Thanksgivikkuh in Amman

Hey Everyone,

Today is a special day--for the first time and last time in some many thousands of years, Hannukah and Thanksgiving fall on the same day. It sounds like a fun day to be an American Jew. It sounds like a good day to be an American Expat in the country roughly 50 miles to my West. But I'm in Jordan, a country that could not give two shits about either holiday. Geography makes no difference, though. This post is all about my Thanksgivikah celebration.

I will start it with a picture of my proudest project to date: The world's most creative (nearly) Kosher Channukiah. Yes--those are mini birthday candles stuck in a cucumber. Yes--the shamash is made of a piece of pepper stuck in with a piece of a paper clip. Yes--I'm the least crafty person EVER.




We at SIT decided to have a Thanksgivikuh potluck. This afternoon (normal Thanksgiving food time), we sat down on the floor in our main sitting room to enjoy our potluck feast. We had Turkey, stuffing, Salad, mashed potatoes, mac n' cheese, green beans, and sweet potatoes. I made Latkes.

Here's the story. 

The first challenge came when I had to explain to my mom what Thanksgiving is a few days ago. My mom asked me a few nights ago if there was a holiday coming up. I said that Eid Thanksgiving was happening. She asked what we did on this holiday. I explained that on Thanksgiving, family comes together and eats. And eats. And eats. I realized just how anticlimactic Thanksgiving is when I mentioned that literally, it's what they do every fucking day: Gather the whole family together to eat way too much food communally, and start your meal way too early in the evening to be considered dinner. My family eats between 4 and 5:30 every day.

She then asked me if it's a Jewish holiday or not. I said no--It's an American holiday. I'm American, I'm Jewish, mish mushkila. She asked how since all American holidays are christian holidays. I said no. Lucky for me, she has a daughter in Georgia that celebrates Halloween. Only when she recalled her muslim daughter celebrating an American holiday did she understand. Success! I was so proud. But there's another holiday starting this week...is it worth explaining it...? I'm a little bit ashamed to say that the answer is no. It was difficult enough trying to explain one holiday. I wasn't going to confuse her.

Mama, it's Eid al Thanksgiving.

Fast forward to Wednesday night. I went over to a friend's apartment to begin the latke prep process. I grated 15 potatoes, hand grated 5 onions, added eggs and flour, and put them in tupperware containers. Only while I was doing this did I decide to call my mom and ask for permission to use the kitchen during the day on Thursday. I was SHOCKED when she said yes. Legitimately.

As the sun set, I looked outside, and realized that Hannukah ahd started and I didn't have a Menorah. Believe it or not, unlike in America, Hannukah candles are not universally sold at grocery stores in Amman. To make it a step more extreme, Chabad isn't even standing on street corners passing out Channukiot. This means creativity is a must. For the first night, before I had gotten it together to buy some candles, I decided that I would take a piece of newspaper, light it on fire, and transfer the flame to another piece of newspaper. Although it didn't get to burn for the Halakhic 18 minutes, I decided it was better than lighting down the Hyatt Apartments.

The Cooking 

I was terrified to use my family's kitchen, but I figured it would be OK. My friend Diana joined me, and I bought my own oil, paper towel, and everything else I would need to cook in the family's house. 

Sure enough, as Diana and I start setting up, my sister is there, watching us like a hawk. Mama wasn't home, and nothing was going to go wrong in that kitchen. Sure enough, everything was going perfectly. Latkes were frying, potatoes were being peeled, the kitchen was smelling like diabetes. We sampled the first few, and they tasted just like the impending heart attack they should. 

Then the honeymoon ended. While trying to get over her fear of frying, she spilled a pan full of hot oil on herself. One of her thighs and one of her hands got a huge amount of oil on them. Sure enough, just as the spill happened and she started reacting to the pain, the front door opens with my very confused host brother. My host family luckily had burn medicine handy, so we were able to get her taken care of fairly quickly. My host sister was amazing. After a few minutes of getting Diana's burns under water, she looked at me and told me to get back to the kitchen for the latkes.

I went back to the kitchen, slid on the oily floor, and got back to the frying pans. 10 minutes later, Diana and my host dad left to go to the hospital (she got some medicine and is now fine. An hour later, with the help of my host sister, I was done. Not surprisingly, my family was unwilling to let me clean anything, even a grater. I was a little bit upset about this in principle, but I'm not complaining. It means I didn't have to deal with the floor.

I haven't yet been home since I left with my Latkes to go to SIT for the feast, but I have a strange feeling that the kitchen will go back to being off limits to me--and all future girls that stay with my host family. When I heard my host sister tell my mom over the phone, she said something like "an American girl made a mess." They kept telling me it wasn't a problem, but...I mean...

The Second Night of Hannukah - Thanksgiving

SIT's thanksgiving feast was awesome. Everyone stepped up so that we had an amazing spread of food for dinner and dessert. Our Arabic professors and SIT staff showed up, and they were really impressed that we knew how to cook. They keep telling us that our group is among the better ones they've had, but after telling us this is only the second Thanksgiving celebration with a turkey that has ever actually happened, I believe them. The Latkes were a big hit. A few kids on my program had never had latkes before (I can't believe it either), and they liked them even though they were served sans sour cream (which doesn't exist in this country and applesauce. I was super proud of myself. But not as proud as I was of the Channukiah. Here's the food:





Channukah Time

After we had all sufficiently stuffed our faces, Chabad declared it candle lighting time in Amman, so the few Jews of us gathered to light Channukah candles. We told everyone they were welcome to join us, and in the end, about 15 of us crowded into the kitchen to light and bless my very crafty Channukiah. For roughly $2, I made it. Regardless of where in the world you are, you can celebrate the least religiously significant Jewish holiday ever.




Singing the blessings was magical for me. I am officially 6 months post op, and for the first time in four years, I sang the Hannukah blessings without hating the sound of my own voice. For the first time in four Channukahs, my voice didn't crack. As we finished singing the blessings, the evening call to prayer rang out from the mosques of Amman. I guess this achievement was big in Islam and Judaism.

Seriously, though being Jewish in Jordan is not the burden I expected it to be. It is not a source of shame, or a source of hostility. If anything, being Jewish is something that makes Muslims happy. If I'm not going to Muslim, at least I'm religious. Even with the Palestinian community, the problem isn't Jews--the problem is people that take their land. Each person I talk to explicitly tells me it's not a religious issue.

Tonight, I plan on going home, telling my family that Eid Al Thanksgiving was great, and that a Jewish holiday is happening all this week. Inshallah, I'll light the candles at home with them tomorrow so they can see Hannukah in Jordan. I might chicken out though. We'll see.

Wrapping Up - As Cliche as Possible

I have a lot to be thankful this Thanksgiving. Some are more significant than others, but all are important.

• Being able to sing again
• Being in Jordan and having the chance to ask a lot of questions
• Being in a community that inspires me to try to answer those questions
• My family and friends that supported my decision to come to Jordan
• My host family that has taken me in with love and food
• My SIT tribe that has kept me somewhat sane during the craziness of these last few months
• Being happy, healthy, well fed, and filled with ample excuses to procrastinate doing work

If you read this, thanks a lot, and I hope you have a great Thanksgiving and a wonderful rest of Hannukah. 

Becca

Explaining Zionism to a Palestinian Refugee

Hey Everyone,

This post is all about the research I am currently doing. It's long, really academic, and hopefully interesting. If you have any interest in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict from any angle, I recommend you read it. The story in the title is one that happened earlier this week when I was photocopying surveys that I'm distributing. It's talked about at the bottom of this post.

The very last section has to do with the physical cases that have caused me to ask a lot of questions about Zionism since being in the Middle East. Jews, Zionists, Jews questioning Zionism, PLEASE read it.

Why am I doing research, and what am I researching?

The independent study researching project is a large component of my program, and it's actually one of the main reasons I chose the program I did. The first months of our program are jammed packed with classes so that the last month can be dedicated to us doing a research project on a topic of our choosing. If you know my background, you may be surprised by the topic I've chosen. If you really know my background, though, it shouldn't be too surprising:

I am researching the Palestinian Right of Return, specifically, how Jordanians of Palestinian descent view their relationship with the Right of Return. 83% of Palestinians in Jordan do not live in refugee camps and all Palestinians in Jordan were granted citizenship to the Hashemite Kingdom in the 1950s. This means that Palestinians in Jordan are largely assimilated into the culture, settled, and most interestingly, have never actually been to Palestine (because they aren't allowed to).

When Israel looks at the right of return, they assume that it means 7 million Arabs moving into Israel proper and ruining the demography of the state (I'm not going to touch the morality of this claim with a 10 foot pole). When Palestinians look at the right of return, they see a breach of international law that is yet another injustice to occur to the Palestinian people.

My goal with my research is to talk to Jordanians of Palestinian descent (like my host siblings), to see how they would act if given the chance to move to Palestine/Israel in the right of return scenario.

Wait, Becca. Are you, like, a Palestinian now or something? Has Jordan made you question everything that you know to be true from your upbringing?

So, to answer this exaggerated question that I'm sure many of you that have known me for many years are thinking, the answer is simple and complicated. I'm not, in fact, a Palestinian. I am not a Jordanian, and I'm not an Arab. I also don't see any of those names as being insulting, but that's another conversation.

To address the second question, growing up, I was immersed in the American, Jewish, and Zionist narratives, so being in Jordan amongst a massive Palestinian population has made me question a lot of what I grew up learning about. For me, this semester has been about learning the other side of the story. I'll decide what I believe for me later (maybe), but for now, I am doing my best to understand and share a viewpoint that we in American (especially Jewish) circles rarely see from a non-negative point of view.

Not to be too preachy, but for anyone that considers themselves to be pro-Israel/Zionist or anything of that sort, I think you owe it to yourself to try to understand the other side of the story from the Arab perspective. To shout anti-semitism whenever people criticize israel is ridiculous most of the time, but when we think about the fact that Arabs are also Semitic people, it gets that much more insane. Read things that make you angry because they directly contradict what you believe to be true about this conflict. It sucks, but it makes you think. I advise starting with Peter Beinart's "The Crisis of Zionism."

What does your research entail?

My research involves an extensive literature review, a survey, and a bunch of interviews. I will be writing a 50 page paper about all of this stuff, and I'm not going to try to do it here, but instead, I'm going to finally tell the story I promised...it happened while I was photocopying my survey. So I guess I have to tell you about the survey itself.

The experimental group will involve Jordanians of Palestinian descent (PJs), although the survey will also be given to Jordanian-Jordanians. On this survey, I have a the following blank map of the levant, and I ask people to do the following: 1) write in the names of the countries shown, 2) place an x and write the name of the city you consider to be your home. Then after that, I ask them to mark on a scale from 1-10 to what degree they consider themselves to be refugees.

Here's why I did this:

UN Resolution 194, Article 11, on which the Right of Return is based states that "refugees wishing to return to their homes and live at peace with their neighbors should be permitted to do so at the earliest practicable date..." This resolution is logical. A person that has been kicked out of their home in a conflict should be allowed to come back to their home. However, multiple generations later, the logic becomes much more complicated. 

How can a person return to a home they have never been? How can a person return to a home that is no longer standing? Can a person return to a city that is different than the one their family came from and still call it return on family basis? These questions don't have easy definitions, but this survey was designed to help me look at some of them in more depth. I have given out about 150 surveys at the University of Jordan, and hopefully, I'll also be able to give some out in a Palestinian refugee camp. 

On one extreme, If a PJ says she considers her home to be Amman, Jordan and she doesn't consider herself a refugee at all, the Right of Return according to resolution 194 should not apply to her. On the opposite one, if a PJ says she considers her home to be Hebron, Palestine and she considers herself a refugee, the right of return should apply to her. 

It's more complicated, though, when the home/refugee answers don't correlate as one would expect them to. People have said that they consider their homes to be in Palestine, but they don't consider themselves to be refugees; people have answered that they consider their homes to be in Jordan, but they do consider themselves refugees. I'm not sure yet how I will analyze those answers in my paper, but I'll let you know when I do. For now I'm just fascinated.

Other interesting things I've found in survey answers: a lot of people don't know the geography as well as I'd expect. Numerous people answered that the West Bank was the dead sea. 

Explaining Zionism to a Palestinian Refugee

When I was in the copy shop near the university, I handed the blank sheet to the 25ish-year-old man behind the counter and told him I wanted 200 copies in Arabic. It became clear quickly that his english and my Arabic are on similar levels. Oy. He then asked me what the surveys were for. I told him research. He asked if I was the manager of the project, and I said yes. He then asked me why I'm doing it. I told him I want to look at the practical side of the implementation of the right of return, and he said that he agreed with my hypothesis that most Jordanians will say they believe in the right of return but wouldn't want to go and live in Palestine. This wasn't good enough for him, though, and he kept asking me why I was interested in Palestine. I then took a chance and came clean--I'm Jewish. Immediately, he told me that he is a Palestinian Muslim from Hebron. Even though I am a Jew, he respects me. I then assured him that I am a Jew, but not an Israeli. He asked me to sit down because he had some questions.

First, he asked me what the difference is between a Jew, a Zionist, and an Israeli. Before I tell you how I answered it, let me remind you of the massive language barrier that existed between the two of us. This meant that I had to say things in as simple words as possible in two languages. 

I explained that he is a Muslim and he is a Jordanian. Jordan is a country where a lot of Muslims live, but not all Jordanians are Muslims and not all Muslims live in Jordan. I said that the relationship between Jews and Israel is the same. Israel is a country; Judaism is a religion. WIth Zionists, I explained to him that there are many kinds of Zionists, some that are nicer to Palestinians, and some that don't see the Palestinians as deserving their native land. Settlers are an extreme kind of Zionist, but many settlers, even, respect Palestinians as people. I kept repeating the Arabic word for problem "mushkilah" as I went, and he understood that this is something I've spent a lot of time thinking about. 

He then asked me one of the hardest questions I have ever received: 

Before 100 years ago, Jews and Palestinians lived peacefully together in Palestine. There were no problems. what happened? 

HOLY SHIT. Um...well...HOLY SHIT. How do I try to explain why the 2000 year connection Jews have to Jerusalem was seen as more important than the rights of the people that lived there at the moment. How do I explain to him that I as a Jew can go and live there based on these ancient ties but he can't go and visit based on the physical ties of his parents. 

um...Here we go. And don't forget the language barrier. 

I started the story with Nationalism, explaining that the European countries were deciding who was german or french enough, and that the Jews didn't fit in. Jews decided they wanted to create a state based on the Jewish nation, and the only place that made sense was Palestine. Jews have been praying to rebuild Jerusalem for two thousand years. I then explained that Jews started moving in large numbers from Europe to Palestine. He asked about the people that already lived in Palestine. I answered "Mushkilah." As I continued to explain about the way the Jews ultimately decided that they wanted a state and that the Arabs at the time either had to accept or flee, I just said Mushkilah. Zionism seems like a way more ridiculous idea when you have to tell it to someone whose family was its victim.

Ethics vs. Zionism - Understanding Jewish Privilege 

This isn't the first time since coming to Jordan, I've come to face to face with a paradox that has made me question the ethics of Zionism. Here's the first one. 

My American father (hi Daddy) was born in New York City in February 1960. My Jordanian host dad was born in March of 1960 in Silwan, East Jerusalem. My host dad and his family fled in 1967, and he hasn't been allowed back since. Since my American dad is a Jew, though, he can LITERALLY get Israeli citizenship and buy my host dad's family's house in East Jerusalem. 

About a month ago, I went to the Dead Sea. As the sun set, we were able to see Jerusalem across the sea. I told my host siblings this, and my youngest brother, Rashed said, "I've never been to Quds. I can't." At the moment, all I said was "Inshallah." I felt terribly awkward at that moment. I had the chance to live in Jerusalem for 6 months and I will be going to Israel again next semester. I can do it easily, because I carry an American passport and I'm Jewish. He can't, because as a Palestinian. 

This post got really heavy towards the end, but once I start writing about this stuff, it's hard for me to stop. I will keep you posted on my research and things I learn. If you want sources to read or you have any questions, feel free to let me know. I am learning SUCH interesting things. 

Best,

Becca

Jordanian Health Care 2.0

Hey Everyone,

The last time I posted about medical care in Jordan, I had nothing but good things to say. I still believe that medical care in Jordan is good, but I have a story that is too funny to not share. With no further ado, here goes.

A few weeks ago, the US state department issued a warning that Polio had been found in a Syrian refugee camp in Jordan, and that they advise all expats to make sure to be immunized.  For people under the age of 20, it is strongly suggested (the way a 5 AM fitness session for a sports team is optional), and for people above the age of 20, it’s their choice. We were all vaccinated as toddlers and told before the program that getting the polio booster was possible but not necessary, so none of us did before getting here. 

Someone on my program asked our AD how to get vaccinations and he said he would take care of it. This was maybe two or three weeks ago. Last week, we got an email saying that we had to be at our building at 10 AM sharp to get vaccinated. It was required for all people under 20 and optional for anyone older.

I showed up at our building at quarter to 10, and half of our program was already there. None of us knew anything: we didn’t know if we were getting pills, drops, or shots; we didn’t know if we had to pay for it ourselves; we didn’t know how getting the booster would affect our previous immunizations. But it’s Jordan, so per usual, we went with it.

At about 10:15, SIT’s Logistical Coordinator posted to Facebook that all of us have to be in the building now because a person will be here to give us shots for two hours. When we asked him, we learned that, of course, they weren’t there yet. But he had talked to the Minister of Health the day before, so no problem.

At 11:15, a group of Jordanians wearing lab coats walked down the stairs and asked us if we wanted to do the shots in a private room or in the main room (in which we were all sitting). They then told us to prepare our left arms and get out our immunization cards (if we had them with us). If we didn’t have our cards, no broblem. I am not making up what happened next:

One at a time, we walked up to the people in lab coats with needles, and they gave us shots. They didn’t clean our arms, they didn’t say anything to us before during or after, and they didn’t put any sort of band-aid on the hole when the needle was taken out. SIT had one of the volunteers there with a camera taking pictures of all of us as we were getting shots. I can’t wait for the photo of me being stabbed with a polio vaccine to appear on Facebook. As we all got shots, SIT called everyone that wasn’t there to make sure they showed up quickly so they could get their polio vaccine. I was glad I had chosen to get my optional booster, because obviously, this shot is important.

As more and more people that had their vaccination cards started to compare notes on what vaccinations they had gotten, we couldn’t help but notice that the vaccine listed on the card was “MR.” At first we thought that Polio just had a weird acronym, but then we realized that none of us had gotten the polio booster.

We had all just gotten vaccinated for Measles and Rubella. Um. What?

I asked Mohammad, the volunteer, what we were vaccinated with, and he told us that we got the Polio vaccine. When I told him that his guess was incorrect, he was as surprised as we were.

We expressed our concerns to the guy who had just administered shots to all of us dumb Americans, and he told us nonchalantly that people over the age of 5 rarely get Polio. The booster shot exists, but not in Jordan. Seeing as we had all been immunized as children, we didn’t need to get it. However, over 100 cases of Measles have been reported recently in Syrian refugee camps, so they figured giving us that booster was a good idea. Before coming to Jordan, every single one of us had gotten that vaccination. We weren’t sure if they gave us a vaccine for a different strand of Measles or not, but to make ourselves feel better, we decided they did.

At this point, I felt like a total idiot. I have always been taught to ask a million questions when it comes to medical things, and this time, I hadn’t asked anything. I literally rolled up my sleeve and handed my arm to a person that was giving shots in an assembly line the way people in the great depression received bread. For all I know, they literally implanted a GPS tracking device for the NSA to use to know where I am at all times (hi NSA!). For all I know, they gave me a shot of saline to make me, a paranoid American, stop freaking out. I literally allowed this woman to give me a shot because she was wearing a lab coat.

So I'm dumb, I am super vaccinated for measles, and I really hope I don't get polio. 

APPENDIX

Later in the day, a girl on my program checked in with the American embassy to ask them about what happened and what we should do about it. I have copied and pasted her post so you can get an idea of just how ridiculous this situation actually is. 

So update on the vaccination situation: I have spoken to both my mom (at 1:30 am whoops) and the US Embassy in Jordan to try to find out where to get the polio vaccine. 

Measles: The vaccine that those of you who got a vaccine this morning received was the MR (Measles and Rubella). This was a completely unnecessary vaccine for you to receive. As a child we all received two MMR (Measles, Mumps and Rubella) vaccines. This was required for us to attend kindergarten in the United States. People need two MMR vaccines in their lifetime in order to be considered completely immunized for Measles. What you received this morning was this vaccine without the mumps (just M and R). It was an extra and unnecessary dose. However it will NOT hurt you that you received it. There are potential side effects to any vaccine but there are not any more because this was an extra does. If you did not get the vaccine this morning and went to school in the US (aka all of you), do not go receive another MR or MMR vaccine. You do not need it and that is a waste. When I spoke to the embassy they confirmed this is saying that adults who have had 2 MMR vaccines in their life time should not get another one! They are only recommending that adults who have none or only one does receive one (which is none of you because again you went to school in the US as a kid). I am aware that the doctor said this morning that there is a new strain of Measles. This is not the case. It would be all over the news if it was. There is an outbreak of measles in Jordan but it is one of the 21 strains that MMR protects against. Again there is not a new strain and you should not receive a vaccine if you did not this morning. 

Polio: The reason I spoke to the embassy was to find out where to get the vaccine now that SIT is not helping us. They told me that any MOH (ministry of health) hospital should have the vaccine and they are unaware of only people under five being able to get the vaccine. They believe that US citizens of any age should be able to get the vaccine at an MOH hospital. There is currently no polio vaccine shortage so there should be no reason it is restricted. They could not tell me how much this vaccine will cost. I also do not know where the hospitals are. I do know you need to go to a public ministry of health hospital (according to the embassy). My suggestion is that after the first person or people go, you post here where you went and how much it costs and obviously if you were able to get the vaccine. The embassy did say that all US citizen adults in Jordan who have not received a Polio vaccine (booster but it is the same vaccine as the child one) since they were 18 years of age should receive the vaccine now. That is their recommendation and the recommendation from my mom as well. 

Jordanian World Cup Mania

Football Crazy in Jordan

Yesterday, Uruguay and Jordan faced off in the first of a few battles between the two teams to determine which of them will go to the World Cup in Brazil in 2014. Jordan has never made it this far in the tournament (and beat Uzbekistan in September in a miracle victory), so to say the least people were excited. I went to the game.

Not surprisingly, the game itself was the least exciting part of this adventure. As expected, Jordan got clobbered (5-0), so the fans went from jubilant to quiet and depressed real fast. This post is going to be a really long and detailed account of a crazy day, but I promise it’ll be entertaining.

Three days ago I learned that the game was to happen about 10 minutes walking from my house and that my brother was going. The night before the match, I decided I wanted to go, even though tickets were sold out. When I asked my family how I should go about getting tickets, they repeatedly told me I was crazy and that I should have bought them days or even weeks ago. Thanks guys. I wasn’t aware of that. They assumed tickets that were originally 3 JD would now be at least 50 or even 100. I told them I was determined to try to get tickets.

On the morning of game day, two of my friends and I set out to sports city, right near our houses, where the game was to be played, at 7:30 AM. We walked toward one of the gates, and were instantly met by a large group of young men (shabab—not the Somalian terrorist group, just the Arabic word for young people) wearing Jordanian kuffiyahs (the red and white national fabric of Jordan and semi representative of the Arab world as a whole). They asked us if we were for Uruguay, and as soon as our male friend showed him a matching kuffiyah, we were best friends. They told us to go with them. When we told them we wanted tickets (ENTIRELY IN ARABIC), they, just like my family, told me us we were crazy, blah blah blah.

They seemed to assume we would be chilling there all day, just like them, but I decided to make a move to try to get tickets. In my most pathetic (but emphatic) broken Arabic, I explained just how desperately we wanted to see the game and needed tickets. The guy behind the locked gate made a phone call, and within a few minutes, a guy that worked for the stadium came out, unlocked the gate, and ushered us—THE ONLY FOUR WHITE PEOPLE THERE—in through the gates. The 20 or so Arabs behind the gate were not happy with this development. He told us that he had tickets that we could buy for 25 a pop. We decided on 20 a pop, made him swear on his children, the king, and Allah that they were legit tickets, received them, and went back to our shabab on the other side of the gate. Other Arab men were asking him for tickets, and he was assuring them that there were none left—sorry. He smiled at us, told us to have a great day, and wished us luck. As we were now going to school to take our Arabic final exams. That’s right. We woke up at 6:30AM on exam day to get these tickets. That’s dedication. For the record, I aced the exam and am now done with Arabic classes until next semester.

I took a taxi home, driving right and then walking by the crowd that was already assembling 6 hours before game time and the scene itself. As I was wearing a black shirt and am white, people asked me if I was for Uruguay.  As soon as I assured them I was for Jordan, they liked me more, but they were still skeptical. When I went home, I asked my sister if I could borrow a Kuffiah. She tied it around my neck, and sure enough, for the rest of the evening, there was no doubt for which team I was with.

I left my house to meet up with my friends, and it was clear that excitement was in the air. 

The Arabs gathered for the game were highly amused by the four Americans at the game wearing Kuffiyahs, and wanted pictures with us. A lot of people were wearing anonymous masks, but here is the first picture of me and the three other Americans from my program. Diana, Christian (who also goes ti CMC, and Teresa. 

As we walked along the street, we were relieved to see a huge amount of police presence. We as non-Arabs were relieved to see this. No one expected it to turn out violent, but seeing as Jordan was likely to get its ass kicked, it was good to know these guys were here.

We got the stadium, and by a stroke of luck, ran into our friend Ashraf who is on a different program in Amman. He is from the US, but he has Jordanian-Palestinian family here. Not only does he look very arab, but he speaks very good Arabic. This was very helpful. We took the following photo outside the stadium, and one of mny friends was a little bit irritated, but as at this very moment, photos weren't the most important thing we should ahve been doing. Having said that, this photo turned into the funniest one of the night. When I was showing my photos to my host brothers, the youngest looks at it and goes "that's Baba" (our dad). Sure enough, the Arab man to the left of the photo is my host dad, whose hand is reaching back to hold my youngest host brother's hand. We didn't notice each other...

As we waited at the gate to get in, one of the Shabab from this morning recognized us and offered us free face paint. It was way too hot and we were all too sweaty to accept it, but it was a super sweet gesture. After a few minutes, Ashraf and his perfect Arab sweet talking got a group of about 10 Americans into the gate, and we walked in to see the following line in front of us. 

At this point, it was maybe 1:30. Ashraf asked a security guard something, and we were told to go sit on the side. We then saw a sight I found to be quite entertaining. A group of the young Shabab decided to pray (Muslims pray 5x a day), but they were using the Kuffiyah as a prayer rug. I thought it was such a cool cultural moment. Religion is such an integral part of culture here, and there is no reason that religion should hold a person back from going to a soccer game. I'll talk more about religion and Soccer in a bit. 

A few minutes later, A guy with a press tag around his neck came up to us and said he was from the Jordan times. He wanted to ask a few questions about why we were there. Two of us, including myself, gave him some answers. He wanted to understand why we as Americans felt the desire to come to the Jordanian game, what we expected from the crowd, how we felt football contributes to Jordan, etc. Look out for a quote from yours truly in the Jordan Times. I haven't seen anything yet...

As soon as the line started moving, the guard ushered our group over, telling us to get in a single file line. We were ushered past the whole line in a weird sort of white privilege thing.  I later learned that Ashraf had told the guards essentially, "I have 10 Americans with me. Can you help me get them in safely." It was awkward yet very nice being able to cut the whole line, but I wasn't going to complain. It meant we got in safely and quickly. 

Security screening was very limited. Although we weren't supposed to bring in either food or water, I brought in both without much problem. Seating was general admission, and we split from the other program and found seats for just the four of us. The crowd was already crazy. At this point it was 2 PM. We LITERALLY had four hours until game time. As I started taking pictures of the crowd around us, people started posing for us, laughing at/with us, and being encouraged by the fact that we knew some Arabic. At one point, people around us started chanting "USA USA," but we corrected them to "Ordon Ordon." They laughed at our accents. Here's some of what the crowd looked/was like.  

I had a funny little back and forth with this guy. At first I told him to put away the brazil stuff so I could get a good Jordan picture, but eventually I caved. Jordan wants to go to Brazil. Later, he asked us how much we spent on tickets, and then revealed that we had gotten our tickets for a better price than him. Sucks to suck...

This guy asked to take a picture with us. Americans in Kuffiyahs are funny. 

Jordanians LOVE the king

The four hours of pre-game craziness blended together, so here are some stories/themes that you will find amusing. 

Concession Stands

In the states, people selling food walk around in brightly colored clothing, screaming their heads off, and charging exorbitant prices. Here, the concession stands involved mostly kids standing at the bottom of the crowd, screaming that they had water, juice boxes, seeds, sandwiches, etc. When someone wanted something, they would get the attention of the sellers, who would throw the item over the crowd to the person that wanted it. The person would then throw money down at the kid. I was impressed by everyone's aim. Food was also really inexpensive, which shocked me. 

One of the concession sellers was wearing this really nice jacket. None of us Americans have anything this nice that says USA on it. It was interesting that he chose to wear that jacket to the game. 

At one point, I noticed that kids were walking through the crowd selling a more annoying concession item--cigarettes. I don't know exactly how much packs costed, but I know this young kid made a shit ton of money.  

Making Friends

WIthin a few minutes of sitting down, the man behind me tapped me on the shoulder and in perfect (accent free) English, asked where we were all from. We told him we were from America, and he told us that he had spent about 15 years in Canada and in Georgia. We asked for his name, and he told us Mohammad. We laughed at just how common the name Mohammad is, and then jokingly assumed his friend's name must be Ahmed. We were corrected--it was also Mohammad. For the rest of this post, I will be referring to Mohammad1 and Mohammad2. 

Mohammad1 is a Jordanian of Palestinian descent from Quds. The last time he was in Palestine was 1997. Mohammad 2's family is from Hebreo, Hebron. I asked if he spoke hebrew, and Mo1 said he would kill someone if he heard Hebrew being spoken. Because of how nice this man was, I'm choosing to pretend he was kidding. My sister had told me earlier in the day that many Israelis crossed the border to come to this game. I'm not sure if I believe her, but if it's true, I'm glad Mohammad didn't meet them. 

Mohammad1assured us that if things got crazy, they would do anything to protect us. He said that if we left with the crowd, there was a good chance that we would get touched innappropriately, but he and Mo2 would do whatever they could to keep us safe. We told him that we were always amazed by just how nice Jordanians are, but he said that he much preferred the people in the states. In Jordan, people try to take advantage of you for personal gain all the time and aren't straight with anyone in business. In the states, at least people are honest in terms of business. Wasta culture is real--the man has a point. 

We made another friend with the man in front of us. I forget his name, so I'll call him FM, for front man. He and his friend were wearing the tackiest tourist Petra hats we had seen, but it's OK. He also spoke perfect english. Within a few minutes, we knew that he owns a sanitary paper factory, he had given us all business cards, and he had offered us a tour of his factory. I don't know why he was so enthusiastic about this, but he was. 

Crowd Chants

As the crowd chanted, Mohammad1 helped us out by translating some of the chants. For the four hours before the game, there were about a million different rounds of what seemed like a million different chants. Here are some of the ones I remember:

"The crowd wants our respectable Abu Hussein." Abu Hussein is another name for King Abdullah. I should mention that the Royal pictures at the stadium were different than those everywhere else in the country. I should also mention that this is the first picture of seen of Prince Hussein (on the right) as a post pubescent person. He is a 22 year old student at Georgetown, yet a picture of his 14 year old self is plastered in nearly every establishment in the country. Poor kid--no one should have to relive their awkward phase that much. 

With this chant, there was a lot of interplay between the two sides of the stadium. People went crazy yelling for Abdullah. 

"Everyone who is Jordanian jumps" At this point, everyone starts jumping up and down. We asked Mo1 if we should jump, and he said that we were a part of them now. It's true. We are very proud of our Jordanian-ness.

Something that translates into Allah loves Abdullah.

This guy was leading amazing chants for the crowd. He literally got thousands of people to do a repeat after me thing with hand motions and everything. It was quite cool to see the power he had over everything.

Prayer Time Part 2

Later, we saw people start praying in the benches in front of us. Music was blaring, the crowd was being loud and crazy, and yet, prayer time means prayer time. Just as before we got into the stadium, some people were using Kuffiyahs as prayer rugs. Others, though, had brought their rugs to the game. One of the riot police security guards was using his vest as a prayer rug. Some people started their prayers without anything to kneel on, so men from the crowd rushed at them with Kuffiyas or even rugs for them to use. They were rotating through to make sure that everyone had something to kneel on. It was beautiful to see. 

FM is the guy leading this prayer

Mo1 is leading this group; Mo2 is in the blue sweater.

While the group was in the middle of praying, I heard a large chorus of boos erupt through the stadium. The fans from Uruguay had started to file in. In the beginning, there weren't many of them, but by game time, there was a strong contingent of blue. 

The people that were praying, though, didn't bat an eyelash or move their heads to look at what the crowd was booing.

After everyone was done praying, I found out that Mo1 and 2 had very little respect for FM. While FM was praying, his butt crack was showing, which is SUPER haram. Mo1 thinks that people like him give Islam a bad name because those images circulate the internet/western media and make muslims look stupid. He thought FM was drunk because of how he was acting, which makes the fact that he was praying that much more problematic to him. In the Koran, it prohibits going to prayer while drunk (which is why Alcohol is Haram in Islam), so this action, plus the immodesty in it makes it that much worse. I didn't think he was drunk, but whatever. Mo1 told me that his group waited for FM's to finish praying because two groups can't pray at the same time, and they refused to follow this man. 

A Casual Trip to the Restroom

About an hour and a half before the game, I had to go to the restroom. I asked Mo where it was, and he asked about 15 people and still didn't get an answer. Mo2 stood up and told me in Arabic to follow him. He asked an officer where the bathroom was and got an answer. I had just seen him pray, so I assumed he was religious. As soon as we got out of our tiny section, though, he reached his hand back for me to take. Walking hand in hand means you're married; being married means no other man will say anything to you. Because I am white, having an Arab "husband" kept me safe. When we got to the restroom, I was shocked by what I saw. There was (unsurprisingly), no women's room, but rather a large open room with four urinals on the back wall and four stalls on the right. The room was as gross as any bathroom I've ever seen. He told the guard waiting there that a woman wanted to use one of the stalls and everyone froze in sight, surprised. I walked to the next open stall, and found a turkish toilet that was GROSS AS HELL. Whatever. Desperate times call for desperate measures. When I was done, Mohammad2 took my hand and we went back. I thanked him as Mo1 asked me how it was. I told him it was like a 5 star hotel. He laughed and assured me that it was for good reasons that all Arabs go before they leave for the game and wait til after--public restrooms are gross. 

Sharing Snacks

In America, sporting events are a communal affair, but to a limit--food stays within groups that came together. In Jordan, like everything else, food is shared. Mo2 offered us M&Ms, and late in the game, he handed us each pieces of gum. FM offered us packaged desserts, biscuits, and kept me fed with a stream of sunflower seeds. I was a little weirded out at first, but then I realized that all of these men were muslims devout enough to pray at a football game, and that I had watched Mo2 share his prayer rug with his younger brother at the game. These guys were trustworthy.

The Handicapped Section

In American stadiums, there are specific sections for people in wheelchairs. In this stadium, this section didn't exist--so the group of people in wheelchairs was literally on the track

The Football Part of the Post

As soon as the Jordanian team walked out onto the field, the crowd exploded with excitement. The team came to midfield, bowed to the crowd in a big line, and took in the scene. When they came back out a half hour or so later to warm up for the game, I remembered why I miss soccer so much. Watching the goalie doing his drills made me so happy. I haven't played organized soccer in over 5 years, yet it's something that will always have a soft spot in my heart. 

Starting lineups were announced in three languages. Arabic, then English, than Portuguese. The crowd booed all announcements made in English and Portuguese, because they wanted it to be an all Arabic event. Having said that, half of the apparel worn by fans was in English, none of the sponsors on the field had Arabic on their logos, and most people had english on their clothing. 

FM knew a lot about the Jordanian soccer team. He predicted a 2-0 Uruguay victory, but I thought he was nuts. He told us about the team: for this game, both the star goalie and forward were out because they had gotten 5 yellow cards already in World Cup qualifying competition. I played soccer for my entire childhood, and I've never seen a goalie get a yellow card. The fact that this man got 5 amazed me. I asked how, and was told that he is known for just straight up tackling forwards and not going for the ball. Though Jordanians are non-violent, their soccer team is VERY violent.

Funny things that happened during the game

• It was announced that the Prince was there right before the game started. The crowd went crazy, and everyone raised their Kuffiyahs above their heads to show their Jordanian pride. The cheers were still all for the king. 
• For the first 20 or so minutes, the crowd was on their feet going nuts. Then Uruguay scored their first goal. It was all downhill from there. The crowd lost energy and went really quiet. As M1 joked, the best way to shut up a crowd is to score a goal. 
• At one point, the ref made a call that people really disagreed with. The crowd started chanting something I understood perfectly well: "Fuck you, fuck you." It was SO funny.  
• During soccer games, the only things that are said over the loudspeakers are generally goals and substitutions. However, about a minute into the second half, it was announced that His Majesty King Abdullah (may he reign forever), was there. The crowd promptly forgot that a game was being played. The cheers were deafening. I couldn't see him, but I was within 100 meters. Does that count as being with the king and queen? I'm going to say yes.
• In the second half, the crowd was losing energy, and people in our section wanted to sit down. Unfortunately, for anyone to be able to see, the person in front of them also had to be sitting. The peer pressure exercised on those of us in the front was really frustrating. Seeing as I was a part of the maybe 2% of the crowd that was female, I didn't mess with it too much. 
• I really feel bad for the riot police. At about 3 PM, I saw one motion to ask what time it was to another. The second raised three fingers, and the one that asked had a look on his face suggesting that it was going to be a really long evening. Sure enough, these men were standing in the same place for about 6 hours, and while a game was going on behind them, they weren't allowed to turn around and look. They had to watch the crowd react and never know why. Their focus was not quite there by the end:

We left with fifteen minutes left in the game as to avoid the rush, and we got out with no problems. Even though the game itself was quite embarrassing for Jordan, the experience of being with the crowd was worth it. 

I hope you enjoyed this post, as it took me about two hours to write.

The best, Becca