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| No comment on my face, but look at the theatre! |
Hello friends, family and any one else who cares to read about the fun and exhilarating escapades of GGReyes. Today has been a day to remember, and leads me to think that the rest of the days to come will also hold such beauty.
Woke up at 8 am, and since my phone is on airplane mode (mother, I am sorry, I think that Nina Vicky texted me and I may be charged 2.99 for the text(s?) it ain't my fault!) I had to do the math (ugh) on what time i would wake up but do it all seven hours from the time my phone says. Did that make sense? Probably not, so i'll explain: at 1 am this morning, I set my alarm so that I could wake up at 8 am. My phone however still said...you know what? I don't know why I am bothering. My phone is still set at DC time and thats all you need to know. Moving on.
I got dressed, tried to cover the two mountains that are growing on my left cheek, and changed. Went to breakfast, scarfed down two mini hot dog things, eggs, yogurt-like and oatmeal-like food, and a cinnamon bun because I thought I was going to be late, but I was not, and no sooner am I getting comfortable with the days events that I realize that I could have and should have worn jeans. and sneakers. NOT black slacks and my Target flats that are falling apart. oh my. Anywho, I fall asleep after a while, wake up and we are in Jerash, ancient Greco Roman city, home to one very large temple for Zeus, a mosque, a few churches and a temple for Zeus' daughter (three guesses as to what her name is). And it is beautiful! Many structures obviously do not stand anymore, but you can tell it's rich history and sheer epicness as soon as your eyes get adjusted to the raging sun and the sweat raining down your face. And arms and legs. I was sweaty and my pants dragged in the dust and I was a mess. Today was not a good picture day for me, but I hardly minded.
Okay, back to Jerash. It was breathtaking, trying to imagine how it was that the people so many hundreds of years ago people built such feats of architecture. The friezes and ionic style columns (Ehatch remember Art History? Columns galore!) are so strong and have obviously stood the test of time and human habitation. It is mildly depressing to think that even if we wanted to replicate the city, we would have to use modern technology because somewhere along the history line we grew a dependence for cranes and the like to build things. Our guide was wonderful. He took explained all the sites and their significance as we walked. We saw a theatre - the difference between an amphitheater and theater: an amphitheater is a circle shape with a center in which the entertainment is held (usually gladiator fights) and a theater has half a circle for seats and a defined stage- saw the mosaic from the bottom of a church and a temple. In the temples, the architects of old would use led in the middle of the giant slabs of granite or stone of the columns so that there was some flexibility. The guide put a rock under a crack under one of the stone sections of a column and put a thin ruler on between the rock and the column and moved the ruler. The column moved as well! It was crazy to see this 60 ton 45 feet high column move, not dangerously mind you, but sway. So cool! Then before the tour ended, I found out that one of my classmates loves Jane Austen and we bonded over how we want to go the UK and take the Jane Austen tour one day. So once again, I have affirmed that I will travel to Europe at one point in my life, hopefully soon. We went to the underground tunnel and saw remnants of beautiful friezes of the various fruits that the people 3000 years ago were able to cultivate. It was hauntingly beautiful. I kept trying to imagine what it would be like to live in the time in which these temples were actually used; and then started thinking about what our progeny will unearth 1,000 years from now...
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| Beautiful! |
After that, we went to the small market outside of the historical site and I bought a legit silver ring with a camel and a lapiz lazuzi stone in the middle. I learned two things. 1) I can't bargain. Here's the conversation: Me: "how much?" Store Owner (SO): "Five dinar" Me (trying to be slick, but utterly failing and sounding uncertain): "Will you take four dinar?" SO: "No, five, it's a good deal." Me: "Okay" I hand him money. 2) When you are in the sweltering heat, you get bloated. Your fingers are not their normal size. So the ring that fits snugly should suffice compared to the ring that can fit your index finger. After wearing it, and not being in the sun and drinking more water, the ring I had just bought fit my thumb. It now falls off my index finger. Dangit. Thank you unnecessary swelling.
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| Mexico Chips! Yea |
Then we stopped by a grocery store, and I bought this bag of chips. I know I look like a man, but I did not feel like cropping the picture. Pay attention to the bag of chips, not me. The Mexico brand original flavor chips are made in Egypt. I hope I am not the only one who finds that hilarious. Other flavors include: taco, sour creme and onion and fajita.
After we left from a mini grocery shopping spree, the bus rolled into our next destination: The Suf Refugee Camp. I immediately got uncomfortable. Here we were, 14 very privileged people in a huge bus capable of seating 40, and we were driving through the small streets of a refugee camp. People were gawking at us almost as much as we were gawking at them. The camp reminded me of Mexico.
The cobblestone streets boasted a small mix of shops, the very old storefronts sporting dirty and dusty signs. There were people walking about, children turning and staring at us, following us with their eyes. We reached our destination, but not without stopping traffic and hearing a few honks. We walked into the Islamic Center Charity and met with the executive director. He explained what the situation was and you can gauge for yourself how it makes you feel:
There are 15,000 refugees from the 1948 and '67 war between Israel and Palestine. There are 2 schools for all the children, one from 1-10th grade, the other school, a public one, for after 10th grade. There are 40-50 students per class. There is only one health unit for the 300 people who visit per day, which means that each patient is seen for one minute. There is one sports club that doesn't have a field or any real equipment. There are a few Iraqi refugees (guess what war put them in this refugee camp). There are a lot of social problems, including behavior that is not welcomed in the culture: youngsters are smoking more and sexual behavior is becoming more lax, the schools are not doing enough to prevent this trend. Yet, the people still try their very best in living their lives according to Islam and that is the most admirable aspect. The class was then split by gender. The ladies were taken to talk to a group of women who are volunteers and receivers of the services from the Islamic Center Charity. They were a lively group, but I felt the sharp pain of the language barrier. I wish I could implant a translator chip in my head so that I could understand all languages, like Jax does in the Sirantha Jax sci-fi novels. I wanted to hear the words, not wait for the translation because I feel that you can understand a person if you are able to properly interpret her gestures and tone of voice. I could not understand her words so I was left trying to identify the gestures to see how she felt and couldn't tell if her tone of voice betrayed a hidden fear or if she really was confident. The women wanted more government help in education and services, although the government was doing both, just not enough of both. Because money makes the world go round, there is not enough to go around the Suf camp. It was interesting that the women acknowledged their equality with men, but still believed in giving the men the opportunity to go to a good school when the family saves money, rather than the female. And I recognize that there may be more opportunity for the male because he can live by himself and not get so much criticism for it, but thats not right. And I wish I could do something about it. The women considered themselves Jordanian and had citizen ship and were able to vote, but many times didn't because of the issues at home. Only one the 8 or 9 women we spoke to had gone to college and studied (and was able to do so because of a scholarship from the Islamic Center Charity) and after she graduated, she came back to work with the Center. She gave various classes on computer use and life skills sets and was easily the youngest women there. I asked the group which was more important to her as an identity: her religiousness-i.e. her identity as a Muslim, or her ethnicity. She replied: Being a
human being is most important. I didn't realize the irony and sadness of that statement until the end of the trip.
After the talk, the class reconvened and we took a tour of the camp. A few kids were milling about staring at us and smiling, looking at us shyly and waving. We got to enter one home, in a three room unit housing ten people, one itty bitty kitchen, and water was pumped into this large container every 21 days. I asked how much water the family used per day, and was told only a little bit, less than 2 liters, and that the limited use of the water clearly didn't allow for showers. The rooms were small crowded and housed the father, mother and the unmarried children. There was an even smaller living room adjacent to that room, and adjacent to that room was the room of the oldest son and his wife. The living areas were no bigger than 25 feet long by15 feet wide. The clothes were hung in what served as a front/back yard/ receiving area. The two young ladies were all smiles at us, and were very shy, the mother was so nice as to offer us something to drink. The family was Iraqi, refugees who came in 2003 and had no intentions in going back because nothing was left. They were four years into waiting for the paperwork to move to Canada to be processed. We said our goodbyes and visited the next house. We didn't go inside, but met the residents. The man who spoke to us had his two boys with him, both had diabetes and because the living area had such bad air circulation, his youngest son had to receive oxygen via machine. Behind the man there were at least 6 children smiling and looking at us as we spoke to the man, curious as to what 14 foreigners were doing in their neighborhood. We said goodbye to the father and his sons, and the little 3-year old boy fell, dropping his shoe. It was then I noticed that his shoes were girl's shoes, off white and dirty, but there in the middle, a small bow. Were they a hand-me-down from his sister? or a hand out? Children needed shoes, and it doesn't really matter what they look like does it? I'm not sure why this struck me so, but it did, I guess I just want that little boy, who already has to deal with not being able to breathe in his own home, has diabetes and lives in an area where not even getting an education is certain, to at least have his own shoes.
We walked back to our bus and by that time had accrued a small audience of almost 20 children, from 4-13 and a few adults. We waved to the children and they waved back quickly, as if waving was an adrenaline filled task or dare. Our bus ride to the next compound was interesting. The guys and gals compared stories. The guys said that the men's group had a heated political debate, speaking about curbing the alarming trend of youngsters not going to school and instead selling stuff on the street for a small income. The group was asked if they would ever give up their right of return, and the answer was a vehement "no" and wanted to return to their homes. In contrast, though that specific question wasn't asked to the women, it appeared that despite the challenges they faced, the women considered themselves Jordanian and were not going to turn their back on the country that was providing them with so many services. It was interesting to speculate that the women, the family members who were most concerned with the domestic front were appreciative of what the Jordanian government granted, while the men were adamant about solving the Israeli-Palestinian issue and wanted to return.
The bus went to another part of the refugee camp and we met a family, a sight which would break your heart. The little house was little more than concrete, cracked walls, a metal roof with holes, with a large section not even covered. The house was built on a side of the camp that did not even have UN recognition of being habitable. The father and his family just had nowhere else to go, his family's place was too small, and he moved to this restricted part and built his small house, but since he did not receive a permit before building, was jailed for 22 days and was made to tear down the house himself. He finally got into an agreement with officials and built his current dwelling on the remains of what he had once built, but it hardly counts as little more than a few walls separating his family from the street. As my professor is listening to the middle aged father and mother speak and waiting to translate, I study the mother. She is holding her 40-day old baby, who is wrapped up in a cover, and at first glance, her abaya looks nice, black with gold embroidery, it isn't until I look closer that I see various holes and a patched up hole near the bottom. I don't know why seeing that her clothes are so worn brings tears to my eyes. Her family is living in such dismal conditions, the heat is enough to suffocate, and that poor child is not even going to have a warm house in the winter because there are holes in the roof and when it rains outside, it also rains inside. The father was trying to make a new room, but he hadnt received the paperwork and was scared to build knowing full well he would get questioned. The mother shakes my hand and I mentally vow to come back. I ask the chaperone if its possible to get supplies to the people in the camp and she says yes, that she could potentially bring supplies with her on the next trip the Contemporary Islam class is taking. My internal head gears are turning. I've done it once, gathering money to buy school supplies for poor students in El Salvador. I could do it again for refugees in Jordan.
We go to another house, this one the best off compared to the last three. It has a living area, and two rooms and even a small guest bedroom; its more than 150 square kilometers of space. We exit and there is a group of small kids, and I wave to them. I notice two women at the window of the house at the end of the lane and we wave to each other. Here I am on the outside looking in, and there they are, refugees, trapped inside, looking out. I turn around three more times, smiling and waving and all the children and the two women smile and wave vigorously back. I enter the bus with a heavy heart.
I need to do something and I am determined to be creative once I get back from this trip. This was day one and already I have been more affected and moved to do something about the human struggle than the two and half months I have been struggling. As I grapple with the situation of having such a large refugee camp in a sovereign country, I try to think of solutions and know that solving the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a first step. I know I sound idealistic and there will be more problems once the conflict is sovled, but once you see the conditions these refugees are living in, you would be moved to spend all your energies in conflict resolution too. And this is one of the better camps, where the refugees are citizens of Jordan. In the other camps, the refugees aren't even given citizenship.
As the woman earlier that day said, she considers herself as a human being first and foremost. But does the rest of the world? Do you? Therein lies the irony and the sadness. She deserves every right to a country to call her own, not some make-beleive citizenship in a community that sticks to itself because the rest of the country and indeed the rest of the world, see's it as a problem that is costing too much money.
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After such a heavy experience, the only thing I could do is take the experience, learn from it, and do something. That was a bit more depressing than I intended, so the next two paragraphs won't be.
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| Be Jealous! It was delicious! |
We ate dinner and it was delicious. After that, and a brief food coma, we got back to the hotel, changed and met Tamara, our guide and a very nice, young Jordanian gal, who took us souvenir shopping. The sights and sounds (and smells) of Jordan hit you like a sack full of bricks. The air is a palpable force of smog, and there is honking galore. At the first store, I thought I heard two sales women speaking spanish and I asked a classmate to speak in spanish with me near one of the sales women to test it. And sure enough, surprise surprise! The woman was from Venezuela, only there five months and we chatted it up! haha, I was not expecting that. Then we took the taxi to another shopping area. The Carl's Junior is called Hardees. The second store we go into has shoes 50% off and I see converse, notice they are 4.99 dinars, and realize America is ripping us off because for 10 dinars (17 bucks) I get two pairs. My bad. But I worked very hard for the first set of money I cashed in.
Anyway, my computer is about to die, it has taken me over 2 hours to write this. I am not even done decompressing about the day, but I am done blabbing to YOU about it. I am still in search of a journal and small gifts for mi familia, but hopefully tomorrow will yield happier results. I have fallen asleep thrice writing this and at one point, just got up and opened up my knock-off Chex-Mix bag and ate so that I could proper respect to my experiences today. I want to upload more pictures, but the internet connection is really slow. But for you, I will try to put up more pics to break up the large amount of words on this post. Be prepared. My posts will be this long. Being abroad is a life changing experience and if you do not want to follow this change with me, I am not forcing you to read. But I hope you will anyway. This is what it means to love: To love being human enough to care about bettering the human condition. In any way.
Peace. Paz.
السلام
