The saga begins...

Thanks to the help of a well-connected women’s activist who gave a talk at SIT many weeks ago, I have finally begun conducting interviews in the camps. I was put in contact with a representative of the Jordanian Women’s Union, who took me to meet four different women today. The entire experience was like something out a movie. Every glamorous conception of ethnography I’d imagined was true.

The journey commenced by meeting at an office in Al-Wihdat camp. After tea and a brief chat, my interpreter and I were instructed to follow a willowy adolescent boy named Muhammed to our destination. At this point, I was still unsure of where exactly this destination was. As we trailed behind him through winding alleyways, amongst ramshackle houses and nationalist graffiti adorning dilapidated walls, young children chasing each other, and old women chatting quietly on their door steps, he finally paused in front of a door, and told us to go inside. Two identical twin girls immediately greeted us. One of them was wearing what appeared to be her father’s slippers, since they were about three times too big. A woman greeted us into the living room and instructed us to sit down and make ourselves comfortable.

A moment later, an old woman wearing a white, flowing hijab fastened tightly at the chin and an embroidered dress entered the room. After greeting us with kisses on the cheek, she sat down. And thus my first real interview began. Halfway through the conversation, another old woman entered. Soon, various members of the community/family began to fill the progressively more crowded living room. The sounds of children running in and out of the room, women interjecting their own opinions throughout the interview, and constant tea and coffee breaks only added more richness to the experience. By the end of my next interview with the second old woman, many of us were in tears. These individual stories of struggle in the face of refugeeism, widowhood, and immense poverty were nothing short of amazing.

My pre-conceived definition of a female activist has already become more complex after hearing about these women’s experiences with political protest and national re-imagination. The second woman raised ten children by herself, making ends meet by selling cooked food items on the street. She framed almost every one of her answers in the context of her children’s accomplishments, stating that all of her children helped her harvest, cook, and sell food to support the family while they were growing up. Meanwhile, through poetic anecdotes, she emphasized how much she struggled to give them a normal life so that would never forgot the value of education, something she did not have the privilege to experience herself. Indeed, the fact that she, an illiterate, single woman, produced doctors, academics, and engineers is a great source of pride. But even beyond these achievements, she is most proud of the fact that she has raised her children to care about Palestine as much as she does, and to use their education and successes to advance the nationalist cause in a productive way.

This is a mere scratch on the surface of the many incredible stories I witnessed today. As I’d hoped, this project is beginning to take a life of its own, and I am just trying to keep up. I will be returning to the camp tomorrow to meet with younger activists.

je suis perdue

The independent study period has officially begun. As expected, the initial stages are tough, and essentially amount to a lot of e-mailing and awkward phone calls. I have met with three academics, one of whom has agreed to be my advisor, al hamdu lillah. They are both based at the Institut de Recherches du Proche-Orient (IFPO), a French Research Center located a half-dinar taxi ride away from my apartment, which I’m predicting will become my home away from home. IFPO has an excellent collection of documents and articles pertaining to UNRWA, which has been a relief since online database searches have yielded very little on the subject.

<>One of the most difficult aspects of this project is finding an entry-point into one of the camps. Today, I met with an American student currently conducting PhD research in the camps on a Fulbright scholarship. His theoretical framework is very similar to mine in that its deals with identity, memory, and oral history. Having lived in Jordan for over a year, he maintains many crucial contacts in the camps. Coming from a place of understanding what it’s like to be a foreigner studying a controversial topic, he was very empathetic to my position, and has thus taken it upon himself to ensure that I find contacts in the camps. We will be heading to a camp together soon, en sha’allah.

Ma'an al waheda kanat sahebty da'eman...

During the independent study project period, the students are given the option of moving into our own apartments or remaining in our homestays. For the last month, I have deliberated constantly about which living situation I prefer. On the one hand, I absolutely adore my host family, and my Arabic has definitely improved from my time with them. With that said, there are a number of factors that have prompted me to consider moving into an apartment with other SIT students. After many anxiety-filled conversations with other SIT students, my host mother, and Nour, I finally came to the decision that it would be best for me to move out in order to be closer to the city and for a quieter study environment. It was not an easy decision, especially because it visibly upset my host sisters, brothers, father, and even their extended family. I assured them that I will come to visit every weekend, which seemed to assuage their fears that I was leaving because I was unhappy.

Ultimately, I wish to preserve the close and loving relationship I have with my host family. By moving out, I can give myself the option of seeing them when I am in my best spirits, rather than hurting their feelings by constantly working on my project alone in my room. And, knowing myself, the pressures to please my family would definitely interfere with my responsibility to my research.

It has only been a few days since I moved out, and I definitely miss my host family already. Living in the apartment has its own merits, and is ultimately a preferable situation for my research, but it is no doubt difficult to suddenly cut out such a crucial link in my experience in Jordan thus far. The three components of my day that feel the most lacking without my family are family dinners (ah, maqluuba!), huddling around the heater while watching Al-Jazeera, NBC Action movies or Star Academy, and, most of all, conversations in Arabic/ish.

It is very comforting to realize how close I have become to my host family in spite of the language barriers. I attribute this to the comfortable balance of communication we maintain in the household. Nour and I speak only in English, which provides me with the opportunity to fully express myself when I need to. My host mother and my oldest sister both speak some English, but are more receptive when I speak to them in Arabic because it is easier for them, which provides me with ideal exchanges that maximize my (albeit limited) abilities. My father, brothers, and little sisters speak no English, which makes communication more difficult, but this compels me to speak in Arabic. At the very least, my 15-year-old brother’s teasing and antics have taught me how to retort benign insults in Arabic. My exchanges with my sisters have been very limited as well, but we have managed to connect through other means, whether it is through dancing, singing, working on homework together, or asking the simple details of one another’s day. And making fun of me when I respond with a completely incorrect response to a question (which is often;) – definitely a great source of bonding for the whole family. Did I mention how much I miss them?

On an unrelated (but conversely eternally relevant) side note, Julia and I performed a personal translation of the Backstreet Boys’ classic “As Long as You Love Me” for our final project in Arabic class. It was totally amazing and deserves to be shared with the world. I’m pushing for us to put up a recording on youtube, en sha’allah, so stay tuned.

Independent research!

One of the unique aspects of my study abroad program (and probably the foremost reason that I selected it) is that it culminates in a one-month independent study project. During this time, students are given the opportunity to research whatever subject he/she finds interesting within Jordan. Using the materials, interviews, and data we gather, we are each required to write a 30-40 page paper discussing our findings. Some students have chosen to return to Wadi Rum and study Bedouin performance, art, dance, and poetry. Others have remained in Amman, pursuing subjects ranging from education to family planning to Iraqi refugeeism.

I am technically a Government major, so, in theory, I should have chosen a topic dealing with governmental institutions, political procedures, or law. I have chosen to research local women’s initiatives in various Palestinian refugee camps in Jordan through the medium of oral history. Palestinian refugees have been the objects of constant negotiation and debate on the international, regional, and national levels. There has never been room for self-representation in such forums. Against the multitude of “policy studies” claiming to represent the situation of refugees, I attempt to overcome generalizations by placing individual voices at the center of my study. Though I’m certainly not the first person to take this approach in the refugee camps of Jordan, there is unsatisfyingly little scholarship in this area that precedes me.

I’ve worked hard to obtain approval from Smith’s ethics board in the event that this research lends itself to a year-long senior thesis.

Trip to Petra and Dana

The images that linger in my mind as I recall my trip to Petra and Dana remain as crisp and vivid as tangible photographs. The trip only lasted three full days, yet the impressions it has formed are indelible. I can say without reservation that Petra was one of the most awe-inspiring places I've ever seen. And although standing before the ancient sites of Petra was unquestionably the highlight, it was the combination of every step of the trip that made this small journey so memorable.

The first day was quite a blur, during which we were carted to several destinations, including the holy site Mount Nebo, where Moses was buried. Sadly, the cloudy weather did not do justice to the dazzling view of the Holy Land that this site is known for. After that, we were bussed to other ancient sites in South Jordan. Notwithstanding our disinterested and slightly sketchy tour guide in Karak, the castles were pretty excting. Seeing the real thing definitely served to validate the countless forts and imaginary fortresses I've constructed in my childhood.

That night, we were taken a small, rugged hotel in Dana, a quaint village overlooking a view of Dana Valley. We wandered through the village and surrounding areas until dusk, and then dinner was served. After dinner, the students and other residents of the hotel gathered around to listen to live music and drink the over-sweetened tea that I endearingly associate with the Bedouin.

Julia, Ben, Peter, Dan, Zoe, Ketan and I woke up at 6am for a sunrise hike. The mist clung to the hillsides, which made the valley appear even more vast than it had seemed the night before. Descending down the sandstone rocks in silence garnered a sense of peace and solitude I hadn't felt since coming to Jordan until that moment. Even in Wadi Rum, the pressure of pleasing and adjusting to my Bedouin host family had diminished the sense of individual self-affirmation that the company of nature usually bestows on me. Climbing quietly, taking in big breaths of fresh air that refreshed me and cleansed me, forgetting my responsibilities -- such an experience was long-since due.

After breakfast, we went on a second hike through the mountains with the rest of the students, pursuing a different route than before. The mid-day sun burned through the mist, revealing lush hillsides and exquisite wildflowers. As we descended between two hills, someone looked back and said it looked just like a scene from "The Secret Garden." It sounds trite, but they were right.

That evening, we headed to a hotel in Wadi Musa to prepare for an outing to "little Petra." I was happy to finally have an excuse to use many of the obscure words I'd learned in my Arabic class. Apparently those painful hours of memorizing words like "amazing crack" and "rose-red city" weren't so useless after all. Little Petra was astoundingly beautiful, and yet its brilliant pink mountains and miraculously preserved stairways were a mere prelude to the sights we were about to encounter the next day.

Being my academic, critical self, I tried not to build any illusions about Petra before we arrived. I prepared myself for the fact that the famous treasury might not be as exciting in person as, say, in Indiana Jones, and I was expecting to be severely subdued by the abundance of toursists, as I always am in tourist sites.

But Petra was different. It defied every complaint I usually have regarding toursist sights. It was expansive, gorgeous, and peaceful. Even on Easter weekend, a time when one would expect more tourists than usual, I never felt stifled or suffocated. The tourist merchandise was remarkably un-kitschy and very cheap. And, best of all, there was no red tape. Unlike the pyramids, where you are quickly reprimanded for ascending beyond the third step, you can wander and climb with virtually no limits in Petra. Also, in contrast to the pyramids, the fact that the media and history text books have not completely hyped up this site allowed me to enter Petra with few preconceived expectations. I felt like I was exploring an undiscovered treasure.

We concluded our trip with a candle-lit tour of Petra that night. This was a perfect ending to a perfect trip for a number of reasons: one, because going on a candle-lit tour imbued the trip with an air of tasteful romance (what trip isn't complete without a romantic night walk?) and, two, because it spawned a great idea for the next big zombie movie (Night of the Living Dead in Petra starring the students of SIT). We spent the bus ride home planning the script.

back from egypt

As part of our study abroad program, the students and I were given the opportunity to spend eight days in Egypt visiting the ancient sites, attending lectures, and exploring Cairo. On the first night that we arrived in our hotel, all of the students gathered on the balcony to celebrate Julia’s birthday and relish in our solace from classes and homestay curfews. Honestly, after a month and a half of constant cultural sensitivity as an expatriate resident of Amman, it was a relief to finally be able to hug my friends, truly express what I was thinking, and just be a tourist without the pressure to assimilate, if even for a moment.

Our first full day in Cairo began with the obligatory visit to the pyramids and the sphinx. It was surreal to finally stand before the ancient sites that have occupied such a huge component of my public school history education. They were exactly what I expected them to be – massive and old, exactly resembling the pictures. I’m glad that I can finally claim that I’ve seen the pyramids, but, ultimately, there are other parts of Egypt that are much more fulfilling and much less hyped. In many ways, our tour guide was more memorable than the sites themselves. A linguistic virtuoso and a PhD student of Egyptology, this man’s zeal for ancient history was impossible to match. He was always a mile ahead of us, pointing in every direction and speaking in a constant stream, whether or not anyone could keep up.

Though these ancient sites were fascinating by virtue of their sheer breadth of history, I struggled to reconcile this experience with my studies of modern/contemporary Egypt. Merchandise pertaining to ancient Egypt can be found everywhere, yet I would venture to guess that very few vendors feel any sense of attachment to the myriad odds and ends brandishing images of King Tut and the tombs, except insofar as they incur needed income. The sight of so many Egyptians who depend on commodifying a distant aspect of their history to make a living was very disconcerting. Just like tourism in any given locale, the thriving tourist industry in Egypt has implications far beyond a mere flow of cash into a developing region; rather, it actively influences and shapes the way in which Egyptian nationalism is constructed by both its inhabitants and the rest of the world.

In comparison to Amman, Cairo is very romantic. It is a city with visible stages of social, political and historical development. For example, the architecture even from one street to another may visibly differ in terms of style and era. The various residential and urban regions of Cairo I observed seem to know their distinctive identity and history in a way that Amman’s areas are only beginning to realize. The sight of bustling crowds and sounds of traffic at all hours of the night stood in striking contrast to my experience in Amman, in which evening hang-outs are few and far between and finding a taxi after 10pm is virtually impossible. Unlike Amman, Cairo is a major cultural hub, with a thriving and vibrant independent music and art scene. During the course of my stay, I attended two excellent concerts, which is two more than I've attended in Amman (unless you count that pseudo-death metal band we saw at the Howard Johnson at the beginning of the semester).

With that said, I am ultimately still glad to be studying in Amman for a number of reasons. First off, I chose to study in Jordan because I wanted to immerse myself in the culture. Given the scarcity of expatriates in this city compared to Cairo, I am compelled to integrate into and interact with this society in a way that students in Egypt often do not. My experience with my homestay has been an invaluable experience, and no amount of exciting night-life activities could replace that. In fact, it is precisely the ostensible shortcomings of Amman that make it an especially interesting region to study. Unlike Cairo, which boasts a long, deep, and permutated history, Amman is burgeoning and defining itself in tandem with the contemporary situation. Whether it is in defining its nationalism, cultivating its diplomatic posture, or achieving social reform, Jordan presents a very unique case study on so many levels.

Shopping in lieu of classes (al hamdu lillah!)

Today, we had an arranged excursion to Al-Wahdat, a city that has burgeoned around a long-standing Palestinian refugee camp. I spent most of the morning wandering through winding alleyways and streets, practicing my bargaining skills, and occasionally getting lost. The visual stimulation was thrilling. This is a place where coffee costs less than a quarter, where every odd and end you’ll never need is crammed into disheveled piles in storefront windows and on street-side displays, and where full carcasses can be found suspended, piled in wheelbarrows, or simply in tow. It was gritty and not necessarily pretty, but it was exactly what I’ve been thirsting to find in Jordan: a city that feels authentic and naturally developed, that feels comfortable in its own skin, that isn't aiming to impress. We were probably the only foreigners shopping there at that time, and our presence definitely raised some eyebrows.

I generally avoided interacting with the male vendors, but I managed to stumble into a conversation with a vendor in spite of myself at one point. After asking me why I was studying in Jordan, he followed my response with a statement that surprised me a great deal. In Arabic, he said:"You should go to Israel. Israel is much more beautiful than here." Shocked to hear a Palestinian refugee referring to it as Israel rather than Palestine, I asked him to repeat himself several times. When I was certain of what I'd heard, I asked him why he called it Israel. He responded with, "because I'm talking about Israel, not Palestine." This was the first time I'd heard someone distinguish between the Israeli and Palestinian territories in such an explicit way since coming here. In all of the political conversations I've had in Jordan, I've noticed that people refer to it as "Palestine" for rhetorical reasons, even if they consciously and realisitcally recognize the state of Israel. Needless to say, a Palestinian refugee camp was the last place I was expecting to hear the name "Israel" in an admiring tone. However, when I discussed this situation with Julia, she said that it shouldn't come as such a surprise. Indeed, as she astutely observed, the victims in any given situation are sometimes the most pragmatic of all because it is their lived reality. Which leads me to this conclusion:

The nature of hopeful rhetoric is two-fold. On the one hand, it is all that is left for people who have literally nothing else. Yet, on the other hand, as I'm slowly coming to realize, in many cases, hopeful rhetoric is the product of only those who can afford it.