Teaching and Watching

I started work yesterday, volunteering with a couple of refugee organizations that serve the Chaldean Christian community from Iraq.  Originally, I thought I'd be at Father Raymond Moussalli's church/Chaldean center five days a week, but they only have classes on Thursdays and Fridays, along with Friday "Sunday" school, so I'm supplementing that with two classes at the Jesuit Refugee Service in Jebel al-Hussein.

The groups are different, but both pretty interesting.  At the JRS, it's a modern classroom and my students (almost all Iraqi Chaldeans) are moderately well educated, including a recent med school grad and an English teacher, but all without jobs due to their status in Jordan.  Some have lived in the U.S.; others are waiting to go.  One had lived in Tuscon for a year.  She said it was worse than Baghdad.  They're all serious students, but their frustration at their national homelessness is clear.  They are waiting for something.

The Chaldean Church is a more lively place.  In what amounts to a large apartment, there is Fr. Raymond's office, a full church and sacristy, and a small classroom.  The students are mostly in their 50s and 60s, but surprisingly, the older folks have a lot better English than their children and grandchildren.  I'm assisting Ustedh (that means teacher/professor) Majid, who once in a while explains a point of English grammar correctly.  The actual teaching is almost beside the point, because I'm really there to get to know the students and their families.  One of them was a tank commander during the Iran/Iraq war, and even though most haven't been back to Iraq since they left 6 months or a year ago, they discuss the weather in Baghdad every day.  All in all, they're a funny, vivacious, talkative group who have no qualms about shushing each other or asking me why I'm not married yet.

After class yesterday, there was a mass for the Feast of the Transfiguration, which we probably had a half-day for at St. Roch.  The mass itself was very recognizable, even in the mixture of Aramaic and Arabic that I could only somewhat follow.  The music was one of the most interesting aspects for me.  The hymns were dirges, laments, minor-key chants with a hard rhythm.  If good gospel music has the immediacy of the joy of the resurrection, then Chaldean music has the equivalent sadness of Christ's death.  It was a really moving service, and in the basement apartment-cum-church with lawn chairs for pews, I started to understand the point of my project and the reason I'm in Jordan.