You know you’ve lived in Jordan for a year when…

Another perspective: The Monastery in Petra

Planned to post this back in August for our one-year-in-Jordan anniversary, but got delayed just a bit…

You know you’ve lived in Jordan for a year when…
…you’re driving and aren’t (greatly) bothered when cars cut you off, refrain from using turn signals, or honk incessantly
(Driving in the Middle East is … different. (We don’t have a car here, but occasionally we rent, especially when we have guests.) I actually enjoy driving; since it’s even more like a video game here. But at first it felt to me like there were no rules. After awhile, I realized that there are rules–unspoken ones–like “whoever gets there first has the right of way” and “lanes? what’s that?” and “stop sign? what’s that?” and “be ready for anything.” Also, at first I was acutely bothered at how often people used their horn here (I tend to take horn-blowing rather personally)–until I realized that horn-usage is reflective of the extremely relational culture here. Because of the unexpected nature of driving here, people honk more to communicate (i.e. “Hi; I’m right here … 3 inches behind you”) than to demonstrate frustration or irritation (i.e. “Hurry up; I need to get to my destination as soon as possible so I can walk at a leisurely pace once I’m out of my car!”). To be sure, we have our share of irritated drivers here, but I’ve become accustomed to the use of the horn as a communicative tool. The importance of the horn can be demonstrated in this way. Often when I sign out a rental car, the employee doesn’t reassure me that the brakes, turn signals, or anything other part is working properly; he honks the horn a couple times, looks at me, smiles, and says, “Ready to go.”)

…you accidentally throw toilet paper in the toilet and think in horror, “Oh no! What have I done!?” and begin to contemplate various ways to extract it without contracting some horrible intestinal disease
(Pipes here are smaller in diameter, so they cannot accommodate paper of any kind. Maybe I’m a paranoid Westerner, but seriously, this becomes ingrained in your mind, especially after any kind of “overflow” experience. And in case you’re wondering, no, I don’t pull toilet paper out (not with my bare hands anyway). I have contracted an intestinal disease, however (which is another story for another day).)

I’m going to end here. (And really, can you think of a better place than at “intestinal disease”?) I have more, but this entire list has become Miltonian in length, so I have decided to parcel it up. Plus, this way I can actually post more than once every quarter.

Another taxi story

Wadi Rum, Jordan

 

A recent taxi ride and conversation (all in Arabic–woohoo!)
(Personal, and therefore unseasoned, commentary in blue)

Me: Peace be upon you.
Taxi driver: And upon you be peace.

Me: How are you?
Taxi driver: Praise God! Good.
(Taxi drivers almost never ask me how i’m doing in return. Arab culture is incredibly hospitable, but it’s a friends and family culture more than one of strangers. Once you get to know an Arab (even if it’s only for 5 minutes), they’re so gracious that they’ll give you the shirt off their back. But if you’re a stranger, don’t be surprised at how indifferent, or even rude, people can be. You might put it this way: Arabs tend to treat their friends and family much more graciously than the average American does; it’s the opposite story for dealing with strangers. For example, it’s not uncommon in the States (especially in smaller cities/towns) to wave and smile at a passing stranger; locals don’t smile at strangers here. The rules seem to change when it comes to helping strangers in need (e.g. asking for directions, helping someone in a disabled vehicle–see previous post.))

Me: Air conditioning! You are good.
Taxi driver: (Smiling) You are better.
(Arabic conversation is filled with this type of gracious one-upmanship. The Quran actually says, “When you are greeted with a greeting, greet in return with what is better than it, or (at least) return it equally.” So if someone says you’re good, you tell them they’re better. If someone says peace be upon you, you tell them and upon you be peace and the mercy of God (and they might respond and upon you be peace and the mercy of God and His blessing). I have to admit that I’ve come to really enjoy all the complimenting that goes on around here!)

Taxi driver: It’s hot.
Me: It’s very hot.
Me: Do many Gulfians (Gulfites?) come here for the summer?
Taxi driver: (Quickly shakes his head back and forth, indicating that he doesn’t understand–a gesture I am all too familiar with.)
Me: (Trying again) I mean, do many people from the Gulf come here for the summer?
Taxi driver: Yes. The weather is better. It’s 140° there; it’s only 100° here. So they think Jordan is cold.

(After more small talk, we approach our destination)

Me: May He (God) give you strength/health (similar to the concept of the grace we need to live each day).
Taxi driver: And may He strengthen you.
(This is the phrase used to indicate to taxi drivers that you’d like to get out.)

Taxi driver: (Extends his hand to shake mine.) A happy opportunity.
Me: (Shaking his hand) I am happier.

A happy opportunity indeed.

Creative Hospitality

Romans 12:13 Be inventive in hospitality. (THE MESSAGE)

If you want to see this verse lived out just about everyday, come to the Middle East.

A boy in Muwaqqar with a tire on an important mission stops for a picture

A few weeks ago, Joyce and I emerged from Cosmo, the local version of Target or Meijer, clutching several plastic bags in each hand. A dirty, beaten-up, yellow taxi passed by; the driver slowed down when he saw us struggling along, then pulled to a stop after we made eye contact. After we piled our groceries into the trunk, I eased into the front seat (men generally sit in the front; a woman sitting in front would be considered inappropriate), and got a good look at the driver for the first time. He was young, much younger than most taxi drivers (taxi drivers own their own vehicles, which, after licenses and fees, can cost over $40,000, a minor fortune here; thus, drivers tend to be older and more established in life), which probably means he was driving a relative’s car as a favor or was working for some entrepreneurial-type. I later found out he had only been driving for a few days.

After exchanging pleasantries, I noticed that our young taxi driver wasn’t taking the main road out of Cosmo. Since I wasn’t very familiar with the area, I didn’t say anything. My fears were justified as the road we were on quickly turned into gravel and then into dirt, and soon we were careening through a dark, uneven field strewn with stray rocks and patches of grass toward the main road. I looked ahead and noticed that the field we were in, an abandoned lot, was separated from the road by a curb that was a good 10-12 inches high. Since the field was a few inches lower than the curb, I began to worry that we might get stuck. I tried to blurt out something in Arabic, but 1) he couldn’t hear me, 2) if he could hear me, it probably sounded like, “Wahgib-libudi furry!” to him, and 3) he was the driver, not me. As you might have guessed, seconds later the taxi was resting atop the curb with our driver gunning the engine of his front-wheel drive, the front tires spinning furiously but uselessly above the road.

We got out of the taxi to survey the situation, and after a few moments the strangest thing happened (yes, even stranger than our driver’s attempted Dukes of Hazzard maneuver). A passing taxi pulled over and a couple men got out. A few seconds later, another taxi stopped and the driver alighted. A minute later, a mini-van parked and five young men emerged. Then another car pulled up. It was a spontaneous assembly of sympathetic strangers.

It’s true, the young man got a bit of a scolding from one of the older taxi drivers, and our Good Samaritans did use questionable methods to free the car from its predicament (at one point I was sure a big rock they had stuck under one of the front wheels would come flying out at one of the young men as the driver revved the engine in reverse). But as this random get-together of Arabs loudly and enthusiastically tried various methods of pushing and pulling the taxi, I kept thinking that it was the first time I’ve witnessed such an immediate display of profuse kindness from complete strangers.

I used to think I just don’t have the gift of hospitality. After living here for half a year, I’ve seen again and again that I don’t need a gift; I just need to be willing to offer whatever I might have, and inventive adventures in hospitality are in store.

A group of friendly boys in Muwaqqar pose for the Asian man with the big camera (Note: These photos are not specifically related to this post; I didn't have any pictures of taxi drivers hehe)