Let it rain, let it rain

Tags

Countryside, Desert, Life in the Middle East, Rain, Water, Weather

It’s been raining for 3 days.

Here, this is as unusual as an April sunny day in the north of Norway. And equally joyous.

Nobody uses umbrellas. What sort of fool would want protection from water?

I once saw a group of customers in a cafe asking for their table to be moved outside when it started to rain.

It took me one year to find an oversized umbrella in an obscure Chinese shop. Not sure why I wanted an umbrella, perhaps because I felt strangely under-equipped for life’s various challenges without one.  

When I first took it to work and parked it in a corner, its modest watery load evaporating quickly, people laughed. Not quite the smartest investment ever.

The other day a driver took me to a meeting somewhere in the countryside.

“Look now, it’s green!”, he cried filled with joy, as the brown hues of the desert on both sides were for once punctuated by small patches of green. .

I always lived in places that view rain as slight inconvenience.

‘Oh, shoot, it’s raining and I was going to wear my suede shoes today!’

I can wear my suede shoes almost every day here. Not today though. 

Today I’m going to wear waterproof shoes as I navigate the little rivers in the streets, try to pretend my huge umbrella is not with me and smile back at the other happy sailors.    

 

Of food, identity and the generosity of the desert

Tags

Bedouin traditions, Desert, Identity, Jordanian cuisine, Mansaf, Middle Eastern food, Pride

Tell me what you eat and I’ll tell you who you are. Maybe.

But could you tell me what you eat so I tell you where you’re from? Not really, not in today’s world. Not when you may be having hash browns for breakfast, tandoori chicken for lunch and tortillas for dinner.    

But Mansaf is a clear statement. The king of Jordanian cuisine, Mansaf is more than food – it is an assertion of identity.

In a country where waves of newcomers have settled at a rate which left the local population culturally rich, dazzled and unsure, Mansaf is certainty and pride. 

It started out in the bedouin community of the Arabian desert. Slowly cooked lamb with rice, almonds and a yoghurt sauce.

Mansaf tastes best when cooked in big quantities. An expression of hospitality in harsh conditions and kindness to strangers. Immensely filling. So filling you’ll hardly be able to walk home (which in the desert wouldn’t have been advisable anyway).  

I suspect that even people who are quite indifferent to its taste feel duty bound to proclaim its superiority to all else. I may secretly like burgers and pasta but I will tell you I like Mansaf so you know who I am.  

As I write this, thousands of families are sitting down to have the most important meal of the week. Friday lunch, ample portions of Mansaf for all, big and small.

Thousands of hands reaching out for the fragrant, heavy mix, from the fancy villas of Western Amman to the desert tents around Wadi Rum. 

I don’t expect I will be seeing a lot of walkers this evening.