May 6, 2010
This evening the most wonderful thing happened.
I arrived back at the hotel after an exhilarating cab ride from the souk in downtown Amman. I had been shopping in the souk for about three hours with Bill, Laurie, and Nathan. While there, I discovered many interesting things, including numerous brightly embroidered kaftans (one of which I purchased pour moi), pungent halal meats, baby-and/or travel-sized hookah pipes, and that Jordanian men are in fact no better behaved than Syrian men. I grew quite appalled at the openness with which they gawked at me, and also began to deeply regret opting for walking shorts that exposed my knees. This time, instead of only openly staring at my face and hair, they gave me intensely un-subtle once-overs that featured sometimes-prolonged forays into the Hannah's Legs Appreciation Society. The thing that keeps on alternately amusing and astounding me is that these men don't seem to realize that I can see them looking at me. ANYWAY. One of the foundational points of the story is the contrast that this scenario makes with the scenario to come.
So, I returned to the hotel from the souk. After I had freshened up a bit and tried on my kaftan (hilarious!), I returned to the lobby in order to find myself some delicious Western-Jordanian fusion buffet. But when the elevator door opened, my ears were greeted by the most delightful cacophony of drumming, clapping, and joyful singing. My curiosity was piqued and there was only one cure! I easily discerned that the source of the jamboree was the grand staircase descending from the lobby to the basement; every step was covered with Arab men, women, and babies who were watching the ruckus below. Now, gentle readers, I know that you are wondering, What ruckus, Nans? Well, gentle readers, you are in luck since I am about to assuage your curiosity.
At the bottom stair a woman was standing in a white dress and white hooded cape- obviously, she was a bride. But she was standing alone. In front of her there was a crazy mess of jubilation: four men dressed in pin-striped bedouin kaftans and headdresses who were dancing and singing in response to two other bedouin-clad young men; all the young men present dancing with their arms up, clasping each other's hands, letting loose to an insane degree; two men playing complicated rhythms on hand drums; four young members of the bridal party standing still, holding tall candles and wearing sleeveless white over-embellished dresses. The song went on for about fifteen minutes, without a sign of boredom or exhaustion from any of its participants. I have seen celebrations on tv, but I have never been in the same room as one. I have never celebrated like that. I have never seen honest, exuberant, ecstatic happiness like that up close. The people standing next to me were intrigued; I was choking back tears.
Later that night I started thinking about hospitality. I don't think that's too far a leap from the idea of celebration. I raised the topic with my meal partner, and it spurred on the greatest conversation I've had in a very long time. We exchanged numerous stories from our lives until we landed on altogether different topics, but yet somehow managed to retain a foundational layer that united all our thoughts. I think that most people who spend any consequential amount of time with people who suffer in extreme poverty will come back home with stories of these people's overwhelming generosity and hospitality. I doubt that I will forget the story this friend of mine told me about her time in India seven years ago. She was with a group of college students who were going door to door in isolated villages and talking about their lives as Christians. Obviously throughout this venture they came face to face with the many facets of destitution. Many of the people they met invited the group in for chai, but one of the families actually invited them to have dinner in their home. My friend tells me that this family had absolutely nothing save one chicken that provided them with eggs, and this chicken they killed and cooked in order to feed these Canadian students they had just met. That is hospitality, a kind of hospitality I have never heard of or encountered myself in North America. I think we have come to misunderstand the definition of hospitality; we have stripped it down to the point of rendering it synonymous with welcome or hosting. To be a host takes no spiritual fortitude; it requires no faith whatsoever. Hospitality on the other hand depends entirely on unwavering faith in a good Provider. It also requires the giver to be free of concern for material goods, and yet to be simultaneously aware of those goods' value to another person. It requires perceptiveness and selflessness. The bedouin people of the Middle East are known for their hospitality. They live a nomadic existence in the desert, in the wild, or in the outskirts of society, and because of this lifestyle they have few possessions. But if a traveller stumbles upon a bedouin tent, the owners of that tent will without fail welcome the traveller into their midst and offer her tea, food, and a place to spend the night. Only after she has spent three nights among them will the bedouins ask the traveller where she came from or where she is going. The need, not the reasons for it, are the bedouins' concern.
Hospitable acceptance such as this requires a great deal of grace; grace requires freedom, and freedom calls for celebration. It is no mystery and no surprise that the contemporary West is content without grace. We are pretty content with ourselves and attribute our every success to our own intelligence, skill, and effort. We think that we are beyond grace, but as I have stated, we can only receive freedom once we have opened ourselves, even relinquished our selves, to the grace of God.
Leaning on that bannister at the Geneva Hotel, I was overcome with the hope that my culture will one day be able to celebrate in a similarly unabashed way. I was struck by the wedding as a microcosmic example of Eastern and Western culture. Our weddings are often contrived, micromanaged, straight-laced, and artificial, and as a result they tend to come across as boring, awkward, and meaningless. They are so controlled that they belie the truth behind it all: it is the continual grace of God that will keep a couple together until death. Without God, all the hard work in the world will eventually come to nothing.
Yeah, not quite the same as chauvinism and hummus.
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