I'm having a moment of pride.

After a year and a half in Jordan, I don't really know that I've changed anyone's life. I don't even know if I expected to do that when I came here. I do know that a few of my students' English has improved dramatically and that I was a big part of that. That's cool.

But then I came to a Times article that a fellow female volunteer posted of Facebook. http://ideas.time.com/2012/03/19/our-best-diplomats-women-in-the-peace-corps/

It is interesting to read this and to think that here in Jordan, my greatest contribution is to serve as an example of a strong (okay, sometimes tearful) independent woman who goes it alone. A few things are more difficult in life here because of this status, but that is a part and parcel to my contribution here. And since I came here, some of my closest friends have similar statuses, whether because she is an orphan who doesn't have a husband yet, or because she is married to a man who lives in a different city for some unknown reason. They have to struggle to find men or boys to help them. And so do I sometimes (I can't climb on my roof to see how much water I have, but little boys can). But the majority of time, the people of my village see me do the necessary duties (like go shopping, take cabs, pay my electric bill, etc.), and though others may say "wow... that's a bit inappropriate" (women aren't supposed to go out alone), they follow it with "But what can you do? You're alone, ya haram."

I'm not saying that any of these women are now jumping at the chance to go do these tasks like I do. I do, however, believe that them seeing that this respected young woman can do these things and still be good, is a step in a direction that is better for all the other single, fatherless women around here. Exposure is a powerful tool. If nothing more, they now understand why I was able to manage living alone in college.

I feel like all I do is plan here. Lesson plan, plan for trips, plan for clubs and camps and what to get when I finally go to the market.

Wedding plan.

Now about to start law school planning.

It's nice to have so much time to plan, and the nice the about a plan that is in the distant future is that if it is destined to fail, the modern-day me doesn't know. I just look at my lovely little written-up lists and think "gosh, that's one nice, well-thought-out plan!"

I am starting a new series on this blog... "Reasons I am happy to be in the village in Jordan."

#1: I feel incredibly accomplished simply for buying groceries.

#2: And when I clean my house.

#3: I appreciate showers and the quantity of water I use: I know I have a freshly filled water tank and can therefore shower later today.

The streets are strewn with litter and the young man throws several pieces of trash from the floor of the bus onto the earth outside. Bottles break. I cringe. The woman beside me gives me a smirk.

As classic as this is in Jordan, I can't help but realize how much more in touch I am with nature here than I was in the States. Should I wash my clothes now? No, it's going to rain. Or no, I'm too tired to wring them out. Or yes! the sun will be at full-force when I hang them out to dry, and they will then get bleached by the sun.

When will you want help picking your apricots, and when should I harvest my olives?

Most importantly, when will it get dark? With each night, it gets dark about three minutes earlier. Three more minutes I should make sure to be in my home or with my neighbors, rather than out walking alone.

Now I should go close my windows - the seasons are shifting and it's time to start opening my windows during the day and closing them at night. It's getting cold here...

I slept in today after staying up late to watch the Office which I streamed online. I never watched TV in America and expected myself to read many many books when in Jordan... that's what you're supposed to do as a PCV... read because you're not supposed to have internet or television or phones that you can afford to make calls on. Sometimes we joke how PC Jordan is really named "Posh Corps" because each of us have large sturdy houses and electricity and running hot water (though making it hot is really expensive if you always have it on) and refrigerators and indoor plumbing and there are usually some people who speak English in the village and if not it's a relatively easy trip to get to Amman (no canoes or hiking or puddle jumpers necessary). I can go to my dukan (corner store) and get a pepsi (maybe even diet!) and I can buy McDonalds and Popeyes and Burger King in Aqaba and in Amman I can find anything I could want (though perhaps at a slightly steep price).

To de-stress and get in-touch with why I'm here I like to go for walks. During Ramadan it's especially amazing because at around 3pm everyone's inside resting and the streets are fairly silent.

So I'm walking... quicker than normal so I can actually get some exercise and then suddenly some teenage guys decide to get my attention by pretending that they're going to hit me. I should have gone to their home.... they pulled into a drive right there... but somehow a crying foreign girl who doesn't have the words to say "your sons pretended that they were going to hit me" would probably not convince their parents to serve them any sort of punishment.

So I kept walking, tears drying from the August sun and breeze... looking at the beautiful landscape that I have so many times admired... this time full of a deep green and nearly ripened pomegranates and apple trees weighed down with fruit. The flowers colorfully climbing up to the sky and a window that doesn't seem to belong to the house it's attached to... it's gorgeous....

And just when I'm nearly home, there's a wild dog right beside me barking at me

Thanks, Jordan...

Yet again, I can't sleep. And I am stressing over stupid little things, like the fact that I have to go to the next village to pay my electric bill... all I have to do is call a cab, or that I have to set up my projects that I'm so excited for... I can just talk to the non-profit center and the girls that want to participate and it'll all be set up. Even though I rationalize all these little things, I feel stress.

And then I realize my problem. I suddenly understand what real loneliness feels like.

I never really knew in the States. I liked to be alone. I craved my alone time. Not to say that I didn't love hanging out with friends, but an evening alone never disturbed me.

But here, somehow I've changed. If I don't visit or have a good phone conversation I feel like I'm completely and utterly alone. It's disturbing for me to feel like this considering I always defined myself by my independence... and I realize that humans are "social creatures" but what has happened to me?

Maybe it's that I've always had a roommate and now suddenly I don't. Maybe it's that I'm the only foreigner for miles. Maybe it's that I haven't had an English conversation face-to-face in 2 weeks. Or maybe it's that I haven't seen any of the volunteers I'm closest to in a that long.

But I'm excited for the holiday coming up! Eid al-fitr... it ends Ramadan... I'm going to visit my host family in Mafraq and then hopefully see my friends over the weekend :)

In reality what I need to do is buckle-down and get to work... This has been a lazy month and it's time to actually get some projects started!

And now for round 2 of trying to sleep...

So for those of you who didn't notice, I started working in my village in the 2nd semester last year. That means that I had little idea what the kids were like in the various classes and had to choose which grades I'd teach the classes that my counterparts asked me to... at least the ones who were best behaved with me. and of course they're very different with a new ajnebiiya than with someone who's been with them for 8 months. That said, they still run up to me every morning shouting "Hello, Miss Stesha! How are you?" I've taught them some other responses besides the "I'm fine, thank you" that they are taught from 1st grade.

My school is functional (especially compared to the other schools throughout Jordan), with an attentive principal and teachers who want to do well at their job. My classes are tiny with no more than 10 students per grade (my 8th grade class will have 3 students). That said, I find it difficult to address the needs of children of various skill levels in the same tiny class with teachers who tend to ignore the worst and advise me to do the same. So what am I going to do about it? I'm going to start a remedial class... and hope that the poorest students have enough faith in themselves to show up.

Besides that, since I've been here almost a year I know which kids most want/need my help. I'm so excited for school and my clubs to start!!! Until then... I'll be in the teachers' lounge, not drinking tea, and bonding with my new counterpart (who seems really shy but like a total sweetheart...) =)

I RAN. First person past simple of the verb "to run".

So (when I'm not attempting to teach, i.e. babysit, 2nd graders) one of my biggest frustrations in Jordan is the fact that exercising in public is generally considered unacceptable for women, unless you are just walking and have a walking buddy. I do walk to school every day but besides that it wasn't an option until recently because it was "too cold". I usually walked a few times a week, with or without people because I'm the ajnebiiya saida, and even if people think it's inappropriate, they excuse it because they like me and they think I don't know better.

About a month ago I was in a charity race at the Dead Sea which reminded me how much I love the rush of real exercise... since then I've been exercising inside - running in place, doing jumping jacks, leg lifts, anything to get the blood moving without convince people I should leave town. One girl I walk with makes comments about how sad it is that we don't see more women out walking and about how the Prophet encouraged people to exercise. I wish more people heard her say that. She really does say some beautiful things that are supported by Islam.

Another girl has decided that she wants to be my walking buddy, too. Somehow yesterday that turned into us running for about 2 minutes on a softly lit street lined by olive trees and a house whose owners live in Aqaba. Today our numbers grew as nieces and a sister-in-law joined... ages ranged from 13-me and one 40+ year old (who ended up running in her socks)... Everyone joined in on the running which spanned several stretches which I'm not completely certain are unseen, but if I've got my running buddies, who can say I've done wrong? or is it worse that I brought them down with me? We're meeting again tomorrow... the running posse... I think I'm unleashed an angel/devil on my village.

Tomorrow is my first day back at school for the 2011-2012 year. This is the only schoolyear that I will be here for its entirety, and I will have a new counterpart, and try to have a new approach to it all. I want to be well-rested, productive, and successful in teaching English and a good example of an enthusiastic, participatory teaching... I don't want to simply drone from the government-issued curriculum...I want to be amazing!

But alas, it's 2.40am and all I can think about is that poor new bride who watched her husband get eaten by a shark... As if I needed that story to fuel my irrational fear of these sea beasts.

Speaking of sea-beasts, my arm is covered in a swollen rash from previously mentioned fire coral. While the first day it was just a little patch, I've since discovered that both hands have blisters from it as does the patch on my forearm (which now covers almost the whole thing)... I did some research and discovered that it'll (inshallah) go away on its own, but my neighbors who I love dearly were super concerned and wanted to take me straight-away to the hospital. Fortunately I convinced them that it would go away or I would call the doctor the next day... which I never did and it got worse... now it seems to be going away?

We'll see!

Now to round 2 of attempting to get in a few blinks before chilling with the teachers all day! No students and teachers fasting means that the day will probably be rather short and I'll be able to come back and nap before breakfast with my friends.

24 hours (and no sleep) later... the question becomes, how was my trip to Aqaba with the village people? beyond the obvious marks of my trip (new hair cut, strawberry face, puffy 'fire coral' burn, marks from sea anemones, losing my favorite (read: most useful) Jordan shirt, and sagging eyes), what do i have to mention? I held a pufferfish, played cross-gender/family hang out hide-and-go-seek games, and gave my phone number to a 20-year-old niqab-wearing big sister on a bus full of girls/women at 4am...literally the only men were the driver, his little son, and mentioned girl's little brother. We had a raging time. Those of you who have never ridden with only 13-50 year old women on a packed Jordanian village-bus in Ramadan wouldn't understand..

So Ramadan is in full-swing and I'm still trying to find my place... or at least something to do with my time.

For those of you who don't know, Ramadan is considered the holiest month of the Islamic lunar calendar. This means that for about 22 days, Muslims all over the world fast and then break the fast with suppers prepared for the family and sometimes visitors. There are rituals, first come dates, and then sweets, and then a meal, and I'm sure some other steps I'm too naive to notice but those are the basics. And then you stay up late, maybe go for a walk, maybe nap a bit, and then (at least in the village) most people get up early to drink some water and have another breakfast before another day of fasting. Fasting (sun-up to sun-down, all foods, liquids-including water, cigarettes, romance of all kinds) is viewed as cleansing of the soul and healthy for the body... Most people sleep more during the day than they usually do and are awake longer at night.

Seeing as I don't want to destroy my metabolism and want to maintain a semi-regular sleep schedule, I'm not fasting, and as a non-Muslim, no one expects me to. People did invite me to the breakfast at first, but since I was running around the country with my mom for the first week of Ramadan, they have now forgotten to. Almost all stores are closed during the day (this includes restaurants even in Amman), and I feel inappropriate wandering around at night by myself, so I've basically spent the past three days in my house working out, except for a 2 hour hunt for drinking water I went on earlier today (wandered all the way to the next village and hoofed it back with only 3 liters because I couldn't carry any more comfortably).

In most Peace Corps Volunteers' experiences, Ramadan has been a good time for bonding with the community, going on vacation, or developing a new hobby... Seeing as all my potential travel buddies are tied up for the rest of the month and I just broke a string on my new viola, I guess it's time for me to go visit! And work on my massive to-do list....

One thing that I will never understand is why people who knock on my door won't say their name. I always ask "Meen??" (Who? it's what they say here...), and they always respond "ana!" (me). And then if I ask "who's me?" They'll say "ana ana"... That only really works for like three people. All that lets me do is figure out their gender. Which is good cuz then I know how much I need to put on clothes-wise, but it's still ridiculous.

So I went into town the other day after an exhausting day at work, hoping to find a fan and pick up enough vegetables to tide me over until I went to Amman for the weekend. It was hot out. I was dressed appropriately, so in spite of a slight breeze I couldn't feel it anywhere but on my face.

I should first admit that I am much more shy than I was in the States. Especially in front of men. I usually don't know how to respond if they acknowledge my presence - laughing is inappropriate, and being totally serious is just painfully out of character. So I just become mortifyingly warm in the face and look around and run away as fast as possible.

I should also admit that I am in desperate need of new shoes. They're hard to find here, I have bad feet, and am unwilling to pay half a month's stipend on new shoes (though after this episode I'm definitely going to dip into my American savings for them... and maybe a haircut =) ). My current shoes are slippery because the insoles are sticking through the soles...lol

So in summary, it was hot, I was embarrassed and loaded down with more produce than I'd planned, and there were 4 men who I sort of know but not really and I was wearing bad shoes. I was shuffling out of the produce tent to go get some canned goods when I slipped on the sand and slammed my (already bruised from rollerskating) knee against the concrete slab sidewalk.

All the men jumped up to ask if I was okay, to offer that I sit in their chair, to drive me home, etc. I bounced back up, more mortified than before in my dirt covered black pants, in utter pain, but warm hearted by their kind gestures. "3adi, 3adi" I said... It's normal, it's okay... One of them responded "La! Mush 3adi..." No it's not normal... Are you okay? Then I kinda took my leave shuffling up the hill toward the bakery for 3 days worth of bread.

On the way there it hit me... My knee was bleeding. You know how by the age of 7 you just know that feeling? You don't even really have to look down to see it... but you want to. You want to confirm that your senses aren't distorted and that you are in fact bleeding.

Well at this moment I realized that I couldn't confirm it. I wanted to. I really did. But pulling up my pant leg to see it would be the talk of the town long after I leave Shobak. This upset me more than the actual fall and the embarrassment and the fact that I was surrounded by men who made me uncomfortable and the heat... I couldn't even have the childish satisfaction of confirming my injury.

Admittedly in America I would probably be scoffed for pulling up my pant leg to see my knee, but it's a different feeling to be mocked than to be viewed as culturally and religiously inappropriate.

At the end of the day, the people who watched me fall didn't even snicker that I'd fallen, they were kind and generous, and in spite of my frustration of being paranoid about cultural appropriateness, that generosity and kindness to an awkward clumsy stranger is something I would never see in America to that extent and something that I really really respect and love about Jordanian culture.

After a month of trainings and holidays spent in Amman, I have decided that I should stay in my village for the next few weeks to hang with my fellow Shobakians and work on my work. Of course, the only appropriate way to begin such a stint is to go grocery shopping.

To buy any groceries, including such Arabic staples as bread, vegetables, and fruit, I must go to a nearby village by car/taxi. I try to only go there a little less than once a week, considering that my stipend doesn't exactly include transportation and I've been pinching pennies since I replaced my holey shoes and manseff-tightened exercise pants.

When I got to Shobak, it was pretty normal.... the post office was closed (at 2.15...), and everyone asked how Peter is (another volunteer - everyone confuses me with his wife). One older taxi driver even stopped me to chat about a volunteer a half-hour away.

So I headed into the government subsidized grocery store to find three women who immediately began to talk about me, how I'm the ajnebiiya in the nearby village, etc. In the dark (the electricity was out) I filled my cart with all the necessities that I've been ignoring for the past month after saying "assalaamu alaikum" to the woman who worked there. About 20 minutes later when I went to check out, the woman laughed at me... "How are you going to buy those if the power's out?".... good question. Thanks for telling me before I spent that time and energy wandering the dark aisles!

Guess I'll try again next week!

Part of the reason I joined the Peace Corps was to see another culture.

One thing that I have noticed since I got here is the difference between our beloved pets in America and the cats that prowl the dumpsters and scatter at the sound of human footsteps. These cats are mangy.. I think they never learn to properly groom themselves. I've had a few conversations with one of my young neighbors about my love of animals and the fact that when I return to America I'd like to yet again have a little bissa to greet me when I get home and sit on my lap.

Somehow this vague daydream was forgotten until I returned home one day from work to find a box in my yard. Assuming it was some trash that had made its way between my olive trees, I picked it up not expecting to find that there was a squirmy large mouse in it. After the escape of a loud "Oh my god!", my neighbor shouted back "What's wrong, what happened?!" I went to her house and laughingly explained what I had found, and her children ran to my house to see the overgrown mouse.

To my surprise when I got back to my house the adorable lispy 7 year old boy is holding a small creature and is saying "bissa! bissa"... It was a baby kitten.

So I took the neglected baby into my home and bathed her... her eyes were still shut... and tried to feed her some powdered milk with a spoon. When I went into my room and looked out the window, there was the boy that I had spoken to about my appreciation of animals. Sure enough, after initially denying it, he admitted that he had put the kitten in the box, claiming that her mama had been killed by a car. (I still don't believe this story, and I scolded him many times for taking an infant from her mother and her mother's milk, but at that point it was too late... the kitten had been tainted by human hands and would likely be neglected or eaten by her biological mother.) I had no choice but to keep her.

After a week of lost sleep due to the crying feline and attempting to feed her from a contact solution bottle even though she never wanted to eat, I realized that I would have to leave her home an extra few hours to buy more food for her from the town. I had to go straight from school as there are no buses from my village to the one with amenities and I have to go with other teachers who drive.

After a few hours of shopping and dealing with a bank fiasco, I came home to find a gaggle of little kiddos who wanted to see my baby kitty. When I went inside, the kids followed and stayed at my bedroom doorway. I found that my baby hadn't moved from her morning position and was shocked at her sleepiness...sure enough when I reached down to pick her up, she was stiff.

I began uncontrollably sobbing much to the horror of my small onlookers who went running out of my house shouting for their mothers. My neighbor who had brought me the cat heard me and came in to see what was the matter... I left him as "al walad" (the boy) to deal with her remains. And then the mothers showed up asking why I was sobbing.

One of the mothers (who I love to death, but who didn't understand why I would want a baby kitty) was comforting and gave me a huge hug telling me I had done all I could do. The other was astounded by the cries coming from me because of a baby cat's death. After all, cats are just animals! She snickered until the other woman said allah yerhamha- God rest her soul. Then she couldn't contain herself anymore- she cracked up and left my house after kissing me on the cheek and shaking her head. But the more sympathetic woman came by my house later to make sure I was okay.

So, long story short, I have upheld my image as the overly sensitive, innocent ejnebiiya (foreigner)... And I still love all my neighbors even though they don't all agree that animals deserve the same emotions as humans do.

Let it be known the 11-year-old boy who brought me the cat informed me today that he is going to bring me a rabbit when she's old enough to live without her mama's milk... At least the boy's learned one thing from my kitty's death- don't take a baby away from her mother too early.

Ma'asalaama from the loving ejnebiiya