Week Five:

I realize I’m a little late with this post; since it was Labor Day weekend, I tried to make good use of the day off, so I hope I can be forgiven. I also already typed this post, but unfortunately forgot to send it to myself from the Embassy computer (oops); oh well, draft two, new and improved.
Last week was another experience with bureaucracy, this time within the University itself. Go figure that one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do so far was pay! After being formally enrolled as a student at the University, I then had to register with the International Studies department and with my specific classes. That in itself took a day of walking around and talking to different people, all of whom were very friendly and helpful. I tried to pay that day, as well; however, I guess that was a little ambitious because once I arrived at the Registration finance office, I was told that I had been misdirected and I had to pay at the bank. The bank, unfortunately, was not open until about 1pm, and I had to go to work. So the next day I returned and tried to pay, and the hurdle became the fact that I was trying to pay with a check. It didn’t seem to make much sense to me that one would pay cash for such a large payment, however apparently that’s how it’s often done. But once I’d started with the check, they would not let me stop and I ended being sent to the main University finance office to be told that it was no problem, I would simply have to pay a small international transfer fee. By the end of that process, due to the Ramadan work schedule, the Registration finance office had already closed its doors for the weekend, so I was unable to turn in my record of payment. On returning yesterday, Sunday, I was then told by the Registration office that they needed the original copy of the transfer statement from the bank (of which I only had a copy, stamped and signed). I returned to the bank, a little frustrated at this point, and was then sent again to the main finance office of the University, where they finally took pity on me and completed the process themselves. In the end, I handed that office my record of payment and they printed a copy of my class schedule: I was good to go, though I felt a little like a ping pong ball (I forgot to mention that each of these offices is a good half mile to a mile apart).

This weekend I decided to check out the Amman art scene. This city is often surprising in its profusion of cultural exhibitions and shows, in particular with the number of art galleries. The galleries are generally privately owned, but often enjoy the patronage of either the Royal family or other influential members of Jordanian society, such as the Honorable MRS. Mayor of the town of Jerash. One of the more famous of these galleries is called Darat Funun (House of Art) and is run by a private foundation called the Khalid Shoman Foundation. The gallery tends to house more modern art styles and the stated goal of the foundation is to promote the spread of Art, Architecture, and Archeology in pursuit of a future “Renaissance in the Arab World.” Another, smaller gallery, Jacaranda Images, also geared towards more modern arts, had a special exhibit of a local artist who overlays multiple photographs in order to “generate a complex range of emotions through contrast.” This particular exhibition was entitled “Memories of War and Love” and seemed to aim to demonstrate the human impact of violence and conflict.

For Sunday night I invited one of my former teachers out to iftar at a restaurant near downtown Amman, to catch up and in order to practice speaking good Arabic (because he is painstakingly particular about good grammar, pronunciation, and word usage!). The iftar was fun and it was good to catch up, but the real adventure came afterwards, when he took me along to his favorite hangout, at a café called “Maqhaa Sahafa” (Journalism Café, named for the multiple newspaper companies nearby). This experience was part of a bigger cultural activity known as sahar, which is essentially spending time with friends and family late into the night, talking, telling stories, and playing games. The café itself is essentially a hole in the wall, almost literally, but the clientele was obviously very consistent, as all of the patron’s knew all of the waiters by name (often nickname) and vice versa. Very few of the patrons I saw actually gave any of the waiters an order, rather they would simply say what amounted to “the usual” and within a few minutes they would often have a coffee or tea and be puffing on an arguilah (the large water pipe commonly and sadly known as a hookah in the U.S.). After about three hours of hanging out there, I now know how to play taawila (backgammon, which is originally a Turkish game) and shatha (a card game) and my understanding of dialect is hopefully just a little better.

That’s it for this week. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for your interest!

Respectfully,

Brennan Roorda