Wow, I had forgotten how much work it is to paint a room! Two days ago I got the bright idea that I should paint my bedroom to make it feel more homey.  The problem now is that I am only 5ft tall… and my room is about … ohhh … maybe 13ft tall… you see the problem.

I’m trying to use one of those poles that extends the roller but man.. it wears ya out.. and even with the ladder I have to stand on the top step – on my tippy toes to do the edges … and I just see this leading to some sort of a disaster.

I wanted a friend from my program, Daniel, to come over and help .. but I’m not sure I can find a girl to come with him, so it looks like I’m gonna be finishing it by myself.

So… I got a message back from the editor of the Barometer and he was really thrilled – he said, “I was blown away by your article.” .. and they’re planning on printing it as soon as I give em a headshot. It’s so exciting! =)

Anyways .. I need to get all primped and head down to the Kodak store to get a picture I can send them.

Ma’salaama

I finished my first article for the Barometer! It’s meant to be a kind of introduction to my situation. I’m not sure what day it’ll be published, but when it is I’ll send the link since I think they also put it online. =) Til then .. I’ll just add it here:

Cultural Baggage

What’s it like to cross an ocean, knowing your life and worldview is about to drastically change? I wondered this very thing much of my life. Having several friends who went on study abroad programs during high school, I was captivated by the thought of doing something exciting and unusual. Finances, classes, and life just seemed to fly by and it seemed possible that the other side of the world really was too far away. Then, one day I decided to just do it. It became painfully obvious that the only thing really standing in my way was me. 

When I announced my intention to go to Jordan my friends and family thought I was either crazy or courageous. I was often asked, “Where is that?” Clearly, geography class was a failure for most of us. So for all who are wondering the same thing, it’s a small country just east of Israel/Palestine, just west of Iraq – with Syria to the north and Saudi Arabia to the south.

I arrived after dark and my first night in Amman I awoke at 4am after a few hours of sleep to a man singing, or so I had thought in my sleep-deprived, jet-lagged state. It was my first experience with the call to prayer that is heard five times a day in Islamic countries across the globe.

My apartment was on a bit of hill and I decided to get out of bed and check out the view from my window. With dawn rapidly approaching, the bright moon gave me my first glance of a city filled with stone-washed apartment buildings and mosques illuminated by green lights in the distance.  

At this point you’re likely asking yourself why go there? Isn’t it dangerous? Don’t they hate Americans? Isn’t it unbearably hot, after all, its just one big desert?

The Middle East has been portrayed as a strange and exotic world. For many Americans the term conjures up images of camels, sand, veiled women, and terrorists. People say that the world “is getting smaller”, and while that may be true, it feels as if many misconceptions continue to grow rather than diminish.

The entire region is lumped together and summed up as “the Arab world”. The reality is that it is culturally, linguistically, religiously, and geographically incredibly diverse. As Americans we easily distinguish between lives in rural Kansas and New York City – we’ve gone so far as to color coat our states to differentiate between “blues” and “reds”. However, when it comes to other people and places that fall outside of our socially-constructed box we tend to clump enormous regions into one limited, vague category.  There are the “Chinese”, the “Africans”, the “Arabs”. Once we’ve done this we think we can write about their societies, critique their governments, and of course, we can help “them” become more like “us.”

It has been nearly five months since I arrived, and the drab-colored buildings have become familiar, comfortable and even slightly attractive. I no longer wake to the pre-dawn prayer and have found that the person who stepped on the plane at PDX will not be the same one arriving there this summer. I have changed. This place has changed me.

 I am beginning to see how we are all culturally conditioned. Each group thinks of itself as sophisticated and urbane, when we are all out of touch and cloistered. I suspect that in the states people are beginning to realize this after the election. The “blue” states are just as out of touch with the “red” states as vice versa. And it seems that both “blue” and “red” are out of touch with much of the rest of the world. We all just live in different isolated communities.  

A few weeks ago I was invited to a dialogue hosted by the university. They had asked Americans to come and answer questions posed by Jordanian students. Including me, six showed up to a packed room of students eager to meet “the Americans”. I felt nervous as I realized the implications – we were about to represent all of America (its culture, its values, its foreign policies, etc.) to this group of people.  

Although we tried to explain, clarify and/or apologize for our country, it was completely inadequate. It’s impossible for only six people to embody all the diversity that we’re so proud of – yet many have let nineteen hijackers personify over 330 million people spanning from Morocco to Iran. 

To say that there aren’t dangers associated with living in Jordan would be a lie. Riding in a taxi is somewhat like playing Russian roulette, but the truth is that I encountered more anti-American hostility in Germany than I have in Jordan, Syria or Israel/Palestine.

It may seem ironic, but I don’t fear terrorism like I did in the states. Fear is a powerful emotion that can be easily manipulated. I’m purposefully choosing not to allow myself to be a robotic extension of a government any longer. We are supposed to be the land of the free, not land of the afraid.

These articles are meant to be a doorway to a world often distorted. I want to help bridge the gap for all of you. Simply put, these are my stories and this is my life here in the Middle East. Ahlan wa sahlan (welcome)

Last night I got a call from my friend Chivon to see if I wanted to go with her today to the Islamic court because she decided to convert to Islam. Honestly, I was quite surprised. We both go to school together and I knew that she was interested in learning more about Sufism and Islam, but I didn’t realize how serious she was in her quest.

Although technically you can be a Muslim just by saying the shahada (creed), in order to be officially recognized you have to go through the government.

I didn’t have any idea what it would be like at all. Her host sister came and picked me up and we made our way to pick up her witnesses. You’re required to have two witnesses – and she had her host sister, her host mom, and a male relative in their family. Her host mom explained that a man counted as one witness, and each woman counted as half a witness – that’s why there were three of them needed.

We went to an office and started some paperwork. Then we left and went across town to another office, and after going back and forth 4-5 times to get different signatures she was sat in front of a judge.

This is much like the equivalent of baptism. This is meant to be a public announcement of your faith, except as far as I could tell, its not meant to be a spiritual experience by any means – its very political.

The judge asked her a couple of questions. (1) Why do you want to be a Muslim? (2) What do you know about Islam? (3) Who is Jesus – the Son of God, or a prophet?   .. and after a few minutes, and a few more signatures .. they escorted us into yet another (maybe 6th or 7th office visit by this point). They needed copies of passports/IDs of the witnesses, but when the two women presented their IDs they were denied – as women they were refused as being witnesses at all.

They looked for any man in the building who would volunteer to be a witness, and quickly found one.

Eventually she got the other signatures she needed, and we headed back across town to the first office. She was brought before the ‘more important’ judge who again asked her the same questions and added a few more comments such as now she was only allowed to marry a Muslim.

It was one of the strangest processes I’ve seen. I would never have imagined or believed how it worked unless I had seen it for myself.

In totally other news:  … Starbucks grand opening is today.. and all of us girls & Chivon are going to meet there to see the new, exciting store. =)