My plane was bound for Amman, where I was to spend a summer studying Arabic at a language institute before moving to Cairo for the fall semester. As fate would have it, my Cairo trip was canceled and I stayed in Amman for the whole six months. To some, Amman is a slightly boring, much-less cosmopolitan version of the other Levantine capitals, Beirut and Damascus; but to me, every day was a new adventure. I learned to navigate the city, haggle with shop owners, and chat with taxi drivers. All of these things were more interesting because I got to speak Arabic while doing them—or at least attempt it. In the summer I was there for Ramadan, and it became illegal to eat or drink in public during the day. At night, however, I got my first glimpse at Arab nightlife at a café in downtown Amman, where we arrived at 9 pm and were still surrounded by groups of friends and families—with all of their young children—at 1 am, when we decided it was time to go sleep! I drank limon wa n3na—lemon with mint—smoked sheesha, and took in the Arab culture surrounding me.
The fall brought a new program and with it about one hundred fellow American students who had come to Amman to study in the same program as me. I breezed through orientation—after all, I had lived there for two months already!—but was entirely unprepared for our first day of classes at the University of Jordan. Although our classes were not with other Jordanian students because of our Arabic level, we were on the same campus and saw an entirely different student experience than most of our universities in America.
For starters, UJ has over 37,000 students, so there were literally people everywhere: sitting in groups on the benches, clustering outside of classrooms, and filling tables in the cafeteria. There seemed to be a lot of students standing around without much to do; but then again, when I finally discovered the UJ library, it was nearly impossible to find a seat among the students there, who were studying everything from physiology to business to Chinese. I quickly learned an interesting trick: something as simple as a piece of notebook paper could save your seat for the rest of the day. And this compared to Penn, where students will move your laptop and take that seat when you walk to the bathroom!
One of the best experiences I had at the university was befriending my language partner, a Jordanian-Palestinian girl just about my age who was studying Turkish and English. Afnan let me struggle through my amiyya with her—the colloquial Arabic I finally began learning in Jordan, which is so different from the fusHa taught in university—while telling me everything from her reasons for wearing a hijab to her secret desire to marry a pilot!
She showed me places to eat around the university and introduced me to all of her friends, many of whom became my friends too. I was even lucky enough to go to two birthday parties with her, one in a restaurant and one at a friend’s house, where I tried my first home-cooked Jordanian meal. Through relationships like these, Amman really began to feel like home to me: it was comfortable, never dangerous but also never boring, full of wonderful people eager to share their culture with me.
Needless to say, when December came, I was sad to leave. I dreaded the thoughts of my last Arabic class, our program’s goodbye dinner, and returning to the airport to leave for good. But finally, I said tearful goodbyes to my new American classmates, my language partner and the other Jordanian people I had been lucky enough to befriend. I fully intend to keep the promise I made to them to come back to Amman: 6 months gave me just a taste of the fascinating culture and welcoming people that characterize this beautiful city.
Amy T. Cass