Presidential Scholar - Wofford College

And Again

Well here we are again. Once again I am leaving an area and heading off into the unknown. Though this time I will at least know some people when I hit the ground (this being a testament to the fact that Wofford currently has two graduates who earned Fulbright grants to study in Germany). It is very exciting.

And while I will be sad to leave the Middle East, at the same time I am beginning to really feel that the trip is coming to a close. Bittersweet to say the least, but I can handle disappointment. So, yes I will miss Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Israel, and Jordan but they were educational and fun and what right do I have to ask for more?

The packing has begun and soon enough I will be on a plane. Catch you all on a new continent! All the best.

A Change in Milieu

I have been relatively upbeat (forgiving my periodic lapses into homesickness and self-pity) in my blogs over the course of this trip. Indeed, I have been trying to be as optimistic and positive as possible no matter with what I am confronted. But some of my experiences have tested that resolve. I will not belabor you with a list, but I feel so strongly about that this most recent turn of events that I will not seclude it to my private notes. And I know that some of this is simply a difference in cultural outlook, but please forgive that and -if nothing else - view this post as a type of personal catharsis.

A few nights ago a man went to the hospital carrying his unconscious daughter. She did not wake up, dying a few hours later. An autopsy revealed that various blows to head had caused a hemorrhage which proved fatal. The father turned himself in to the police. Jordan has it's first honor killing for the year 2009.

I don't understand this. I mean, I know the cultural relevance of it, but I fail to understand it. How is death a fitting punishment for leaving the house wearing makeup and for talking to a stranger? For according to the man and his two sons - who are also charged with murder - that was the girl's infraction. Only that...

But, you say, the father and the brothers confessed and are being charged by the Royal Prosecutor, justice is being done. Perhaps. For this single incident yes. In this case, justice might be achieved (the maximum penalty if the trio are found guilty would be life imprisonment). But there is not the outrage here that I feel internally. Here, it is simply an acceptable occurrence. Though this might be the first of the year, the tiny Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan averages about twenty honor killings every year. And the people accept that. Indeed, despite the crown's urging to view the killings in the same light as other homicides, they are not. And legislation attempting to introduce harsher penalties for honor killings is consistently defeated in Parliament. The reason given being that tougher penalties would lead to adultery. I simply cannot wrap my mind around the fact that here, where the death penalty is not an option when sentencing convicted murderers, that killing a 19-year old girl is acceptable for talking to a stranger! Where is the logic in that?

There is a tension here as the country awaits the report of a verdict. People on both sides of the issue await the outcome of this case, believing it will set the tone for the entire year. And yes, I am outraged. But I cannot speak of my outrage here, because that might be perceived as passing judgment on their culture as a whole. I must maintain an outward appearance of indifference, or even agreement with whomever I might be talking. And perhaps I am judging where I have no right, as I am an outsider. But some things are right and some things are wrong. Murder is the latter.

It is frustrating and it is saddening. And it reveals a different side of the country, one which I do not wish to see or experience, but which I have not had the choice to decline. How sad.

The pros and cons of crossing the Syrian border

Okay. You might have noticed that it has been awhile since I have posted. Sorry. But I was on a little excursion to Syria and Lebanon and the internet is pretty heavily censored there. I didn't even check my email (gasp!).

However, despite this inconvenience I have to admit that this side-trip has won my award for the most pleasant surprise of the trip, though there were some rough patches. I crossed the border basically to visit the Museum of Arabic Medicine and Sciences- which is in Damascus and somewhat of a letdown. Technically Americans are unable to get visas to Syria except at the Syrian Consulate in Washington DC. But I had heard a rumor that it was possible as long as one was willing to wait for a while at the border. I didn't really have any other pressing engagements, so I decided to try it out. Cut to me sitting in a pretty uncomfortable chair for sixteen hours waiting to get my passport back (without any assurance of actually receiving a visa). It was annoying to say the least. And the attitude of the people behind the screen was not encouraging (or even vaguely friendly). Needless to say, by the time my visa was actually granted I had very low hopes for my time in Syria.

But all of that changed when I got to Damascus. Considered the oldest inhabited city in the world, Damascus has structures still in use that date back to BC times. And it is a very impressive city, as it is a riot of color and sounds which is completely unexpected as one approaches it from the vast wasteland of desert which surrounds it. By the end of my first day in Damascus (I don't count the day I spent on the Border) I decided that it wasn't that bad. The people were nice, though different from the ones I had met and interacted with in Jordan, and the food was excellent. So I decided to try my luck at the Lebanese border. That proved to be an amazing decision.

Despite its war-torn reputation, Lebanon is an amazing and beautiful country. It has green, fertile valleys with soil as fecund as any I have seen on this trip as well as snow-capped mountain ranges (which incidentally have blizzards this late in the year). And standing on a hill overlooking Beirut watching the sun slowly plunge into the Mediterranean is an experience I will never forget. I was told by a local shopkeeper that the whole country is more or less a turf war and I can see why. Lebanon has just worked its way onto my "Places to Revisit". Of course, it didn't hurt that I also visited a first century church to pray, Roman ruins to see the largest cut stone of the ancient world, and met with some amazing and informative people. Overall it was an awesome experience. And crossing back into Syria on my way back to Jordan only took four hours, which was a major victory for me.

Would I go back to Syria? Yes. But I would definitely get a visa beforehand.

Hope all is well.

Festival time

If you are not a practicing muslim or living in an islamic country you might not be aware that today is the birthday of the Prophet (or at least the day on which his birthday is celebrated - mawlid in arabic). However, if you are in an islamic country then you certainly know this, as the streets and souks are covered in streamers, no one is working, and music celebrating the day echoes from all around you (as it has been doing for the past few days). It is a very festive day. And even the weather is cooperating; there has been a break in the winter weather and it seems we are moving into spring. The sun is shining and things get warm, though the breezes remain chilly. I am told that in a few weeks winter will be a vague memory and that the sun and heat will bake everything as if it were the height of summer. But I won't be here then and will have to take everyone's word on it. Today I am just going to enjoy the pleasant change and revel in the celebrations.

 On a different note, I woke up this morning and received a note at my hostel:

     "The spice shopt with the remedies I told you about is a two-story building with wooden doors, if you face the King Hussein Mosque walk to the right along the street for maybe 1km. They don't speak English, but it should be awesome research."

This particular shop is known not for cream, powders or distillations, but instead for burning various things in combination to effect health - or sometimes things more mystic than health, like fate. In some cases I am told that you need to be near the smoke and in other cases it is unimportant if you even know the the burning is taking place or not. At first glance it seems similar tothe smoking ceremonies of the Australian aboriginies, but I'll let you know more after I dig around a bit tomorrow. Isn't it awesome what one can find during random conversations with strangers?

 Everything is awesome here. Hope all is well with you. All the best.

Unexpected

I am running a little late for a meeting, so I have to keep this short, but I thought it was worth reporting. They call Amman the White City, assumingly because it is constructed almost entirely out of the indigenous sandstone (and or white concrete depending upon the means of the person paying for the building - or is it cement, Rob?). I have always had a problem with this since it isn't so much white as it is beige or taupe. But the Taupe City just doesn't sound as visually appealing, does it? Well today, I have nothing to complain about because it has begun to snow and everything is being covered and softened in pure, natural white.

I am not sure how long it will last, but hopefully I get to go revel in it before it goes all dingy again. If only I hadn't set up meetings today!! All the best.

P.S. Oh, and since I was supposedly going to avoid any major cold spots on this trip (notice how well that goal has been achieved...) yes, I am still in sandals.

Oddly Similar

For those of you who have been following the blog from the beginning, I have come up against yet another oddly reminiscent moment. Way back in Australia I was trapped by a winter storm in a cafe for several hours; well, here I am again. Only this time I am in Jordan - where oddly enough it is again the tail-end of winter -and instead of being quietly introspective I find my mind to be a-roil with thoughts about my experiences yesterday as I warm numb fingers around my mug.

For you see, yesterday I was once again in the refugee camps of the Palestinians. Specifically I was in Baq'a (the oldest of the two camps close to Amman) though I should point out the misleading use of the word 'camp'. Refugee section of the city might be a more apt description of the place. Certainly, when I think of a camp I think of tents and fires, temporary conditions at best. And while this might be the case in the Sudan (a.k.a. Darfur) according to my U.N. contacts that is not the case here, where there seems to be less space and the buildings show more wear and tear and a cheaper construction but are otherwise indistinguishable from the other parts of the city. Indeed Baq'a has been here since 1966 and now houses 90,000 registered refugees (notice the use of 'registered', since it means that there are more actual individuals in the camp). Originally created when the first wave of refugees fled the West Bank, the camp now houses over four generations of dispossessed. And thought the vast majority of Jordanians are themselves of Palestinian descent, they are clearly labeled as outsiders.

Ammanites will not go to the camps. They do their best to not associate at all with the refugees. The popular belief is that the camps are a haven for crime, prostitution, and disease. That the refugees are less civilized than the Jordanians themselves, dangerous and subversive. They are certainly poorer and given fewer chances, but in my trips to Baq'a I have failed to find any other difference between the Palestinians and the Jordanians. The Jordanian government tries to help, obviously by offering sanctuary and even extending passports to the refugees. But unlike the Urdu speaking refugees from Pakistan in India, the Palestinian refugees are not citizens. A fact that is clearly denoted by the large 'P' stamped on their passports and other forms of registration. Yet, I have yet to get a clear sense of if this bothers the refugees themselves. Many of these people still hold the keys to their homes and the deeds to their property in Palestine. They dream of returning home, even almost a half-century after being driven forth. Though some know nothing of their homeland save words and pictures, they are not satisfied with their lives in Jordan.

And why should they be? I do not posses the knowledge to fully analyze their troubles, let alone solve them. But I do think that I have gained a deeper sense of empathy with them over the course of this trip since I have seen a lot of poverty and a lot of loss. There is a deep and abiding sense of home, that one yearns to feel fulfilled. And it saddens me to say that this situation is not even the worst of poverty, loss, or tragedy that I have seen. However, it is always possible to take comfort - scant though it may be - in the strength and resilience of the spirit of those suffering and what little you can do for them. For no matter your views on the situation here, the fact that these people are suffering is undeniable. Even if it is only to help the U.N. teachers teach hygiene in return for their gracious guiding through, with associated explanations, of camp life.

And as I sit here in the deepening dusk, watching the sleet and rain turn the streets and alleys into streams and rivers all heading down the hills to flood the lower sections of the city it seems as if I can do little enough, indeed. But on this, the Holy day of the Islamic world I am unable to do anything in fact. So instead I sit here and brood, hoping to sometime soon feel my frozen toes and eventually dry my shoes.

I hope all is well with you back home. All the best.

Amman: Day 5

I forgot to mention something relatively important in my last post. Jordan is cold at this time of year. Correction: not just cold, freezing. When the sun goes down it becomes colder than you can imagine, and then the wind hits you. Even bundled in all the layers I can pull out of my duffel bag I shiver. When the sun is up it is comparable to a brisk fall day, but woe betide the unfortunate who is unprepared to deal with the setting of the sun. However, with that said I get quite the kick out of walking into the shadows of the descending dusk bescarved and with my coat buttoned up to my chin - though I am still shod in sandals, because that is just the type of crazy to which I subscribe. It allows me to practice my burgeoning Arabic skills (colloquial not standardized) and continues my familiarisation with the city. Plus, there isn't anything cooler than spending the night walking through the markets at night, canvas overhead snapping in the wind and allowing ocasional glimpses of the star strewn sky, listening to the hawkers ply their trade. Plus, the free hanging lightbulbs and oil lamps present quite the scene as they reflect off the polished surfaces of all the metal work and the pottery through the wreaths of shisha smoke.

But as evocative as these scenes are of Arabian Nights they are not the reason I have come to this part of the world. The Middle East offers an interesting health perspective. Relatively progressive in their use of biomedicine, they are somewhat culturally constrained in their concept of disease or the freedom of practice (i.e. STIs, male doctors practicing on women, etc). But thankfully there is a thriving bedouin culture that relies heavily on the native species of plants (despite a recent influx of Asian herbs and medicines) and the landscape itself. People come from all over the world for the benefits of the mud and water of the dead sea, though usually in conjunction with the sun and heat of summer. Thankfully, for your entertainment and perusal I will be slathering myself in mud and taking a float soon.  am told you get used to the cold and stinging water eventually... More on this at  later date, I promise.

However, being in Jordan presents me with another issue entirely. Situated an hour from Jersulam and also bordering Iraq and Lebanon Jordan has quite the influx of refugees (mainly Palestinian, but thers also). And this is an opportunity I cannot miss. Finally I have a legitimate reason to contact the World Health Organization!! Sadly, only the local offices, but beggars can't be choosers. I have contacts who promise to take me to the camps as soon as I can get permits. Sweet.

And it has been awhile since I have recorded any fun food adventures. Well, there hasn't been anything outlandish recently - or at least no more outlandish than bugs, chilies, etc - but Jordan doesn't offer that much of a challenge. Falafel and goat are pretty standard for me at this point. However last night I did have a traditional beduoin rice dish that gets served with a broth that is made with dried goat cheese. And I don't know how it works but it tasted exactly like Kraft (I probably should insert a copyright symbol here, but I am a rebel) Macaroni and Cheese. It was phenomenal. What can I say, sometimes the comfort food of one's youth has no equal.

Well, that is about it for now. Hope all is well. All the best and have some fun!

Amman: Day 3

The city of Amman presents an almost painfully monochromatic exterior on first sight. And second (third, fourth, etc.) views do little to alter that impression. It is only when you get inside the homes and buildings that you encounter a garish (I hesitiate to use the term tacky, but certainly over the top) sense of style and color. With that said however, the people are absolutely over the top in their hospitality as well. And what they may lack in colorsense is more than made up with their helpfulness.

IT is easy to get lost here - though I believe I could say that of everywhere I have been. But this city is a true labarynth constructed on a mountain. I fully expect to come around a corner and see David Bowie at some point (for those few who got that reference I apologise). There are Roman ruins next to modern buildings, and of course all of this is piled (and that is is carefully chosen verb - though jumbled is a close second) atop the bare rock of the desert which is Jordan.  If at first it seems a little desolate, it makes up for it by the culture. It is everywhere you look and though a little mysterious at this point, it is also very much arousing my curiosity. Plus, it is just awesome to have my days broken up by the voices ringing from the mosques only to echo back from the desert. I think if you were to go into the depths of the city those echos would be found hidden in some alley. That might sound like bad poetry, but I think it is true.

Okay, well when i have more to report I will do so. Until then I would like to reccomend that you drink hot mint tea out of a cut crystal glass on the edge of a Roman ampitheater. According to my friend it is a panacea. We'll see. All the best.

South Africa, Part 2: Day 4

Following this post are several posts that I had previously written but not had the opportunity to post. Please mentally backdate them. Thanks.

I love the Company Gardens in Cape Town. I find myself back in the city tying up some loose ends before I catch my next flight and I spend most of my free time in them. Truth be told I also try to arrange most of my meetings there (you know, if I get to name the place of meeting). 

It is a bustling expanse of lawns, gardens and sun dappled benches. School children run through it at all hours and there are almost always artists trying to capture the natural beauty of the gardens on their easels. Today, for example I had lunch with a group who practice energy healing with their particular brand of the practice being of the QuantumSchool. It was interesting.

All is well, though it is a little hot. Everyone is covered with the sheen of sweat, and it is hard to reconcile the fact that it is winter at home, and that this is the down season for visiting South Africa. Why not come during there summer? But I digress.

All is well here. See you.

Early Morning Thoughts

For whatever reason on this trip I don’t sleep much. I wake for sunrise almost every day. This is somewhat of a blessing; it gives me a slow start to my days, time to think about everything that is happening. This morning I spent that time in the desert, out among the dunes of the Namib Desert. I left my car parked along the side of the road and began climbing the mountains of sand by the light of the fading stars and the setting moon. It was cool, with the slightly gritty wind forcing me to wear my sunglasses (yeah… the sun never sets on someone this cool). It was incredibly quiet and eventually I settled on top of one of the dunes, my legs burning and my breathing slightly labored.

I want to tell you it was a spectacular sunrise, that the sun appeared from behind a dune rising majestically, turning the sky into a riot of color with its glory reflected blindingly from the sand. However that was not the case. The sky went from deepest, velvety black to a pearly gray gradually, eventually lightening to the clear, translucent blue of the Namibian coast, revealing the vast expanse of shifting sand. In a few hours not even the coastal winds will be able to provide relief from the searing sun. The sands are mesmerizing, but for me the most amazing things is the sheer expanse of the heavens.

Paul Bowles titled his first novel “The Sheltering Sky.” Bowles uses stark prose which is ruthless in its lack of sentiment but has a deep, abiding spirit of place. It is almost clinical in its detachment, reminiscent of the searing Saharan sun that is so essential to the novel’s denouement. The story is of a couple who takes a journey through the desert in the 1940s, but who become lost and in the end mad. Ultimately it is a tale where the desert landscape is used to demonstrate the inner journey of the characters. Only in the desert can Bowles portray the mystic forces of a land ripe with promise and wisdom. Only when unfettered with life and all its entanglements can the ecstasy and death that Bowles precisely manipulates truly play out in their full scope. But the story itself is incidental to my mentioning it (though I do recommend the book), it is the title that I considered sitting in the sand watching the day break. Out in the desert there is no shelter. There is no palm to provide shade and a sense of protection. There is only the sky. That vast, untroubled expanse of sky. I think that what I have noticed most during my time in Africa is the sky. It is different than anywhere else I have been. I think it will be my most abiding impression of the continent, which considering the experiences I have had here is saying something.

I believe that the book was made into a critically acclaimed, though not well known, movie. I have not seen it, but will have to watch it sometime. All is well here; I hope the same can be said for you.