News From the Middle East

The chronicles of Colorado College junior, Nicholas Wilson, as he spends three and a half months in Jordan and Syria during the spring of 2006. (Blog entries copied with permission from http://nicinjordan.blogspot.com/ )

April 28, Day 80 – 1984 Revisited

It happens five times a day. It begins at four in the morning and once again at five in case you missed it. Once at eleven and another at ten after four. The last one occurs sometime around eight at night and if you live in Amman, chances are you’ve heard the call to prayer all five times. During King Hussein’s rule, no new buildings could be taller than the spires of the many mosques that poked up from between the blocky white limestone houses. This law was enacted in part to reinforce the symbolic notion that no ordinary buildings could be greater than the mosques, but it also had the additional effect of turning the entire mountainous city into a gigantic echo chamber during the call to prayer. King Abdullah has since changed this specific building law, though tall buildings still only dot the landscape and from any given spot in Amman, one can hear the haunting echoes of hundreds of mosques blaring prayers from the tops of their spires. The first morning in Amman, I awoke to the sound of the first morning call to prayer. Every prayer begins with a hearty “???? ????” [Allah akbar] which roughly translates to “Oh mighty God…” It struck me as surreal and quickly drove home the point that I was not in Colorado anymore. Since then, I’ve grown used to hearing the call to prayer every day and despite my categorical disdain for religion in general, I rather like it. Several weeks ago, I pulled an all-nighter while finishing a paper. It was still dark when I first heard the call to prayer and I stepped outside into the balmy early morning. From my house in Jandaweel, I could see the glowing lights of Amman all around me – in the silence of the early morning, the lilting melody of Arabic prayers was the only thing I could hear. Suddenly this bustling city of three million seemed much smaller - everyone awake was hearing what I was hearing, and if I were Muslim, perhaps praying to the same God in the same way. The call to prayer emphasizes the religious connection nine out of ten people in Amman have with one another and it acts as a glue that further binds the society together. It was about then that I felt more like an outsider than ever before – a student, a tourist, a temporary guest in a religiously homogenous region. My host brothers tell me that they don’t mind the call to prayer. They’ve grown up with it their entire life and Islam emphasizes a reasonable amount of religious tolerance, even going so far to say that their God is the same as the Christian and Jewish God. While the call to prayer may emphasize a unique religious bond many people have here, it seems uncomfortably similar to Orwellian groupthink. Children learn written Arabic from studying the Qur’an, religion is a deeply entrenched social value, and they are proselytized daily with the call to prayer. Despite having grown up with it, one of my host brothers takes offense to the daily religious prayers: “They tell people how to pray and what to believe… praying is for God, not for people.” He made the astute observation that if God was indeed all-knowing, he probably wouldn’t care if one shouted how great He was or simply thought it. Thus, according to him, the extroverted religiosity, praying five times a day, and conspicuously shouting one’s devotion was just as much a chest-puffing contest as it was a show of true devotion. But for me, I enjoy it – and this is precisely because I am a student, a tourist, one with the luxury to observe and interact with the culture, but not have to live with it for more than a semester at a time.  

April 12, Day 64 – Jordan, Palestine, and Iraq

I can still vividly recall the bumpy transatlantic flight I took almost three months ago – tumultuous and exciting, it was a fitting welcome to a country like Jordan. Studying in Amman has been, much like the journey here, enthralling if at times stressful. Learning Arabic, in particular, has been challenging given the temptation to speak primarily in English, as most Jordanians know, or study the language. Our two Arabic teachers, Khulood and Jumana, have made learning the language enjoyable and not as intimidating as it could have been. Despite hours of daily classes, however, I have found that the most rewarding practice of Arabic has been through my daily usage of it with cab drivers, waiters, and complete strangers (who, in Jordan, seem eager to talk about anything at length).
Our field study seminars have offered us incredible insight into the social norms of Jordan that help us during our daily interactions. Several times we have been “dropped off” in different parts of the city with tasks meant to help us familiarize ourselves with the city and culture. I’ve found myself wandering through the spectacular Jordanian National Gallery, enjoying tea with a Chechen Jordanian family, speaking in person with the humble consumer protection agency, and wandering around the old downtown area. The structured classroom environment in addition to such excursions has helped me interact with the culture in a way I never thought possible, but I have perhaps gained an even greater understanding of the culture through living with my homestay family.My four brothers here treat me as if I had lived with them all my life. They’ve included me in their lives, shown me parts of Jordan I would have never other wise seen, and all around, shown me what life in Jordan for a 20-something year old male is like. Inasmuch as one may glean from years of study in an American liberal arts college, there is no comparison to the insight gained from personal experiences with real people. No text can express how it feels to be offered a third cup of tea by a Bedouin family, to help them prepare their food inside their home because they have judged you to be a “good man,” or quietly watch the sunset over the desert while sharing an argeeleh. Perhaps it wasn’t until Osama’s girlfriend’s mother taught me how to dance in the traditional Arabic style that I realized the extent to which genuine cultural understanding is only learned through full participation. . .

For more by Nic Wilson on his study abroad program to Jordan go to http://nicinjordan.blogspot.com/