume aggression. Conflict does not require violence. Dissent does not signify betrayal.

I hope the people of the world can learn from the mistakes of moderate Americans, who allowed themselves to be silenced for fear of being ostracized and condemned by their own.

The ability to think for ourselves, to question and debate the status quo and to respect others’ ability to do the same is a key part of what makes us human. There can be respect and disagreement. Creativity and change are not sparked by homogenization or group think

Silence is not the answer.

Violence is not the answer.

I don’t pretend to have the answers but I believe this much is true.

Quick Updates: Riots and the South

2006-02-06T22:56:00.000+02:00

It has been a crazy and interesting time, for me, for Lebanon and around the world. For the last week I have been in Nabatieh in the south of Lebanon, where I will be helping to implement a new program. I was invited down by Maria, our partner for the project. She works with the Kamel Yousef Jaber Cultural Center, started by MP Jaber, a very friendly and smart man I discovered when I met with him on Sunday.

Nabatieh is a mainly Shi’a community with a strong Hezbollah presence. There are images of Hezbollah fighters that have been killed and flags hanging throughout the town and neighboring areas.

I have a lot of stories and pictures that I will hopefully get up this week but the short list:

1. Went to the Israeli border, after getting special permission because foreigners aren’t allowed in that part of Lebanon without being granted access. It was remarkably and deceptively peaceful, a nice green field with the Israeli houses on the far side of the fence. No guards in sight but there was a shooting the night after I was there. And you couldn’t step off the road because the region has not been cleared of all the landmines.

2. Saw the former Israeli prison where they held Lebanese during the occupation (now turned into a museum by Hezbollah).

3. Drove up into the Bekaa Valley where I got to play in the snow, see the waterfalls in Jezine, and have lunch at the Kefraya Winery.

4. Spent two nights watching the processions for Ashura, or the Muharram festival (which is what it really is but most people, including locals just call the entire 10-day remembrance period Ashura). Lots more on this after this week.

5. Had many long and educational discussions about the region, internal politics, daily life during the war and the Israeli occupation, the role of Hezbollah, relations with the US, future directions for the country, Iran, Syria, how to engage young people and give them alternatives to violence and I swear the religious and political history of this country alone are going to take years (maybe a lifetime?) for me to get straight!

6. Visited an orange/lemon farm and ate straight from the trees.

OK that’s all I have in me to report for now…yes, there were big protests in Beirut, I’m fine and will give you a damage report after I head to the office tomorrow and see that part of town. But today everything is pretty much back to normal. A bit tense but to be expected. There was a small anti-protest today and lots of condemnation of the behavior of the rioters by religious and political leaders alike (and a lot of blame getting tossed in Syria’s direction, a majority of the people arrested were Syrian, then Palestinian and then Lebanese). I have had some interesting conversations about this whole controversy as well and am saddened to note that while the protests are spreading around the world, it is the violent outbreaks that take the headlines.

Quiet Spaces

2006-01-25T11:10:00.000+02:00

There are two kinds of quiet in Lebanon. There is silence of those gone, disappeared, assassinated, remembered in images large and small peppered across the city, in empty buildings that stand like ancient ruins, rubble and echoes of beauty reminiscent of ancient civilizations. But these buildings are not remnants of a distant past, they have not been eroded by the passing of time or weathered by nature, they have been ravaged by the same generations of people still walking the streets today.

Remains of one of the churches on the 'wrong' side of the green line, which is just off the main road leading into downtown. The so-called green line was the unofficial boundary splitting the city into the mostly Muslim West Beirut and the mostly Christian East. Most of the buildings along the line were destroyed during the war (1975-1990) and while many of them have been rebuilt or remodeled, there is still much more to be done.

History lesson for those interested -- The civil war erupted in 1975. April 13, 1975, according to most historians. On that day, a group of Christian Phalangist militiamen ambushed a bus carrying Palestinians, killing 26 people and sparking a civil war that enveloped the city and spread to touch almost all corners of the country. (If you want to see an interesting movie about this incident and the onset of the war, there is a film called West Beirut) But it would be inaccurate and overly simplistic to assume that this conflict is based solely in the clash of Muslims and Christians. In fact, the city and country fractured into strong factions of Sunnis, Shiites, Druze, Palestinians, Maronites and those are only the main groups. Many Lebanese fled the city and as the war dragged on even more headed abroad. In 1982, Israel invaded Lebanon in pursuit of PLO leaders operating out of Beirut, adding to the fighting and destruction of the city. And yet today, the shops and property along the former green line are some of the most ritzy and expensive places to be found. (P.S. There are obviuosly a million other aspects and events of the regional history but those were just the facts I decided to toss out for the moment, please don't take it as complete or any statement about what the most important events were, this was just a last-minute rant to contextualize some of the pictures :-)

A large banner depicting assassinated former PM Rafik Hariri, hanging from one of the remodeled buildings. The mosque peeking above the shelled building was a project initiated by Hariri as part of the revitalization of downtown.

The second quiet in Beirut is the elegant and soothing beauty of the Mediterranean, with its turquoise waters crashing against the stones. I sat for two hours, taking in the calming repetition of waves along the coast, where young couples come to escape the confines of society, children come to play, families to picnic, some men to fish and everyone to absorb some of the tranquility offered by the sea. (Or to pick up foreign women, which was the only disturbance of my afternoon…) What started as a nice friendly conversation, which I was happy to have and to practice my Arabic, since I've barely used it at all since I got here, dragged on into one of my all-too-frequent conversations about my work, my family and my imaginary husband. I then tried to go back to my writing. None of which, apparently, was enough of a deterrent since he then tried to move closer to me and hold my hand. A swift mish mounasib (not appropriate) comment got the point across more directly and I was finally left to enjoy the day for myself. I just do NOT understand social interactions in this part of the world. Friendly just does not seem to be an option. (Or maybe this is just the result of the fact that I look Russian, and in this region that means I may be a 'working girl'.)

Streets of Beirut

2006-01-24T16:46:00.000+02:00

The building to the right is the former Holiday Inn. During the war there were fights even within the building itself. Now there is an ongoing debate over who owns the rights to the property and as a result the building has remained untouched. My new apartment is actually right next to it. From my balcony I can look through the building to the sea.

I went down to the water on Saturday and will put up pictures soon, it is gorgeous!

Here are some of the buildings on my way to work.

Also common on many of the buildings, walls and balconies...pictures of some of those assassinated. I have much better pics coming soon, but just to get you started...

Goodbye Amman, Hello Beirut

2006-01-17T12:21:00.000+02:00

If Jordan is the Switzerland of the Middle East, perhaps Beirut is the New York City.

We often talked in Amman about Jordan as the Switzerland of the region. Stable government, always talking to multiple parties, trying to be on neutral ground and contributing to peace talks, little major internal struggle and overall a relatively boring place. (While clearly there are a million holes in this comparison, there were enough similarities for it to be an interesting discussion :)

I have only been in Beirut for a few days but it is so drastically different from Jordan and what I saw of Egypt that I have to compare it to NYC. Everyone is very trendy and fashion-oriented, including a wide range of styles including everything from trendy hijabs to brightly colored mini-skirts. I have walked the streets without a single comment tossed in my direction and the city seems to bustle at all hours of the day. Walking around or turning on the television results in an onslaught of languages with Arabic, French and English all spoken fluently by a large portion of the population...often all at the same time. Any given conversation includes comments or partial sentences in each of the three (I feel so ignorant!). There are shops filled with handmade items, expensive cars, and people from around the world.

There are also trees again. The city is nestled between the Mediterranean and the sharp rise of the mountains, and the view is stunning. Goodbye desert, hello water and mountains!! I am so excited to be back around lush vegetation and cannot wait to make some time for exploring the coast. I have always wanted to live by the water.

All of this being said, there is another major aspect of Beirut. The chaos. There is not a section of the city that was not ravaged by the war and it is starkly evident on every street and in every neighborhood. It is not that there are buildings you should visit or areas preserved to remember the war, it is that every building was a part of it. The buildings are diverse in size, color and design; a welcome contrast to the monochrome monotony of the Amman landscape. Some painted in bright colors with elegant curved white trimming, while shiny new skyscrapers rise up as cranes put the gleaming pieces into place. But these buildings are not just a mix of restored antiquities and modern architectural endeavors. There are other buildings, maybe a third of the structures, which remain untouched since the end of the war. And it is important to say they remain untouched since the war because they were clearly touched by and during the war. Virtually every unrenovated building I have walked by shows scars from the fighting. Mostly in the form of bullet holes. Some buildings display a scattering of small holes while others are riddled with them. Another portion of the structures sport gaping holes left by more severe or targeted attacks. The newly renovated and reconstructed buildings juxtaposed with the untouched buildings presents such a strong contrast that it stopped me in my tracks several times.

This contrast is not an abnormality. It is not the characteristic signature of a particular street or neighborhood. This mixture is the reality of an average block in Beirut.

No matter who you are or what your status you were affected by the war. The fighting may be over but the fallout is still occurring in a very real and fresh way. The war is still on the minds and in the lives of the Lebanese. Not just in the constant reminder offered by their daily surroundings, but also because everyone was touched personally and emotionally by the fighting. Some left the country, including my boss, Eliane Metni, and her husband. They were gone for nine years and her first son was born outside Lebanon. They had stayed for years, avoiding mortars and shells on the way to classes, making weekend plans (and contingency weekend plans) based on the information or rumors they would hear about where and when shellings would take place.

It is all so fresh. The war is still a strong presence every day. And change is in the air. The string of assassinations that have wracked this country are horrific and more widespread than most people have probably heard about, obviously culminating in last year's assassination of former PM Rafik Hariri, which resulted in the long overdue pullout of Syrian troops. But that was neither the end of the struggle or the assassinations. There have been several other assassinations since then, fights internally among members of parliament and protests both for and against the Syrians, Western involvement and Hezbollah. The problems are widespread, complicated and ongoing (just this weekend there were protests because of Assistant Secretary of State David Welsh's visit) and I am just beginning to scratch the surface of the history I need to know to fully understand. But I am looking forward to learning as much as possible and helping a country that is on the brink of what could be truly positive change. It is going to be an interesting year!

**p.s. for those of you who may not know, I have moved to Beirut and will be working in Lebanon until July**

Arabs and Scots

2006-01-17T12:00:00.000+02:00

Since my pictures seem to be uploading I'm going to post a few more while I can...on New Year's Eve in Cairo I was with several friends from Amman, including five Americans, two Scots, two Danish and two Australians. Since it was a special occassion, the boys were in full kilts for the evening, an entertaining sight to most but I do believe many people in the Middle East have probably never actually seen a man in a kilt before. At least based on the reaction they got that night. People were fascinated. They would stare and talk and one man even came over while I was sitting with Paddi and tried to lift up his kilt. I'm not sure who was more amused/shocked. It was hilarious.

Meanwhile, a few more photos from the Citadel in Cairo...

McDonaldization and Commercialization

2006-01-17T10:57:00.000+02:00

To continue my diatribe on Egypt :-) here is a great picture we took from the combined KFC/Pizza Hut just outside the entrance to the Giza Pyramids. I think it speaks for itself.

Secondly, as I mentioned before, the 'tourist police' really just want money and are there to cash in on the commercialization of their national treasures as much as any of the vendors or small children constantly dancing around with identical paperweight pyramids, postcards, and other pointless kitsch to sell. It is sad and abundantly evident that the monstrous profits reaped from the entrance fees (and at the local fast food restaurants) are by and large not reaching the local population.

That being said, we did our best to contribute to the local economy by renting camels and paying backsheesh (tips, often forcefully demanded) to our camel drivers.

The materialistic onslaught continued at the 200-year-old cafe, where the lively music and conversation was only rivaled by the lively flow of men, women and children of all ages trying to sell everything from, well, take a look...

The merchants range from cute and friendly (like the kid with Justin) to the incredibly rude, pushy and occassionaly downright disturbing (like the dirty, bedraggled, and far from coherent man who repeatedly tried to touch everyone and was thrown out twice while we were there).

All told, the cafe was definitely one of the most fun and interesting experiences we have had, on this trip or any other.

No Wonder It's A Wonder

2006-01-03T16:01:00.000+02:00

I ended my year in a strange hostel in downtown Cairo, having a laughing fit with a good friend and desperately trying to close my eyes, knowing my closest friends at home were just heading out the door for their New Year’s Eve adventures.

And so it’s a new year. How does it feel?

It hurts. And not in that usual post-New Year’s Eve sort of way. It’s my legs. I can’t move. Sunday morning Rob and I hobbled our way down to the street from our hostel and over to the Egyptian Museum. We alternated between wincing, aching and laughing at our own state of disarray as we struggled up the stairs to the first floor (European system) exhibits.

Apparently climbing hunched over down the narrow shaft of a pyramid exercises different muscles than any of our normal activities. Mix that in with riding camels and you have yourself a recipe for agonizing soreness of unanticipated proportions. We are a disaster. So there is your caution, pyramid-goers beware.

I saw my first pyramid on Friday, we actually went to explore two of the less famous ones (dubbed the ‘red’ and the ‘bent’ pyramids). There are around 90 pyramids in the upper region of Egypt, but of course the three most famous are the ones you always see, at Giza with the Sphinx herself. The two we visited first were built earlier and were basically the initial attempts as people slowly discovered the proper way to build the pyramids. The bent pyramid is exactly that, as it was being constructed the builders realized the initial angle of construction was too steep and would collapse. In an effort to adjust, the angle was altered halfway through the process from around 54 degrees to about 43 degrees, resulting in the ‘bent’ and imperfect shape you can see now.

I have found myself having a particular affinity for this one. Can you image all the hard work, resources and people it must have taken to construct? The entire structure serves as a reminder of the hard work and dedication it takes to succeed, and is the embodiment of the old adage "If at first you don’t succeed..."

The red pyramid is built in the earlier style with a stepped exterior created by the stacking of the original stones. It is often referred to as the first ‘true’ pyramid and is the third tallest in Egypt. It is called the red pyramid because of the supposed red stones at the entrance (although we didn’t think they looked all that red). In later years, limestone was added to the exterior of the pyramids to create a smooth surface along the entire outside of the structure, but this one was constructed before that technique was employed.

Walking up to the pyramid, we climbed stairs to the opening and began the descent down into the inner chamber. The passageway required you to crouch down with your legs bent until your chest almost touched your knees. They have installed footholds, arm rails and lights along the shaft and I cannot imagine what it would have been like entering that space for the first time with no light. As we made our way down the temperature began to rise and we could feel the air becoming increasingly stagnant. As we neared the bottom the air began to smell and the shaft opened into a large room.

In that room the ceiling was constructed to look like the inverted pyramid, although the room was much too small for that to be true. It had neat angles and a huge staircase that led up to another smaller room that contained the burial chamber. The smell inside was intensely putrid and stifling. Between the smell and the heat, I kept alternating between placing and removing my scarf from my face, and the air was probably pretty contaminated (as you can see by all the particles that showed up when we tried to take pictures, it looked clear when we were standing there!)

The next day we went to the famous Giza pyramids. They are an amazing sight to behold and the Sphinx is just strikingly fascinating. I only went inside the middle pyramid. It was actually easier to enter and better ventilated than where we had been the day before, but was basically a similar, though easier, climb in to a chamber that leads to the tomb. The rooms were simpler and there were a few other passageways but they were all closed off.

We all met in the afternoon for camel rides, which was entertaining. Their movement is much more awkward than the gaits of a horse and you are so much farther up in the air! We had an interesting band of camel drivers and mine was incredibly friendly almost to a fault, although it did get us into a camel race and I have to say I’m glad I did it although I would take a horse over a camel any day.

On the way back to the city we went straight to the docks and hired a boat to take us out onto the Nile for sunset.

Now while this all may sound like a wonderful adventure, and it was a great trip, I have to say it was also one of the more shocking, frustrating and aggravating experiences of my life as well. Cairo is a loud, polluted city filled with people trying to get your money any way they can. I am accustomed to people asking me for money. I have grown used to the barrage of people trying to sell me random everything from pantyhose to paperweights. I am even getting better with the concept of negotiable prices (and they’re pretty much all negotiable!)

But I am not. I repeat not. Used to people manipulatively and intentionally misleading me in an effort to force me to visit their shops and buy their products. The first day we arrived Justin and I mistakenly asked a man for directions, although we were almost sure we knew where we were going. He was friendly and said he would show us, welcomed us to Egypt and chatted about how much he likes helping visitors. He said he didn’t want any bak-sheesh (money or a tip) and that he wanted to give us his card. He took us on three rights right into his store and told us to sit down and have a Pepsi, that the museum (which is where we were heading) wasn’t open until after noon. Then he started telling us all about his oils and the selling began until Justin, bless his Arabic skills, got us out of there. We took another (the fourth) right back to where we started, one block away from the museum, which had been open since nine.

Every move we made was a long, drawn-out negotiation process, and it never ended there. Once a price or destination was established, another option would surface along the way, like the taxi drivers that would offer to take you to see some town you didn’t want to see (where their cousin probably has a shop). It shouldn’t have to be an hour argument to get where we said we wanted to go. We shouldn’t have to spend our entire ride arguing about whether or not we will stop in some small village, I shouldn’t have to fight with someone about whether or not I will pay them to be in a picture with me or be blatantly told to tip and tip well because someone was doing their job. I am not even doing justice or beginning to scratch the surface on this whole mentality that plagues and taints a vast majority of the people we interacted with there. It is exhausting, frustrating and downright angering, especially when so much time and energy is wasted on such discussions, not to mention the impact it can have on our mood after a while.

Despite being the sixth largest city in the world, Cairo still has a long way to come on its modernization and cultural growth. It also remains much more conservative than we had anticipated. One night we walked around for 45 minutes and failed to find a café that would allow me and Natalie inside.

Rob was my stand-in husband on several occasions and was offered camels in exchange for me numerous times, the best offer being 5 million camels (although one of the camel drivers tried to offer up the pyramids, but I don’t think that counts).

We did, however, make it to the souk and to a raucous café that has apparently been open for 200 years straight (wonder what year they started letting women in?) The lively place was filled with people of all ages, tables of foreigners and locals alike, colorful walls, exotic lights, children and people approaching your table every other minute trying to sell everything from tissues and necklaces to henna tattoos and keyboards. One group of men luckily sitting right near us was playing music and singing Arabic songs that most of the patrons seemed to know. We contributed to the clapping as best we could and the whole evening was quite an experience.

Cairo does have some exceptional architecture, which makes Amman look even more bland, but overall I have to say I have a greater appreciation for Amman and for Jordan after being there. Some of my friends had spent the previous week in the south of Egypt, traveling up through Alexandria and Luxor. If I make it back to Egypt that is definitely a direction I would be interested in exploring. Overall it was an amazing trip and an eye-opening experience. So glad that I went. But definitely not going on my list of favorite cities.

A New Perspective on Christmas

2005-12-27T14:40:00.000+02:00

I suppose I’ll always remember waking up alone to a chilly apartment in Amman. The first Christmas I ever spent away from my family. No stockings, no lights, no Christmas cookies and certainly no snow! In fact it looked to be one of the most unpleasant days since I got to Jordan, I couldn’t even see down the street through the wall of fog and rain.

I made myself a cup of tea and curled up on my couch with a smile. Almost an uncontrollable giggle. It all felt surreal. I wasn’t homesick. In my mind I could picture everyone gathered at the farm on Christmas Eve singing carols without me, nibbling on mint bars or congregating around the stove. I have such a clear image of it in my mind. Or of my mom on Christmas morning, waking to open presents without me. She’s even going to have to get them from under the tree. Every year the youngest person has to hand out the presents (needless to say I was always fine with this theory until the first time my brother wasn’t around!) I hope she made Michele do it, it should be her responsibility this year!

I spent Christmas Eve at Justin’s, although it truly felt like any other day. I kept trying to get myself into the ‘holiday spirit’ but the sparse lights and decorations scattered around the city just haven’t been enough to do it. When I got home, I lit a candle and much to my delight, I discovered that Bahrain TV was playing all Christmas carols. I listened for a bit, although some strange versions to be heard, then plopped myself into bed and sang off all the carols I could remember. Unfortunately I’ve discovered that I know the beginning of a LOT of songs, but without the music or a group of people to sing along, it’s sad how few I could actually make it through by myself!

The whole time I had the vision in my mind of Christmas’ past, with many of my family and friends gathered around the piano while Dad plays carols, some people with Christmas hats, the occasional recorder and an array bells (including of course the sleigh bells!). I wonder who has taken my seat next to Dad on the piano stool or is taking responsibility for turning the pages?

And it doesn’t matter that I’m alone or that I can’t sing or even that it’s raining and downright unpleasant here, because in my head I can see the snow piled up on top of the car, the warm glow of the Christmas tree, the smile from Mom as I bounce down the stairs and she makes us both a cup of tea. I can hear the crunch of snow under my feet, I remember agonizing hours of waiting and waiting, because when I was younger we weren’t allowed to open a single present until both of my parents were in the house and finished with the morning barn chores. What agony! Who knew that would only be preparation for this year, since I am still waiting for my box to arrive. I just hope it ever does, since rumor has it many boxes have a habit of disappearing on their way to Jordan.

As I sat that morning I watched the ceremonies unfolding in Indonesia and across south Asia in remembrance of the tsunami victims from a year ago. What sad strength and perseverance. What a year it has been. From the tsunami, to bombings, earthquakes, assassinations, revolutions, elections, how much the world has changed. There are certain years that stick out as transformational, like 1989, I wonder if 2005 will be like that?

I know I have learned that I cannot be alone. With all the loving family and strong friendships I have, I rarely have a sense of loneliness. I may not hear from some people often, but time has little bearing on how close you are in my mind or how much it means that you are a part of my life. And you are. Some of you have been around for a long time, and some of you I am lucky enough to have found this year. All of you have shaped my life and give me faith that there are good people in this world. Stay yourselves and I hope everyone is having a happy holiday full of smiles, family and friends.

And that’s my end of the year sentimental rant :-) I’m off to Cairo on Wednesday for New Year’s Eve. SO excited about the pyramids! May you all have a HAPPY NEW YEAR and may 2006 be . . . (I have been thinking what to put here for about five minutes straight now. I think what I want to say is I hope it’s a year that allows hope to thrive).

Be positive.

I say that as a reminder. As much to myself as to you.

Rob and I at Melissa's, where we had a Christmas brunch and present swap.

Then I went to Croshelle's in the afternoon to help her cook an amazing feast (niether of us are in the picture, but that's our food and everyone else, all of whom I met that day!)

Has the World Gone Crazy?

2005-12-22T14:30:00.000+02:00

In my final Arabic class my teacher said he is more convinced every day that the world has gone crazy. Il ‘alem mejnoun.

The world has grown smaller. The threats have grown bigger. The destruction that can be wreaked by a single person has multiplied exponentially. Have people have gone crazy? Are people forgetting how to care, how to trust and respect one another? He seems to think so.

My teacher is a charming and intelligent man, raised in a village south of Amman. He speaks three languages and has taught French and Arabic for 25 years. Just thinking about him conjures up a smile on my face. And he said all this in a resigned and baffled tone, a mixture of sad submission and frank acknowledgment of something he was tired of struggling against.

He was of course quickly countered by the energetic class of mostly Americans, who jumped to rally the optimistic view of the world. And some agreed with him. Someone said it really isn’t that bad, the world has been through the Black Death and several other terrible periods and it just goes in cycles. I think this is an interesting argument, and I am trying not to be depressed that it was the best answer we came up with on the spot. Mind you it was a brief discussion that digressed us quickly away from Arabic and so we were drawn back to focus on the subject at hand, but still. . .

So is the world crazier? I think back to when I was a kid (and this is one of those I’m going to sound old directions but it can’t be avoided). It seemed like the world was a different place. I don’t know about less crazy but definitely less paranoid and less afraid. We rode around in the back of trucks with no seatbelts, spent hours wandering off by ourselves, created elaborate games out of sticks, played dodgeball and performed daring acts like eating pop rocks with soda, and while it’s possible I had a no-so-average childhood on a dairy farm in upstate NY with no TV…I don’t feel like kids today have the same childhood bubble in which to revel in, carefree, discovering themselves and the world. Is the world, are people today, better, worse or different than in the past? (I also feel like every generation says this to some extent, so maybe this is just a reoccurring generational sensation.) Or maybe I have just seen more of the world, maybe this is the sensation of me growing up and taking that final step out of the bubble. Ma barrif. I don’t know.

40 Days Later

2005-12-20T13:38:00.000+02:00

Monday marked 40 days after the suicide bomb attacks here in Amman. The last day of the traditional mourning period, the 40th day was recognized with remembrance ceremonies across the country.

On Sunday I was at the Lib Girls School in Madaba for a festival recognizing teacher and student achievements. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, the activities included a skit portraying the lives of the wedding couple from their engagement to the bombing itself. The day also included a variety of patriotic songs sung by the entire school while some of students held signs reading:

"Yes to Jordan" "Amman in Our Hearts"

"No to terrorism" "Yes to Peace"

I have some great pictures of all of this that do more justice than I could, hopefully I can put them up at some point.

Two days later (Tues. morning) I was back in Amman at Al-Asriyyah, where the middle school put on a more theatrical performance to remember the tragic events. Dressed in black, with one row of students sitting along the front of the stage, they sang and performed a choreographed dance, both created for this ceremony. Three speeches were also given an at least one of the student dancers broke down into tears on the stage. It was a hard experience, moving and frustrating at the same time because of course I could understand little of the dialogue or the songs. I have the program and will hopefully have one of my friends translate the words of the song written for the ceremony, for which they asked everyone in the audience to stand and participate in, and of course I tried my best.

Beautiful but not as raw as the depiction in Lib, both engaged students in expressing their thoughts and emotions, and both highlighted the country’s anger and sorrow at violence against such innocent, average Jordanians. I also met the wedding couple from the Radisson SAS, they were there for the ceremony and then visited classes in the school. They have been a great symbol of the tragedy, strength, unity and hope in Jordan, speaking out against the use of terrorism and the misinterpretation of religion to justify such acts.

Since the attacks security has been strange and scattered. There are metal detectors at grocery stores, malls, and some restaurants. They go off all the time. I set them off at all three locations and am rarely stopped by anyone. Apparently profiling is still in full use here and I guess I don’t fit the profile? There’s a security guard at the center where I take my Arabic classes, big barriers surrounding the entrances to hotels, embassies and other unidentified buildings, and of course the raging debate over what level of security measures should be implemented by the government.

Maybe before they go passing a bunch of dramatic, knee-jerk legislation, they should take a long, hard look at the U.S. After the terrorist attacks a wide range of responses were passed to address security. A few years on, many of those initiatives are being scaled back as people realize just how ineffective most of those measures have been (not to mention questionable in terms of personal rights and freedoms).

This leads into several other debates entirely about freedom versus security and what it is that constitutes safety and security in the first place, but I reserve that discussion for another time. For now, Jordan, like America, like Iraq, like the U.K. and Spain and Sri Lanka and a growing number of other nations, must struggle with the realization that you can work to be safer but you cannot be safe. Governments struggle with the fact that there is no longer a nation to condemn, but an ideology to struggle against, internally and externally. And with the growing arsenals of small arms, conventional, chem/bio and heaven forbid nuclear, ‘they’ only have to succeed once. Yet through all this, people must learn to live with that reality. And I mean LIVE. Not in fear. Not surrounded by men with guns or holding their breath. Not looking out of the corner of their eyes at their neighbors or those seated next to them on the bus. The power of the world is shifting. Governments are no longer the only decision-makers. People, groups, individuals have more power and it’s growing. Apathy cannot be an option. You have to care.

And I’ve been staring at this last paragraph for like five minutes, which is really long if you think about it, and I’ve deleted it twice on the grounds that it’s too much of a philosophical soapbox rant. But against my better judgment I’m just going to leave it there. Humor me. Email me. Tell me what you think. I like to be positive, I want to be hopeful, but I am not naive. I guess I’d like to call myself an optimistic realist.

A Word About Plane Tickets

2005-12-17T11:12:00.000+02:00

In November a group of us decided to go to Cairo for New Year’s Eve. To this day I don’t exactly know how many people are going because there are a few dozen travel plans, all converging in Cairo in time for New Year’s Eve itself. Some people are taking a month to travel across southern Jordan, around the south of Egypt and back up to Cairo. Some are flying directly to Cairo. And some are opting for the inefficient but drastically cheaper method of traveling by bus to Aqaba, taking the ferry around the Sinai Peninsula, and then taking another bus to Cairo. All told it is projected to take about 21 hours, and will cost roughly half of the one-hour flight.

I have decided to go the ‘quick’ route and am flying on Dec.28th and am so excited, I mean little kid with ice cream in summer excited, about the pyramids. I mean, the PYRAMIDS. Need I say more? I’ll save it until I actually go and have a real description for you.

Cairo sounds like the NYC of the Middle East, no sleeping, crazy people trying to sell you things every step you take, intense traffic and a vibrant social scene. Should be interesting!

Getting our plane tickets was another ordeal entirely. You would think that the NATIONAL airline, the main carrier for a nation of 77.5 million people would have to be pretty efficient, or at least basically functional, but you would be sorely mistaken.

We reserved tickets on Egypt Air in mid-November and had until Dec. 22 to purchase them. So we took some time to research other deals and in the end, out of some mixture of frustration/acceptance/simplicity, decided we would just buy them. Rob had made the reservation, 180 JD each ($1 = .75 JD) but had since run off to play in the US for two weeks, so Justin and I were in charge of buying the tickets.

Justin called to confirm the tickets and discovered that it is impossible to purchase tickets over the phone. You have to physically go down to the Egypt Air office to buy the tickets. Now we live in Amman so this doesn’t sound like that big a deal but what about people in the rest of the country? And of course, nothing is ever so simple….

They said we should come in the next two days to buy the tickets (on a Thurs.) and to our surprise they actually were open on Friday (which is like Sunday here). Of course they were only open from 3:00 to 5:00 but ma fil moush kileh (not a problem).

We got to the office after a long, adventurous cab ride trying to find the office, including our cab driver stopping and getting out to ask for directions at several different locations. It was raining. This is the first day it has rained in about two months. The office was empty except for one man. Who told us that the tickets we reserved existed, but the price was now higher.

What is the point of the reservation?

We don’t know. He said it was related to gas prices, and that he could knock four JD off each ticket, but that was all he could do. So now we’re bartering for tickets?! What? How can he do that? No idea.

And then he added that, since it was Friday, we could only pay for the tickets in CASH.

Arguing was futile, though we tried for a while, then we walked around in the rain trying to find an ATM, and had to find three because the machines wouldn't let us take out enough money.

The flight we have is a great one, and I refuse to let this taint my enthusiasm about Egypt (have I mentioned PYRAMIDS!??!?!??!!!) The tickets are now in hand. And lesson learned. If you like the price. Buy the tickets! (And beware of state-run travel services.)

My Green Card!

2005-12-08T11:17:00.000+02:00

I would just like to mention that now, after being an illegal immigrant in Jordan for the last few weeks because my tourist visa expired on Nov. 19, and after weeks of getting letters, signatures, photocopies, stamps, pictures, an HIV test and standing in lines at two ministries, three police stations and passing a background investigation by the Mukhabarat, I am now an official resident of Jordan! Complete with shiny new residency ID card!

I can now go to Petra for 1JD instead of 35JD.

I can stop being scared of being kicked out of the country and will no longer be wasting my miniscule stipend on the daily fines for having no visa.

I now get discounts at untold numbers of local tourist destinations.

I no longer have to bring my passport to get through checkpoints.

AND I can apply for my visa to Syria! YAY!

Wedding Crasher...

2005-12-07T14:42:00.000+02:00

I realize it’s been some time since I posted anything and there is quite an array of stories to tell. I have been watching the city transform itself post-bombings and try to balance the desire for enhanced security with the reality that there is only so much that can be done. In the first weeks following the suicide attacks the small mall by myself installed metal detectors at the grocery store entrance (meaning you walked into the mall, but then through the detectors to enter C-Town). After about a week they disappeared again, only to reappear after another few days at the entrance to the mall. Although you can walk in through the parking garage without hitting any security, and people set the alarm off all the time but I have yet to see anyone stopped. Is this supposed to make people feel better?

All of the hotels have enhanced their security by erecting perimeters that prevent anyone from driving up to the hotels. These barriers are protected by a varied number of armed men and there are also metal detectors at the entrances. Because no bombs could be made without using metal...? Or because they actually ever stop anyone who sets off the alarm? hmm...

With all these changes I have to ask myself the same question I did in DC after the terrorist attacks in the US: Do all these increased yet ineffectual security efforts make people feel more or less safe?

Aside from these changes, and a sea of Jordanian flags, banners and pictures of the king on every car, building and tied along the street, life has returned to normal in the city.

I have been to two wedding receptions, both in hotels and both after the bombings. What a fun and interesting experience (as weddings usually are :-) The first was the brother of Shaza, one of the teachers at Al-Asriyyah, and the second was my coworker’s brother.

Shaza invited me to a party at her house the night before her brother’s wedding. Although we had often talked about getting together, this was the first time I ever spent any time with her outside of school and of course the first time I met any of her family. She came with her cousin to pick me up and we went to her house. There are two separate parties, one for the men and one for the women. I met her brothers on the way in, just because they happened to be moving cars when we pulled up, and the one gettign married invited me to the wedding the next day. (Can you imagine in the US someone inviting a total stranger to their wedding, the day before?!!) I was very pleasantly surprised and of course accepted the invitation.

Upstairs at the party were all of Shaza’s female relatives as well as some of her brother’s female coworkers that were invited to the wedding. When we walked in the door, she pulled her hijab right off and as other women arrived they all tossed theirs off as well, with some revealing miniskirts, sequins, dyed hair and slinky dresses that rivaled the average American club scene. This of course mixed with the older women in a dressy form of traditional Arab attire (comfy robes with embroidery, see pic) and several conservative upscale outfits just like you would see at any wedding gathering.

The night was filled with hours of food, dancing and loud music, including some time spent, much to the entertainment of all I am sure, trying to teach me how to ‘dance like an Arab girl’ (For those of you who know my dance skills, picture that, then add the mysterious belly-dancer hand movements and that hip thing...).

By around midnight some of the men started to tentatively trickle up and knock on the outside door looking for their wives and ready to head home. Slowly as the women began to leave I watched them re-robe, which they do without missing a beat and definitely while maintaining full conversations. I also came to the frightened realization that the next day I was going to see them all again at the wedding…fully covered….and would I be able to recognize any of them!?!?

Luckily the next day this was less of a problem than I expected, and I do wonder how much my perception of them was shaped by meeting them first in this more relaxed context versus if I had met them fully covered in the more day-to-day societal context. I would like to say it wouldn’t have changed at all, but I don’t know how true that would be.

The wedding reception was at Le Meridian and followed a whole day of events including the conventional ceremony of everyone in the family going to the bride’s house, then piling into cars (a stage of the wedding you often witness in the city as the convoy makes its way down the road, easily identified by the wall of flowers on the hood and trunk, incessant beeping, and most notably, the cameramen hanging out the windows of nearby cars documenting the journey). A similar event occurs at the groom’s house and I’m not sure the exact logistics of how this fits with the actual marriage ceremony because I have yet to experience these first stages, but the end result culminates in an elaborate reception.

Arriving at the hotel, I had to navigate through the security barriers, two men with guns, one guard, one metal detector and one woman inside the lobby who had to wand me down. Once inside I found my way to the banquet hall and to Shaza, who had designed a dress for the occasion and it was stunning! It was so unique and gorgeous and she had incorporated her hijab into the dress design itself. A real piece of artwork.

Everyone was fun and friendly and so welcoming, I had an amazing time! I stayed the entire night, with much dancing and terrific food, and I even managed to practice my Arabic some (although most of the time the music was too loud for real conversations).

Despite all that I couldn't help wondering how amused they all must have been by me, or how many people were asking 'Who is this strange girl and what is she doing here?' Not to mention the bride herself, who, in both instances, I 'met' on the dance floor.

After attending my second wedding just this week, I have identified some standard characteristics of Arabic/Muslim wedding receptions so far:

* Fun drummers and singers at the front to welcome the couple
* A minimum of 4-8 cameramen
* Many bright spotlights
* VERY loud music (we're talking like 15 amps the size of refrigerators)
* A stage for the newlyweds to sit on
* Cutting the cake with a LARGE SWORD before dinner
* No alcohol, no bouquet toss, no speeches
* Photo montage of bride and groom as children that everyone must watch before eating
* First dance followed by dancing, also before dinner
* Smoke machine!
* Buffet dinner
* Prom dresses, hooker boots, and dress hijabs all in one room
* Arabic version of the conga line, with cameramen following as close as possible

And that is all I have to say about that!

Aside from weddings, I have also been going to my colloquial Arabic classes three nights a week and am happy to report that I have held several conversations in Arabic recently (even forming full sentences on occasion!) This is of course balanced out by the fact that at any given time I try to listen to conversations, or hold one not related to directions, food, what I am doing in Jordan or whether I’m married, I discover I have no idea what is going on.

Work is another story entirely that will require another post, and with major changes coming soon. It’s been unseasonably warm, even for Jordan, and I haven’t worn a coat in two weeks (even resorted to short-sleeves because it was so hot, which I rarely wear here). I spent Thanksgiving at work but did manage to make it out for a nice dinner courtesy of Andris (a.k.a. The State Department...a.k.a. my own tax dollars...that give him a ridiculous per diem which he feels so guilty about he spends on all us poor volunteers).

Last Friday was also my first day off in a few weeks, and there was hiking, yay! Wadi Mujib. OK so it was more like a guided stroll uphill with the Jordanians smoking most of the way, but it was still nice to be outside and moving! And they have other trails there that are closed now because it’s ‘winter’ and there could be flash-floods, but in the spring there is a 9-hour hike that takes you in to a waterfall and then you rappel down it!! I CANNOT wait! (and p.s. on the flash floods... I’m no expert but it has rained a whole three times since I got here. I understand the concept and all, but I’m really not seeing the imminent danger of flash floods...?)

And a final p.s. to the birthday box contributors, which I just finally got last weekend, the breath of home is truly appreciated. Wish I could send you some fresh hummus and knafer as a thank you but you’ll have to take my (much less tasty but heartfelt) words of gratitude instead.

**As usual, the picture upload idea is NOT working, but tomorrow I will have high-speed internet thanks to Justin, who is telling me come work at his place. Guess you’ll just have to come back and look then!**

Pictures from The Citadel

2005-11-16T12:48:00.000+02:00

The Roman ruins sit at the top of one of the major jebels (meaning mountain in Arabic, although they are more like hills). Amman was originally comprised of seven jebels but has expanded rapidly in the last few years well beyond those initial neighborhoods. For example, where I live is not in any of the jebels, although it is relatively near the University of Jordan for anyone who is looking at a map of Amman.

The ruins date back to the Roman and Byzantine eras and the building remains at the northern and eastern ends of the site may even be from the Bronze Age (for you history buffs).

Behind the archeological museum there are extensive remains of buildings and a huge water storage pit, all built of stone and with sweeping views of the other neighborhoods of Amman (including the flag, which is apparently on the world's tallest flagpole and is one of the largest flags in existence. It is darn big I will give it that!)

The museum itself was interesting (and coming from me that means a lot because I don't do museums well). Although it is new and lacking in descriptions, it has some amazing items, including some of the Dead Sea Scrolls and the oldest statues of human figures ever discovered. Unfortunately the information is minimal, espeically in English, usually reading "statue of a man's head" and the date. Luckily for me, Justin is well-versed enough to provide historical context for the scrolls and their importance, and Josh's professor was the man who discovered the oldest human statues. Josh traveled in Jordan with him earlier this year and gave us the abbreviated version of what he knew. Sorry, no pictures from inside the museum, but I did see some sarcophagi made of clay, amazing pottery, and babies buried in clay pots. It was as strange to see as it sounds.

Bombs and Birthdays

2005-11-14T15:34:00.000+02:00

Just a few thoughts on the last few days...

The bombings last week that ripped through three of the major hotels in downtown Amman were a shock to locals and foreigners alike and the city is still reeling from the attack.

The hotels here are not just hotels but also house some of the most popular restaurants, bars, clubs and reception halls in the city. Locals, tourists, resident foreigners and students all frequent these areas and everything from press conferences and international forums to happy hours and salsa lessons are held there.

I was at the Radisson SAS a few days before the bombings with two friends I met here, Dave from the UK and Tina from Denmark. Seeing the footage of the lobby torn apart is very surreal, especially since I was just there but I have had to watch the events unfold on television just the same as everyone in the U.S. because once the bombs went off I was told not to leave my apartment.

While this is an understandable security measure, being stranded alone in my apartment was difficult and frustrating because the only access I had to the news was through the BBC since unfortunately my Arabic isn't quite fluent enough to follow the local news. I got more accurate updates from my boss and some other local friends. After thankfully getting through to my parents and a rapid flurry of text messages to check on everyone I know here in Amman, I sat down on my couch, toggled between channels and eventually forced myself to climb into bed.

Thursday morning the city was silent. More quiet than it has been at any time since I arrived. No cars, no children, no music from roaming gas trucks. After hours of what began to feel like being locked into my apartment, I ventured out with Abed, just for a walk down to the store and back. People were starting to move about and almost every car was adorned with Jordanian flags and even more pictures of the royal family. In the evening I went to my friend John's apartment, after being promised a ride there and home. It was nice to have a few people around after so much time alone just watching the news. No one was sure how to react or how the community would respond overall, but mostly the reaction has been in the form of anger at such gratuitous violence and avid support for Jordan and its leaders.

Friday morning, my birthday, and I headed to brunch with Rob, Justin, Josh and Natalie. After brunch we headed up to The Citadel, which we determined safe since it was already a pile of rubble. The weather here has been gorgeous and Friday was no exception. There were huge protests and demonstrations downtown and in several other cities throughout the country...or so I've heard...but you probably know more about them than I do because I haven't seen any of it. All I've seen is on television, and the millions of Jordanian flags and pictures of the king that now hang from every shop, car and house.

While we were at brunch I read that they were looking for O+ and O- blood donors and after a call to a friend to make sure it was safe for me to go to the hospital, I went down to donate. I hate needles and I hate blood but that seemed like a pathetic excuse to not give when I have the most useful blood type. The hospital was an interesting place and they were all very glad (and slightly surprised/amused) that I was there to give. Abed went with me and translated, although as usual everyone spoke exceptional English and several of them thanked me repeatedly.

After that I headed home to grab a coat and then out to dinner with about a dozen people for my birthday. We had a great time and it felt momentarily like normal life again. After dinner we headed back to Rob's apartment since we all agreed it was not a good idea to be going out in the city. Natalie had baked me a cake and we stayed up incredibly late (Rob also has an incredible view of the city from his roof!)

I have driven by the bombed hotels on several occasions, on my way to class and heading to the hospital. There are huge cement security barriers in place, an increased presence of armed military personnel all around the city, and metal detectors have been put in place at most major buildings (including my local grocery store).

Today is the first day people are back to work. And so am I. Like everyone, I am still feeling out the difference between paranoia and healthy precaution, and the realistic impact of being an American and how that impacts my role in the shared experience of it all...I have a lot more I could say...and maybe I will later...but for now...that's it.

Thank you so much to everyone who wrote and called to make sure I was OK, your support gives me the strength to believe in the goodness of people and know that I am not alone no matter where I am or what happens. That is as true as it is cheesy and I mean it. :-)

2005-11-14T14:06:00.000+02:00

At last here are a few pictures from my first trip to Wadi Rum.

This is our base camp, the mountains you see in the background are the ones we hiked to and partially up during the night (and slept in the valley there).

This is Justin talking with one of our drivers when we first arrived. I love this picture but why doesn't he have any footprints?? I do not know the answer...

And this is the view from the top of another mountain we hiked when we first arrived. The plateau on the top provided an amazing 360 degree view of the area, which was stunning and watching the transformation as the sun moved was quite the visual experience.

Happy Eid al Fitr!

2005-11-09T17:40:00.000+02:00

Testing to see if I can get any pictures to upload yet because I have some phenomenal ones!

Round two at Wadi Rum...

I am in love with this place!

The Rum Experience

2005-10-26T15:26:00.000+03:00

Disclaimer: The following is a description of my trip to Wadi Rum. I am however, at an internet cafe because the construction workers cut the internet cables at my office, so I apologize for any incoherence and the general rambling, I hope it's interesting! Other recent events include happy hour at the Marine house inside the U.S. embassy, an iftar for orphan children, indoor soccer matches, and many visits to several ministries in an attempt to become a Jordanian resident. But for now...it's all about Rum....

The trip began in the Safeway parking lot at 9:00 and I didn’t even know who was going to be there. The plan was to go camping in Wadi Rum, the desert nature preserve in the south of Jordan. Justin had told me about the trip. He is one of several Fulbrighters I have become friends with after meeting Heidi, one of his roommates, in a bathroom (yes I realize this sounds strange, but as so many of my experiences here remind me: truth is stranger than fiction). They live with Elizabeth in an apartment in Shmesani, a great part of the city not too far from where I live.

By ten o’clock 16 of us had organized and packed ourselves, along with sleeping bags, water, camping supplies, insane amounts of food and a guitar, into four cars and were on our way. The drive was about three and a half hours, with the convoy stopping once for gas and the discovery that rental cars have a built in alarm that goes off if you drive ‘too fast’. The sound is basically the same as that annoying noise if you have a door open, and is easily drowned out by open windows and good music.

When we arrived at the entrance to Wadi Rum, Justin and Josh, who had been once before and have some of the best Arabic skills among the group, began the negotiations about the cost of driving us in and picking us up the next morning. Once that was established, we piled into 4x4 trucks with our Bedouin drivers and headed into the reserve.

There really is no description that will do this place justice. It is stunning and changes dramatically from daylight to sunset and into the night. The light transforms everything, washing the entire landscape in sundry shades of red sand, stone and dust. The mountains rise out of the desert in dramatic shapes and the color is overwhelming. The sun is hot and bright, and on this day, as usual, there was not a cloud to be seen.

After a half hour ride in open-backed trucks we arrived at our site, a huge Bedouin tent tucked up against one of the rock formations, with not a single building, power line or road in sight. We unloaded quickly and began to explore because the sun sets early, usually around 5:15. After scrambling up the rocks directly behind our site, we chose our hiking destination and most of us headed out to climb one of the nearby rock formations, picking the biggest one and estimating we could make it up and back before the sunset.

Walking from our site to the base was actually one of the most difficult sections because of the deep sand. Some of the sand is the usual color but there are sections of deep reds and oranges, sculpted into beautiful waves by the wind.

The rocks are filled with amazing crevices, angles and curves that provide excellent hand and footholds for climbing. The climb looked challenging but with all the holds even the most vertical sections were conquerable without any equipment, it was just a matter of using the best combination of ledges and holes to make your way up.

The view from the top was stunning, with more mountains and rock formations in all directions, linked by vast sands and the entire scene was awash with these sandy colors, becoming more intensely red as the sun began its descent. We could see down to our campsite and most people made their way back quickly, not wanting to hike down after the sun set, but a few of us decided the view would be worth the challenge. We found a ledge halfway down and sat watching the sun sink below the distant peaks as the whole landscape reverberated the intense sunset reds and then faded to a colder stone shade and began to reflect the cooler blues of the evening sky.

We hiked back to the campsite where we lit a fire, cooked food and spent the next few hours eating, drinking and singing as the moon and stars began to rise.

Around nine I walked out into the desert alone. As I made my way up the sand dunes I felt swallowed up by the night and was stopped dead in my tracks by the sky. Living in upstate New York I have always said I have never seen stars like I do at home, so many that there seem to be more stars than sky, but this night I saw a sky unlike anything I have ever seen. The Milky Way shone so brightly it was like someone had just poured out a river of stars across the sky and everything, even the darkness, was crisp and striking.

And then there was the silence. I have spent many days and nights hiking, camping and exploring in remote places, but usually when you experience quiet it is that calming experience free of voices and motors, highlighted by the rustle of leaves in the trees or crickets in the grass (or peepers!). Hearing these small sounds of the earth is how you know it is quiet, but in the desert there are no trees, no grass, no insects. And when the wind stops, it is silent. Purely silent. Overwhelming, soothing, daunting and stunning at the same instant.

Slowly the moon began to rise and the stars faded. About two-thirds full, the moon flooded the desert with a surreal alternative daylight. By around 10:30 (after five hours around the fire) many people started to head for bed, but a few of us were drawn by the dark peaks and decided it was time for another hike.

Four of us headed out across the dunes as the moon rose, shining so bright our full shadows stretched across the sand. It may as well have been another planet for the way the world looked with moonlight glowing across the sand and the rocks jutting high and dark into the sky. Josh was dead-set on one of the highest rocks in sight. Hiking to the base took almost an hour and then we began our way around the monstrosity looking for a viable route up. We made it about a third of the way before reaching an impassable section and began to make our way around the rock instead. Most of the surface was sheer rock face and even with the amazing footholds was too vertical to attempt without equipment. We worked our way around the formation looking for any surface we could navigate our way up and after another hour and a half of hiking, we came to the conclusion that there was actually impossible to reach the top without serious ropes and climbing equipment.

Now about two and a half hours from our campsite, we decided to find a place to sleep and hiked around to a small valley nestle between two sections of the rock formation. We assumed the valley would provide some wind protection and as we curled up for what was left of the night we realized we were drastically unprepared, since we had left most of our equipment back at camp. We had one sleeping bag, food and water but this proved incredibly inadequate for a night under the stars. There were no bugs and the wind only blew on occasion but we spent the next few hours curled in a pile attempting to keep each other warm, feet tucked in the sleeping bag and rotating depending on who was shivering the most. It was a learning experience to say the least. But it was also so ridiculous that we spent a good portion of the time laughing at ourselves and of course we survived the night. The sun was up by around 5:20 and I opened my eyes to the most beautiful sight.

Even with two hours of 15-minute snippets of sleep, it was worth every second. The rocks and sands slowly began to reflect the heat and glow of the sun and we got up to hike back to the camp before the trucks came to meet us at nine. Since we had made it across the dunes and halfway around the rocks we had a good long morning hike to get back, but it was a simple route and I have to say I felt surprisingly good considering the complete lack of sleep!

We met back up with the rest of the group loaded up all of our gear and headed out. We went to the Dead Sea on our way back to Amman and made it back to the city on Saturday evening, at which point I collapsed into bed for ten hours and made it up just in time to head to work.

(This is the third day I have spent trying to post this and I cannot get any pictures to upload...sorry! I have them on snapfish for those of you who are interested, or check back and I will add them as soon as the Jordanian internet allows!)

Mount Nebo

2005-10-19T16:09:00.000+03:00

Friday I finally got out of the city and went exploring some of the famous sites of Jordan. My guide, Abed, is the music teacher at one of the schools, his English is good and he is used to being around Americans. This may sound strange but makes a big difference because it makes it possible to relax and act 'normal' for me, which generally can cause some cultural confusion, so all in all we had a very fun and adventurous day, despite the heat and several wrong turns that resulted in some extra time exploring the mountains. As you can see, that was not a problem because it was gorgeous and apparently during the spring the entire valley region fills with greenery and flowers (and flash floods). It's hard to imagine when the entire landscape is drenched in sand and stone, but I guess I will just have to come back and see for myself!

We made our way down through the mountains to Madaba and Mt. Nebo, which is one of the alleged places Moses was buried. They say he climbed up the mountain and died there. I could see why if it's true, the view is amazing. It is quiet and on a clear day you can see across the to the Dead Sea, the West Bank and Jerusalem.

The vast landscape is overwhelming shades of sand, speckled with small villages, flocks of sheep and tents of the nomadic locals, and the occassional plot of planted trees in perfect grids. There is a small church that has been there since the 6th century, excavated in the 1930s and filled with hand-made mosaics.

I would love to tell you more about all of the sites and adventures, but it is now 3:00 and during Ramadan most places in Jordan close by around 2:00. This includes my office building, which locks the doors (with large padlocks) by 3:30-4:00 and I managed to get myself stranded INSIDE the building earlier this week. I'd rather avoid a repeat performance, so that is all for now!

Kan Zaman (better than a day at the office!)

2005-10-12T11:40:00.000+03:00

My Sunday and Tuesday mornings are now officially dedicated to the Strawberries, Butterflies and Jolly Bees, those would be the names of the three KG2 classes at Madrasa Al Assriya, or The Modern School, and while the jury is still out on how I feel about spending time with little people (or how much it is going to help my Arabic) it is definitely a nice break from the office! Especially this week, because Tuesday we took a field trip to Kan Zaman.

Kan Zaman is a walled village not far from Amman that dates back to the turn of the century but has been "transformed" into souvenir shops of all kinds and a trendy ‘authentic old-style’ restaurant. The shops have everything from antiques and sand art to glassblowing and woodcarving, not to mention one of those staged photo sets where they dress you up in traditional Arabic garb and take your picture in a Bedouin tent (no I didn’t do it how dare you ask!).

The architecture is impressive with hand-laid stone everywhere from the streets to the walls.

The food was excellent, just snacks for the children since all the teachers are fasting, and I didn’t plan to eat but the principal specifically brought me a plate so I sat myself right down with the kids and enjoyed a wonderful selection of breads filled white cheese and zatar on the top.

I have been spending the most time with the Strawberries, there are two teachers for each class (English and Arabic) and here's a picture of them, along with some of the little Strawberries themselves.

We toured the village and took the kids on horse-drawn carriage rides, then piled back onto the school buses, which reminded me slightly of school buses in the U.S. only much smaller and the fumes are worse because everyone is still using diesel fuel.

It was nice to have a chance to spend some time with them (teachers and students both) outside the class so we could actually talk. After that it was back to the office (budget proposals, student exchange selections, and a new project I'll tell you about soon!) And there are also exciting outings in my weekend plans so stay tuned...

In other news...

2005-10-03T22:05:00.000+03:00

I have also moved into a new apartment that is SUCH an improvement from my last place. I have three rooms – bedroom, a kitchen/living area, and a sun room with two walls of windows, plus a bathroom of course. Yesterday I was invited for tea by the owner of the building who wanted to ‘formally’ welcome me to Jordan and to his building. He lives on the ground floor, the entire floor, although with its columns and marble floors it is hardly recognizable as the same building! He introduced me to his wife and daughter, he also has four sons that are no longer at home. They lived in Canada for a long time and just moved back to Jordan a year ago. His daughter, Lina, is in 9th grade and they all speak exceptional English. I’m hoping I can spend some time with her and practice some of my feeble Arabic skills with her.

On the Arabic front, tomorrow I am going to The Modern School, which is a private school relatively close to where I live. I met with the head of the KG section of the school and I am going to start going there twice a week to help out with classes and work on my Arabic. The KG classes only meet until around noon and are taught half in Arabic and half in English, so I can work with the teachers in the English section and then try to learn from the Arabic part (great, getting shown up by 5-year-olds!) It should be a good learning experience, and yes, I know, me spending time with little people, go ahead and laugh. :-) I’m a little scared but everyone says they are the best people to learn languages from so I’ll give it a shot! Plus a lot of the teachers seem to be young women so hopefully I can make some friends there too.

e-Village and Ramadan

2005-10-03T21:29:00.000+03:00

Madaba is a small village less than an hour south of Amman. It’s a unique area because it has two villages that fall under the same municipality, Lib and Mleih, and both contain a variety of historic Ottoman-style stone houses and other old buildings.

Why the history and geography lesson? Madaba has been selected by UNIFEM as the site for a new project called the e-Village. Partnering with the Jordanian government and dozens of organizations, they are converting all the historic, and some not-so-historic buildings, into a wide range of high-tech community buildings. The goal of the project is to transform the villages of Lib and Mleih into an economically empowered, well-resourced, gender-sensitive community where ICT is implemented to achieve a better quality of life.

The idea is huge and so in the project, which will include a learning resource center with computers at one of the schools, an Intel Clubhouse (of which there are only 103 in the world, and this is the first in a non-urban area), a Lego Robotics lab, a community radio station, a small business development center (which will front the money to help local entrepreneurs get off the ground), training and professional development courses, a language center, and then some.

The organization I am working with, iEARN Jordan, has been asked to sit on one of the steering committees for the project and to work with the four schools in Madaba. The committee meetings are monthly, pulling together so many different organizations is quite a feat and will hopefully be a success. UNIFEM has been working on this project for about two years I think and the official launch is slated for this spring. The UNIFEM coordinator, Yazan, is a friendly Lebanese guy that has so far been great and is very committed to making the project be something bigger and better than any of the individual orgs. could do on their own.

I visited the girls’ school in Lib with Khitam, a representative from the Ministry of Education, and also got a short tour of the Lib e-Village buildings a few days later. We are going to be conducting teacher trainings after Ramadan for all the schools, and getting students involved in interactive projects. The e-Village is also especially oriented at being environmentally friendly and of course focused on empowering women so I am hoping some interesting environmental initiatives will evolve out of the student projects.

Ramadan is supposed to start either tomorrow or Wed. but no one knows until they announce it, which is based on the moon cycles and determined by whoever is watching these things in Mecca. Everyone in Jordan has also already turned their clocks back because the King moved up daylight savings so it wouldn’t fall during Ramadan, which is very confusing, slightly amusing and apparently very practical (Egypt does it as well, and I don’t know where else).

I keep hearing stories and cautions about what Ramadan will be like but a few things seem to be true…everyone is fasting during the day, this means no food, no drink(you’re not even supposed to swallow unless you have to), no cigarettes, and no sex (which is somehow connected to the fasting? I guess it is in the ‘general deprivation’ category). This means, according to my coworkers, that everyone is tired and cranky, very little gets accomplished and everyone goes home around 2:00. They say literally the streets will be crowded, and then the breaking of the fast, called iftar, which is the word for breakfast, is at sundown (which is at like 5-5:30 since we already changed the clocks!) The evenings are apparently like street festivals with a great deal of eating and socializing. The desserts are supposed to be exceptional and at the end of the month there is a holiday, called little Eid (not to be confused with the larger Eid that is in late Jan. I believe, or 90 days after the end of Ramadan). So there it is, I will write more about what it is really like once it happens.

A Few Words About Grapes

2005-09-15T18:43:00.000+03:00

The landscape of Amman is striking. While the buildings are all a sandy white that melds with the land itself, there is also a distinct, albeit sparse, variety of plant life. Without a doubt the most beautiful of them (at least to me) are the grapes and grapevines.

The only place I’ve ever seen grapevines are at wineries, but here they thrive as a useful and beautiful commodity. They are not only for decoration. The vines have been carefully led to grow into a canopy over parking spaces to protect cars from the sun or to provide shade on decks and porches. There are green and red grapes, hanging down in full bunches, and as they have become ripe people are placing bags on them for what I assume is protection and gathering.

Other common plants include little trees planted all along the sidewalks that I believe to be olive trees and a strange sort of palm tree (but shorter and thicker). None of these grow naturally and any greenery at all has been planted and is watered by hand on a daily basis. Which makes me a little uncomfortable because it seems like an awful lot of water to be using in a country with such a serious water deficiency. Of course this daily water usage pales in comparison to those living in Abdoun, where I had the experience of visiting for the first time last weekend. Abdoun is a new and developing part of the city near the American Embassy, distinctly upscale with new mansions and villas being built at a rapid rate. There, for the first time since I arrived in Jordan, I saw grass, actual lush green grounds dripping with plant life, almost to an entangled state. Isolated patches of almost jungle-like greenery behind huge metal gates and surrounded by dusty construction sites and white stone. It all looks very out of place and turned my stomach. The amount of water it must take to maintain grounds like that! Imagine what could be done with that much water (or money)! I hate to say it but I guess the exorbitantly rich are the same in all parts of the world. Why? I want to know why. Why can’t everyone feel responsible for the planet? Why don’t people care? Do they think they’re immune? Do they really only worry about their own isolated lives and not care about anyone else or what the future may hold as a result of their apathy? Is there a way to change this indifference (or at least make sure it isn’t passed on to their children?)

Random Stories

2005-09-13T16:42:00.000+03:00

During my first week in Amman I lived with Mueen’s wife’s parents (and sister). More of the family lives in the top floor of the building, almost like townhouses but each one is a floor with at least three bedrooms, a huge kitchen, dining room, TV room, several bathrooms and a large formal sitting room for receiving guests.

Since then I have moved into the lower level of the house three houses down from them, which means I have a floor to myself, with all the rooms described above and maybe then some. It is huge. Unfortunately it hasn’t been lived in for some time, resulting in problems like spiders and leaks, and with so much space I spent several nights thinking someone was in there with me because the doors of other rooms would open and close from the breeze (and coming from my cramped NYC living quarters all this space is quite a shock!) When I first moved in we met with the family upstairs. They own the building and were very concerned about me being comfortable down there (I think the idea of a woman alone was difficult for them). They told me if I felt at all uncomfortable just to let them know and they would send the maid down to sleep with me.

Needless to say I have been fine, however, the space has an array of issues and we’re looking for a new apartment. That being said, right now I have a 30-minute walk to work, which is more of an event than it sounds like for several reasons.

First of all, no one walks here. At all. There are virtually no sidewalks and even when there exist it tends to be easier to walk in the street.

The streets have no lines so everyone makes up their own driving rules. Luckily the larger roads (usually divided with three lanes in each direction) have walking bridges to get across. As I mentioned before Amman is extremely hilly and luckily my walk to work is mostly down. After attempting to walk the easy route down the main roads my first day, I was determined to find an alternate route because the fume inhalation and near-death experiences were just unacceptable. I spent an afternoon finding a new path through the residential neighborhood, which is an interesting walk with better scenery and less traffic. My two favorite buildings are a large mosque at the top of the hill, so I know which way to head home (and that I’m almost there when I reach it) and the Holiday Inn, which I can see most of the way and is near my office so keeps me headed in the right direction.

(I tried to add more pictures...but the dialup connection is just not cooperating...)

The second major factor about my walk, or really my time in public for any reason at all, is that I am obviously foreign. I can dress as conservatively as I please but it doesn’t make me stick out any less. And this makes me quite an entertaining novelty to pretty much everyone. Walking or being outside tends to result in honking, staring and hissing from most people. A majority of the honking is actually from cabs that are sure I need a ride, and most people just stare openly, with some men or groups of men hissing or making comments, but more in an entertained than harassing sort of way (that’s not very clear but I hope it makes sense). By that I mean that it isn’t threatening, I feel much safer here than I ever did in NYC, no one would ever dare approach me or touch me, and every person I actually speak with is incredibly friendly and polite. It is just the people I’m passing by, and the only thing that makes me uncomfortable is not being able to understand anything they might say. It’s also hard as an American woman to not stare right back in that ‘I see you looking at me so knock it off’ sort of way. This does not work here and can have the reverse response of enticing comments or being misconstrued as an invitation. This is very hard to not do. I was raised to make eye contact with people, I like to smile, and not being able to do either is hard.

As far as clothing is concerned, I see everything from sleeveless shirts to full black burkas up to the eyes on the women, sometimes even with a string between the eyes to pull the fabric as close as possible. But neither of those are common. Most women are in long skirts or regular western clothes with colorful headscarves. I see plenty of jeans, especially on younger people, and those boys and girls are often walking with their parents, who will be in sweeping (and comfortable-looking) traditional robes. No one, male or female, wears shorts or anything showing more than a few inches of the legs. I have worn short-sleeves a few times but am generally airing on the conservative side.

My Arabic teacher is here so back to work for me, but just a side note for you DCers, I have found a Surprise Safeway! Can you believe it?!? I couldn’t go to one in NYC but there’s one here! Add it to the list...

I was also taken to a Starbucks this weekend by two Jordanian girls. I tried to resist but they insisted, they love it there. It was huge! Two stories, indoor and outdoor seating and a huge parking lot! Very strange, but did feel like the US when I was standing at the counter.

On a coffee note...I have discovered that although I don’t like American coffee at all, I actually do like Arabic coffee much better. I thought it would be worse because it’s stronger, but I honestly like it (as long as it’s sweetened)! Which is good because it is almost always served at meetings and whenever we go to visit people. Tuhamie even made me make it today and I didn’t ruin it. Sweet. That is my triumph of the day.

Not to be outdone by yesterday, when I had to go get blood taken to prove that I don’t have AIDS so I can get my visa to stay in the country. Thank goodness for Tuhamie. I cannot imagine trying to navigate this entire process alone.

First we went to file my visa extension at the police station, a stark building with sterile hallways, uniformed men with machine guns and less English than anywhere I’ve been so far. And as much as my Arabic has progressed in the last few weeks, I honestly understood very little of the conversation but I definitely need my blood test results even for an extension visa (and not the resident visa I plan to apply for later). So then we took a cab to the health center, where I understood even less. This huge building had long lines of mostly 20- to 40-year-old men winding down the street and up the stairs to various unmarked floors. Tuhamie led me through the lines and after speaking with several people at various windows, I paid 20JD and we headed to the third floor, where I waited in a short line, had my blood drawn, and off we went (results will be ready in two days, then back to the police station!) May the adventures continue!

Life in Khalda

2005-09-07T18:24:00.000+03:00

The weather in Amman is amazing I will give it that! Every day I wake up to hot, intense sunshine. I noticed today I was still squinting even with sunglasses! Usually there’s not a cloud in the sky and there is no humidity so the heat is reasonable, and drops considerably at night.

I’m living in a section of the city called Khalda. Amman was originally built on seven hills (called jebels) and so the city is divided into those sections, Jebel Amman being the oldest, is generally referred to as ‘downtown’ by Jordanians. However, this does not mean ‘downtown’ in the conventional sense of the word, and most local people don’t go there at all. At this point it is mostly a tourist attraction, with the stone amphitheater, a small museum, and, of course, a vast array of street vendors trying to sell hookas, jewelry and food of all varieties at three times the usual selling price.

I of course made Mohammad take me down there and show me around. He gave me a grand tour despite the crowded streets and oppressive heat, and even passed me off as a half-Jordanian for reduced admission to the amphitheater :-)

While some of the vendors have actual shops, many people just lay their wares out on tattered blankets in the street. Interestingly enough several of those blankets were covered with people selling the old Iraqi currency with Saddam on the front.

There are a LOT of Iraqis in Jordan. During the first war and the second war Jordan opened its borders for Iraqis to enter seeking refuge. I think the theory was to provide a safe-haven while the fighting occurred and then everyone could return home. Unfortunately that is not how the situation unfolded and a huge influx of Iraqis with large quantities of cash have poured into Jordan, drastically driving up the cost of housing and increasing the rapid depletion of Jordan’s VERY limited natural resources (like water!). Most of the Jordanians and Palestinians I have spoken with have voiced their displeasure with the increasingly long-term presence of the Iraqis, especially the ‘type’ of Iraqis that have come (everyone makes clear that they like the Iraqis as a whole but the population that has come to the city a bit different). I unfortunately can’t tell the difference yet, either in appearance or accent, between the Jordanians, Palestinians, or Iraqis, but a lot of times we will go somewhere and the people I’m with will say there are Iraqis everywhere (like downtown, or in one of the local malls).

Jordan has even recently passed a rule stating that in order to attend school your parents must have legal residence in the country because the school system is so overstressed and overcrowded by the influx that it cannot handle all the students. There are apparently more than a million Iraqis officially in the city and that means there are at least twice that many in reality. Crazy. Anyway, enough about that...

So Amman is divided in half really, east and west, with the east being the older (poorer) section and the west being more modern (for example, the section I live in, which didn’t even exist 15 years ago). The city has doubled in size and is projected to do so again by 2025. There are construction sites everywhere (and mostly Egyptian and Iraqi workers, I think they are basically like Mexicans in the US).

There is a big building going up right across the street from my office, I can watch them working out the window, we are on the second (meaning third, since it is GF, 1, 2, etc) and have one whole wall of windows.

The guys have been nice enough to designate Mohammad’s office as ‘the smoking room’ and most of the time it is just me and Mohammad or Tuhamie. In the beginning it was Tuhamie and I in the mornings, then Mohammad in the afternoons, but now school has started and Tuhamie is teaching in Zarka (the neighboring city to the north, where he lives) so he isn’t at the office until late afternoon.

Here's a picture of Tuhamie in our wing of the office, which has three rooms in total, plus a small kitchen and bathroom.

Tuhamie is great, I have spent a lot of time with him at work and last weekend I went to stay with him and his wife (and her extended family) in Zarka. Family is a really big deal in Jordan and many families share buildings, with for example the parents on one floor with the married children on the floor above and the unmarried still living with the parents. Unmarried men and women stay at home until the day they are married. This has nothing to do with age, sex or religion. I have met men and women, Muslim and Christian, hardworking and living at home. Moreover I have been told that it would be incredibly strange and suspicious for anyone to move out (i.e. what would you be doing that is so scandalous or what is wrong with you that you are not with your parents?) to the point that any woman not living at home is ‘tainted’ and even women who leave home to attend universities abroad or in other regions are subject to heightened scrutiny.

I spent some time trying to explain how virtually the opposite is true in America (i.e. people wonder what is wrong with you if you are living with (mooching from?) your parents). Needless to say it was received with some shock. And questions like “But who would take care of you if you are sick?” and “Why would you leave your family to be all alone?” I would like to say I had perfect answers, and I tried, but mostly it was one of many enlightening discussions.

Family size is also an issue. Meaning it is a BIG issue that you have a BIG family. My Arabic tutor is one of 12, nine girls, and although the younger families seem to have fewer children, the most important thing is you absolutely must have a boy. This is openly acknowledged and expressed by men and women alike. It even affects names, because once a boy is born, the father is then called, for example, Abu Mohammad, or ‘the father of Mohammad’ instead of by his first name. This is all traditional, and is starting to fade in Amman but is apparently still the case in the villages.

And I actually meant to say more about Zarka, maybe tomorrow (bükra!) but now I have a meeting...*hugs*

أهلا وسهلا (Welcome)

2005-09-04T15:43:00.000+03:00

I flew into Amman at 5:30 in the morning on the same day as the bombings in Aqaba. Figures. Although, geography lesson of the day, Aqaba is Jordan's only port and is located at the very south-eastern tip of the country (a.k.a. far from Amman). The whole situation did have people in Jordan talking though because there hasn't been an attack of any kind within Jordan in a long time.

However, at 5:30 in the morning, this was really not the foremost of my concerns, I was more focused on getting out of the airplane, finding out if my bags made it in one piece, figuring out if I could really get a visa and hoping that Mohammad was actually going to be there to meet me.

Lucky for me, all went smoothly, I never even spoke to anyone, just got off the plane, paid for my visa, passed through customs, immigration and baggage without a single word! And there was Mohammad.

Side note, by the way, Mohammad is my boss, coworker, man responsible for finding me housing, my finances, and pretty much everything else.

We headed to Mueen's house, a teacher who also works with us in the iEARN office, where I had my first Jordanian meal -- all mezza which I love and I get to eat with my hands (must be the farm girl in me b/c I love it). Eggs, ful (fava beans in a hummus-like state), tomatoes, cucumbers, zata (one of my new favorite foods!), these yogurt balls, jam, pita, cookies and tea with fresh mint. whew. all delicious, which I then learned in Arabic (za-keey) and is definitely one of the most-used words in my limited vocabulary.

After eating I fell asleep for a while, after which I went with him, his wife, their two young kids and the maid/nanny (her name is Geisha and she is from Sri Lanka) on a driving tour of Amman. The city is incredibly vast and growing at a rapid rate, there are new buildings going up everywhere! Almost everything is built out of white stone and the entire section of the city that I live in didn't exist 10 years ago.

Where do I live you ask?

I will tell you all about it, but that's it for now, it's Sunday (which is like Monday) and I have to get some work done!

2005-09-04T15:34:00.000+03:00

Amman (on my way to work)

2005-09-03T15:30:00.000+03:00

Amman