There were some things that I had been thinking about blogging yesterday that were about how I only have three weeks left here and I feel as if I haven't been here at all, or about how differently I think about hijab now and generally more academic, more calm topics. However, all of these topics are dwarfed by what happened on this very innocuous morning in Jordan.
Started out like every morning. I had anticipated showing up to SIT, making myself some coffee and honey and sitting down to blow off some time before I actually needed to do work. And by that I mean, I should have been doing work from the beginning but alas, like most college students StumbleUpon and Facebook called me away and it's almost as if my brain refuses to write papers without them these days.
I come in and megan is watching a bootlegged copy of The Fountain, a movie I have always hated (even though Hugh Jackman is beautiful, well when he doesn't look sickly and has hair but, you know). So I finish up watching the tragic movie with her and we are called in to speak with our director who informs us that the case (from Petra, if for some reason you wouldn't know what "case" I'm referring to) has come to Amman and that the head magistrate of the criminal court needs me to come in and tell my story all over again. wonderful. Megan and I hop skip over there with a lovely staff member and we walk through some grungy hallways that no description could do justice. Random people sitting, walking into offices. To me it looks all like chaos but we find whatever office we were supposed to visit and are ushered in.
Now readers, I watch my fair share of Law and Order, CSI, Bones, Criminal Minds and the like but after our translator had sworn to the truth on the Qu'ran, I was told simply to say that i would swear to tell the truth in the usual way, you know, no big. Well, I'm blaming the stress of being in a room with a stenographer, 2 random folks sitting behind me, and a judge (and they've freshly expunged Megan into the hallway becasue she can't hear my statement!). I forget how to swear myself in! I KNOW! Instead of the usual "I swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god", I spurt out a very nervous, "I swear to god to tell the truth". How unfortunate. My one chance to be so legit and I fail miserably. Alas, as an agnostic, it's not like it meant much anyway (I promise I tell the truth though!!).
So, just for anyone who isn't on board with what went down, when it comes to sexual assault, the brain tends to forget little details like time and place and other random things that weren't 'oh god, what's going on' worthy. Megan really took care of that in the original report I gave. so her in the hallway created some problems. Also, I still don't understand why he needed me to go through the whole thing again when my statement from that night nicely translated into arabic is sitting right in front of him in a pink folder (it figures that my case folder would be my least favorite color). Anyway, we go through the whole thing again and I realize I am the only one in the room willing to say penis. I mean, it's a medical word! But I truly felt bad for my translator and the man behind the desk. I mean, I felt awkward and tragic but I'm sure it didn't help that I was just being so non-arab in my lack of hesitation or skirting around the word.
So after about a half hour my story is once again told, freshly remembered and it's Megan's turn to be my witness. Readers, have you ever had those moments in your life where you're just so struck by everything going on, you sort of want to giggle, and you know you'll never forget it? I cannot tell you how sublimely odd it felt to watch the stenographer typing away in Arabic when I entered that office and then, before my statement got underway, to watch him stumble over typing in English and take very long minutes typing out my full name. In a sea of Arabic in a random court office in the middle of the Middle East, there's my name. Right there. That was a moment that won't be long forgotten. How strange things all turn out, really.
Anyway, Megan gives her statement in a much shorter time after having suffered her own interesting half hour in the hallway (read her blog for her story) and we're off after I mutter what feels like a very misplaced 'shukran' to the judge. And there it is, man in jail, Sarah on her way back to figuring out how she's going to finish writing this research paper.
On our way back our translator and wonderful staff member says to me as we leave the office, 'mabrook'. I do suppose it would be a moment to say congratulations, it just felt a little funny. Anyhow, before we get back to school she stops in a cake shop and comes back, gives megan a white box and tells her it's for me and her becasue we've had a hard hour (though I would protest much longer time period) and that we should celebrate our experiences. God bless her awesome-ness. I'm sitting her blogging and finishing up what I have decided to call our Assault Cakes. It doesn't really make anything go away and it doesn't change anything that happened but it is indeed hard to cry while you're munching on cake so I feel like it's serving it's purpose.
I can honestly say though that I feel better that it didn't just end in Petra because something felt unfinished. I know he's in jail, I feel a little more responsible for it. It feels good knowing that it's official. I spoke with a judge, there was a stenographer. It's hard to get that sort of closure in this country because things just don't work the same as in the U.S. so everything just feels sort of up in the air and frustratingly wasta-based and not legitimate. But I've got it. Cake Closure. Feels nice even if it doesn't make everything better.
To continue, I did want to at least touch on something I thought about yesterday because I felt it was pretty significant. When I went to Dominica before I went to college I wrote myself a letter at the end of my stay there that was sent to me around 5 months after I had been back in the country. The main gist of the letter that 18-year-old Sarah wrote was: "Oh hey older version of me, feel like you still don't know what you're doing with your life or what you want to do and feeling a little out of sorts? Go abroad! Pick up a random plane ticket to anywhere and get out because then you at least won't be static." Well, it looks like I followed my advice and it really is one of the larger reasons I went abroad to probably the most random place I could have chosen (because let's face it, I still don't know why I came to Jordan of all places).
Of course, the other day at my realization that I"m leaving in three weeks, I started to freak out becasue I felt like I hadn't really accomplished what 18-year-old Sarah wanted. And now I had only three weeks to do whatever it was! Crap.
Then it dawned on me, what that younger version of me had wanted is impossible here. Because the younger version of me wanted me to go abroad, figure out who I was (please don't judge for the annoying prosaic-ness of that question, you know you've asked yourself at least a couple times too) and get my life together you know? And I came to Jordan where I couldn't really do that, because here I suppress myself, I've tried to fit in, to absorb a culture I didn't understand and didn't know if I was comfortable with. This isn't a bad thing. In fact, I feel like I've grown intellectually by coming here (even if growth really just means being more unsure of everything). So while I could sit here and chastise myself for not "studying abroad" and being able to come back a more calm, together person, instead I shouldn't freak out these last three weeks that I missed something because I didn't actually follow the advice I gave myself three years ago. If I had wanted to follow that advice I would have had to go to a place where I could have been me. And let's be real, I can't really be me in Jordan for lots of reasons.
I suppose my reason for saying all of that is that I am trying to reassure myself to not freak out because I'm still out of sorts (maybe that's just an eternal thing for me) because I didn't actually "study abroad". But whatever it is I did do, I'm glad I did it.
Also, I'm getting a kitten when I get back to the U.S.
Sorry, I just had to tack that on to the end, this blog felt a little too crazy without it.
KITTEN!
love you all.
Started out like every morning. I had anticipated showing up to SIT, making myself some coffee and honey and sitting down to blow off some time before I actually needed to do work. And by that I mean, I should have been doing work from the beginning but alas, like most college students StumbleUpon and Facebook called me away and it's almost as if my brain refuses to write papers without them these days.
I come in and megan is watching a bootlegged copy of The Fountain, a movie I have always hated (even though Hugh Jackman is beautiful, well when he doesn't look sickly and has hair but, you know). So I finish up watching the tragic movie with her and we are called in to speak with our director who informs us that the case (from Petra, if for some reason you wouldn't know what "case" I'm referring to) has come to Amman and that the head magistrate of the criminal court needs me to come in and tell my story all over again. wonderful. Megan and I hop skip over there with a lovely staff member and we walk through some grungy hallways that no description could do justice. Random people sitting, walking into offices. To me it looks all like chaos but we find whatever office we were supposed to visit and are ushered in.
Now readers, I watch my fair share of Law and Order, CSI, Bones, Criminal Minds and the like but after our translator had sworn to the truth on the Qu'ran, I was told simply to say that i would swear to tell the truth in the usual way, you know, no big. Well, I'm blaming the stress of being in a room with a stenographer, 2 random folks sitting behind me, and a judge (and they've freshly expunged Megan into the hallway becasue she can't hear my statement!). I forget how to swear myself in! I KNOW! Instead of the usual "I swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god", I spurt out a very nervous, "I swear to god to tell the truth". How unfortunate. My one chance to be so legit and I fail miserably. Alas, as an agnostic, it's not like it meant much anyway (I promise I tell the truth though!!).
So, just for anyone who isn't on board with what went down, when it comes to sexual assault, the brain tends to forget little details like time and place and other random things that weren't 'oh god, what's going on' worthy. Megan really took care of that in the original report I gave. so her in the hallway created some problems. Also, I still don't understand why he needed me to go through the whole thing again when my statement from that night nicely translated into arabic is sitting right in front of him in a pink folder (it figures that my case folder would be my least favorite color). Anyway, we go through the whole thing again and I realize I am the only one in the room willing to say penis. I mean, it's a medical word! But I truly felt bad for my translator and the man behind the desk. I mean, I felt awkward and tragic but I'm sure it didn't help that I was just being so non-arab in my lack of hesitation or skirting around the word.
So after about a half hour my story is once again told, freshly remembered and it's Megan's turn to be my witness. Readers, have you ever had those moments in your life where you're just so struck by everything going on, you sort of want to giggle, and you know you'll never forget it? I cannot tell you how sublimely odd it felt to watch the stenographer typing away in Arabic when I entered that office and then, before my statement got underway, to watch him stumble over typing in English and take very long minutes typing out my full name. In a sea of Arabic in a random court office in the middle of the Middle East, there's my name. Right there. That was a moment that won't be long forgotten. How strange things all turn out, really.
Anyway, Megan gives her statement in a much shorter time after having suffered her own interesting half hour in the hallway (read her blog for her story) and we're off after I mutter what feels like a very misplaced 'shukran' to the judge. And there it is, man in jail, Sarah on her way back to figuring out how she's going to finish writing this research paper.
On our way back our translator and wonderful staff member says to me as we leave the office, 'mabrook'. I do suppose it would be a moment to say congratulations, it just felt a little funny. Anyhow, before we get back to school she stops in a cake shop and comes back, gives megan a white box and tells her it's for me and her becasue we've had a hard hour (though I would protest much longer time period) and that we should celebrate our experiences. God bless her awesome-ness. I'm sitting her blogging and finishing up what I have decided to call our Assault Cakes. It doesn't really make anything go away and it doesn't change anything that happened but it is indeed hard to cry while you're munching on cake so I feel like it's serving it's purpose.
I can honestly say though that I feel better that it didn't just end in Petra because something felt unfinished. I know he's in jail, I feel a little more responsible for it. It feels good knowing that it's official. I spoke with a judge, there was a stenographer. It's hard to get that sort of closure in this country because things just don't work the same as in the U.S. so everything just feels sort of up in the air and frustratingly wasta-based and not legitimate. But I've got it. Cake Closure. Feels nice even if it doesn't make everything better.
To continue, I did want to at least touch on something I thought about yesterday because I felt it was pretty significant. When I went to Dominica before I went to college I wrote myself a letter at the end of my stay there that was sent to me around 5 months after I had been back in the country. The main gist of the letter that 18-year-old Sarah wrote was: "Oh hey older version of me, feel like you still don't know what you're doing with your life or what you want to do and feeling a little out of sorts? Go abroad! Pick up a random plane ticket to anywhere and get out because then you at least won't be static." Well, it looks like I followed my advice and it really is one of the larger reasons I went abroad to probably the most random place I could have chosen (because let's face it, I still don't know why I came to Jordan of all places).
Of course, the other day at my realization that I"m leaving in three weeks, I started to freak out becasue I felt like I hadn't really accomplished what 18-year-old Sarah wanted. And now I had only three weeks to do whatever it was! Crap.
Then it dawned on me, what that younger version of me had wanted is impossible here. Because the younger version of me wanted me to go abroad, figure out who I was (please don't judge for the annoying prosaic-ness of that question, you know you've asked yourself at least a couple times too) and get my life together you know? And I came to Jordan where I couldn't really do that, because here I suppress myself, I've tried to fit in, to absorb a culture I didn't understand and didn't know if I was comfortable with. This isn't a bad thing. In fact, I feel like I've grown intellectually by coming here (even if growth really just means being more unsure of everything). So while I could sit here and chastise myself for not "studying abroad" and being able to come back a more calm, together person, instead I shouldn't freak out these last three weeks that I missed something because I didn't actually follow the advice I gave myself three years ago. If I had wanted to follow that advice I would have had to go to a place where I could have been me. And let's be real, I can't really be me in Jordan for lots of reasons.
I suppose my reason for saying all of that is that I am trying to reassure myself to not freak out because I'm still out of sorts (maybe that's just an eternal thing for me) because I didn't actually "study abroad". But whatever it is I did do, I'm glad I did it.
Also, I'm getting a kitten when I get back to the U.S.
Sorry, I just had to tack that on to the end, this blog felt a little too crazy without it.
KITTEN!
love you all.
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