World War Three

Actually, this is a little known fact, but it began in the Hammouri house, in Irbid, Jordan. The subject? Only the will to live is more powerful than this...you guessed it, love.

I don't know if I would really classify these relationships as "love". My American friend Adam certainly doesn't. "These people's idea of love is so middle school. It's superficial and fake; they don't know mature love until marriage, if even." And we weren't talking about sex. Just the ability to communicate and love each other.

However, by this definition, I probably...well, I think to myself about all the boys I've dated and not really loved, and the ones I loved but didn't date, and how subjective and un-bordered the whole subject is. I asked my friend Kit if he's ever kissed someone he didn't love, not really expecting him to ask me back. When he did, it made me think. I have no reason to look down on these girls for not having mature love relationships; most of my relationships have been that way. The number of guys I have really loved or still do love I can definitely count on one hand.

I have to remain ambiguous for the sake of my sister's honor, but I would really like to write about the female situation here in Jordan. Let's just say, all of my sisters have boy problems, and none of them would fall under the American category of "dating".

One is young and everybody is afraid that she's going to follow a bad example (although she's the sweetest girl in the whole world, in my opinion). None of us (including me) are allowed to talk about love or boys in front of her.

One has a secret boyfriend but their only interaction is through their cell phones; last week, her brother overheard her talking to him and demanded to know who she was talking with. If he had found out, her reputation could have been ruined forever. She was terrified.

One has two boys who like her; one is in a position where he can afford marriage. He finished his master's, he's 29, has a good job, but doesn't really like her, and isn't really that interested in her. The second one can't get married for at least another two years, he's very mooskeen, or...young? Shy? Little? How do you translate that idea? He loves her a lot, so much that he yelled at her for about two hours on the phone after he saw her talking to another guy while she was at work. What? But they made up, and now she has to decide who she's going to go for.

One doesn't have a boyfriend at all. From what I can tell, she wants one. She doesn't really vocalize thoughts about marriage, but I think she's worrying about it.

Then, there's me. My love problems...yeah, I came here to stay far away from them. I don't know how well I've succeeded.

Bucket Shower

The water heater broke, so we have no hot water in the house.

After three days without taking a shower, I needed to do something.

Hibba took a pot of water, and let it sit on the stove until it was nearly boiling. "Come, I'll show you how to do this."

The first time an Arab lead me by the hand towards the bathroom with "how-to" pedagogique intentions involved Fezzeh, Rachel Cannon and my 60+ year old host mom, pulling down her pants quite unexpectedly to show us how to use the bidet/hose-tp substitute.

Hibba's instruction was a little less graphic. She poured the pot of water into a bucket (bathrooms here all have at least three or four buckets), showed me how to take a small kettle-like bucket, mix the cold tap water in, and use it for an "olden-days" shower. She was cracking up. Mithl il arab min ZAMAAAAN!!! "Like the Arabs used to do a loooooooong time ago!"

For some reason, it was just...hilarious. I didn't feel gross, or disgusted, or shocked. The situation was funny more than anything. I'm not sure how clean I got, but at least smell better.

I LOVE this place.