Eid al-Adha Break

Kolli sana wa intu bakhayyir! Happy Eid al-Adha to everyone. 

Because of this Muslim holiday, the whole country (including yours truly) has Wednesday- Monday off of work and school.  Many of my Fulbright peers decided to travel to Cairo or Turkey over this break, but I instead decided to take it easy. When Nick visits in December, we’ll be traveling to Palestine, Israel, Egypt and all over Jordan so I figure it couldn’t hurt to save some money now by staying in Amman over these 5 days.

I’ve discussed several things in my previous blog posts, but ironically I haven’t discussed the one thing that I came here to do: teach.  So, let’s get to it.  

TEACHING

For the last two months I have been teaching at a private high school in an area of Amman called Shmeisani.  This private school is also a Christian school, meaning that the majority of its students are of course Christian. (Another irony: that I would come to a majority Muslim country, and teach at a Christian school.  Maybe I am innately drawn to the minority crowd, no matter where I am...)  Though to be clear, any student of any religious affiliation may enroll at the school. There is also a mix of religions in the faculty and staff, though most teachers are Christians.   I also want to point out that even at a Christian school, students study both Christianity and Islam in their “Religion” class. 

Though the circumstances are different here than in the United States, I think this is a model that all schools could follow. (Could it be?  The United States should borrow an idea from the Middle East? Blasphemy!) If it’s called “Religion” class, then allow students to learn about, well, religion. If its meant only to study the Christianity, then call it what it is.  This also makes me think of a bookstore called Martha Merrill’s in downtown Waukesha.   I remember going there a few summers ago and stopping in the section labeled “Religion.” After having taken some classes on Islam at UW-Madison, I was hoping to expand my knowledge on the topic.  Yet I was puzzled when this “Religion” section contained only books on Christianity.  I completely understand that businesses are going to carry books that sell.  But at the same time, just because Waukesha is a small and homogenous community doesn’t mean it needs to be a closed off and ignorant community.  So enough about my beliefs on religious education, but bottom line, reaching out to learn about communities other than your own in facts makes you more intelligent, not more prone to become a “terrorist.”

            In my current position, I am a teaching assistant helping once a week in a series of English classes rather than a teacher responsible for my own daily classes.  I assist classes in the 9^th grade national stream (all classes in Arabic, except for English class), 9^th grade international stream (all classes in English, including sciences, math, etc), 10 grade national stream, 11^th grade national stream and 11^th grade scientific stream (a specialized stream for students interested in studying the sciences at university).  This set-up has its advantages and disadvantages. 

            The greatest advantage is that I have a completely stress free life. As I am an assistant,  I arrive at school every day 15-30 minutes early, review the topic or lesson for the day (chosen by the teacher) and develop a way in which I will present this information to the students.  This means I take absolutely nothing home with me.  From time to time, a teacher will ask me to plan a particular lesson at home, but this won’t take more than 30 minutes of my time in the evening.  Additionally, because I am not a full-time teacher, I am not responsible for students’ grades.   This can also be attributed to the fact that I am still not fully aware of how grading works for students here. Either way, this means my evenings and weekends are not bogged down with ticking boxes on meticulous rubrics and hurriedly updating an online grading system in fear that parents or administrators will notice that I did not input the required number of grades for that week.

            Another advantage of this position is that I have the opportunity to work with several groups of students from differing ability and age levels. In total, I assist in 11 different classes and see around 240 students.  Though this is incredibly difficult when it comes to memorizing names (of course, I’ve easily learned all the really bad and really good kids’ names), it’s incredible to interact with this number of kids, or people, for that matter, on a weekly basis.  As I tend to see everything in life as an anthropological experiment (no matter where I am globally), I value this experience greatly.  Not only am I able to discuss social issues with the various levels and learn the students’ opinions on them, but I am also in a position to push the students to think beyond what their book tells them or what society may dictate to them. (Yalla, let’s see how far I can get doing with without being thrown out of the school or questioned by authorities).  Of course, I do tread lightly because I understand I am a guest in the school and in this country, but luckily I am at a school where the teachers support the push for critical thinking.

            This brings me to the interesting point of difference between US/ Jordanian education systems and disadvantages of being an “assistant” rather than the person running the show.  In some of the classes that I assist, the main teacher requires all students in all sections to write the same response to (what in my opinion are) free response questions.  This is where I find myself rather frustrated.  Of course, allowing students the freedom to interpret the story or sentence in their own words requires quite a bit more time and energy on the teacher’s part in that the teacher must read through or review each answer individually and decide if it answers the question thoroughly.  And I will admit that in my two years of teaching in the US, I am guilty of requiring students to memorize information for multiple choice and short answer exams.  But to ask 80 students to all copy the same response into a question like “Is Person X a flat or round character? Use examples from the text to support your answer.”  completely defeats the purpose of asking the question in the first place.  If you don’t want children to use their brains, give them a multiple choice comprehension question. 

In fact, I find myself many times disagreeing with the textbook- or teacher-given answer, but even so, making up reasons why I support this answer to appear that I side with the main teacher. I really hate doing this, because it tells students that they should not be allowed to question something if they fundamentally believe it is wrong.  But again, I’m here to assist and observe, not to uproot and overthrow institutions. 

In the same vein, many times the “lesson plan” for a class period is to complete a specific exercise or set of exercises in the book.  While this is incredibly easy to plan for (aka no planning needed in the least bit), it’s boring! It’s boring for me and it’s boring for the kids.  The advanced classes can draw some sort of pleasure out of these exercises because they are creative and have the ability to make it fun for themselves. Still, I find it much more fun as an educator to give students a creative task which allows them to practice the concept at hand, but which also allows students to work together to come up with something unique.  I could ask to plan a class period on my own and incorporate such a lesson, but being in each class only once or twice each week, I have to rely on the main teacher to know what to plan.  And as far as I’ve experienced here, there is no such thing as long term planning or daily learning goals as are required by school administration in the United States. Thus, it makes it difficult for me to follow what the students should know by the end of the class period, end of the week, end of the month, etc. 

Another difference between the school where I teach here and the school where I taught in the US is the amount of technology.  This is quite interesting, as the economic differences in the two schools are great.  That is, the school where I teach here is a private school, with parents paying about $3,000-6,000 for their children to attend and the school where I used to teach was a public middle school in a low-income neighborhood.  That said, the technology available to us at Benjamin Stoddert Middle School was far greater than anything that is available here at the school where I currently teach. Benjamin Stoddert offered school-wide WiFi, a classroom set of iPads, a laptop for each teacher, a SmartBoard in most classrooms, an online grading system, a school email for each teacher, a class set of interactive response remotes for students, two computer labs and a set of speakers and LCD projector in each classroom.  Here, the best technology available is a computer lab complete with a class set of computers, an Interactive white board (similar to a SmartBoard), audio speakers and an LCD projector. And despite the great differences in technology and in planning, believe it or not, learning still takes place.  I have several thoughts about this topic, but none that I want to put in writing just yet.  Though I will throw the question out there… we in the US are throwing millions of dollars at schools for better technology because we want better educated kids, but are these two items in fact related?  

But on the whole, I am very much enjoying my placement school and the adults and students with whom I work. Because I only see the kids once or twice a week, the students still think it’s a “special treat” when I come to their classes. Whereas last year at this time, kids were telling me that I looked pregnant, were recommending that I should try using ProActive acne treatment and were stealing my pens and pencils, my students now are telling me that they love me, they’ve missed me since the last class and that they’ll bring me Jordanian dishes like Dajaj Mashi. It’s nice to be loved.

But of course there are kids who give me a hard time.  In fact, I’ve learned the hard way never to tell a Jordanian student “Zip your lips.”  When phrases like, “Eyes up here,” “Close your mouths,” and “End your conversations!” were not working,  I resorted to the slightly meaner phrase “Zip your lips!” Yet when the class broke out in even greater chaos and disruption, I changed my phrasing back to strictly “CLOSE YOUR MOUTHS.”  At the height of student laughter, I remembered that I had previously learned that the word for “penis” is “zib.”  And really the difference between “p” and “b” is too small for teenage boys to consider in a situation like this.

In another situation, a group of 11^th graders were running in the hallways shouting into the 8^th grade classrooms as I was on my way to my 9^th grade class.   Trying to control the situation, I firmly told them “Guys, let’s go. You don’t belong here.“ As they passed me, one girl approached my face, yelling “Teez, teez, teez, teez, teez…” To me, “teez” just sounds like an annoying sound so I repeated my previous words until the kids moved along.  The following weekend, I heard a friend respond “LTEEZEE” to a another friends comment.  Hearing that familiar “sound” “teez,” I asked what that meant. Apparently he was roughly means “MY ASS!”  So the sound “teez” that that delightful young woman was repeating again and again in my face was not in fact a random noise, it was the word “ass.”   HA HA. Very funny kids.    

But really at the end of the day something that I’ve taken away from this experience is the fact that simply put, all kids are the same. At private schools, at public schools, in the US, in Jordan, in Muslim communities, and in Christian communities, you will find driven kids, kids who don’t care, kids who love their teachers, kids who find joy in making life difficult for their teachers, kids who enjoy learning, kids who would rather be playing Play Station, kids who are funny and kind, and kids who are freaking strange.    It doesn’t take a genius to deduce this, but for some reason, people seem to forget it all too often.  They seem to think that a person from one part of the world is smarter or more capable than a person from another part. Or that a life in one area in the world is worth more than a life in another area of the world. Or they seem to think that people with a certain set of beliefs are better than people with another set of beliefs.  Really America, if you think you are superior to others around the world, then please try to use your brain in a superior way.  What makes the United States such an incredible place to live is the fact that you can believe whatever you want and live your life in whichever way you choose, and still be able to pursue your goals, dreams, aspirations, etc. So in fact it is counterintuitive for the “freedom-loving” Americans to think that the US is better than other countries while actually judging those countries.

VOLUNTEERING

In other news, I’ve begun volunteering at a social services center at a Palestinian Refugee Camp called Baqa’a.  This “camp” was constructed to house refugees of the 1967 War and was originally a colony of tents set up in a desert outside of Amman. Today the tents have been turned into more permanent structures and the camp has been almost swallowed by the city of Amman, as it is now located on the northeastern outskirts. Though the living structures have progressed from tents to concrete buildings, the community has in many ways remained stagnant over the 40 years since its creation.  Its people’s demand for education, medical services and sanitation has far outgrown the actual services provided.  I don’t pretend to be an expert on this topic and in fact know very little about the community’s needs and challenges. However, when a fellow Fulbrighter asked for help during her classes on Saturdays, I gladly volunteered, as gaining a deeper understanding in the struggle of the Palestinian diaspora has been an interest of mine for quite some time.

So far I have only been to the camp a few times, but I intend to go each Saturday to teach two-three English classes for students ranging from age 4-30. Even the few times I have gone, it has been a highly rewarding experience for a variety of reasons. First of all, I am able to connect with a community whose displacement I feel the United States has contributed to.  (And if not a role in their previous displacement, then perhaps in their current marginalization in terms of the United States’ blind and relative unwavering support for the state of Israel’s policies racist and war-mongering policies) I hope that I of course can help equip my students with the English skills that will allow them to compete for future economic prospects. But more importantly, It is my hope that the kids with whom I interact will remember “that one American teacher” they had as someone who cared about them and as someone who did her best to help them realize their goals.  In the end, and maybe not until many years down the road, they will be able to recognize that the world is not black and white, organized into simple love and hate relationships.  Instead it is gray and speckled with anomalies, forming a bigger picture that no one else can dictate to them and that only they can paint for themselves.

I additionally find this to be a rewarding experience because it absolutely forces me to use Arabic, no matter how awful or wrong it is.  The staff at this social service center does not speak English, and the younger students who come to the English class do not speak English either. Of course they know colors and how to introduce themselves, but when it comes to understanding instructions or complete sentences, no luck.  So in addition to the challenges of teaching a class where each student is at a vastly different level, there is the additional challenge of teaching an entire class in Arabic. Even writing that sentence makes me chuckle to myself. I can’t imagine how dumb I look and sound in front of this group of kids, spouting off a series of words until I get to one that they seem to understand. But at the end of the day, the kids are able to produce what I ask them to and all leave the class with a smile on their face.

Another reason enjoy teaching at Baqa’a because it allows me to leave the bubble of West Amman to which I have mostly limited myself. Just by nature of where I live, where I work, the people I meet and the places I hang out, I spend most, if not all, of my time in “upper class” places.  And while of course this is a nice lifestyle to maintain, I did not come to Jordan to learn how rich people live (though this is an interesting topic to be honest, and one that I will discuss later).  Going to Baqa’a allows me to gain an understanding of what life is it is like for a much broader range of socioeconomic classes here.  When I tell colleagues or peers that I go to Baqa’a every weekend and take a public bus to get there, their eyes grow wide in disbelief. Most people from West Amman cannot understand my desire to go to a community they consider dangerous and dirty or my carefree attitude when it comes to taking public transport where I may be mingling with “low class people.” While some readers may gasp or shake their heads in disgust at such a comment, I think we need to again look inward and draw parallels to our own communities.  When I hear people make these comments concerning Baqa’a/ West Amman, I cannot help but to draw parallels between places like Waukesha/ Milwaukee or NW DC/ Anacostia.  Places that are all so geographically so near, but socioeconomically so far from one another.  Places where people live in comfort and excess on one hand, but in distress and squalor on the other.  We think that we need to travel the globe to help people in need, when in fact this idea leads us to ignore the people in our own cities and states who are suffering.   And if our desire really is to help, it is these people just across the river or down the highway with whom we could have a greater impact and closer connection.  But too many times our interest in staying “safe and sound” in our own communities or buying into the idea that that “you found your own success, so why can’t they,” prevents us from reaching out to those who live literally just down the road and prevents us from making the place we live better not just for “us,” but for “them,” too.   

Is this real life?

When I called my grandmother a few days ago to wish her a happy 80^th birthday.  I could hear her getting teary eyed on the other end and asked “Grandma, what’s wrong?” She said, “Well, mija, the older you get, the more sensitive you are about everything.” Despite the fact that I have 56 years until I experience the perhaps same level of sensitivity as my grandma, I feel like I had a taste of what that means today. 

Earlier this afternoon, I had my first Arabic class since 2008.  Walking out of the classroom at the end of class, I actually started tearing up.  I was thinking how happy I was that I could still understand the teacher speaking in 100% Arabic, how I had a very successful lesson plan this morning at school where both I learned a lot about Jordanian culture and where the students thanked me after the lesson and told me that “today’s topic was interesting,” and how I am so incredibly grateful to have the opportunity to be doing these things.  And then it hit me; I AM BEING PAID TO DO WHAT I LOVE.  

I understand that writing about this topic puts me in the category of people who other people hate because of their overly bubbly and unrealistically positive attitude.  Ok. I’ll give you that. But, how can I be anything but positive when I’m living a life with everything I could have ever dreamed of having and of doing things I’ve always dreamed of doing?  I feel I need to recognize what an exceptionally fortunate position I’m in and rejoice in it as much as possible now, as I know it will not last forever.  Especially after two years of working and studying myself into oblivion in DC, I am that much more grateful to have this temporary respite during which I am still able to devote myself to two things I love (teaching and learning) while also having enough time to travel, volunteer, make new friends, and write.

Is this real life?

One month and counting

It’s now been one month and two days since I arrived and it’s been nothing but smooth sailing. (I’ll say knock on wood here, though I’m sure there is an appropriate “God” phrase in Arabic that I haven’t learned yet.)   I’ve been racking my brain to come up with some juicy stories to entertain my audience, but there are really none to tell.

For just over two weeks now, I have been teaching at a private Christian high school in Amman.  It’s only about 1.6 miles from my house and I can walk there in about 30 minutes.  I’ve gotten in the habit of cabbing there in the AM and walking back in the afternoon. I also have been bringing my gym bag (aka my new “Fitness First” promotional backpack, thrown in as a perk when we signed up for the gym) to school in the morning so I can stop off at the gym on the way home. It’s about a 20 minute walk to the gym from school, then 10 minutes from gym to home. As I’ve mentioned before I am so glad that my apartment happened to be in such an opportune location.  This happened only because of chance, and I wouldn’t have understood the importance of location before signing simply because I didn’t understand how difficult transportation can be.

I’ve been told that both traffic and population has been increasing rapidly in Amman over the last few years. This proportional relationship is no surprise. People need to be where they need to be, and without either reliable or widespread public transportation, cabs and people’s personal cars clog the streets, highways and overpasses at all times of the, and especially at morning and afternoon rush hour.  And with little regard for things like lanes and stop signs, Amman’s roadways provide a perfect visual definition of the phrase “cluster fuck.”  For pedestrians, this means that 0ne does not wait for a light to turn to a blinking white stick figure man to cross the street. Instead, one waits until the traffic in front of him slows enough, or in some lucky cases, completely stops so that one may cross the street in (relative) safety.   That said, there are traffic lights in some locations which people do obey.  But this is more the exception than the rule.  Additionally, I’ve heard Jordanians themselves describe stop signs as “decoration only.”

Even in the places where traffic does at least flow, taxis somehow are at a premium.  I’ve waited up to 45 minutes looking for taxis during rush hours. Some times it will take me all of 5 seconds to walk out my door and hail a cab; other times I’ll walk out my door, down the street, to the circle, to the main road, and beyond before I’ll find an open cab.  Other times, I’ll find several open cabs, but as soon as I mention where I’m going, the cab driver shakes his head and moves on. (Most times, you tell the cab driver where you’re going before you hop in the cab.  Sometimes they have a job they’re going to and your destination is the other way. Other times, who knows what.)  Sometimes, cabs will try to charge a off-the-meter rate for even short trips during rush hour.  You have every right to refuse this offer, but sometimes taxis can be so scarce that you’ll even pay a dinar extra ($1.42) for a 10 minute ride.   (This would make the ride double what is usually costs).  I’m sure foreigners are more often than not the victims of this cabbie price hike phenomenon, but I’ve seen cabbies do it to Jordanians as well. 

I was the victim of this scheme just today, but I am proud to say that I talked (barely) my way out of it.  It turned out that if I wanted to sign up for the group trip to Petra this weekend, I would have to go straight from work to Qasid (the language center where I’ll be taking Arabic classes).  Once I got money from an ATM, I stood on the side of the road with a finger out, my arm slightly lifted, yet still pointing to the pavement, as to signify to the passing cabs that I was looking. After 5 minutes,  a cab finally stopped for me, and I told him “Mukhtar Mall” (the nearest, best-known landmark to the place I was actually going). He nodded and I hopped in. After about one minute in the cab and some slow moving due to traffic, the cab diver exclaimed

“It’s two dinar because of the traffic” as he gestured to the cars in front of us.

I was pissed, but I did recognize that there was a lot of traffic and I wanted to get to the school to reserve my spot for the trip. I shot the driver a look of disbelief and asked in my awful Arabic  “Two dinar? Mukhtar mall is not far. Two dinar is too expensive. One and a half. That’s it.” But as we drove on, the traffic opened up so I pointed to the running meter (which was only at about 60 cents) and said “Look here!”  Then I pointed to the lack of traffic in front of us and said “And here, there are not many cars! 2 dinar? Shame on you!” And then I lowered my eyes to the floor and I shook my head from side to side, clicking my tongue as mothers do when their children are doing something naughty. ( I stole this from one of the teachers I work with. Whenever a child is talking, she slowly turns to the student, raising her eyebrows and clicking her tongue at this student’s misbehavior.)

I continued to shake my head in silence with a disappointed look on my face until the driver looked back at me through the rear few mirror and said something like “I don’t want any problems.” (Ma biddi za3lan? Any Arabic speakers reading this?) I craned my neck and raised my eyebrows to indicate I didn’t really know what he was saying.  He translated for me “Ya3ni, excuse me.”

 “Tayyeb,” I told him, and shook my head in agreement. We arrived at my destination a few minutes later and the fair was 85 cents. I put a dinar in his hand and left the cab in silence.

Perhaps I got carried away in relaying to you this 10 minute period in my life, but I was very proud of this moment in that I could understand well enough what was going on contextually and also was able to use enough Arabic to defend myself. Mashallah. It’s a good feeling.

Point of this aside on cabs and public transportation being: I am happy to have the ability to walk to and from work and avoid spending hours waiting for public transport.

And 2 Microsoft Word pages later turns out that I’ve only touched on one of the five topics that I wanted to cover in this blog post. Ma3lish. I have to run now to see a movie as part of the Chilean film festival (I know, very important commitment).  But coming soon: Teaching High School in Amman, My Trip to the Dead Sea, Global Perspective on Arabs

New life in Amman, thus far

I’ve been in Jordan now for two weeks and two days and so far, so good. I have learned so much just in my daily interactions with people and in making my way around the city. I have been incredibly “blessed” in knowing and spending time with my friend’s family who lives here in Amman. I don’t have anything astute to share just yet, but in case you’re curious about my day-to-day, here’s an overview of my life so far in this small yet vast and simple yet complex country.

 (I have to first give the disclaimer that these views are not the official views of the Fulbright organization and are in no way linked to the United States Government. I have no affiliation with the US Embassy and any views expressed are solely based on my own personal experiences.)

 When I first arrived, I stayed for a few days at my friend’s parent’s beautiful home on the northeast side of Amman. It was more than wonderful to be able to be picked up from the airport by a local family and have a comfortable and welcoming place to stay while becoming acclimated with the city. They served me delicious Arabic food and all in all, made me feel at home. My friend himself took me out to several sights around the city and out to Wadi Mujib. Wadi Mujib a nature reserve which is basically a tall, narrow canyon with a river running through it. An hour or so drive out of Amman, you need private transportation to get there. Entry price is a little steep at 16 JD (~$22.50). At the visitor’s center, my friend, his brother and I donned a life jacket and walked down to the river where our excursion began. At first, you can shy away from the water and walk along the banks, but at a certain point not too far from the entrance, you have to literally get your feet wet. For about 45 minutes, we trudged up the stream towards the waterfall at the end of the gorge or, at the beginning of the river. My friend helped me face my fears along the way, encouraging me to climb up slippery wet boulders and walk around, behind and through the waterfall. At first I envisioned myself cracking my head open or drowning in the 2-3 feet of standing water, but alas, neither took place. Alhamdulillah.

 We began the Fulbright orientation a few days later and for about three days, sat in a room and listened to various people drone on about the sundry dangers of living in Jordan. Diseases you can catch. People who might harm you. Clothes you shouldn’t wear. Places you shouldn’t venture. The chain of events that would take place in case of evacuation. (This was particularly interesting, as they gave the example of Israel sending a nuclear missile to Iran, consequently jeopardizing Jordanian air space. Given that Syria’s in disarray, Lebanon’s a little shaky, and Saudi is not place for us to venture into, over land travel to Baghdad where we could be airlifted would be our best bet. And anytime your best bet is drive into Iraq and be airlifted from Baghdad, you know things aren’t looking too hot for you. But in all honestly the likelihood of this is very small.)

 So after receiving word the cultural and political do and do-not’s (which I did appreciate, but which do not overly concern me), we went on a mad dash apartment hunt around the city. This was especially stressful because they told us “Look around for who you might want to live with. First come, first served after we see the apartments. We’re looking today and tomorrow.” I went into the day not knowing who I would live with or where I would live or even really having thought about any of this, and came away knowing who I would live with, where I would live and having already made the agreement with the landlady.

 While I struggled to make this decision so quickly and felt extremely anxious about whether or not this was the “right decision,” in the end I am satisfied with the choice. What concerned me so much was all of the things that we had to do in order to make our place liveable. Not livable in the sense that there was a lot of fixing up to do. On the contrary, this place was fully furnished, with appliances, silverware, furniture, closets, hangers, beds, brand new sheets, balcony furniture, cooking ware, etc. However it had no internet, no “solar” (diesel oil stored in a large cubed tank outside and used to heat water for the shower and heat the radiators in the winter), and no drinking water. Some apartments for rent come with all of these amenities already set up, but this particular apartment did not. I was overwhelmed thinking that I would have to navigate the streets of Amman to find these things. But at the end of the day, I still signed the lease and forged ahead.

 The apartment ended up being in a great location for me in that my school is a 30 minute walk or a 1 JD cab ride away. That works out quite well because there is little public transportation apart from some busses which go from city to city and others which run down Amman’s main roads only. They do not penetrate most of the neighborhood and side roads which are the ones I would need to talk to get to work. It’s also a great location in terms of proximity to grocery stores. This was another concern I had about choosing my apartment’s location: feeding myself. It turned out that my apartment has a corner store just across the street (a one minute walk from my door to the door of Laymouna Market), a bigger corner store complete with fruits and veggies one block away (a 4 minute walk) and a ginormous Safeway (related to the American Safeway chain, I’m guessing).

 In terms of obtaining all the amenities that we take for granted in the United States, that wasn’t too difficult either. We walked into the cell phone and internet provider store, Zain, and walked out with a wireless router that we just had to plug in and turn on. The only caveat about internet here is that the data usage is limited. That is, we purchased the 20 GBs for 27 JD package. And fifteen days later, lo and behold, we have reached our limit. Once you reach your limit, you technically still have internet access, just at a slower-than-tortoise rate. For example, I had a notification on my phone that a friend tagged me in several pictures on Facebook. It took about one minute for my Facebook homepage to load, then a few more minutes before the first photo loaded. And forget about watching anything on youtube or listening to streams of anything. In fact, my roommates and I guessed that our we reached our limit so quickly because of streaming youtube videos. We decided that we’ll cut out all youtube use and limit skype video to once a week. Apparently Skype voice and Viber doesn’t take too much data.

 As for the diesel, we had to speak with our building’s haaris, or go-to man. Most apartment buildings have a haaris to watch over the building and manage the various maintenance tasks. Our haaris, previously Tharwat, currently and temporarily his cousin Ahmad, lives in a room in the basement of the apartment building and is available for your any need. He collects rings your doorbell once a day to collect garbage. He will pick up a grocery at the nearby market if you need it. He washes tenants cars and cleans the premise of the building. He also arranges for the diesel truck to pass by and fill the tank in the basement/ garage. Thanks to my Arabic-speaking roommate, we were able to arrange a time and I volunteered to be home at the time when the diesel truck would arrive. Each individual tenant has a key to the padlock which guards this black liquid gold in its tank. (In fact, solar is so expensive, but so necessary, that apartments’ diesel tanks are often broken into and their contents siphoned off and taken away.) I brought down my key to the tank and watched the man pump 500 liters of diesel (also called solarium, or solar) into the tank. This cost us 265 JDs and will hopefully last us until January or February. However, there’s really no telling because it depends completely on our ability effectively plan our hot water usage.

 Up until about 30 minutes ago, we also had an electric speed heater to immediately heat water in a shower in one of our bathrooms. This is probably the most effective means of heating water, because it is localized to the shower that we are using (while turning on the solar heats the water for the entire apartment.) However, a fellow Fulbrighter who ran out of water at her apartment and was using the shower at our apartment in the meantime used it incorrectly (turned on the heater without turning on the water) and therefore, literally burned out the shower head. Because there was not a steady stream of water through the speed heater, the water already in the pipe became super heated and melted the plastic shower head and preventing the flow of water through it. We called our landlady and are looking into getting this fixed, but its Friday and wallah, nobody is working today.

 We are lucky in that we have not had problems with water for everyday use (toilets, shower, sinks, washing machine), but we are lazy in that we have not yet called to set up a drinking water delivery service. The tap water here is non potable unless boiled. That means that we can use it for tea, coffee or cooking purposes. However for an ice cold glass of water, we have to buy bottled water from the store. This hasn’t been a problem at all because 5 gallon jugs are sold at the corner store just across from our house and while heavy, are no problem to carry to 50 feet from the store to our kitchen. However we’ll soon have to give the water delivery company a call and set up the service. We have the number hanging on our refrigerator; it’s just a question of who is willing to trudge through a Arabic phone conversation, invariably giving the person on the other end of the line a good laugh and embarrassing herself in the process.

 The next amenity that I am looking to obtain is a gym membership. Though this is technically more a luxury than necessity, I see it as completely necessary in maintaining my mental, emotional and physical wellness over the next year. Whereas in the US its easy to don a pair of tennis shoes and run around any neighborhood, that is nearly impossible here for both geographic reasons. Simply put, Amman is built on a series of hills which in any sense would make it quite difficult to go on a 30 minute jog. For those of you who read that and say “Well, great! Who wouldn’t want a hilly, challenging daily run?” I challenge you to come here and try it out. In addition to the complete lack of flat surfaces, the sidewalks here are made for everything but walking. The elevation changes every 20 feet or so, making way for a driveway, or giving way to a set of stairs to help you scale the steep incline. Additionally, it seems someone thought it might be cute to plant trees and shrubs along the sidewalk, as we have in the US. While this idea is nice in theory, this person did not think ahead to when the tree would grow to a size where it takes up, in fact, the entire sidewalk, completely defeating the purpose of the path on which it was placed in the first place. The thrill runners still might say, “Oh, well then just run in the street!” Again, I invite any of these people to Amman to attempt running in the one-to-two foot margin between the parked cars and the cars which speed, zoom and weave down the already narrow streets. Additionally, the multitude of construction sites along the streets will provide you an extra obstacle with their metal poles, wood beams and loose tools lying on the side of the road. If you REALLY value your health, you would see that simply not running at all is the best way to maintain a healthy life.

 To avoid these problems, I have chosen to join a luxury gym which is a 10 minute walk from my house and is on the way to my school. When I checked it out last week, I was amazed. It’s two stories containing several different work out areas: a spinning studio, two studios for aerobic classes (salsa, zumba, belly dancing, yoga, pilates and the list goes on), a lounge area with wifi and complimentary refreshments, DVDs for check out, and a women’s-only zone. It is common for gyms here to have either a women’s-only area or have women’s hours. Because many women dress conservatively for personal and religious purposes, they feel most comfortable in short work-out shirts and a tank top only in the company of other women. Alternatively, people like me who have no problem bearing it all, simply feel more comfortable in an all-women’s area because there are no men to gawk and stare. Because Jordan is a society where the women’s place is still more in the home, it is rare to see a lot of women out and about in the streets. It is even more rare to see women bearing skin out in the streets. So it makes sense that if a woman is wearing shorts and a T-shirt at the gym, simply because this is what is comfortable for exercising and not because she is looking to show off, a man would gawk and stare because it is so uncommon to see women bearing this much skin. (And because men are overly sexual creatures in the first place, a fact that I have gathered from my own personal life experience, not only in interactions with Jordanian men.)

Additionally, I chose this “luxury” gym because of its clientele. With its steep monthly rate (around 60 JDs), it’s a given that only wealthy Jordanians are able to afford a membership. So I chose Fitness First because I want to get in with the rich and handsome Arab men, right? Wrong. It can be assumed that wealthy people here in Jordan either a) were educated and/ or made their money outside of Jordan or b) have family money/ made their money here and have had opportunities to travel outside of Jordan. This tells me that they have spent time in countries where women are successful entrepreneurs, students, mothers, athletes, executives, etc. It tells me that they have seen women walking around in shorts, tank tops, mini-skirts, or bikinis just going about their business. This tells me that they are likely to have female friends who they value as intelligent human beings and not just sexual objects. Maybe they have even seen these good female friend wearing booty shorts and still, at the end of the day, valued this friend for her intellect over her ass. (Then again, that’s a lot to ask of any guy, and to be honest, I wouldn’t mind being valued for both). So back to my point: I like this gym because it’s #1) baller and #2) a place where I am likely to feel comfortable working out. I have officially joined yet because we are in price negotiations with the membership salesman, Mahmood. As was recommended by our program director, we rolled up to the gym with a group of five girls and demanded a group rate over the exorbitant individual rate he was asking of us. He is currently in negotiations with the group sales director in Dubai and will get back to us within a few days, insha’allah.

 Well, after a few hours sitting in my apartment, I feel that I should be getting out to enjoy Amman on this beautiful Friday afternoon. There is still much to tell, but I shall save this for the proverbial rainy day, as it seems there are only a few rainy days each year in this country.

a troubling occurance

today, a student accused me of being "average." when i quickly retorted that i find myself to be above average, thank you very much, she asked "well why are you teaching here then?" ... aquí hay problema... if students themselves believe that they don't deserve the best, how will they push themselves to achieve it? OR if they think that teachers are supposed to be just "average" people then why should they believe what we say to be true or helpful?

Fulbright Statement of Grant Purpose

I'm going to Jordan y'all. Here's why:


STATEMENT OF GRANT PURPOSE
Maria Ramirez, Jordan, English Teaching Assistantship
Beginning my second year as a middle school Spanish teacher, I have found that teaching this language is really only a small portion of my job. Of course, in planning my lessons on Sunday evening, I make sure to align my overarching objective to the state-mandated Spanish curriculum. But once thirty little bodies walk through my classroom door, I remember that there is more than just vocabulary and verbs that I would like them to take away from class.
I am applying for the Fulbright English Teaching Assistantship for just this reason. Since receiving my undergraduate degree from the University of Wisconsin-Madison and beginning my Masters of Arts in Teaching at American University, I have fallen in love with the teaching profession. The time in the classroom that I spend interacting with students keeps me coming back for more. After exploring other professions and different graduate school programs, I could not conceive of another job equally as meaningful and frankly as enjoyable as a foreign language teacher.
Working as an English language teacher in Jordan, I would employ my knowledge of linguistics and trends in teaching foreign language to create an interactive and cooperative classroom in which all students would be actively engaged in experiencing the English language and American culture. In returning to the United States, I would be able to use my experience with Jordanian students and the Jordanian education system as a foundation from which to continue to build an internationally connected classroom for my future American students. And as the United States continues to be politically involved in the Arab world without an adequate number of American Arabic speakers, teaching the Arabic language to and cultivating an interest in Arab culture in our nations’ youth greatly appeals to me as well.
Working with students who have rarely left their community, it is my vision to transform my students from citizens strictly of Maryland into citizens of the world. It is my belief that until students are exposed to the rich cultural background of the target language, they cannot truly become fluent. I realized this myself when I was thrown into Egyptian culture and society in 2006 as a recipient of the AFS Intercultural Programs and National Strategic Language Initiative- Youth language study program. Though I initially applied to study in Cairo because I wanted to be able to understand the lyrics to Amr Diab’s greatest hits, I left with a newly awakened passion for the Arabic language and a fiery interest in Middle Eastern culture and politics.
I would like to teach English in Jordan specifically because of my combined interest in education and the Arabic culture and language. I am excited for the possibility to teach in a country which pushes bilingualism at an early age and whose leaders value the institution of public education. Additionally, I am eager to continue my Arabic studies by interacting with people in and out of the classroom, focusing my studies especially on the Levantine dialect. And after countless conversations over bowls of the green and gooey molokhiyya and the latest Nancy Ajram hit humming in the background, my Jordanian friends have proven their homeland as the best place for this type of experience. Their stories about laying under the stars in Wadi Rum or sharing endless cups of cardamom-flavored coffee in a friend’s dining room have allowed me to see the Middle East outside of the limited view I gained in Cairo. And knowing that I will have adoptive friends and family upon arrival draws me in even more.
Time and time again, Jordan presents itself as a center for rich ancient culture, vast national diversity and warm, welcoming people. The more I learn about my peers’ experiences in Jordan, the more I cannot wait to hop onto a crowded bus on my way to work, greeting my new neighbors with a friendly “al-salaamu alaikum.”

Fulbright Personal Statement

I since I know this essay is a winner, I figure I may as well put it up.


PERSONAL STATEMENT
Maria Ramirez, Jordan, English Teaching Assistantship
“Ms. Ramirez, I don’t mean to be all up in your business, but is you and your family… illegal?” I decided to take a break from –AR verb conjugations to watch and discuss a documentary about young Central American immigrants making their way north to the United States. And instead of being highly offended at this no-so-politically correct question, I thanked Alexander for speaking up and used it to turn the discussion towards every teacher’s dream: the “teachable moment.”
Whereas five years ago I may have turned up my nose at such a question and deemed someone ignorant for asking it, I find my reaction to be quite different these days. As a second-year middle school Spanish teacher and the only Hispanic adult in the school building, I have grown accustomed to misunderstandings about my birthplace in America’s Dairyland and inquiries about how I speak English so well.
Growing up in a small and rather conservative city, I was a very confused teenager. Should I be annoyed with the people who seem to only focus on my “exotic look” or should I enjoy getting a leg up in acceptance on committees because it looked good to have a Ramirez on the roster? It was not until I had the chance to leave my hometown and explore other parts of the world that I decided I did not have to choose one or the other; instead I greatly benefitted from my identity in that it actually allowed me to become a cultural chameleon, adapting to any culture, context or community in which I would find myself.
Spending six weeks with a conservative Muslim host family in a suburb of Cairo put this notion to the test. As an 18-year-old Wisconsinite who had never before experienced any big city, Cairo was the ultimate first introduction to traffic, overcrowding and culture shock. Sharing a three-bedroom apartment with an Egyptian family of six, I certainly had to adapt. No longer was I an independent American high school graduate with a part-time job, car and her parents’ complete trust. Instead, I was an illiterate, unmarried Muslim daughter, totally dependent on her parents and family for food, transportation and lessons in cultural competency.
For this reason, my visit to the Middle East was not your typical see-the-pyramids, ride-a-camel vacation. But for the same reason, I credit this sole experience for preparing me mentally and emotionally for everything that came after. Being engrained into a culture and society so different from my own, I realized that that I did not have to be limited by the stereotypes that other people cast upon me and no two labels were mutually exclusive. Instead, I could be “mi hija” to my Mexican-American grandmother, “ya habibti” to my Egyptian mother and father and “Maria” to my American family and friends.
My identity has continued to shift and transform especially after becoming a teacher as part of Teach for America’s national education movement. Over the past year, I have found myself in countless new roles, some of which- mentor, educator, behavior monitor- I expected, and others- lunchroom supervisor, Spanish interpreter, public education advocate- which I did not. Yet, all of which I embrace as part of my ever-evolving identity.
I know that I am potentially throwing myself into a quite uncertain scenario where I could be living in either a big city or small village, teaching perhaps small children or adults. But knowing that my life experiences have led me to be able to find my way around a 19-million person urban jungle and manage a classroom of 37 thirteen-year-olds makes me confident that no matter the responsibilities placed upon me, I will manage. I will struggle until I find what is right and what is appropriate for where I am and for the task at hand. And through it all, I will share with my students a part of each of my past experiences while asking for their help in shaping my current experience and future identity.