Christmas in Zim

We had a day of exploring, a Sunday drive. Typically for us, it was ad hoc, the idea not even discussed until eleven.

We took the kids to the lion and cheetah park just outside of Harare – a mini drive-through safari. We saw lions, several kinds of antelope, zebra, wildebeest, a spotted hyena, baboons, an ostrich, a peacock, and a 306-year-old tortoise. No cheetah seen, but there were two lion cubs that were very cute. However, at the walk around bit, a chain-link fence isn’t much when a full grown lion leaps at your kid. It’s disconcerting to say the least the way the lions only have eyes for the children.

Then there was Snake World where they (I opted out) saw some local highlights: a puff adder, some cobras, a black mamba, a crocodile, but no python (shucks). The nearby Lake Chivero wasn’t much to see during an afternoon shower. According to Lonely Planet, it is “all the rage for Harare day-trippers who love to fish, boat, party and organize lakeshore braais” (aka bbqs). Hopefully there’ll be more to tell about that place another day. The dirt roads around the lake turned to red clay puddles that D enjoyed splashing through in his new (to him) Land Cruiser.

We finally ended up eating dinner in an English pub back in Harare full of Zimbabweans watching Aston Villa play Arsenal. David nailed it when he said: back in the States you don’t often see a pub full of black people cheering a soccer match. There were other moments like that today of feeling – whoa, we are not in Amman any more. This is Africa: driving along in a 4x4, looking at the green rolling hills dotted with red rock boulders, conical thatch roof houses, women walking along with babies tied to their backs and bundles balanced on their heads, African music on the radio.

Granted, there is also the sound of rats racing across the attic floor above our heads in the early hours of the morning. And there was a smallish one doing laps in the pool the morning after Christmas day. (We didn’t tell our friends who brought their daughter over later to swim in the pool.) There are other living things that share our space: flies, spiders, mosquitoes, fleas from the dog that Rob and Nadia have left behind until they can ship him to Amman (thanks!).

At about 6 p.m. on Christmas Eve, I thought…man, I better come up with a plan for Christmas! It has been so busy with the move and trying to find our way around, and also to meet with people here. We moved into the house on Monday the 21st, got our shipment from Amman that day (a miracle, expensive, but miraculous nonetheless), and spent the next days unpacking and filling in gaps where we could. There were power outages those first days for about 48 hours…and we don’t have water when there’s no power. We do have a generator, but running it all day isn’t feasible since it uses so much fuel… So much to figure out here! ( …including driving a stick-shift from the right side of the car, avoiding getting eaten by mosquitoes at night, finding a place to get an internet connection, figuring out when the holidays are…oh, so you get the next 5 days off, ok…)

Very unfortunately, I lost the battery charger for the camera on our move, and we have not been able to find a store that sells a replacement here. Needless to say, I’ve been suffering. No photos of the kids this Christmas!

Fortunately, nice people have been helping us out. Just about every night, we have been invited over to someone’s house for dinner or a party or poker or whatever. And even though we literally have zero appliances or furniture in our house [we did bring a coffee maker and toaster (smart) but no vacuum cleaner, washing machine or dryer, dishwasher…we acquired 4 mattresses that are on the floor, 3 pillows, and a few bar stools that came with the house, and that’s it…linens arrived with the shipment, as well as some kitchen things], we do have a very worn rattan set that was left behind: 2 chairs, 2 loveseats and a coffee table that are on the outside patio which is well-shaded (though not fully protected from fleas since that’s where the dog sleeps at night since we kicked him out of the house.) So, twice people have brought their kids over here. Other than the rat infested pool and the flea infested furniture (I am exaggerating a little), we also have a tree swing to offer which is amazing (if not exactly checked for safety), a trampoline, and a couple of swing sets, one of which has a dinosaur the kids can climb on and open and close its mouth with a lever. We brought most of our toys from Amman, too, so the kids can play in their carpeted playroom with those things and their few new xmas things. Also, beer and wine is not only plentiful here; it’s cheap.

So to be a bit more specific on the friends front: there’s Clementina, her husband Olivier, and their son Sebastian who is now a tough little 2 ½ year old; Keith (MC’s global agriculture specialist) who’s staying here for a month with his wife Donata and their 5-year-old daughter Alegra; Veena and Olga who are MC staff who D worked with in Sudan and who are now the Deputy Country Director and Finance Manager, respectively, for MC Zim; and there are the others who have been introduced to us. Clem and Olivier hosted a Christmas party for 15 which included the braai, swimming, and a gift exchange (to which I contributed the “Chinese” twist concept) and lots of drinking. I also made a peach cobbler (my first, I think) which was edible.

So back to Christmas Eve…while David was sleeping off his afternoon beers (he had been hosting while I was shopping), I picked a potted plant (a bit ant-infested I discovered later), to decorate with tinsel I had brought with me from Amman that was left over from Falastin’s going away party. I put it on the coffee table and skirted it with a red headscarf Miles had worn for Halloween, and after a few rounds of Oh, Christmas Plant with the kids and some discussion of how Santa would use his magic to travel all over the world that night, we were set. To make the night just a bit more special, we started the Star Wars trilogy, which we continued for the next two nights. (Other than “the force,” some interesting depictions of aliens, and inspiring special affects, it really is just about blowing things up, I was a little disappointed, as an adult, to discover. And, yes, it is a bit scary for a 3-year-old, even a hardened one like Eliza.) DVDs can be watched on the laptop or if we hook up the projector, on the painted brick wall of our bedroom as we cuddle on our mattress on the floor.

The children enjoyed their paltry gifts...we'd been giving them one here and there during this not-so-easy transition period to help soften their experience. But they weren't phased at all by the smaller pile of presents or lack of snow/tree, etc. They are thankfully still too young, or else just getting used to this crazy uncertain life.

Where we are now...

So we’re still at the Bronte… The food isn’t terrible. The people are friendly. It’s not too busy, big or formal…as family friendly as a hotel without a playground can be. But Miles got sick. There is a virus going around, I hear now. At first I thought he’d been sun-poisoned. I let them play at the pool from breakfast to lunch without sunscreen. My excuse? 20 kg per bag…there was so little we could bring with us, so much to sort through…and the kids’ bathroom was the very last to get packed. One can’t travel with a bunch of heavy bottles of liquid that will likely explode everywhere. One buys toiletries when one arrives…if one remember… Anyway, would a kid really vomit and not eat for 2 days because of too much sun? He wasn’t even burnt that badly.

Meanwhile, paradise awaits…

With the tropical gardens just outside our room, the colorful birds, cheap beer, wireless connection (!)…being holed up in the hotel isn’t too bad. We even got a large basket full of stuffed animals and toys left behind by Rob and Nadia’s girls. The trunk of xmas gifts has dwindled as we’ve doled out bits here and there to help them through the transition, but there’s probably just enough to make xmas morning seem special.

That said, xmas has not been on our minds at all. What’s on my mind are the following:

• Moving out of the hotel and into the house so that the housekeeper who lives there can watch the children so that I can practice driving on the left side of the road without the kids in the car.
• Monitoring the status of our shipment (from Amman) and helping, when possible, to get it released from customs…in tact (cross your fingers for us).
• Getting my own phone.
• House-hunting
• Seeing the Chisipite house to figure out what we need at minimum to stay there until we find our permanent house.
• Shopping for the things we need for the Chisipite house.
• Finding out where to shop.
• Finding a nursery school for Eliza to start in mid-January when Miles starts KG.
• Decide on some places…or place?...for the family to check out during the xmas holidays while d's office is closed for 2 weeks and the kids are out of school for 3!…overnight trip to the mountains? Wildlife reserve? Victoria Falls?
  

First Impressions

Although the move and settling-in are challenges are stressful, we are all excited and feeling positive about our choice to make a life here. The climate and nature are gorgeous, the people friendly (both international and local), the aid scene apparently energized and growing, and the surrounding area has a lot to explore.

I felt giddy even at the Johannesburg airport. It was much more developed than Amman or Doha’s airports: lots of stores with safari camping gear and the usual African souvenirs: carved wooden masks, statues of elephants and rhinos, zebra skins, clothes with tribal and animal prints, pith helmets and khaki vests with countless pockets. This compared to Amman/Doha with tiny gold painted glass tea sets, elegantly embroidered head scarves and black floor length robes, and framed golden Arabic calligraphy of scripture from the Quran. The airport was of the high-ceiling, glass and steel frame enclosed design, and restaurants jutted out into the parking lots of 747s. We were probably more excited by the real English breakfast with delicious bacon (hello pork!). Instead of the usual young guy serving us in the restaurant, a middle-aged local woman waited on us. Seeing women in areas of work that I haven’t seen them in for the last 5 years in the Muslim world has been surprisingly refreshing. It makes me feel more relaxed to see women drivers, women bagging groceries, women waitresses and hotel managers. Because that used to be me—I used to work jobs that my many of my Jordanian and Sudanese friends could only imagine very down-and-out women doing. Yet seeing these women reminds me that I used to feel like I could do anything, and that is a freedom worth having. While there are advantages to the dignity, respect and honor that are important in Arab cultures, there are also advantages to just be taken for yourself and to be free to make something of yourself without worrying about how it might have a negative impact on one’s own (or one’s family’s) reputation.

Granted, these are first impressions. Still, I always remember vividly those first moments upon arriving somewhere. How can I forget that I had to be careful not to shake hands with the guy who picked us up at the airport in Jordan because despite his being a really nice guy who is well educated and fluent in four languages, he’s a devout Muslim who practices “not touching women.” In that first drive into town I was highly irritated that I had to monitor my behavior and that I had to worry when I accidentally grabbed his arm to stop him from giving something to the kids. He respects me, but he will be defiled by shaking my hand? After a while, one gets to sort of understanding these things. In a way, he’s showing me respect. It’s the same reason why a (male) cashier will put the change on the counter instead of in a woman’s hand. Same goes for eye contact. That stuff I didn’t like getting used to. Like thinking twice about a man making eye contact with me… What kind of woman did he think I was? Another loose Western woman?

In Harare, the sky was overcast when we arrived but the clouds were far away. I sensed the altitude from the depth of the sky and lightness of air. While David checked into the Bronte’ hotel, the kids and I explored the garden. There was a small fish pond in the middle of a green lawn. Around the perimeter were countless varieties of plants and trees. After years of desert and rock, the diversity of the nature was overwhelming – leaves of all sizes, shapes, colors and textures, sticking out in every direction. I felt like I was in a Matise (?). The hotel was white with dark wooden door and window frames. The rooms were off open air brick passageways that link to the garden patios under the huge jarcanda and cactus trees. Dozens of the locally made statues dot the gardens. There’s one of a mother swinging her daughter playfully that’s on our way to the room that Eliza likes.

...more later

Thanksgiving in Amman

Since Tday was my last DAY of work, I opted for a low-maintenance celebration...and on Friday. Full meal delivery service. No, it wasn't expensive. Yes, it is weird that my local bakery/restaurant would have a full tday meal delivery service in Amman since it's an American holiday. It was another American who tipped me off, and her blatant utilization of this service over the last few years absolved me of guilt...somehow. Plus, with all non-American guests, I felt I could kind of get away with it. The turkey was perfect. The rest was edible. Add to that my mom's recipe for sweet potato casserole, and all colors were nicely represented on the plate.

Ben with Emily and Eliza in their Gymboree jumpers from the States.

Andrea (vintage fur) with Jacob in actual lederhosen (leather pants).

Andrea's Kathi in traditional German dress

Caroline being coy.

Eliza and Oliver painting

Saif, Ghaith's brother, made it out for a second Thanksgiving with us. We'll miss the Al-Omari brothers!

Moving Sale

So I lost it at one point in the packing process - not sure what happened, but I basically wanted to crinkle my nose Bewitched-style and just make it all go away...to Harare...but instead I just had to start over with what I was doing and do it right the second time around.

I had been dreading the moving sale (no yard or garage here). Was expecting to have waves of regret about getting rid of this or that item. Anticipating awkward haggling over prices on my life's possessions. Or worse, to spread the innards of my home on tables in the sun and have no one even show up. But it was surprisingly nice in several ways:

• I was providing people who came with a bargain: great prices for things they really needed.
• I was making money!
• Regarding the things I cared about, people that I liked were taking them, so it was almost like gift-giving. I could feel happy about that the new end table is sitting in K's house and that my best dictionary was at P's.
• I had the distinctly invigorating feeling of cleaning out the backs of closets and lightening my load.

Next for the shipments...

Moving On

I keep getting asked: are you excited about the move? Are you ready? Are you looking forward to your new life in Zimbabwe?

Life as it is has not allowed my mind much time to consider these things. The end of my work is like a tsunami, everything thought or read or discussed accumulating into a thick wall, pushing forward, consuming everything else. I leave the house before the kids are ready, come home in the darkness when they're already back in their pajamas. I wish I had more to show for all the hours I put in. It's slow, but I am past the biggest procrastination station, full steam ahead for the next six days. Driving me is the real desire for product and the letting go.

Next are the logistics for leaving: material and personal. Sorting out the household: give away (what to whom), sell, pack the bags to take on the flight, pack the bag to ship, arrange to have other things professionally wrapped and sent. Spend time with people: one-on-one, in couples, a tea party for Eliza's friends, an early German Christmas party. Buy things native for people that they will not think too odd to utilize. DHL them to the States for mom to wrap as our xmas gifts in absentia. Meet with teachers for a preschool semester summary. Make skype phone calls in anticipation that we will not have a good enough connection in Harare. Buy children's toothpaste and other items we imagine we might not find there.

Then I'm hoping there will be time for reflection. Two years is long enough to expect you might know something about a place, if only a stronger feeling of it than when you arrived. It's also good-bye to the Arab world which we've lived in for most of the last five years (Alhamdaleila!). It's not that I've got real problems with the place. I'm just looking forward to seeing how my life will be different in a non-majority Muslim area...and to seeing something other than marble, stone, sand and thorny bushes they call "trees" here.

The Change That's Coming

From THIS to THIS in roughly six weeks. Wishing soooooooo much I could focus on the family's transition instead of being overwhelmingly busy at work. Am thankful we have the additional income to help with the move though.

What Jordan Can Be Like

Weeks ago we went to a birthday party of Eiza's classmate from her nursery school. The invitation was designed as a medieval scroll: a royal celebration hosted by the king and queen for Her Highness the Princess...we'll call her Dahlia.

I understand how the princess thing is sometimes unavoidable with girls. On top of that, we live in a kingdom. But nothing, not even hearing about Dalmatian puppies once being given as party favors here, prepared me for this. On the south lawn of the prestigious Dunes Club, tables had been set up with white linens for the adults and children. There was a five star hotel buffet and a meter high pink castle cake. There was a red carpet, princess decorations galore, and at least a hundred people, half of whom were nannies, servers or party animators.

Children were asked to attend in royal costume. Upon arrival to the club, the girls were brought to a woman dressed as Cinderella who applied eyeshadow and lipstick while another woman twisted up her hair, sprayed it pink, and attached beaded butterfly clips. Eliza was given plastic bracelets and rings (that slipped off her baby fingers and arms). They gave her a pink feather boa and a crown that were fun-looking but irritating and quickly removed, as well. In fact, she went right for the swing and after that kicked off her shoes and played in the sand while the other kids gathered round for the activities led by the animator.

He was the grand dame of the ceremonies, a large campy Arab (Jordanian?) who would clap his hands and call out game rules to the children. Before starting, he always yelled, "Nannies back! Nannies back!" But inevitably, the Filipino ladies would rush in, one hand on the arm of a kid, the other scooping up scattered candy from the busted paper mache castle. There were lots of games. It was all very overwhelming. Lots of little plastic prizes.

There was something curious about the broken-nosed, sports-jersey dad and all his brothers there. One felt this had to be the most perfect magical birthday for their little princess...or else.

It's not uncommon for cakes to have giant sparklers burning on them instead of candles. But 3-year-old Dahlia had to stand in front of the crowd with the giant pink castle cake burning under as many sparklers as it could carry, then behind her they set off bigger ones, spitting and roaring their sparks. And if that wasn't enough to scare us all, they set off another huge display of fireworks behind me and the other guests. One of Eliza's little friends was so traumatized by the party, she was in tears when I brought cupcakes to school for Eliza's birthday. Shaking and crying in the corner, she said: No! No! I don't want to go to a birthday party!

Cloud 9

David's old friend from high school - an exchange student from England named Stewart - was coming to Lebanon for a holiday, and we convinced him to pop over to Jordan for a couple of days with his wife Raina. Both of them make films for a living, and Stewart works full time now as a film producer for Save the Children UK. Their visit just happened to coincide with the first day of the youth training for documentary film-making, so Stu and Raina came. Stu showed some of his work and answered questions from the participants. Stu and Raina were really inspirational, and they were impressed with Mohammad Hushki, the director/trainer. I was on cloud 9 seeing everything come together. These 20-somethings are all Iraqi refugees, a few years into their life-on-hold here in Jordan where they can't really work. They can't go back home, and many are waiting to be re-located to a third country. So here they are learning from pros about film-making: producing, sound, lighting, camera use... Yesterday they were already putting up sets around the office and practice interviewing people. Next week, we're heading out to capture the story of a friend of one of the kids, a 16-year-old who lives and works at a plastics factory and supports his family who are stuck in Syria.

Having an idea, finding support, coordinating with various people, and then being there to actually see it happen...all within a few months...it's so much more exciting than sitting behind a desk writing reports :)

Shout Out to the Hubby

This weekend D was a star. He spent most of his weekend day/night shopping for and cooking up a multi-course meal for my birthday that wasn't easy. Martha Stewart style...heavy on the effort...like 50 fresh ingredients just for the soup. He let me sleep in both mornings...til 11 today! He played scientist with the kids, catching a caterpillar and setting up a jar/terrarium for it, as well as maintaining the three tri-ops aquariums. Examining them all under the digital microscope camera on the t.v. Both the kids were thrilled. The night before, he had them also kicking around a soccer ball and playing baseball in the garden. Then tonight at a farewell dinner for his boss, the esteemed Middle East regional director, D gave an impressive speech that made his boss tear-up, as well as others in the audience, and made me very proud. And he hadn't prepared for it at all.

Needless to say, I've been feeling like one lucky girl.

Birthday Reflections

Only three years ago I was hugely pregnant and waiting for my husband to leave Sudan to meet me in Chattanooga so we could have this baby. I think D & I were separated then for almost two months. He sent me flowers for my birthday.

I was going to write that it sure doesn't seem like three years since we left Sudan, but it hasn't been...(hello, memory). After Eliza was born, we moved back to Khartoum after Christmas to spend another year...well, 8 months. We came back for Sara & Brandon's wedding in September and stayed until Christmas again. After New Year, we moved to Jordan. And before we reach Christmas this year, we'll have moved on again, this time to Zimbabwe.

So that's life at 38.

Jordan went by very quickly. But it still will have been two full years, complete with visits from family who we've never had visit us abroad before. And that was a real treat.

There are many wonderful things about our coming life in Harare that we're anticipating. So I am excited about it and looking forward to it. It's the distance and potentially greater disconnect that are my only concerns. Flights there will be longer and more expensive. The internet connection will be slower. But we will (hopefully) have a house that is inviting and comfortable for guests, and I dream of hosting month-long visits from family and friends. That's really what I want from this life - to be able to share it.

Our remaining two months in Jordan will be busy with work at SC and preparing for our move that will be around the second week in December. In a week, ten Iraqi youth will start a training on making documentary fillms. This is a project that a few others and I created out of thin air over the summer, and it is exciting to think it will actually happen (cross your fingers). They will work with a director to make a short documentary about the lives of a few Iraqi kids and their experiences living as refugees in Jordan (and hopefully we'll have stories of kids in Lebanon, too). Then there's a workshop I'm organizing between SC staff in Lebanon and Jordan that will be a chance for "internal learning"...swapping their stories from the field, what their various educational programs have done well, "lessons learned," what they can borrow from each other, how they can coordinate programs better in the future, etc. That'll be in a month. I like the work. It's the best work I've had in a while, and I'm thankful (if a bit more stressed).

In the immediate future, we have a whole week off (Eid Holiday), then I have Eliza's third birthday to prepare for, then David will be gone for two weeks back to the States (in Chatt for 2 nights and one day to supervise the shipment). When he gets back, it'll be our first farewell party: Ben & Caroline are leaving. And that's when the good-byes start up again.

Jetlag

Another aspect of living on the other side of the world is readjusting to the time difference. Usually it's worse leaving the states to fly east. I struggle with sleep for at least a week. Amman is 7 hours ahead of the east coast. Most times I am wide awake at 4 a.m. and then crash hard in the afternoon. But jetlag is unpredictable, like this time, arriving at night after sleeping off and on for the whole 10 hour flight, getting to Amman late afternoon, falling asleep at 11 p.m. and waking at 2 a.m. (with the kids!), then sleeping from 8-3 in the afternoon.

I had more regular hours for a few days, helped by the need to go to work and take the kids to school. But I still felt sickly tired in the afternoons and would be energized by a second-wind late night. Then nearly a week after arriving in Amman, I fell asleep for a couple of hours putting the kids to sleep, woke up at 11 p.m. and then couldn't sleep all night. ALL night. This is extremely unusual for me. I read. I lay in bed thinking. I read. I lay in bed thinking. I felt completely awake, not tired at all. I took the kids to school then came home and slept all day, waking at 4:30 p.m. When I tried to wake at 12:30 and 1:30 and 2:30 that afternoon, it was almost nauseating. I felt like I was drugged. My whole body was heavy and tingling numb. Lying back down was exstacy. And I am a sucker for that feeling of lying back down and satisfying the need to sleep more.

After that binge nap, I still was exhausted and went to sleep at 11 that night and was up at 5:30 a.m. for a few quiet hours before the kids woke up. Yet I still feel kind of shaky, slightly nauseated, and light-headed, chilled, weak. My theory is that my usual ability to fall asleep or get back to sleep easily backfires with jetlag. It's like my sleep-o-meter is so strongly set that it rebels if I mess with it.

Exhaustion is like hunger: a sickening, disorienting, undeniable, primal urge. And here we are in the midst of Ramadan, the month of fasting. I feel like I can somewhat relate.

Actually New Furniture

I came across the furniture store Qerat (his name Tareq backwards) in the early days of being here, but it was obscenely expensive. Then last week they had a huge sale just before renovating their store! It's apparently his original design and made here in Jordan.

Lamp, side table and cube.Heavy-ass chair

Confused stool (legs go in on one side and out on the other - it's totally steady though. I love it!

Trip to Nazareth

It was my third time to Israel, first time alone. I took a nice comfortable greyhound-like mammoth thing. It was cheap and quick and easy. I settled in and watched the hills and valleys of northern Jordan roll by as I listened to my weekly podcasts (New Yorker fiction, Savage Love, and This American Life).

The plan was to not mention my Palestinian friend at the border but to say I was meeting my German friend (which was also true). But I didn't think through the whole 2-passport arrangement beforehand. I bought a second passport in Jordan just for traveling into Israel because if you get an Israeli stamp in your passport you can't get into countries like Syria or Lebanon, not easily anyway.

The first time I used the blank passport, I had no problem with the Israelis, but the Jordanians were miffed... Why didn't I have a visa from their country since I was in it? So this time I brought them both, just in case. And when the 20-year-old Israeli soldier behind the glass started asking me about where I'm from and what I do and why I'm in Jordan and why I'm going to Israel and if I've ever traveled to another Muslim country and if I have a second passport, and if she could see it...well, I just wasn't prepared to lie. I showed her my 10-year-old, packed full with additional pages passport, and it was another 30 minutes of questions and flipping through the passport and more questions.

The bus was kind enough to wait a very long time for me. The hall was empty except for me and another couple of unfortunates. From across the room, the driver gave me the twisty-wrist Arabic gesture for what's the deal? I gave him the open raised hands for what can a person do?

There was this other odd twist to the story. I had a bottle of Chivas Regal that I'd agreed to carry through customs for an old man who'd been sitting with his wife in front of me on the bus. I didn't understand but went with it. I imagined he was probably some regular closet-drinking Muslim fearing the questions they'd lay on him about the alcohol, and I'd watched him buy it right in front of me at the duty free shop...so what the hey.

The bus had to leave me after all since the Israelis decided your truly looked suspicious enough to warrant a few hours of running me through the security check. (What is your father's full name? What is your father's father's full name? What is your friend's phone number? What is your address and phone number in the USA? What's your email address? What kinds of children does Save the Children help? Arabic children?)

It would make a much better story if I got that big bottle of booze for my trouble, but alas. I gave the bus driver my friend's phone number to give to the old man so he could look me up once I got there (which he promptly did).

Destination: Nazareth, the most important city in Israel for Arabs who make up the majority of its population. My friend Falastin was born and raised there, and she was spending some time there before relocating to Copenhagen. It's also where Mary is believed to have gotten knocked up by the Holy Spirit, and thus where Jesus grew up. So it was cool to see my friend's roots, as well as this very old little city nestled in a small valley.

Ah, going to bed without managing my children's night-time routine, uninterrupted sleep all night, and rolling out of bed at 10 a.m.

Falastin, her girls and I walked down from her parent's house where she grew up (mother's domain: freshly clean and spare) to her late grandmother's house where her father holds court under his pomelo trees all day and night for "the gentlemen of Nazareth." The house is actually under massive renovations in the style of the region: straight up a few floors to accommodate the next generation of families (for Falastin and her brothers). The back yard was chocked full of fruit trees and rows of veggies. Her father had a shack set up with his mini bar and tools. It all reminded me very much of my late grandfather's domain in Florida. We ate cherry tomatoes and cumbers off the vine and still warm baked flatbread rubbed with thyme and olive oil from the bakery around the corner.

Late that afternoon I had a few hours to just stroll around the city - its old market is like a mini version of Jerusalem's old city market. I sat in a hip cafe with its ancient vaulted ceilings, drank a completely drinkable gimlet (gamely attempted by the bartender for the first time), and I wrote in my journal. I was, if only for a day, that reflective, roaming young woman of my 20s.

Falastin and her mother

Andrea with Kathi and Jacob (talk about heroic traveling!)

The Cafe

Scenes from Mary's Church of the Annunciation. This is Mary reeling from the news that a) she's pregnant and b) that her explanation for not being a virgin on her wedding night is that it was all God's doing.

What Mary and Jesus look like to Asians:

China

Korea

India

Indonesia

Some major events

Last month, David and I celebrated our 5th wedding anniversary which felt just as momentous as Miles's 5th birthday. (That sounds odd. They were momentous in their own ways.) I know I'm getting old, but there's still a short list of things that have lasted in my life for 5 solid years. Next year will mark 10 years that David and I have been together(!). We had a busy weekend, but the surprise night out together was back to the bathhouse for the coed hours.

Then there's the going back to work. I'm happy to be back with SC, this time as a consultant for the action learning component of the World Bank funded regional education initiative in Lebanon and Jordan that includes various programs from building and fully furnishing kindergartens to child-led activism projects that demand less violence in schools to uniforms and schools supplies, to parenting classes and teacher training on everything. And lots more. It's huge. The money comes from aid to displaced Iraqis but reaches even more Jordanian kids. I'm coordinating the collection of key lessons learned from all these programs to present them to a larger audience and hopefully influence regional policies and future directions of funding. I'm out in December, so we're planning on a first draft package by October and a mini-conference in November.

That's the other big news that most everyone knows now but that we haven't officially announced: our move to Harare, Zimbabwe in December. We are planning to move into the existing country director's house which is lovely, but we will need to furnish it, something we haven't had to do as a family abroad yet. I kind of insisted. The house is great, and I'm looking forward to having more control over how our house feels and looks, but it is going to be an investment on all fronts. Ah, the logistics of moving. If only I'd had my job the last six months and were off these months to prepare for the big move!

Next in the news is our trip to the States in less than three weeks. It looks packed and wild and crazy, but there are 5 or so days blocked off for the beach and another 5 or so days in the mountains, all catch up time with the family. This should have been a longer trip home, but alas --it coincides with my being newly employed, and the kids will need to get back to school. Do I sound stressed? Perhaps I should do my next blog while on the beach.

Dance Playlist

Thanks for your ideas everyone. Here's what we pulled together for the party.

In No Particular Order:

Let's Dance: David Bowie

Paper Planes: M.I.A.

Beggin': Madcon

Ignition (Remix): R. Kelly

A-Punk: Vampire Weekend

Rock Your Body: Justin Timberlake

Promiscuous : Nelly Furtado & Timbaland

Dick In a Box (feat. Justin Timberlake)

Shake It: Metro Station

Seven Nation Army: The White Stripes

Boom Boom Pow: Black Eyed Peas

Oh My God: Ida Maria

American Boy (feat. Kanye West): Estelle

Bohemian Like You: The Dandy Warhols

Hey Ya: Outkast

1 Thing (featuring Eve): Amerie

Always On Time: Ashanti & Ja Rule

What's Luv? (feat. Ashanti): Fat Joe

Get Right: Jennifer Lopez

No, No, No : Damian Marley, Eve & Stephen Marley

Ride Wit Me: Nelly featuring City Spud

Magossa: Amadou & Mariam

I Wanna Be Your Lover: Prince

Lova Shak: The B-52's

The Fear: Lily Allen 

Tierra Santa: Los Pinguos

Beast Of Burden: The Rolling Stones

Brick House: The Commodores

Me Gustas Tu: Manu Chao 

Hoah: Calle Real 

Move On Up: Curtis Mayfield

Ya Mama: Fatboy Slim

One Step Beyond: Madness  

Dum Diddly: Black Eyed Peas/Dante Santiago

Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough : Michael Jackson

Lebanese Blonde: Thievery Corporation

It's Your Thing: The Isley Brothers

September: Earth, Wind & Fire

Who Is He: Me'shell Ndegeocello

Bongo Bong: Manu Chao

Snoop Doggy Dog and Dr. dre - Its Like This And That: Snoop Dogg

Someday: The Strokes

night fever: Bee Gees

Mala Vida: Mano Negra

Sexy MF: Prince

C'mon N' Ride It (The Train): Quad City DJ's

Boogie 2Nite (Seamus Haji Big Love Club Mix): Booty Luv

Nuthin' But A G Thang: Dr. Dre

Arabic Selection

Ya Dala Dallaa: Sabah

Natalie: Macadi Nahhas

Leila: Macadi Nahhas

Habina: Rachid Taha

Ne'Oul Eih: Amr Diab

Rohy Mertahalak: Amr Diab

Dehket: Amr Diab

Yunis: Mohamed Mounir

NaygiriBeh: Mohamed Mounir

Wehkaitak Eih: Amr Diab

Ya Rayah: Rachid Taha, Khaled & Faudel

Abdel Kader: Rachid Taha, Khaled & Faudel

Khalliouni Khalliouni: Rachid Taha, Khaled & Faudel

The Farewell Party

Aid work requires moving around a lot, as do other international jobs. For family-type positions, it's usually a 2-5 year post. I suppose fresh blood is needed: avoiding complacency or "burn-out." Expats are expected to need a break to return home.  

But we don't usually go home for long, like a lot of other families who find themselves choosing to stay in the expat world. It's a way of life, a sub-culture between cultures. And it's those vagabonds, the mixed-up misfits from all over who make up this expat community, that are the draw for me as much as the work or the stimulation of a new country and its people. For the socialite in me, I can't get enough of hearing about their varied lives, and lucky me when I find myself becoming friends with some of them.

Like any group of outsiders, we gravitate towards each other. We need each other, and we know where to find each other. From a family perspective, it's about housing, schools, shopping, doctors...we don't have much time to figure it all out. It's a networking frenzy, and out of it some key contacts develop into friendships. No one is there long enough to forget the early months of being so alone and unknowing and overwhelmed. We introduce ourselves to the newbies, invite them along, and start explaining everything we think could possibly be helpful.

And this is a long introduction to get to the farewell party for Falastin and Adam, which was, if I may say so, a very nice party. Falastin was my Arabic teacher, my pilates coach, my car-pooling buddy, and my friend. Her daughters are the same age as my kids. She grew up in Nazarath, a Palestinian community controlled by the Israeli government. She used to work for an NGO that specialized in capturing and producing the Palestinian side of news stories. She risked her life for her work. She stood in front of loaded rifles pointed to her chest and told the man pointing it where he could put it. She also is extremely fashionable and has a most impressive collection of spike-heeled boots. Her husband is a Danish correspondent to the Middle East. After a year and a half of seeing them several times a week and talking to her nearly every day, they are moving to Copenhagen. 

That's the downside to this odd expat life. You jump feet first into friendships, and then suddenly someone has to move on. And as wonderfully appealing as the invites to visit friends around the world are, you know it's not going to be easy. Still, you have to be open to the possibility, to hope you have the chance to make it happen. You mark the leaving with a celebration, and you feel lucky to have known them at all. 

Bye for now, Falastin! 

Falastin's shot of me as I take the one above.

Falastin with Andrea (amazing cook, architect, founder of an NGO working 10+ years in Iraq, mother of two under 3, connoisseur of the finer things, from the forests of Bavaria--my well-organized, generous co-host & friend) 

Rikke (Danish), Johanna (Irish), Falastin (Palestinian), Mette (Danish), me (Chattanoogan)

   

Releasing our breath after sucking in for the show-your-pilates-belly body-by-Falastin shot.

Sharon (Sierra Leonian), Miriam (German), Kathryn (Texan)

David with Amar (in foreground), brother of Ghaith who is D's sister Bradley's husband. (whew! all that to say - we have the pleasure of having family in Amman!)

There are so few of us

Although I haven't explored their music much beyond NPR's intro, it's nice to know there are some cool Rudders out there.

Biding Time: Trip to a Bath House

For the last five months, I have felt that I must make the most of my time off from work. It wasn't planned that I should be unemployed. I've just been waiting, not very patiently, for things to come together at ol' SC. We have in fact been discussing the finer points of my new contract for at least 4 of the 5 months...but I digress.

At first I worked on making our house more of a home. I bought some old carpets, had broken pictures re-framed, and finally got some reading lamps after a year of oppressive overheads in the living room. After a month or so of that, I felt it smart to reign in the spending a bit, seeing as we'd become a one-income-family.

One place I'd been meaning to check-out but never made the time for was the bath house in the old part of the city. That area of Jabal Amman and the narrow, cobbled Rainbow Street have beautiful old houses clinging to the ridge overlooking the downtown market. There are interesting shops, art galleries, bookstores and bars. It's where our single friends live.

The bath house itself isn't old but is designed, at least to my untrained eye, in the Ottoman style with smooth domes pockmarked with tiny round glass through which a little light filters through. The great room we first entered was cool and refreshing with a fountain full of giant gold fish and people sipping tea behind plants in the corners. We checked in and got our personal bars of locally produced soap and loofas. From there we entered a locker room, and my friends and I had to sort out what to wear.

Unbeknownst to us, this bath house has a culture of conservatism about it, at least during the women's time in the morning. All the other ladies, though thankfully there were only a half dozen of them, were wearing bathing suits. My only other experience of a bath house was in Istanbul, and there it'd been full nudity, even the old ladies who worked there. Between my German and Palestinian friends and I, we only had our knickers, so there we were, a teeny bit embarrassed at not only being naked for the first time in front of each other but being in an environment that didn't exactly support our semi-nudity.

Luckily the grand dame of the place was kind and hospitable. She helped us on our way to do the done thing there. First to the shower (hmmm, group thing...moving on). Then to the steam room, a small, enclosed space, reminding me of an awful sweat lodge experience I'd had in college. Semi-nakedness hidden by the darkness and steam, I hunkered down with my friends and talked about the party we were planning. The grand dame shooed us into an even hotter area of the steam room, handing us cold scented towels for our heads and icy sweet hibiscus tea.

After that was the hot tub in the center of the room under the dome, where they left us for a while as they prepared the marble slabs. I went first (to get it over with?). I can't say that the scrub down was pleasant. It was in fact excruciating. I was clearly losing some skin, which is the point, I suppose. The Filipino in her biking shorts and tank top was not out to make me feel relaxed. I was stretched out on the wet marble like a fish being cleaned.

The next table was gentler, if more...invasive. One's limbs are soaped up, massaged, and rinsed, as are one's head and torso. Weeks before I'd already been mildly traumatized by the Arabic "bikini" waxing: think Brazilian to the extreme. So I was prepared for the worst, which it nearly was from a perspective of modesty - a modesty that simply had to be put aside for the sake of cultural exploration (am I not an anthropologist?), and hopefully, glowing, younger-looking skin (am I not pushing 40?).

After that, I made the rounds again, then waited for my friends with a few ladies in a lounge off the locker room. It would have been relaxing if not for a two-foot long shark swimming in a long tank that made up the back wall. The room was lined with long red woolen cushions atop low mattresses that made it impossible to do anything but recline in that extravagant Middle Eastern way. An older lady, her wet hair not yet covered in a head scarf, gossiped away with a Filipino still in her wet suit, apparently on a cigarette break. I had the local sweet tea; they had the Turkish coffee. The only thing missing was a sheesha pipe.

My friends and I still had an hour to kill before picking up the kids, and I was starving, so we had lunch at Wild Jordan, a cafe managed by the Royal Jordan Nature Conservancy. What it lacks in flavor, it makes up for in ambiance and healthiness. It's all glass, metal and polished concrete hanging on a cliff. The three of us were extraordinarily relaxed, even giddy like girls skipping school. It was a nice way to spend a morning.

Walking in Wadi ibn Hammad

A few weekends ago, I booked a hiking trip for me & David with an "ecotourism" company. We spent a full day exploring, without the kids. 

Usually, we do things on our own - I mean, with the kids but without a guide. We hit the interesting places, so we do end up going where the tour groups go. I envy them their guides who can provide a lecture on what it is we're seeing, its history. But for the most part, I appreciate the fact that I'm free....if that's what you call traveling with a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old. Yeah. Free to see maybe one-eighth of the world famous ruins of Petra for the fourth time while my kids play with the stones on the ground and ask for juice and pitifully look desperate for a nap and maybe later a swim in the pool. (pleasepleaseplease)

Still, we live here. We never get herded into the diesel fumes between enormous busses in the parking lot. I suppose I felt sorry for them, the package tour people. That is until we had our little day trip.

It's their business to know where we're going and what we need to bring, to drive us there, to even pack a lunch for us. Our only stress was making sure we got up early after a late night of lots of champagne. It was like being in college again. After kids, all the support of a group trip seems totally decadent. All I had to do was look out the window at passing scenery, perhaps write my cross-cultural musings in my journal. On the hike, I could walk at my own pace. I could even walk alone.

To get to the wadi, we drove south towards Karak, then off the barren plateau into a deep canyon. For scale, you can see a bus on the road here and even farther away a car. 

At the bottom was a shallow little creek. There were palm trees hanging from the cliff sides and huge bushes of oleander. We bouldered creek-side or just walked in the water. My boots were heaven: comfortable & sturdy when wet. The water was refreshing, not too cold. In the shade of canyon walls with clean running water all the way, this looked like the best place for desert hiking in the summer.

The others in our group were 2 Jordanian girls, a Dutch guy and a couple of Jordanian guys with the company: one of whom was the guide. He was an ex-UN peacekeeper type who'd been in all the worst places in the world and at the worst times. He told us a bit about the nature, but was more skilled in having a meaty hand ready to help a girl crawl over a slippery rock. (Not me though! - Adventure Girl!)

...and yes, I'm carrying Miles's school backpack.

Limestone stalactites form on the canyon walls that seem to lean together. They even connect in some places forming bridges. Water from the springs drip from the bridge and down the canyon walls through the ferns and flowers. There are bright red streaks on the face of the rocks where iron bleeds out. One feels like Indian Jones - if only I'd had my whip! (It might have been filmed here, since they definitely filmed in Petra). 

There's David on the left getting his back massage from the rapids.

On our way back home, this tiny, nice lady grabbed me tightly around the shoulder to take some photos together as we looked at the view of the reservoir. Of course the one of her by herself is much better!

BabiesBabiesBabies

Last week, a good friend of mine had her third baby, a girl after two boys. She had a c-section, and I was the only one standing there outside the nursery window to witness the baby's first examination, her first bath, her first stretch and yawn and accidental touch to her own face and flinch at the feeling. I stood there for 45 minutes while my friend with her husband was in the surgery, getting finished up.

I have found it awkward being at this stage in my life where I'm pretty sure I'm not getting pregnant again, yet I'm surrounded by people who keep having babies. Maybe it's their first (my sister) or second or third (relatives and friends), but for me it's like going back in time. 

Since having children, my life has been dictated by their presence. Especially moving around like we do, I often find friends who not only have children but have children the same age as my children. That's a pretty narrow margin of interest. But it works perfectly. So doing the whole baby thing again would be a radical shift.

Children change so quickly that my concerns and interests also have short life spans. I don't think about breast-feeding, sleep schedules or the best strategy for introducing solids anymore. I am at a loss when my sister asks for advice. I can hardly remember what happened only a couple of years ago because it's so other-worldly. 

I can understand now why in Khartoum my good friend was simultaneously happy for me and bummed when I got pregnant. With three of her own, she was over it. And for much of the next two years, her sporty/party-pal was going to be a little less fun and a lot less available. Such is the personal life alteration that comes with having babies.

Seeing a newly born human being last week, I couldn't help but be moved - moved right out of my baby-free comfort zone. I have only been in Amman for 14 months, yet in that time I met her parents, discussed with them their thoughts on having a third child, saw my friend go through 38 weeks of pregnancy, and have now witnessed this baby's first moments. It does seem incredible that it can happen just like that. You don't know what you're going to get, you don't know about your own health and survival of a pregnancy and delivery...there are enormous risks. Yet, there she is.

My lack of primal urge to go there again is a mystery to me. That's what it comes down to. Of course, one weighs pros and cons and considers risk and sacrifices and the lot, but with me all rationale falls aside to the inexplicable green light. 

With other women I know, there is a strongly felt revelation: I am finished with this. I feel whole. Or I am not finished with this. There is another baby who wants to be born. 

It is rude to talk about this openly (and please forgive me, I hope I'm not insulting anyone) because there are many who don't have a choice. But there are also many like myself in this privileged modern dilemma. There's no familial or religious duty or economic need to have more. A third child wouldn't throw us over the poverty line. Except for the cost of an additional plane ticket, life abroad with 3 as opposed to 2 isn't too much of a hardship since house help is affordable. It is do-able - an excess of liberty to design one's own fate, as well as one's family and of course, the unborn. Ah, the "hardship" of empowerment...and one must admit, personal luck. Who am I (with my husband, of course) to make such an enormous decision?

Is it enough that I simply do not feel the undeniable desire to have another baby? Can I feel comfortable with my personal pleasure at not being pregnant or tied to a breast-feeding little one anymore?

The problem is that there is no powerful or true red light (except the limits of my biological clock, but there is adoption of needy children...). I can't say exactly that I feel it is truly and finally over. I'm by nature open to what may come, including my own gut feeling. In the meantime, I will quietly enjoy my 2 and celebrate (albeit from a safe distance) the courage and conviction of my friends and family who boldly go forward.