Pali-Cali Gals, And About That Speeding Ticket…

Why do I love blogging so much? Besides the obvious – loving to see my words in print and having a chance to get to know who I consider to be Jordan’s future leaders (heh-heh, grooming future wasta, mish?), what is the continual pull of the screen?

I’ve discovered what I REALLY REALLY love, is connecting with fellow global nomads who are living ‘between worlds’ like me. Either by their choice, or the lack of choices their parents had, many young Arabs are living in my country, even in my state – and they give me an insider-glimpse into a culture that has ceased to be completely ‘home’, but something I long for.

We’ve done a switcheroo. They drive my freeways, I drive their circles. They indulge at the The Cheesecake Factory, I wolf down kanaafeh from Habibi. Their kids will speak Arabic with an American accent, my (little) kids speak English with a Arab accent. My kids knew the Jordanian national anthem before the Pledge of Allegiance, their kids the opposite.

Both of us are trying to hang on to what was familiar, but changing rapidly. Both of us visit ‘home’ and marvel at the changes; sometimes relieved at the change, but also inwardly mourning over the loss of what was familiar and knowing we will never completely fit in again. We are a people permanently changed by the bi (or tri) cultural lifestyle, sometimes battling feelings of betrayal, both on our part and our home-country’s part. Both of us try and come to grips with what US tax-payers are funding in the Middle East – how odd some of them pay those taxes, and I don’t under that handy ‘foreign income’ exemption.

They are far from the action here and struggling to keep the injustices of the region first in their hearts, but the worst of my home culture distracts. I, conversely, am blissfully unaware of the latest pop-tart scandal, but through friends in Iraq and Palestine live daily a tiny piece of their suffering (underline ‘tiny’). I once commented quite a bit on a blog visited primarily by people who share my faith, nationality and political leanings to encourage greater understanding of and compassion for my adopted ‘region’ – but was dismissed as a person with “Stockholm Syndrome”: where a hostage begins to grow sympathetic to or identify with a captor. Yiii!

Some of my favorites are those I call the “Pali-Cali Gals”: Hala (Cafe Lulu), Maioush, Nido, Linda and Hot Lemon and Honey. I didn’t link you all, as I am rushing to finish before I need to put on my ‘mommy-sandwich-maker’ hat, but wanted to say ‘thank you’ for giving me a taste of California when I need it. (And to Iman, who gives me a “Taste of Chicago”, too!)

And so as not to leave us sad, I have a little anecdote to add to Mai’s recent speeding ticket story . I complain a lot about the driving here, and how people don’t obey the rules. I’m into rules, especially when they mean the roads are safer. There are times I slip, which is human, but last month I CHOSE to break the law, which means I am a hypocrite!

I was driving down the US Embassy road toward that bridge over Airport Road. You know it, nice, straight shot, no traffic, few buildings, up to the stop-light. The road was clear, and I decided not to brake, so we flew down that hill too late to see the police guy with radar. Whoops…BUSTED! I’ve been pulled over before, but not for breaking the law – they stop to ask me where I am from and tell me about their cousin who lives there. Oh, please! So I use it as a chance to ask them why they are pulling over foreigners to chat while people should be getting tickets for endangering the lives of others. They straighten right up and agree: ‘haram, kiif innas bisuu’uu’.

I felt like God was telling me I needed to own this and pay my ticket like I insist NEEDS to happen to make Jordanian roads safer! I pull over and Mr. Radar Mega-Cop defers to a cute thing in uniform who comes to my window. “Assalam 3alaykum”, I begin. Surprised, and trying to look stern yet stifling a smile, she says “Wa 3laykum Salam”. “Ru7t shwaya surra’a, uh?” I asked. She begins to giggle: “Ah, shwaya”. I say “Mit asfi, il haqq alayi, sam7iini ana ra7 adfa3 il mukhalifeh”. She just can’t contain it and bursts out laughing, running to Mr. Mega Cop saying ‘Sima3t ash hakat? Bil 3aribi? Hakat”Samhiini!!!” She is laughing uncontrollably. He saunters over, sees all the kids in the car (who are betting whether hypocrite mom gets a ticket or not) and says with a smile: “You were doing 85 in a 60 zone. Be safe, slow down next time”. As we pulled away I saw them both laughing over the speed-demon foreigner with the funny accent, and they didn’t even get to find out I’m from California!

My charming Arabic unintentionally got me off the hook, and poor Mai is going to have to spend quite a bit of her Cheescake Factory money investing in California’s budget deficit. Can you say “Niyaalik?” Mai, I’ll take you out for kanafeh when you visit next, ok?

http://maioush.wordpress.com/2007/02/23/speeding-ticket/