Evenings...Week 1

As I write this Sunday morning, on a bus once again heading to Irbid, I'm trying to piece together the evenings that we've had these last five days, and already they're starting to become a bit of a blur. We're starting to establish somewhat of a semi-regular pattern in the compound. Today is designated a free day, but we nevertheless need to be out of the compound since students will be coming today to continue with their Tawjihi exams. I know, its a Sunday, but remember, for these guys, Sunday is the first day of their week.
We've managed to catch a local bus to Irbid, where we'll probably head to the Yamouk Museum at the University, where some artifacts found at Abila will be on display.

So we've settled into life in the compound and have so far maintained a relatively "normal" routine. This week we'll have been getting back to base from each morning's dig-site activity by 12 or so, freshen up for lunch (another sumptuous feast provided for us by Ibrahim and Raad - or not, depending on what leftovers we need to be rid of). Lots of pita bread, rice, humous, beans, boiled eggs, rice . The pineapple juice is an intersting concoction, kinda watery and milky with a subtle tang reminiscent of those pineapple sweets you chew on. I found the powder the cooks use to make this mysterious beverage when I took over the kitchen on Friday - hard to recall if this was a revelation or a letdown.

After lunch there's generally free time till 4pm, time for us to do laundry, check emails, write reports, play chess, but generally its a chance for people to take the all essential nap to catch up on any sleep denied the night before, or simply to escape the oppressive mid-day sun. 4pm till 5.30 will be some designated "class exercise", whether that being training in various documentary techniques practised on site, or an information session, lecture, or the like. After the sessions there may be a half hour or so before dinner at six, and then we'll have the evenings to ourselves...

Although the daily exercises and activities have been important for us in terms of preparation for the onslaught of the dig next week, its been the evenings that have really bonded us as a group. Although I've been loving my time here so far, there is still that twinge of a sting you feel when you miss home. I've found myself singing 'Rocket Man' to myself a lot

'I miss the earth below, I miss my wife...'

At the same time, I'm happy to say that I'm not lonely. One would imagine being the only Non-American here could be rather isolating, but I'm pleased to report that my American friends have welcomed me into their circle with open arms and enthusiasm, and the fact that they can tolerate a pretentious, opiniated, mildly attention seeking, irreverent, potty mouthed, cigarette smoking, bible-believing socialist from the other side of the world, is truly a sign of their grace. Mick Dundee quips aside, they are all lovely, and I adore them.

Evenings can be hard to remember at this point of time, but this is what I can give you...

I remember going to the trouble of moving my stuff to another room to accomodate the cooks, only to find that Ibrahim prefers to sleep outside on a mattress in the playground...

I remember Badr our security guard playing with his gun, pretending to play a form of reverse Russian Rouletts (ie with five bullets in the chamber), firing his empty gun at the mural on the verandah, taking aim at my leg and going click, and me giving him an earful telling him how uncool that was...

I remember sitting on the wall above the roof with Court and Sam, then practically sh--ing myself and jumping off said wall (to stay out of range) when I here gunshots in the park next to us. I think that was when Liz turned up, and from her perspective she would see me cowering behind the wall. Kids were playing target practice, apparently...

I remember the following night, on the roof again, smoking cigars and drinking "grape juice" with David, Cheryl, and Peter, gazing out over Hartha, the village itself in front of us and to our left, and looking at the "city lights" of Syria to our right, wondering how our Syrian neighbours are doing (Damascus is about a 45 minute drive from here)...

I remember the children that come to visit us, how young Rania and her younger sister have taken a shine to all the girls here, who absolutely adore her...

I remember Luke's numerous games of chess, and how he hates to lose...

I remember the Hartha chief of police turning up at the compound, giving us all a warm greeting on the verandah, enthusased by my Australian heretage, and when greeting David, alerting him to the fact that we are very welcome, and he and all the police are at our service, giving David his personal mobile number, and telling us in no uncertain terms that if there is anything we need, to call him...

I remember playing cards with Luke, Emma, and Jennifer, teaching me how to play 'Spades', and then, along with Emma, winning - and Luke hating to lose...

I remember numerous rounds of basketball with Mr Luke De Young, and coming to the conclusion that he was my favorite Republican...

I remember coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that American homeschooling might not be as ominous as it would seem...

I remember Court returning from the local candy shop, and alerting us to the fact that the guy also sells porn in black plastic bags...

I remember the numerous parties we hear in the neighbourhood, night after night, thinking that all these people seem to do for fun is get married (better than falling pregnant I guess)...

I remember one particular party that included a live band and fireworks, coming from the house of an obviously wealthy family, about 500 meters of the compound, in plain view from the roof. I remember this being close to midnight, and looking at the other houses, and seeing families gathered on their respective verandahs, sitting down and enjoying the music and the festivities, despite not being present at the party itself. I remember thinking if this were back home, those families would be calling the cops...

And of course I remember that feeling of dread one gets Sunday night, knowing that a 4am start is awaiting you the next morning. That's if the 3.30 call to prayer doesn't get you first...

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