It’s early Friday morning and the sun is already sitting in my room. I always keep my curtains tied and windows open at night as an invitation for some cooler air to come in, but it does make for bright mornings. I force myself to sleep in, since I’ve been having fairly restless nights (1-from jet lag, 2- from the loud hums of the 4:30am Call of mosques, 3- from accepting coffee at a neighbor’s home in the evening, and 4- from sticky summer night without a fan or A/C). However, I’m feeling much more adjusted now, especially after finally buying a fan on my fourth night in Amman. It makes me think of when my mom once incorrectly used the phrase “tossing and turning” and asked if I was “toasting and turning” at night. Yes, mom. I really have been.
I finally get out of bed and make some porridge over my propane stove. I look out the window, down at my neighbor’s home on the ground level. They have a large rug on the concrete outdoors where their children play. Beside it is a wire that runs between two tall poles where colorful clothes hang to dry. A small dirt patch sits in the center of their concrete property and shares its space with a large tree; the shadows of its branches and leaves rest unevenly on the floor and fabric.
It’s still surreal that I’m in Jordan. These white and beige concrete homes pressed together in hilly clusters look nothing like the red-brown brick of flat Chicago. The heat holds steadily around 93 degree F, and along with it -the desert dust. Literally everything here is covered in this white dust -it carries in the wind, across the streets, through the shops, against the cars, and into homes. I remember some Iraqi students in Chicago telling me stories of how they’d have to sweep everyday because of the dust in the air. At the time, I didn’t know what they meant. Now, with my brown shoes covered white in chalk-like powder and a broom often between my hands -I finally get the idea.
Amman is divided into the east and the west. West Amman is much more Westernized; it’s the downtown area, men and women hang out together comfortably, the shops and restaurants stay open later, it’s know as being “young and trendy”, and you can find many tourists there. East Amman is very traditional, and you hardly ever find foreigners living in that area. I live in East Amman -actually, quite east in a poorer district. As a Westerner, I definitely stand out; street children often run over and ask to take their picture with me and most people I encounter daily don’t speak English at all. Before moving, I decided I wanted to live with an Arabic speaker in Jordan, and so I tried to find a local that would be open to renting out a room. I got connected with an older Arab widow that speaks no English, and I figured that would be the best way to learn. Most of my classmates live in West Amman, and they find it challenging to practice Arabic with locals outside of class. But it’s quite incredible that simply because I live in East Amman, I can go for a walk, meet random people, be invited into their home, and spend a solid 5 hours sitting around trying to communicate in broken Arabic. On my second day I was already invited in and served “mansaf” -a traditional Jordanian dish made up of rice, yogurt sauce, and lamb or chicken. I've been amazed at the hospitality of strangers around me.
Here’s the view from my room:
I finally get out of bed and make some porridge over my propane stove. I look out the window, down at my neighbor’s home on the ground level. They have a large rug on the concrete outdoors where their children play. Beside it is a wire that runs between two tall poles where colorful clothes hang to dry. A small dirt patch sits in the center of their concrete property and shares its space with a large tree; the shadows of its branches and leaves rest unevenly on the floor and fabric.
It’s still surreal that I’m in Jordan. These white and beige concrete homes pressed together in hilly clusters look nothing like the red-brown brick of flat Chicago. The heat holds steadily around 93 degree F, and along with it -the desert dust. Literally everything here is covered in this white dust -it carries in the wind, across the streets, through the shops, against the cars, and into homes. I remember some Iraqi students in Chicago telling me stories of how they’d have to sweep everyday because of the dust in the air. At the time, I didn’t know what they meant. Now, with my brown shoes covered white in chalk-like powder and a broom often between my hands -I finally get the idea.
Amman is divided into the east and the west. West Amman is much more Westernized; it’s the downtown area, men and women hang out together comfortably, the shops and restaurants stay open later, it’s know as being “young and trendy”, and you can find many tourists there. East Amman is very traditional, and you hardly ever find foreigners living in that area. I live in East Amman -actually, quite east in a poorer district. As a Westerner, I definitely stand out; street children often run over and ask to take their picture with me and most people I encounter daily don’t speak English at all. Before moving, I decided I wanted to live with an Arabic speaker in Jordan, and so I tried to find a local that would be open to renting out a room. I got connected with an older Arab widow that speaks no English, and I figured that would be the best way to learn. Most of my classmates live in West Amman, and they find it challenging to practice Arabic with locals outside of class. But it’s quite incredible that simply because I live in East Amman, I can go for a walk, meet random people, be invited into their home, and spend a solid 5 hours sitting around trying to communicate in broken Arabic. On my second day I was already invited in and served “mansaf” -a traditional Jordanian dish made up of rice, yogurt sauce, and lamb or chicken. I've been amazed at the hospitality of strangers around me.
Here’s the view from my room:
