BAJO - Affirm Dignity, Expose Depravity, Provoke Longing

Welcome to BAJO at Kinzi’s! I will be using my tag-line as a frame to Blog About Jordan.

I, as an ex-pat female, American Christian, love living in Jordan. To some that would seem a few too many minority adjectives to truly work, but for me it does. What do I love? Passionate people who care deeply about injustice. Strongly connected families who gather for Friday meals with conversations that ebb and flow like clockwork. Driving a little too fast down the winding avenue from Rainbow St. to the Balad. Mansaf at Al Quds, Msukkhan at Ammon Chicken, Kanafeh from Habeebeh (right?). The sights and smells of the souk downtown. Shopping at Al Afghani in the balad, not at Mecca Mall.

The stark beauty of the desert, of northern scrub-oak forests, the angelfish darting in Red Sea reefs, the stars from Wadi Dana’s tents, breathing in Petra dust as you haul yourself back up from the Treasury after a day of adventuring. Can’t forget the chance to drive like something out of Need for Speed Carbon and learn just how many centimeters you get for a sudden brake while driving at 90kph. Exhilarating!

Amman is a living entity: breathing, pulsating, growing, tripping up, regrouping and trying again. The greatest thrill of living here is watching this country carve out it’s world niche between extremely diverse points of view. Creating an identity with part ancient heritage, part foreign import. In one home, you can have a tattooed-teta in a handworked thobe and her jet-setting, multi-nationally employed grandson drink mint tea together while watching the news. Two completely faces of Jordan, two generations between them, living out the dignity of their forefathers in two different realms. Sometimes the two realms mesh well, sometimes they collide.
Sometimes watching ancient and current cultural values clash is a scary thing. My greatest heartbreak here is for victims of abuse, who have experienced depravity personally. Women who had something very precious stolen from them by someone they trusted; crushed by the weight of responsibility of protecting their family honor. The secret never stays silent, but screams from within for disclosure, justice, apology and acknowledgement. Yet, if even a bit slips out, the hope of ever having a life of cultural validation and value can be erased with word. The secret eats away at young hearts, accusing and creating a false reality that becomes like solitary confinement. She carries the weight of crime alone, and lives in craven fear that she may just tire of silencing the inner scream, tell the wrong person, and live out her nightmare of being alone for life.

I long for the day when honor is defined not by female blood on wedding day sheets, nor can be cleansed only by the spilt blood of the dishonorable woman. I long for the day when men of honor will take the dignity of that weight upon themselves by changing laws and traditions that protect shame-killers and sentence the victim to death or a lifetime without living. I long for the day when honor is defined by strength of character, courage to confront accepted evils and the protection and empowerment of the weak. When brothers will stand by sisters, allowing them to bloom out from underneath the weight of honor.

I believe that day is on it’s way, and Jordan’s best is yet to come. And I believe Jordan’s male blogging community will usher that day into Jordan’s tomorrow.