Fellows' Reflections: Alex Petri

I arrived in Amman somewhat late. A series of setbacks, including the COVID pandemic, put me here in mid-January rather than November. Before that it was supposed to be September. Before September it was August. I am glad to finally be here!

Strangely, I felt no initial discomfort upon arriving, and I don’t know what to make of that. It surprised me. A voice in the back of my head tells me I should have felt more discomfort than I did. Until August, I lived in Washington, DC. From August until my arrival, I was in rural Illinois staying with my dad in a town of less than one hundred people. No ISPs (internet service providers) had service for his address, so I commuted to my mom’s apartment the next town over to telework for the Collateral Repair Project (CRP), where I started my fellowship remotely in October. I would catch my supervisor and other colleagues as they wrapped up their day in Jordan, beginning mine in the cold and bleak Midwestern winter. All three very different places to have called home in the span of one year. I do not take for granted the sunshine in Amman. It has given me quite a lot of new energy!

And so I have been thinking (but only occasionally). With my arrival, I must remind myself that I arrived in Jordan for a reason.

What was that reason? Sometimes it is difficult to remember why you set out to do something. I can hardly remember what I ate for supper last night most of the time. And so I ask myself, am I in Jordan for the right reasons? How do I know those reasons are right? Anxieties abound! I am thankful to have many new friends who are willing to have these conversations with me. I am thankful that many Jordanians are so kind and open and welcoming.

I am here to see the ways I can make an impact on the community around me. I’m very aware that having my position means a Jordanian does not have it. Because of that, I don’t expect myself to operate as if this was just another job in the US. I have to be dynamic.

Until next time.

Fellows' Reflections: Hannah Rosenwinkel

Upon moving to Amman eight months ago, I knew I wanted to start blogging, journaling, or documenting my experience in some way. I’ve never been great at journaling — growing up, I would constantly get notebooks where I would start writing down my thoughts and then forget or get bored about a week after. Despite previous failed attempts, I started bullet journaling (writing down what I did each day in bullet-point format) the week after my move to Amman.

A few months after my arrival, I was reminded that MENAR has a partnership with Reach the World (RTW), a global education non-profit organization that seeks to make the benefits of travel and study abroad accessible to K-12 classrooms in the United States. With this opportunity, I could share my journey living in Jordan and inspire students to be curious about the world. This opportunity immediately sparked my interest; I could continue documenting my experience, hone my writing skills and share my stories. I applied to RTW and was accepted as a Volunteer Traveler last August. And, to my pleasant surprise, the classroom I was matched with was a middle-school classroom in my home state of Minnesota!

As a RTW Volunteer Traveler, I had a few requirements: take as many pictures as possible for blog post content, keep up with my weekly blog post submissions, and schedule a few video calls with my matched classroom. My blogs ranged in topic from the geography of Jordan to Jordanian birthday celebrations. After my posts were published, the classroom teacher, Tanya, read the blogs and created quizzes for the students to complete at home. The students loved this! Our video calls were a RTW volunteer highlight for me. At one point, the students created a fictional Ancient Egyptian Museum as part of a history project. During our video call, they asked about my trip to Dahab, a small coastal city on the Sinai Peninsula in Egypt. I shared about my experience scuba diving in Dahab and many students decided to locate their museum in Dahab! The combination of blog posts and video calls provided a great opportunity for students to learn and ask questions, and established a personal connection to the Middle East.

After four months of submitting weekly RTW blog posts, my time as a Volunteer Traveler has come to a close. Not only was blog creation a great way to document my experience in Jordan and the broader Middle East, but I was also able to share these posts with students who may or may not have the opportunity to travel, study abroad, or work abroad in the future. Some of the blogs were about basic topics such as food or transportation, but it was the posts about simple aspects of life that sparked deeper questions about Jordanian culture, history, who I share my meals with, and who I travel with. The blogs provided the opportunity to do much more than bullet-journal my daily tasks; they were an opportunity to share my experiences and begin simple conversations that gave way to deeper discussions.

I hope that my RTW partnership with a Minnesota classroom cultivated their sense of curiosity about the world, and helped build positive awareness of the Middle East among young Americans. I look forward to seeing future MENAR Fellows share their journeys through Reach the World!

Fellows' Reflections: Bev Vega

Community and Coding

After being a bit more than three months into my move to Amman, I graduated my first cohort of students from ReBootKamp (RBK) as full stack web developers. RBK is a 16-week intensive coding bootcamp intended to help specifically those from marginalized communities. Our program focuses on coding curriculum, job skills development, and community building. After finishing up with an amazing group of students coming from the West Bank and Gaza, I’ve been left with a lot to reflect on. I believe my main takeaway from this experience so far has been the importance of giving others space and validation. I found that when we fail to occasionally offer others our attention, we lose the ability to build off each other and collectively invent strategies to address problems we face.

There is a valid critique of those in the tech industry failing to prioritize society over finding any solution. Because the curriculum was so focused on learning new technologies, we initially lost sight of how to apply this to our lives and also the implications of what we want to introduce into the world. I observed a “product over people” mentality manifest in our students as they hacked. To solve this problem, I implemented a restorative justice project. We would meet in small groups of six and conduct a talking circle to discuss our thoughts on topics about tech and our lives in general. I reached out to a friend back in Austin, who had worked on projects like this before, about best practices. I also had to do a lot of personal research to ensure that I was respectful and intentional in everything regarding the circles.

The talking circles met once a week. Every student had the chance to participate. Additionally, the members of the groups were reorganized every two weeks to allow students to community-build with everyone on campus. In the circle we were all equal. There were no instructor or student roles. We were simply people. Each week we had the opportunity to discuss different subjects, unpacking our experiences and defining various topics like tolerance, anger, gossip, joy, and stress. We told stories, talked about challenges, and as a community lifted each other up. Over time, we were able to apply our collective strategies to the community. Each circle had instances of laughter, understanding, and empathy for our fellow circle members.

This space was fundamental to our growth as a cohort and campus. Something as simple as providing a space and asking questions allowed for our organization and students to truly lift each other up. There is a lot to be said about the value of making others feel valued. This is exactly what the circles functioned to do. It made us feel heard, and as a community we were encouraged to actively listen. Additionally, this meant that we could all share our truths knowing that someone heard us. Talking circles taught us the importance of space and giving ourselves permission to take up this space. We validated our feelings and ideas through this communication and became much more confident in how we interact within our communities. Going into a coding bootcamp, I expected that my biggest lesson would involve new techniques in software development. However, it turns out that my most cherished lesson was how necessary community-building is in tech if we are to build technologies for a better society.

Fellows' Reflections: Aman Falol

Digesting Coffee, (The Best) Cake, and Experiences Made in Amman

Hanging Out with Foreigners

“Look at these pictures from his Hajj! It’s crazy that we can probably travel anywhere in the world except there. Seems unfair.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you would want to go anyways. They’ll force you to dress in up in all black and wear things you don’t want.“

These were comments from Europeans living in Jordan when a local shared pictures from his Hajj experience. I don’t consider them insensitive at all. It just reveals ignorance. Thankfully, ignorance is our beautiful opportunity to learn, grow, challenge yourself, and challenge the people who may be teaching you with honest questions. I’m grateful these two people were intellectually curious and engaged me in sincere discussion afterwards. But, this discussion, like many of mine with immigrants here, reveal we often don’t know the foundations of our own core values or anything about the ones of people we serve.

On a more concerning note, during my time in Amman, I noticed a significant number of Europeans and Americans living in Jordan create isolated communities and economies that distance themselves from average residents. Although they often come on humanitarian missions to offer locals skills, resources, and customs they consider beneficial, they don’t invest time in understanding Arabic, contextual regional histories, cultural inheritance (except food and party customs), Islam, and many other variables integral to a shared understanding of life here. The issue for many is not resources or time. If you ask them directly, many foreigners living here will honestly tell you these variables are of little value to them or their efforts to improve the conditions of the people they are serving.

The Words that Pierce from Conversation Practice

I have spent 3 hours daily outside of work honing my communication skills with excellent private tutors and talking to people in every neighborhood in Amman. As a Muslim man with a decent command of Arabic and one who often gets mistaken as a Jordanian Bedouin until my word choice proves otherwise, my ability to connect with the average person is often quicker, deeper, and easier. Taxi drivers, store workers, tutors, program facilitators, and street vendors don’t shower me with pleasantries, good manners and praises in hopes I return as a customer or offer a generous tip. When I am not surrounded by people from the Americas or Europe, they usually give me their opinions straight (whether I ask for them or not) and criticize me or others as NGO workers in the region.

“You and your kind care about your work so much. But, none of you care about us.”

“Their tongues are broken, we do the same job, I have to train them, and their salary is four times mine. Where is the justice? Can we not take care of ourselves?”

“You think I’m not frustrated? Of course I am. I have a degree in Computer Science. You did not study coding. And, I’m teaching you the local dialect so you can do a data job I pray for and that I could do in my sleep. But, I have kids and I need money, so I teach.”

Most comments and discussions I get from my communication practice is fruitful, constructive, and helpful in my work context. But, every other day, in the middle of a 1-hour conversation, a few words cut deep and force me to reevaluate a new aspect of my actions and presence here. After all the talking and listening, I’ve learned very intimately that both kalima meaning “word” and kalm meaning “wound” share the same linguistic root in Arabic.

A Workplace Where Feedback is Felt

Luckily, my workplace helps heal a lot of those wounds. Over many years, the Collateral Repair Project has cultivated a collaborative environment where local staff, volunteers, and beneficiaries do their best to integrate foreign staff in Amman and at work. The previous fellows and other foreign staff were able to cultivate mutual respect and appreciation through their lived examples. I often hear stories about the impact of respecting invitations, efforts to learn customs and language, requests for advice, listening and respecting feedback, thoughtful disagreement, and how all of this makes them eager to interact with new foreigners at the center. Even when there is a breakdown in communication, it’s met with a patience and eager optimism often missing outside the center. It’s enabled me and my roommate (who’s also a colleague) to go from stuttering with pronunciation of three word sentences to full conversations about ideas in ‘Aamiya and strict usage of it at home after three months. The environment has improved my personal growth and ability to cultivate healthy relationships at work.

Questions and Advice for Those Intending to Travel

If you plan to travel to the Middle East and work or study, ask introspective questions like the following: Why is the region called the Middle East? What is the center point in which the region is middle and east from? Is this geographical point of reference the central point of reference for all important things in your life? Is this center also the point in which all important ideas, practices, and goals revolve around for the people living in the region?

Questions like these should inspire you to explore the intellectual foundations of your own values and the values and customs of natives. Improving these understandings will be the difference between mutually beneficial impact and better engagement or you just taking up space. Furthermore, even though programs like MENAR focus on professional development, I advise you to cultivate growing expertise in a skill and the ability to train others in it. This is especially important in sectors where resources are scarce. It will justify the need for your presence, create stronger institutional health, and ensure the work is about shared goals and purpose (and not about you).

Fellows' Reflections: Asha Athman

After arriving in Jordan at the end of July, I didn’t anticipate getting into the groove of life in Amman so quickly. I was fortunate to have strong support at Collateral Repair Project when I arrived and this smooth transition enabled me to enjoy working on personal projects outside of work. I am passionate about art and soon after arriving in Amman began preparing to participate in a month-long art residency at Darat al Funun, a dynamic art foundation in Jordan.

Darat al Funun is a well-known art institution in Amman that features modern art and cultural exhibitions mainly produced by artists from Jordan and the Arab world year-round. The Lab of Darat al Funun was started by the foundation to support the work of emerging artists. In 2019, the Lab is undergoing several residency and exhibition programs distributed into “Phases.” The residency I participated in was part of Phase II, which focused on diaspora narratives, raw materials, and conceptions of home.

During September, I worked by day and produced art by night on a busy, but rewarding schedule. The residency included communal cooking nights, movie screenings, reading circles, and excursions in Amman that related to its central themes and the projects of its participants. The program allowed me to become closer friends with many young artists in and outside Amman.

I was able to complete a collage project I began working on in the United States during this program. The project was an initiative to explore my Somali heritage in a creative way. I digitally brought together pictures, old documents, music, and videos that reflect Somali history and culture in the 20th and 21st centuries. I grew up in the Somali American diaspora and this project brought me closer to home in a number of senses while I was adjusting to life in Jordan.

The final exhibition for the projects produced in the Lab Phase II Residency program was held at the beginning of October. It was incredible to show my work alongside other participants in the Residency and share this experience with my friends and coworkers in Amman. The start of my fellowship in Jordan was a whirlwind, but after the exhibition I had the opportunity to reflect on all I had accomplished in and outside of work during these two first months.

I look forward to continuing working on this project and am currently working on a digital and print publication that matches the style and content of the pieces produced for the Darat residency.

Fellows' Reflections: Hannah Rosenwinkel

My Journey from the Midwest to the Middle East

Whether I’m meeting new friends at a local coffee shop, chatting with coworkers, or even trying trying to resolve a credit card issue over the phone, a question I’m commonly asked is “how did you end up in Jordan?” Expats in Jordan all have a different answer to this question, but given my previous work experience and geographic upbringing (Minnesota), it always seems like people are even more curious to hear my answer.

In college I studied both Global Studies (focus on the Middle East) and Supply Chain & Operations Management at the University of Minnesota (U of M), Twin Cities. During my time in school, I had the opportunity to study abroad in Amman, Jordan for a semester, where I fell in love with the people, culture and the region, and promised myself that I would return again one day to work and live. After debating whether to return to Amman immediately post-graduation or experience what it’s like to work at a large corporation, I decided to take a job in supply chain transportation at a large agriculture cooperative in Minnesota. I loved my experience there and learned more than I ever thought I would about transportation, but I knew that I still wanted to return to Amman sooner than later.

As of today, it’s been about five months since I moved to Amman to work for Bayt.com, the largest job website in the Middle East. At Bayt, I work in B2B e-commerce marketing, which is extremely different from my previous work in supply chain transportation. The work that I do ranges from implementing user experience design improvements on our employer website and sending email marketing campaigns to documenting processes and coding HTML. Even though this job is extremely different from my previous position in supply chain, I’m thankful for the skills I’ve learned at Bayt and in the marketing department.

So, to answer the question of how I ended up in Jordan, my answer is a combination of professional and personal reasons. Professionally, I wanted an international work experience that would combine my passions for business and the Middle East. I knew I wanted to get this experience as soon as I could in my career. Personally, I wanted to move to a place where I knew I could find community. Since I spent time in Amman during college, I was naturally drawn to Jordan.

Five months in, Amman is feeling like home. I have made local friends along with many expats, brushed up on my Arabic, joined a gym and found a yoga studio I love. I have been fortunate to have taken a few trips outside of the Jordan the past few months. On the last day of my most recent trip to Dubai, where I met up with a Minnesotan friend on a work trip, she asked her co-workers and I if we were ready to go home yet. For her co-workers, their home was obviously Minnesota. For me, the home I was returning to was Amman. In that moment, the thought that “Amman is home” was a realization and affirmation that I made the right decision moving from the Midwest to the Middle East.

I’m still working on my answer to “how did you end up in Jordan,” but for now, I feel blessed that I ended up here in Amman and can call it my home.

Fellows' Reflections: Lisa MacKenzie

After eight flights and three weeks in the States, I am back to my home in Amman. I’ve used the word “home” to describe four different places in the past month. Home is now my mother’s new apartment south of San Francisco. During the two weeks I visited, she was busy with work. I spent the days alone swimming, running, and eating absurd amounts of berries, asparagus, and Ben and Jerry’s ice cream (food items that are out of my price range in Amman). Last week, “home” was a cabin in Phippsburg, Maine with my father, step-mother, and dog. There was no running water, ticks and mosquitoes, an outhouse, and a shower bucket with water pressure worse than Amman showers. Home is also Underhill, Vermont, where I was raised. I spent less than a day passing through Underhill on this most recent trip, and I likely haven’t spent more than a week there in the past few years. Childhood friends have moved away, and we no longer own my childhood home. The fourth place I referred to as home in the past month is my shared apartment in Amman. It is surprising how attachment to place and people develops in 14 months. Even before the year as a MENAR fellow started, I did not plan on coming to Jordan and leaving exactly one year later. I am privileged and grateful to have such mobility and to consider these places home.

After my MENAR position with Bayt.com ended a few months ago, I began a summer position as a residential director to students on a U.S. State Department funded scholarship in Amman. The summer brought changes in my social life and schedule. Sometimes I woke up to run at six and sit in on student classes at nine. Other mornings I slept in to nearly noon after handling a host family or health issue late into the night. Having participated in similar State Department funded Arabic study programs as a high school and undergraduate student, it was special to continue involvement in this community. Without previous opportunities to live in Oman and Jordan on scholarships to study Arabic, I would not have applied to or received the MENAR fellowship, and I would not still be in this place I consider home.

The summer position has wrapped up, and I am entering another period of transition. While next steps are unclear, I will stay in Amman. I need a job. I will say goodbye to a close friend and two and a half roommates (one is a dog). I still need to continue paying off college loans, and despite being here for over a year, I still need to do simple things like buy a flat sheet that actually fits my bed. Amman really does feel like home, though. So much so that on this most recent to-and-from the States, I brought my comforter and pillow from my former childhood home. These items have traveled with me to and from Maine countless time, to California during my mother’s move, back to Maine and Vermont last week, and now to my bed in Amman. I’ve “nested.”

Fellows' Reflections: Eliza Davis

At 2:30am EST, after 15 months abroad and 24 hours of travel, I finally pressed the buzzer on my friend Sofie’s Brooklyn apartment. My baggage had been lost, I’d missed a flight and been transferred twice between airlines, and every form of public transit I’d taken from JFK had been delayed or broken down. I had slept no more than three hours, but somehow seeing Sofie I felt nothing but pure joy. She brought me upstairs and, more than little giddy, I exclaimed over seeing American outlets and being offered water straight from the tap. I’d eaten nothing but airplane food and a box of $7 sushi in London and was starving. “Have anything in the fridge,” offered Sofie. I opened the metal door and my jaw dropped: sliced bread! Goat cheese!

I plopped onto the sofa, carefully made up with bedding for my arrival, and sent a message to a friend in Amman; as I readied myself for sleep she was heading to work. How many times had I texted friends and family from Amman early in the morning as they sat down to dinner or brushed their teeth before bed? Now I was on the other side of the date line.

When I’d lived in Lebanon in 2017, I’d spent 11 months outside of the US, and while I had exalted over the ability to throw toilet paper directly in the toilet upon return, I hadn’t felt the shift so strongly. Maybe part of it was my lack of sleep, but this time coming home was different; I was a visitor. I had a plane ticket from JFK to Amman scheduled in three weeks when I would return to my “normal life.” I was seeing friends and family but with the knowledge that I did not live here and the next time I planned to visit was in a year. America was a vacation destination.

My MENAR fellowship had ended five days before my departure, on August 1st. I had decided to stay in Amman, at least for another year, so while I was saying goodbye to CRP and finishing my fellowship, I didn’t say goodbye to friends or the city. With the last month an absolutely whirlwind prepping everything at Hope Workshop for my departure, I hadn’t had the time or space to process what this year means to me and the fact that it has ended. Although I’d had my plane tickets booked for months, not until somewhere within my 24-hour journey did my trip to the US stopped feeling far off and abstract and the fact that I’d completed a year in Jordan begin to sink in.

Writing this, it is my first morning in Brooklyn. With my suitcase still lost somewhere in the bowels of the British Airways luggage system, I’m borrowing a sundress from Sofie—the ability to bare my shoulders and thighs a true luxury—and getting ready for a walk to Prospect Park. I have plans to go to a taco bar for happy hour and see a friend’s band playing in Queens; the amount of activity, the ease of public transit, the ability to get around walking still all feel weirdly foreign. I’m sure within a day or two I’ll be adjusted, and the traffic and cat calls of Amman will be rude awakening upon return. For the moment, however, I’m overjoyed to be enjoying a lunch with fresh corn tortillas.

Fellows' Reflections: Bryce Feibel

My fellowship at Bayt.com has officially come to an end. This past year has been filled with growth, challenges, and a whole lot of fun. Before coming to Jordan as a MENAR Fellow, I was working in a completely different industry and company back in Chicago, dreaming about moving back to the Middle East. There were times when I felt I had missed my opportunity to move back abroad. I was coming up on the two year mark at my job and I knew that if I didn’t make a change now, it would be even harder to do so in the future. I decided to apply for the MENAR fellowship and was lucky enough to be offered a spot at Bayt.com.

As one of MENAR’s older fellows, I was worried that I would feel a bit out of place since most of the other fellows were fresh out of college. This worry quickly faded once I met some of the other fellows. In fact, having a couple of years of work experience proved to be extremely beneficial in my new role as I felt I was able to contribute to the team from day one.

Fast-forward 12 months and I can safely say that leaving my corporate job and moving to Jordan was the best decision I’ve made. During my time at Bayt.com, I discovered a new career interest in digital marketing and product management. I have decided to stay in Jordan another year to continue my experience working abroad and learning Arabic. I can’t wait to see what another year in Jordan will have in store for me!

For those of you who feel you it’s too late or you’re too old to pack up and move abroad, you’re not. Living and working abroad is an experience like no other and will only add to your list of social and professional experiences. It’s never too late to make a change. Thank you, MENAR and Bayt.com for an incredible year!

Fellows' Reflections: Jessie Miller

Note: Jessie completed her MENAR fellowship during a gap year between college and medical school. In this post, she reflects on how the fellowship prepared her for medical school and beyond.

There are three stages to medical school applications. Primary applications get submitted sometime in early June, and they are made up of the MCAT (Medical College Admission Test), undergraduate grades, activity statements, and a personal statement. Secondary applications come next, between July and August. Since it is common to apply to anywhere between 10 and 20 schools, and each school has multiple essays, secondary applications require anywhere from 40-80 essays to be written. Finally, after schools have received all of the information in primary and secondary applications, they make a decision on whether or not to offer candidates an interview.

If only deciding to pursue a career in medicine were as easy to break down into three neat stages….

I applied to MENAR in October of 2017, while I was feeling enormously burned out by studying for the MCAT. Overwhelmed by the pressure of a test that seemed to dictate my future, I was second-guessing if I was even cut out for a career in medicine. I pushed through and finished a dozen seven-hour practice tests before taking my test, which I got to forget about after January. A few weeks before my graduation, I accepted my position as a MENAR fellow, knowing that I wanted a year to reexamine my purpose for going into medicine. Though I had checked all the boxes required of medical school applicants and completed all the testing needed to apply, I was not ready to embark on the career path that had consumed me for the previous four years.

Spoiler alert: I’ve made the decision to commit. I am smack-dab in the middle of all those secondary application essays that I mentioned above, and I have been writing them from Jordan.

My year working with Collateral Repair Project (CRP) has reconnected me with my motivations for studying medicine by allowing me to gain some perspective and space. I have been afforded the opportunity to live simply in the past year, released from the pressure of thesis due dates and minimal sleep. When I need groceries, I trek down to the open-air market and buy produce from a vegetable stand and chicken from a butcher. I take the time to walk my dog in the morning and go to the gym after work. My job has very little to do with healthcare, and I relish the mental break.

Taking a break from academia and the competitive culture of being a premedical student has allowed me to ask myself if I am still interested in medicine from an unclouded perspective. I have noted that I am acutely interested in tasks and programs surrounding first aid, menstrual health, and nutrition. Furthermore, I am invested in the health challenges of coworkers and beneficiaries at the CRP center and inclined to understand more about health resources available to refugees in Jordan. These parts of my job remind me that I started pursuing a career in medicine as an undergraduate because I am interested in the wellness of other human beings.

As I look forward to returning to the U.S. in September and hopefully interviewing at medical schools, I know that my year working at CRP will play a pivotal role in reminding me why my future career is so important to me. CRP as an organization seeks to provide individuals who fled their country with a community in Amman, Jordan. The programs offered at the center equip beneficiaries with the resources and knowledge they need to move forward with their lives. In combining my passion for health with my interests in refugee rights, I hope to do the same as a physician some day. I want my career as a physician to entail fighting for others’ chances to live fulfilling lives. I want my future patients, and the communities they belong to, to have the same opportunities to pursue careers, raise their children, and find happiness, that any other individual should be afforded. I have MENAR and CRP to thank for reminding me of those goals.

Fellows' Reflections: Bryce Feibel

Before deciding to move back to Jordan, I was afraid of falling into a monotonous routine in Chicago. For me, a routine represented settling for the ordinary and forgoing adventure, so I made sure that every week contained something different. This notion changed when I got to Jordan. Instead of avoiding routine, I found myself wanting some sort of consistency since everything was so new. Since I arrived in Amman in the middle of Ramadan, it took a while to establish any sort of routine, since stores and restaurants weren’t open at normal times.

It took me around four months to establish a routine I enjoy and feel comfortable with. I live in Weibdeh, which is a cute little neighborhood with tons of cafes and restaurants. Every week I go to the local grocery store where I’ve established friendly relationships with the workers and purchase my groceries for the week. I found a gym I enjoy going to and have made friends with some of my fellow gym goers (pro tip: find a gym with nice showers so that you can save water at your apartment). I also started taking private Arabic tutoring classes 1-2 times a week. Having a few consistent weekly activities has helped me feel more settled in Amman. Jordan finally feels like home, as opposed to a temporary situation.

Although I’ve created a routine that I like, I make sure to leave some time for the unknown. I am still making friends (the expat community is very transient so people are always coming and going) and there is still so much of Jordan I have yet to explore. I have taken advantage of Jordan’s proximity to Europe and the rest of the MENA region and have traveled quite a bit this year. It’s amazing being a quick flight away to countries that have been on my bucket list for years. By the end of my fellowship, I will have traveled to five new countries: Egypt, Poland, Czech Republic, Oman, and Lebanon. Having a routine is nice, but allowing some things to be spur of the moment keeps life exciting.

Fellows' Reflections: Lilly Crown

Rafael the Pet Tree, the Trash Cats, and Other Signs of Home

Before embarking on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the most common advice I received from friends, family, and colleagues was to “make the most of it.” When I tried to apply that recommendation into my daily life, however, it felt like an obligation: I should be going to events, building my professional network, continuing to study Arabic, learning new hobbies, hanging out with Jordanians, reading the news, cooking local foods, exploring new places, and any otherwise “productive” ways to fill every moment of time outside of work.

However, five months into the fellowship, I’ve found myself spending a lot of my free time watching TV, beautifying my apartment, and just… being. On the surface, maybe that seems as though I’m not successfully "making the most" of my time here. Working at CRP is meaningful and rewarding, but between all of my various responsibilities, there’s rarely a calm moment.

After work, I walk down the hill to my building, say hello to the kittens playing in the dumpster, water my plants, and settle down on the couch with some tea and my knitting. In that routine, I put all of the day’s stresses to rest. I create a space where I’m able to approach the next day renewed and energized.

Practicing self-care helps me in the day-to-day so that I can be the best version of myself during and after work. What I’ve been reminded of in the past week particularly is that having this secure space is also a tool for when I feel overwhelmed by events beyond my control. A few days ago, President Trump decided to relocate the U.S. Embassy to Jerusalem, a decision that outraged many Jordanians. Protests erupted across the country, and I began to see videos taken only a few kilometers from where I live with protestors chanting anti-American slogans and burning the American flag. After dedicating so much time finding my place in Jordanian culture and society, it was a hard reminder that my own nationality was a lot of baggage to bring into a country still struggling to assimilate hundreds of thousands of Palestinian refugees. Those protests -– and the decision that led to them -– were upsetting, but they were also outside of my control. My oasis of calm gave me space to reflect on the unrest without being consumed by it.

“Make the most of it” isn’t bad advice for someone taking on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My work at CRP has been a deeply rewarding experience so far, and I know I am making a positive difference in the lives of refugees who have all too few opportunities to grow. But that work involves knowing my limits, and part of this experience has been learning what those are. Sometimes, making the most of it involves knowing when to step back, sit down, and be at home.

Fellows' Reflections: Jessie Wyatt

The theme of the summer, and my time so far at Reclaim Childhood, has been the song Jeno Noto. If you haven't heard this song yet, it's a song popular among all our participants and its dance involves quietly gathering in the middle and then jumping up and screaming. The song at its essence is a unifier. Just as the song involves both moments of quiet gathering and pure chaos, so too has my time with Reclaim Childhood. In our quiet moments, we gather as staff and coaches and discuss topics ranging from our hopes and dreams and our lives as women to how we wax our legs and our favorite foods. Just as Jeno Noto instructs, we take the quiet moments to gather back to the middle, recenter and continue to build one unified force of diverse, powerful women with different perspectives and different ideas. 

In our chaotic moments, we navigate screaming girls, water balloons, late bus drivers, and wild dancing to both Jeno Noto and the Cupid Shuffle. It is in these moments, as we're screaming, running, dancing, and laughing that we renew our energy, drive forward together, and take inspiration from the girls around us. 

I have found that a necessary balance has been created that makes each moment, quiet or chaotic, all the more special. This past week, we finished Coach Clinic -- a week-long program where we focus on solidifying our sports skills and continuing to be intentional about the safe environment we foster for our participants. Coach Clinic is a perfect example of how to strike a balance between quiet and chaos. In the mornings, we run around the gym, get a little too competitive, scream, laugh, and fight down to the last point. In the afternoons, we transition into community conversations about our program. Both the chaos of the morning and the quiet of the afternoon are necessary to making Reclaim Childhood the program that it is today. 

As I move forward with my time here, I'm looking forward to both the quiet and the chaos. I'm lucky to be surrounded by a strong community that, in our more serious discussions, forces me to be more thoughtful, more passionate, more intentional, and more aware of my surroundings. In our wild moments, we embrace the sweet chaos of spontaneous hikes, accepting an offer for tea, and the ever-honking horns of taxis. I'm confident that both the moments that I experience actively and passively will continue to provide more opportunities for growth, awareness, and fun. Looking forward to the coming year!