Ramadan 1433 - English Homework in Petra

This past January, while visiting Jordan to create our first Scholarship of Teaching and Learning Academy, I took my two American friends (Rachel and Shirley) on a one day whirlwind tour of the country. We covered 500 miles that day, stopping in Petra, Aqabah, and the Dead Sea. It was during that brief stop in Petra that I had a very lovely encounter with a young Nabataean girl over a table of trinkets and an English exercise book.

I had been to Petra several times before, and had been there in the winter - but nothing prepared me for how cold it would be on this trip. When we arrived at the park gate, we hired a horse and carriage for the two ladies, as it was far too cold for them to walk the several mile trek to and from the valley. Shirley and Rachel bundled up, and they were off. I decided to walk, briskly, down to the bottom of the valley and back for some exercise, and maybe even to exorcise a few ghosts I had acquired at the place. It was a very cold process.

I reached the bottom of the central corridor of Petra and met the ladies for lunch at a swanky little hotel restaurant. When they had warmed up a bit, they went out and found their chariot to make their way back to the entrance, and I decided to redouble my pace back up the valley for some overdue cardio work. As I motored past the souvenir tents near the amphitheater, I noticed a lone young girl sitting behind a small table covered in the ubiquitous discounted treasures of this newest seven wonders of the ancient world. She was huddled in the corner of the shelter, hunched over a worn exercise book. I stopped abruptly in front of her and she offered me a pretty but very shy smile. She stood up and waited for me to indicate some interest in her wares, and I knew she was not the regular sales person, probably the daughter or granddaughter of the proprietor. I asked her a question about a necklace, and learned she had very little English. I asked her the price in Arabic and paid it. She wrapped the necklace carefully in some paper and handed it to me demurely. I started to turn to leave when I caught a glimpse of her open notebook. She had been practicing basic letters in that cold corner of her tent, and there were rows and rows of carefully printed q's followed by a new line of r's that weren't quite right.

I smiled at her and asked her in Arabic if she was working on her homework. She nodded enthusiastically and I asked her if i could see it. She turned and grabbed the notebook and proudly handed it across the table to me. I gestured if I could come around behind and look at it with her and she smiled.  I knelt down behind the table and placed the exercise book in front of her. She looked keenly down, delighted in the interest I was showing her.  I pointed to the misconstructed r's and asked her what letter it was. "ERRR" was her response, "mumtaz" was mine - she smiled even more broadly. I said excuse me, and asked her for the small stub of a pencil she had been working with. I pointed at the letters and then printed one correct r beside them. She got very excited and grabbed the pencil from my hand and hurriedly began to create a perfect line of r's across the page. I was having a great time and would have stayed longer (there were no tourists about on this frigid morning anyway), but I needed to get back up to meet my friends to continue our odyssey.  I stood up and smiled at her as she was launching into her second line, and she gave me one more beautiful smile for my efforts before scrunching up her face and squeezing her tongue out of the corner of her lips as she returned to her work. I bounded up the hill, and made my way back to my friends. I had vanquished any ghosts I had carried into the place that morning, and my heart was light and free as I emerged from that ancient, magical wadi.

I know I am often brusque, aggressive, and even obnoxious at times. But I do love my intrusive gifts, and they have served me very well across the many cultures I have traversed. I am a teacher, and there is always a sacred suspension of protocol when I come upon someone studying or reading something. I lean in, show interest, and any query or subvention I offer is almost always welcomed, in any place, in any context. I love this gift Allah has given me, this ability to step past all the nonsense we have created in a dozen millennia, to forge a beautiful albeit temporary communion with another human being over a discrete dimension of their dreams. Education is not a dream, but the exchange within it is elegant and it is honest. In that brief intersection, I put my footprint into their path to their dreams, and it cleanses my soul.