Feels so good

I just got out of the shower. Ahhhhhh! There’s nothing like not showering for 4 days and then scrubbing yourself clean in a hot shower. It’s as if I can feel my skin breathing again and my hair feels light and bouncy and my hands are back to their tan shade. This sensation is overpowering all my senses, it’s so strong. I’m not hungry any more or tired or needing anything. I am just enjoying this feeling, sitting outside my hostel room, in the sun with my eyes closed. Soon enough the desert will wrap itself around me again. But isn’t it great to get to the point where you can appreciate mundane activities. Like when you really have to pee, and then you do. Or you’re really thirsty, and you drink. Or you’re tired, and you finally lay down. The pleasure of not being uncomfortable is worth the it all. But you can only appreciate it if you get to feeling uncomfortable. If you feel fine all the time, you stop appreciating it. Like the time I stubbed my little toe really badly. Before that moment, I wasn’t even aware of my little toe. Then, after the stubbing, it’s all I could feel. When it finally healed, I vowed to never take my toes for granted. But, after a day or two, I forgot they existed again. Today, though, I’m all about this tingly fresh sensation!

Feeling Good with the Family

I just wanted to add a little post tonight. Communication has improved and I really feel like we're finding our rhythm here with the family. The father talked with the family and explained we are also working at the camp and so, as women tend to do, they immediately showed compassion and now we all work together to keep the house in order, rather than just us helpers. Tonight, Bailey and I ate dinner with the whole clan plus a few relatives, making it 13 around the platter on the floor, squishing rice and chicken in our hands. Then, me and Bailey and the two eldest daughters cleaned the kitchen at lightening speed. Everyone is smiling!

Floating around

Living abroad like this is a bit like floating out in the open sea. I’ve taken myself away from all that is familiar and mine and every day I feel like I’m floating around wherever the wind takes me. I don’t really have a say about how my days will unfold. The last couple of days, Bailey and I were able to go out on tours with some visitors, but only after getting about a 5 minute notice in which we scrambled to get our overnight things ready and fill up a bottle of water. The weather today is cold and overcast, so we are staying in with the family, helping clean and eating split pea soup. But in a few minutes, I may be on my way out to the camp or helping escort camels out to the desert to pick up tourists. I try to stay open to any opportunities for adventure, even if I’m tired.

The past 5 months in Provence were a strange mixture of discovery and hermitdom. We went on a lot of day trips to historic villages, museums, the sea and the mountains. But we hardly met anyone. Maybe it was me, but I felt that the French people were pretty closed to strangers on their home turf. Many of them would not return a hello or a smile while passing each other, let alone start a conversation. So Bailey and I ended up spending a lot of time talking to each other or not at all. This was OK for some self reflection, but the tide turned in Florence. During our trip there we were much more open and desirous of meeting people. I felt us turn that night on the Ponte Vecchio, the day we found our car burned to the ground. Time dropped away and all of my senses sharpened. We sat on the bridge in non-thought and I felt myself come out of inside my head. I watched the people on the bridge, the 2 man band playing Italian ballads, people riding by on their bicycles, the lights reflected on the Arno river. I felt the breeze more fully and I smelled the humid winter air as if it were an extension of me. I knew that evening that I was changing.

I didn’t know to what degree our lives would change, of course. It was only a week later that we decided to come here to Jordan and live with the Bedouins in Wadi Rum. Most of our evenings have been spent up at the camp, eating Abu Ayman’s delicious dinners, meeting people from all over the world, dancing and laughing. I wouldn’t say that I am outside of myself as much as more a part of my surroundings. Everyone sits on mats around a fire in the round tent. We’re all in the same boat. We’re all travelers interested in each other. It’s very easy to feel inspired, and it’s easy to feel comfortable with other people who also haven’t showered in 4 days! Back at the house, there are kids around, familiar faces on the street all the time, and us help-exchangers. There have been a few moments when I’ve felt like I was back in that reclusive place. Once or twice on some cold nights when Bailey and I were trying to get to sleep, cocooned in our sleeping bags, and we were talking quietly face to face. I felt like we’d come home to our little family place, even if it was nowhere near home. Eating at Burger King in Aqaba and then riding the minibus home felt like old times. But I like this new phase right now. I’m normally ill at ease in social situations, feeling like an outsider. But here, I’m an insider and an outsider and I’ve found a balance between the two. I’m learning how to live with a lot of people around, letting myself look tired if I am or happy or hungry. Whatever. This is what makes living with others interesting. I’m feeling good about myself, finally, enough not to care too much about people’s judgements of me. I’m starting to know myself more and see that I can be strong at times, especially when it comes to letting this wind just blow me around.

The Crew

There are people here who are becoming central characters to my Wadi Rum experience. When I first arrived, everyone I came into contact with was just a name for me to try to remember. Now, these people are becoming very real to me and are finding firm footing in my heart.

The Sabah al Zalabeh family is of course right up there. I often have Ashma and Zenab (girls, 5 and 6 yrs old) running around me or sitting next to me on the couch. On school mornings, I help them tie their smocks on and make a pretty bow in the back. Sometimes, they’re a little too much and I have to pretend I’m going to take a nap in my room just to shake them off. You know how kids can be! Eptsam and Joher are 14 and 15 years old and they hang out with Bailey mostly. The mother, Reiya, is somewhat reclusive with the two babies, although yesterday I sat with her under the goat hair tent in the yard. She had built a small fire and put a large iron saucer upside down over the flames. On top of this, she cooked the most delicious flatbread the size of a large platter. She would start with a piece of dough and then flatten it down before thinning it out in the air, like pizza makers do. Then she would just throw it on the metal saucer and let the fire cook it. Even though we have trouble communicating, I enjoyed sitting and watching her and the fire while eating a crispy piece of fresh bread. Mohammed, the father, just came and sat next to me and we talked for a good half hour about how we might get help for the poor people in the village. We’ve had some tourists who want to help but there is nothing set up. So we just talked about the possibility of setting up a scholarship fund to help bright students go to the university. He told me the story of corruption that prevented one of Rum’s brightest from going to medical school. No one here can afford to go beyond high school. Mohammed is very passionate about helping his extended family, which is basically the whole town. He hires many of the poorest for his business and is right now in the process of building a little house on his property for those who have nowhere to sleep. Meanwhile, his family lives on the bare necessities. And I mean bare. The pots and pans are all dented and burned and the sponges are used until they are completely shredded. They wear their clothes out too. Every scrap of food is saved and used. The family is a regular noisy mess, though, full of laughter and yelling and warmth. All the kids sleep in the same room.

Other people in my life here are men. The women are all in their homes and I have not had the opportunity to meet them. Mohammed Hussein (not the father, but his nephew), took Bailey and I to visit his sister and her two young children. She made us tea in her two room house and enjoyed watching the babies play. Her house was so sweet and clean. She has painted the walls half way in Grecian isle blue. She was also very young, 20 I believe, and already has 2 young boys. Mohammed Hussein is probably the closest to us. He also stays in the hostel and has his own climbing/trekking company (see link to the right and movie in previous entry). He is 23 years old and speaks English quite well, so we’re able to joke around with him a lot and play cards at night when we’re not at the camp. I’ll post a picture of him in his North Face jacket… a real riot. Today, he took us helpers out for coffee at the rest stop. It was quite the outing. He bought and sold cell phones at the café. Rum Ebay. We all really enjoy Mohammed’s company, even if he does spend way too much time on his cellphone(s).

Then there is Ferris. He is one of the drivers and speaks only a little English. He doesn’t wear the Bedouin dress, but he’s from here. Ferris is always the first one to get up and dance at the camp, and it’s a nutty one at that. We all try to imitate him, but the rhythm is all off and I’m not sure how he stays standing. I like his attitude too. He never seems to sweat it.
There’s Ziad (20)and Zed (17), the two brothers. Ziad drives jeep tours and Zed does the camel tours. They live in a goat hair tent and always have smiles. Cute kids, too. They’re always too shy to get up and dance, but once you pull them up and force them, they’re just as crazy as the rest of us.
Abu Ayman is 65 and he is the cook at the camp. I’ve written about him before. He’s like the grandfather of the whole clan. I love the way he will come into the tent once the food is served and just sit back in a corner with a cigarette and watch his food get eaten. He starts cooking at 2 PM and finishes around 6:30. It’s amazing.

Well, these are the people I see on a daily basis. There are some others, like the lady at the small shop and some neighbor kids, but mostly it’s them and us. Us being me,Sarah, and Bailey. Sarah deserves an entry all to herself. But basically, she’s from Sidney, 19, and traveling by herself. She is the posterchild for the modern independent woman. Before coming here, she shaved her head for charity. She’s quite authoritarian, which suits me fine most of the time, cause I’m not much for managing people. I’m too much of a dreamer.
Well, I’m off to join the crowd. I’ll add a picture of Mohammed, one of the younger kids, and one of Sarah. Cheers!

This and that

In my last entry, I wanted to talk about random things about my life here in Wadi Rum. But somehow my blogs end up with some kind of theme and I didn’t want to ruin it by changing subjects mid way. So this will be an attempt to write down some details that have no theme.
I sleep in two different places. Either I am staying in the hostel room in the village or in the Bedouin tent at the desert camp. Neither have any heat and it gets pretty cold at night. I’ve stayed about half here and half there. The last three nights have been in the desert. We sleep on thin mattresses on the sand with three 10 pound quilts on top of us. The quilts are pretty dirty and dusty, despite the daily shakings. I sleep in my clothes - jacket, scarf, hat and all. There is absolutely no sound during the night. It’s a good sleep.
At the hostel, the mattress is the same and the blankets the same. The room is made of cinderblocks painted cream and brown. All our stuff is in there. There is a 6 inch gap under the door and the house cat, which we call Love Kitty, always slips in and sleeps in our covers. We wake up to either the camel roaring because she is being milked at 6, or the Mosque prayer at about 7. On Monday morning, the boy’s military school broadcasts a very loud recording of a man’s voice and it lasts a long time, plus it’s at 5:30! The bathrooms are holes in the ground. This doesn’t bother me and it’s actually more sanitary than toilet seats, but the whole neighborhood uses the bathroom and the kids make it gross. I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to it and I can’t wait to get back to my own bathroom. At the camp it’s not so bad. Abu Ayman keeps the camp clean and the tourists are sophisticated enough to be careful.
I make tea for guests. I’ve learned to make it sweet like the Jordanians like it and serve it in little glass cups on a tray. The weird part is that I always have to disappear into the forbidden women’s part of the house to get the tea. It makes me feel like I’m going into the safe of a bank and I am privileged enough to have the combo. I should correct myself. I feel this way when I am serving the tourists, but when I am serving tea to a roomful of Bedouin men, I feel like I’m living back in the old days, if you know what I mean. The men are always very polite and smile and say thank you, though, so don’t think they are rude. The difference is that with the men, they expect a woman to do this and I don’t like unfair rules.
I wash my clothes by hand in the sink and dry them outside my room. The water is always reddish brown and I have to wash 4 or 5 times. My jeans now stand up on their own. They feel like cardboard. I like washing my stuff though. I have a pretty strong nesting instinct, despite my gypsy blood. It makes me feel like I am home.
Bailey and Eptisam are at the house computer right now next to me. Bailey is asking her many questions about being a Muslim teenage girl and they are using Google translator to ask and answer. I think Bailey will have an interesting blog entry quite soon! Make sure to check it out.
Thanks to all my blog visitors. So many people have visited and I just don’t have that many friends and family. If you get a chance, please write a little hello. I’m curious about you! Mar Salam (Goodbye in Arabic).

Peace

Today it’s been two weeks… I think. We have nine weeks left here. The desert has become such a part of me that I’m beginning to feel possessive of it. Yesterday, I went on my first official tour with 3 friendly New Yorkers and Ferris driving. I didn’t realize there were regular tourists out here, with their inappropriate clothing (not my crew, they were great!) And I’m not just talking about them wearing penny loafers and sports jackets and fancy jewelry, I’m saying some of them were wearing tank tops! I know, it’s the desert, you say, but out here it’s seen as being practically naked. Today, I wore my skirt that shows my ankles, and I feel very exposed. I really haven’t minded wearing clothes that cover me, especially since it’s been chilly. But even so, I like feeling as if I’m not tempting anyone and we men and women are much more on a friendly level (even with all the marital status questions). Anyway, the tourists are out there, snapping their photos, squinting, and walking awkwardly in the sand. I can’t wait for the afternoon to come ‘cause I know most of them will be gone. Only the more adventurous stay for the overnight Bedouin tent camping. And then the quiet will be back. Yesterday, I sat on an outcrop outside of the camp, watching the distant mountains, when two blackbirds flew by. I heard them before I saw them, not because of any squawking, but by the wind moving through their wings. I heard them for a long time like that and watched them disappear. Then it was all quiet again. In an early blog entry, while I was still in France, I mentioned jet trails and how they lure me away from where I am. Here, I have only seen one, and it was far and low on the horizon. It just looked like a line, though, not transportation. There’s nothing to take me away when I’m out there. It’s timeless. Even the four hour tour yesterday went on for a lot longer. No one had a watch on. Ferris would just lie down and take naps while the tourists scrambled on the rocks and up the dunes. He didn’t seem to care how long they took. At the rock bridge, Ferris built a fire and made tea. I sat with him for over an hour and we barely said five words, but there was nothing weird about it. We both just sat there by the fire and looked out to the rocks. Nothing more. The Ny-ers climbed on top of the bridge and lost track of time as well. Maybe that’s how Moses lived for hundreds of years. Maybe his body didn’t keep time. I know, I’m starting to sound like “Horse with no name” by America. They were right on, though. Peace.
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Sounds

Today’s sounds:
6:30 AM – Abu Ayman peaks his head into our Bedouin tent and says“Breakfast is ready” in his thick Arabic accent.
7:00 AM – The crackle of the morning fire and the sound of people sipping hot tea from little glasses inside the round tent.
8:30 AM – Silence of the open desert broken by Farris’s revving the ancient Landcruiser engine, trying to get the fuel to flow, to take us back to town.
9:00 AM – Clanging dishes that I’m washing in the obscure kitchen of the house with babies crying in the next room.
11:30 AM – While trying to rest a bit, I hear an infant crying, dozens of children playing in the schoolyard nearby, birds, woman talking in Arabic in another yard.
11:45 AM – An American child may think the icecream truck is coming by the music box music blasting from a speaker on a car. In fact, it’s the gasoline truck, making it’s round to all who may need some.
12:00 PM – Call to prayer from the Mosque. It’s a recording of a man chanting.
12:15 PM – Bailey, Mohammed Hussein, and Jaqua (eldest son) ruin my concentration for writing this blog… see picture of Jaqua walking on his hands!

Other sounds I may hear throughout the day in Rum village:
Camel roars, roosters cockle doodle doing, chickens clucking, little birds tweeting, hammering, water dripping, wind in the lemon and olive trees, thumping of children running in the sand, dogs barking, cats fighting, and the hand held school bell.
Sounds in the desert: my own thoughts.