Goodbye 2018 and Exploring The Road Home

So I quit my job and I’m living out of my car. Yes, you read that correctly.  The year 2018 is up there with one of the hardest of my life. It opened up every old wound and challenged every part of me.  At one point I wasn’t sure I’d make it out alive.

In November of 2017 I gave up my comfortable life and well-paying job in San Antonio to move back to Utah to help care for my father and my brother Ian. Over the past several years, my siblings and I noticed my dad’s cognition declining.  As siblings, we discussed what supports could be put in place to help him and who would be willing to help out with my dad and Ian. My mom died 20 years ago from cancer. My dad, and us siblings still at home, assumed the responsibility of caring for my brother Ian, who was born with Spina Bifida and was paraplegic since birth. After us kids all left home to go to college, my dad was left with the sole responsibility of caring for Ian alone.  He declined help from any home health agencies, state agencies and rarely accepted respite care from family.  Between trying to hold down a full time job and being a single parent caregiver for my brother, with all the endless mountains of paperwork that comes along with it, the burden had caught up with my dad.

When I was younger I remember visiting my dad’s office and seeing all of the local and national awards he had won over the years for his writing. He had been a technical writer for his company and was good at it. My dad was an intelligent man. I always refused to play Trivial Pursuit with him because he was a wealth of knowledge and there was no way I could ever win. I remember him always bringing home word games, anecdotal stories and sharing information he read in the encyclopedia when he couldn’t sleep. I remember when he was downgraded from a big front office at work with floor to ceiling windows, to a small little office tucked back away in the building from his colleagues.  He wanted to work until he was 67 or 68, but retired at 65 because he just couldn’t do his job anymore. His mind wasn’t as sharp and his energy was lagging.  Over the years his memory slowly started to fade.  He also started to experience difficulty with staying organized, with problem solving, following simple directions as well as becoming paranoid and suspicious. He had lost a significant amount of weight over the years and he looked 10 years older than his age. My dad was just tired.

When it came to discussing care-giving needs for my dad, all I knew it that it wouldn’t be me. I refused. My dad has always been a very religious and ridged man. I had become estranged from my father several years ago after he had said and done some things that I felt were unforgivable regarding my sexuality. After that encounter I moved to Texas to create some space and I didn’t talk to him for 2 years. After some time and distance, my heart softened enough to make small talk with him, but I knew our relationship would never be anything more than small talk. I had to go through a grieving process knowing I would never have a father that wanted to be a part of my life, and actually disapproved of my life.

Then in Sept of 2017, I had planned a 10 day trip with 5 days in Utah and 5 days in the Tetons with friends. The day I arrived in Utah, a traumatic event happened with my dad that showed how poorly my dad was doing and how much his mental state had declined. The morning after the incident I was sitting on the front porch, pondering and processing the events from the night before. My dad wandered out to the front porch and sat down on the steps. We were both quiet for a while until he commented on how beautiful the morning was.

“Dad, we need to talk. You need some help. Last night was scary. I don’t know if you remember everything, but it really scared me.”

My dad sat dad on the steps of the porch and he hung he head down. “I know. My memory is shot. I don’t remember things that I know I should. My mind isn’t like it used to be. It’s really discouraging.”

Then words came out of my mouth, words that were not my own, “Dad, I’m moving home to take care of you and Ian.  It’s not a choice on your part and you don’t have a say in it.  I just needs to happen.” I knew if my dad was given a choice, he would refuse help, as always, and want to dig his heels in to prove he was still capable of caring for himself and my brother.

My dad nodded in agreement, his face wrinkled up in sorrow having to admit he needed help. He got up and went back into the house.

The aftermath of what I had just committed to hit me, hard. “What the hell did I just say??!!” I bent over and put my head in my lap, rocking back and forth and the tears just came.  “Oh dear god, No, not me! I can’t do this, I can’t do this. Don’t let it be me. Oh dear god, I can’t take care of this man.”  After some time I stopped crying and I just sat there on the porch, numb and dazed from the crying.  I wanted to reverse time and make it all go away. 

I was a mess.  The next 7 weeks were just one giant panic attack. I was terminating my life in San Antonio and trying to get things organized for my move to Utah.  And my poor dear friends who had to deal with my crying and the endless verbal processing, God bless them. They attempted to offer support, give advice about building a support system, accessing community resources and that maybe it won’t be as bad as I was making it out in my head. But I couldn’t be consoled. My mind was stuck on all my past traumas with my dad and knowing how my dad can be on a day to day basis. I had serious anxiety and fear.

The first couple of months were just extremely busy. My Dad underwent surgery to correct a swallowing problem, but the anesthesia took about a week to wear off and left my dad even more confused, and extremely weak.  I was afraid to leave him alone during the day but I had to work.  He had refused any help from church members, neighbors or home health services. When a home health nurse came by to do an evaluation on his post-surgical needs, my dad became very irritable, suspicious, refused to answer any questions and kicked her out of the house. On the way out, the nurse gave me a look of sympathy and said “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”  “Yeah, me too” and I let out a heavy sigh. 

With all the care and supervision that my dad and brother required, I was unable to work full time and accepted a part time job and then another job working weekends. Thankfully I was blessed with an amazing boss. She allowed me to set my own schedule and was very understanding of my situation as well as becoming my emotional support system. Trying to work, take care of my dad and Ian, figuring out a routine and managing their medical issues was overwhelming.  My life was no longer about me. Life felt heavy; A painful, emotional burden.  I felt so alone.  I felt I had no one to talk to.  A few people were keen to give advice, but there was no one to provide respite care. No one to give me a hug or offer comfort.

My dad was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in January of 2018, at the age of 72. From March to June 2018 my dad had a steep decline.  He would often forget to eat and lost 15lbs off his already thin body. The verbal and emotional abuse, combined with increasing confusion and safety issues magnified my burden and I had multiple breakdowns. My dad would get upset if I had to point out yet another safety issue and he would take his frustration out on me.  I was always the bad guy. There was a dark weekend in March where for 2 full days I laid in bed and contemplated suicide. I felt I was sitting at the bottom of a muddy well, slowly sinking down and no way of getting out. Every nuanced cry for help, with no response, felt like a lid was slowly being closed over me. My burden felt so dark and heavy that I felt I had no other options. I just couldn’t keep doing this. Ending my life felt like a relief. No more pain. I knew exactly how I’d do it. But what about Ian? Who’d take care of him? And the burden on my other brother, Graham, with his young family, would be so heavy and he is already taking on so much. And what would Ian think? He would think it was his fault that I took my life.  That weekend finally ended, after a lot of crying and prayers. I managed to pull myself up and out of bed each morning after that, but it was usually accompanied by tears.  Thank goodness Ian was a ray of sunshine. He always gave me a hug, a big smile and joke to start each morning.   

My dad was feeling ill one day in June. I had taken his car keys away several weeks earlier (talk about drama!!) and he had to pass a driving test that morning if he wanted to get his keys back. He had so much anxiety that he felt nauseated and very weak. I convinced him to go to the hospital. I then communicated to the doctor and social worker how unsafe my dad was living at home and could no longer live on his own.  Against my dad’s wishes, he was discharged to an assisted living facility. While in the hospital, my dad was prescribed a medication that could possibly help slow his memory loss. It was also a mood stabilizer. After just one week on the pill, my dad became a different man.  He was happy, social, started sharing stories from his past. He was nice. Who was this man?  My dad has always been fiercely private and definitely not social.  To see him initiate gathering up a group of people to watch a football game, to see him sitting around a table doing a puzzle with other residents, to hear him talk about how he sits at a different table each meal time so that he can get to know everyone and make sure no one feels left out…..was an unexpected surprise because this was not the father I grew up with.  He gained back the 15lbs he had lost earlier in the year and his ability to speak more fluently actually improved the more social he became. It’s crazy to think what one little pill, combined with a positive environment, can do for someone in my dad’s condition.  I am grateful he’s had a good transition into this next stage of life.

At about the same time my dad transitioned into assisted living, my brother Ian became very ill with pneumonia. He was hospitalized for 5 days and then sent to a care facility to continue with his recovery.  With both my dad and brother in facilities, I finally had a little room to breathe. I still was very busy helping with their transitions and making sure they didn’t feel forgotten about, but the majority of the caregiving load had been transferred off my shoulders. I was able to pick up more hours at work so that I wasn’t living paycheck-to-paycheck anymore. I also started to clean out my dad’s house. He had started to become a hoarder and I think he kept every piece of paper he ever received.  I ended up shredding 385lb of files, taking 8 truckloads of junk to the landfill, 8 truckloads of stuff donated to DI, 2 truckloads of furniture and appliances donated to Habitat for Humanity, over 1,500lbs of food donated to the local food pantry (he got a little over-zealous with his food storage), overall totaling around 100 hours working to get it all done. Whew!

My amazing brother Graham and his wife agreed to care for Ian full time and actually built a wheelchair accessible house to accommodate Ian. Ian is now living with them and adjusting to a new environment. Graham and his wife have made incredible sacrifices and are also slowly adjusting to being caregivers. My heart goes out to them, understanding all that being a caregiver means. It is a heavy burden and I hope I can be the support to them that they need.

The Universe has a way of making us face our fears. My experience felt like a bird flying head-on into a glass window and then wondering where the window came from. Our fears are always there and sometimes we choose not to see them.  We get so habituated with avoiding them, stuffing them back down so that we don’t have to confront them or blaming someone else for why those fears even exist in the first place…. that those fears continue own us, to define us and how we behave. This year forced me to confront every painful memory and experience from my past with just about every family member, including my father and even my mother. I can choose to feel victimized, resentful, angry and sad. But that is such a heavy burden to carry. I know darkness and I’m tired of it. I’m emotionally exhausted. It’s such a sad, lonely, and isolating place to be. I’m choosing the hard work of facing those fears, one deep breathe at a time.

As 2018 has wrapped up, I’ve had a few spiritual experiences that have started the process of healing. My heart has softened. I have a lot to think about. A lot I want to change. Although Utah is where I grew up, it just doesn’t feel like home or a place I belong anymore. Quitting my job and converting my SUV into a living space is a means to an end. I want to explore different places and find where I belong. I want to find a home. I want to reconcile my past, find some healing and create a beautiful future. I want to connect more with people. I want to feel confident again. I want to feel ambitious again. I want my humor back.  I want ME back.   Here’s to a new journey and new beginnings!!

The First Year....A Humble Success

Well, I have officially been in the Peace Corps for over 14 months now. The time has certainly flown by and so much has happened.  There have been big traumatic moments that have humbled me and made me rethink if being here was the right decision. And there are the small daily things that put a smile on my face and warm my heart. One of those small daily moments is when little Emran climbs onto the bus and the first thing he does is look for me and then smiles and give me a hug and a kiss. Yes, that is definitely the highlight of each day and some days it makes all the difference with my attitude for that day. 

Me and my little Emran

The first 6 months I was really just getting my feet wet and trying to understand the Jordanian culture, the culture of my special education center and how I fit into it all. I won't exaggerate...it was a very rough 6 months. There were a lot of miscommunications, misunderstandings and....tears.  But things slowly got better and by the end of the first 6 months, I was glad I stayed. 

I've seen the most development at my center, and the most growth with myself, this past semester. I've already written about the rough start to this last semester in previous entries, so I won't repeat it all. Although it started out very rough, it ended very well. Almost better than expected, Ahumdulilah! I had this beautiful, idealistic dream of starting an Autism program and it would just be so perfect and successful.  Well, it didn't exactly turn out as expected.  We had students, but not teachers, the first two weeks which was just utter chaos. Then when a teacher was hired and assigned to the class I wanted to co-teach, the teacher and I did not get along. She had never had a job before, and had no experience with children. And due to lack of exposure to children with disabilities, she had a very difficult time understanding how to interact with these special children. I tried my best to convince her that these kids were teachable, had potential, but just needed time and adaptations.  Needless to say, we didn't agree on much and we didn't get along that well. The Mudeera and Director of my center respected my experience and expertise and, after 4 very long weeks, the teacher was fired and a new teacher was hired upon my recommendation. 

So, after 6 weeks into the semester, a wonderful woman from my community, Maysoon, was hired to be my co-teacher. We were great friends before and she has endless amounts of energy and optimism.  A perfect combination to work in special education. I told her of my plan to start an Autism program with the young children and she was enthusiastic…at first.    It definitely was difficult at first to get our Autism program going and she was not particularly buying to my idea of the same daily routine and structure that I assured her would help improve the kids behavior and learning.  But because the children hadn’t had any routine or structure for the first 6 weeks of school, their behavior was very poor and it was quite difficult to work with these kids.  Maysoon became easily frustrated and wanted to know when my “Autism Program” would work. I kept reassuring her that it would take time and that when the children understood the daily routines and expectations then their behaviors would get better and they would start to absorb the information and learn.  

Sometime around the end of November, I had left for about 3 days to do some training with some new volunteers. It was the first time I had left Maysoon unsupervised with the children. I fully expected to come back to a chaotic classroom.  Instead I was blown away with how smoothly everything went.  Maysoon had command of the classroom and the children were well behaved. Maysoon was using all the resources and techniques I had shown her. I complimented and congratulated Maysoon for sticking with it and being patient with the process. I let her know how wonderful she was with the children and how good they were doing with their behavior and learning.  She then turned to me and said “Natalie, you were right. Your program worked but it just took time. I don’t believe it, but I am happy.” 

Miss Maysoon teaching the kiddos

In the entire year I have been at my center, and all the projects that I have been involved with  in Peace Corps in general, that one comment from Maysoon was the most satisfying and brought me the most joy.  I had teacher “buy-in” and she was actually implementing what I had taught her. That’s rare that it happens and rarer that it lasts, as any Peace Corps volunteer  will tell you. Maysoon continued throughout the rest of the semester doing what she’d been doing and having great success. Since then she has gained momentum and has visited each of the children’s families, given the families progress reports about their children and is coming up with a plan for next semester on how help with children with academics and social skills. I am so proud of her and so thankful that things actually turned out better than I ever expected.

My Mudeera even did a disability awareness meeting this past month in order to educate the community about how to treat people that have a disability.  I am really thankful for all her enthusiasm and passion.

Overall, this semester and the year has been great.  We had our playground installed and the children love it. Their undesirable behaviors haven’t gone away, but they’ve decreased.  The Autism program is up and running successfully and hopefully with continue to be successful next semester. I started a hygiene program with the students. Soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes, combs and hand towels were all donated and I gave training to the teachers on how to have the students become independent with their hygiene. 

Miss Maysoon teaching Hela how to brush her teeth

 And then, to top off the end of the semester, my teachers threw me a surprise birthday party. It was really thoughtful and kind. Especially since they don't really celebrate birthday's here, but they know that Americans do and they wanted me to feel special. Life is good and I couldn’t be happier. 

All the teachers and Mudeera at my center. A group effort to make me a birthday cake!

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps

It's Olive Picking Time!!

So almost two months ago, Olive picking season started. There are olive trees everywhere!! In my village we have, supposedly, 2000 year old olive trees.

One of the many 2000 year old olive trees

Since I have never picked olives before I volunteered to help pick olives with my Director and his family. So one beautiful 70 degree day in October, we drove to the orchard and picked olives from 8:30 am to 5pm.  I didn't consider it "hard" labor, but it was labor nontheless. Of course, I only picked olives one day, my director did if for 6 weeks, 6 days a week....so that is hard labor.

Picking olives is rather easy, its just time consuming. First, we picked up all the olives that had fallen to the ground. Although these fallen olives aren't really edible anymore, they can still be used for their oil. After all the olives from the ground have been picked up, large sheets are placed around the base of the tree to catch the olives that will fall to the ground once the picking begins.  The family I was with had a pretty efficient method for picking their olives.  One or two sons would prune the branches of the olive tree and throw the branches down to the ground. The "Old Timers" would then sit on the ground or on the sheets, rather, and hand-pick the olives from these pruned branches.  While that was happening, someone would climb a ladder and start picking the olives from the top of the tree. For the "hard-to-reach" olives, someone would take a stick and beat the branches until all the olives would fall off. Meanwhile, other family members were collecting all the olives that were falling to the ground.  I was one of those.....half "plucking", half "picking" the olives up from the ground or from the branches.  And, more than occasionally, I was pinged in the head with olives falling from the sky. But as they say here "addi," "its normal," "no big deal."

Little Baby Sundus chillin' under the trees

So, that is basically what I did for 8 hours....either reaching up and picking olives, or reaching down and picking up olives. I was a little sore the next day.  However, we did take a delightful little lunch break. Om Yousef, the matriach of the family, prepared Mansef, the national traditional meal of Jordan.  It is a simple rice dish where hot liquid fermented yogurt sauce is poured over the top. That may not sound too appetizing, but it kind of tastes like buttery sour cream.  After the sauce is poured on,  you grab a blob of the wet rice with your bare hands, squeeze it into a bite-size ball and pop it into your mouth. The meal traditionally eaten with the hands and usually lamb or chicken is also prepared with it. The family brought a spoon for me to eat with. I was grateful, since I had no where to wash my hands and I had already drunk all of my water. However, the other family members didn't seem to mind to eat with their unwashed hands...more immune power to 'em!

Eating Mansef, YUM!

Well, after all the olive picking is done, the women in the family spill the olive out on a big sheet and pick the edible olives from the non-edible olives.  Its quite a long process. But as in any culture, its done as a family or community, so all the women help out and it goes faster. And what a better way to get caught up on all the local gossip:)

After this, the non-edible olives are sent to an olive press factory to get fresh olive oil. My village, in particular, is known in Jordan for some of the best olive oil. Last year, my landlady gave me a free quart of olive oil pressed from the olive tress in my very own yard!  Pretty cool!

The edible olives are then bottled.  It is also a bit of a process, and each family has their own seasonings they put in. I am posting a video that better describes the process, and is more entertaining than me trying to describe it:)  Enjoy

http://youtu.be/ZQ3ladtMq-Y

And that is how you get yummy Green Olives!


The next week, my mudeera thought it would be a good idea to get the students involved and have them help out with olive picking.  They loved it (well, most of them).  They did a great job and ended up picking olives for 4 straight hours!  Great Job Kiddos!

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or the Peace Corps

Play Time!!

We Have A New Playground!!! 

Back in June I wrote a small grant to USAID to request funding for a playground for our center. We have about 20 students at our center and absolutely no play equipment of any kind for the children to engage with, not even a soccer ball.  During our "recess" time kids would wander around and pick on and bully each other and it really wasn't a fun break time for most kiddos. So my mudeera and I saw the need for a playground.

But where to put it?? Our center is already small, and the land is on a hill, and there isn't much available land around the center to intall a playgound. But finally we decided on a small 13x7 meter area behind our center which was part of the center's property.

Area Behind the Center

After play site was chosen and the grant was approved, the land was then cleaned up, cleared and prepared for installation of the playground.

Next, time to dig the foundations for the play equipment.

Then the exciting day, months later, when the company we contracted with showed up to install the play equipment.

Then the happy day when everything was done and done. The kids were more than ready to swing, slide and climb, and of course SMILE. Lots of smiles!

AHAMDULILAH!!

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or of the Peace Corps

 



An Unexpected Adventure

A little over 3 weeks ago I had a pleasant and unexpected adventure. It all started with a phone call from a villager, "Natalie! Where are you? There is another foreigner visiting our village. She speaks English. Do you want to meet her?!!"  Because my village is actually getting more exposure as a tourist spot, there are actually quite a few foreigners that pass through. I haven't had a lot of opportunities to meet with them because usually I am at work.  But, it was the weekend, and I really was doing nothing but watching re-runs of some TV show. So....why not? 

So I walked down to my neigbors house who was hosting this "foreigner who speaks English." I was greeted by German lady with a very pleasant personality. She was here in Jordan collecting data for her reseach. You see, she is a social anthropologist and professor of anthropolgy of some university in Germany. She was collecting information on how tourism affects culture. We chatted a bit and asked the usual introduction questions that western foreigners ask each other "Where are you from?" "What are you doing in Jordan?" "How long are you here?" As opposed to Jordanian introduction questions "Where are you from?" "How old are you?" "Are you married?" "Why Not?"  "Would you like to be my father's second wife?" (yes, I have actually been asked this all as part of an introduction, seriously!!).

Anyhoo, as this German lady, Mieke (pronounced Micah) and I got to talking, she was shocked that I had lived in Jordan for almost a year and had not visited Petra or Wadi Rum http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wadi_Rum. Meike, being the kind and generous person she is, offered to take me there, in her rented car (big deal, since I usually travel everywhere, very slowly, by bus), even though we had just met.  Needless to say, I didn't hesitate to accept the offer. So two days later, she picked me up and we headed 5 hours south to Wadi Rum.

As I had gotten to know Meike more (which can't be helped on a 5 hour drive between strangers) I found out that 10 years prior she had come to Jordan and studied Arabic at one of the universities here and then stayed over for a couple more months to work in Petra and live with a Bedouin family. We were on our way to meet a former aquaintance of hers that now lived in the bedouin village of Wadi Rum. This former aquaintance, Ibrahim, used to work in Petra when he was a teenager, trying to convince tourists to ride a donkey. Fun job, eh? Well, now Ibrahim is a struggling tour guide operater and professional camel racer. Yes, camels actually do run, and fast, although very awkwardly.

When Meike and I first arrived to the village of Wadi Rum, we visited a bit with Ibrahim's wife and extended family, ate lunch with them and took a few pictures. We then drove out to the actual desert of Wadi Rum to meet Ibrahim. Ibrahim was a young man of about 25 with a pleasant smile and relaxed nature. He was a gracious host, as most Jordanians are. We sat and drank tea, as is always the custom, and visited for a bit. Then He offered to let Meike and I go for a camel ride. Yes!! I was hoping he would offer. Ibrahim instructed us that because these were his prize racing camels that we'd be riding, that we needed to take off our shoes so as not to harm the aminal in any way.

So I rode barefoot, on a camel, through a desert for over an hour and it was the most amazing experience.

It was just me, Meike and a bedouin boy, riding our camels though this amazing desert/canyon landscape. All you could hear were a few birds chirping and the sound of the camels feet against the sand. It was so peaceful. A soulful kind of peace. The landscape was so beautiful. The contrast of the orange sand against the tall jagged mountain and narrow canyons was breath-taking.

After our camel ride, Meike asked me what I was thinking about during our short journey. I thought about it and replied, "I don't think I was thinking about anything. I think I was just.....Being!" I was actually surprised by my own response, because my mind never stops going, going, going. Meike smiled and replied "Yes, I know. That is how I feel every time I come to the desert. I can just "BE" and all my worries and stress disapear and I think about nothing.  I am happiest when I am here."

By then, it was getting dark and Ibrahim and his group of bedouin men started to set up camp and make dinner. While our dinner of rice and lamb was cooking, we sat around the camp fire, watching the sun set and drinking tea. As the night wore on, other groups of bedouin men came and shared our campfire and conversation and exchanged laughs and dinner, and, of course, drank more tea (otherwise, jokingly known as bedouin whiskey). The fire started to die down to a warm glow and the conversation became softer. Meike and I laid on our backs attempting to find constellations in the midnight sky and digging our toes into the beach-like soft sand. That amazing sky!! With billions and billions of mysterious twinkling stars. Then finally off to bed, in my sleepingbag, on that soft sand in the company of a warm fire, bedouins and of course, the camels:)

Wow and Wow!!  I was so pleasantly surprised at the experience I had in Wadi Rum. Pure joy. And I am not talking about happiness. I am talking about Joy. That combined feeling of peace, happiness, calmness, assuredness all mixed into one. Well, at least that is my definition of Joy, and it is so refreshing to feel that special feeling from time to time.

The next morning, Meike and I said our "thank you's" and "good-byes" and head on our way....towards Petra. Petra was short and sweet trip because we only had a half day but I hope to make it back again soon to really explore it more. We didn't arrive in Petra until almost noon and then Meike sought out some old friends to chat with and I went off and explored Petra on my own for the next 4 hours....not nearly enough time.



Entrance to Petra

 I decided to do the longest hike, up to the Monestary and then the top of the Petra. There must have been seriously a thousand steps up to the top with just as many shop keepers trying to sell you handmade trinkets in perfect English, French, German, Spanish, Russian and every other western language. I stopped to rest and chat with shopkeepers along the way, who were always pleasantly surprised I could speak their language and then always disappointed that I didn't have any money on me to buy their trinkets.

Shop Girl who insisted that the this girl in my guide book was her sister

I finally arrived at the Monastary, with only a few other tourists (advantage of going during the off-season). It was so quiet, beautiful and awe-inspiring what these people created from stone. An entire civilzation literally carved out a city from stone and made it an amazing trade post for centuries. Wow!

The Treasury

I ended up climbing to the very top peak and spending some peaceful alone time listening to the wind and the echos of bedouins herding their goats through the canyon. And just smiling inside. Much needed personal time.

The Top of The World

What a nice trip. And I made a wonderful friend, Meike, in the process. A wonderful down-to-earth person with a wealth of knowledge and a love for people. It was an unforgettable experience.

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or of the Peace Corps



A Night of Cultural Exchange

Last Thursday, the end of the work week, I just wanted to go home from school and do nothing. It had been a very long week due to lack of teachers at my school, resulting in daily chaos. However, after running down to my local ducan (little neighborhood store) to buy a few things, my ducan lady reminded me that I had promised her that I would teach her how to make Koosa Cake, otherwise known as zuchinni bread. She was very presistent. I gave in. So I went home, rested a bit, then gathered up all the necessary cooking items and ingredients and headed down to her house. She and her family were very excited to learn about this American style cake (they don't really have bread here). Aunties and cousins slowly started peeking their heads in the kitchen door. But beofre we could get started, the ducan lady, or Om Eisa, felt it necessary to feed me dinner first. I had just eaten before I came. Sigh, how to fit all that food in. So, an hour later, she had finished making dinner....dinner just for me, and the family sat around watching me eat. A bit awkward, but they were all smiles because they were happy that I was there, eating, in their company.

So after I finished dinner, we started making the zuchinni cake. Curious heads popped over my shoulders as I taught Om Eisa and her eldest daughter what ingredients to mix together. It was a fairly simple recipe so it only took a few minutes to prepare before putting it in the oven. Then, as we waited the hour for the cake to finish, we went into the family room and watched TV. The eldest daughter was trying to be a good host and find a show in English. She was pleased when she found one, but it happened to be an infomercial on light bulbs. Not terribly entertaining. So I had her continue to channel surf until she came upon the movie The Rocketeer, a movie I remember watching as a kid. It is a WWII fictional period drama about the invention of a rocket pack that would enable soldiers to fly. In the movie, there was a fictional black and white Nazi propaganda film with soldiers fighting and shooting guns. Om Eisa and her daughter's turned to me and asked if it was Israel fighting in the movie. I was surpised and not surprised. I told them it was before Israel, but they kept asking and seemed confused. (I later asked around if the WWII curriculum and the Holocost was taught in schools here, as I know some Arab muslim countries refuse to teach it in fear of Jewish sympathy.  I was told it (the Holocost) was taught, but literally as just a sidenote and that the number of Jews killed was exagerated; Only 300,000 to MAYBE 3 million killed, not 6 million. Interesting, to say the least).

Anyway, the family got bored with the American film and changed the channel to watch the second most popular sport in Jordan besides soccer, WWE wrestling with John Cena!!! Yep, I was in the presence of all women, cheering and laughing and enjoying the drama of WWE wrestling. Fun times:) Then, after they got tired of that, we watched So You Think You Can Dance. A nice change from WWE and one of my favorite shows to watch.

The Koosa Cake was finally finished and it turned out really yummy and was a hit with the family. A fun little experience. As we were eating, one of the little boys was falling asleep. Om Eisa began to sing him an Arabic lullaby and then asked if Americans sang songs to their children to help them fall asleep. I confirmed we did. Then she and the family wanted me to sing one. I sang the first one that popped into my head and one of my favorites, Goodnight, My Someone from the musical The Music Man.  They were mesmerized by it. They had me sing it about 15 times! They all went quiet and said it was a beautiful song.  It was a sweet moment and a nice way to end the night. I was so glad I didn't spend the evening by myself. I would have missed out on such a unique and special moment.

A couple days later, as I stopped at the ducan to buy a few things, the ducan lady greeted me with a big smile and sang "Goodnight.......!"

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or of the Peace Corps

The End and The Beginning

Well Ramadan came to an end, on the 29th of August, to be exact. The day after Ramadan is called Eide (which means a holiday) and it is a day(s) of celebration....well, mostly eating....a lot. I decided to spend that time with a close Peace Corps volunteer friend of mine. Her village is several hours south of mine and we are not able to see a lot of each other, so I thought it would be a good time to visit for a couple of days before the school year began.

The first night in my friend's village we visited a friendly and outgoing family. My friend and I helped make Ma'moul (Date filled cookies), a common treat during all major Jordanian holidays. Then we spent several hours socializing with the family and their extended family that came up from Aquaba to visit. We ate Kebsa, a traditional Jordanian rice dish served with lamb. I must say that it was the best lamb I have ever had. Of course when I told that to the family, they kept putting more and more lamb in front of me to eat. I love meat, but there is a limit. The extended family also had a cute little boy with Down Syndrome. They were impressed that I knew what his disability was and I had a nice chat with the mother about additional things she could do to help his development. All in all, a nice visit.

The next couple of days my friend and I spent getting caught up, trying to fix my dying computer (now fixed), visiting other villagers and attempting to cook American dishes. We tried to make a peach crumble/cobbler and then chocolate cake in my friends creative make-shift oven. Meaning, putting a small cake pan in a large pot on top of the stove, and covering it to trap the heat...hence a make-shift oven. It worked pretty good, except our peach crumble wasn't so crumbly, it was more....soggy (I think I used too much butter). But both dishes tasted really yummy, in addition to the coconut curry and fried rice my friend also made. A nice visit.

But all good things must come to an end (why must they, really?). And now school has started. I had such high hopes of things going perfectly, but apparently I forgot the wisdom passed on to me from previous volunteers "Things will NEVER go as planned or expected in this country! Plan on that and you'll do just fine."

The first day of school was very chaotic, and stressful. We had students, but no actual teachers. So here is the background as to why we have no teachers. Last spring I was told that the director wanted to fire all the teachers at our center because they didn't have special education degrees (although they were great teachers, in my opinion). So by the end of the year my mudeera (principal) and the director had hired 4 new teachers and I had met 3 of them. I was fully expecting to come to the first day of school seeing the new teachers and just jumping right in to change the world. I was told there would be no new teachers for at least a week and maybe two weeks (most likely). My mudeera and director were supposed to submit paperwork for the new teachers to the Ministry of Social Development in order for the teachers to be registered and get paid. Well, since it was Ramadan during August, the paperwork was never submitted.

When I arrived at school the first day there were 18 students and 4 adults. The adult/student ratio sounds very reasonable, right? So wrong.  My mudeera attended to "administrative" duties (questionable) and the other two ladies were volunteers who came to see how our center works and what services we provide. They in turn will help get the word out to the surrounding 10 villages to inform families with children with disabilities that services are available for their children. With that said, there were no ACTUAL teachers at our center. The two volunteer ladies and myself attempted to try to teach ( but with limited resources and they have no actual teaching experience and never worked with this population before) and also corral certain behavior-challenged students away from each other to prevent injury and more chaos. It was such a long 6 hour day. Today was worse and I had a bit of a private meltdown. I finally called the director of our center (the big boss that comes to visit every once and a while) and told him of my concerns. He was good to talk to and very understanding. I suggested to the director that perhaps it may be wise not to have school until we have teachers....he said he'd think about it....hmmm? We'll see what happens. I really want things to get going and also for the kiddos to have  a positive environment to come to each day, not the recent chaos. Here's hoping that happens soon.

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government or of the Peace Corps

Ramadan Kareem!

Ahalan wa Sahalan! Welcome to my new blog!  I thought I would try my hand at writing a bit.  Since living abroad in a predominately Muslim country, I have had the experience this past month to live through Ramadan. Ramadan is considered a holy month where an individual is expected to fast from dawn until dusk in order to spiritually cleanse themselves and become closer to God. It is believed that during this time the Heavens are open and Hell is closed. During the fasting period each day, a person is expected to refrain from all worldly and bodily temptations such as food, water, smoking, drinking coffee, sex and generally be a more kind, generous and spiritual person. Children, the medically fragile, pregnant women and women on their period are not required to fast.

With that said, it has been the most boring month of my life! My sleep habits have become topsy turvey. I usually go to sleep around 5 or 6am and wake up around 2 or 3 pm. And this is normal for the entire village/country of Jordan. Because people usually break their fast around 7:30pm and must eat breakfast before 4:30 am (or the first call to prayer of the day), most people eat dinner and then stay up all night watching TV and visiting. Children  and teenage boys set off firecrackers at all hours of the night, and men shoot off guns. Women and men sit on their front porches or in front of their shops and chain smoke and drink coffee until its time to start the fast again. As a result, people tend to finally go to sleep around 4 or 5 am. 

I had such good intentions at the beginning of Ramadan to become more spiritual, exercise more, better my Arabic, etc.  Well....that didn't happen. Perhaps it was because of my crazy sleep schedule, or the fact that it was always dark when I was awake that threw me off, or maybe its just excuses. Mostly I slept a lot, visited a lot, and watched a lot of movies.  I did however, start planning the curriculum and activities for the upcoming school year. I am ready to get back to school....I think, I hope.

Even though Ramadan wasn't the most "productive" month of my life, it does provide a good time for reflection. One beautiful and quiet morning, while I sat on my front steps breathing in the crisp morning air and appreciating the calm morning sunlight, I again gained confirmation that this is exactly where I am supposed to be in my life. Its seems like Fate has had a strong hand in directing me where I am supposed to go on my life path, and although I have fought against it at times, I am happy and grateful where life has taken me. Being so far away from everything familiar to me has made me that much more grateful for what has been gifted to me, namely my family, education, a good profession, a privileged life (compared to village life here) and my own strengths and talents.

The contents of this blog are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Government of the Peace Corps