Amman: Crazy Taxi 2.0

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, 

that a single man in possession of a good taxi, 

must be in want of a customer.”

When I was 12 years old, my brother and I played a certain computer game all the time. Its name was Crazy Taxi. The premise is that you, as a taxi driver, must pick up customers and take them to their destination before the time runs out. The longer you take, the less money you get, as you have less time to pick up more customers. Due to this factor, the game is a lot less about driving and a lot more about money. I am willing to bet my next cab fare that Crazy Taxi was made by someone who had visited or lived in Jordan.

To better explain, I will share the profiles of Jordanian cab drivers. There are five types:

1. The Cheater-Cheater-Pumpkin-Eater
Unfortunately, this type is fairly frequent. They usually do one of three things: A. They act like they have no idea where you're trying to go, and tell you they'll "try and figure it out." B. They refuse to start the meter. Or C. They turn off the meter as soon as you arrive at your destination and try to tell you the ride was worth 5 dinar. It wasn't.

Example: A few weeks ago, I was on my way to meet some friends at the Citadel to take pictures. I left with plenty of time to get there; however, I hadn't anticipated not being able to get a taxi. After about 40 minutes, an old man in a taxi picked me up. Now, it must be noted that I had tripled-checked with a friend on how to say the location. I felt ready. Of course, when I tell him, the driver goes "What? Where you want go? Straight??" I repeat again the location. He looks at me like I'm crazy and continues to say, in English, "Straight!!" I end up calling my host dad to have him tell the man where I want to go.

Faced with another Arab's voice, my driver smiles and starts heading in the correct direction. I'm feeling pretty confident about life. The meter's running, the driver is talking to himself, and I'm heading to the Citadel. Life is good. And then we arrive. I look at the meter. 2.4 Dinar. No problem. I pull out 3 Dinar and wait for him to give me my change. He starts yelling at me about how Americans are wealthy and how I don't need the change. I tell him, "Bidii frata!!" (I want change!) He continues yelling at me until I finally give up and get out of the taxi. Once I get out, I realize he's taken me to the wrong place and I will have to get in another taxi. I flag one down and tell him where I want to go. The driver says "Ok, 5 dinar." Sigh. Cheater-Cheater-Pumpkin-Eaters.

2. The Creepy McCreeperson
The Creepy McCreeperson is the most feared in all the land. They are commonly known to be owners of large rounded rearview mirrors for "all the better to see you with, my dear." This is also the type that either wishes to marry you off to a son, or marry you himself. Usually they're good for a "You're very beautiful" or two as well. This doesn't sound too bad until they ask you the follow-up question of, "Are you a virgin?" It is not unusual to have the front seat offered to you by the McCreeperson, which is a big no-no. One must proceed with extreme caution when a cabbie is showing any of these signs.

Example: I have been extraordinarily fortunate in Amman by being able to travel most the time with my roommate, Saba. There is, indeed, strength in numbers. However, I have gotten used to the constant stares of the driver from the rearview mirror. There is nothing quite as unsettling as having a man watch you for an entire car ride, especially when you'd prefer he was staring at the road. The best way to handle the Creepy McCreeperson is to put on your "stank" face and ignore any and every of his comments. If you must respond, just tell him you're already married or engaged.

3. The Calm and Silent
This type is my personal favourite. The Calm and Silent waits patiently for you to tell him where you'd like to go and then he turns on the meter. He watches the road ahead and there is a peaceful silence in the car, only disrupted if he decides he'd like to listen to some music. He doesn't care why you're learning Arabic or why you're in Jordan. He just wants the exact money you owe him once you arrive at your destination. Much appreciated, sir.

Example: This is actually the type that is majority of my taxi rides. I love it and always keep my fingers crossed that I'll get one every time.

4. The Chummy Chatter
Oh, The Chummy Chatter. You're always in for a good time with this kind. This taxi driver usually has a lot of "important" information he wants to share with you. He's usually an extremely effervescent personality type and positively thrilled you're in his car. He most likely will share with you about his glorious past career before he decided to become a cabbie. He wants to know everything about you and most likely, by the end of the car ride, you'll either have his card or be invited over for a meal. Quite possibly both.

Example: A week or so ago, I got into a cab. It looked like any other yellow taxi from the outside. How was I to know what would be inside? As soon as I sat down, the driver shouted out, "WELCOME TO JORDAN!!" followed by "WELCOME ALSO TO MY CAR!" A little taken aback, I responded, "Thanks?" Once I told him where I wanted to go, he took right off while asking me if I was learning Arabic. I explained that I was, indeed, and was headed to class right now. He smiled and told me I was very beautiful. I quickly became worried this man was heading into Creepy McCreeperson territory. 

However, he then passed me a laminated newspaper clipping that looked like a very young him in a futball uniform. "Is this you?" I asked him. He responded, "You're very lucky. My name is Omar, and you are being driven by the most famous man in Jordan!" I think college futball fame might have gone to his head a little bit, but I was glad he seemed so confident in himself. "I am very lucky indeed," I said with a smile. He then said, "You know, after I stopped playing sports, I gave up many things. I gave up smoking, drinking, and hookah. But, girls, girls I will never give up." And then we arrived at the university.

Oooookay. Thanks, Omar. "Masalama!!"

5. The Chivalrous Cabbie in Shining Armour
This is the most precious and rare of taxi drivers. The diamond in the rough. They are the kindest and sweetest of men who simply want to make sure you safely get to your destination. I imagine them as the one's with wives and daughters they dearly care about. Most often, they ask you only necessary questions and make sure you know where you are headed. They never try to rip you off, and you never feel pressured by them. Of course, because they are so kind, I usually end up tipping them significantly.

Example: This past weekend, my roommate and I went out to dinner. We were not really sure about the location of the restaurant but figured we'd be able to find it no problem once we were in the right area. The taxi driver kindly and patiently took us to the area and when we began directing him he listened closely. Unfortunately, we were going the wrong direction, but he realized it before we did. He kept asking "Are you sure this is the way you want to go?" In the end, he helped us find the restaurant we needed and even told us he was a Christian. We tipped him a lot. I'm still beating myself up that I didn't get his number for future cab rides. 

There you have it. The Crazy Taxis of Amman. No worries, I'm releasing the computer game next year. 

The Entertainment Industry, Jordan, and Me

I am an American.

I am a girl.

Therefore, I am "easy."

The past few weeks I have begun interviewing Jordanians for a documentary I am making. This documentary will address common misconceptions (among other things) that Americans have about the Middle East. In the process, I have learned many eye-opening things. Most interesting has been the Jordanian perception of Americans. Multiple people told me that the American girl is considered "easy." When pressed, they explained that it was because of the entertainment industry in America. It has led the general Middle Eastern population to believe that American women will let men do whatever they want to them.

In my last interview, I decided to push the conversation further with the man who once again gave me that now expected answer. I asked, "So is there nothing American girls can do to fix this perception?" He explained in detail that they should be careful to cover up and that more importantly they should be serious at all times with taxis and strangers. "American girls are far too friendly for their own safety," he said. I sat back and swallowed that. I usually pride myself on my friendliness, and being reminded that it is a negative thing here in the Middle East is difficult to comprehend.

After the interview, I took some time to let what he had said sink in. From what it sounds like, there is nothing I can actively do to make this perception of American women stop. I can try and help prevent the symptoms of this perception, but I am powerless to stop it. And that is a scary thought.

For awhile now I have planned to pursue acting (possibly in the entertainment industry). Because of this, I have often considered how I would conduct myself if I ever got to be in films. I had more or less decided on my "line" because of my faith. I didn't want a bad reputation, even though it was only me acting. But now, with this new information, I cannot even consider acting in a role that makes a girl look easy. Suddenly it's so much bigger than myself. I had no idea how Hollywood's actions were making every day life difficult for American girls in foreign countries. But it makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

Lady Gaga and Katy Perry represent some of our female musicians. Natalie Portman and Mila Kunis represent some of our actresses. The popular American show The Voice has its own Arab version over here. This means at one point Christina Aguilera was a representation of our TV shows. All of a sudden, the men who whistle and cat-call me don't confuse me anymore. I am in a category with these larger-than-life stars. To these men, I am easy.

Last night, me and three friends went to Abdoun. Abdoun is the ritzy neighborhood of West Amman. The area is filled with Western restaurants and even has the nicest mall in the country. It is not uncommon to see women showing some of their legs or even a shoulder. When I first started walking around, I felt at ease. I felt like, for once, I could put my guard down. But then, it wasn't two minutes later, a man driving by yelled out his window, "Hello, Beautiful!! Welcome to Jordan!"

The rest of the evening was filled with similar occurrences. Jordanian men honking, staring, and yelling at me usually makes me feel like a piece of meat. Later in the evening, my friends and I were trying to get a taxi. We decided to cross the street and walk up a bit in hopes that an empty taxi would pass by. We ended up standing under a street light next to the road. Men were every where I looked. The SUV parked to our left had two men staring at us and honking. The cars passing by would yell out in Arabic as they blew us kisses. The men walking by to our right were staring us up and down.

I felt gross. I felt overwhelmed. I felt trapped. Then it dawned on me - I felt easy.

Living in this country has done much more than teach me about Jordan. It has taught me about how America as a government, as a culture, as a super power is perceived. And it has taught me about myself. I may not be able to change the world or even how American girls are viewed, but I can represent my faith, my culture, and myself to the best of my abilities. We must realize that we are ambassadors all the time, no matter what our pursuits.

Thank you, Hollywood, for teaching me that my actions are so much bigger than myself. And thank you, Jordan, for opening my eyes to so many life lessons.

Hide and Seek

Walking alone at night is terrifying to me. It's scary even when I'm at home and have to walk the five yards to my car in the driveway. So, it's really scary when I am walking down a dark road to find a taxi in Jordan. The other night I walked alone to find a taxi. The sun sets in Amman around six and it was only a little after that time that I set out to meet some friends for dinner. I held my bag tightly as I walked down the car-lined road to the main street. A light above me flickered on eerily. Ahead I noticed a group of four young men laughing and walking towards the street. I found myself thinking "Okay, four of them and one of me. Slow down your pace a little, Grace." I did not want to have to deal with their stares or cat-calls. It'd already been far too long a day for that.


Unfortunately, as I got nearer to the street, the group stopped. They were waiting for a taxi, just like I needed to be. Standing right next to them was not an option and it'd be extremely rude to go up the street further. If I did, I would steal a taxi from them. After running through the possibilities, I decided crossing the street was my best option. I would be away from the men and there was always the possibility there may be more taxis that way.

Once I reached the street, the group of boys saw me. My stomach clenched and I stared straight ahead as I heard them saying, "Hellooooo!" As quickly as possible I crossed the street, not even giving them a sign that I had heard them. When I was safely on the other side, I started walking up the street a bit and stuck out my arm to hail a taxi. As I did so, I watched the group of boys begin to cross the street. I knew I wasn't in danger, but I definitely didn't want to deal with any more men that day. I had already been cat-called for a half hour earlier in the day while trying to find a taxi. I sighed and kept my arm out, praying that a taxi would swoop in and save the day. No such luck.

As the boys came closer, I decided I would make eye contact this time just so they could register my don't-mess-with-me face. As my eyes flickered towards them, I realized one of the boys was coming specifically towards me with his arm out. Confusion. Then, recognition. It was Samuel, my host "dad"'s younger brother. Suddenly, what I had done registered. I felt so small and ridiculous. I tried to make up for my inexcusable rudeness by grinning and saying "Oh hi, Sam!! I didn't see you!" He smiled good-naturedly and headed off with his friends. I could not believe what had just happened. I had completely ignored a friend because I was scared. My fear of the unknown had imprisoned me. I was walking around blindly to keep myself safe, but in reality, being blind just makes you miss out on seeing. How many other times in my life have I chosen not to see?

I have found that sometimes it is easier not to look. Sometimes it's easier to just pretend like nothing is happening. To pretend that it doesn't involve you if you can't see it. It's like when you play hide and seek with little kids. They think just because they are covering their eyes, you can't see them. But you do. The problems and people around us still see us clearly, whether or not we're looking. I have seen and am continuing to see such problems in the world, even here in Jordan. There are stigmas and racism that lay heavy on my heart. It has shown me that the time for turning a blind eye is over. It's time to face these issues, even if there is little I can do about it. I cannot allow my fear prevent me from fully living my life.

Love in an Over-Sized Bird

This week I learned about love. 

Eid Al-Adha was October 24-28th. It is a Muslim holiday that celebrates the day Abraham was to sacrifice Ishmael. I have never been more excited about a Muslim holiday. Not because the streets of the Arab world would be flowing with the blood of sheep, but because it meant school was cancelled. And what does a study abroad student do when school is cancelled? Go to Istanbul, Turkey, of course.

My mum has always told me she wants to visit Turkey. I never understood. How exciting could a country be that shares a name with an over-sized bird? But when I started looking for a safe place to go for break, suddenly Turkey began looking very attractive. Turns out Mum was right (as usual). Istanbul has stolen my heart.

Bosphorus Sea Breeze. Autumn leaves. Chattering of languages. Call to prayer. Fresh bread. Squawking of sea gulls. Cobblestone streets. Towering mosques. Palace ruins. Green grass. Glowing fountains. Turkish delights. Rooftop terraces. Friendly felines. Delicate houses. Colourful buildings. Tram bells ringing. Waves hitting the shore. Rocking of the ferry. Glimmering lights on the water. Flowers in hair. Children laughing. Carriage rides on an island. Biking in the shade of trees. Bargaining for Arabian trinkets. Sea food by the Black Sea. Moments, glimpses of another world. An escape. This is love.

Istanbul was just what I needed for break. It was an oasis from my desert. It is the perfect mix of history and modern. A mass transit system can take you almost directly to the very door of the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque. It's the crossroads of the world. The city itself is spread between Europe and Asia and reflects every aspect of the cultures. I couldn't help but feel it is one of the world's best kept secrets. All this time people dream of visiting Europe and Turkey gets forgotten, especially by Americans. I can't encourage you enough to visit. I'm in love.

I found one particular aspect fascinating about the city. Istanbul appears to be the Arab World's honeymoon destination of choice. At first I was very confused. I was frequently seeing Arab couples where the man would hold the hand of a woman in a burqa and walk with her through the crowd. My stomach churned at the sight. I was confused by my response and then it hit me. I turned to my friends and asked, "When you see these couples holding hands, do you think of it as she's more on his leash or that they are romantically holding hands?" I had realized that, without even considering an alternative, I had assumed she was being forced around. 

I am so disappointed in myself that I continue to make this mistake. My assumptions are exactly like my baggage I took to the airport. Heavy, excessive, and holding me back. Just because I can't see that she's smiling, doesn't mean they aren't the happiest they have ever been. Young couples holding hands by the waterfront are the very picture of freedom and love. And I was viewing it as a prison - the woman trapped by the man. I have so much to fix in my mind.

The last day I was in Istanbul, I saw this couple standing by the water. They were surrounded by beauty. Maiden's tower a few yards away. The Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia in the distance. Boats dotting the Bosphorus. And yet, they only had eyes for each other. I found myself watching them and realizing that their love was one of the most beautiful things I had ever come across. Not only because they were clearly taken with each other, but because it cemented something in my mind. Even though we dress differently, speak differently, and eat differently, we still love the same - fully and completely. 

Move aside, Paris. Istanbul is my city of love.

I'm a Barbie Girl in a Veiled World

When I started telling people that I would be studying abroad in Jordan, I was usually asked a series of three questions:

1)  Where is Jordan?

2)  You're gonna get blown-up. You know that, right?

3)  Are you gonna have to wear one of those scarf-things?

In response to the first, I began introducing the topic by saying I was studying abroad in "Jordan-in-the-Middle-East" before anyone could ask. To the second question, I would just smile and say, "There are worse ways to go." And to the final question I would respond, "Umm." In truth, I had no idea what to expect concerning veiling in Jordan. BBC News had failed me on that front. I figured as an obvious foreigner I'd be able to get away with a lot. Turns out I was right about that, but it also turns out that I had a lot of misconceptions concerning the hijab. I realized that my outlook of not only the hijab (the veil), but my view of women in the Middle East had been greatly confused.

Last weekend when I was in Madaba (for the Biblical Jordan trip), I purchased two barbies. These two barbies wear a full hijab. When I was a young girl, playing with my barbies was my favourite thing to do. I had at least a hundred of them and furniture for every room of their imaginary house. As I look back on it, I realize that I got a lot of my ideas of beauty and fashion from my barbies. I changed their outfits and played with their hair until they fell apart. Spending that much time playing "house" with the "perfect image of a woman" has to alter how we view beauty.  Seeing these barbies in a full hijab made me stop and consider how different a girl's view of beauty and fashion must be in this part of the world. How much different would we view a woman's image if suddenly her body and hair (and sometimes her face) weren't even part of the equation? Suddenly, the hijab doesn't seem as oppressive, does it?

My friend, Kevin, sent me a link to a website the other day. It was a link to a piece of art entitled, "100 Barbies in Burkas," by a German artist named Sabine Reyer. I love to look at art, but I'm really not the best at analyzing it. However, this piece screamed meanings to me. When I looked at the pictures, I found myself immediately looking for the differences in each barbie. They all seem so similar, so conformed, so orderly. What I found most interesting though is that, instead of being caught up in this reality, I was overwhelmed by how easily I saw each of their differences, like the colour and shape of their eyes. If they had been real people, would I have not suddenly been more interested in knowing the biggest difference - the personality within? I then thought about what they would have been wearing if it had been an American Barbie display. Short mini skirts? Bikinis? What's really worse here? Why is it liberating to wear a mini skirt, but oppressive to wear a hijab? Suddenly, the hijab doesn't seem as oppressive, does it?

On my university's campus,  I can probably count on one hand the amount of girls I see not wearing a hijab. Before coming here, my feminist-side was absolutely horrified by the hijab. The idea of a society forcing women to cover themselves seemed like some sort of strange fairytale. Then I got hit with a dose of reality. Religion and culture here are inseparable. They are smothered together like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Knowing this fact alone explains so much. A hijab is a kind of 'religious' accessory here. Walking around campus this becomes abundantly clear. Girls match their scarves to their outfits so perfectly that I often look at my clothes and feel silly for not having colour-coordinated. Purple scarves to match their purses and shoes. Green scarves to match their jacket. White scarves to match their pants. That's just how it is. Real life. Not some sort of oppressing factor, just woman living life and being fashion-forward. Suddenly, the hijab doesn't seem as oppressive, does it?

The other day as I made my way to one of my classes, I heard a strangely familiar song.

"I'm a barbie girl, in a barbie world

Life in plastic, it's fantastic!

You can brush my hair, 

Undress me everywhere

Imagination, life is your creation

Come on Barbie, let's go party!"

Ah, good old American pop that's ever so slightly inappropriate. Perhaps if it had just been the music playing I wouldn't have been as astonished at hearing it. However, not only was it the music, there were some girls singing along to it. Every single one of them wearing a hijab. Do they have any idea what they're singing? I wondered. Whether they did though, is neither here nor there. Since moving to Jordan, I have had one of those glorious light-bulb moments. 

My culture is just as 'oppressive' as their culture. 

American culture continues to sell ideas of what 'beauty' really is and how we should aim for it. This definition of beauty affects every aspect of our lives from movies and music to food and toys.  There is no escaping it no matter what country or culture you run to. And this is oppressive. Yes, there are aspects of the hijab that are still oppressive, but it is not as clearly cut as I had first assumed. Being here has taught me an invaluable lesson. I must not be so quick to judge an aspect of someone's culture simply because it is different. I thought I already knew this, but I've realized my heart wasn't listening to my mind. 

So, Reality Check: I have a lot to learn.

The Brink of Uncertainty

Sometimes, we teeter on the brink of uncertainty.

Felix Baumgartner knows this sensation better than anyone. Last night, the Austrian skydiver fell faster than the speed of sound from the astonishing height of 128,100 feet. I sat on the floor of my host family's living room and watched history being made. As I watched, I couldn't help but compare the two of us and our separate adventures.

Felix:
In order to leave the atmosphere, he prepared himself. He perfected his skydiving techniques, said "see you later" to family and friends, and put on his special suit. He then sat in his balloon that would transport him up to the jump. I imagine the entire ride there was a tumbling and somersaulting of thoughts spinning through his head. As the miles passed, I'm sure the pressure built in and outside of him. I came out to watch right as the door to the balloon opened. My eyes were glued to the screen as he pulled himself out onto the ledge. The earth stretched out for rounded miles beneath him, while a canopy of dark space hovered above him. It was time. Mission control told him to unplug the oxygen and prepare to jump. Despite the helmet, you could tell there was a brief moment of hesitancy. But then, with sure hands, he unplugged it. He had nine minutes of oxygen remaining. There was no going back now. He pulled himself further out and we heard his labored breathing. The entire world held its breath and then - he fell.

From camera to camera, we watched as Felix fell miles and miles to earth. No longer was it his thoughts, it was his body tumbling and somersaulting through the heavens. Four minutes and 20 seconds he fell. What was only a short time must have felt like ages to him. A few thousand feet before the ground, he pulled his parachute and floated gracefully to the dusty, New Mexico land. Once safely on the earth, he knelt down and breathed in his moment of success. He is forever a changed man.

Grace:
In order to leave home, I prepared myself. I reviewed my Arabic, packed my clothes, and hugged my family goodbye. I surrounded myself in a cocoon of the familiar as a safety suit. I boarded the airplane with nervous excitement and watched out the window as I left home behind. My thoughts were tumbling and somersaulting. What am I doing? Why am I leaving what is comfortable? Is this worth it? As the miles passed, my nervous excitement heightened as I sat in the pressurized cabin. After 12 hours of flying, we finally began to descend and I saw my new world under me. The desert stretched out for miles, with a canopy of hot sun and endless blue sky. I gathered up my carry-ons and walked down the aisle. It was time. No one told me to jump, but I knew that was the next step in this journey. There was a brief moment of hesitancy when I simply wanted to go back to my seat and head back home. But the oxygen was running out. There was no going back now. It was time to step off this brink of uncertainty. And so - I fell.

The fall has been terrifying and exhilarating. My body has been tumbling and somersaulting, and sometimes all I want is stability. However, the reality is, sometimes you just have to let yourself fall. Three and a half months I will fall. What is only a short time has already felt like ages. But, it is already passing more quickly than I realize, and it was watching Felix that reminded me I will never have these moments again. What was the scariest moment of his life, will be something he will willingly relive the rest of his life. I see now that it is time to enjoy the fall and pull the parachute to enjoy the view. As I look ahead, I want to end my journey like Felix Baumgartner. I want to breathe in that moment of success and know I am forever changed.

I am so grateful that sometimes we teeter on the brink of uncertainty. If we didn't do so, we would never learn, change, grow. Thanks, Felix, for the inspiration. And thanks for giving me the chance to experience history in Amman.

Speaking of history....

On Saturday, our program took us on a day trip to see "Biblical Jordan." It was a truly mind-blowing experience. First, we saw where John the Baptist baptized Jesus in the Jordan River. Followed by seeing Mt. Nebo, where Moses saw the promised land. Finally, Madaba for lunch and the ruins of Herod's Palace where John the Baptist was beheaded. Okay, honestly, I've always found these "landmarks" a little suspect considering the amount of time that has passed, among other things. However, once I was finally standing in each place, I realized I didn't care anymore. I was close enough to the place that even the concept was overwhelming.

Standing on the bank of the Jordan River, gazing out at the promised land, watching sunset over the Dead Sea from palace ruins reminded me of the reality of where I live right now. I am in a crossroads geographically, historically, and politically. I am here at a fascinating time and I still get to enjoy the history of it. Yeah, it's cool.

All this time I had imagined the Jordan as a huge river that pours into the Dead Sea. In reality, it's little more than an over-sized stream. This was really interesting to witness as it meant that on the bank of one side was the Arab World and only a five yard swim separated it from the bank of Israel. The contrast of the two sides was stark. Tourists wearing outfits that would be completely haram (forbidden) were spotted on the one side, as well as large groups of people waiting to get baptized in the water. That same side had beautiful churches, flags, and cement steps leading into the water. The other side had a wooden shelter that stood above the water and a couple broken steps leading into the river. One side had huge groups of people singing and praying. The other side had silent observers. There was one likeness between the two, though. This was that both sides were highly militarized. If I had tried to make that five yard swim, I would have been told to turn back or shot if I had disobeyed. A peaceful river trapped between two conflicting worlds. It was heavy reminder that they are conflicting worlds stuck on the brink of uncertainty.

Culture Shock: A Reflection

I vividly remember when I moved to Mongolia. I was the most excited nine year old girl you’ve ever seen. I was practically bouncing in my seat as our Korean Air plane landed in the valley in which Ulaanbaatar is located. I had been dreaming of that moment for years. I didn’t care that the ground was littered with broken glass or that the weather was going to be the most bitter of cold. It was my new home. As I look back at my transition to the nation, I note the ease with which I did so. Sure, there were bad days at first. Days where I missed my friends or worried that I would never make any new ones. But, for me, I was just so thrilled to finally have a place to call home. 

When we were unexpectedly uprooted and sent back to the States, I did not have the same transition experience. I experienced culture shock for the very first time. It was this feeling of not belonging. A feeling of being lost in a sea of people. I remember when it hit me the worst. My grandmother needed to stop by the grocery store and I had offered to go with her. We walked into the condiments aisle of a Safeway grocery store and I just stopped and stared. I had never felt so overwhelmed in my life. There were at least 13 types of jellies and at least 4 companies for each type. It may sound silly, but it was simply my last straw. I could not comprehend the contrast between the lives I had been living. I felt so foreign. I wanted a home again.

The past week or so has been a déjà vu from my time readjusting to the States. I had really thought that I was so much stronger. I told myself there was no way I was going to struggle with moving to a new culture. I certainly wouldn’t struggle with disliking a culture that I have been studying for so long. But, here I am, the foreigner once again. I struggle with getting through the every day. I am exhausted of the cab rides, the men, the food, and the language. The exhaustion makes me feel so heavy that I am sure I won’t be able to get through the day. I loathe myself for feeling that way. 

In response to recognizing this in myself, I have decided to identify ways to fight culture shock. I am not a victim of my situation or circumstances. I am an active participant in a a purposeful adventure. Culture shock is certainly not exclusive to living in a foreign nation. We all go through these periods in our lives where life has changed and we must adjust. I have decided the key is to have a plan of attack. So, ready for this? 

My step-by-step plan of attack:

Step 1: Don’t Isolate 

Sitting in your room, stewing about your problems, is not the answer. Trust me, I have tried. Multiple times. I promised myself that I would go out after I get more work done. I told myself that I was canceling on my friends because I was tired. But let’s be real, I am reveling in my depression. I’m pretending that being away from the culture is going to make me feel better. The reality is I just end up feeling more alone. 

Example of success: Last night my friends and I went out for our friend Tasha’s birthday. I had a lot of homework to get done, but committed to going anyway. I am so glad I did. We ate at a beautiful roof-top restaurant and gazed out over Amman as the sun set. I was reminded once again of the gorgeous city I am living in and of the wonderful people I am surrounded by. It was the best kind of medicine for an aching heart.

Step 2: Treat Yo’self

I crave things sometimes. Not only do I just crave things, but I obsess over them. I talk about the things I am missing all the time. I have a list a mile long of the things I want to do and eat when I get back to the States. Just to name a few: eat honeycomb cereal, take a bubble bath, drive a car, stand outside in the rain, drink hot chai, and catch up on all my Hulu shows. How do you deal with this longing to have normal life back? I would highly suggest treating yourself to something you are missing every once and awhile. Just to get over that painful speed bump on the way to adjustment.

Example of success: I purchased myself cocoa puffs and milk. I ate three bowls of cocoa puffs in one sitting. Judge all you want. It fed my soul.

Step 3: Paper Towel It

A good friend and professor of mine taught me one of the most important things I have ever learned. He taught me the idea of “paper towel-ing.” Paper toweling is when you try something new and if it doesn’t work you just...get over it. You tear off that piece of paper towel and you throw it away. When my professor taught me this phrase, it was in the context of acting. However, I have found it to be endlessly useful in my every day life. You just can’t take life too seriously. You have to be willing to laugh and throw away that mistake. That way you can just keep smiling. 

Example of success: If you know me, you know that I am absolutely neurotic about being on time to things. I try my best to be at least five minutes early to class, and usually arrive even earlier. It’s a problem. Like on a massive scale. A Kristen-Bell-obsessed-with-sloths-sized problem. (If you are not sure what I am referring to, please youtube Kristin Bell + Sloths right this moment.) But, Amman is teaching me to paper towel it. Our normal ten minute taxi ride took forty-five minutes due to an obscene amount of crazy Jordanian traffic and an even crazier taxi driver. I ended up walking into class twenty minutes late. But you know what? I paper toweled it and walked in with a smile.

Step 4: Focus on Fun

Whether you are working or studying, it’s altogether too easy to forget that there are good times ahead. In my depression, I started drowning in my deadlines, tests, and routine. I felt like the desert that surrounds Amman had turned into a sinkhole and I was quickly losing sight of safety. But, then, I was thrown a branch that pulled me out. We need adventures out of the ordinary that make us feel alive once again. 

Example of success: This saturday, my program is taking me on a tour of Biblical Jordan. I will get to see things like the baptism site of Jesus, Mt. Nebo, St. George Church, and Madaba city. I could not imagine a more exciting use of my Saturday. And, in less than two weeks, I’m leaving with a fantastic group of people to Istanbul, Turkey for 4/5 days of exploring the beautiful city. I am definitely out of that sinkhole.

Well, there you have it. My plan of attack against the evil that is culture shock. Jordan may never be home to me, but I am learning day-by-day that a home is what you make of it. Throwing out the negativity in my life is the only way to begin embracing something so new and different. So, here I go, paper toweling my negativity. I leave you with this quote, 

“Optimism is the faith that leads to Achievement.” - Helen Keller

Smart lady.