Bedouin Life Part 3: Hardworking Bedouins and Lazy Americans (Me)

Hey Everyone,

This post is for my third day in the Badia. It was a pretty low key day, but there is a lot of analysis of random things I've seen both in bedouin and Ammani cultures. There are also a massive number of pictures. Look at them. It took me a while to make it.

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10/4 ----Day 3

This morning, I realized just how hard working Omi is. I slept in, but she made dough from scratch and baked a massive amount of Hobez Sharak (bread that is very thin and folded over itself a million times over). When I finally got up, she served me breakfast, cleaned up the entirety of the breakfast, and asked me to join her outside. She watered her olive trees with a hose that broke into a lot of pieces so she could adjust exactly what places were getting water; she fed the chickens and stray cats (all of the leftovers from the past few days went into an open little building outside). As much as I’d like to think that Bedouin life is just simple, I am realizing more and more that life in the Badia is poverty—but life is good.

She cooked the bread on an oven in the tent on the left. The little stone building is where she put the food. 

 

This woman is 65 years old, and yet, she is as active and limber as I’ve ever been. She looks so much older than 65 because of how hard she’s worked in her life, and yet all she wants from her strong, young guest is to sit on my ass, eat, and sleep. She is offended any time I try to help. My mom in Amman is similar. She has explicitly told me that the kitchen is off limits for me. If I want food, she will make it. She sets breakfast out for me every morning and insists that I leave my dishes so I can study. I’ve been living with her for a month and a half, and she still does not want me helping around the house. I feel like a mooch, but I know that she is fulfilled by being hospitable.   

I left Omi doing housework and did a bit of homework. Then I took another nap. I love being a lazy American. When I woke up, I went to Om Osama’s house. She has a western toilet, and yet, she is most proud of her sitting room with western style couches as opposed to mattresses.

I had my first political conversation of the Badia with Om Osama as she made me some tea in her beautiful kitchen. It exposed a viewpoint that almost made me vomit: She told me that Osama bin Laden and Sadam Hussein were great men and better leaders. They were good Muslims that would never have killed or even plotted to kill anyone because they are such good Muslims. There is no way that bin Laden could have planned 9/11. I smiled and nodded. She did say, though, that when people do bad things, they need to be punished, so maybe she does have an understanding that some blood has been spilled at the hands of these leaders. This opinion is one that I have yet to hear in Amman.

I also learned that unlike Ines, Om Osama loves living in the Badia. She’s from here, her family is here, and her life is here. She doesn’t want anything more, as her number one priority is her family. She said that Osama may or may not stay in the Badia, and whatever he eventually chooses is fine by her. This view differs from my Amman family that has one daughter in America and one in Saudi Arabia. Family is important, but social mobility is too. 

Lunch at Omi's was incredible. It was chicken mansaf, a traditional Jordanian dish. The meat is served with a milky/yogurt sauce over rice. We ate the freshly made bread, and everything was delicious.

At this meal, I met the famous Dr. Fozzy. He got his Ph.D. in archeology in the UK and has perfect English. We talked about Israel/Palestine, agreeing about the fact that much of the conflict is due to the lack of interaction between different groups. People need to interact with people and see the humanity in the other; people can be trusted, not politicians. He was also very clear to explain that he has no problem with Jews. He has problems with people that occupy and steal people’s land. It’s very reasonable. My host father who is himself a Palestinian refugee holds a similar opinion. It’s refreshing that people so affected by the conflict see the human element in it all. Fozzy also mentioned that groups like Al Qaeda have power because of US foreign policy—we created the monsters that we are trying to fight against now.

Later in the day, my friend Aubrey came over, and we took a walk around the village with her host sister and younger brother, plus Fozzy’s young daughter. It was very fun. We went to a school yard, played on the swings, took photos, etc. the highlight was playing a game of monkey in the middle with a water bottle on the roof of a house still under construction. Her host sister is 15, but she wants to eventually go to university to study either Islamic studies or English—and then come back to the Badia. I find it fascinating that she wants to get her degree and then not use it to its fullest potential.

Here are some pictures from the excursion: 

The inside of the unfinished house we went into. It will belong to one of Aubrey's host brothers. 

Safety regulations in the Badia are not a thing at all. Stairwells without railings are everywhere, construction zones are open, and yet, people aren’t dying left and right. We in America are way too paranoid. Here, kids can be kids and it feels much more free—kind of like the Wild West.

The stairwell leading up to Om Osama's house. There is no railing, and she has a 3 year old child. 

I also learned that the process for building in the Badia is very different from that in an urban location. First, you build a house on your land. Then, you ask for the permit. It’s a lot easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

The site of Dr Fozzy's future house. It's directly behind his mothers. The house in the background belongs to Om Osama. 

Dr. Fawzy’s daughters have been the best Arabic teachers thus far. For the first time, I felt like I was really able to articulate what I wanted or was thinking. When they helped me with my Arabic homework, they were patient sitting with me as I wrote words incredibly slowly, and they clapped for me every time I spelled a word correctly.

After a call to prayer, I saw Dr. Fozzy pray at home. I didn’t ask him about why he chose to pray there instead of at the mosque, but I did have a fantastic conversation with him about Islamic thought. He loves the amount of diversity in Islasmic opinions. He gave an example from the Koran in which the prophet Mohammad told people to pray during the journey and not after. Some people did not follow his word and prayed after they arrived in their destination. The prophet never reprimanded them. Dr. Fozzy took this to mean “mercy comes with disagreement.” Islam is such a beautiful religion, and I get to learn a lot more about it in the badia than in the very secular Amman.

I had another interesting experience with covering my hair today when I walked into a room with two men while uncovered. The wife told me that I was fine, but one of the men asked me to go cover up. I am still trying to figure out whether the men or the women are the enforcers of modesty. I am pretty sure it differs by family. 

At one point, I was sitting in a room with four young girls and Mohammad. After a few minutes, one of the girls literally kicked Mohammad out. I asked why, and she said that it was because he was a boy and we were all girls. This surprised me, because I assumed that gender separation is not as big of a deal with kids. Gender separation is such a big deal in Jordan in general, but to a higher degree in the badia. I’ve noticed in Amman that at the university, when groups of people are sitting outside for lunch at the university, 99% of the clusters are single gendered. With my host sister, the only time that I spent time with her and a boy, she swore me to secrecy. As I sit in a Café in Amman writing this post, and it’s about 11 PM. I’m the only woman in the establishment, surrounded by clusters of shabab (young men) smoking argila and playing cards or backgammon.

10/5 – Day 4--Packing up and Debriefing on the Badia

Tonight, by host brother Zaid is having his engagement party. I will be leaving the badia a day earlier than the rest of the SIT crew because the party is in Amman and it makes no sense to drive 4 hours up and 4 hours back only to do it again tomorrow morning. The house is abuzz with preparations. The women all disappeared for a few hours, and I learned that they had gone to a salon in Ma’an to get their hair done. When they got back, they all showed off their gorgeous dresses. The mothers planned to wear conservative ones in bright colors, but the young girls had very immodest dresses. The engagement party is separated by gender, and because women don’t have to cover around other women, they pull out all the stops. The most adorable moment of the morning was when all of the young grandchildren decided to give Omi a makeover. They were brushing her hair and doing her makeup. She was being such a good sport.

At breakfast, I asked Dr. Fozzy about water usage culture, and what I learned was fascinating. He said that because water comes out of a hose and is very cheap (a cubic meter for less than a Dinar), people don’t treat water as a scares resource. He then told me that ancient cultures in this land had incredible methods of saving water, storing it in cisterns, and utilizing every single drop. This conversation morphed into a history lesson of the region based on archeological evidence. I should mention that the village was a 15-minute drive from Petra. In the last two thousand years. Over 20 different kings/empires/countries have ruled over this land while the indigenous people have never moved. Regardless of who is in power, the people care about their land.

I learned yesterday that Mohammad has some pretty severe learning issues, which helps to explain why he can neither read/write English nor Arabic. The closest specialist is in Ma’an, 45 minutes away, making it impossible for his family to get him the help he needs. Instead, they physically beat him for being unable to learn. Today, though, I sat with him for about a half hour practicing saying and writing the numbers 1-10 in both English and Arabic. He quizzed me, I quizzed him, and as he wrote, I was patient with him, helping and encouraging him when he made mistakes and enthusiastically rewarding his successes. He beamed with pride each time I told him that he did something correctly—it’s clearly a rare occurrence.

In this regard, the differences in available resources between Amman and the Badia (and obviously America) are the most stark. My Ammani brothers are not very academically inclined. One of them is brilliant but not hard working in school (he makes motorized cars with videos he learns on YouTube), and the other is your average energetic 10-year-old. The younger son goes to private school and consequently gets better attention. It costs 200 Dinar a month, which is nothing compared to America but a lot in Jordan. After he missed a week of school because of medical issues, my family was able to bring a tutor over to get him up to speed. In the Badia, both economic and logistical barriers prevent this type of help from happening. When I was younger, I too had a lot of learning issues, but my family had the resources to get me copious amounts of help from numerous institutions and specialists. I often wonder where I would be if not for the help my mother ensured I got. Mohammad will show me the answer.

Cleanup culture in the badia is hysterical. The men don’t do shit, and the women, including Dr. Fozzy’s very pregnant wife that is due to give birth in 10 days, do everything. The kids help and are expected to continue helping with sweeping, vacuuming and everything. The men sit on their asses. While I was talking to Dr. Fozzy after breakfast, Omi cleaned up everything without saying a word.

I am so glad that I brought my guitar to Jordan, and especially the Badia. I am pretty sure that my family in the badia (at least the kids) had never seen a guitar before. They all want to hold it and strum. They pluck each string, one by one, feeling how the strings vibrate, and their faces light up. it’s awesome. Sometimes I make the chords for them so they can hear the changes and feel like they are playing songs. When I first got to Amman, I didn’t speak any Arabic, and the portion of the family without good English didn’t really know how to deal with me. When I took out the guitar and started playing it though, we connected. Music is such a universal language, and I love being able to share it.

After reading this, if you have questions, please send me an email or comment.