Pirate Ships and Tourists and Me

My seaside African town welcomed me and my exploring feet today. I wore skinny jeans and boots to fit into the local attire, as well as a cardigan and scarf because of the salty wind and cold. I grabbed a notebook, pen, book, and some dinar and was set.

The smell of fish and fried bread drew me to the Medina, or the 'City Center' of town, where I purchased pastries and one more rainbow scarf.  I was not the only foreigner roaming through the ancient walls. Sunburned and fleshy retired Europeans strolled through the Medina in their spaghetti straps and shorts, oblivious to both the chill and culture.  Alongside the Medina was a peer with docked 'pirate ships' waiting for the gullible tourists to be lulled into their 4 hour tours.

Apart from the pirate ships and mass Europeans, it indeed felt like the Arab world. Just a bit fishy and also a bit French. I pulled out my notebook to begin surveys with a few of the young women and was able to glean some valuable information for our research. Yet, I couldn't help but wish I had a friend with me as I tasted and smelled and touched and walked. Just someone to laugh with when I can't understand the shop-keepers or when I fail miserably at navigating. I considered calling the other young American I know living here, imaging we could become friends and hang around fish-town together. But being that he is intimidatingly good-looking, I decided against it.

Now I'm back at home, where I can hear the waves and see a light-house in the distance from our living room window. Soon, I'll begin my nightly routine of line-dancing in the kitchen with the kids I live with. I think our featured song tonight is "John Deere Green." Keep your eyes out for a future video post of our Texas dancing talent.

Packing for North Africa

Well, I may have just written a nostalgic post about transitioning back to the States from the Middle East and the desire to use a drying rack.  However, I'm returning to the Arab world tomorrow for two months. North Africa!

I'll be doing a variety of things, including research on immigration and potentially helping start a program that would assist young adults in their educational and career goals in Europe.

In this North African country, French is sprinkled into Arabic and comprises 15% of each sentence. Which means that everyone will be able to understand me when I speak Arabic, but I, unfortunately, will have a harder time understanding their Arabic-French mix.

Here is a lovely pic of my packing thus far. As you can see, I'm bringing peanut butter and Altoids with me. Yes, that is also a swimsuit, since I can hear the sea from my bedroom!

My Drying Rack

I'm allowing myself one post-Jordan entry... and its about laundry.

I went to Target and bought a drying rack. Now, my parents have a great dryer, but I miss my drying rack. Actually, I miss drying my clothes on the line on top of my first roof in Jordan. Its ridiculous though. In the winter our clothes would hang for several days until they grew mildew, and they still wouldn't be dry. I would've given anything to have a dryer. Now, I MUST hang my clothes.

Hanging clothes to dry isn't only about the crispness of the laundry or the saving of energy. To me, it represents a simpler life. One in which I scheduled time in my day to hang clothes, wash dishes, and cook from scratch. I once thought that chores like these took away precious time and the invention of machines made life easier. Yet it almost felt like such chores kept life paced and simple. Routine. They gave time to think and pray and listen to music and talk to whoever may be coming or going.

I hope that I will always have a drying rack instead of a dryer, just as reminder to keep life slower, simpler. And to retain a part of my old and uncomplicated Levant life.

My neighbor's laundry hanging to dry. One of my favorite sites.

"Set Yourself on Fire...

... and men will come from miles to watch you burn." - John Wesley

January 2011. Tired morning after tired morning a 26 year old fruit seller was refused a liscense for his street cart, yet he continually risked the penalty in order to provide for his family. Until a police woman slapped him across the face and confiscated his cart. He attempted to take the issue to court, but was refused.

Hopeless. Jobless. Unseen. Unheard. Shamed and Dis-honored. He poured kerosene over his body and set himself on fire. Badly burned, he was sent to the hospital, where crowds of people gathered to watch his fate.

The day that he died, an entire country rose up in rage against the government that had led them for so long. Within days, the president resigned. Weeks later, protests and revolutions spread to Egypt, Syria, Bahrain, Jordan, and Yemen. His country recently had its first real election and a moderate Islamic party was elected.

Earlier this month, a friend and I were able to visit the country where this young fruit vendor lived and died. We met people searching and hopeful, but still dis-illusioned. When we asked what had happened during the Revolution, one waitress explained to us quietly but continually looked over her shoulder as she talked. We also heard from others that the greatest frustration still has not been alleviated- finding a job. Yet through fears and frustrations, people are also asking questions about their existence and their purpose and hope, questions that they were too afraid to ask a year ago.

This Islamic description of the city wouldn't have been tolerated under the previous regime.

As talkative women in tea salons shared with us their future hopes in Arabic sprinkled with French, I thought about the courage of that young street vendor. I am reminded of the words of John Wesley, "Set yourself on fire and men will come from miles to watch you burn."

The 26 year old fruit seller was willing to sacrifice himself for his family and country. One sacrifice began the Arab Spring. 

It can't help but cause questions to arise in my own heart and mind. Am I willing to be so surrendered and ready to give myself to a greater purpose? A purpose even greater than government and national freedom? 

Trains, Planes, and Passport Theft

Every once in a while a person's passport is stolen out of their lap while they are in a foreign country the day before they are scheduled to leave that foreign country.

This is such an account. (We originally told it as a birthday present to our mutual friend, hence the 'happy birthday' remark.)

Here is some Arabic vocabulary for the occasional references we make:

Inshallah- God willing

La- No

Inti Mtjozay- Are you married?

Shebab- Teenage guys

Sheb- a teenage guy

   

  

The incredible thing about it was that we were able to see provision every step of the way after  the purse was stolen as various people offered assistance in the post-theft process.

Reflections on the Roof :)

This is a picture I took three years ago on my first night here.

My first night in the city as the call to prayer rang out, I was in awe. The etherial sunset behind the famous blue mosque, its Adhan (call) echoing the others, and the smell of shwarma below enchanted me. I couldn't miss the chance to capture it on camera. Beautiful.

This roof became the place where I would sleep on hot summer nights, hang my laundry, grill Arab barbeque with my neighbors, make penny wishes with visiting college students, sing with my roommate, and listen to the call to prayer.

Over time, listening to these sounds on my roof became an act of faith... trusting that one day His voice will be heard. Not because of me, who neither began the work nor will finish it, but because of His faithfulness to a work that is ancient.

My roommate and I often stood on the roof overlooking the city, imagining our songs and 'thoughts' mingling with those ancients (Moses, Aaron, the 12 tribes, and many whom we have never heard) who lifted hands on this very same sand just a few thousand years earlier. We pictured Him, who exists outside of time, receiving all of our praises as one as they rise up together from the desert.

As I remember those who have gone before us, my 'faith eyes' can almost see the completion of 'Ancient Work' when one day my neighbors and friends will join with us in the great multitude of lifting hands.

Silly Signs Around Town

If you want a haircut, stop by the 'New Look' barber shop. I LOVE it!


Ready for a night on the town? Check out the Big Big Party!


My favorite: a huge poster displaying a baby smoking hookah! (This tobacco-water pipe is more damaging than regular cigarettes!)