I'm very proud of myself for being able to navigate cabs here now without stirring up too many questions, although it still happens as people are naturally curious about my accent. I suppose it is good for me to have to experience this, because being a person who is read as a white woman in the states, I've never had to feel what it's like to have people treat you like you are completely and utterly stupid because you look like you are from somewhere else.
I'm talking about how it feels here when i open my mouth and utter maybe one or two words in arabic and the person near me exclaims, loudly, "YOU SPEAK GOOD ARABIC!!!!!" (Imagine someone in the states exclaiming to an asian-looking individual, "Oh you speak such good Engliiiiiiiish!!!") Or when they otherwise assume that I don't know my way around the city so cannot possibly know a faster route than they do, even though I've taken it every day for the past six months. It is so incredibly annoying. I've become bitchy about it. Depending on how loud and obnoxious they are in the context, I either say thank you, or more and more often just a curt yes, i live here.
I understand that it is not a common thing for people to encounter white foreigners here who speak colloquial arabic well enough to get around, and that is to a large extent due to our own arrogance. I hardly imagine that historically, encounters with British and French colonists, and now, American state department employees, etc, are encounters of mutual respect and curiosity. They take place in a context of power. And hyper-sexuality. I'll talk about the hyper-sexuality later. The power means that the westerner can come and go as he/she pleases, and without having to make any effort to learn the local language. So most of them do not. Most of their posts are only for a couple years or less anyway, so what is the point? Jordanians, on the other hand, all are required in school to learn English. Even to get a good job in Jordan anymore, you need almost perfect English.
More examples of the kinds of power differential that these meetings take place in are the fact that as US citizens, we can travel to Jordan, to Palestine, to Israel, and essentially where we want. However, people of various nationalities here such as Palestinian, Jordanian, Syrian, Iraqi, are far more constrained in terms of movement. I can go to visit my old host family's elderly aunt and uncle in Jerusalem, while they haven't seen them in more than 20 years. I can go through check points in Palestine and Israel without too many questions, while Palestinians cannot. I can leave Jordan and come back freely, while Iraqis and Egyptians cannot. I can enter Syria with the proper visa, Palestinians cannot. The list goes on. In terms of work and class as well, I have a certain power in most interactions. I'm here studying on a stipend that equals most university professor's salaries.
So, when I meet a random person, they think something about me. What they think is something very close to: rich, able to study, privileged in upbringing and mobiligy, ignorant about what we go through every day, is sexually loose, does not know about God or morals, has an American passport, and possibly will be able to hook me up with a visa.
So, this is the first thing to keep in mind when reading about stuff that happens here. There are other things that i'll post later. This post is about what people think when they see us, foreign women hopping around Amman. There is also a ton to say about what the random western person thinks of the Arabs they meet here. And there is a ton to say about the context of male-female relations etiquette here in which these interactions take place, and what that means for the conversation.
THAT SAID:
*********************************
Taxi Convo #13: (contributed by Lillie)
Taxi- Are you married?
Lil- Yes.
Taxi- Is your husband here or in America?
Lil- He's in America.
Taxi- That isn't a marriage.
Lil- Yes it is, we talk on the phone.
Taxi- Do you have kids?
Lil-No.
Taxi- You know why? Because you can't do it over the phone!
Taxi Convo #14: (contributed by Tiffany)
Taxi- Silicon wala tabee'y? [silicon or natural?]
Tiff- Shame on you!!! [horrified look on face, as what ELSE could that possibly mean??]
Taxi- Okay okay, tabee'y.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Deportations
Iraqis are living in fear of deportation from Jordan as it struggles with a massive influx of refugees.
so one of the guys who works at the crazy arabic school i went to was taken into detention at mecca mall (giant upscale amman mall) because he didn't have any id on him. they held him for a couple of days because they thought he might be iraqi. (he's palestinian-american and speaks with an egyptian accent) they let him go eventually after calling the school, but what a disaster had they decided to deport him to iraq...
IDs are lovely. passports are lovely. (the right passports are lovely) the iraqis here now have a situation where their passports are no longer good to get back into jordan on. there is a doctor we know here, who is stuck until her family can get her the new kind of iraqi passport (they're in iraq), then she can leave jordan, get the new passport, and come back. but from what i understand the old passports are no longer good for border crossings. so, people are stuck.
so one of the guys who works at the crazy arabic school i went to was taken into detention at mecca mall (giant upscale amman mall) because he didn't have any id on him. they held him for a couple of days because they thought he might be iraqi. (he's palestinian-american and speaks with an egyptian accent) they let him go eventually after calling the school, but what a disaster had they decided to deport him to iraq...
IDs are lovely. passports are lovely. (the right passports are lovely) the iraqis here now have a situation where their passports are no longer good to get back into jordan on. there is a doctor we know here, who is stuck until her family can get her the new kind of iraqi passport (they're in iraq), then she can leave jordan, get the new passport, and come back. but from what i understand the old passports are no longer good for border crossings. so, people are stuck.
Taxi Convos
So I'm sitting up late watching an Egyptian movie on Kuwait tv. Our water heater exploded today so there is no hot water. And the water tank is sitting on the roof with the snow so there REALLY is no hot water. Zamana is on a greyhound to nyc to catch the flight here, inshallah. Maybe one of our nice friends will let us get showers at their place on saturday night.
I thought this was a good a time as any to record some of the 856 silly/ridiculous/weird/humerous conversations i've had with taxi drivers here.
Taxi Convo #1-5:
-Where are you from?
-America
-How can I get to America?
-I don't know. You have to go to the embassy.
-What if I marry an American?
-Then you get a passport.
--silence--
-Would you and your friend like to visit me at my house in Madaba?
Taxi Convo #6:
-Where are you from?
-America
-Take me to America.
-I would if I could.
-Take me in your bag!
Taxi Convo #7:
-Are you from France?
-Yes [to self: shit shit what if he speaks french]
-France very good. Chirac. How do you say Welcome to Jordan in French.
-[think think think] Bienvenue
Taxi Convo #8:
-You are from Britain?
-Yes.
-I could tell. Where in Britain?
-London.
[thus ensued an extended conversation about university in london, about which i know nothing]
Taxi Convo #9:
-Are you married?
-No.
-Do you want an Arab or an American?
-It doesn't matter, either.
-You should marry an Arab. To him, family is everything. Once you are married, that is it.
[ironically, Amman is the male entertainment nightclub capitol outside of the gulf.]
Taxi Convo #10:
-Are you married?
[none of your business]
Taxi Convo #11:
-Hello, how are you.
-I want to go to First Circle, Rainbow Street please.
[driver proceeds to speed up and then pull the emergency break to skid down the hill, looks at me in the rear view mirror and nods at me with impressed-with-self expression]
-why??? don't do that.
[i refuse to look at him for the rest of the ride, we get to books@cafe without further ado, and i pay and get out]
-see you, byebye!
Taxi Convo #12:
-Are you married?
-No.
-Why? You are pretty!
More to come I'm sure. Not that all cab drivers are insane, these are just a few of the more memorable. Others have been memorable for other reasons. Once, we rode with a guy who was a lawyer and drives a cab. Another time, a friend here rode with a guy who is a public school math teacher and who drives a cab for 12 hours every night.
Unemployment is high, fuel is expensive (rent and fuel have more than doubled in the past two years, no joke), and people have to run around from morning to midnight trying to pay rent and feed their families. It's the main reason why there is essentially no political life here. People are just too busy trying to maintain their lives.
I thought this was a good a time as any to record some of the 856 silly/ridiculous/weird/humerous conversations i've had with taxi drivers here.
Taxi Convo #1-5:
-Where are you from?
-America
-How can I get to America?
-I don't know. You have to go to the embassy.
-What if I marry an American?
-Then you get a passport.
--silence--
-Would you and your friend like to visit me at my house in Madaba?
Taxi Convo #6:
-Where are you from?
-America
-Take me to America.
-I would if I could.
-Take me in your bag!
Taxi Convo #7:
-Are you from France?
-Yes [to self: shit shit what if he speaks french]
-France very good. Chirac. How do you say Welcome to Jordan in French.
-[think think think] Bienvenue
Taxi Convo #8:
-You are from Britain?
-Yes.
-I could tell. Where in Britain?
-London.
[thus ensued an extended conversation about university in london, about which i know nothing]
Taxi Convo #9:
-Are you married?
-No.
-Do you want an Arab or an American?
-It doesn't matter, either.
-You should marry an Arab. To him, family is everything. Once you are married, that is it.
[ironically, Amman is the male entertainment nightclub capitol outside of the gulf.]
Taxi Convo #10:
-Are you married?
[none of your business]
Taxi Convo #11:
-Hello, how are you.
-I want to go to First Circle, Rainbow Street please.
[driver proceeds to speed up and then pull the emergency break to skid down the hill, looks at me in the rear view mirror and nods at me with impressed-with-self expression]
-why??? don't do that.
[i refuse to look at him for the rest of the ride, we get to books@cafe without further ado, and i pay and get out]
-see you, byebye!
Taxi Convo #12:
-Are you married?
-No.
-Why? You are pretty!
More to come I'm sure. Not that all cab drivers are insane, these are just a few of the more memorable. Others have been memorable for other reasons. Once, we rode with a guy who was a lawyer and drives a cab. Another time, a friend here rode with a guy who is a public school math teacher and who drives a cab for 12 hours every night.
Unemployment is high, fuel is expensive (rent and fuel have more than doubled in the past two years, no joke), and people have to run around from morning to midnight trying to pay rent and feed their families. It's the main reason why there is essentially no political life here. People are just too busy trying to maintain their lives.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Tales of a Dirty American
We always hear stories about how horrible Americans can be in foreign countries, refusing to adapt to the culture or respect differences. They think that since they are Americans they can do anything they want. They tend to stick out like sore thumbs (who thought of that analogy? because it is seriously weird), either by their shoes or their cultural faux paus.
Being the cultured, world traveler that I am, I've always hated the way Americans act in foreign countries. When I was in Mexico I actually heard a girl say "whatever, I'm American I can do what I want," and I wanted to get up and smack her. I've always tried to fit into the culture around me, even if there are certain things that are just so difficult to adapt to.
Americans also hear that the rest of the world hates us and we should try to hide the fact that we are Americans while in other countries. I for one have often lied and said I was Canadian in situations where I didn't think it appropriate to say I'm American.
However, the past 6 months of living in Jordan have changed my tune. I have, I am ashamed to say, become a dirty American. There are just times when I cannot conform to the culture around me, and show my touristiness with my horrible habits. And I'm not about to change that. Because damn it, sometimes I just couldn't care less.
For instance, I'm not giving up wearing my blue airwalks. I don't care that the effect is basically the same as running down the street wearing an American flag as a cape, they are comfortable. And when I want to walk long distances, I don't want to be in nice shoes. I want to be comfortable. Also, I know that women here generally don't eat on the streets, but sometimes I'm in a rush and am hungry, so I'll eat my shwarma sandwich while walking to the bus stop wearing my headphones. Sure, it shows that I'm a foreigner, but golly they're gonna be able to tell anyway when they hear me speak.
Sometimes, I turn into that girl from Mexico. She'll never know how right she was, because in Jordan, being an American really does mean you can do whatever you want. In fact, for a region that supposedly hates Americans so much, flashing my passport sure does get me where I want to go faster. You can cut to the front of lines at customs. Your car doesn't get searched at checkpoints.
Pretending not to speak any Arabic also gets you farther than you would expect. The other day I needed to get into a building. I still have no clue why this guard wasn't letting people in, but when he tried to explain to me what I needed to do, I just said "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." He looked me over, and let me pass. I play that card a lot. "I'm sorry, I don't understand you" gets me whatever I want. It may be a horrible way to do things, but sometimes you've just got to. For the sake of my own sanity, sometimes I've got to be the dirty American. Try it, you'll see that you too want to be a dirty American...
Being the cultured, world traveler that I am, I've always hated the way Americans act in foreign countries. When I was in Mexico I actually heard a girl say "whatever, I'm American I can do what I want," and I wanted to get up and smack her. I've always tried to fit into the culture around me, even if there are certain things that are just so difficult to adapt to.
Americans also hear that the rest of the world hates us and we should try to hide the fact that we are Americans while in other countries. I for one have often lied and said I was Canadian in situations where I didn't think it appropriate to say I'm American.
However, the past 6 months of living in Jordan have changed my tune. I have, I am ashamed to say, become a dirty American. There are just times when I cannot conform to the culture around me, and show my touristiness with my horrible habits. And I'm not about to change that. Because damn it, sometimes I just couldn't care less.
For instance, I'm not giving up wearing my blue airwalks. I don't care that the effect is basically the same as running down the street wearing an American flag as a cape, they are comfortable. And when I want to walk long distances, I don't want to be in nice shoes. I want to be comfortable. Also, I know that women here generally don't eat on the streets, but sometimes I'm in a rush and am hungry, so I'll eat my shwarma sandwich while walking to the bus stop wearing my headphones. Sure, it shows that I'm a foreigner, but golly they're gonna be able to tell anyway when they hear me speak.
Sometimes, I turn into that girl from Mexico. She'll never know how right she was, because in Jordan, being an American really does mean you can do whatever you want. In fact, for a region that supposedly hates Americans so much, flashing my passport sure does get me where I want to go faster. You can cut to the front of lines at customs. Your car doesn't get searched at checkpoints.
Pretending not to speak any Arabic also gets you farther than you would expect. The other day I needed to get into a building. I still have no clue why this guard wasn't letting people in, but when he tried to explain to me what I needed to do, I just said "I'm sorry, I don't understand you." He looked me over, and let me pass. I play that card a lot. "I'm sorry, I don't understand you" gets me whatever I want. It may be a horrible way to do things, but sometimes you've just got to. For the sake of my own sanity, sometimes I've got to be the dirty American. Try it, you'll see that you too want to be a dirty American...
Thursday, March 15, 2007
haramdotcom, woot!
ok, so i'm a lazy bum sitting inside avoiding the snow, and figured this was my chance to finally post something to the venerable haramdotcom.
so let's see... what sort of haram things have happened to me lately. well, frankly i think the constant haramness of the men is sorta making me crazy. lillie and i were talking the other day about what would possibly make the men STOP acting like this. we even discussed, when they call to us like a cat, turning around and growling at them like a crazy tiger, thinking they'd be so shocked maybe they'd go away. this idea was an amusing one, but not something either of us would ever do. until the other day i was walking down "culture street" (which by the way contains nothing at all of any cultural value... mostly banks and fast food chains), and these young guys are lounging around just doing the cat-call thing to every girl that walks by. when they did it to me, i thought "why not?" and turned around and growled at them! they looked at me for a second, shocked, and then i couldn't help it and burst out laughing, as did they. i don't think i helped the cause that much unfortunately, but i don't know. i couldn't help it, the looks on their faces were just too priceless! idiots.
but i don't know... in my "arab women writers" class the other day, the professor was talking about how the best way to combat those men was through silence, and through ignoring them... if you respond, she says, they win. normally i'd agree, but after spending 7 months here i must say that i can't say she's right. every woman is silent, everyone just sits back and takes it when they're demeaned and leered at in the streets... and it's NOT helping! it's not doing anything! maybe if fewer women were so silent, something would actually change... maybe if many women went up to them, as i'm tempted to do sometimes, and just said "i'm a nice girl, i am not an animal or a prostitute, so why do you treat me like i'm one? you just ruined my day, how do you feel about that?" they'd stop. i don't know, maybe they wouldn't... but the status quo is just not something that should be upheld in this case! it's not amusing, it's not ok, and this ubiquitous "boys will be boys" excuse is just repulsive! ugh.
i heard this great story from someone the other day (maybe even a haram.com contributor, i don't remember) about a girl in egypt who had to walk home from work every day past the same group of guys, who would catcall to her every single day. one day she'd had enough and decided to do something about it. when she reached the men she took off her galabiyya (that black cloak muslim women wear around here) and beat every one of the men up. kicked their asses! when she was interviewed by a surprised newspaper reporter, she revealed that it was really no surprise she could take on all those men-- she was the top-ranked tae kwon do champion in egypt! haha.
now i don't know if that's true or not, but i certainly hope it is. man, how i'd like to be able to pull that off!
but anyway, i could go on for hours about that, i have on certain really bad days. as for right now, i'm going to end my first haram.com post. and go try to clean up the house before a certain few arab boys we've gotten hooked on kings show up!
~amanda haRAMnnoosh
p.s. stay tuned, because one of these days you are going to see a groundbreaking video tribute to the qasid institute of amman on this very site, made by myself and lillie!
so let's see... what sort of haram things have happened to me lately. well, frankly i think the constant haramness of the men is sorta making me crazy. lillie and i were talking the other day about what would possibly make the men STOP acting like this. we even discussed, when they call to us like a cat, turning around and growling at them like a crazy tiger, thinking they'd be so shocked maybe they'd go away. this idea was an amusing one, but not something either of us would ever do. until the other day i was walking down "culture street" (which by the way contains nothing at all of any cultural value... mostly banks and fast food chains), and these young guys are lounging around just doing the cat-call thing to every girl that walks by. when they did it to me, i thought "why not?" and turned around and growled at them! they looked at me for a second, shocked, and then i couldn't help it and burst out laughing, as did they. i don't think i helped the cause that much unfortunately, but i don't know. i couldn't help it, the looks on their faces were just too priceless! idiots.
but i don't know... in my "arab women writers" class the other day, the professor was talking about how the best way to combat those men was through silence, and through ignoring them... if you respond, she says, they win. normally i'd agree, but after spending 7 months here i must say that i can't say she's right. every woman is silent, everyone just sits back and takes it when they're demeaned and leered at in the streets... and it's NOT helping! it's not doing anything! maybe if fewer women were so silent, something would actually change... maybe if many women went up to them, as i'm tempted to do sometimes, and just said "i'm a nice girl, i am not an animal or a prostitute, so why do you treat me like i'm one? you just ruined my day, how do you feel about that?" they'd stop. i don't know, maybe they wouldn't... but the status quo is just not something that should be upheld in this case! it's not amusing, it's not ok, and this ubiquitous "boys will be boys" excuse is just repulsive! ugh.
i heard this great story from someone the other day (maybe even a haram.com contributor, i don't remember) about a girl in egypt who had to walk home from work every day past the same group of guys, who would catcall to her every single day. one day she'd had enough and decided to do something about it. when she reached the men she took off her galabiyya (that black cloak muslim women wear around here) and beat every one of the men up. kicked their asses! when she was interviewed by a surprised newspaper reporter, she revealed that it was really no surprise she could take on all those men-- she was the top-ranked tae kwon do champion in egypt! haha.
now i don't know if that's true or not, but i certainly hope it is. man, how i'd like to be able to pull that off!
but anyway, i could go on for hours about that, i have on certain really bad days. as for right now, i'm going to end my first haram.com post. and go try to clean up the house before a certain few arab boys we've gotten hooked on kings show up!
~amanda haRAMnnoosh
p.s. stay tuned, because one of these days you are going to see a groundbreaking video tribute to the qasid institute of amman on this very site, made by myself and lillie!
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
al-3aaris wala al-arz?
I think i'm getting sick. And it's rainy out. I'm inside drinking za3tar tea and posting.
Amanda requested the telling of this story. So here goes.
I went out with Lillie one day, she on her way to Qasid and i on my way to find the Jordan Association for Family Planning and Protection main offices at the Medina Riyadiya area. I was following the directions i had written down as given me by a professor that i'm working for. As such, i told the cab driver that i wanted Hotel Al-3aaris.
Lillie looked at me and said, "Are you sure? Isnt' that Funduq Al-Arz? Why would they put two hotels with almost the same name right near each other?" I had been convinced the hotel was 3aaris, because that's what i had written down when the professor gave me the directions. However the cab driver, as well, confirmed that there was no such Funduq Al-3aaris.
This would be an appropriate time to include that 3aaris is dangerously close to the arabic word for 'pimp' ('3rs' but with a hard s), and that Funduq Al-Arz (Cedar Hotel) is known to be a brothel.
[Pause: I just burned off all my tastebuds with my new cup of za3tar tea.]
So when we get to the neighborhood, the taxi stops in front of Funduq Al-Arz the brothel, and the driver looks at us, expecting us to get out.
"Actually," I say, "we need to find the organization for family planning that is around here. We don't want the hotel itself." Not only are we foreign women looking for the brothel, NOW we are foreign women who need the family planning association.
The taxi then proceeds to ask passersby where we can find the family planning association, and they direct us just a few blocks up the street, where I do find it and get my interview, albeit at the cost of making quite the haram impression of ourselves on the poor cab.
Amanda requested the telling of this story. So here goes.
I went out with Lillie one day, she on her way to Qasid and i on my way to find the Jordan Association for Family Planning and Protection main offices at the Medina Riyadiya area. I was following the directions i had written down as given me by a professor that i'm working for. As such, i told the cab driver that i wanted Hotel Al-3aaris.
Lillie looked at me and said, "Are you sure? Isnt' that Funduq Al-Arz? Why would they put two hotels with almost the same name right near each other?" I had been convinced the hotel was 3aaris, because that's what i had written down when the professor gave me the directions. However the cab driver, as well, confirmed that there was no such Funduq Al-3aaris.
This would be an appropriate time to include that 3aaris is dangerously close to the arabic word for 'pimp' ('3rs' but with a hard s), and that Funduq Al-Arz (Cedar Hotel) is known to be a brothel.
[Pause: I just burned off all my tastebuds with my new cup of za3tar tea.]
So when we get to the neighborhood, the taxi stops in front of Funduq Al-Arz the brothel, and the driver looks at us, expecting us to get out.
"Actually," I say, "we need to find the organization for family planning that is around here. We don't want the hotel itself." Not only are we foreign women looking for the brothel, NOW we are foreign women who need the family planning association.
The taxi then proceeds to ask passersby where we can find the family planning association, and they direct us just a few blocks up the street, where I do find it and get my interview, albeit at the cost of making quite the haram impression of ourselves on the poor cab.
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