No, I Don't Like Your Hair

Before we came to Jordan seven years ago some people suggested I cut my hair. You know, to fit in better, so people in this conservative society wouldn't be turned off by my long locks. Anyway, I didn't cut it, and I've never had any problem. Sure, I get a few more stares than the average white guy here, but I did back at home too, especially from the occasional anxious store clerk who is certain I look like a shoplifter. I've never gotten the sense that people wouldn't talk to me or distrusted me here because I looked different. I have friends young and old, and with varying degrees of religiosity, and the strangers I meet every day are perfectly willing to talk to me. My long hair, though, does set me apart aesthetically from nearly everyone in Jordan. That is true. Because of that, I am every so often forced to answer questions about it, usually from a kid. Such an inquisition took place yesterday, while I was innocently waiting for my shawarma. My inquisitor was around twelve or thirteen years old, and he took a keen interest in how I looked while waiting for his shawarma too. The following is the English translation of our conversation.

Kid: Why is your hair like that?
Me: Why not?
Kid: Why is your hair like that?
Me: Why not? Why is your hair like that?
Pause, confusion.
Kid: Why is your hair like that?
Me: Why is your hair like that? It's too short.
Kid: What?
Me: It's too short.
Pause, again.
Kid: Why is your hair like that?
Me: Why? You don't like it?
Kid: No.
Me: What? Is it prohibited?
Kid: Yes.

I smiled wide, and laughed, and began to consider my next response. But, alas, his shawarma was ready, and he grabbed it and walked away, leaving me alone, with my forbidden hair.

A Dead Car and Jordanian Hospitality

Yesterday we took a drive to the outskirts of town, to an older area called Bayaader, which used to be a village separate from Amman, but which now has been swallowed up by the ever growing city. It is literally on the edge of town, as buildings on its easternmost point cling to the sides of high hills that overlook the quickly dropping route down to the Jordan Valley. Unlike where we live--and unlike most of Amman--many of the people who live there are original, tribal Jordanians, who are descendants of nomadic Bedouins. There is also a small but significant population of Circassians, whose ancestors were forced by the Russians from their homeland in the mountainous Caucasus region between the Black and Caspian Seas in what is now southern Russia and Georgia in the late 19th century. Jordan is filled with people who came from someplace else.

Not long after we arrived in Bayaader, though, the rental car we were driving suddenly came to a stop. Since the gas tank had been creeping towards empty, at first we thought we had embarrassingly run out of gas. So, we flagged down a man driving by, and he drove me and my crutches to a gas station some distance away, while Annamarie and the kids stayed back with the car, ate snacks, and checked out the neighborhood. We returned with two old water bottles filled with gas, but that was not the answer, as the car still did not start. By this time some of the neighborhood men had begun converging on the scene, each offering their advice on how to start the car, and it was decided that I should try to start it while coasting down the top of the hill. Don't, though, go too far, they said, as the hill drops very steeply quite quickly, and the car if it didn't start would be impossible to stop. So, with no power steering or brakes, I casually began coasting down the hill. It again didn't start, though, and I turned the car up the last side-street before the big drop.

With no other option at this point, we finally decided to call the rental car company. To make a long story short, they sent out one of their workers, who discovered the timing belt needed to be replaced. The four of us waited for the car to be fixed with a family of strangers whose home it came to rest in front of. Two cups of mint tea, a cup of Turkish coffee, a glass of Pepsi--and almost four hours later--we left. Below are some pictures of our day with them, the kind of day all the travel books have in mind when they talk about Jordanian hospitality.

Local Shawarma Makes New York Times

Here is a link to an article from the New York Times about a shawarma stand that is literally just up the street from our apartment.

And here's a link from a post we did over three years ago about this same shawarma stand.

Unfortunately, we rarely eat there; we like chicken shawarma, and they only do beef and lamb. In fact, we had a nice chicken shawarma just yesterday from a place called, oddly enough, "Burger King." It's also near our apartment, just a few doors down from another local eatery called "Queen Burger".

It looks like, though, this shawarma stand is doing just fine without us.

Back in Jordan, or Thinking Required

Finally, after being gone eight long months, we returned last week to Jordan.

It is hot, and it is dusty.

And there are a few things I'll need to get used to again.

Number one, we are back to having no car. In the States, most people drive everywhere, in their own car, and during our eight months there, so did we. Our new reality hit hard a few nights ago, though, as we took a trip to the Western style grocery store on the other side of town, bought ten bags of food and supplies, and then hit the streets to find a taxi. It continues to hit hard every time I walk to our local store in the mid-day heat for anything else we have needed.

Number two, we are back to conserving every drop of our water. In the Land of 10,000 Lakes, water flows freely from our taps. Not so here, though, where our water for the week is stored in rooftop tanks. Once it's done, it's done, until--in our neighborhood--Tuesday night, when the government pumps in our next weeks supply.

Number three, we are back to needing to be careful about what and where we eat and drink. One fantastic aspect of being back home was never needing to think about the cleanliness of food and water. Sure, people get sick from time to time from undercooked meat, and maybe there is an outbreak of some food borne illness occasionally, but generally speaking, one has confidence that when one eats at a restaurant or at someones house, they are not going to get sick. I do not have a similar confidence here, though--not after having fallen ill several times. Even the government has very little confidence, having shut down all the shawarma (like a gyro) shops in the country for a time a couple years ago after several bouts of mass illness stemming from the tasty little sandwich.

Although Jordan isn't the most difficult country in the world to live in as a foreigner--I can think of plenty of much more difficult places--it is true that I find myself needing to think more when I am here.

I don't have a car. Can I get to a certain location in a taxi? In a bus? How long will it take if I walk? When is the easiest time to get a taxi? Can I get back? Water is scarce. How can I plan my day to do laundry on water day? Should we share a flush? How much water is left? Can I shower today? Food and water can be dirty. Should I eat at this place? Is this salad clean? Was this water bottled? Is this the sandwich that does me in?

In eight months in America I grew accustomed again to doing whatever I wanted. I went wherever I wanted, when I wanted, ate whatever I wanted, wherever I wanted and--perhaps cavalierly--ran water whenever I wanted, and for however long I wanted. It is almost as if no thinking is required to live there (non-Americans, hold your jokes please). Thinking is required here, though. I'm glad to be back, but I do miss not needing to think.

Shawarma Reem

Shawarma is a very popular sandwich here in Jordan. Similar to the Greek gyro--which some of you back home may be more familiar with--shawarmas are made with pressed chicken or lamb meat that sits on a rotating spit and is cooked throughout the day. They are eaten here at nearly all times of the day. We live near one of the most popular shawarma stands in Amman--called Shawarma Reem--and it boasts one of the largest slabs of meat as well. People drive from all over the city to get a sandwich. They put the meat on at around 10:00 a.m. and are serving it until at least 2:00 a.m., and because of the long lines late at night you sometimes have to wait 30 to 45 minutes for a sandwich. For all of you meat lovers out there here are a couple pictures!