What follows is a series of notations on topics that came up on my trip to rural Badia to live with a homestay family there for four days and five nights. Studying anthropology has taught me that four days and five nights is as useless for understanding people (or even just one person) as a fork is for eating ice cream. That's actually a tragic analogy, forks are fairly useful in a pinch for eating ice cream, unless it's extremely melty in which case my analogy stands. Nevertheless, I hope you got what I was going for. Moving on, here is what a visitor to the Badia noticed in four meager days:
I did not get proposed to, did not eat a lamb's head, and did not shower. What I did do was learn a little bit and watch a lot about what it meant to be a woman in the Badia.
Silence
Silence is something that I thought I was comfortable with. I thought that I was superb at being silent with myself and with other people. I've always been a fan of the quotation from the movie Pulp Fiction when Mia says, "That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the f*** up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." I completely agree with her. Speaking to someone for the utter use of filling silence is silly and worthless, does anyone have meaningful conversations that way? Anyway, I always thought that I was good at silence, at being comfortable in them. I was wrong. My family in the Badia was supposed to consist of a sister who was an english teacher. She had been married off to someone and so I was left to my own devices with 3 (or maybe just two, but I think three) sisters and a mom who spoke only Arabic. I've only been here for about a month, my Arabic is next to nothing, and though in Amman I can get by because my family here speaks some english and a well placed mumtaz can win over hearts if delivered correctly (referring here to cab drivers in general or food service employees), I am nowhere near able to conduct a conversation about the simplest of topics in Arabic. And so I was in a bubble of silence. After the general introductory questions and exclamations were stumbled through (stumbling mainly on my part), quiet descended and did not leave. On their part, my family seemed content in this silent world, discussing things as they came to mind briefly and then retreating back into not speaking. I struggled on this front the most. Awkward- I am awkward. And I try to cover my awkwardness by being artificially more awkward. This logic makes sense in my head but in practice rarely works, especially when you can't be silly and irreverent for lack of communication abilities. So I sat there, being awkward with myself. In these periods of quiet I ran through a Rolodex of reasons I was so uncomfortable or why no one was speaking to me (they don't like me, they are annoyed I don't speak more Arabic, they wish they had another student or none at all, they couldn't care less about me, why does this even bother me so much?!). And then I stumbled upon the answer: I am a multi-tasking freak. If it's not my computer it's my phone and if it's not my phone it's the TV and if it's not that it's books, homework, friends, CDs, DVDs, blah blah blah. And the reason I was so uncomfortable: The only thing I ever want is for people to like me and there was no possible way of confirming that and being certain they weren't just lying to me to make me more comfortable or happy because I was a guest with them.
So I plastered a content smile on my face at all times to reassure them I was happy and to convince myself that I may be awkward incarnate but that they don't hate me and that I'm not a complete screw-up.
Did the silence get more comfortable? Not really. Not being able to speak to people on any meaningful basis who are hosting you in their home is a pretty big mushkilah (problem). And for someone who needs reassurance that she is not being a terrible imposition upon them and that she is not annoying or disappointing to them, it's an even bigger problem. And so I was left to reassure myself that this was not the case (with some help from my "thank god she speaks arabic better than I do" neighbor/cousin Sarah Dawn, another SIT student).
The moral of the story? Must remember to tell myself that you're already trying not to be an imposition and trying to be constantly happy and that's enough. And it's okay. And silence is good. And doesn't have to mean anything other than you just can't speak to each other because you speak english and they speak arabic.
Sitting, Hospitality, and Women's Work
I have never sat so much in my life or been told to sit so much in my life. Dr. Raed says women are the backbone of the Badia. He says they do all of the work. If they do I must say it looks as if it's all behind the scenes. Or it's a sort of unspoken "social" work that goes on. And by social work I mean a sort of hard to explain "glue" that holds the community together. This is where the meager four day, good as a fork analogy comes in. In four days what can I really know about these women. There's too much in my way and by too much I mean as a guest I am not privy to doing any of said work that these women supposedly do. In fact, after observing the morning folding of blankets and putting them away after sleeping, I attempted to follow suit the next morning and fold my blankets in order to ease my mind (refer to previously notated "imposition" sentiment) and just to help out. Immediately I was stopped and not allowed to clean up. I'm a guest after all and the hospitality in this place is ridiculous. I was then told to sit. This being the case, you can see how impossible it is for me to observe, much less partake, in the work that women do, whatever it is. All I can say is that they sat with me often, making me question what is was that they actually did.
Things I am certain women here do: cook, serve tea, care for guests, care for children, teach at schools, serve visitors, sit with guests.
Women are important and the work that I saw them do while there (see above) is definitely pivotal. But I have a feeling a lot more is going on and I'm just not allowed to see it as a visitor and guest.
Protection
The above information being known (or at least vaguely thought about), women could definitely be interpreted as being important and the backbone of a community when conceptualized in the way that appeared to be the case (tempered by the "four day" qualification, of course). And this was: protected. I did not meet the men of my family. And if I did, it was in passing because I was re-entering the house and happened to see them on my way to one of the other rooms and to not be introduced would be rude. We (women) did not eat with men. We (women) slept in a room without men together. My general interaction with men would have been completely zero if Sarah's host dad hadn't have whisked us off to Wadi Rum and "little" Petra for two days. Men were not involved in my stay in the Badia really at all. On top of this, I felt shuffled often. Shuffled from one house to another (when I would go to Sarah's to go on a journey to the big wide world when we went on our trips) or shuffled from one room to another, shuffled from seeing the school to seeing the pre-school. It's hard to describe this feeling, the feeling of being something protected and in transit. I don't want to exaggerate. I was not caged. I mean, I went on two day-trips with Sarah's family to Wadi and Petra. But when I was with my family, life felt very different. I felt like this precious little thing that was given the bed even though I'd rather have slept on the floor with the rest of them and not have felt like I was kicking them out, I felt like something that needed shielding from the coldness of outside or the male gaze by being kept inside as much as possible and having my sisters walk me to and from Sarah's even though it was a five-second walk and all I wanted to do was run around outside and get a little dirty. In this way, women are important and treated in such a way that shows how important they are.
-and then I remind myself, four days Sarah, you were only there for four days-
So I take it all back. Who knows what's going on? Not me, certainly. All I can know is how I felt. And me in Amman is already an interesting conundrum. Me in the Badia? A story that is interesting indeed.
I hate sitting for more than two hours at a time. I hate being waited on and not being allowed to help out around the house. I hate not going outside and going for walks or exploring where I am.
These were problems. Because not only was I in direct contradiction with what happened while in the Badia, but these feelings also prevent me from seeing the bigger picture because I'm too tied up in my uncomfortableness in the situation so I can't even begin to look objectively at what's going on and why. That would have taken a much, much longer time. I wonder how long you have to stay in the Badia before they stop considering you a "guest" and start considering you a part of a working community that needs to contribute...
The Hijab
Or the veil or anything else that you see a woman covering up with int he Middle East. The most important thing I've learned here so far: this covering, whatever it is, cannot in any way shape or form be used to describe a woman here. Not even her religious affiliation because guess who wore one in the Badia? Yours truly. For a long time, I've been enamored with the hijab, what it means, why women wear it, what it is to them, what it means to men, to outsiders looking in, etc. etc. And what I have found is that it is simultaneously the most complicated and most simple topic.
Complicated: From the outside looking in it is seen often as a restriction on women's rights, or at least a commentary on the equality of men and women in the Middle East. A student in our discussion put it best when they referred to it as such a difficult topic because it's seen by so many as a marker of the modernity (or lack thereof) of Middle Eastern culture and society and thus forces women into a position of speaking to that issue even if it's not what's going on at all.
Simple: Women will wear whatever they see fit and for their own reasons. End of story.
How I have come to feel about it: Well for one I missed my hair. But that was expected. I feel naked without my bangs and my hair is like an extension of my personality so that was a tad painful. Aside from that I think it's important to remind people who aren't here with me that behind every veil or under every hijab is just a woman or a girl doing what she wants. She's a good mom, she has her own opinions, she is free simply in her ability to make the choice of whether to cover or not. I guess it sort of came from seeing them everywhere. In America, hijabs are far and few between, or at least where I live so seeing one puts you off kilter a little bit (or maybe not). But here it's everyday material, on most women and girls, to the point of me being uncomfortable about my hair for the first time (unheard of previously in my life). Seeing them everywhere is sort of pacifying, it just becomes the everyday. And I like that. I like that after a month I'm no longer hyper aware of the one women in the Randalls in Houston that is wearing a hijab. It is now the status quo. And though I still don't know every single woman's reason for wearing it or any of the nuances behind that reasoning (so really I don't know anything, yet again) I'm comfortable with saying that I'm happy feeling (and maybe knowing) that it's just a girl, doin' whatever she wants and that's cool and it doesn't have to be an issue.
General Thoughts
So what did I take out of this? Interesting question.
1. I hate not being able to communicate. I hate not knowing Arabic. I want so badly to be able to at least insist on helping out, even if they don't let me. Or to be able to talk to them about their lives and what they do, what they like, hate, want to do, love, whatever. ANYTHING. Utter inability to communicate is one of the more painful things I've ever experienced.
2. Women in the Badia are indeed amazing and I wish I could spend a lifetime trying to understand what they do, how they feel, and everything in between but i only had four days and five nights.
3. Men in the Badia...they exist?? Just kidding, but seriously, it would have been nice to at least have had some sort of access to their entirely different world (which, thankfully, I sort of do, from the stories that the men of SIT bring back with them about their stays).
4. I have heard from professors before that bringing children into the field has its perks and drawbacks. I have never been happier to have children around me. In the Badia, children became my outlet, because even if I couldn't speak to a group of women at a meal, I could smile and laugh at a kid being silly and they could see I was enjoying myself. In the future should I for some reason being doing serious cultural anthropology (so far none of my life plans involve this), I would sincerely consider procreating before said ethnographic endeavors and taking the kid with me.
5. There's nothing like a lack of technology and communicative skills with the people around you to bring out some good philosophical/generally hardcore awesome conversations with the only other english speaker around. Sarah Dawn, watching the sunset in Wadi Rum with you and talking for hours with you that day was wonderful.
6. I love the humour in the Badia and the general relaxed nature towards raising children, potential problems (mish mushkilah, no problem), and just general chill attitude. Also, for a culture of shame (as Dr. Raed put it), my sisters were constantly poking fun at my arabic. But it was all good fun and I'd take it again any day for the laughs it gave everyone. Besides, my accent is terrible and I read slower than I five-year old. Make all the fun you want, I do all the time.
7. I still want to ride a camel and actually maybe someday make a meal in a kitchen here but I have a feeling both are far fetched goals and I will come to be content with learning(and actually retaining) a couple of new arabic words a day.
8. I'm glad as all get out that I went, even if it was terribly uncomfortable at times or I felt cloistered and lacked vitamin D for a couple of days. It may not have been my cup of tea (speaking of, I'm glad I can get back to the world of tea without sugar again) but it was certainly a very memorable, interesting, and eye-opening place to be.
Until next time, I'm off to the dead sea tomorrow and am in dire need of studying for my upcoming midterm, love to all.
I did not get proposed to, did not eat a lamb's head, and did not shower. What I did do was learn a little bit and watch a lot about what it meant to be a woman in the Badia.
Silence
Silence is something that I thought I was comfortable with. I thought that I was superb at being silent with myself and with other people. I've always been a fan of the quotation from the movie Pulp Fiction when Mia says, "That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the f*** up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." I completely agree with her. Speaking to someone for the utter use of filling silence is silly and worthless, does anyone have meaningful conversations that way? Anyway, I always thought that I was good at silence, at being comfortable in them. I was wrong. My family in the Badia was supposed to consist of a sister who was an english teacher. She had been married off to someone and so I was left to my own devices with 3 (or maybe just two, but I think three) sisters and a mom who spoke only Arabic. I've only been here for about a month, my Arabic is next to nothing, and though in Amman I can get by because my family here speaks some english and a well placed mumtaz can win over hearts if delivered correctly (referring here to cab drivers in general or food service employees), I am nowhere near able to conduct a conversation about the simplest of topics in Arabic. And so I was in a bubble of silence. After the general introductory questions and exclamations were stumbled through (stumbling mainly on my part), quiet descended and did not leave. On their part, my family seemed content in this silent world, discussing things as they came to mind briefly and then retreating back into not speaking. I struggled on this front the most. Awkward- I am awkward. And I try to cover my awkwardness by being artificially more awkward. This logic makes sense in my head but in practice rarely works, especially when you can't be silly and irreverent for lack of communication abilities. So I sat there, being awkward with myself. In these periods of quiet I ran through a Rolodex of reasons I was so uncomfortable or why no one was speaking to me (they don't like me, they are annoyed I don't speak more Arabic, they wish they had another student or none at all, they couldn't care less about me, why does this even bother me so much?!). And then I stumbled upon the answer: I am a multi-tasking freak. If it's not my computer it's my phone and if it's not my phone it's the TV and if it's not that it's books, homework, friends, CDs, DVDs, blah blah blah. And the reason I was so uncomfortable: The only thing I ever want is for people to like me and there was no possible way of confirming that and being certain they weren't just lying to me to make me more comfortable or happy because I was a guest with them.
So I plastered a content smile on my face at all times to reassure them I was happy and to convince myself that I may be awkward incarnate but that they don't hate me and that I'm not a complete screw-up.
Did the silence get more comfortable? Not really. Not being able to speak to people on any meaningful basis who are hosting you in their home is a pretty big mushkilah (problem). And for someone who needs reassurance that she is not being a terrible imposition upon them and that she is not annoying or disappointing to them, it's an even bigger problem. And so I was left to reassure myself that this was not the case (with some help from my "thank god she speaks arabic better than I do" neighbor/cousin Sarah Dawn, another SIT student).
The moral of the story? Must remember to tell myself that you're already trying not to be an imposition and trying to be constantly happy and that's enough. And it's okay. And silence is good. And doesn't have to mean anything other than you just can't speak to each other because you speak english and they speak arabic.
Sitting, Hospitality, and Women's Work
I have never sat so much in my life or been told to sit so much in my life. Dr. Raed says women are the backbone of the Badia. He says they do all of the work. If they do I must say it looks as if it's all behind the scenes. Or it's a sort of unspoken "social" work that goes on. And by social work I mean a sort of hard to explain "glue" that holds the community together. This is where the meager four day, good as a fork analogy comes in. In four days what can I really know about these women. There's too much in my way and by too much I mean as a guest I am not privy to doing any of said work that these women supposedly do. In fact, after observing the morning folding of blankets and putting them away after sleeping, I attempted to follow suit the next morning and fold my blankets in order to ease my mind (refer to previously notated "imposition" sentiment) and just to help out. Immediately I was stopped and not allowed to clean up. I'm a guest after all and the hospitality in this place is ridiculous. I was then told to sit. This being the case, you can see how impossible it is for me to observe, much less partake, in the work that women do, whatever it is. All I can say is that they sat with me often, making me question what is was that they actually did.
Things I am certain women here do: cook, serve tea, care for guests, care for children, teach at schools, serve visitors, sit with guests.
Women are important and the work that I saw them do while there (see above) is definitely pivotal. But I have a feeling a lot more is going on and I'm just not allowed to see it as a visitor and guest.
Protection
The above information being known (or at least vaguely thought about), women could definitely be interpreted as being important and the backbone of a community when conceptualized in the way that appeared to be the case (tempered by the "four day" qualification, of course). And this was: protected. I did not meet the men of my family. And if I did, it was in passing because I was re-entering the house and happened to see them on my way to one of the other rooms and to not be introduced would be rude. We (women) did not eat with men. We (women) slept in a room without men together. My general interaction with men would have been completely zero if Sarah's host dad hadn't have whisked us off to Wadi Rum and "little" Petra for two days. Men were not involved in my stay in the Badia really at all. On top of this, I felt shuffled often. Shuffled from one house to another (when I would go to Sarah's to go on a journey to the big wide world when we went on our trips) or shuffled from one room to another, shuffled from seeing the school to seeing the pre-school. It's hard to describe this feeling, the feeling of being something protected and in transit. I don't want to exaggerate. I was not caged. I mean, I went on two day-trips with Sarah's family to Wadi and Petra. But when I was with my family, life felt very different. I felt like this precious little thing that was given the bed even though I'd rather have slept on the floor with the rest of them and not have felt like I was kicking them out, I felt like something that needed shielding from the coldness of outside or the male gaze by being kept inside as much as possible and having my sisters walk me to and from Sarah's even though it was a five-second walk and all I wanted to do was run around outside and get a little dirty. In this way, women are important and treated in such a way that shows how important they are.
-and then I remind myself, four days Sarah, you were only there for four days-
So I take it all back. Who knows what's going on? Not me, certainly. All I can know is how I felt. And me in Amman is already an interesting conundrum. Me in the Badia? A story that is interesting indeed.
I hate sitting for more than two hours at a time. I hate being waited on and not being allowed to help out around the house. I hate not going outside and going for walks or exploring where I am.
These were problems. Because not only was I in direct contradiction with what happened while in the Badia, but these feelings also prevent me from seeing the bigger picture because I'm too tied up in my uncomfortableness in the situation so I can't even begin to look objectively at what's going on and why. That would have taken a much, much longer time. I wonder how long you have to stay in the Badia before they stop considering you a "guest" and start considering you a part of a working community that needs to contribute...
The Hijab
Or the veil or anything else that you see a woman covering up with int he Middle East. The most important thing I've learned here so far: this covering, whatever it is, cannot in any way shape or form be used to describe a woman here. Not even her religious affiliation because guess who wore one in the Badia? Yours truly. For a long time, I've been enamored with the hijab, what it means, why women wear it, what it is to them, what it means to men, to outsiders looking in, etc. etc. And what I have found is that it is simultaneously the most complicated and most simple topic.
Complicated: From the outside looking in it is seen often as a restriction on women's rights, or at least a commentary on the equality of men and women in the Middle East. A student in our discussion put it best when they referred to it as such a difficult topic because it's seen by so many as a marker of the modernity (or lack thereof) of Middle Eastern culture and society and thus forces women into a position of speaking to that issue even if it's not what's going on at all.
Simple: Women will wear whatever they see fit and for their own reasons. End of story.
How I have come to feel about it: Well for one I missed my hair. But that was expected. I feel naked without my bangs and my hair is like an extension of my personality so that was a tad painful. Aside from that I think it's important to remind people who aren't here with me that behind every veil or under every hijab is just a woman or a girl doing what she wants. She's a good mom, she has her own opinions, she is free simply in her ability to make the choice of whether to cover or not. I guess it sort of came from seeing them everywhere. In America, hijabs are far and few between, or at least where I live so seeing one puts you off kilter a little bit (or maybe not). But here it's everyday material, on most women and girls, to the point of me being uncomfortable about my hair for the first time (unheard of previously in my life). Seeing them everywhere is sort of pacifying, it just becomes the everyday. And I like that. I like that after a month I'm no longer hyper aware of the one women in the Randalls in Houston that is wearing a hijab. It is now the status quo. And though I still don't know every single woman's reason for wearing it or any of the nuances behind that reasoning (so really I don't know anything, yet again) I'm comfortable with saying that I'm happy feeling (and maybe knowing) that it's just a girl, doin' whatever she wants and that's cool and it doesn't have to be an issue.
General Thoughts
So what did I take out of this? Interesting question.
1. I hate not being able to communicate. I hate not knowing Arabic. I want so badly to be able to at least insist on helping out, even if they don't let me. Or to be able to talk to them about their lives and what they do, what they like, hate, want to do, love, whatever. ANYTHING. Utter inability to communicate is one of the more painful things I've ever experienced.
2. Women in the Badia are indeed amazing and I wish I could spend a lifetime trying to understand what they do, how they feel, and everything in between but i only had four days and five nights.
3. Men in the Badia...they exist?? Just kidding, but seriously, it would have been nice to at least have had some sort of access to their entirely different world (which, thankfully, I sort of do, from the stories that the men of SIT bring back with them about their stays).
4. I have heard from professors before that bringing children into the field has its perks and drawbacks. I have never been happier to have children around me. In the Badia, children became my outlet, because even if I couldn't speak to a group of women at a meal, I could smile and laugh at a kid being silly and they could see I was enjoying myself. In the future should I for some reason being doing serious cultural anthropology (so far none of my life plans involve this), I would sincerely consider procreating before said ethnographic endeavors and taking the kid with me.
5. There's nothing like a lack of technology and communicative skills with the people around you to bring out some good philosophical/generally hardcore awesome conversations with the only other english speaker around. Sarah Dawn, watching the sunset in Wadi Rum with you and talking for hours with you that day was wonderful.
6. I love the humour in the Badia and the general relaxed nature towards raising children, potential problems (mish mushkilah, no problem), and just general chill attitude. Also, for a culture of shame (as Dr. Raed put it), my sisters were constantly poking fun at my arabic. But it was all good fun and I'd take it again any day for the laughs it gave everyone. Besides, my accent is terrible and I read slower than I five-year old. Make all the fun you want, I do all the time.
7. I still want to ride a camel and actually maybe someday make a meal in a kitchen here but I have a feeling both are far fetched goals and I will come to be content with learning(and actually retaining) a couple of new arabic words a day.
8. I'm glad as all get out that I went, even if it was terribly uncomfortable at times or I felt cloistered and lacked vitamin D for a couple of days. It may not have been my cup of tea (speaking of, I'm glad I can get back to the world of tea without sugar again) but it was certainly a very memorable, interesting, and eye-opening place to be.
Until next time, I'm off to the dead sea tomorrow and am in dire need of studying for my upcoming midterm, love to all.
Wadi Rum with Sarah!
Sarah's host little sister
Sarah's host family in Little Petra
Megan's host little sister on the last day, the bus to the right was our ride back to Amman :)
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