I did not realize until today how crippling a language barrier could be. How am I to spend 3 months in a country that I barely know anything about? I went to pick up groceries today - my first venture out into the world of Jordan. I am slowly realizing that I am in a rich neighborhood - the very privileged of Jordan live here. The women are dressed in fancy clothes with straightened hair and the men in crisp suits. The grocery store was packed with “American Brand” products and an accented mix of Arabic-English speakers. The real contrast is between these people - polished, english speaking, car toting people - and the workers. They seem to be ‘regular’ Jordanians, unsheltered from the comforts that lots of money can buy and experiencing the real culture of the country. Ironically, the most disconcerting part of this trip was seeing so many traces of home in that grocery store.
It was nerve wracking to ask for directions to sugar/bread and not have anyone understand. It clearly labels me as a foreigner and I am instantly given preferential treatment. This is a common theme in developing countries. Indeed, India is the same way. It reveals much about how the West is perceived in here. As I was coming home from the airport, I remember the cab driver saying, “Is this is where all the rich people in Jordan live. Do you have a house like this (pointing to a huge mansion)?” Not me sir, not me.
It is becoming apparent how much I blow at living on my own and making smart decisions. First, I decided to forage out at 12:00 (heat stroke implied). I filled about 10 bags FULL of groceries and instead of taking a cab home, I decided to walk. The tips of my thumbs are still sore from that decision...I got lost and had to have the security guard of some school track down my homeowner. No one speaks English. That creep asked for my number. I asked him why (Thank you paranoid voice of my mother) and he just smiled. That didn’t really seem like a good reason to me so I curtly said no and walked away. Anyways, I managed to find my home and upon seeing me, some man that could’ve been my landlady’s husband started yelling at me in Arabic. I must have actually looked like an imbecile, standing there staring at him with my mouth open and a bajillion grocery bags in both hands.
So here I am, without any semblance of connection to North America, listening to Foster the People, and wondering how I can spend 3 months in a place in which I can barely get groceries on my own…
It was nerve wracking to ask for directions to sugar/bread and not have anyone understand. It clearly labels me as a foreigner and I am instantly given preferential treatment. This is a common theme in developing countries. Indeed, India is the same way. It reveals much about how the West is perceived in here. As I was coming home from the airport, I remember the cab driver saying, “Is this is where all the rich people in Jordan live. Do you have a house like this (pointing to a huge mansion)?” Not me sir, not me.
It is becoming apparent how much I blow at living on my own and making smart decisions. First, I decided to forage out at 12:00 (heat stroke implied). I filled about 10 bags FULL of groceries and instead of taking a cab home, I decided to walk. The tips of my thumbs are still sore from that decision...I got lost and had to have the security guard of some school track down my homeowner. No one speaks English. That creep asked for my number. I asked him why (Thank you paranoid voice of my mother) and he just smiled. That didn’t really seem like a good reason to me so I curtly said no and walked away. Anyways, I managed to find my home and upon seeing me, some man that could’ve been my landlady’s husband started yelling at me in Arabic. I must have actually looked like an imbecile, standing there staring at him with my mouth open and a bajillion grocery bags in both hands.
So here I am, without any semblance of connection to North America, listening to Foster the People, and wondering how I can spend 3 months in a place in which I can barely get groceries on my own…
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