In Jordan - A Taste of Life In Jordan's Shamal

I arrived in a town close to Irbid on November 15 and learned that the following day would be the start of Leid l-Kbir, the grand feast celebrated by the sacrificial slaughtering of a sheep.  Because of all the festivities during Leid and with little to no public transit available, it meant that I would have to spend at least a couple of days in the volunteer's village.  I was no inconvenience for me; I was looking forward to the experience.

One of the reasons for traveling through Jordan and Egypt was to get a different taste of the Arab/Muslim World.  I was curious to see what if any similarities there were between the peoples of the Maghreb(West) and the Sarq al-Ousad(Middle East).  In Morocco, there was no question that they identified themselves with the Muslim World in terms of their faith, but when it came to ethnicity/heritage, some Moroccans were extremely proud of their Amazigh roots and saw the Arabization of the educational system as a continuation of Arab imperialism.  I had read in Peter Mansfield's A History of the Middle East that the Arab World was by no means a homogeneous bloc.  Political and cultural differences had existed for centuries.  Islam had unified the various tribes, but many of the cultural traditions that distinguished one tribe from the other continued.  I was hoping to see or experience these small subtleties.  I was also hoping to see how much of an impact Turkish rule had on the region.

Attempting to speak with the locals

I arrived in Jordan hoping that I could put to use a bit of the Moroccan Colloquial Arabic I had learned.  When I arrived, I was happy that I could pick out the numbers, but even the numbers sounded differently.  The /t/ for "Tom" used in tlata (three) or tlatin in Morocco was now replaced by the /Ө/ "th" for "think" and was now thlatha or thlathin.  The Moroccan juj for the number two was now ithnayn. I heard more "g"s in the place of the hard back-of-the-throat "q" sound. Instead of kif dayr for "how are you", I was now being greeted with a kayf f Halk or an even shorter kayfak.  Words like nishan for "straight" or aji for "come here" that have Amazigh/Berber roots were completely absent.

At the cafe and restaurant, I wanted to order a ns ns or half and half (Moroccan cappuccino) and some aatay (tea), but Jordanians would ask me, "What is it that you want half and half of and there is no such thing as aatay, but we do have chay".  For coffee, they either had 3adi (regular/normal) or wasit (medium) and those two options just told the waiter how much sugar to put.  I had to stick to root words and the few words of Fusha that I knew to get around, but even my pronunciation of those standard words was off.  When I asked for sugar (skkar), they would correct me by saying sukkar.

When addressing someone, I had used khouya (my brother) or sidi (my dear sir) to get someone's attention.  In Jordan, I heard more sadiqi (my loyal friend), sheikh (chief), and the Turkish basha (a title for a distinguished govt.official).

When scoping transportation options, telling someone maHtta (Darija word for station), I was told, will get you to the police station not the bus station. For the bus station, I had to use mujemma.  And to find out how much anything was, bshaHal got me blank stares, but gddesh got me the price.  Chnu for "what" was just chu.  Sometimes some people noticed my delayed reaction to their price offer and were kind enough to write the price out for me, but they would write it in Arabic numerals, which I never used in Morocco.  Saying the French tren for train, tobis for bus, or tomobil for car that are commonplace in Darija had to be replaced with the Fusha equivalents except for bus, which was just bus.  I could go on forever on how the dialects differed.  It was interesting because I could halfway understand what people were saying, but only a few could understand what was coming out of my mouth.  Fortunately, volunteers were there to fill in the gap and I am sure the exchange baffled Jordanians.  Here was this Arab-looking guy asking someone who was clearly a foreigner to speak on his behalf.

A volunteer I had met in Amman the night before and I left the city sometime late morning and took a Hijazi bus for less than 2JD to head over to Irbid where I would be meeting two more Peace Corps volunteers. We got off at Irbid's Amman Station and hopped on one of the many passenger vans/small buses that circled the city. We got off at University St, which was home to a long strip of restaurants, cafes, cybercafes, and shops. It looked like if anything happened in Irbid, it probably took place on this strip. We chilled out at a snack shop while the other volunteers arrived. I tried a few of the shop's specialty mojeena, a baked pastry with a variety of different fillings. I got a cheese one, one with meat, and another with spinach.

Mojenna

  

Gender Expectations: Similar and Different

The volunteers filled me in on their experience.  It was nice to a get a female perspective on the topic.  I was curious to find out how conservative Jordan was in comparison to Morocco.  Attire-wise, I did see more burqas and more niqabs than I had seen in Morocco, but I also saw a great number of ladies strutting their stuff with form-fitting western wear, high heels, full-on makeup, and a classy or flashy color-coordinated headscarf.  I told volunteers that I had worked primarily with women during my service and they were surprised that I had that much freedom to interact with the opposite sex.  Then I asked them about their service and all of them told me that they were working as TEFL Teachers or as Special Education Counselors,  but I was surprised to learn that all their classrooms were segregated and that in some cases girls and boys went to different schools.  That certainly was not typical of Morocco; most classrooms were integrated.

What took me most by surprise was our goodbyes.  I was ready to shake the hand of the female volunteer who had made all the initial contacts with other volunteers and had given me a wealth of travel tips, but when I extended my hand, she left me hanging and just waived goodbye.  Apparently, even a friendly shake could be misinterpreted by the locals.  That incidence, though, was indicative of how my experience in Jordan would be.  This moment when we exchanged a friendly conversation with a female was a rare moment; most of my time would likely be spent in the company of men.

Mi casa es su casa Jordanian style

So I arrived in a male volunteer's village later on.  We were invited to several households to have coffee and tea.  In one instance, we were invited to a colossal feast featuring Jordan's famous mansef.

Mouth-watering Mansef

The dish has an unleavened bread base that is then covered with a layer of a saffron-flavored rice-n-roni that is then topped with a seasoned, baked chicken with roasted peanuts and then doused with a tangy, yougurty broth.  I gorged on the food and exhaled a hamdullah(Thanks be to God).  It was a feast to remember.

Applying the tangy broth

I wanted to thank the cooks who had made this fabulous meal, but this was out of the question.  Even in Morocco, I sometimes did not meet the female members of the family until the 3rd or 4th meal(Three Meals Later) so I wasn't taken aback by it.  It was interesting, however, that in the few days I spent in the shamal (north) and visited a couple of homes,one in particular twice, I had no interaction with females.  That in most parts of Morocco would have been rare even for a foreigner.

Me and some FC Barcelona fans

Our male hosts treated us wonderfully.  I felt welcomed and I learned a great deal about the male side of Jordanian culture and etiquette.  They shared their love for football and we exchanged tid bits about our respective life experiences.

Coffee with town elder

They were curious to hear about my two years in Morocco.  They wanted to know if it was a nice place to live, how was the climate and food, how were the people, and if I had enjoyed my time there.  They were also eager to learn about Venezuela and my opinion on the controversial Venezuelan President, Mr. Hugo Chavez, a darling of the Middle East.  We spoke in a mix of English and Arabic.  Fortunately, the volunteer's friends were all sympathetic interlocutors.

I must say that after spending a few days in a village in the shamal when a Jordanian would tell me marhaba (welcome) or ahalan wa sahalan fik (Loosely translated, it means, "May you arrive as part of the family, and tread an easy path (as you enter)*, I felt that they really meant it and they went to lengths to show me that they did.  In terms of hospitality, Moroccans and Jordanians are neck and neck.

To some, chilling out in a village may seem like a waste of time given all the amazing sites and natural wonders in the world, but to me, observing the dynamics of village life, tasting the homemade cuisine, and talking with the locals are immensely satisfying and absolutely fascinating.  I've been fortunate to be the recipient of some of the finest hospitality imaginable both from Jordanians and from volunteers.  Their insight, connections, and assistance in helping me with the rest of my trip was invaluable.  I hope I can one day return to the favor to fellow sojourners.

*Translation source: http://forum.wordreference.com/showthread.php?t=170419
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My journey through the Holy Land continues.  Next, I'll share a bit of my experience walking through the Holy City of Jerusalem.  A guide is a nice handy reference, but I got tons of info from Jordan's own tourism site:

http://www.visitjordan.com/Default.aspx

They also have a lot of great pics and pdf files you can print out.