More Cafe's, Please?

I am a creature of habit so I go to the same cafe's almost every day for lunch or coffee. Not that there is much to choose from, unfortunately. Most of my friends are Jordanian and hang out in the same cafe's I do. Even they will talk about the lack of variety for restaurants and cafes in the city. The menus are very much like any other menu you will find in any city of the world. Salads, sandwiches, pasta, etc. The biggest bummer: no Latino food. 

Unfortunately, I have not found a "typical" Jordanian cafe to go to to "hang out" since I've been here. The ones that are around are mostly shisha cafes, and the smoke just kills you. (Shisha, or "bubbly-bubbly" is something that you smoke through a long tube and has different flavors. I've been told its the equivalent of several cigarette boxes.) Terrible. 

Is there an "inbox" for recommendations at City Hall? 

 

The Language that we Speak

Fuad, my hairdresser, doesn't know a lick of English and my Arabic is even worse than that but somehow, we communicate and actually understand each other.  I explain in English, he listens. He makes recommendations is Arabic, I listen. Next thing I know, my hair is just the way I wanted it (sometimes even better). He gave me flowers when Maya was born (white, my favorite). I gave him chocolates for his birthday (to learn later that he absolutely loves chocolate).  I feel like Fuad has become a friend. I feel I can trust him. Somehow I think he feels like that towards me as well.

What would the world look like if we were all able to understand each other beyond the language that we speak?

Amman

Life as an Immigrant

Living as an immigrant in Jordan has made me think more deeply about the immigrant experience in the United States. Granted, I am speaking from a very privileged life and point of view. Still, it has made me ponder over what it means to go to a different country so different from your own and find your way amidst the loneliness, homesickness, and confusion. An important lesson I have learned is the difference one person can make in another person's quality of life.

Case in point: Here in Jordan we were really lucky. We already knew someone here. Just one person. But that person is the "master networker" in Amman as far as I'm concerned and she "adopted" us as part of her family immediately. Thanks to her, we were able to know everything from where to buy groceries to where to get your hair and nails done.  Even more importantly, she is the "master hostess" (she actually hosts people at her home several times a week -- every week).  That is where her "magic" happens - the "magic" of connecting people. In one sitting (literally) at a lunch just a few days after I arrived) and I was connected to some of the most amazing women in Amman. Those connections have led me to jobs, projects, partnerships, office space, zumba classes, and friendships that will last for a lifetime. I am forever grateful.

This made me think: in Boston, I felt like this was done but very much from a distance. We don't invite people readily into our homes. We are not as selfless in sharing our connections and not as proactive in ensuring other's well being. Maybe with our family members but with people we hardly know? What would it be like if we gave more of ourselves to help newcomers and immigrants in this way? 

100 Ways How Arabs and Latinos are Alike

From time to time I will be posting my thoughts on similarities between the Arabs and Latinos. Here are just a few to start with:

1. Arab sense of humor is full of picardia and borderline flirting.

2. Most guys have dark hair and eyes and they smell really nice.

3. Oh, and how about the Arab women, who are always dressed fashionably and the hair and nails done on a weekly basis (sometimes twice a week)?!

4. Arab's life evolves around food, family and - dare I say - gossip! Sound familiar?

...more soon!

Service with a Spoon

I just have to share this story, although my friends here in Amman already know it by heart. It's the funniest yet most emblematic experiences I have had here so far. It happened last year but I figured it would be a good story to tell so you can get a feel for how stereotypes and misconceptions can be challenged in the most simplest of ways.

So, my husband's mom sent us a package by mail and I had to go to pick it up at the post office. I had never been to the post office here before. The one I had to go to was in downtown, which is the oldest part of Amman from what I understand. It's very busy with lots of little stores and people walking everywhere. It reminds me of Calle de Diego in Rio Piedras, Puerto Rico or maybe Haymarket (when the fruit stands are out) in Boston. It has alot of local flavor to it.

Anyway, I went in and since I don't speak Arabic, I asked in English but using typical, tacky foreigner sign language to say: "I'm here to pick up a package." while I drew a picture of a square in the air with my fingers. The guy just looked at me and pointed up, which I figured meant upstairs. He was probably laughing at me in his head going "These crazy foreigners!"  (in Arabic, of course), which I totally deserved for being so silly with the sign language.

Anyway, I got upstairs and asked the guys at the desk the same thing (in the same way - I just don't learn...). They pointed to a small office and motioned me to go there. So I went.

I got to the doorway and stood there. I saw about 10-12 men, most of them in uniform, huddled around a small desk. They all had their backs toward me so they didn't realize I was there. I didn't know if I should interrupt or not so I waited a few seconds. I was pregnant and hot so I decided to get their attention and cleared my throat loudly "Ehem!". No response. Then I said "Marhaba!" (the one and only word I knew, which means "Hello").

One of the men turned around and saw me standing there. He proceeded to say something in Arabic to the other men and then, suddenly, they were all fussing around, taking to each other in Arabic. I had no idea what was going on.

It was the beginning of summer and I was dressed with short sleeves and a skirt. Since I was pregnant, I thought no one would pay me any attention to what I was wearing but then I panicked for a second and thought that perhaps they would be angry and scold me for disrespecting them by the way I was dressed!

But then the man who had initially turned around came up to me and whipped out a spoon and handed it to me. "What the...??" I thought to myself. You can imagine the perplexed look I had on my face. A spoon?! He then ushered me to the desk and I realized that they were all huddled there because they were eating something together. It's called kenefe (not sure of the spelling) but anyway, it's a delicious dessert made from cheese and this caramel-ly stuff on top. It's just wonderful. So there it was, the kenefe, and the men around the table were eagerly awaiting for me to try some. The man who ushered me in motioned for me to have some so I tried a little bit. They all smiled and were pleased and dug in with me. So there we were, all of us, eating kenefe together. I said "Shukran" (Thank you) and thought that was it. But no, they wanted me to keep eating! So, for about 10 mintues I stood there with these guys, all of us eating the kenefe til it was finished! It was hilarious! Once it was gone, they quickly put the rubbish in the bin and everyone went back to their desks and offices. Only then could I claim my package.

But it doesn't stop there! The post office also has a customs office so I had to go there to see how much I had to pay. The customs officer (who I had eaten kenefe with a few minutes before) asked in a thick accent "Where are you from?" I said "Puerto Rico" and he looked at me with a perplexed face. I thought I would have to explain where that was but he continued and said "I thought people in Puerto Rico all black." He was serious. I laughed and said "We come in all colors!" He laughed back and exclaimed "Duty Free!".

How do you say "fantastic" in Arabic?