Fun with Arabic

Learning a new language requires an incredible amount of humility. Jordan has reduced us to helpless, blathering idiots.

So far I have accused a shopkeeper of insulting wife (he was having a religious discussion with friends), identified myself as "a bed" (I meant to say "I'm happy"), and inadvertently had the water cut off from our apartment for a good part of one morning. This after about four days of formal language instruction.

5y, on the other hand, has had one day of class and comes home singing songs in Arabic about how things are big and small and runs around the house calling out the names of zoo animals.

I guess we all learn at our own pace. Wife is doing pretty good. The other day, when we were at her uncle's house, she sat with her aunt who taught her how to make a special dish of stewed meat and okra. The lesson was in Arabic and, if the meal was any indication, wife understood things perfectly.

Maybe that's why we get such a kick out of the way English is slaughtered around here. It makes us feel better. Many Jordanians, like others in the Arab world, are enamored with American culture, particularly the young people. You'll see them wearing t-shirts with slogans in English. This, along with rampant piracy, can be amusing.

Some slogans seen:

Impossible is Nothing

ddibds (an Adidas knock-off)

The Scorbion (graffiti- there is no "p" sound in Arabic)

No Faer (more graffiti)

The people of the Arab world also really seem to like pictures of hearts and anything with the word "love" in it. We've seen bumper stickers, clothing, and even tattoos of hearts and love everywhere.

Part of our difficulty in communicating lies in the fact that the language we are taught in school differs significantly from the language that is spoken in the marketplace. We are studying what is considered "classical," or "modern-standard" Arabic, the language of academics and religion. This is also the form of Arabic used in newspapers or in broadcast journalism. It is very refined, not at all the stuff of the streets. The equivalent might be if you were to go out and buy your groceries asking:

"Pardon me madam, but if it should please you, I would like to inquire about the price of bananas?"

Rather than:

"How much are these?"

Sometimes people stifle a chuckle. Sometimes they don't even know what you're saying. They almost always ask where you're from because regular folks just don't talk like that.

But all in all, we're getting more comfortable handling the basics. We can take a cab into the city, buy tomatoes, things like that. Wife even said, "I'm starting to like it here."

That's a very big deal.

Correction

Forget about what I said in our last post about that dome in the picture below. That is definitely not the mosque behind our apartment building. I guess I got a little crazy with the zoom. Anyway, we're probably down around the right hand corner, near the large, square tan building.

Actually, they're all large square tan buildings, aren't they? Anyhow, the point of the picture was to give you the lay of the area. We'll show you around some more soon, insha'Allah.

They live where?!

School

Our Arabic studies are coming along. We started school last week, jumping right into possessive pronouns, "mine," "yours," "ours," and the like. I was called upon to demonstrate my grasp of the subject matter. The teacher held up a book ("my" book for the purpose of instruction) and asked me in Arabic, "Is this your book?"

"Yes. I am a book," was my reply.

I'm in Level One, very well placed as you might infer from the above. There are five different levels taught over about 15 months or so, after which you should be able to read classical poetry without too much difficulty. I can't do this in English, so I'm curious to see what happens if I stick out the whole term.

School is about a mile and a half from my home, virtually all uphill. The picture above shows a view of where our home is in relation to where I go to school. In the center of the picture you'll see a greenish dome. That's the mosque right behind our apartment. The shot was actually taken from school. It takes about 15 minutes or so to walk (hike) there.

Walking about is a work-out, no matter where you're going, no matter how far or short the distance. Amman is mountainous country. The first week had me in agony with cramped thighs (uphill) and shin splints (downhill). The amazing thing is that I don't feel either so much anymore, although I'm still breathing pretty hard after about a mile or so.

I read that the number one cause of death in Jordan is "diseases of the circulatory system." This is shocking considering the terrain and the amount of walking people seem to do. The number three cause of death here is "accidents." This is also shocking. The driving here is atrocious. Maybe the driving here gets everybody's blood pressure up and they die before they actually get hit by a car.

People drive like you might walk. In other words, the man in his car seems to see himself as equal to and subject to the same rules and standards of the man walking. There is absolutely no deference given to a person (man, woman, or child) bold enough to cross a street. Over time it becomes something of a little game. Like it or not, if you're going to spend time here you'll have to learn how to play.

5y also started school. She has gone only one day so far. Another term for a "cluster of children" should very well be "petri dish." She brought home some vicious little bug that fired her up to 102.6 degrees and got everyone else in the house sick. Lot's of snot. We're all better for the most part, al'hamdu'lillah. She should be back at school tomorrow, insha'Allah.

Tonight is the eve of Ramadan, the Muslim holy month of fasting. Starting tomorrow at dawn we aren't allowed to eat or drink anything until sunset. This goes on for about thirty days. This is something we are truly excited about. Being Muslim in America, you can count on a few of your friends and family to fast along with you. But a whole country! It already feels way more festive than back in the States. A lot of people have put up Ramadan lights in the way I'm used to seeing Christmas lights. Actually, not quite. More like a shimmering crescent moon and star in a window, nothing really over the top. But it's still really neat to see.

Last night we were at wife's uncle's house. His family invited us over for mansaf, the traditional Jordanian meal offered to honored guests. It's nothing more than a pile of rice with mutton and a kind of yogurt sauce poured all over. That's Jordanian cooking in a nutshell- very simple but quite hearty. We all sat around a large platter set on the floor with a few other dishes (chicken and potatoes, parsley salad) and ate with our hands. You scoop up a bit of this saucy rice and meat and mush it around until it becomes a ball. Then you toss the ball in your mouth. Jordanians do this very well. The rest of us make a mess of things. It was really good.

I'll tell you more when I get a chance. May your next 30 days be filled with light and happiness!

We're Here

With all thanks and praise to God, our family has arrived here in Amman, Jordan. Wife and I are becoming increasingly familiar with our surroundings, in particular our toilets.

After four days spent in Syria visiting my mother and dining on regional cuisine, it seems that we may have contracted a local malady that I will call Bashar al-Assad's Revenge. The only apparent protection against this is to sing Syria's national anthem in a convincing way for a number of years. Needless to say, we were doomed from the start.

Syria was great. Mom's place is swank. It's real spacious with great tile and nice light fixtures. She's on the second floor with a couple of large balconies overlooking her neighborhood. She's walking distance from her three sisters and their families.

Getting to Jordan was pretty smooth with only a couple of minor bumps. We were traveling with a total of seven bags, one a bag of gifts to be dropped off when we stopped in Syria. So that makes six bags for the family, a remarkable number for a family of four staying abroad for a year. I'm very proud of wife.

Even so, I looked every bit like donkey-boy moving through the check-in lines out of LAX. We boarded the plane without incident. Wife was asked to throw out some water she was carrying. There was some rummaging through our bags, but no big deal.

We flew Virgin airlines into London. This is a fantastic airline. Fly it if you can. British accents make everything sound better. 5y made friends with the man sitting next to her. He was reading a book about pick-up artists. He showed 5y how to watch cartoons.

We arrived in London about 3 in the afternoon. We had plans to stay a night in order to give the kids a chance to rest. I, on the other hand, am likely to suffer many sleepless nights over the amount of money blown in the UK.

England must be the most expensive place on the planet. First off, it takes two American dollars to make one English pound. At first things seem reasonable, or at least comparable to the prices in America. So the lady at the desk tells me that my room at the local two-star flop will cost me 99 pounds. Oh, very well- have my credit card, won't you? And then it hits me- sweet Victoria! That's $200! My cab ride- $40! Fish and chips for the family, some rice pudding, and three teeny scoops of ice cream- $80!

Our flight out of London wasn't until 9:00 pm the next day. We would be checking out at 12 pm. That meant I had two choices- book a second night in order to wait for our plane in two-star comfort, or hang out at the airport with my wife and two small children for nine hours. At these rates the choice was obvious, but I still had to humor the family. The lady at the front desk said the whole place was booked solid- no room for a second night. Show me the tarmac!

This was a tough blow to my marriage. I found comfort in the local road signs:

Queues Likely

Changed Priorities Ahead

Jolly Bloody Trolley Bugger

That last one wasn't a real sign.

Anyway, sacked out like gypsies at Heathrow for nine hours was surprisingly peaceful. Ensuring the peace was certainly the intention of the four men with machine guns that suddenly surrounded us as we sat watching our children sleeping on dingy airport chairs. Among them was a uniformed woman who brought out a great big dog to sniff our bags. We watched passively as Cujo totally ignored our stuff. The woman kept ordering the dog to sniff, but he was uninterested, which is good. You don't want cop-dogs to get excited about smelling your stuff. After a while everybody backed off. They didn't say anything to us. Immediately afterward, a nearby Jewish family gathered for a group prayer.

The flight into Syria was uneventful. As mentioned previously, we hung out with family and ate a lot. Four days later we were on a twin-engine prop-job bound for Amman, Jordan.

I don't recall ever being on a plane with propellers. Wife cried when she saw it.

"I don't want to get on it. I can't believe this is happening to me."

We got on it. We made it OK, al'hamdu'lillah. A thirty minute cab ride later and we were in our new apartment.

We are really happy in our new place. We're on the ground floor of an apartment building. We've got a foyer where guests can take off their shoes. Adjacent to the foyer is one bathroom and two sitting rooms. You cross one sitting room into a hallway. Branching off the hallway is our kitchen, another bathroom, and three bedrooms. Add to that a doorman who runs all of your errands for you and you're paying just over $500 bucks a month.

So that's cool, but you can't drink the water. Actually, not only is the water deadly poison, but it's also rationed. Water is very scarce in the region. We've got a tank or two on the roof that gets refilled every Saturday and Sunday. That's all you get for the week. Calgon will not be taking us away anytime soon.

School starts on Sunday!

Packing List

As promised, here's a more or less complete list of everything that I'm bringing to Jordan:

underwear (x7)
t-shirts (x7)
long-johns (x2)
wool socks- 1 pair each of light, medium, and heavy weights
Sealskinz waterproof socks (x2)
pants (x3)
long-sleeved shirts (x5)
thobe
kufis
khufs
coat
sandals
shawl
wool cap
gloves
sweaters (x2)
sprouting bags (x2)
compass
pocket knife
pocket Qur'an
book of litanies
prayer beads
pocket arabic-english dictionary
pens
pencils
composition books (x2)
notebook paper
3-ring binders (x2)
first-aid kit
electrolyte packets (x3)
allergy medicine
CD walkman
laptop
micro-cassette recorder
extra contact lenses and my eye prescription
glasses
toilet kit
travel clock
towel
sewing kit
flashlight

These are the highlights. There were a few other little things that were too obvious to mention (my wallet, plane tickets, etc.). Believe it or not, with Allah's help, I got all of this into one small suitcase and a backpack.

I've got to hand it to wife. She's really doing an amazing job of getting her stuff in order. She only cried maybe three times tonight.

Next stop:

Heathrow

Animal TV

Wife and I have never owned a television. Our reasoning is as follows:

Television is stupid.

Of course, at the moment we are staying with my mother-in-law and she owns a television. We have a couple of children and we do what we can to protect them, but sometimes grandparents have a different take on things.

My father-in-law is in town. The kids really love him, so we let 5y stay up last night and hang out for awhile. Heck, we're leaving town, right? Let the kids have fun.

It was suggested- why don't we all watch a little TV?

No.

Aw, come on. Just an animal show or something? What's wrong with animal shows?

Whenever people want to advocate for television, they always hype the animal shows. I was uneasy. I don't want my kids associating TV with family fun time. But I was outgunned. Even wife was in agreement.

So on goes the tube. Grandma starts scrolling through the channels. Ah, here we go. Look it's a bullfight.

!

Yeah, and the bull's winning. Look there- he's tossing that man about, and oh, the man's pants have just been torn off.

!!

5y pipes up, "That's bad."

Grandma changes the channel. A bit more scrolling and, ok, here we are- elephants. Gentle giants on the march. The narrator tells us there is a drought. The herd is looking for water. See now, there's a young elephant bringing up the rear. He's straggling. He's tired and thirsty, too weak to catch up with the rest. Oh my, he's fallen down.

5y looks concerned.

Nevermind, the little elephant is up again. Oops, no he isn't:

"He has fallen for the last time."

5y is screaming.

". . . as the other elephants stand by over his remains. . ."

5y is inconsolable. I grab her and take her into our bedroom. She's holding me pretty tight. I'm mad. Wife feels bad. Grandma's crying. Grandpa's sewing.

It's true. At some point during all of this grandpa slipped out and began sewing pillows. He does stuff like that. He's super-productive. Maybe I'll go to the drug store, and when I come back the entire garage has been rearranged.

I can be productive too, but my timeline isn't as rigid as some. Earlier in the day I planted a kumquat tree. I was supposed to do this 9 months ago when 9m was born. The idea was that we would plant a tree in 9m's name and bury wife's placenta along with it. We had been keeping her placenta in the freezer, but then we moved in with wife's mother. My mother-in-law has a lot of stuff in her freezer. Wife put her placenta in the refrigerator in the garage. Nobody told me this. That was two months ago.

Here's something remarkable- placenta keeps very well. It did smell pretty bad, and there was a spot of mold on it, but overall I was really impressed. I took some pictures, but wife won't let me post them. Anyway, we should get some pretty good kumquats out of the deal, insha'Allah.

We've got a ton of laundry to do today. When that's done, I'll pack. I hope to post a list of what I'm bringing. Until then . . . .