Barbecue!

Cows!

Village People

The Eid prayer fell on Tuesday morning here in Jordan, the 24th of October. By 7:30 am all of the local mosques were packed with families celebrating the end of Ramadan, our month of daytime fasting. After the prayer and a brief sermon, 5y and I left the mosque and walked across the construction yard back to our home where wife and 11m were waiting for us. We were scheduled to leave for Hofa, the village where my father-in-law grew up. Wife's uncle would be taking us.

Hofa is a 2 hour drive north of Amman, not too far from a fairly large city called Irbid. The drive would give us an opportunity to see some of the Jordanian countryside.

It was a huge relief to get out of Amman. It really is a very large, crowded, busy city. Within 15 or 20 minutes we were enjoying the open country, scrubby hills and valleys not unlike the less developed areas of southern California's Inland Empire. Here and there we would spot Bedouin tents. We'd breeze by flocks of sheep tended by young boys on donkeys. 5y would really get excited about that.

We arrived at wife's grandma's house in Hofa just a little after 10 in the morning. People use the word "village" when talking about Hofa. When I hear "village" I think of huts. There are no huts here. It's really just a very small town. There are a number of homesteads here, small houses and a handful of animals in the yard. As far as I could tell there is only one main road. Wife's grandma's house overlooks the graveyard.

This was our first time celebrating Eid in a Muslim country, so we weren't real sure what to expect. We were met by wife's grandma, aunts, uncles, and tons of cousins. There was much squealing and kissing and hugging and shaking of hands. After several rounds of introductions, our family and a few others were divided up between two cars and we were off.

This is how Eid works in the Arab world: you visit as many relatives as you possibly can as quickly as God will allow.

Coming into contact with a traditional culture is a huge learning experience. Life's intangibles are fixed in a way that would be hard for many Americans to relate to. America is so new, only a couple of hundred years old versus the thousands of years over which time the Arabs have come to adopt their ways. So Eid goes like this:

We pull up to somebody's house. We get out. Wife and the kids are received by the ladies of the house. The rest of us (all men) are received by the men. Hugs, handshakes, kisses. Everybody sits. The host approaches each guest in turn with a teeny glass and a carafe of super hot, super bitter, super strong Turkish coffee. He pours you a shot. You swig and jiggle the little glass a bit before handing it back to the host.

I'm not sure what the glass jiggling is all about, but everybody did it. It seems to mean, "Thanks, but no more please."

After everybody's been offered their shot. The host comes around with a little candy dish. He stops at each guest, a piece of candy is taken, and then he moves on. After everybody gets their candy everybody stands for another round of hugs, kisses, and handshakes, and we're off again. I think the longest visit was maybe 10-15 minutes.

And that's exactly how it went for all 7 or so houses that we visited. What I couldn't determine was how it was decided who would visit and who would host. It seemed possible that with everybody out and eager to get their visiting done, that you'd show up at somebody's house only to find that they had gone out visiting others. In any case, I had a serious buzz going from all that coffee.

I had the drill down by the time we returned to grandma's house. In fact, shortly after we got back, everybody retired to the back of the house for I don't know what reason. I was left out front when who should come to the door but a bunch of male visitors. No problem. I hugged them, kissed them, shook their hands, invited them to sit down, poured them their shots, gave them their sweets, and sent them off.

My wife's grandmother lives on the ground floor of a two-story home. My wife's uncle, his wife and four children live upstairs. They've got about 3/4 of an acre with a number of olive trees, an herb garden, three cows, two calves, a bunch of chickens, and about six or seven sheep. Wife's uncle got the idea that he would slaughter one of his sheep for a barbecue the following day. I was invited to help.

It was late in the evening, probably around 8 or 9 pm when wife's uncle dragged a very resistant male sheep from out of it's pen and onto his back porch. The sheep was about a year old, maybe around 70 or 80 pounds. Sheep really are quite sweet and docile. He would stand still, quiet, look around a little bit. Then he would start and try to make a break for it, forcing wife's uncle to jerk him back into place.

Everything was all set. Wife's uncle asked for a knife. He swept the legs out from under the sheep so that the animal was instantly flipped onto it's side. The sheep was kicking a bit now, so it was my job to try and keep his legs under control. I was kind of laying on him.

Wife's uncle pulled the sheep's head back and with a very rapid sawing motion, the knife was pulled through the sheep's trachea. Another stroke or two, this time more laborious, and the knife was well into the sheep's neck, severing both carotid arteries. This is where things get messy. We got up off the animal and watched.

It is an awesome thing to take a life. I don't mean this in any triumphant way, but I really do think that everybody should have the experience. I'm sure you'd eat a lot less meat just because the price becomes so immediately apparent. Lots and lots of blood was spilled to put that steak on your plate. Not that meat is a bad thing, but it is serious.

Anyway, our sheep had by now arched it's nearly severed head back into a very unnatural position. There were strange noises, sucking sounds, gurgling sounds, something like a moan, "the soul, " wife's uncle whispered.

The sheep was still for several moments when suddenly there came a flurry of kicks. I understand that there are reflexive movements that can come on some time after death. I remember after slaughtering a sheep in commemoration of my first daughter's birth, that even after the meat was all chopped up into little pieces, the individual pieces would jerk and shimmy. Weird.

It was now time to dress our sheep. The head was removed and a hook run through near what I guess would be the sheep's ankle. He was hoisted up to allow the remainder of the blood to drain. Wife's uncle and his wife got to work.

Here I'll say a bit about village women. Perhaps you fancy yourself a hard worker. Maybe you are, but here's a breakdown of village woman's day. You make the comparison:

Wake up and milk the cows. Get the kids up and make breakfast. Clean up and get started with preparations for lunch. Get started? Yup, because you've got bread to bake, and yogurt to make with all that fresh milk you pulled. Woops- the cows are acting up! They're busting up the walls outside (this happened)! Corral the cows. Hubby's decided to slaughter a sheep. Dress it, chop it up, and clean up the mess. This means hands-and-knees scrubbing so the blood doesn't set in the concrete. Lunch time! Lay it out, clean it up. Check the chickens for eggs. Get started with dinner. Sun's setting- time to milk the cows again! Get the house in order. Serve dinner. Clean up. Get the kids off to bed. Now do this without a washing machine, without a dishwasher, with only spotty electricity, and rationed water. Hard work, but the people seemed content, the ladies talking and laughing while busy with their chores.

It was pretty late by the time we were done chopping up our sheep. Our family tried to get some rest, but with the exception of 5y, we were up all night. Country living has some serious drawbacks, not the least of which are the mosquitoes. It was crazy, beyond belief. We felt them all over us, buzzing like dental instruments in our ears. The kids got it the worst. By the time morning came they both looked like teenagers on a steady diet of deep-fried chocolate.

The day after our slaughter we had a huge barbecue. This was much closer to a campfire experience than a backyard Weber deal. They set these little metal troughs in the dirt and filled them with twigs from around the yard. They got that going and then threw in some heavy wood chips and fanned up a good flame. Seated on the ground a few feet away from the troughs were a bunch of ladies chopping vegetables and sliding chunks of meat and fat onto skewers. Outstanding sheep kabobs! Wife doesn't eat sheep, but she was loving this. So were the kids.

A great meal, a great time, al'hamdu'lillah.

Eid Mubarak!

We wanted to take a moment to send out our Eid salutations to all of our friends and family during these final days of Ramadan. May Allah bless you throughout this coming year and indeed throughout the remainder of your lives and beyond!

School will be out for the next 5 days, so that means no updates until we're back in session (we do all of our internet stuff at school). We have plans, insha'Allah, to head toward the north of Jordan to visit the rest of wife's family. Many of them live in a small village called Hofa nestled in a valley not too far out from another big city called Irbid. We hope to have much to tell (and show) when we return.

Wa'salam!

Rude Americans

We're starting to get some rain, "the Rain of Olives," one of my instructors called it. We'd mentioned before that many of the streets here are lined with olive trees. The olives are harvested in the fall, but ideally not until after the early autumn rains have fallen. It is said that olives harvested prior to these rains produce an oil that is inferior in quality and quantity than those olives picked afterward. Already we've seen some families out filling buckets with olives from the trees on the sidewalks.

Arabic studies continue in earnest while Arabic usage continues to be a source of constant mortification. Usually it's a case of confusing past and present tenses or mixing up gender. There is no "it" in Arabic. Everything is male or female. A table is feminine, a chair masculine. We bungle these things all the time making it very obvious that we are foreigners.

These faux pas can make for very awkward moments. We'd just finished having dinner with wife's uncle and his family. We were relaxing in his sitting room when wife thought it might be a good time to change 10m's diaper. She laid her in a corner of the room and commenced with the proceedings. 10m has been having some minor digestive problems, so I was curious to know how things were going. I asked wife in Arabic, "Is there anything (Fee shay)?" My So Cal inflections betrayed me and before you know it "Fee shay" was heard by our hosts as "Fee shy (Is there any tea?)," and one of wife's cousins pops up to prepare some tea for me. I realized what had happened and, feeling every bit the heel for coming off like a demanding brute, I apologized repeatedly explaining that I didn't want tea, that I was so sorry to come off as a rude guest and to please sit down because I really don't want any tea right now, I just wanted to know what was in 10m's diaper. When all had begun to understand what had happened, it was even worse. Now it sounded like I was asking wife if there was tea in 10m's diaper. The jokes went on forever about how 10m was capable of dispensing tea from her nether regions.

The hospitality here is truly amazing. The Arabs pride themselves on their hospitality and generosity. Wife mentioned in a previous post something about our harris, the door/watchman of the building. He collects around 12 JDs (Jordanian Dinars- the currency here) from each tenant every month. I estimate there are around 20 apartments in our building. That puts his monthly income at around 240 JDs (around $340/month). He's got a wife, a little boy, and a very colicky infant daughter. They live in one room with a curtain that sections off their sleeping area from their sitting area. They have a bathroom, but no kitchen. They have some burners set up in a spare room a few doors down from their apartment. It can only be accessed by walking outside. Tough times come winter, to be sure.

Imagine that. Now imagine that they are the ones to invite us to dinner. We go and sit in their little room and eat roasted meat and soup and seasoned macaroni. We sip sugary tea and struggle with our broken Arabic. Afterward, we return to our sprawling three bedroom palace amazed that people with so little would give so much.

It's like that everywhere. 5y tried to buy candy from the local market. She plunked her goodies down on the counter and started to count out her change. The shopkeeper refused to take her money, and then actually put more candy in her pile.

Walking home one evening by myself, three children approached me to offer me sweets. I refused, but they insisted. I took one. They continued to insist that I take more. I took another and excused myself, thanking them repeatedly. The oldest was maybe seven. I was in a daze all the rest of the way home. Back in the States, would I stop a complete stranger to offer him sweets? A foreigner? Would I bother to stop if a stranger back home offered me sweets? When I was seven, would I give up my sweets?

May God protect these people and their families.

The Kitchen

Ahh, the kitchen. This is where the magic happens. It was a little rough getting started, but wife has really been cranking out some great chow, al'hamdu'lillah. She has to make this whole transition from having anything you want (America) to utilizing what's available (Jordan). Not only that, it's Ramadan. People are fasting all day. Come sunset, folks are hungry and expectations are high. She's fasting too. That means no tasting the soup to see that it needs more salt. 5y helps out with that, though. The danger here is that every thing could turn out tasting like gummy bears.

Check out our stove! It's three burners on a table fueled by a tank located in the cabinet just to the left of the stove. Where's the oven? We thought we didn't have one for a couple of days. We were poking around in the cabinets and found what we thought was a microwave. Turns out it's a small electric oven, so now baking is in full effect.

Wife baked us a couple of batches of chocolate chip cookies. We couldn't find chocolate chips, so she chopped up a chocolate bar. They brought on great, sweet memories of home. I like to dunk mine in milk and there is nothing like the milk they got here- 3% full cream goodness! In fact all the dairy here is really good. The cheese, yogurt, and especially the ice cream- all really rich and flavorful.

To the left of the picture you can just see the table of 10m's (formerly 9m, soon to be 11m) high-chair. We're borrowing this from a neighbor. Before that things got crazy, with wife chasing 10m all over the place trying to get her to slurp her oatmeal. Just before we got this high-chair, wife had resorted to tying our baby to one of the white plastic stackable patio chairs that came with the kitchen. Cruel, but effective.

Chocolate Chocolate-Chip Cookies

1 cup butter, softened
1 1/2 cups white sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons alcohol-free vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. In a large bowl, beat butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla until light and fluffy, two things you will not be if you eat too many of these cookies. Combine the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt; stir into the butter mixture until well blended, all the while making constant remembrance of Allah. Mix in the chocolate chips and walnuts. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheets. Bake for 8 to 10 minute in the preheated oven, or just until set. Cool slightly on the cookie sheets before transferring to wire racks to cool completely. Enjoy with people that you know who might be far from home and a little scared.

Recipe adapted from allrecipes.com.

The Family Room

This is our second sitting room, although calling it the family room would probably be more accurate. This is where we eat, play, and generally hang out.

This shot is looking back out toward the foyer where you can just see our shoe rack. It's pretty nice because it closes up, more like a shoe cabinet. Behind the photographer is the hall leading off to the kitchen, second bathroom, and our three bedrooms.

To the right is the exit to our balcony. Like just about everybody else in Amman, we're on a hill. From the street our apartment seems like it's on the ground level. But from the rear of the building we're actually one level up. The balcony is where we dry our laundry. Almost nobody has a dryer, and there are quite a few folks without an automatic washer. We are very fortunate in that we do have a washing machine, but we line dry like most everybody else. I'm curious to see how this works in winter.

Through the Accordion Doors

Continuing, insha'Allah, with a tour of our apartment, we pass now through the brown accordion doors out of the foyer and into the first of two sitting rooms.

This room pulls triple duty. In addition to being a very comfortable sitting room, it is outfitted for use as a guest bedroom (note the bed on the left) as well as a study (the desk on the right). This is a pretty good shot allowing you to see most of the room, although there are some bookshelves and a bureau to the left of the desk.

All the windows in the apartment are outfitted with these fantastic roll-up blinds that are fitted to the outside of the window. In the picture you see they are lowered, allowing in only pinpoints of light. They can actually be lowered even more, blacking out the room entirely. This is a huge boon on hot days or for sleeping in.

This is the room I probably spend most of my day in, whether I'm studying or taking my after class nap. If you come to visit, this is where we'd put you up.

Little Touches

Before we move on to the rest of our apartment, this is one last shot of the foyer, looking up and back toward the front door.

I just wanted to show you some of the little touches that they put on the homes out here. Every home has it's share of archways, relief work, or elaborate moulding framing the ceilings and light fixtures. I also like that the homes have high ceilings, at least ten feet or so. Sure beats the boxy wood framing of California's tract homes.

Stone construction also means you never hear your neighbors upstairs. I remember one apartment we had in Long Beach- we swore that the tenants above us were bowling in their kitchen.

We'll show you around some more real soon, insha'Allah.

The Guest Bathroom

This is our guest bathroom located just off the foyer. There are a few things worth noting here.

You see that green canister to the right of the toilet? That's a tank of gas. It's got a tube running up to that white rectangular box on the right-hand wall. That's our water heater.

These gas cans are pretty scary, but an absolutely integral part of life here. We've got five of them spread out throughout our home, four for heating and one for cooking. We've heard horror stories of kitchens blowing up, and in at least one case, an entire family perishing in their sleep from one of these things leaking toxic fumes. So the rule here is check your valves and keep the windows cracked.

It will happen that you will occasionally run out of gas, usually in the middle of preparing a meal or enjoying a hot shower. Not to worry. All day long we hear the cheery melody of the gas trucks cruising the neighborhoods. It's just like ice cream trucks back in the States. In fact, one of my Arabic instructors told me that the jingle that blares from these trucks was the same one used by ice cream trucks in his youth. But ice cream trucks, like the postman, have gone the way of the dodo here.

So instead we've got gas trucks. When you need gas you hail one of these trucks and a guy will bring in a new canister and take away the old one. These cans stink, enough so that even outside the air smells of fuel. The fuel mixes with the smell of jasmine and there you have the very distinct scent of the Arab world. That and moth balls.

The astute observer may notice a little hose with a spray nozzle mounted on the wall to the left of the toilet. This is how one cleans up after finishing one's business. Toilet paper clogs the plumbing, so it isn't really isn't used much except to pat oneself dry.

Both of our toilets are the Western style "throne" that we're accustomed to. Many homes have the Arab style which is nothing more than a hole in the floor which one squats over. They take some getting used to, but they aren't that bad.

You can see a panel of light switches outside of the bathroom. Even after a month that still throws me. I'll walk into the bathroom and shut myself into complete darkness forgetting that I have to go outside to turn the lights on.

The phone on the wall is for buzzing in guests outside the building's front door.

The Foyer

This is our foyer, a very important feature in traditional Islamic architecture. This is where your shoes are taken off. The floor in a Muslim home is a place where prayers are made and meals are taken. It wouldn't do to have people tracking crud all over.

The foyer is also a place for guests to wait while the womenfolk prepare themselves. Women are not to be seen without their head coverings except by immediate family. When people drop by, the ladies of the house may need some time to veil themselves. The doors to the rest of the home are kept closed to give the ladies privacy and the foyer allows the guest a comfortable place to wait.

This angle is what you'd see as you first walk in. Those are big, brown accordion doors leading to the first of two sitting rooms. The door to the right leads to the other sitting room. Again, the Islamic emphasis on separation of the sexes necessitates having distinct quarters for men and women.

What you can't see in this picture is the door to the guest bathroom (to the right of the white door) and the shoe rack (to the left of me as I took the picture).

Our Front Door

Here's our front door. It's actually two doors. One is a heavy metal grate. Both are fitted with enormous deadbolts and if you'll notice there are fittings for two padlocks on the left side of the grate.

I don't know what all the security is about. Jordan is a pretty safe place. The produce markets in the area do little more than drape a few cloths over their fruits and vegetables when they close up for the day. Subhan'Allah, it's all still there in the morning. Try that in Irvine.

Maybe it's the gypsies. There are quite a few around here, and when I get to it, I'll show you where they camp. They've got a pretty bad reputation. We've had a few gypsy beggars come to our door. That's kind of freaky when you think about it. That means they followed us. They don't go from door to door. Anyway, there's lots of local stories about how they're into magic and idolatry. I talked to a gypsy boy riding a donkey. He seemed alright, just real dirty.

The doorbell to the right is also kind of interesting. In Islamic culture there is an association with bells and the devil. Perhaps even those who are not Muslim have heard the term "Hell's Bells." Anyway, all the doorbells here sound like birds chirping.

Maybe they should be called doorbirds.

Under Construction

Here's a building under construction right behind our apartment. Where's the crew? You're looking at him! I saw him and one other guy working this morning. The shot was just after 7:00 am. It's early. I'm sure at least one other guy will show up before the end of the day.

Down at the bottom you'll see piles of construction materials, rock, earth, bags of mortar. What they'll do is load up a wheelbarrow with stuff, lash the wheelbarrow with chains dropped from the top of the building, and then hoist it up with a motorized winch. The guys at the top will unload the wheelbarrow and then drop it back down for another load. This goes on until about 3 or 4 in the afternoon.

Our Building

We've been away from America for just over a month now. It's about time we show you around.

This is our apartment building. Like all the buildings around here, it's made of stone. Actually, cinder blocks. There are at least 4 or 5 buildings under construction just a few minutes walking distance from our place. A friend of mine said last night, "Soon it'll be like Manhattan." He's right. Buildings are popping up everywhere.

These construction teams are something else. I counted no more than eight men working on one building. Eight guys building apartments while fasting- no food or even so much as a sip of water for their entire working day. One guy will make himself a little lean-to out of cardboard and other scraps. Then he'll sit in the shade and bang on rocks with a chisel and hammer. Another guy will move cinder blocks from a big pile near the street to the guys laying them in place. I counted four blocks on one guy's shoulder and another in his hand. I'm always stunned to see how much they've accomplished at the end of each day, masha'Allah.

If you look real close, you'll notice that the sidewalk in front of our building is tiled. I really like this about Syria and Jordan. The sidewalks are not at all uniform. It seems that maybe the people who build the buildings are also responsible for building the sidewalks out front. The tile patterns are constantly changing from one block to the next, although the colors remain pretty constant- shades of red and yellow. That's jasmine growing over the rail. Many streets are lined with jasmine bushes and olive trees.

Also notice the incline of the street in front of our building. This is one of the milder grades in the area.

Our apartment is immediately through the front doors and to your right.

Knock-Knock (wife post)

harris = a man who serves as a guard, handyman, and errand runner for the tenants of a house or an apartment building.

Three days ago the harris' wife knocked on my door just as I was gaining momentum with sorting and folding my laundry. I stepped over the organized piles of laundry to catch the door and there she stood, but not for long. Here in Jordan, when someone knocks on your door and they are of the same gender, they are coming in. I tried to apologize for the clothes on the floor and explained that I was just in the middle of folding and sorting laundry. I don't know if she believed me, or if she understood me.

Her name is Umm Mahmood and I like her a whole lot. I think she is so cool for knocking on my door, coming in immediately and sitting on my floor with me and just laughing at how silly our kids are. I have a hard time communicating with her, so I smile a lot and pantomime. Spending time with her really humbles me, but I value and appreciate these experiences. She gets frustrated with me when I don't understand her after she's explained something five different ways, and she laughs at me when I use my English-Arabic dictionary. I can't figure out if she is laughing because I am mispronouncing a word, or because I am using it in the wrong context. Either way, she said we will walk our kids to the park together next week, and that is all that matters. If she keeps coming around, I should beat husband in Arabic comprehension in no time! I doubt I will be more advanced than 5y though!

I am very impressed with 5y's schooling. She wakes in a cheery mood and does a fantastic job of getting herself ready on her own. So far she has learned two surahs from the Qur'an, making it a total of seven surahs she now has memorized. A surah is kind of like a chapter. She loves her teachers and makes, on average, one new friend a day. She is learning many new words and most importantly, is enthusiastic about learning Arabic and living here.

The baby is 10 months old now and enjoying the freedom she has with crawling and pulling herself up on furniture. Many of the locals refer to her as a little kitten, because she is cute, cuddly, and curious like a kitten. She babbles, waves at everyone she sees, and gets angry when we eat sweets in front of her. The kids are truly happy. There is something indescribably special about being here. It's a feeling I know we will miss profoundly, perhaps leaving us feeling a little empty when we return to the States. Our purpose for living just seems more clear here.

The need for "stuff "is so much stronger in America. I don't feel as strong a pull toward shopping or eating out, and I am much more mindful of wasting anything. I have found the large, empty yogurt containers are great for storing smaller toys, and the leftover goody-bag cases that Virgin Atlantic airlines supplied us with are worth holding onto for storing pens. I am very careful not to buy something I'm not absolutely sure I need because I don't know what the return policies are, if they even have them. Not having so much "stuff" certainly makes the task of picking up the house much simpler and even enjoyable. I hope to keep these values when I return to America.