I am in Jordan

Our neighborhood here in Amman is in an area roughly between west and east Amman. In west Amman--which also happens to be the more "western" part of the city--there are large, single family homes mixed in with newer apartment buildings of shiny glass and clean white stone. The streets are wider and quieter, and there is a possibility of being surprised by small patches of green grass at random locations. In the business areas many of the buildings look like smaller versions of those downtown at home, with large glass facades, less stone and more color, and if the business is selling clothes--with giant advertisements featuring white people. In these areas it is also possible to find one of the nine Starbucks that have recently cropped up here and be surrounded by an interior that mirrors exactly the interior of every Starbucks at home. In east Amman--which also happens to be the more "traditional" part of the city--there are no single family homes, just older apartment buildings in various stages of dirty brown. The streets are narrower and loud, and seeing patches of green grass definitely would be a surprise. The businesses look much like the apartment buildings--mostly dusty stone--and there are no Starbucks.

The point of describing all of this is to say that there are places in Amman where an American can go and--if you want to--be surrounded by home, and almost forget you are in Jordan. However, if I ever do forget where I am--which will mean I am spending way too much time in west Amman--it is conversations like the following that will snap me back to my reality.

One day a friend of mine whom I visit two or three times per week asked me if I wanted to go out to a coffee shop on a particular night. I said that would be great, but before I gave a final answer I would just have to check to make sure with my wife first. At this statement he furrowed his brow and cocked his head to one side, betraying noticeable, genuine confusion.

"Why?" he said. There was no malice or contention in his voice; he was actually, sincerely curious as to the answer.

"Because she's my wife, and I need to check with her," I said. "I am not the lord of the house."

He said nothing, as if he was still pondering what I had said and letting the words swim around in his head.

"Is this strange?" I said.

"Yes. This is the Middle East," he finally responded. "We don't need to ask."

"You are the lord of the house?"

"Yes, we are the lord of the house."

A few days later he was discussing a trip he might take to Egypt, and he asked me if I wanted to come with. Now, a trip to Egypt would be no small endeavor, and of course much bigger than a trip to a coffee shop, so I gave him the only answer I could at that time. "Maybe," I said. "But first--" and then he stopped me.

"You have to ask your wife?" he said.

"Yes," I replied with a smile, knowing full well his exasperation with such an answer. "I have to ask my wife."

With that, he smiled, chuckled gently and shook his head. This business of asking my wife was indeed a bizarre, humorous thing to him, and I think as much of an interesting cultural experience for him as it was for me. His reaction and our ensuing conversation also served to remind me that I am, indeed, in Jordan.