Over the last few weeks, I went with five other girls to get a blood test done, and to extend our visas while we wait for our residency permit or “Iqama.” The first day we went at 8:30 to the main office for extending our visas, and loaded 6 people in a car (4 girls in the back) for the ride. A man called Abu Firas took us to the police station because he has connections and he knows the process well, meaning that it is less tedious than it could be.
Our first stop was the station where they take official blood samples in order to test for HIV, Hepatitis C, etc. According to what I’ve heard, if you have a positive result in the test, you are immediately deported and not allowed to return. You can’t get the residency card without having the test done in Jordan (it doesn’t matter if you were previously tested for HIV in the USA). The station we went to had lines of immigrants outside. Abu Firas said that they were all Egyptian. Inside, we walked up a few flights of stairs and entered an office-like room where there was a man on a computer and a second one sitting at a table with a stack of needles. He was taking people’s blood more efficiently than I have seen someone do it before (probably 2 minutes per person). Gone were the reassuring words of a nurse who makes conversation to distract you from the idea of the needle. Simply, you sat down and he took your blood without a word.
There was a bit of concern that the needles weren’t clean, because he would uncover the needle before the one being tested sat down. Abu Firas and everyone else we have asked have assured us that the needles are always clean in Jordan, and there haven’t been issues with it. Having heard horror stories coming out of Saudi Arabia (for instance) about friends’ family members receiving blood transfusions that contained Hepititus C, I admit I was concerned that I didn’t get to see him remove the clean needle.
Then, we went to get our visas extended. When the first station couldn’t get us the stamps we needed, we drove around 30 minutes to the other side of town to another station. By then, it was hot afternoon, and the 4 of us in the back of the car were getting uncomfortable. We ended up getting the stamps we needed, and headed back to the Fulbright house around noon.
When we got back, Abu Firas realized that the stamp had not lengthened my stay, instead it had shortened it by 4 days. I was frustrated that the whole day had been spent for this result. However, he offered to take my passport back without me going in order to extend the visa for a month.
Two days ago, my Iqama was approved, which, “coincidentally, means I don’t have HIV!” (as one friend put it so well). I went to pick it up at the police station with 6 other people and Abu Firas. It was a painless trip this time, and now I have my oh so shiny Jordanian residency card. They did put the wrong date for my birthday on it (January 1) which I think was as result of sheer indifference.
My residency card
Speaking of Police…
There is a strong sense of community here, as I have seen elsewhere in the Middle East. People don’t like to be alone for the most part, and as a result people never leave you by yourself. You rarely see someone walking or eating alone, for instance. Another example is that when I am on my campus, I never see students alone–they are always in groups of around 2-8 standing in the parking lot or by the cafeteria.
I pass the main police academy and parliament every night as I go to the gym by taxi. Both locations are guarded 24/7 by police officers. I always see them walking two by two, talking and laughing together. It makes me smile in the dark as I pass them (no smiling if people can see you, oh no!) Even a dull night outside a government building can be passed easily with company. Adversely, the guards that stand out in front of ACOR, the Fulbright House, embassies, etc. are alone and sit in small, human-sized boxes making sure that the foreigners are safe. I always greet them, and I can’t imagine how isolating and boring that job must be–especially in a culture where being alone is often seen as either a punishment or an adversity.
Learning Silence from Taxis
When I first arrived in Jordan, my Arabic was so horrible that I couldn’t even direct the taxi where I wanted to go. Now, as long as I limit our interactions to just directions, they often mistake me for Jordanian. Wearing sunglasses helps too. This assumption is actually a relief. If they know you are foreign, they talk with you in a way that they wouldn’t with Jordanian girls. Because I have a reprieve from discussion with the drivers for the most part, now I get to enjoy a golden silence on my commutes.
Silence is really great, and we rarely get to have it in the presence of another human being unless we are in quiet communion with a significant other or family member. I remember having these moments with my mom for instance, while I was studying and she was reading nearby. Taxis have renewed my comfort level with silence in the presence of others, especially strangers. It’s always an interesting battle to overcome the awkwardness of silence, and I’m growing more comfortable with it.
Goals and “Hadifs”
I’m teaching my students a chapter on goals, dreams, and personal strengths. We have been talking a lot about what a person needs to overcome obstacles (new word), pursue their dreams, create clear goals, and also what prevents (new word) them from reaching their goals.
I added a writing assignment to my syllabus (the other section teachers don’t have one), and yesterday I presented the prompt and we did some freewriting about goals. It was halfway through me giving the definitions of thesis, topic sentence, conclusion, illustration, etc. that I realized that they had never heard these terms before (not only in English–also in Arabic). Sigh.
Well, we will be starting from scratch. They told me they have never written an essay in English (at their level, they should have), so I will be working on providing them with guidance, templates, examples, etc. in class. Because I got the feeling that they hadn’t done this AT ALL, I asked our Arabic dialect teacher, Khaled, at Qasid last night about Arabic essay composition. Do they teach it in high school? Is there a set way of doing things? Is it similar to English?
Khaled chuckled, and said that no there wasn’t really a set way–most people don’t learn it in school, in Arabic or English. He said he would provide me with a basic template in Arabic so that I can give it to them to compare to what I’ll be teaching in English. Since homework isn’t a thing here, I’ll be coaching them in writing the essay in class. I foresee struggle.
On a side note, the results of my exam were good. Most students did very well, and the ones who didn’t haven’t been in class. Three students have obviously not been in class for the last 4 weeks, because they never saw the exam announcement I made every class period for the 3 weeks before the exam. They took the other teacher’s exam on Saturday, and didn’t do all that well.
Thanksgiving
Our apartment building had a Thanksgiving party last Friday, hosted by our landlords. It ended up being a rather interesting experience. We had expected all the residents of the building to come, and for it to be a lovely multi-cultural event. However, what really happened is that 6 apartment residents came (4 of them were Christina, Matt, Hesham and I) and the rest were our landlord’s relatives. Christina and I had invited Sarah, our tutor, to come to see an “authentic” Thanksgiving, since that’s what we had expected it to be.
From the beginning of the evening, it became obvious that it was going to be an uncomfortable dynamic. All of our landlord’s relatives are Arab Christians, and Sarah is Muslim. They began their conversation with her by asking her (with the wrong tone of voice) “what house are you from?” This is a question that can be used neutrally, or negatively. Sarah doesn’t cover her head, and her name is religion-neutral, so it is not readily apparent what her religion is. She told them her name, which also identifies her as being from Palestinian descent. Then they proceeded to ask her questions like: what nationality takes the longest to learn Arabic? What kind of teaching qualifications do you have? Mind you, Sarah teaches Arabic to many of the US embassy staff, and is a commendable teacher (who cares about certifications on paper when you have the track record!).
Then, Christina and I were questioned about whether we were Christians, whether we went to church every Sunday, etc. (which we couldn’t do even if we wanted, because we work all day on Sundays). All of this was done in a curt and invasive manner. Finally, Hesham faces a challenge here that we other Arabic learners do not. Because his parents are Egyptian and he is Arab, Jordanians assume he will be fluent in Arabic. So, because is learning like the rest of us Fulbrighters and their expectations are wrong, he faces a lot of discrimination that we don’t. Rather than having a positive reaction to me learning, for instance, because I am American and have no ties to the region and I am still interested to learn the language and culture, they often react negatively to him learning. This involves rolling eyes and unappreciative “hmmphs.”
Needless to say, the evening wasn’t what we expected, or necessarily wanted to experience as a Thanksgiving dinner. However, it does bring to mind the family feuds that always seem to occur at family gatherings, where in-laws or cousins or relatives drive you mad.
Tomorrow, we will be celebrating Thanksgiving with a second dinner (how appropriate that we will be “stuffing” our faces twice) at the Fulbright House. All the grantees will be there, along with others that are involved in the program. This should be quite the party, with 75 RSVPs. I’ll be sure to relate the experience later on…
Envision. Believe. Act. 