A Tale of Two Dinners

Current photos are up (albeit not in full quality) at http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2032879&id=19101971&l=3ceb2c72f5

Two of the more memorable meals of my life have happened in the last 28 hours, and I think the meals and their circumstances deserve their own post.

Yesterday was my first Iftar (the breaking of the Ramadan fast at al-Maghreb, sunset).  I accidentally fasted (though I didn't abstain from water like some of my friends are doing).  I had gone to Jerash with a friend earlier in the day, daydreaming about Jerashic Park (think dinosaurs on Roman ruins), so I didn't think it wise to go without water while walking in the middle of a desert in the hottest month of summer.  I think religious traditions are supposed to bring you closer to God, but a summer Ramadan is trying to send you to the next life mubasharan (directly).

Anyway, I got back to the apartment around three in the afternoon, and it was filled with my roommate Khalid's extended family.  I had met his brothers before, and after a few shrieks and hurried putting-on of a hijab, I met his sister-in-law and his mother.  One of the funnier characters was his little cousin Yasmeen, who announced the minutes remaining until Iftar every 5-10 minutes.  Considering I arrived more than four hours before Iftar, this was a little annoying, but mostly hilarious.  It's like my brother Andrew waiting for Christmas presents.  Yasmeen also leaned most of her body out of the window so she could hear the earliest possible call to prayer, which signals when the sun has set and people can begin eating.  It's only her second Ramadan fasting, so she really wanted that food.  Meanwhile, her cousin Mustafa (Khalid's brother) was eyeing the baby food, thinking, just maybe, he should grab a spoonful.

After the customary eating of the date, we dug into the food.  Malfoof (stuffed lettuce leaves), Maghlooba (lit. upside-down) with veggies and rice, a Greek-like pastry filled with cheese or meat, something like Arab cole-slaw, soup, figs, dates, fried chicken, date juice, and oh so much delicious cold water.  It was a very memorable meal, and I joked to Muhammad (Khalid's dad), that no matter how much I ate, the pile on my plate kept growing bigger as cousins, brothers, and aunts put more food on it.  They literally would not take no for an answer.

The rest of the evening was filled with prayer, family arguments, poetry, and a little bit of Taylor Swift.  Solid, all around.  A good introduction to Ramadan.

Today, I ate lunch after finally obtaining an 'oud and registering at the police station for residency.  I figured I deserved a meal after all that work, and besides, SO MANY LEFTOVERS.  I mean, how do you resist a turkey sandwich the day after thanksgiving?  After learning "Vincent O'Brien," "Folsom Prison Blues," "Sunshine of Your Love," and "First Day of My Life" on 'oud (because I haven't started learning Arab songs yet), I went to church and then dinner at the home of one of my students.  

For anonymity, I'll call him Abdullah, which I should note, some Christians are named, as translated, it means Theodore, or Servant of God.  Anyway, he and his wife live in a tiny apartment a few blocks away from the church.  They are some of my favorites in the class.  Once, when I asked him what he did that day before coming to school, he said, "I went doctor tooth," then pulled his dentures out of his mouth.  Sufficed to say, he's a likable guy.  Tonight was the first time that I took notes when talking to a student about being a refugee.  I'm not sure if it changed things, but I don't think it did.  He told me about his kids in the U.S.  His brother was a Chaldean bishop in Basra and then Beirut, but died a few years ago.  His other brother ran a liquor store, but was kidnapped and killed by fundamentalists in Mosul.  Abdullah left Mosul to go to his ancestral village Arqush (that's just a guessed spelling), where he and his wife stayed until last December.  Masked men came to Abdullah's door, saying that the Kafir (unbeliever) must leave.  He didn't have the money to pay them off any more, so he and his wife came to Jordan.  With their kids in the states and having visited previously, they thought they'd move on pretty quickly.  They obtained refugee status, but have been waiting for ten months while some branch of the U.S. government (he says FBI) investigates him further.

He was a member of the Baath Party from 1965-1987.  On the surface, that sounds nefarious and an obvious disqualifier, but I should also note that Abdullah was a primary school teacher from 1965-1987.  He had to join the party to keep his job.  When he retired in '87, he left the party because he was against the war against in Iran.  He spent the next few decades on the city council, coordinating volunteer work in his town until he lost that job to a party loyalist.  When the Americans came in 2003, he was a big supporter of the ousting of Saddam and occupation, organizing barbecues that allowed soldiers and kids from his town to interact.  He showed me pictures of his family with a lieutenant named Smith.  He asked if I could find him.  I sadly disappointed him.

There isn't really an end to his saga.  I'm scared that he'll get rejected like some of my other students.  For now, he is still hoping that his letter of approval comes through, but who knows.

I don't have a good segue, but even with all the war/refugee/death talk, tonight was a blast.  There was a lot more laughing than sadness.  Abdullah, his wife, and I had enough food for a half-dozen people, including the Iraqi dishes Briyani with chicken and meatballs over almonds and rice, Qubaa which is a big meat/pastry pancake, and the traditional Arab salads, chicken, and hummus from the whole region.  And then the arak began to flow.  When poured, it's clear and just a hint of anis in the smell.  Then Abdullah added ice and water, and it turned milky white.  And a few glasses later, there was a drunk 70 year-old and a drunk 22 year-old talking about visiting Arqush a few years down the line so we could eat the best peaches in the world from his garden.  Then he told me that he sees me as his son.  And I told him and his wife that they're like my parents.  

Then he poured another glass of arak.