Made in HKJ

The night before I left the U.S. two weeks ago I got a call from Meg Calacci, mother of the incredible Khosrowshahi children at Hackley. She called to send me off on the journey with love, wish me well, and remind me that this odyssey was a gift: “you get to become a child again, with all that is exciting and scary. You won’t intuitively know the customs, you won’t know the language, but you get to experience things in that wondrous way children do.” Meg, you are so right, as usual, and thank you for that reminder.

I have a curious niece, Emma, and an enthusiastic nephew Jack, and since I have been in Jordan these two weeks, I have thought about them so often. Not just missed them, because they are such a joy, nor just wished to play with them again, but thought about what it is to be like them, as children—the naivete, the impatience, the excitement, the curiosity, the fatigue, the frustrations, the white noise, the hopes of loving arms nearby—and the experiences they accrue every day.

When I came for my quick Middle-Eastern weekend in February, I thought I saw many road signs in English. Well, there are some, but not as many as I thought I saw then. On our infrequent trips to Amman I now look out the bus wondering how I will ever make sense of the roads—what does that sign say? What if I get lost? Will I ever roam aimlessly as I did in New York (or roam purposefully, for that matter!) What are the drivers saying to each other?

I remember last summer sometime I showed nephew Jack a book that Emma and were reading and asked him what the words said. Jack sighed and wistfully said, “King [in case you do not know it, niece and nephew call me ‘King’—what smart children they are! And now I have my own Academy!] King, I don’t how to read!” It is cute that Jack didn’t know he needed the verb ‘know’ in the sentence! I remember that moment now, because Jack and I are more alike than ever—I see the Arabic, and I hear my own inner monologue—“But I don’t how to read/speak/understand Arabic!” Like a child again! But our first class in Arabic instruction is this Thursday. Maybe I will learn the alphabet! Heavens, when was the last time we looked forward to learning the alphabet! And applying it to building and understanding all those hidden puzzles. Knowing that alphabet will be a gateway to so much more.

Today a kind teacher, and one of the more conservative ones here, took me aside and said, “John, I so enjoyed our small group discussion the other day, but I wanted to tell you something. After the meeting, you touched my elbow, yes, you were trying to be nice, but that is something very unusual for us here. Please be aware!” For those who know me well, this strikes at the core of my demonstrative personality. I am a hugger, but here I am not well-versed in the social customs, and so need to be more conscious of my interactions and body language. Like a child again! One has to learn the conventions and finesse one’s way in social interactions.

If you read the long blog entry from the other day (remember? The day of the three-goat-feast?) I learned so much from that first dinner party in someone’s home. It was all a learning experience—from the no-utensils-no-plate-free-for-all-mansaf to the segregation of the men and women, every moment you watch others and imitate what they are doing, hoping not to cause a scene. When I was a little boy I created a scene on an airplane by jumping into the aisle and belting out, “Hello, Dolly!” My mother had to tell me that was neither the time nor the place for a Broadway showtune! I learned…well, kinda.

The other day I went to turn in my tray from lunch, and saw some bread lying on a table, so I picked it up to throw it out. A dining hall worker looked distressed as I put the discarded pita into the garbage. I apologized and said that I had cleaned it up after someone else. A Jordanian then explained that in this region, bread is more than just bread, it was seen as a symbol of something sacred. Instead of throwing it out, make sure you leave it for birds or animals or in some way you pass it along to someone else, she instructed. She said, “you will see clumps of bread on windowsills, or if someone drops bread, they may pick it up and give it a little kiss. It’s just an affirmation of what we have, what matters to us. No one throws out bread!” There is so much to learn!

In a small group discussion the other day we had to put together a brand-new thingamabob that you use to write down responses in group work. What is the name? Well, watching a group put something together, as a group, is probably funny in and of itself, but as we put it together, I saw on the back of the stand, the label, “Made in HKJ.” I asked, “where in the world is this?” Someone giggled, and said, “Jordan.” Hmmm…and before they could tell me exactly what the HKJ stood for, I guessed it—Made in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan! I got it right!!

So like a child. You get something right. You feel a little empowered. You lose one of the giggles surrounding you, and you become a little more confident.

Here’s to more of those moments!