Stories from Amman, Page 2
Project Pen
us, return the rental car, buy some medicine for his mother, and pack.
The travel agent advised us to arrive at the airport at 2:00 to make sure we got our seats. We whizzed around the city and Yusuf dropped us back at our friends’ apartment at 2:15 to pack. Meanwhile, he and his cousin returned the rental car and picked up the medicine. At 2:45 I called the airline to see what the absolute last minute would be that we could check our luggage. They said 3:15. I explained our dilemma and the agent said she would advise them that we may be late.
At exactly 3:15 Yusuf shows up with his cousin and his tiny Le Baron convertible. We had to fit seven pieces of luggage and three adults into this sardine can? Would we make it? Or would we have to wait until Wednesday to leave on the next flight to Jordan? The only way to find out was to try. And try we did. I wish I had a picture of the three of us on our way to the airport. It looked something like the opening shot of the Beverly Hillbillies as they “loaded up their truck and moved to Beverly…”
We arrived at the airport at 3:40. Yusuf ran off to check in; his cousin ran off to get a skycap as I stood curbside with my hands in the air and my heart in my throat. We frantically ran our luggage to be checked in, and then we ran the other direction to catch the plane.
There is a God in heaven. We made it to the gate at precisely 4:15 and no one had yet been boarded. Yusuf took off again leaving me with my heart gently sinking back to where it belonged. When he returned he had our boarding passes with our assigned seats directly behind the stewardess’ kiosk leaving us with all the legroom in the world.
Phew. We made it. Finally we could relax.
December 3, 1993
This is my fourth morning in Amman. I haven’t seen much of the city yet but I certainly have been busy. We had a five hour layover in Amsterdam where both Yusuf and I were extremely tired. We couldn’t sleep on the plane. We finally found a good resting place at the airport but had only an hour until our next plane took off. This plane was smaller than and not as comfortable as the first plane so we didn’t get any sleep there either.
The plane stopped at Damascus to pick up passengers for its return trip to Amsterdam. During the forty-five minute layover I retreated to the restroom to fix myself up. It’s amazing what a little makeup and a can of hairspray can do. I looked fresh and felt less nervous about meeting Yusuf’s family.
We weren’t sure who would be there at the airport as it was close to 2:00 am when we arrived. Once we got off the plane we went through a maze of formalities obtaining my visa, checking luggage through customs and paying fees. A gentleman greeted us as soon as we disembarked from the plane. He spoke in Arabic to Yusuf and ushered us through the process. I observed and followed not sure of what was going on around me. It seemed like rather royal treatment. He led us to the visa area and I filled out my visa application. No women were working there and the men were friendly and helpful without being too friendly. Yusuf took care of his passport and then they took care of mine. Now the man who first greeted us led us to the baggage claim area. He had our luggage ready to go. He exchanged words with Yusuf and Yusuf told me to wait with the luggage until he returned. I stood there groggy eyed, hazily observing my surroundings.
Several men passed here and there and I felt that my blond hair was a magnet to their eyes. I was relieved that no one spoke to me for I wouldn’t know whether to respond. I didn’t know who worked at the airport and who didn’t. The man helping us spoke to me in English. He said “Have a seat please” and widely gestured his hands over to a bench. I waited another ten minutes until Yusuf returned with two bags, one of which he handed to our friend. Now it was clear. He was assisting us in return for American cigarettes without the heavy custom taxes. Travelers are allowed two cartons each duty free, so Yusuf bought two for himself and two under my name for the gentleman.
I would say that two cartons of cigarettes is a small price to pay for such royal treatment. I hope he enjoys every last drag.
Now that we finally cleared customs, we were off to meet my new family. I couldn’t believe that at 2:00 am we were greeted by so many people. Yusuf’s mother, his sister, his brothers and their wives.
I was incredibly nervous and did little but smile and shake hands and kiss the girls on each cheek. It was such a relief to finally meet his family. My head welled with tears and a couple escaped my eyes as I hugged his mother.
We rode back in two cars – the immediate family in one and the extended family in the other. The ride took a half an hour on a paved highway which they jokingly told me was the only paved road in Jordan. I knew better because I had thoroughly quizzed Yusuf on all aspects of his country. All was dark and I didn’t see much other than road signs, billboards, and oh yes, a camel crossing sign. They joked that they took me home in the car, but for everyday use a camel is much more economical. They also told me that in order to get a hot bath I’d need to get up early to heat the water. They can joke about these American misconceptions of the Arabic world because they are so far from the truth as I am finding out.
When we got to Amman, we were stopped by a group of police who had formed a checkpoint to find out who was travelling at such a late hour. We got through with no problems and soon arrived to our home, one of the box-shaped, multi-story dwellings with a family residing in each story. Yusuf’s family had lived in this house since he was one year old.
We were greeted by Yusuf’s father, an elderly man in his seventies. Everyone sat in the living room as Yusuf gave me a tour of the house, starting with the front veranda, a small room with a large window that faces the morning sun, furnished with cushioned wicker furniture and plants. He then led me to the dining room with a large china cabinet and a long dining room table surrounded by plush velvet upholstered chairs. Next to the dining room is a large sitting room, elegantly furnished in rich gold tapestry with a marble coffee table and several matching end table. By the looks of things it will comfortably seat ten people and the chairs from the dining room can be added as needed. The two outer walls of this room are covered in draperies from ceiling to floor, lending an air of aristocracy to this family’s otherwise humble home.
We left the living room through a small door with a noticeably low door. My tall husband has to duck through the door to avoid getting hit. All the interior doors are this low including the three I have yet to discover. The door to the left is to be our bedroom. The middle door leads to the bathroom and the door to the right belongs to my mother and father in law’s bedroom.
Our room is fairly large. At the moment it is furnished with two twin sized beds pushed together, two night stands, and a wardrobe. They do like their draperies. Yet again two walls are covered in sheer draperies from top to bottom. Behind one of these draperies is a door which leads to the veranda, a small addition which is furnished with a sofa, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. It is Yusuf’s favorite room. Growing up, he would listen to music and hang out with his friends there.
The bathroom is similar to American bathrooms with one distinctive feature. It has a bidet. The bathroom is pink with tiled walls. The tiles have little bouquets of flowers on them. There is of course a sink, a tub and a toilet, and as I said, a bidet. This room also has a clothes washer. In the tub there is a shower at one end and an open cabinet with shelves on the other. This cabinet holds all the toiletries you would normally find under the sink and in the linen closet. The shower head is the old fashioned kind that resembles a sunflower heavy with seeds. The sink is a pedestal sink with a medicine cabinet with lighted mirrors. It is pretty average.
The toilet is slightly different. It doesn’t hold as much water as ours do. It does have a little at the bottom. To flush the toilet there is a knob at the top that you pull up. It flushes the same way ours do except I’d be afraid to put tissue down it.
After you “go to the bathroom”, you sit down on the bidet. It looks like a toilet without a seat, but you do sit on it. At the bottom is a water spout that looks like a small shower head and a drain. Behind you as you a
re seated there are two faucets for hot and cold water. When you turn them on, the water comes out like a sprinkler. It will shoot up like a fountain if you are not sitting on it as I found out!
When you are done washing yourself of the bidet, you then wipe again with toilet paper and throw it in the trash. It takes a little adjusting and I’m still not used to this yet. It does seem very sanitary.
(I have more journal entries written in January 1993, not quite political but about my observations of the weather, the King and how he is the main attraction on Jordan television, my husband’s family’s pregnancies and births as well as my thoughts on cooking, sitting, moving out of his parent’s house.)
General Impressions
There she sits in a room surrounded by a new world of sights and sounds. To her the people seem different, but it is she who is different to them. They all came to see her when she first came, to look at her. They spoke a different tongue so she tried to be graceful, sit up straight, smile a lot.
She knew some words. “Helwa” they whispered. “Tawileh” they expressed wide eyed as they gestured her height. They said she was pretty as I’m sure was said about every girl brought home for the approval
The travel agent advised us to arrive at the airport at 2:00 to make sure we got our seats. We whizzed around the city and Yusuf dropped us back at our friends’ apartment at 2:15 to pack. Meanwhile, he and his cousin returned the rental car and picked up the medicine. At 2:45 I called the airline to see what the absolute last minute would be that we could check our luggage. They said 3:15. I explained our dilemma and the agent said she would advise them that we may be late.
At exactly 3:15 Yusuf shows up with his cousin and his tiny Le Baron convertible. We had to fit seven pieces of luggage and three adults into this sardine can? Would we make it? Or would we have to wait until Wednesday to leave on the next flight to Jordan? The only way to find out was to try. And try we did. I wish I had a picture of the three of us on our way to the airport. It looked something like the opening shot of the Beverly Hillbillies as they “loaded up their truck and moved to Beverly…”
We arrived at the airport at 3:40. Yusuf ran off to check in; his cousin ran off to get a skycap as I stood curbside with my hands in the air and my heart in my throat. We frantically ran our luggage to be checked in, and then we ran the other direction to catch the plane.
There is a God in heaven. We made it to the gate at precisely 4:15 and no one had yet been boarded. Yusuf took off again leaving me with my heart gently sinking back to where it belonged. When he returned he had our boarding passes with our assigned seats directly behind the stewardess’ kiosk leaving us with all the legroom in the world.
Phew. We made it. Finally we could relax.
December 3, 1993
This is my fourth morning in Amman. I haven’t seen much of the city yet but I certainly have been busy. We had a five hour layover in Amsterdam where both Yusuf and I were extremely tired. We couldn’t sleep on the plane. We finally found a good resting place at the airport but had only an hour until our next plane took off. This plane was smaller than and not as comfortable as the first plane so we didn’t get any sleep there either.
The plane stopped at Damascus to pick up passengers for its return trip to Amsterdam. During the forty-five minute layover I retreated to the restroom to fix myself up. It’s amazing what a little makeup and a can of hairspray can do. I looked fresh and felt less nervous about meeting Yusuf’s family.
We weren’t sure who would be there at the airport as it was close to 2:00 am when we arrived. Once we got off the plane we went through a maze of formalities obtaining my visa, checking luggage through customs and paying fees. A gentleman greeted us as soon as we disembarked from the plane. He spoke in Arabic to Yusuf and ushered us through the process. I observed and followed not sure of what was going on around me. It seemed like rather royal treatment. He led us to the visa area and I filled out my visa application. No women were working there and the men were friendly and helpful without being too friendly. Yusuf took care of his passport and then they took care of mine. Now the man who first greeted us led us to the baggage claim area. He had our luggage ready to go. He exchanged words with Yusuf and Yusuf told me to wait with the luggage until he returned. I stood there groggy eyed, hazily observing my surroundings.
Several men passed here and there and I felt that my blond hair was a magnet to their eyes. I was relieved that no one spoke to me for I wouldn’t know whether to respond. I didn’t know who worked at the airport and who didn’t. The man helping us spoke to me in English. He said “Have a seat please” and widely gestured his hands over to a bench. I waited another ten minutes until Yusuf returned with two bags, one of which he handed to our friend. Now it was clear. He was assisting us in return for American cigarettes without the heavy custom taxes. Travelers are allowed two cartons each duty free, so Yusuf bought two for himself and two under my name for the gentleman.
I would say that two cartons of cigarettes is a small price to pay for such royal treatment. I hope he enjoys every last drag.
Now that we finally cleared customs, we were off to meet my new family. I couldn’t believe that at 2:00 am we were greeted by so many people. Yusuf’s mother, his sister, his brothers and their wives.
I was incredibly nervous and did little but smile and shake hands and kiss the girls on each cheek. It was such a relief to finally meet his family. My head welled with tears and a couple escaped my eyes as I hugged his mother.
We rode back in two cars – the immediate family in one and the extended family in the other. The ride took a half an hour on a paved highway which they jokingly told me was the only paved road in Jordan. I knew better because I had thoroughly quizzed Yusuf on all aspects of his country. All was dark and I didn’t see much other than road signs, billboards, and oh yes, a camel crossing sign. They joked that they took me home in the car, but for everyday use a camel is much more economical. They also told me that in order to get a hot bath I’d need to get up early to heat the water. They can joke about these American misconceptions of the Arabic world because they are so far from the truth as I am finding out.
When we got to Amman, we were stopped by a group of police who had formed a checkpoint to find out who was travelling at such a late hour. We got through with no problems and soon arrived to our home, one of the box-shaped, multi-story dwellings with a family residing in each story. Yusuf’s family had lived in this house since he was one year old.
We were greeted by Yusuf’s father, an elderly man in his seventies. Everyone sat in the living room as Yusuf gave me a tour of the house, starting with the front veranda, a small room with a large window that faces the morning sun, furnished with cushioned wicker furniture and plants. He then led me to the dining room with a large china cabinet and a long dining room table surrounded by plush velvet upholstered chairs. Next to the dining room is a large sitting room, elegantly furnished in rich gold tapestry with a marble coffee table and several matching end table. By the looks of things it will comfortably seat ten people and the chairs from the dining room can be added as needed. The two outer walls of this room are covered in draperies from ceiling to floor, lending an air of aristocracy to this family’s otherwise humble home.
We left the living room through a small door with a noticeably low door. My tall husband has to duck through the door to avoid getting hit. All the interior doors are this low including the three I have yet to discover. The door to the left is to be our bedroom. The middle door leads to the bathroom and the door to the right belongs to my mother and father in law’s bedroom.
Our room is fairly large. At the moment it is furnished with two twin sized beds pushed together, two night stands, and a wardrobe. They do like their draperies. Yet again two walls are covered in sheer draperies from top to bottom. Behind one of these draperies is a door which leads to the veranda, a small addition which is furnished with a sofa, a wardrobe and a chest of drawers. It is Yusuf’s favorite room. Growing up, he would listen to music and hang out with his friends there.
The bathroom is similar to American bathrooms with one distinctive feature. It has a bidet. The bathroom is pink with tiled walls. The tiles have little bouquets of flowers on them. There is of course a sink, a tub and a toilet, and as I said, a bidet. This room also has a clothes washer. In the tub there is a shower at one end and an open cabinet with shelves on the other. This cabinet holds all the toiletries you would normally find under the sink and in the linen closet. The shower head is the old fashioned kind that resembles a sunflower heavy with seeds. The sink is a pedestal sink with a medicine cabinet with lighted mirrors. It is pretty average.
The toilet is slightly different. It doesn’t hold as much water as ours do. It does have a little at the bottom. To flush the toilet there is a knob at the top that you pull up. It flushes the same way ours do except I’d be afraid to put tissue down it.
After you “go to the bathroom”, you sit down on the bidet. It looks like a toilet without a seat, but you do sit on it. At the bottom is a water spout that looks like a small shower head and a drain. Behind you as you a
re seated there are two faucets for hot and cold water. When you turn them on, the water comes out like a sprinkler. It will shoot up like a fountain if you are not sitting on it as I found out!
When you are done washing yourself of the bidet, you then wipe again with toilet paper and throw it in the trash. It takes a little adjusting and I’m still not used to this yet. It does seem very sanitary.
(I have more journal entries written in January 1993, not quite political but about my observations of the weather, the King and how he is the main attraction on Jordan television, my husband’s family’s pregnancies and births as well as my thoughts on cooking, sitting, moving out of his parent’s house.)
General Impressions
There she sits in a room surrounded by a new world of sights and sounds. To her the people seem different, but it is she who is different to them. They all came to see her when she first came, to look at her. They spoke a different tongue so she tried to be graceful, sit up straight, smile a lot.
She knew some words. “Helwa” they whispered. “Tawileh” they expressed wide eyed as they gestured her height. They said she was pretty as I’m sure was said about every girl brought home for the approval
