The Butcher Shop

A few days after I first arrived in Amman in 2010, I remember walking down a street near the serviced apartments where my husband and I were staying. I just wanted to get a feel for where I was living now so I went for a walk. I looked up to see the street sign in order to memorize the name of the street in case I got lost.  When I saw it, I just stared. Of course, I would have never remembered the name. I said to myself "OK, I am at Mohammed-something-or-other Street." and shook my head: "This is going to be an interesting experience". I kept on walking and, for some strange reason, an image of myself at 14 came to my head. I was wearing my school uniform and walking up Tanca St. in Old San Juan on my way home with my heavy book bag on my back. I then said to myself: "How on earth did that 14 year old girl get from Tanca St. in Old San Juan, Puerto Rico to Mohammed-something-or-other St in Amman, Jordan?" I mean, from growing up in a humble family on a tropical island surrounded by the ocean I ended up living in an city full of hills in the middle of the desert half way across the world. It felt surreal. 

I wondered then (just as I wonder now) how can I possibly describe this place in a way that would do it justice? It's so different in so many ways yet the same in others. So, I was thinking that I could sometimes talk about day to day life, which I think is really important because it will give a flavor as to how it is to live here (from a privileged foreigner's perspective, of course). But other times, I will talk about more broad issues - such as culture and politics. I'll have to be tread carefully here because this is not my country and I am a guest here so I will be upfront and say that I will try to be as politically correct as I can while staying true and honest. 

So let me start with something simple that happened today. I walked to a new butcher shop just a few blocks down from our apartment. To get there I have to pass a huge new church across the road. It is Syrian Orthodox. I had no idea that there was such a religion but, yes, there is and it's pretty established by the looks of the church. I have to walk on the edge of the street because the sidewalks have trees planted right in the middle of them so its annoying to zigzag along as you walk. (Why they have planted trees on the sidewalks is beyond me). Anyway,  it is really gray, windy and cold outside today (although nothing like Boston). Still, it has a gloomy feel. There is a little grocery store across the road.  If the guy spoke Spanish it would be a colmadito.  Pretty convenient to have it there. I also live right next door to a pharmacy, which is even more convenient for diapers and formula. The pharmacist is the owner of our building.  He lived many years in Canada but is originally from here. He is Christian. I note this because Christians are a minority in this country but, for the most part, Christians and Muslims get along. So that is basically my street. Omran Naeb Maata St. If you ask a taxi driver, though, they probably would have no idea what the street name is. You give directions by giving landmarks like you do in little towns in Puerto Rico. The landmarks on my street are the church I just mentioned, Zait and Zatar (which is a supermarket that we have just a few blocks away) and, of course (thank the universe) Starbucks! The butcher is close to Starbucks - have to pass right by it, actually - but I don't stop (despite the temptation) because its just to windy, wet and cold.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the story about the butcher shop. So, I went to the small butcher shop and I was immediately attended by someone at the door. He took my order and suggested that I sit down while I wait for my order.  A few seconds later, he brought me Arabic coffee in a small plastic brown cup (like for an expresso shot) and said "Would you like some coffee?" But it was already in front of me, already in the cup, ready to be taken. He didn't ask before serving it.  He didn't ask how I take it. He just put it in front of me as if to say "I made this especially for you. Please have this".  So I just had to say yes. There I was with my Arabic coffee (which is wonderful, kind of sweet and bitter at the same time) which I really didn't want but found myself drinking. I thought to myself, half laughing: "You just can't say 'no' to Jordanians!" It's true! It's virtually impossible to say 'no'. Not that they are pushy - they are just extremely hospitable and generous. It's as if it there was a secret pledge made centuries ago to be nice to guests. It seems as though it's a sign of honor and pride to be hospitable. You actually feel bad to say 'no'.  And its everyone (at least that is how it seems to me) regardless of class. Everyone is just extremely generous with their everything - their time, their contacts, their families, their friends, their food... At first it frustrated the heck out of me but now it just makes me laugh.  It's taken some getting used to. Lesson learned: Accept generosity.

Just one of those things you notice about another culture, I guess. Something I will always remember Jordanians by.