It is our last day in Jordan and we head back to Amman. The time we have spent in this wonderful country has exceeded every expectation I had. From the splendour of Petra and the Dead Sea to the adventure of climbing high above Petra looking down on the towering Treasury, our camel caravan through Petra, or the stillness of sunrise in the desert.
On this, our last day, we have been invited for lunch to the home of one such refugee family. The family does not live in a refugee camp, they rent a simple flat in an old, crumbling building in Amman. Here we are hosted by the family of Salaam and Tamara. The family includes their two children, Tamara's parents, her sister, brother-in-law and their small child, and her brother. This family all lives and sleeps in a small apartment with the most basic of services. The bathroom is old, the enamel surface has long since worn off the tub and toilet. They sleep on mats and cots. But they have worked hard to make it their new home, welcoming and warm despite the crumbling stone of the walls.
We are greeted with warm handshakes and hugs and ushered into their living room where we gather round two old, scarred coffee tables. I notice the Christian religious icons on the walls... the pictures and statues of Mary and the Holy Family. The crucifix a staple on the wall, like my mother's house. They wear their Christian faith proudly... which has been the source of their peril.
Salaam has been working with us for the last week, acting as an assistant and interpreter for our group. We have come to know him as a friend, and he is happy to have us meet his family. He tells us their story...
The family lived a good life in Iraq. But they were Christians in a predominantly Muslim country. Tamara's father was a barber with his own business. Tamara and her sister and brother attended school.
Eventually Tamara would marry Salaam. They began their life where Salaam attended and completed university, got a good job, a home, a car, a life...
But in 2014 ISIS took over a town just 5 minutes from where Tamara's family lived. Christians were told to convert, pay tax, leave or die. They lost everything... their homes, their businesses. Christians were targeted because they are a peaceful religion not based on revenge. They are taught to turn the other cheek, to forgive. This made them an easy target.
The family had to flee. They knew that survival meant converting to Islam (not an option) or fleeing. Jordan was their destination.
But the story does not end there. Once in Jordan, as asylum seekers, they were safe from persecution but could not start a new life. Asylum seekers are not immigrants of that country, they are there temporarily until they are accepted as refugees into another country. As Christians those countries are Canada, Australia, France. The US does not welcome refugees unless they are highly demanded professions like doctors. And most refugee programs now favour the Syrian refugees, the Christian refugees are forgotten. Yet they are educated, fluent in English, could easily assimilate into our country and our culture.
It has been 3 years now. 3 years living in limbo. They are not allowed to work in Jordan, their is no healthcare, no social programs. They do odd jobs under the table to make enough money to get by. And they continue to hope, going through every hoop that is put in their way, longing for the day they will again have a real home.
A genuine feast proceeds. Platter after platter of their traditional Iraqi and Middle Eastern foods... biryani made with rice with chicken and vegetables, pasta with a fresh tomato sauce and tiny little meatballs, stuffed eggplant, and the specialty - tepsi. Everything is fresh, warm and steeped with the exotic Middle Eastern spices. The little tables are laden and the fragrant flavours fill the air.
As I lie in bed later that night, I try to envision what that would be like. What if I, and my family - children, grandchildren- had to flee, leaving everything we had worked so hard for behind. Would we be as brave, as humble, as hopeful? I can only hope I never have to find out.
I read posts on facebook routinely, saying things like... send them back to their own country, they are not our problem, they do not belong here... but where do they belong?
I do not usually introduce political messaging into my posts but this has stuck with me and it was a part of the country and the culture and the experience.
On a more pleasant note.... it is our last evening in Amman and Joe takes us out to one of his favorite restaurants for a farewell dinner.
One more bus ride... I have to admit I was not looking forward to that, but it was well worth it.
One more bus ride... I have to admit I was not looking forward to that, but it was well worth it.
Kam Zamaan was once a village outside of Amman. Kam Zamaan is Arabic for "once upon a time" and is fitting name for this place. It was a 19th century Ottoman rural farm consisting of agriculture warehouse (we would call granary) and a stable or barn. The walls are thick stone, ageless. It fell to ruin as the rural people migrated to the city for jobs and the more modern way of life.
The visionary restoration has kept the stately timeless structures, adapting them into a stunning restaurant complex incorporating the past with the present on perfect blaance, offering unique Oriental and local cuisine.
The complex includes three venues: the stables have been transformed into an elegant dining room. Huge iron chandeliers grace the natural domed ceilings over sturdy wooden dining tables.
The garden is now a stunning breezy patio and the warehouse hosts the Bread and Salt Bakery offering fresh baking and homemade preserves.
Bring on the wine... it has been an exhausting, and pretty dry, week and we look forward to relaxing with a couple of glasses of good wine.
The food begins to come... a seemingly endless stream of tantalizing specialties, all flavorful and delicious. Piping hot, rounds of pita bread fresh from the massive stone oven arrive, the aroma intoxicating.
We relax, we visit, we mingle. We exchange email addresses. contact information. We promise to stay in touch, hopeful our paths and journeys will overlap again.
We bid our god-byes and get ready to depart our separate ways. It has been an amazing journey, one I will not soon forget.
Thank you for Coming With Me and sharing my adventures. Until next time.....
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