عجلون

So, you hop on a bus an hour after class on Thursday. In order to get on the bus you wait outside with families, students, and suckling infants at an airport like bus station for the bus to “Ajloun” to arrive. As soon as the words “اربد” and “عجلون” appear on the side of a bus, the crowd runs to it, bags and babies in tow. You miss that one. You weren’t ready for a Beatlemania rush like that. You are ready now to run and push. The next bus pulls in quickly after the first one. Jogging to the side doors you knock over a woman’s suitcase. Who cares. You jump in the first open seat along with half of your group. The other half didn’t make it. There is a direct contrast of the peace filled bus to the pandemonium outside. Once each seat is filled the remaining mob files sadly out, defeated. Forty-five minutes to Ajloun, home of one of the most well-preserved Classical Arab castles in the world, the birthplace of Elijah, and a wildlife reserve complete with hyenas, foxes, wolves, jackals, and your bed: in a treehouse. 

“Success,” you think, upon getting out of the bus in Ajloun, on a crowded street, next to a classical outdoor fruit market complete with beggars and hagglers. You unfortunately do not take advantage of the extremely photogenic subjects in and around the colorful market. Oh well. You can see the castle on top of the hill above the market. This is your focus, your mission, to get there. You hail a taxi. The driver is named Fakhri, he speaks very little English, but you miraculously understand most of his colloquial Arabic. He takes you to the castle for 2 JD, which (at the time) seemed like a fair price. Upon arrival to the castle, he leaves his phone number for you, because he knows the exact location of the nature preserve. The castle is beautiful, 0.25 JD for entrance fees and the ability to explore at your own leisure. You tour the castle, stopping to take a few self portraits. Time is up, the rest of the group has found you and it is time for dinner. Fakhri recommends a local joint that isn’t bad, although perhaps a bit overpriced. 

After dinner, Fakhri drives you to the wildlife preserve where, to your dismay, all of the beds have been booked. No hyenas/wolves/foxes for you. The owner calls a friend who has several tents “for cheaper”. The taxis take you there. This is the definition of rural. The taxis’ tires slip on the dirt on the uphill climb to the camp. A man in white robes and a foot long beard greets the taxis. The sunset behind him outlines his chubby figure. You walk with him as he shows you the camp on the summit of the hill. You can see “Palestine” along the sunset, and Syria to the north of that. Maybe this is better than the nature preserve. Then you see the tents, large and white with three mattresses on the inside. Like a mixture of Philmont and the United Arab Emirates. You sit with the rest of the group drinking minty tea on a rocky outcrop overlooking the Jordan River Valley in the distance and a small town below you. 

You and the seven others from your group sit with one of the sons of the owner. There are nine of you. Like the Fellowship of the Ring. So, naturally you choose from among yourselves who is who from the story. You are Boromir, Gideon is Gimli, Chase is Gandalf, Peyton is Aragorn, the silent Arab kid is Legolas, and the other four are the hobbits. 

You set your alarm for 5 am. You are not going to miss the sunrise in the morning. You talk to some Syrians at the camp from Daraa. Difficult. You wake up, wide awake, after a night of little sleep thanks to the gunshots and barking dogs. You go to the other side of the mountain and film your own version of Sunrise Earth, except in rural Jordan. Sweet vid. 

You get a chance to go off alone and sit on top of a cliff and look over the valley. Just miles from this place, within sight, you realize, was where God chose to walk the earth. He came to experience our hardship so that we could relate to him. He didn’t choose the soft soil of Ireland, or the temperate forests of North America. He chose the land that is harsh, difficult, dusty, thorny and filled with flies. He didn’t come to lead a cushy life. He was poor and walked in the time before paved roads and comforts. The ground, you notice, is covered with rocks. The dirt in between the rocks gives way to thorny plants and sharp grass. Everything is dry. Everything is hilly, there is barely any flat land. If sin was translated to earth, this would almost be it.  

You eat a breakfast of bread, honey, tea, and coffee. Fakhri takes you back to the bus station, that is empty on Fridays. Convenient for Fakhri, who now gets to take you all the way back to Irbid for 20 JD. Back in Irbid, you type a second-person, present tense narrative about your past 24 hours.