My Two New Buddies

Yesterday I went to the Fitness Center at the school.

Don’t give me that face—teachers can see through the cyberwaves, y’know.

It was actually my third visit to the Fitness Center, if you must know.

But yesterday I walked in and saw two 12 year-olds, children of faculty at KA. I went over and introduced myself, and a few minutes later they followed me over to the chest press machine (no doubt overly impressed by the weight I had chosen) and started asking me questions about my time so far in Jordan.

Almost an hour later, I told my new friends Zaid and Ali that I needed to go and change for dinner, but looked forward to seeing them again. We eagerly shook hands, smiled and waved good-bye. It had been among the most satisfying hours of the odyssey so far.

Earlier that day we had undergone a two-hour orientation session on cultural sensitivity and trying to understand the hearts and minds of the Jordanians we will meet and teach. While it was interesting, it also made people nervous. At lunch there was a twitter of questions: What missteps am I going to make? What misperceptions might I inadvertently cultivate? What will my body language say? Can I touch someone on the shoulder? What does it say if I open the door for a woman colleague? If they know I watched Friends for 10 years, what does that say about my morality to a conservative family????? Yikes. Should I stay just in my apartment and conduct class on-line????????

So I go to the Fitness Center to stairmaster away a little nervous tension and meet Zaid and Ali. No pretense, no wondering about international incidences as we talk about the movie stars we like, or about what parts of the world are fun…and what charming, interesting guys!

As I said, both young men are sons of colleagues, and I had heard their names from their parents, but somehow, instead of worrying about all the problems you might create—all you gotta do sometimes is go up to someone, smile, shake hands, and say it’s nice to meet them. The desire for human connection might trump everything else.

They wanted to talk about their previous schools (in Riyadh for one, Dubai for the other) and what they thought was great about American fastfood. They asked me if liked Paul Revere and the Boston Tea Party (evidently in 6th grade in the Middle East you study some U.S. History) and if I was hooked on the TV series Lost.

I didn’t get much exercising done yesterday—there was a trip to Amman to celebrate another colleague’s birthday, and at some point I did have to tear myself away and go change for the trip to the Intercontinental Hotel for Mexican food, but for the rest of the evening I basked in the glow of how fun it was to talk to these 12 year-olds, and ask questions back and forth. I had two new buddies.

They promise to help me learn Arabic, and their greatest hope (they said) in our becoming friends is that I tell my American friends that not all Arabs are mean terrorists. As we shared likes and dislikes, they relayed their perceptions of the Middle East (“not everyone here likes everyone either—when I am in the Gulf states they call me Jordanian crap,” said one of the commentators and wondered if the world will get past the Iraqi war. They wanted to try out some of the American accents they have heard in various films. Topic to topic—smile to smile—it was, well, wonderful, chattering away in the Fitness Center. There is a moment when you know it is more than small talk. It is like reconnaissance work in the accrual of friends.

Everyone has been polite here. No denying that. But getting beyond politeness is that really important, and difficult plateau—that moment when you brush against people with that desire to talk and chat and burn through the introductory stage, past politeness, eager to see someone again and reach a level of comfort, of comradeship, it’s really exhilarating. Leave it to the younger set to make that mark.