Travelin’ Stories

After Hareega’s post about Southwest Airlines, I was thanking God I would never be passing through AZ on on the Greyhound of the Skies. I have now learned, after one Southwest experience, I am a spoiled international flier and there are reasons why cut-rate airlines are thus described.

We got to Chicago Midway Airport to discover we had not one, but two stops on the way to Reno: Nashville and Phoenix. My first thought was “Great, the kounouz can add another state to their repertoire” (up until our last trip to the US when we took Amtrak across America, they had been to more countries on the world than states the US). My second thought was “Hey, I can wave at Hareega from the tarmac, not even 30,000 ft!” (now that just shows how bizarre blogging is, that people you’ve never met can be the second thought in your head).

All good until we take off and the pilot says: “Good morning, folks! blah…blah…and it is a toasty day at our second destination, Phoenix is blazin’ recording 110 degrees, yup, a hundred and tween.” My heart stops, remembering what Hareega wrote about plane tires shredding on hot landing surfaces. So when we landed, I just kinda grabbed the hands of the closest kinzayn and prayed. Whew, all went well.

I learned that people going to Dallas are different than people going on vacation. On my Dallas flight, we had suits and laptops, all humans totally connected to electronic devises and speaking not another word on the flight. For a people person, that was just TOO weird. I was traveling alone, no kids to care for, and ready for a dose of Americanism; and I spent the whole time reading (well, I did enjoy eavesdropping on the high-powered business lady behind me hitting on a man thirty years her senior) .

BUT, going to Reno, it was a whole different story. Gamblers, hikers, waterskiiers, the whole plane was yacking away about where they had traveled and where they were going. High energy, great fun. The family next to us were US Embassy employees in an African country, so we chatted about the expat experience. The dad’s family had a vacation home in Tahoe, so both our families were going to enjoy history remakes for our kids. Their little girl was so cute, she said: “Goin’ ta Lake Taco!”

Arriving in Reno is always a trip. Getting a glimpse of Lake Tahoe is Slot machines available within twenty feet of the arrival gate. I hate gambling with a passion, and have seen it destroy so many lives and livelihoods. Lil Kinz remarked that some of the ladies in the posters didn’t wear enough clothes :P.

I was astounded that my favorite bands as a teen-ager were all headlining at the casinos.: Eddie Money, America, Boz Scaggs, Doobie Brothers, Creedance Clearwater Revival, Kansas. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. How they would’ve gagged thirty years ago if you told them they would be playing in casinos now. So sickenly establishment. But then i realized, this is what baby-bloomers (you know, late baby-boomers) want to hear, and they have the bucks to entice those old rockers out of retirement

Thanks to my cool sis, we were going to rent a Ford Explorer SUV. The kounouz were OVER The Moon excited. But at the rental counter, all they had left was an upgrade to Chevy Suburban. Hubby choked at the thought of the lower gas mileage (at $4.65/gal) but the kids went wild with excitement. When I saw this beautiful, humungous car, even I got excited. I thought: “Hey, it is MY turn to run other cars off the road!!!”

Since I am the one familiar to the territory, Skeeter let me drive. But I just couldn’t bear to drive like a royal chauffeur with those poh-lice lurking behind every billboard. The scenery is much like Jordan, desert and some scrubby shrubs. Once you get into Lassen National Forest, the beauty changes with the scenery. It was as if it was spring, wild flowers still blooming, squaw carpet and fresh green manzanita lining the roads until towering pines rise. Deer lined the highway at regular intervals, lifting heads to see who was passing through their domain. Breathtaking beautiful, soul food for an Ammani mom who likes cornfields, but LOVES mountains. I know Highway 89 is a precursor to heavenly delights.

Around a corner, we started down a two mile straight stretch through a canyon, the pavement undulating like a ribbon as far as I could see, the pine trees shadowing forward in variegated shades of dark green. The blazing orange sun (colored so due to the haze of many wildfires) lined up BETWEEN the pines, setting directly in front of us. Awesome. It was a Worship Moment, one of those times God pulls back the curtain between this world and eternity and adds just a touch of His glory to make it supernatural. Hallelujah.

Several hours later, we pulled up the gravel drive to Sis’s ranch. More than a dozen dogs bounded down the road to greet us, followed by Sis and her Hubby. Joyous, joyous reunion. Lots of hugs, lots of Great Pyrenees slobber. Can’t wait for more.

Discovering a Lurker

At times I have been REALLY surprised at who reads my blog. The regulars from the JP days, to the lovely ladies of the Umm Society, to the Israeli ladies across the river, it seems I have very, very diverse readership. There is even someone who runs a blog with photos of naked Arab ladies dancing who visits regularly (I am NOT posting the link :D).

 I’ve also been disappointed that none of my family are too interested, they’d rather have the fam news in an email without all the extra adjectives and editorializing.

Well, today I have discovered I have a lurker who IS a family member! Wonders never cease, someone I never would have guessed. Great to have you on board, R & T! ;) 

Texas Bound :)

What a week! This was family event week, all TOO fun with many blog-able moments (not all about overeating, too! My nieces have a new obsession I can’t wait to write about). I’ve also had a couple local writing opportunities pop up.

BUT, I am off to TEXAS for three days, BY MYSELF. I’m visiting friends who moved from Jordan, our very best and closest, loaded with a suitcase full of spices, cardamom coffee, Habeeba baklawa and comfort food from the Souk and their families. I can’t believe some of it got by the sniffing Beagles of O’Hare. This family is very special to us, and I wish I could blog about WHY they are in Texas, and not Jordan, but it is one of those mamnuu3a subjects I dare not attempt.

After the trip, the fam picks me up and we spend the weekend in Chicago with friends. Next time we are there, hopefully Iman and I will connect and do some live blogging/vicarious & virtual taste-testing from The Cheesecake Factory (heh-heh, Iman knows nothing of this, it’s my personal fantasy).

SO, no blogging til next week. Blessings!

To Sue or Not To Sue: Inthar 3adileh on Labor Day

That is my new phrase of the day, and my decision of the day to ponder. What do you think I should do?

One thing I HATE about living here, is being forced to be someone I am not. I am not by nature an aggressive driver, I follow the rules and give people lots of room who don’t. But here, if I want to get in the flow of traffic, when NO ONE will move left to a clear lane to accommodate new traffic, where no one uses the nifty European ‘zipper’ method of merging, I will go fast with a big car and force my way in. It goes against my nature, and I resent it.

Another thing I hate is men who think I would be attracted by their staring, gross tongues, and grosser sexual invitations. Even in front of my kids. In order to appear ’strong’ and not weak, I have to get in their face and act like a you-know-what to defend my honor. I am a nice person, a moral woman of deep faith, a faithful wife, and their innuendo makes me want to throw up (all over them).

My latest thing I hate is the attitude of a certain magazine owner who has chosen not to pay his free-lancers for four months, letting his admin girl be the fall-gal to deliver the: ‘insha’allah next week’ refrain. For twelve weeks I had been kind, understanding and cooperative. But to him, a mild-mannered marshmallow to take advantage of. This marshmallow finally got singed to the point she is discovering her inner-Erin Brockovich.

A month ago ago I called a couple of the other free-lancers and discovered they were getting the same run-around. We decided to stop submitting articles until we were paid. It didn’t help, the mag just started advertising for more suckers to string along. I decided we may be stronger as a unit than as individuals, and began to think class-action. One of them asked me to start a union for them. Chuckle. Me, the Republican, Right-Wing Bottom-Feeder, starting a free-lance writers union. Mostly, I just want to handle this like Jesus would want me to.

I used my developing super-sleuth /journalistic skills to track the guy down, and discovered he is hardly a starving entrepreneur. He is a man of means and assets. I brought little Kinz with me and waited for him to open his store (I figured he wouldn’t yell at me if I had her with me). I sat down and kindly explained there must be some mistake, I’m sure he just forgot, but he has been remiss in paying his free-lancers, and it is time to make it right. He frowned: “How do you know them?” I said: “We are all bloggers, we have websites that thousands of Jordanians read”. He looked startled, then stood up and said: “Next week, insha’allah”. I told him, with a smile, I am tired of insha’allah, my trust has been broken and I would be happy to take goods from his store in the amount I am owed. He sat back down and smiled and said: “But no, you will have a check next week”.

A week passed. No call, no check. I asked blogger El 3atel what he thought I should do, since he had been well-acquainted with the non-paying-company-syndrome. He said “Be a lion”. ROARR!!! I roared to God in prayer asking for wisdom, hoping I wouldn’t have to do this, but it seems a part of my character development He desires done.

I sent and email yesterday saying exactly what I wanted. I got one back saying the check would be ready Sunday, but that they forgot the raise per piece they had given in December and didn’t include the latest issue’s work. I sent an email back saying I wanted the full amount as I submitted the latest issue’s work early and they were the ones who were late to print.

Today, I got the answer to my prayer. Two actually. One friend who has royal wasta said she could arrange a little phone call. The father of another friend offered his company legal counsel and advised me to file an “Inthar 3adileh”, to give the man two weeks notice before I actually start legal action against him for all the free-lancers, including fines, interest, and reimbursement for Tylenol. I sent the owner another email saying if the full amount I requested was not available Sunday, we would proceed to file the Inthar 3adileh on Monday. One of the other writers laughed that I seem to have more wasta than he does. Bizarre.

This is so scary (not nearly as scary as previous Mafia connections. But that is another story :D).

But, I think I am doing the right thing. If any of you have anything to add, please speak up! And what does Inthar 3adileh mean, anyway?

My 5,000th Comment

After seventeen months of blogging, 425 or so posts, 84,000 or so views and more than 30,000 spam comments, I just received my 5,000th comment!!

Gila Weiss is a new linker, an American-Israeli blogger who lives in Tel Aviv.  She is a survivor of a bomb attack there, which is why she started her blog ‘My Shrapnel”

In the last month, I’ve been linked by three American women living in Israel. It has been an eye-opener, and a reminder why we need to be ‘in touch’ at many levels to hear stories from every side of the issue. I trust we can all ‘be nice’ to one another as we connect on-line and bump into painful areas.

Thanks to all who continue to make this blogging experience a fun, instructive and stretching part of life.

I Heart Mona Eltahawy

I first read Mona’s writing at Natasha’s blog, then rediscovered her at the Sudanese Thinker. I just love how this woman thinks, how she calls it what it is, how she articulates tough topics and has never (that I have seen) resorted to the slash and burn contempt tactics that shut down dialogue for good. Here is her latest post, about Iraqi Christians.

Between Mona, HM Queen Rania and some of the American Muslims ladies I read and have now met (Umm Zain, Umm Farouq, Umm Omar & Umm oops, inseet, Bama Bedouin) I am beginning to think that it is going to be the strong but feminine voice of Muslim women that correct wrong perceptions of their faith, AND correct those Muslims who are reinforcing those perceptions.

They remind me of of the biblical account of Abigail, whose husband made some deadly choices. She, with winsome humility, spoke great wisdom to David and saved her family’s lives.

You go, girls, I’ll be cheering for you.

That Alexa Business

Ever since Qwaider posted QP bloggers ratings by Technorati and Alexa, I’ve tried to look it up myself and just get more and more befuddled. I got it once, and it said 25% of the hits were from India! Shu? Is that where spam-bots breed or something?

I checked it today, and I was so surprised where people visit from:

Jordan   33%

US         16.7%

Egypt     8.3%

Belgium  8.3%

Bahamas 8.3%

Holland    8.3%

Canada    8.3%  etc.

And none from India? Are they vacationing in the Bahamas and Belgium? I mean, these aren’t real readers, are they? Or maybe they are the ones who get my blog for the Bichon Friese puppies for sale?

I suppose this is a follow-up to my Hi-Tech Blues post. I couldn’t even get signed up for Technorati!!! Something with my username? Mish 3arfi, oo mish muhim. Mine must be not to question why, until I get a Mac and Mac Muse to help me make it work. 

100 for Fouad & My Own Brush with The Law

I had planned a post for Fouad’s 100th day in prison without charges, 100th day without seeing his wife and children, 100th day of listening to the niggling voice that accuses him that speaking his mind wasn’t worth it. As media freedoms in Jordan seem to deteriorate, I feel the chill and hear volume of that niggling voice increase. It is easy to support him in prayer, and with a post now and then, but is it easy when he could be a poster boy for what happens who those who flex their freedom too freely here?

For me, the consequences are nothing compared to those who are citizens here. Yet, even I, Mrs. Family -Values/Parenting/Non-Political writer, hit a snag with the powers that be over something I wrote in a magazine! It was a warning, a reminder of how closely writers are watched, yet no specific example was given. It was probably intended that way. Sadly it fulfilled it’s purpose: I self-censor more, re-read looking for a detail that might offend, delete a snarky comment that isn’t worth giving up my precious Jordanian lifestyle over.

The journalists who are incarcerated here could also be husbands and fathers. I wonder about those kids, like Fouad’s and am sure the plan is going to back-fire. Those kids are going to resent and stand against what kept their daddies away. They could be a force to contend with in a decade or two.

Peace

Meeting Southern Muslimah

And Um Omar, and a non-blogging friend of theirs.

MommaBean connected me with her on & off-line friend Southern Muslimah (Umm Farouq) yesterday. Alabama seems to be US home-base for a disproportionate number of American ladies these days, although Um Omar and friend hail from California as I do.

Did we have a good time? AH SAYID, DID YA’LL HAVE A RIP ROARING GOOD OLE TIME? (Poor attempt to imitate ma aunt Betty from Montgom’reh. None of these ladies talk Southern anywho)

Did we eat? Oh my, like only Americans fixated on sweets and Mexi-stuff influenced by Jordanian proportions can!

Did we talk? My oh my, did it STOP? For hours!! We only stopped to get more food and coffee!

Did we talk about stuff we miss from the US? Without drooling or coveting, indeed we did.

Did we talk about stuff that drives us crazy and and we are crazy about in Jordan? Bistimraaaaar.

Did we identify EVERY social issue in need of change and begin to strategize how to make it happen? You Ain’t Seen Nuthin Yet (yea, we are the Bachman turner Overdrive and Journey generation. Did you know the new lead singer of Journey on tour is a Filipino!!!)

Watch Out World. We are Coming.

We are Mobilizing. We are Going to Rock this Country for Good.

Us American Messi7een and Muslimaat are going to do more than lighten up the gene pool, we are going to Facilitate Change.

Watch out Old Guard. In our our sweet, submitted and winsome way, we are going to take on the status quo.

And we will also eat and continue to remember lyrics of songs that inspire us to fight the good fight! Synergy, I felt it! Supermoms, unite!

Whew! I feel inspired to finish the mountain range of dishes on my counters AND go outside and pick up trash! but, I think I’ll blog instead.

Thanks ladies, for blessing my day. Can ya’ll give me a “Ma-sha’Allah”, a “Hallelujah” or an “Amen”?

(Calling ‘Bama-Mama, next time we work it around your schedule!!)

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.