Recently I had the amazing and unique opportunity to spend two nights with a Bedouin family in the Jordanian Badia, in the north of Jordan near the city of Mafraq (and very close to the Syrian border). This trip was arranged by the CLS facilitators in conjunction with the SIT program in Amman. This was a cultural and linguistic immersion in a traditional Jordanian/Arabic home, and an experience different from anything I've ever done before and which I will truly never forget.
I arrived at my family's house on Thursday evening after a day of class. They welcomed me with a bowl of mansaf, the Jordanian national dish which consists of rice, chicken and laban (a yogurty liquid). The mansaf was accompanied by kibbeh, a deep-fried ball of semolina stuffed with chicken and potatoes. The kibbeh was incredible, and I asked my sister, Wujdan, if she would please teach me how to make it. The family I stayed with was relatively small compared to other Bedouin families--a mom, dad, 2 sons and a daughter. The daughter was around my age, and the two sons were a bit older than her. The oldest was married and lived with his wife and two small sons in the house next door, and I think the other son lived at home (though I barely saw him and wasn't sure if he stayed at night).
I spent most of my time with the daughter, who was 23 and had just graduated from a nearby university with a degree in science. She told me that she wanted to go work in Amman (about 2 hours away from home) in a private hospital laboratory. Although her father did not have a problem with this aspiration, her older brother was against the idea. I got the feeling that without sanction from her older brother, Wujdan would not be able to go work in Amman.
My second and only full day there, I spent most of my time with Wujdan in the kitchen. She was clearly the one who took care of the home instead of the mother (I did not see the mother lift a finger to clean or cook anything). Wujdan cooked every meal, cleaned the floors daily, and waited on her mother, father and brother. We cooked kibbeh, magloubeh (literally "upside-down" in Arabic, because eggplant, potatoes, carrots and chicken are cooked at the bottom of the pot with rice on top, then the pot is turned upside down onto the platter to be served), and an okra dish (okra, I learned, is "bamia" in Arabic). Everything was absolutely delicious, though I especially loved the bamia dish and kibbeh. I tried to help by rolling the balls of kibbeh, but after one my sister took the semolina mixture away and told me that I had "other work" to do.
There were a few difficulties/oddities surrounding living in the Badia for the weekend.
1. The bathroom. The hammam, as it is called in Arabic, was located in a small hut outside the house and was basically a hole in the ground (Google search "Turkish toilet" and you will see what I mean). I won't go into too much detail about it, but it was certainly tricky and quite uncomfortable.
2. Eating. Everything in the home is done on the floor. There are no couches, instead there are simply cushions around the wall of a room and everyone sits on the floor. Even preparing food in the kitchen might be done on the floor instead of a counter. There is also no table to eat at, instead they spread out a mat and the food is served on a large platter with everyone sitting around. Bread is served with every meal and distributed at the beginning to each person. From the start I had to come to terms with the idea that my bread would be on the floor near everyone's feet. This was weird at first, but I came to appreciate the simplicity of life and the people's closeness to the earth they live on.
3. Modesty rules. The family I stayed with, along with most--if not all--families in the Badia, are conservative practicing Muslims. The women wear headscarves and long, loose-fitting robes, and the men also wear traditional Jordanian dress of a white or off-white thobe (a long robe) and the red checkered keffiyeh on their heads. Luckily, I bought a black thobe with a beautiful blue thread design from a shop in downtown Amman before I left. This came in very handy, because I don't think I would have been comfortable in any of the clothes I already own. I arrived to the house in jeans, and even with pants on the father handed me a blanket to put over my legs for modesty's sake. Modesty rules also governed what I could and could not take pictures of (I do not have any pictures of Wujdan, sadly), where I could be in the house, and with whom I could be alone with.
4. The language. The Bedoun dialect was extremely difficult to understand. It did not help that the older women also generally had pretty raspy voices, probably from a long life of smoking. Luckily Wujdan was able to translate a bit for me, either in more basic and classical Arabic (fusha) or in the bit of English she knew.
Although I was the only student from my program in that house, my roommate from CLS, Courtney, was actually placed in the house just across the street from mine. This house belonged to my sister's maternal uncle. Kinship and family are extremely important in this culture, and there are special names for maternal vs. paternal family members. A maternal uncle is "'khal," maternal aunt is "khala," and cousins from them are either "bint khal(a)" or "ibn khal(a)"--literally daughter or son of the maternal aunt/uncle. This can get extremely confusing in speaking. Courtney's family had nine children, so her house was a bit more exciting than mine and I spend some time with her playing with the kids. We also went together to the Badia's Ecological Center, which housed several animals native to the desert, including lots of snakes, a hyena, wolf and owls. After that, we trekked up a nearby hill and looked out across the desert and Bedouin villages. The place where we stayed was just a few kilometers away from the Syrian border, so we could see Syria from atop the hill.
Overall the trip was truly illuminating and I feel extremely lucky to have been given the opportunity to experience a traditional Bedouin family life. The simplicity of their way of life, the strength of their family bonds, and their closeness to the land around them made me reflective on the way I live my own life and the luxuries that I have every day. In the end, we all eat our food, love our families, use the bathroom (in our own way), and have a crazy aunt.
Here are a few pictures from the Badia - of cooking, the delicious food, my host family, friends, and exploring the Jordanian desert.
I arrived at my family's house on Thursday evening after a day of class. They welcomed me with a bowl of mansaf, the Jordanian national dish which consists of rice, chicken and laban (a yogurty liquid). The mansaf was accompanied by kibbeh, a deep-fried ball of semolina stuffed with chicken and potatoes. The kibbeh was incredible, and I asked my sister, Wujdan, if she would please teach me how to make it. The family I stayed with was relatively small compared to other Bedouin families--a mom, dad, 2 sons and a daughter. The daughter was around my age, and the two sons were a bit older than her. The oldest was married and lived with his wife and two small sons in the house next door, and I think the other son lived at home (though I barely saw him and wasn't sure if he stayed at night).
I spent most of my time with the daughter, who was 23 and had just graduated from a nearby university with a degree in science. She told me that she wanted to go work in Amman (about 2 hours away from home) in a private hospital laboratory. Although her father did not have a problem with this aspiration, her older brother was against the idea. I got the feeling that without sanction from her older brother, Wujdan would not be able to go work in Amman.
My second and only full day there, I spent most of my time with Wujdan in the kitchen. She was clearly the one who took care of the home instead of the mother (I did not see the mother lift a finger to clean or cook anything). Wujdan cooked every meal, cleaned the floors daily, and waited on her mother, father and brother. We cooked kibbeh, magloubeh (literally "upside-down" in Arabic, because eggplant, potatoes, carrots and chicken are cooked at the bottom of the pot with rice on top, then the pot is turned upside down onto the platter to be served), and an okra dish (okra, I learned, is "bamia" in Arabic). Everything was absolutely delicious, though I especially loved the bamia dish and kibbeh. I tried to help by rolling the balls of kibbeh, but after one my sister took the semolina mixture away and told me that I had "other work" to do.
There were a few difficulties/oddities surrounding living in the Badia for the weekend.
1. The bathroom. The hammam, as it is called in Arabic, was located in a small hut outside the house and was basically a hole in the ground (Google search "Turkish toilet" and you will see what I mean). I won't go into too much detail about it, but it was certainly tricky and quite uncomfortable.
2. Eating. Everything in the home is done on the floor. There are no couches, instead there are simply cushions around the wall of a room and everyone sits on the floor. Even preparing food in the kitchen might be done on the floor instead of a counter. There is also no table to eat at, instead they spread out a mat and the food is served on a large platter with everyone sitting around. Bread is served with every meal and distributed at the beginning to each person. From the start I had to come to terms with the idea that my bread would be on the floor near everyone's feet. This was weird at first, but I came to appreciate the simplicity of life and the people's closeness to the earth they live on.
3. Modesty rules. The family I stayed with, along with most--if not all--families in the Badia, are conservative practicing Muslims. The women wear headscarves and long, loose-fitting robes, and the men also wear traditional Jordanian dress of a white or off-white thobe (a long robe) and the red checkered keffiyeh on their heads. Luckily, I bought a black thobe with a beautiful blue thread design from a shop in downtown Amman before I left. This came in very handy, because I don't think I would have been comfortable in any of the clothes I already own. I arrived to the house in jeans, and even with pants on the father handed me a blanket to put over my legs for modesty's sake. Modesty rules also governed what I could and could not take pictures of (I do not have any pictures of Wujdan, sadly), where I could be in the house, and with whom I could be alone with.
4. The language. The Bedoun dialect was extremely difficult to understand. It did not help that the older women also generally had pretty raspy voices, probably from a long life of smoking. Luckily Wujdan was able to translate a bit for me, either in more basic and classical Arabic (fusha) or in the bit of English she knew.
Although I was the only student from my program in that house, my roommate from CLS, Courtney, was actually placed in the house just across the street from mine. This house belonged to my sister's maternal uncle. Kinship and family are extremely important in this culture, and there are special names for maternal vs. paternal family members. A maternal uncle is "'khal," maternal aunt is "khala," and cousins from them are either "bint khal(a)" or "ibn khal(a)"--literally daughter or son of the maternal aunt/uncle. This can get extremely confusing in speaking. Courtney's family had nine children, so her house was a bit more exciting than mine and I spend some time with her playing with the kids. We also went together to the Badia's Ecological Center, which housed several animals native to the desert, including lots of snakes, a hyena, wolf and owls. After that, we trekked up a nearby hill and looked out across the desert and Bedouin villages. The place where we stayed was just a few kilometers away from the Syrian border, so we could see Syria from atop the hill.
Overall the trip was truly illuminating and I feel extremely lucky to have been given the opportunity to experience a traditional Bedouin family life. The simplicity of their way of life, the strength of their family bonds, and their closeness to the land around them made me reflective on the way I live my own life and the luxuries that I have every day. In the end, we all eat our food, love our families, use the bathroom (in our own way), and have a crazy aunt.
Here are a few pictures from the Badia - of cooking, the delicious food, my host family, friends, and exploring the Jordanian desert.
