Expats: Mean Girls Re-Created?

August 29, 2007
Amman, Jordan


Hello, All --

There are many things to address: 1) No, I am not dead, just trying to find my niche in the Middle East (which is unsurprisingly difficult); 2) Yes, I am in the Middle East, but alas, there are not too many camels (I think there were more in India, actually); 3) Jordan is unlike any other country around these parts, so, stop worrying (except for the fact that I am trying to weasel a trip to Iraq out of the company).
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Now, the subject of this week's email: Expats.

Although this is my fourth home in a year, I relatively tuned out the internationals elsewhere. Partly because, well, in Ankara, I think I was the only foreigner resigned to living there; in Budapest, we had a tight group of friends and didn't need to look further; and as for India, let's just say that I was longing for the days where my parents told me I had to be home by 8 p.m. Here, though, the international community is a bit like high school -- it's important to be seen with certain people as well as to ignore others, it matters where you go out, where you eat, and there will always be gossip. Loads and loads of gossip, no matter the type of people you hang out with. It reminds me a bit of Mean Girls. When I first arrived, my three of-the-simple-lifestyle-roommates took me under their wing and showed me around for the first three weeks. After that, i was on my own. During their time here, they told me who to stay away from, who they thought was snobby, and the cheap hideouts in the city. As much as I love the budget lifestyle of two falafels a day, I was not necessarily looking to re-create the Simple Life in Amman. What I also did not appreciate was why they could not say why they didn't like certain people in the city, besides the fact they spent money. So, you judge them for not even having money, but for leading a different lifestyle than you? I readily admit that I do not like flaunting money that one cannot spend in their home country, but can easily throw around in the Middle East, but really, to each his own. Besides, just because certain people spend money does not make them bad human beings Then there are the people who go out to ridiculously designed clubs with crystal chandeliers and have gym memberships that cost more than the average car. I don't know if it is because they can afford this lifestyle, or if it is because this is what they are used to at home. I wonder if they began life as normal but began to feel alienated from the life in Jordan as time went on, and then created their own worlds. Sometimes, when I go out to coffee or go out on the town with certain friends, I wonder if they realize where they are. Do they realize the importance and unique quality of this place? Do they understand the fragile nature of this country and its people? Do they know that there is trouble brewing silently amongst the Iraqis, the government, and the Palestinians?

The Middle East is a tough place to be, I admit it. There are rules, mostly unspoken, there are judgements, there are expectations, but which is the right way? Simpleton or Diva? Both are equally ludicrous and shallow, it seems to me. The former defines a lifestyle, in my opinion, as one feels it should be in this region, while the latter takes advantage of the country and its surroundings. Certainly, this dilemma pops up everywhere, but it seems especially highlighted inside a country in a region where the East and West cannot meet, let alone blend. It's tough.

Sometimes, when I need time to think, I take a quick walk down to Al Sweifiyeh, and watch the rich Iraqis, Saudis, and Jordanians traipse by Mango and Starbucks. I blend in easily, but I have to laugh at the teenager in the board shorts with his popped-collar polo. Am I really in Jordan? I try to walk in downtown to take a look at the mosque, the vegetables, and the markets, but it's difficult. No matter how conservative my dress, no matter how Arab I look, it's an uncomfortable stroll through the "real" Amman. I wonder if this is what happened to the others; did they give up after a while? The difference between them and me, though, is that I refuse to give up. I don't travel the world to sit with the other Westerners in an Irish pub in the most expensive neighborhood to complain about people looking at my ankles. It happens, though, and it is nice, I readily admit, to have sympathetic conversations.

Maybe it is all a part of the "real" experience?

I'd like to think that I am somewhere in between, but it seems that I am lone in my quest to find that equilibrium. In between my lunch at the Four Seasons and night out drinking Argille in a rundown building, I'll let you know.