Welcome to Jordan

                                                                                                                                                                

Ahlan Wasahlan

                “Welcome to Jordan” are the first words I heard when I arrived to the Queen Rania Airport in Amman, Jordan.  These words were said in English. It seems that everyone wants to welcome me to Jordan once they find out I am from America, even after two weeks. I imagine it will be like this the rest of my time here, a period of four months. After working with many Arabs in the United States, I have come to learn a different culture but a culture I felt was subdued by the Western Culture in which they were present in. These are the people I study for school and my impressions I felt were altered a little bit. Maybe the Arabs I met were accustomed to Western thought and experience has transformed them. I knew I had to get to the Middle East for myself to see what the Arab was like; in his atmosphere, in his realm, and in his own home.  Jordanians are interesting folk, if you can even use the term folk. They are loud, thoughtful, deceitful, kind, helpful, ambitious, talkative, deceived, and patient. Now not all Jordanians are each characteristic I just mentioned, not at all. I feel those characteristics I feel can describe almost any society in the world. For my first assignment of writing about the culture, I’d like to explain my first 24 hours, my first welcome from the country, and my first impression of finally being in the Arab world.

First views of Jordan

               Air France. Don’t ever fly with them. Their customer service while on the plane is fantastic but their luggage transfers are subpar. This was their second time losing my luggage in Paris in less than a week. While at the airport I had my friend’s cousin, Hashem Al Nasser, waiting for me. He waited patiently, without smoking a cigarette for one whole hour in the airport, as I got my luggage situation taken care of. Hashem Al Nasser and I first met on Facebook (Most Arabs love Facebook); we hadn’t met in person prior to the airport. I was impressed with his ability to be patient with my luggage situation. He then drove towards Amman. Along the road, I saw families huddled around a small tent and camp fire (it was at night), probably cooking something with meat. I asked Hashem if this is where they lived, he said no, it was their way of getting out of the city and enjoying time with their family. We then went to dilwar ilbalad, or downtown of Amman. It was crowded and so bright with lights. We went to his favorite restaurant, Hashem’s. No it wasn’t his favorite place because of the name; I quickly learned it was because of the pita and hummus that was served. Just thinking of it makes my mouth water. Then he drove us around the city, demanding that we see at least one of the hills. You see, Jordan is built on many hills (or mountains), much of the old city falls between these hills where the water would run down. Now the city is much bigger and each area has its name. We drove down Rainbow Street, which is supposed to be where most foreigners were. We didn’t get out of the car, simply drove through the rigged traffic in a maybe two lane road. As we slowly drove down this street, we saw many cafes and restaurants, many of them with hookahs—an instrument to smoke basically anything you put into it. We then saw many women that were outside of what the media typically shows, they were unveiled, immodestly dressed and plastered in makeup. These women were surprisingly looked more like Arabs than foreigners. This is where Hashem invited me to get a girlfriend. The Arabs I saw were fairly attractive, much more in person than I expected, but a girlfriend was not an option because I already had one. He let me and my friend, Keith, use his cell phone to call our mothers back in the United States. He dropped us off at our hotel; it was a grand first night. We were ecstatic to be in Jordan and had a great introduction. Thank you to a new friend in a foreign land.

View of Amman from Rainbow street

Sun Rise Hotel was very interesting. It apparently is the oldest hotel in Amman, which I am sure it is one of the older hotels in Amman. It was run down, but it did have wireless internet. I found myself going down to the lobby asking for the password for the wireless internet so I could contact family and find the address to the place we needed to be the next day. It was no sooner found myself sitting down with the foondook owner and his friend helping them find companies that insure the oil rigs in the Persian Gulf. They later told me they wanted to buy stock in these companies because they thought they will become very rich if they did. I thought to myself why would they get rich from them? But I didn’t let it bother me too much. They then noticed my iPhone and asked if I was going to get the iPhone 5. They asked if it was really see-through, or transparent. I laughed and said there is no way they would do that. They must have seen the same predictions/fake photos of the iPhone 5 I saw on the internet. They then started to speak to me in Arabic—about politics. They asked me if I liked Obama and Bush. They began to state how profoundly they hated Bush because of the wars which he brought to the Middle East all for oil. They stated they didn’t like Obama but they also didn’t like Romney. They muttered that he wasn’t even a Christian, that America should have an American president.  “Mormons, don’t believe in Christ,” one said. “Why would America ever have a non-believing Christian?” “He is a Mormon and must be magnuun (crazy).” Even though their words were filled with disgust about this topic, I looked at them with some excitement. I said, “Ana mormonee zay Romney (I am a Mormon like Romney). “  I explained to them that I believe in Jesus Christ. They questioned all different aspects of how I believed in Christ. They then seemed to have run out of complaints about Romney and the Mormons. I knew at least one of them was Muslim because I had to wait for him to finish praying before I could check in.

They then went back into the topic of stocks for the oil insurance companies. It finally bugged me enough to ask them why they wanted to invest in these companies.

“Because we will get rich.”

“Why?”

“Because Israel and America will be at war with Iran very soon.”

“Why would you want war?”

“So we can get rich, very very rich.”

“I hope they don’t go to war. In fact, I don’t think there will be a war at all.”

One stood up and said, “I hope there is a war! I want to be a rich man.”

                This logic made great sense. Hate President Bush for bringing wars to the Middle East, say it was for his own personal gain for oil, etc. but then want a war just so you can get rich off of stock from insurance companies that we weren’t even able to find for the last hour. I wish I had known better Arabic at this moment because my response of why there probably won’t be a war and how they shouldn’t want for a war didn’t seem to reach them.  I encouraged them to invest in Google, Macintosh, or something they use. They didn’t want to do that. I went back to the hotel room, told Keith about the conversation and then realized I had lost my iPhone.

Our Sun Rise Hotel room

                That next morning, I prayed I would find my iPhone. It was my future lifeline for Amman let alone worth hundreds of dollars. Shortly after taking a cold shower, I got a knock on the door; it was the owner of the foondook which I spoke with last night. He pulled something out of his pocket and asked, “Is this yours?” It was my iPhone! I could tell from the case it was in but now it was all scratched up. “Yes! It is mine, where did you get it?!” “Come, follow me,” he said. I followed him all the way down the stairs and into the street. He said, “Hunna (here) my son found it at 2am in the morning.” He pointed at a spot on the street near the curb. It must have fallen out of my pocket or my lap when I got out of Hashem's car the night before. He knew it was mine from the photos on the phone (I always knew it was good to not put a passcode on the iPhone!) and he made something very clear to me. He said, “Here at my hotel, I don’t lie or cheat. In America, someone would have taken it. Now write a good review of my hotel on the internet.” I nodded my head, said several thank you’s in Arabic and went back to my hotel room. Wow, what an amazing man and son for not taking my phone, a very expensive one, too. He was honest and wanted to get rich through a war, what a great introduction to Jordan! And a prayer answered most certainly. 

                Keith and I soon after took a taxi to our next meeting place, charged us four dinars (about $7) which should have really been half a dinar (about $1). Yep, ahlan wasahlan to Jordan.