Mamamouchis

I just read an article about a show taking place at the Tate in London entitled "the Lure of the East" and subtitled "British Orientalist Painting".

In this article the author shows the fascaination as well as the desdain that the West held towards the East (mostly Turkey and Iran). This is done through the portrayal of selected artworks produced during the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.

It is amazing to read about the way in which this apparent fascination of the East was expressed, and which was through obsessing over its fashion. Several Orientalists (Europeans) actually adorned the garments of the East in a desperate attempt to fit in.

The article then moves on to describe one Robert Shirley. "Between 1608-1613 and 1617-1624, Shirley wheedled his way into the Iranian court and was dispatched on European missions on behalf of Shah Abbas of Iran.....The Briton, who took himself very seriously, was portrayed several times wearing Iranian court attire, or so he thought,"

The article goes on to say that "The result (the depiction of Shirley) irresistibly calls to mind the famous scene in Molière's satirical comedy "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme," where a man from the newly rich bourgeoisie aspiring to aristocratic status has himself decked out in a pseudo-Turkish outfit before being hailed with a bogus title, "Le grand Mamamouchi."

Mamamouchis and bogus titles....sounds familiar!

A new siren in town

The frequency of police sirens these days has increased for some reason.  The sound of sirens has also changed.  Amman is coming of age, and with it comes a new fleet of police cars.  Strangely enough, the sound of the sirens does not bother me.  In fact I like it.  The sound of the new sirens is exactly the same as the ones heard in Paris or London.  So everytime I hear a police siren goes off, I just close my eyes and pretend that I am on vacation somewhere in an exotic city in Europe...until I am rudely awakened by: "Honda zarga, wasse3 tareeg"

If you love Google

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A new search engine developed by an ex-Google designer.

 

A non-ending Diana day!

I am sitting outside in my garden at the first circle.  All of a sudden the voice of Diana Korazon is echoing all over.   It just hit me that there is a concert at the Citadel (Jabal Al-Qal3a) for Diana Korazon and Assi Hellani.  I never realized that I could attend concerts at the Citadel for free. Diana, "merci kteer" for this revelation.

Merci Kteer

There was an interview with Diana Korazon today on JTV's morning show.  Everytime she wanted to say "thank you", she would say "thank you kteer" or "merci kteer" (not to mention the sudden switch to the lebanese accent).

I can live with the "thank you kteer" (Maybe).  But the "merci kteer" was too much for my gentle ears.

I suggest from now on, anyone who wants to qualify for the "merci kteer" should be required to carry on a non-stop conversation in french for at least five minutes, otherwise they should stick "shoukran kteer"!  Come to think of it, it would probably be much better if they just keep quiet.

Noblesse oblige

King Abullah's II visit to Balqa' is telling of the begging custom that has become the modus operandi of the day.  

I happened to see the King's visits on TV to several Governates all over the Kingdom. The audience of each visit was more or less indicative of the level of needs of the various governates where these royal visits took place. During these encounters several notables of the communities in question gave speeches of welcome fused with list of grievances for which they were seeking relief.

There is nothing wrong with having poor communities voice hardship and seek the support of the government. In fact it is great that such calls fall directly on the lion’s ears. After all, empowering and providing safety nets in areas where government intervention is necessary, is but one of the most important mandates entrusted to the public sector.

My surprise came specifically at watching the latest town meeting that took place in Balqa Governate. To me, a brief survey of the notables of Balqa and the big families that are hailed from its great capital Al-Salt, tell me that there is a lot of wealth residing there. I have no statistics on which I base my observation. It is merely an observation.

Nevertheless, assuming that my observation is valid, I am sure that we could agree that a goverante that houses such wealth should not wait for the king to visit so that a petition for a hospital or a school or a program or I don’t' know what, gets acted upon.  These very needs should be the trigger point to be proactive in addressing the civic needs of any given community.    

As I was watching all the extremely well dressed and obviously well off notables hold the microphone and talk (petition is more like it), I could not help but think to myself “To whom much is given much is obliged”.

Finally, there is no disrespect intended by this post to the great people of Balqa’. In fact this is probably one of the greatest goverantes of Jordan. However, what I noticed in the Balqa’ town meeting could apply countrywide on all those who are given but do not see the need to be obliged.

Amman

“Out of all of you, I may be among the earliest residents of Amman, and have recollections of it when it was but a village at a time when it would have been an exaggeration to refer to it as a city…. At that time each one of us knew everyone else, their phone numbers, and every car in town.”
Late King Hussein bin Talal, during a visit to Greater Amman Municipality shortly before his passing.

A recent post by Mohammad Omar reminded me of how much I really love Amman. My childhood memories are all nestled within the charming corners of Amman, its streets, its stairs, the small shops with shopkeepers holding tight to their grid-lined debt notepads, and the wee hours of the morning when the hara kids would all gather to wait for the school bus to pick us up in loads.

Amman has changed and with it so has its spirit. To say that I wish it remained the same would be unrealistic at best, and selfish at worst. All I can say is that no matter how it changes, Amman remains the darling of many of us who grew up knowing it as a village. We might feel protective over it and in the process resist much needed change. No matter what happens, Amman to me is like a kid, I might have a burning desire to discipline it out of concern, but at the end of the day I can never turn my back on it. It is deeply and so dearly engraved in me.

Few years ago, I asked a dear friend of mine, Nora Boustany (Columnist at the Washington Post) to write something about her working years in Amman. What she wrote sums up why many passers by consider Amman addictive, and why it is beloved by anyone who gets a taste of its charm. Nora wrote:

“The clear, sun-bathed days waiting for me always made coming back to Amman a special homecoming. But even the pale blue moonlight over its pink stone houses has its own magic for me. The city with its open spaces and hills, whispering fortunetellers and sprawling palace became my second home. After the turmoil of Beirut in wartime, the uncertainties of Washington as a chosen exile and my travels across the obscure medinas and bazaars of the Middle East, Amman is where I felt most comfortable. It is where my spirit was able to roam freely and wander to feed itself. Its modernity, romance and truth will always draw me back.”