A Day in the Life

Years ago, when Terry held her Congressional Guide Service appointment, and I parked our car in the Senate parking lot to wait, tourists took my picture and asked which state I represented. I had some explaining to do. Today it was time to do some more explaining when a group of Terry's students came to her office to meet her for the first time and asked me, "Dr. Fulbright?"

Well, classes started and I'm enjoying the campus while Terry teaches. As we pulled up, the Vice Dean grabbed Terry and off they went to the welcome reception. My wife described it as the deans in a receiving line and as the faculty made their way through, the men kissed the men, the women kissed the women, and those who were religious smiled warmly with their right hands over their hearts. Typically thoughtful, she brought me pastries, which were delicious. As we sat in Terry's office the students came by to welcome each professor individually, with more coffee and delicious Jordanian dates. As if that wasn't enough, a faculty member stopped by to escort Terry up to the third reception of the day and again I was the lucky beneficiary of... coffee and pastries. Terry taught her first class and said she was touched by "the strength of the bright and shiny female faces peeking out from behind layers of fabric."

Attending university here is a privilege for which much is sacrificed and students don't take it for granted. Speaking of sacrifice, you all know Terry and I constantly hold hands. Not anymore. At least not here. Public displays of affection between men and women are culturally unacceptable (although we saw hand-holding once). On the other hand, men greet men with kisses on the cheek, as women do with women, and men walk around holding hands with other men, as do women with women. We really stand out here anyway (men I've never met take one look and say hello to me in English) so we are careful not to offend and will save our hand-holding walks for another time and place. I estimate 80% of the women in our upscale "Western" neighborhood cover their heads (but not their faces - maybe 5% do). This is a sure sign of conservative religious practice. There are many Saudis here so it isn't unusual to see groups of women in black abayas (their faces covered by a niqaab) shopping in the most expensive stores, presumably to buy clothing to wear at home (cultural note: we take escalators, not elevators, because of their extreme discomfort when in proximity to unrelated men). Saudi men wear white flowing robes and headdresses and, to our surprise, eyeliner. Wearing shorts in public is like walking around in underwear. Other than a (very) few tourists, it isn't done.

Anyway, on the way home from the university our driver asked if we'd mind if he picked up one of his regulars. Of course we agreed. She was an Iraqi refugee who spoke impeccable English and works for the United Nations. She was quick to offer us the ubiquitous snack of raw dates (delicious, yellow, and crunchy - my in-laws ate them here in Amman years ago). She amiably discussed life in Iraq and the museum antiquities being held, until peace reigns, in countries such as the USA. She bonded with Terry and we were sorry to say good-bye. We then went to eat dinner at a Jordanian restaurant. We had shawarma (lamb roasted on huge revolving skewers) and it was delicious. What we didn't expect to see on the menu were lamb testicles (Pass!). And that was our day: Hugs, kisses, coffee, pastries, fresh plump dates, crunchy yellow dates, interesting people, and great food (but no lamb testicles).