Going Home

I have tried but failed to write about anything else, so I guess I have to tell you what is "really goin' on". A week ago, we had mid- service training. The conference was a bit of a downer-- we all discussed the problems at site, found solidarity in our mutual frustrations, but had no answers for each other. This was followed by the even more cheerless prospect of economic opportunities (?) facing us in the US. The possibility of extending for a third year in another country was briefly discussed, in addition to extending in Uganda. I just felt exhausted the whole time.
I had, however, the presence (or absence) of mind to ask my program director about the possibility of extending in Jordan. I need some definable, specific skills, and, since surrogate motherhood is becoming less appealing as I think of women in our health center's birthing ward (ditch that epidural for a midwife with a big stick), I thought, why not go back to Arabic? Jordan is the only Middle Eastern nation which accepts Peace Corps folks, so, I asked her about it.

Peace Corps Jordan replied with an affirmative the next day, on the condition that I commit to two years, beginning in Oct. 2011 (Peace Corps would send me home for a month in September before going so that I don't lose the rest of my sanity). As I sat, reading the email, tears came to my eyes, and I thought about home. A place I feel in the wind on a dry, cool evening. A place I remember in the smell of olive wood beads when I hold them near. I place I feel as I surrender to the heat in the crammed back of a taxi without working windows. I thought, "This is it, I'm going home."
Listening to the BBC last night when they spoke of an Egyptian woman, who, after being gang raped by 6 men, was arrested for practicing illicit sex also reminded me. Her mistake? Riding in a car with a man to whom she was not related.
I remembered waking with my mother in a crowded market and the obscene remarks and spitting that would accompany the sightest lip of an ankle or wisp of hair from under her veil. I remember wondering if women were really human at all, or just a type of animals, meant for reproduction, without true intellect or souls. Angry, frustrated tears came and then died down as I finished the news program. Later, in bed, I just sobbed.

One professor told us that "Love is not much different from hate. People often love and hate the same person, they often feel hate toward the one they love most. The opposite of love is actually indifference."

About Jordan, there is none of the latter.