Cinnamon Zone: Jordan

Story of a City: The Intrahistory of Amman

Wed, 01 Apr 2009 22:43:00 GMT

picrute via ambafrance-jo.org

If you are one of the many people who were born and raised in Amman, if you enjoy walking the streets of the old city or sipping coffee at dusk on the terraces overlooking Downtown, if you have ever prayed with the masses at Al-Hussaini Mosque one Friday noon, or enjoyed a peaceful stroll just before sunset down the narrow street passing the old church in Luwaibdeh, if you are one of the many people who knew the streets of Amman and felt recognized by those very streets like no any other place on earth, then you might be interested in more than what history books may offer.

Probably, all of us have heard stories from our grandparents about things that happened long before we were born. You might have heard names like "Abu Musa El-msahharaty" or "El hajjeh Aisheh". Names that, more likely than not, wouldn't make it to history books. Stories you probably wouldn't read about in any school book. Stories of ordinary people and common places that hold of memories and stories more than any historian could choose to reveal. And when those stories find their way into written accounts, they earn the name of the ever bypassed "Intrahistory". Thanks to people like Abd Al-Rahman Munif, some of Amman's Intrahistory wasn't gone undocumented.

Munif, who was born in Amman in 1933 for a Saudi father and an Iraqi mother. He’d lived in Amman until 1952 when he went to pursue his studies in Baghdad. 37 years later, he decided to go back to Amman and document the period of his life that was spent there. But his documentation wasn't so much an autobiography as much as it was a biography of the city itself, telling the story of a city through the eyes of then an ordinary boy, who grew up in it, and with it.

Munif starts with a beautiful introduction about the relation between the people and the place. He says that the place doesn't necessarily mean the geographical space, but rather the people and circumstances that existed in that place and made it what it was. He talks about the significance of memories and their relation to people and places. He makes it clear that memory is not an impartial thing, and that no matter how hard you try, memory could be very deceptive and subjective. But then, there are things we remember and we choose to share with people for different reasons that may not necessarily be of an interest to those people as much as it they are to us. He also makes it clear that the book is in no way a documentation of Amman's history in facts and numbers, but rather an account that tells about the city from the perspective of a person who lived in that place at that time, and thought it would be useful to "tell" how things were as he saw them.

The story starts with the death of King Ghazi that cast a pall over the city, but at the same time pushed young Munif along with many others to venture out of the realm of their small neighborhoods, and explore the city like they'd never done before. He goes on to describe the people in his immediate surroundings, like Muath, the boy next door with whom who ventured outside the neighborhood for the first time, and his Iraqi grandmother who found it strange that people didn't understand her Iraqi accents sometime and wondered why they didn't speak the same accent, unlike his mother who struggled to fit in. He then proceeds to describe in rich detail a whole set of real characters like Hajjah Anisa, the midwife, Dr. Theodore Zureikat, the former consul who wore eccentric clothes, Dr. Qasim Malhas and the Armenian doctor who were both highly respected and close to people due to their modesty and dedication. He tells about Um Ali, who waited eagerly for Eid like little children, only she had different reasons, since Eid for her was the time to visit the graveyard and spend hours weeping and grieving. There’s also Um Issa, who was said to have never laid eyes on a man ever since her husband passed away, and who was known to treat women for sterility. And of course there’s Um Ahmad, the oldest woman in Amman back then, who lived in Khirfan street and greeted the passers-by affectionately and with best wishes. A strong friendship grew between her and Abd Al-Ra’uof Mango, who run a non-periodic newspaper and found in his conversations with the elderly the perfect way to wrap up his stories. He talks about the most common characters like Saeed, the janitor at the ISCS who many times hoisted the flag upside down due to his color-blindness. He talks at length about different teachers at different schools, such as Yaqoub Hashim, the math teacher who was known, or at least heard of, by everyone in Amman, and who was a very simple person even though he was the PM’s brother.

But it’s not only about the people; places also have their fair share of stories in the book. Like the much dreaded Quarantine Center that was only used whenever an epidemic hit the country. Otherwise it would be eclipsed by a dusty public park that few people would notice it. He vividly describes his elementary school, Al-Abdaliyyeh, and describes the first day of the school year there when everyone looked different: the teachers, the students and even the janitor, and the black boards that would still have the scribbles that were done by the students on the last day of the previous semester. And since it was the 1940s, it’s almost inevitable to try and make the readers visualize the Roman amphitheatre when it was packed with Ammanites on special occasions, and where all people would be welded together regardless of their race or the language they spoke.

Moreover, he speaks at length and in great detail about fashion and clothing in Amman back then and the social and ideological dimensions associated with them. One might be surprised how elaborately he talked about the “Tarboosh” and how the way people wore it said a lot about their attitudes and personalities. He describes the gowns that were worn by elderly woman in Fuhais and the traditional costumes Circassian used to wear and how they later became something from the past that is also used to preserve their heritage. He then smoothly moves to describing the great diversity in Amman, and how the different races and ethnicities lived and worked together in harmony, because the challenges and problems that needed solutions were too many to leave time for bigotry and secterianism.

Munif also talks about death and the impact it had on the city, how it intrigued children and brought people together. He describes the sentiments that prevailed whenever there was a funeral in town and draws a somehow morbid yet solemn picture of how those funerals were. He talks about the death of some well-known public figures, like Hamdi Mango, Majid Al-Odwan and the tragic death of the young football player Hani AlJuqqa. On the other hand, he talks about the death of one Ahmad Ismail, the pale, scrawny child who would walk in the freezing cold from Al-Muhajireen to Al-Abdaliyyeh, and whose death struck the ever wondering children like a bolt from the blue, and left them with more unanswered questions.

Munif, who had a memorable childhood in Amman, talks at length about children’s pastimes and the ways they came up with to always have something new and interesting to do. From flying kites, to making cars out of wood and metal, to playing with marbles and hunting lizards, bats and even hornets, which got them into trouble sometimes. Coming home from school was a chance to have some fun too. They would stop by the shops where knives and scissors are sharpened to marvel at the process, or stop by Al-Safadi Bookshop to take a look at the books that never changed, or the only gas pump in Amman back then in the middle of Prince Faisal Street. Sometimes they would join the crowd teasing Sheeta, the poor, mentally challenged woman who roamed the streets of Amman restlessly, covered up in layers of ragged clothes.

Being a book about Amman in the late 1930s and the 1940s, it was inevitable to speak about war and the toll it took on the people of Amman. Things became pretty tight during World War II that people started selling their belonging or swapping them to the point that some people took the wool out of their pillows and mattresses and sold it to cover their needs. This later led to the emergence of used clothes markets, commonly known as “Baleh” for the first time in Amman, in 1942. People were perplexed to see clothes of such quality sold for such cheap prices, since the custom was that clothes weren’t thrown away until they were completely worn out. But little by little, this market flourished and seemed to have grown on people.

The radio was the main source of news during the war. Radios back then were big and expensive so they weren’t available except for the few who could afford it. People would gather at the house where the radio was and they would listen to the banned Berlin Radio, taking the necessary precautions of watching out for any police patrol passing by the area, and using pseudonyms for those whose mention could get them in trouble, such as Hitler who was “Abu Ali” and Stalin who was “Abu Yaqoub”. Sometimes as he narrates those events, he would stop at some point and say: “What happened next was recorded in history,” emphasizing that this wasn’t the point of this book.

He talks about some prominent political figures during the war, such as the much-despised Glubb Pasha, or as he was known by Jordanians back then, Abu Hunaik, who was living in luxury while Jordanian people lived off selling their belongings. He talks about his yard that he filled with “love birds”, describing that as a desperate attempt to gain the sympathy of any living creature as he failed to gain that of human beings. Along with that goes stories on patriotism, nationalism, political activity and journalism.

He also talks about the floods of 1943, how people stayed at their homes and waited anxiously for the rain to stop, and how his grandmother told them the story of Noah’s Ark, a flawed version of the story that included some strange and exaggerated details. He describes the situation on the heels of the flood. Houses were destroyed, shops were drowned, the whole city looked so fragile like a loaf of bread soaked in water or a gown immersed in mud, as he describes it in his own words. Nonetheless, despite the looming morbidity and sadness in the air, the city took on a colorful look as women took out the rain-soaked blankets and furniture to dry up in the sun. There was a prevailing attitude of looking forward to what was next and letting go of what had already happened, as everyone put their act together to repair the damages and rebuild their city.

Munif then goes on with pages and pages of captivating description of the city on the different occasions and seasons of the year. One time it’s summer harvest, other times it’s Ramadan, Eid, the festivities on the Independence day and even the less pleasant events like the grasshoppers infestation of 1949. On the other hands, Munif draws a meticulous image of the agonies of the 1940s and their impact on the city. The 1947 Partition Plan for Palestine, the 1948 Catastrophe and all the disappointments and scars that they caused. But it’s only towards the end of the book that Munif reveals his objectives, which are summed up in the importance of reflecting on past events and reading between the lines to pinpoint the mistakes that had been made and hopefully avoid making those same mistakes in the future. He also states that having a clear picture of how the society was back in those days could be a way to know what we’re missing in the present.

Munif might have given us an idea of how Amman was in the 1940s, but he reiterates at the end that it’s not the places, the events or even the people that make the city. It’s rather the interaction between all of these elements that gives the city its distinctive identity, and the unmistakable image in the minds and hearts of those who were once, and will always stay, a part of it.

Do you know who is Abdullah Al-Barghouthi?

Mon, 20 Oct 2008 10:48:00 GMT

Today as I was listening to the radio on my way to work, I switched to Hayat FM and they were dedicating that morning to the subject of the Jordanians prisoners in the Israeli jails, since today, 20/10, is the Jordanian prisoners solidarity day, as it was chosen two years ago by the Jordanian prisoners in Israeli jails themselves.

On the phone was the mother of Abduallah Al-Barghouthi, who has what was described by the host as "the longest jail sentence is in the history of humanit". Well, that is not so hard to believe when you know that he has 67 life sentences. I wonder what human being could possible live to serve that time.

There were other calls with the wife of Palestinian prisoner. She's Jordanian and therefore she's denied the right to visit her husband in jail. Neither the Jordanian nor the Palestinian authorities seem to be of any help, each side saying that she should seek the help of the other. There was also another call with an ex-prisoner who said that those who are still prisoners in the Israeli jails are better than us, because they are living their struggle day by day, while we are living out our daily routine life unaware of what happens in there.

Those were sad yet eye-opening facts. To think of all the Jordanian, Palestinian and Arab prisoners in the Israeli jails, and to realize how most people have little idea about that, and then to look at what the Israelis have done and still doing for Gilad Shalit, demanding his return and making him perhaps the most famous prisoner in the history of the conflict, to think about that you find that there must be something wrong. Those people deserve more attention and their case must be brought to light more often, not only on this day, but everyday. For the time being, the 20^th of October remains a reminder of those people who were willing to sacrifice their lives and their freedom to serve their just cause.

FEKRA... Almost Movies

Thu, 28 Aug 2008 15:16:00 GMT

FEKRA is a group of Jordanian youth who decided to join their potential and talents to create something they always wanted to do. FIKRA literally means Idea, which is the very idea of this group who, despite their limited resources in terms of budget, equipments and experience, are trying to produce short movies they hope will carry their ideas and share them with the world, even if it was not the most professional thing in the world, but it still conveys the idea. With a simple digital camera, a moviemaker and a few ideas, they aspire to kick start a channel of viral videos that will hopefully reach the largest audience possible through the vast cyber space.

Join us in Fekra and stay tuned for Fekra’s first movie, “Dandanah”, now in the making. No spoilers here, but the thing about Dandanah is that if it sticks, it spreads, and if it spreads, it snowballs…

Join the Facebook group for updates

ثروة الوطن البشرية الهاملة اللي بدها ترباية ودعس بالكندرة

Tue, 19 Aug 2008 14:30:00 GMT

أنا مش فاهمة، معقول في ناس في البلد همج وما بستحوا لها الدرجة؟ معقول في ناس عندها هيك عقلية؟ معقول في ناس هيك بتدور عالمشاكل وما بهمها الأذى اللي ممكن يسببوه للناس؟؟

القصة صارت هيك. قبل شوي طلع اخوي بالسيارة وراح يجيب أخوي الصغير من المدرسة. المهم، وهم في الطريق كان في مجموعة شباب عم بقطعوا، خفف السرعة وخلاهم يمرقوا، وبعد ما قطعوا الشارع قام واحد منهم لف بسرعة وركض عند السيارة، بطبيعة الحال أخوي ما لحق يوقف مع إنه ضرب بريك قوي بس برضه ضرب الولد بطرف السيارة.

المهم، الشاب وقع على الارض، قام أخوي صف على اليمين ونزل يطمن عليه وفجأة قام الولد اللي اندعس واصحابة الثلاثة ولا الأربعة اللي معاه هجموا عليه بالعصي والمكانس والله أعلم من وين لحقوا يجيبوها، ونزلوا فيه ضرب ونزلوا ضرب بالسيارة

طبعاً أخوي عرف إنه صعب عليه يواجههم لحالو وخاف أكتر لأنه أخوه الصغير معاه فخاف يعملوا فيه إشي، قام ركض على السيارة وشغلها فلحقوه وضلوا يخبطوا فيه وفي السيارة وبعدين فتحوا باب الجهة اللي قاعد فيها أخوي الصغير وكان معهم عصاي، بس الحمد لله تدخل واحد من الشارع وأخوي شغل السيارة بسرعة وهرب والأبواب مفتوحة...

خلاصة الأضرار إنه السيارة اللي - جبناها قبل شهرين - انضربت من الجنب، بس الحمد لله طبعاً والأهم الحمد لله إنه إخواني ما صارلهم إشي بس يمكن أخوي الصغير تعقد نفسياً... ولسا مو عارفين شو بدنا نعمل، إذا اشتكينا للشرطة ممكن يتسلطوا هدول النور على أخوي أو على السيارة وخاصة إنا عايشين في نفس المنطقة، وخايفين يتبلوا علينا ويقولوا إنه اللي اندعس صارلو إشي مع العلم إنه كان يضرب مع اللي بضربوا، فعلى الأرجح إنه رح ننسى الموضوع، وخوفاً من إنه الشرطة ممكن يكون فيها ناس بعرفوا هدول الشباب ويصفوا معهم وتطلع على راسنا... ما هو في هاي البلد ماشي قانون الغاب، بتعرفوا قانون الغاب؟؟ أكيد في ناس شرفاء وبصفوا مع الحق بس ما بتعرف شو ممكن يطلعلك... على كل حال آخر المستجدات إنا بلغنا الشرطة لإثبات الحالة (تعدينا فيهم قبل ما يتعشوا فينا)

بس اللي بدي أوصله إنه هدول الشباب وأمثالهم بدهم ترباية، سيارات الشرطة اللي دايرة ليل نهار لازم تضب هاي الأشكال. لسا بقولوا شباب الوطن وثروته البشرية وسباع الليل منا تهاب! هاي زبالة الوطن البشرية اللي لازم تنضب وتتربى وتتلم من الشوارع... وين أهاليهم يضبوهم؟ وين الحكومة تضبهم؟ مزع يمزع هيك ثروة بشرية هاملة بصرمايتي... لو صار إشي لواحد من إخواني شو كانوا بيستفيدوا هدول الحيوانات؟ وين متربيين هدول؟

بنت عيشة... بس سمرا

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 13:14:00 GMT

في أشياء لسا مش قادرة أستوعبها فس مجتمعنا، يمكن أنا استيعابي بطيء أو يمكن هاي الأشياء مش مفروض حدا يستوعبها أساساً

يعني لما وحدة تكون متزوجة واحد بعاملها، عفواً، أحسن من الزبالة بشوي، وبعمل فيها كل عملة ولا التانية، ومين ما بسمع عمايله، عفواً، بتف عليه، وبعدين بس يقولوا إنه البنت كانت ساكته عليه وما تحكي لحدا بقولوا...

"شكلها بنت عيشة وبدها السترة"

ليش هي كاينة مفضوحة عند بيت أهلها؟ وبعدين إذا هو مش "ابن عيشة" وإذا العيشة اللي عايشتها مش عيشة ليش بدها تكون بنت عيشة؟؟

طيب سيبونا من اولاد العيشة، أنا مش فاهمة شو عقدة البياض والشقار عنا إحنا العرب اللي مش قادرين نقضي عليها! كإنه الشقار رمز الحسن والجمال والسمار رمز البشاعة والقباحة... الله يقطع (فير أند لافلي) بس!! قال بيجيبوا البنت بتكن لابسة اواعي بتخزي ومبينة رح تعيط من الخوف وبعدين بس تستعمل فير آند لافلي فجأة بتصير عندها ثقة بحالها وأواعيها مرتبة! وقال شو قال بتنقبل في الوظيفة عشان بشرتها (مش عشان تغيرت 180 درجة) مزع...

بلاش دعايات فير أند لافلي؟ كم مرة سمعتوا جملة زي هاي:

"البنت بتجنن، بس إمها إنسي الموضوع سمرا وحالتها حاله!"

حالتها حاله؟ إيش يعني عندها شلل أطفال؟

هديك اليوم سمعت وحدة بتقارن بين وحدة وزوجها وبتقول إنه زوجها أحلى منها بكتير أما هي فـ"سمرة"، يعني كإنه ما في داعي توصف أكتر من هيك إنه خلص سمرا يعني أشكيف، بتتذكروا الأشكيف؟؟ طبعاً أنا كنت قاعدة وكوني سمرا واعتبرتها إهانة قررت ما أسكت وزتيت كلمة لما إجت فرصة مناسبة، وما في داعي أدخل هلأ في مزايا السمار وفوائده خصوصاً للبنات، بكفي إنه الناموس ما بقرب علي بدون ما أحط فيب ولا إشي، بينما إخواني بتهبروا في الصيف! الحمد لله يا ربي... وبكفي إني بكون مريضة وما بحس في داعي أحط إشي على وجهي عشان ما أبين صفرا ومسحوب لوني

طيب، ما علينا...

وكإنه إحنا ناقصنا ستيريوتايبس وتفكير محدود عشان يجيبولنا مسلسل تاني يحدد أفكارنا ويضيع وقتنا أكتر وأكتر... طبعاً عن بحكي عن زفت الطين "نور"، مع الاعتذار لكل وحدة اسمها نور

أولاً، المسلسل اللي بطلع عليه نظرة محايدة بشوف إنه أتفه من التفاهة، لأ ليش هيك بنغلط بالتفاهة أصلاً، لسا التفاهة ممكن تكون مبتكرة، هادا المسلسل تفوق على جميع المقاييس وعمل فئة جديدة لحاله، يعني في تفاهة وبعد التفاهة بتيجي "نور"...

أنا عن نفسي ما بتابع المسلسل بس بما إنه وين ما تروح بتلاقي عالتلفزيون وبما إنه الأحداث اللي فيه فش فيها أي نوع من الغرابة أو التجديد وكل 10000 حلقة بصير تطور جذري فصرت أعرف القصة...

ما بدي أبدا الحكي عن القيمة الاجتماعية عن المسلسل لأنه باختصار مسلسل تركي وقيمه علمانية، بس ما بدي أفوت في هادا ابموضوع وخليني في القيمة الفنية (شبه المعدومة)

يعني أنا نفسي ألاقي إشي مثير للفضول أو الاهتمام في المسلسل، إنه أي مسلسل سوري أو مصري أو أردني لسا أحسن منه وعلى الأقل ما بضل 90 حلقة! يا دوب 30 حلقة وانتهى الموضوع... يعني محور المسلسل كله عن حياة عائلة، عادي يعني عائلة واحداث بتصير، طيب؟ شو علة هالقلب هاي؟ وطبعاً كل ما تلاقي القصة سكرت يا واحد بعمل حادث، يا وحدة بتسقط حملها، يا واحد بنجلط (طبعاً كالعادة الجد الكبير كل 5 دقايق ينجلط، والعجيب إنه بدو يتجوز... نفسه خضرا) يعني لا ابتكار ولا تجديد ولا بطيخ مبسمر، واللي بجلط إنه حتى الأطفال بتابعوه، وبدنا أطفالنا يطلعوا مبدعين ويفكروا خارج الصندوق (آوت أوف ذا بوكس)، كيف طيب كيف وهم عم بتفرجوا على مسلسل بعرض مشاكل نور ومهند اللي مش كاينة تخلص وكأنها محور حياتهم؟؟

وكله كوم ومهند كوم! إنه خلص إنت يا بيرفيكت يا سوبر مان! وكل ما يطلع مهند عالشاشة بتلاقيهم حطوا موسيقى هادية إنه إجا الدونجوان (مع الاعتذار لجوني ديب)، والمشكلة إنه كل هالرومانسية والحب والغرام وبعدين ما بلحقوا يحكوا كلمتين مع بعض إلا بتخانقوا! زي كإنهم اتنين مراهقين مصاحبين مش اتنين كبار عاقلين متزوجين... أي قرف اللي يقرفكوا! إنه مش عم تفهموا على بعض اتطلقوا يا أخي، خليها تروح تتزوج عابدين المريض النفسي وخليه هو يروح يتزوج بطيخة نهال! هاي قصة تانية طبعاً، قال وحدة دعستها شاحنة وهي حامل وضلت عايشة في السر وخلفت ولد كمان (شكلها بتقرب للمخرج)، وقال عشان يزبطوا الحبكة قالوا كانت ما بدها إياه يعرف إنها عايشة، يا عيني على التضحية والإيثار! طلعت تركيا المدينة الفاضلة تاعت أفلاطون! تاهت ولقيناها... أما مهند، فكيف واحد مرته بتكون نكدة كل هالنكد وبكون لهالدرجة منيح؟ وفوق هيك بكون توب موديل ومعاه مصاري نعف، يعني بخلي البنات يفكروا إنه نور مش احسن مني، يا بيجي واحد زي سي كازانوفا بسلامته يا بديش.... وعيش يا قديش لينبت الحشيش..

وأحلى إشي كيف فجأة الممثلين بتغيروا... عادة في المسلسلات الأمريكية مثلاً لما ممثل يضطر يغيب عن التصوير بغيروا القصة، مثلاً لما "بري فان دي كامب" في "ديسبيرت هاوسوايفز" غابت عن المسلس عشان تولد، بكل بساطة عملوا في المسلسل إنها سافرت وصورا كم لقطة إلها من ورا من دون ما يبين وجهها كانت فيها ممثلة بديلة مش هي نفسها، وزادوا مشاهد "إيدي بريت" وبكل ذكاء المسلسل مشي وبالعكس يمكن نجح أكتر لأنه في ناس بحبوا شخصية "إيدي"... مش بكون واحد شعره لكتفه وما عند شوارب فجأة في الحلقة اللي بعديها بصير واحد شعره قصير وعند سكسوكة... وبعدين شكلو الأطفال بكبروا بسرعة رهيبة في المسلسل، يعني "رقية" ولدت و"نور" لسا حامل، وصارت بنت رقية مبين عمرها سنة ونور لسا حامل.... شو حامل بفيل؟؟ بس أكتر لقطة بتضحك واللي بتستاهل جائزة لما كان عابدين خاطف نور وبربطها في حبل وبقلها إنهم لازم يكونوا مع بعض وهي بتقول له: "إحنا أصدقاااااء" حمارة هاي؟

يعني باختصار، هادا المسلسل تفوق على ذا بولد أند ذا بيوتيفل وذا يونغ أند ذا ريستلس وعلى دايز أوف آور لايفز... لحظة لحظة، بعد التفكير يمكن لسا ما تفوق على ديز أوف آور لايفز، لسا بدهم كمان شوي، منيح إنه المسلسل لسا ما خلص!!

على كل حال، هاي نور شكلها مش "بنت عيشة"، منيح اللي مهند متحملها فوق ماى هي "سمرا"...

وعجبي