Jerusalem Center People

The BYU Jerusalem Center organized a field trip to Jordan for their students. They arrived in Amman three days ago, and today is there last day.

I suppose it had something to do with honoring their long journey, or recognizing that they too are part of the Mormon minority in the Middle East - honestly, there didn't seem to be much purpose for the Al Husn Branch youth to make an activity out of going down to meet them.

Two weeks ago, I was counting down the days until I could see the 44 Americans. I ended up laughing, talking, and enjoying myself more with the Jordanians.

The best part of the trip (by far) was the ride to and from. President Dew had hired Omran again - he had driven us to Amman a week before on the Seminary Opening-Activity trip to the Royal Car Museum. Omran is 23, skinny, and somewhat shy. He's not the worst driver in Jordan, but both times I've gotten into his bus, I've thought about how I haven't written my will yet.

His "bus" isn't really a bus, but a van with ten seats. Because the engine is weak, and with ten people crammed inside the van is nearly twice as heavy, we would average around 10 mph uphill, and 90 mph downhill.

Omran got pulled over by the Public Police three times total, which involves a guy dressed in bright reflective gear waving a big stop sign-looking thing at your car from the side of the road.

He had gotten a ticket on the Seminary Opening Activity trip, but because he had connections w/ the police, he didn't end up paying.

This time, they wanted his license, and the licenses of two other people in the car. They asked us where we were going, where we were from. I don't think they stopped us because we were going too fast, in fact, I never figured out if there was a reason at all.

The final time he was stopped, the policeman asked him if the girls in the car were "passengers" or "family."
"Family."
"The right answer tonight was 'passengers' - get going!"
We all laughed, and turned the Amr Diab back up to its rock-concert volume.

I talked to Tamr and Majdee most of the ride. It was the second or third conversation I've had in Arabic where I haven't thought about "language." He told me some stories about a loch-ness type monster in a lake in Russia. I told him about the witch grave at Camp Moses, and made up a scary story that involved me and Cindy walking there at midnight under the full moon.

The topic of conversation changed to witches, magic, and "gin". The English word for "gin" has a weak connotation - "genie" makes me think of Robin Williams, "How 'bout LADI, do you smoke, mind if I do?"

"Gin" here is a powerful word. Everyone in the bus listened to people tell stories. Chilling, exciting - magic is real here.

Jordanians are expressive when they talk. They thrive on wit, word plays, and making people laugh. Jordanian culture is about language.

The Americans were boring. Will it be like that when I get home?

Last night, instead of falling asleep listening to American music, I listened to Arabic music.

Blog Goals

I have kept a fairly consistent journal throughout my life. In 3rd grade, my journal went something like this, “January 9. James looked at me today. I love him so much.” “January 10. I wonder what it would be like if James and I got married.” “January 11. Since James’ name is James Chipello the Third, would I be Kate Chipello the Third if I married him?”

I don’t want this blog to be a, “Hey, I went to Pella today. It was cool. I have to go”-type journal. How boring. I want people to actually find what I have to say interesting and useful. That, combined with the way internet usage works here (I don’t have a wireless connection – I have to save my posts/photos to a USB drive), and the realization that I could be a really fantastic writer/photojournalist has helped me develop the following goals for my blog:

1. Not be boring.
2. Be interesting.

I suppose, on further examination, both of those goals can be applied to my life in general. I don’t want the ordinary life. I don’t want to be normal. I don’t want to settle.

“I want adventure in the great, wide somewhere.”

I don’t want to be the little housewife who sits at home and waters the plants that are going to die anyway. You know?

Every 7 ½ minutes there is a car accident somewhere in Jordan. I know this because of the state-sponsored traffic awareness billboards posted every mile or so. The US State Department specifically advises Americans to not take the bus in Jordan (I took the Irbi-Amman bus every day for two months), and to avoid car travel as much as possible. “Sabaa wa noos!” – “Seven and a half!” I said last night, as the car stalled in the middle of a busy circle, or as an on-coming taxi missed us by about 3 inches this morning on the way to Yarmouk.

I can measure the distance between curling up in the fetal position and skydiving, between being a little housewife with her plants and a world traveler fluent in language, food, experience, and love – between boring and interesting, between wasting life and living it. Seven and a half minutes.