Jordan (part 1) Street Life

We fled the Arabian Gulf of Qatar to go north last week--to the land of Lawrence of Arabia, Petra, crusader castles, the Dead Sea, Roman ruins, and Biblical sites. Jordan, a country about the size of the state of Maine, USA, is almost a landlocked country. But the borders luckily include the port of Aqaba in the Red Sea in the south. It is surrounded by Palestine/Israel, Lebanon, Syria, and Iraq. Amman, the capital, was once named Philadelphia or "The City of Brotherly Love." True to it's ancient name, it is a vibrant, embracing city of hospitality--showing off gleaming skyscrapers, along with a well preserved Roman amphitheater in the center of the city. Stony, pocked stairs can lead to old ruins, and even caves underneath the city. Jordan has a sense of place, a confidence that it can mix the old and the new.

Above all, Jordan is a place where people are optimistic, hospitable, and peaceful. We found new friends who tenderly loved their families, and welcomed us into their own homes. Jordan felt like home in just a few days because of the warm Arabic hospitality. Here are some views of a beautiful, verdant land that artfully blends the modern and ancient--a place where olive orchards, agricultural fields, and wild flowers lure the visitor to want to linger for a long time:

A grandmother smiling proudly at her grandchildren. The boy in the green clothes had just lovingly led her down the steps.

A spread of collected nuts for sale on the street.

A food truck, Jordan style, on Rainbow Street in Amman.

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   Here is the owner of the shop called WeRollUFill. They wrap a thin Hungarian pastry on a rolling pin, with large pin, like a skewer through it. When I told him I would put him in my blog, he invited all to come to taste this delectable East European pastry. You can fill it with eggs and spinach or something sweet, like nutella.  Salimann's shop is on Rainbow Street in Amman, Jordan. He is waiting for you.

Five guitarists jamming on a corner in Amman, Jordan.

A storeowner making falaffels.

The streets were filled with a festive weekend air.

If you go to Amman, you must go to a restaurant called Zorba's. Why? Because there is a cave, tombs, and artifacts that were randomly discovered under the premises about 20 years ago during a renovation. Clay vessels, tablets, and various sculptures were found on the shelves in the cave. 

This is a picture of a tomb that was found under the restaurant.

Small shops and markets are perched around many corners of the road. They are convenience stores for any potential passerbyers.   

Early in the morning the farmers were bringing their harvest to sell at this stall on the side of the road.

Sometimes there is no stall, but people just sell their fruit and vegetables from their trucks.

A baker rolling the bread dough, and preparing to bake it in the ovens.

Bakers making the large flat Arabic bread that is eaten with cheese, olives, and tomatoes.

Abu, our friend, who just bought some bread for us.

Chickens for sale next to the bakery

A typical street scene in Amman, with a mineret pointed to the sky.

Pictures of King Abdullah II in his various roles cover Jordan. He has been known to canvas his country incognito, with a fake wig and beard to really see the country that he reigns. After visiting hospitals, markets, and schools, he said, "I fear being isolated and not knowing what is really going on so I must visit my country in disguise." After his ascension to the throne, modernization and sprawling urbanization has taken place. 

Sweet varieties of Arabic pastries.

A large bakery with gelato, pastries, and candies for the willing customer

A young man making sugar cane juice at his stall. 

Some Bedouin woman selling their wares on the street. 

The storefront of a perfume store with a father and son.

As we drove by, we saw many Syrian refugees waiting in lines for documents. At this time, Jordan provides a home for refugees from neighboring Iraq and Syria. It is difficult to say the exact number, but there are 1.5 to 3 million refugees in Jordan. 

Young girls walking to school at about 7:30 in the morning in Madaba, Jordan. Orchards of olive trees hugged the roads, with seas of wheat fields intermingled n the trees.

Young boys walking to school with heavy backpacks. The government of Jordan heavily funds education to a tune of 20%.

Spilling Love

I just had my first Mother's Day in Qatar, and I have to admit it's been wonderful to hear the Mother's Day wishes from around the world. One young man from Cameroon sweetly said to me, "Happy Mothering Day." I don't think he meant a play on words, but the phrase caught my attention. I know I am inordinately blessed to have birthed some amazing children who have given me more joy than I thought possible. I have loved my children completely, unabashedly, fiercely, and each has brought me on a unique journey of love--learning how to give and love in all different ways and emotions. But I have also found joy in loving others who may have another mother. I believe that we as humans underestimate how much we need a community--even if we are not related.

I have been "mothered" or taken care of by so many people who have stepped up  to welcome, invite, and love me--in many stages and ages of my life. I am sure sometimes it was inconvenient for them, but their words, notes, embraces still live on with me. One of the many "mothers" who I remember growing up was Josephine Kirkman, an elderly woman in our church. We even called her Grandma. She was a captivating storyteller and could laugh and joke with a child. But she imprinted herself on my young heart forever at my grandfather's funeral. Everyone else seemed to be engaged or disconsolate. Yet she spotted me with a tear dripping to the ground, and picked me up, hugging me to her bosom. I felt her big heart beat next to mine. I smelled her faint lavender perfume as I sobbed into her enveloping dress. She pulled me in tighter, and just held me until the tears did not flow anymore. If I close my eyes for a minute, I can still feel all that love she spilled on me that day.

Being a mother and "mothering" others, meaning being another layer of kindness and attentiveness to another person, is "that kind of love that de-centers the self, and learning that your true riches are in another," says David Brooks, the NYT columnist. Although you may have never birthed a child, we can all reach down and scoop some love that is spilling over--waiting to be lapped up by someone who needs some cheer, comfort, and community. I know because I have raised six children, and I could have never have done it alone-ever. The villages I have lived in with my children in New York City, Beijing, Los Angeles, Baltimore, St. Louis, and now Doha have been more wonderful because there were people who cared and spilled the love. Sure, sometimes it got lonely a few times, but I had grown up in a loving community as a child, and I knew with some plotting and effort, it could work anywhere.

I have loved being a mother to my children, but I have taken immense joy in loving and cheering others' children too.  I miss all the children, many who are now adults, who were in my villages. This time of year when there are graduations, I think of them. I am proud of their achievements and who they are becoming. I may not be their mother, but I have loved being a part of their village--wherever that is in the world. Here is a youtube from my son's friends three years ago when we went on a one day trip. Making this video was how they amused themselves on the trip. Watching it makes me remember the good times we had together, and all the kids who have taught me so much.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j9JkMVrIujc

These are part of my "tennis kids" who I teach every week. A tear came to my eye (glad I had on my sunglasses) when these kids decided to give me a Mother's Day party at our tennis class. One of them said to me, "We are your tennis kids, and we love you." One of them just learned how to serve with a topspin. So proud! Another post about my "tennis kids":
 http://trekingonward.blogspot.com/2015/04/my-tennis-team.html

The cake my tennis girls made for me for Mother's Day

Being a part of this new Doha village has affirmed to me once again that it is possible to create and build a village anywhere--even in a compound with expats from all over the world living together. Anjoli Joshi, a new mother, wrote this about finding a community: "I refuse to shed tears in solitude. I will find a shoulder. I refuse to settle with smiles and looks. I will strike up a conversation, and learn about you and your children. I refuse to raise my son alone. I will be your eyes and ears, and you'll be mine. I refuse to experience the greatest joy of my life without another mother to share it with. I will rejoice in the sound of your baby's laughter and take pride in her accomplishments. I refuse to collapse in exhaustion each night. I will be more than a helping hand. I will be a voice of reassurance in moments of uncertainty, and a warm embrace in moments of loneliness. I refuse to walk alone. I will rediscover that lost village."

I believe there is always enough love to spill, an ample supply in all of us--to nurture, affirm, and support our other fellow villagers. Maybe sometimes we have to excavate and dig deeper to get more love, but it will always be there if we look for it.

Our Picasso's Art Exhibition

 "I close my eyes in order to see," said Paul Gaugin, the French Impressionist painter. Sometimes preconceived opinions and judgments need to be just closed, erased--making them completely disappear--never again to lift their ugly, monster heads. As a mother with a child with autism, I have to constantly check and monitor myself. Are there any biases I need to reconstruct or change as I try to view my son with more clarity and light?  Can he do more than I am think he can? Am I "opening my sky" and perspective--so he can "open his sky"?

My dear friend, Annagreth Bailey, who has a daughter with Down's Syndrome expresses it best: "I catch myself sometimes thinking that she can't do something, but then I have to tell myself, of course, she CAN!" She then continues, "As a mother, I have to work on that. I can only imagine how others limit her after looking at her.... I admit, it is hard work; it is so much easier to say 'you poor little thing,' and then sit back and please them at every corner.  It takes a lot of effort and dedication to help them reach their potential."

When Elias's art teacher asked early in the year if he could meet with him once a week after school for an hour, I never would have imagined the affect it would have on my son. His teacher wrote to me about his enthusiasm for Elias's work,"I am officially blown away by Elias's compete immersion in the moment and uninhibited creativity. He could really do something with his approach to abstraction, and who knows what else? Today in class he was calmer and more self-reliant than I have ever seen him." His art teacher sees exactly the way Gaugin described; Mr. Deerman closes his eyes so that he can see better visions of what his paintings and students can become. Now Elias also imagines himself as an artist who can produce beautiful paintings. There are people who even want to buy some of them.

Going to see Elias's exhibition at the museum

After a few months, Elias was asked with six other students at his school to display his paintings in an exhibition here in Doha at the Arab Modern Museum of Art.   https://www.google.com/webhp?sourceid=chrome-instant&ion=1&espv=2&ie=UTF-8#q=arab%20modern%20art%20museum

 Last weekend we went to the student exhibition (which was ironically named Looking In) at the museum where many children were celebrated from different schools around Doha, Qatar. To see all of their bright eyes and lit up countenances was worth the trip alone. Being able to creatively express oneself is one of life's most stirring joys. It makes us feel more alive, more connected with the world.


I take Gaugin's admonition very seriously of "closing our eyes in order to see" or "looking in," the name of the exhibition this year. I know because my blind father-in-law lived with us for almost seven years. After being blinded at age 22 a few weeks after D-Day in France, he said at the end of his life (almost 70 years in darkness), "I might not have sight, but I have insight." He would then smile, with that characteristic twinkle in his glass eyes, and I knew he really saw me--maybe not the color of my eyes or hair. But he saw me and everybody else he knew.

Therefore, I too will close my eyes more frequently to really see and "look in"--to the person, the process, the view in front of me. Having a child with autism is like a window, I tell people. He has helped me to wash my windows more frequently so that I can view others with more clarity and compassion. Who would have ever known he would be featured in an art exhibition, let alone in Doha, Qatar? Sometimes we all just need to close our eyes so we can imagine and see things as they really are--casting away all those labels and assessments most everyone automatically presumes. Go make the world more beautiful, Elias!

This is what Elias said about the preparation of his paintings, "When I was making the prints,  I was pressing the design hard with my fingers. I wanted to make something beautiful. I saw cold and warm colors mixed together. Some of the colors were spicy, like Indian food."

This is summary of what he saw in his print, "There were mountains and a forest. It was like a world map. with green grass and brown trees--even a desert, some snow, and an ocean. It reminded me of the Mississippi River where I used to go boating and see the cliffs. It looks like when you look down from an airplane, and see the world. I felt like I was THE best painter ever."

The invitation for the art exhibition

World Championships for Beach Ultimate Frisbee

The Pete trying to guard someone from the UK team.

Moving across the world for your senior year can bring some exciting and very unexpected surprises. For a recreational ultimate frisbee player from St. Louis to be able to represent the country of Qatar  in the 2015 Beach Ultimate Frisbee World Championships in Dubai, well, it was just plain incredible! Quote: "Best week of my life" (and then looking at me), "without my family."   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7LNJObxSBU Twenty-five countries, with 1,000 athletes, were represented from all over the world, and lucky for him, he was to play teams from Kenya, the UK, U.S., Australia, France, Canada, and Singapore. Think "the Olympics" with athletes from all over the world on a beach throwing a frisbee (they even had an opening ceremony). In fact, the World Championship Beach Ultimate is recognized by the International Olympic Committee. So I guess it's almost like you played in the Olympics, right?

Beach Ultimate is different than Ultimate because of fewer players (five on a side), and the field is smaller (75mx25m). Off go the shoes, with warm sand in between your toes instead. You can hear the wind and surf as you guard your opponent. The sand makes for fewer injuries, and people can play for decades. It keeps you in great condition, as you run in the sand, elbowing people a generation younger or older than yourself.

Running on the field/beach, with Dubai's city skyline in the distance....

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Some teams had been training for years, but our eclectic Qatar team was gathered this year with people hailing from Lebanon, the UK, Canada, and the US. They had been practicing on a high school field of grass, and sometimes at a beach here in Doha since October. Sometimes the captain of the Egypt team would drop in to throw the disc with them.  Every Wednesday night and on a few Saturdays teachers, firefighters, students, a token geologist, a grocer, and even parents would hit the field to play a game they all loved: ultimate frisbee. Here is the team that ultimately went to Qatar for the World Championships:

This is the 2015 Beach Ultimate Frisbee team from Qatar, even with some team members' darling kids in tow. The Qatar team's mascot was the oryx, the Qatar national animal. You can see the oryxes on their team shirts. 

The oryx, the national animal of Qatar, in his native habitat, the sand of the Persian Gulf.....

Here is the group huddle with the U.S. team after they played. The U.S. would later win the tournament.

After France beat Qatar, they all shook hands, and laughed together.  Peter said, "My friends and me (a few other high school students) were treated with complete and total respect. Even though some of these people had trained for years, we were all the same in their eyes. And that felt really good."

The huge component of Beach Ultimate Frisbee is the SOTG or The Spirit of the Game, which translated means after they finish, both teams come together to dialogue about the game they have just played. They analyze and talk about the game with three elements: fair play, knowledge of the rules and how they were implemented, and if respect was shown to all the players. It is self-refereed; no hired referees to combat or challenge. The game is highly aggressive and competitive, but it is played with the knowledge that both teams will be face-to-face with one another, talking about any disagreements after the game.http://www.wfdf.org/news-media/news/press/2-official-communication/648-spirit-of-the-game-directors-for-2015-bula-a-wfdf-world-championships-of-beach-ultimate-appointed

The Pete is almost 6', but he said the average height was 6'13! Ha! These were ripply athletes--some of them even professionals. But again, everyone had their toes in the same sand. Age, nationality, and social-statues melted in the sun in Dubai--with a frisbee in your hand. Notice the Pete is wearing the France bracelet from a previous game....

After every game, the captain of each team would address the other team they had just guarded, chased, and drove to the line. They would converse back and forth about what they liked during the game--with a joke, a clap, or a compliment. Peter said, "Because you know there are no refs, there is a mutual trust and consideration for one another. After each game, there is a group huddle, and even gifts are given to the team or captain." The France team gave everyone a bracelet that had France inscribed. The U.S. team gave the team captain an umbrella with the Stars and Stripes on it. Memorably, the Australians serenaded them with a ukulele--the bush ballad Waltzing Matilda. The Australian captain then gave the Aboriginal instrument called a didgeridoo to the other captain. Music, gifts, laughs, cheers. This is what sports should be like: on the field, in the pool, or on the court or ice--and in life.

I have been thinking about the "spirit of the game" or SOTG, and that it has some significant lessons for life--off the field or beach. Knowing that you will be face-to-face with a former opponent (not screen-to-screen), and have the chance to converse, interact, and cheer each other could be revolutionary in some political or business arenas.  Maybe they need some more serenading and huddles at the United Nations--or at least a run in the sand together. Who would know that age, nationality, and socio-economic status can melt in the sand as you throw a plastic discus?

This is a picture of the Pete getting a point in the U.S. vs Qatar game--pretty big grin!

Posing with the Kenyan team

The Pete with two of his high school friends from Qatar. Do they look happy? Getting out of school for one week to play Frisbee?  Yep, they all agreed. It was a perfect week.

Huddling together after the Qatar-Singapore game

The U.S. and Qatar after their game.

Go Team Qatar!!! You might have not won the tournament, but you (with four nationalities on your team) showed robust enthusiasm and pride as you brought Qatar for the first time to the World Championships in Beach Ultimate Frisbee. Four years from now....maybe you will win!

Visiting Gallipoli...

I have been reflecting this week about the northern peninsula of Turkey called Gallipoli, located on the Aegean Sea and the Dardanelles Strait, a shore where over 250,000 young men died in an ill fated campaign during World War I one hundred years ago. Two years ago my husband and I went on a trip to Turkey where we visited Gallipoli, a place where young men from Turkey, Australia, New Zealand, the UK, France, and India (about 15,000 Punjab Indians who were professional soldiers in the Allied effort that history scarcely remembers) fought. Nations and lives were altered forever on this quiet beach that knew so much bloody, brutal warfare. 

• One of the very moving parts of our trip to Gallipoli was to be with some of the people on our tour from all over the world. There were people from India,  the U.S., Canada, Vietnam, the UK., Turkey, and Australia--some of the very countries that were in battle together at Gallipoli. This is Helen, who had three great uncles die during that eight month campaign. There were red poppies everywhere, and we were instructed by the Aussies that the red poppies are used even now to remember the lives of those who were lost at Gallipoli. The reason Helen is smiling is that she is so very joyous that as a group we found the names of her ancestors. On the tour there was not a great amount of time to wander and meander around to find the names. But with the 25 of us searching, we found the names she came to Gallipoli to see. This young man named Vagg was newly married. She said her great aunt never remarried. I will always remember all of us from many nationalities in our group combing through the names on that day, with red poppies in our hands. I was glad we were there in April to view all the red poppies along the roads and hillsides, reminiscent of Gallipoli.

This is a picture on the Anzac shoreline with our Aussie friends. John, who is a retired PE teacher and spends about 30+ hours a week bicycling/racing on the shores near Melbourne, sings old ballads as he rides. In typical Aussie fashion, he was witty to the core, and all of us on the tour loved him. But the day we got to Gallipoli, he was very solemn; you could tell he had been imagining this visit for many years. He promised/warned us on the bus microphone that he would sing for us on the Gallipoli beach. To our delight, he kept his word.. I will never forget his moving, haunting rendition of " And the Band played Waltzing Matilda' on the Gallipoli beach. The song is about a soldier who loses his leg at Gallipoli. It is a different song than the bush ballad called "Waltzing Matilda" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WG48Ftsr3OI

Gallipoli was a stalemate, a campaign that was doomed for ultimate failure by leaders who miscalculated military strategy, weather, and provisions--a heavy loss for all those involved. However, the heroism, selflessness, and courage of those who fought there is moving, as they battled side by side. Those young men and their officers experienced extreme heat, cold, hunger, and disease, amidst the cascading bullets. The landing and battles on the Dardanelles Peninsula helped create more of a unified, national consciousness in Australia and New Zealand, and was the first time these two countries were commanded by their own leaders who were not British.

Although the Allis initially underestimated the Turkish soldiers, they quickly learned to respect their military skills as they fought in combat against them. The eight months of fighting in Gallipoli would later give the 34 year old Lt. Commander Mustafa Kemal Ataturk the courage, confidence, and foundation to later form the Republic of Turkey. For both sides, it was a defining moment for them-- individually and as they unified their nations.

Our Turkish tour guide who taught us about the Turkish side of the campaign too.

Since my husband's father landed on Omaha Beach, Normandy on D-Day and was blinded in the push to Paris and his grandfather fought in Belgium in WWI, his thoughts on Gallipoli in his journal were particularly poignant: "Driving the landscape here in Gallipoli is strangely reminiscent of Normandy. The beaches, hills, forests, and field are now silent. So many young men died in d difficult and hand to hand conflict."

This picture moves me so very deeply--especially when I have several sons who are the same ages as these same boys.

 "We started at Anzac Cove, the place of the ill fated landing of the Australian and New Zealand troops in 1915 where they went to the wrong area; there were cliffs and rugged terrain to contend with, instead of a broad and strategic beach. The beach marker drifted in the night about 4 km, leading to an ill fated and doomed offensive position by the Allies. Looking at the map, one recognizes the cost of this trivial mistake, which entirely changed the course of this battle. The landscape was harsh, and seeing the immediacy and complexity of that bloody fight was apparent. But all is quiet now at Anzac Beach and Lone Pine."

"I found myself thinking a lot about my dad this morning, and how difficult his life was returning from the war without his sight (his father married his college sweetheart after the war WW II, and then had seven daughters and one son, my husband. He never saw any of his children, but only remembered the 22 year old face of his future wife. He always joked that she was 22 to him, even when she was in her early 70's). I bought three beautiful wool Gallipoli scarves for my four sons, and will have to express again my gratitude that they have not been required to fight in a war. It is impossible for me to comprehend the loss of a son or daughter in their youth, not being able to fulfill their dreams--to have their parents' dreams dashed for them.

"The memorials and cemeteries in Gallipoli were compelling and powerful, from all of the countries. One stated the following, "He died a man, and closed his life's brief day, ere it had scarce began." Those are difficult words for any father to read. I remembered again my own father's displeasure when I returned home from shopping for my five year old birthday present--a chrome plated metal 1911 replica colt pistol, a cap gun. It brought back too many painful memories for him. I didn't understand his emotional response then, but I finally understood when I went to Normandy as I walked the acres of graves in a foreign land."

It was very touching to read what many families had written about their beloved sons, brothers, and husbands. Since I had a 17 year old boy at the time, this Australian boy's snuffed out life seemed very close to me.

Not far from the Gallipoli battle fields, these lush, vibrant canola fields seemed to stretch out forever. The bright sea of flowers, capped in yellow light, reminds me that those brave young men, whatever country they are from, will be remembered forever too.

My Favorite Poem about Gallipoli, written by a Turkish poet:

-Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours ... You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.