One Hypoallergenic Cat= Happy Me

Everyone, meet Potchi(pooootcheee). Potchi is a domesticated carnivorous feline from the family felidae.

Potchi is the only Felis catus in the entire world, maybe the universe, that I am not allergic too. Potchi and I have known each other for a little more than a month. Our first meeting was awkward, to say the least. I was afraid that my home life for the next few months would be terribly uncomfortable due to the sensitivity of my hystamine production.

Luckily, things are merry between Potchi and me. She likes to slip into my a moire and cuddle up on my clean neatly folded clothes. Her hair gets all over and I don't sneeze. It is a miracle. Ilhamddu lilaah. I was meant to be in the Alissa home.

بمزح

I remember once a boy in one of my classes asked if Arabs had a sense of humor.

I can testify that they indeed do.

I am not sure if it is the fact that I am a foreigner or if they just pull everyone's legs but believe me when I say get a lot of jokes pulled on me.

A sense of humor, nodding, and a constant dumb smile on my face gets me through many situations.

Example:

I had a big laugh with the head guy of my local police station today.

I finally renewed my passport. After enduring official police procedure for an hour, my ability to detect jokes was not at its top condition. The official-looking policeman asked,

"Shu biddik?"(what do YOU want?), in a very staunch unforgiving voice.

me:"I want my visa renewed."

official-looking police man:"la'a (no)."

me:" an jad?"(really?)

he laughs and so do all the other men in the room.

me:" bimzah?( joking?) he nods. Haram aleek!"(Shame on you)

Knowing the word joking in Arabic has a been very useful in my time in Amman.

The Mafrag boys are back in Wasat ilBalad

The arrival of the "Mafrag Boys" in Amman always means more fun for me. I am living in a city where I can be a strong, independent, and active women but only on the condition I be all those things during the daylight hours. Unfortunately for me, Amman's most culturally stimulating activities all take place under the cover of night. Cue shabab.

It all began Friday night when I had the opportunity to play Arab host. I invited the shabab(youth) over to my house for some good ol' fashion home hanging. While in some traditional Jordanian homes the idea of a young women inviting a horde of young men with patchy facial hair over to her home for entertaining might be an unfathomable scheme, I find myself in a family that is always receptive to my social plans and allow me to host friends in their home. I think their coolness stems from their fascination in the existence of so many Arabic-studying youth from some state near California (This is how you have to describe where Utah is to most Jordanians). My family loves to talk and to entertain. My time in Amman has given me plenty of chances to experience Jordanian hospitality within the home. So, I reveled in the opportunity to try my hand at authentic Arab hosting practices.

Rule 1:

The host must always have some kind of beverage available for the guest.

Rule 2:

Food should always be offered and can be refused by the guest.

Rule 3:

Overwhelm guests with fantastic presentation of treats and a open invitation for late night conversation.

We munched on creme and fruit filled powdered pastries from Donut factory as we sipped on Seben( Seven-Up).

Later, we drank Zaatar(Thyme) tea. Zataar is often given to Arab children by their parents on days of exams because of it is believed to be good for the mind and body. Fidaa drinks it to get rid of her congestion.

When the glass is empty, that is when the host knows the visitor is ready to leave.

The shabab made their exit and we all planned on seeing each other on Saturday.

Saturday:

Annie and I attended a party at a women's shelter and after we headed to Wasat albalad (city center).

We met james and robert

Ate dirty shwerma

walked to Ud stores( In reality, glorified hookah shops)

did some fruit shopping in the shaded souq

ate some free produce

found cyrus

met aline and lavon

ate ice cream

chilled at a cafe and sipped cocktails

looked for more Ud

met musicians

went to Garden street

ate tawouk sandwhich

went and watched The World Cup in a tent

America tied with England

Came home and slept.

Days are full and good with the Mafrag boys around.

One month down.

Yesterday, was a busy day of run around. My one month marker in Jordan was also my last day of work at MoSD headquarters. Before I started my last day of work, I first had to go and receive my second HIV test at the dirtiest little center I have ever stepped into. Turns out that private medical tests are not accepted by big man government here. I assume that policy might have to do with the fact that individuals can easily get test results fixed by private doctors. I guess I should have known better.

Work has been slow since my main task giver moved to Canada. Oh the joys of inconstancy. Something I have come to accept, is that I can expect my plans to never work out the way I want them to. I can rely more on public transportation than I can the workings of any government institution. My experience with the hoop jumping within Jordan has been enlightening. Since the day was slow, I persuaded my fellow intern to take off work and travel marka with me. I needed to go and figure out my route and meet with my future boss. After, waiting for two hours and consuming two kibeh, one shwerma and one glass of terrible coffee, I was able to meet both of the head women at the shelter and explore the premises. Um tariq and Amal were on there way out so they wrapped things up quickly and concluded with an invitation to their art exhibit/party/food thing tomorrow. I can't wait to go and meet more of the women and see more of dar al wefaq. My time there will be challenging but I think that it will change me and them for the better.

not microwave friendly: sandwitshy Hamoudeh

The concept of a warm Nutella sandwich seemed like a delicious idea at the time.............

Result:

dry khubz

separated hazelnut spread

Mantastic Americana

Some days, when I come home from a long day of office working, I like to sit on my bed with a stack of pillows behind me and escape into the melodic magic of MY American music. Recently, I have found bluesy bliss in the Black Keys new album "Brothers." Of course, complete allusiveness cannot be totally achieved in my energetic Arab home but I enjoy spreading the "westoxication" of my eclectic musical tastes. I have already hooked my host sister, Joud, on The Beatles by introducing her to the song "Hey Jude." She loves that they say her name over and over again throughout the length of the song. The song has sparked some conflict in the home though..........Hamoudeh is now demanding a western song with his name in the lyrics. I have searched diligently but have not succeeded in finding a " Hey Hamoudeh" song. We compromise by just swapping the names out from time to time.

Unfortunately my influence has been only superficial, the kids still think my music is weird and call my favorite artists "magnuun" (crazy). Kids just don't understand.

Taxi Driver Wisdom:

(Conversation in Arabic)

Me: Your car is very sweet(or nice).

Sweet little taxi man: Your eyes are very sweet. When your eyes are sweet, they see only sweetness.

Me: Thank you.

SLTM: Your heart is good. When your heart is good, you see only good. When your heart is black, all you see is black.

Me: Right.