A Place Where I Belong

It is strange how there are certain conversations in one’s life that get engraved in the mind, forever remembering the words said and the meanings they held. It is also funny - at least in my case - when I realise that these conversations range from very emotional and fundamental, such as those I had as a child with my late father, to conversations as trivial as how to make the best omelette (a 90 minute call with my friend via landline). Nonetheless, in that wide spectrum of meaningless and meaningful conversations, one stands out and rings true every day of my life. 

At the age of 18, I moved to Irbid (a city north of Jordan) to undertake my bachelor’s degree, and it was an absolutely eye opening experience. I came from a very small social circle in Amman where everyone knew everyone else, and everyone more or less belonged to the same social and economic class, and shared the same values. My move to Irbid exposed me to all sorts of people from the different walks of life, and I realised that the values that I had once considered as “common” were in reality almost nonexistent, and that the community I thought I belonged to was nothing but a protected bubble that had burst colossally in my face during the first week at university. In short, I was as na?ve as it got.

Little by little I started to observe others, noticing how their upbringing was different than mine, how we had different ambitions and aspirations, how our lifestyles were different, and more importantly, how intolerant everyone was to those differences, which really made me scratch my head hard on many occasions. And then one day, that infamous conversation happened. I was passionately defending Arab nationalism to a friend of mine, chanting the patriotic call of “we, as Arabs, should rise and develop into a powerful leading nation”. My friend responded with a series of simple questions: “What if the Sykes–Picot agreement carved up Jordan’s borders differently? Or what if when the borders where drawn, your current hometown was allotted to a different country? Would that make your feelings of belonging or loyalties change?” Then he elaborated: “I belong to my hometown of Hama, this is where I grew up, this is where my family and friends are, and this is where I wish to stay”.

Agree or not, my friend had a point. What he was trying to say is that he belongs to a certain community that shares common values and a common way of life. But it didn’t really sink in with me, and the days went by, and I graduated, worked, travelled, married my university sweetheart, had two beautiful daughters, and officially joined the rat-race, running in that revolving wheel and surviving day by day. In order to afford good housing, decent education, reliable healthcare, and other essentials, I had to work very hard, travelling 4 to 5 days a week on weekly basis for more than 7 years, missing many birthdays, anniversaries, celebrations, and priceless moments with the family that will never come back, but it was a necessity.

In the midst of this hustle and bustle, the critic pops up with his predictable question: “Why are you wasting your good years working away from your family and loved ones? Is money worth this hectic and lonely lifestyle?” I usually brush off the criticism, but the accusations hurt nonetheless. Naturally, the critic is followed by the immigration enthusiast: “Why don’t you consider moving to Canada or Australia?” As if that genius idea never crossed my mind! However, it was during one of those discussions that I had an important revelation: all along, I thought people wanted to immigrate in pursuit of a better standard of living, a better future for their children, and to be part of a like-minded community. However, I was proven wrong; the motives were often limited to acquiring the glorified western passport, no more!

I say it was a revelation because it was pivotal to how I imagine my picture-perfect life looks like. To put things into perspective, I must say that I am a fourth generation Jordanian: I descend from Circassian roots, and I am half Lebanese. I consider Amman my hometown, and I have nothing but utmost respect and pride of my Jordanian heritage and its diversity. However, this diversity coupled with my social experiences led to some sort of identity crisis: Am I Jordanian? Am I Ammani? Where do I belong? Those questions remain valid wherever I choose to live, in Jordan or elsewhere, and from that point I discovered that the only way to achieve ultimate self-fulfilment and content is to be part of a community of which I genuinely feel that I belong to.

Hence I started forming my personal version of the Jordanian dream, imagining how my picture-perfect life would look like. After long episodes of daydreaming and envisioning, I have concluded that my dream would only become a reality should certain elements exist in my country. These are: a supportive community, a reliable welfare system, and solid opportunities, each complementing the other.

I give priority to the community element because in my opinion it is the building block of any nation. It is where each individual takes ownership and responsibility for his or her part towards the others, and where change originates.

It is understandable that no single community can be totally homogeneous; however, there are certain principal values that should be unanimously accepted and adopted, such as tolerance, mutual respect, integrity, social responsibility, and the desire to give back and contribute for the greater good. Jordanians in their nature are kind and welcoming people, a fact that every visitor to Jordan praised and repeatedly confirmed. Nonetheless, there are certain destructive behaviours that overshadow this kind nature and diminishes the good qualities of the Jordanian people.

I recall a story when I wanted to set camp on the public beach of Aqaba to spend the day with a couple of friends.  Upon arrival, we couldn’t find a single square meter clean enough to set up our tent safely. The beach was littered with all sorts of garbage bags, empty cans and bottles, that we decided after the four hour road trip to pack our stuff again and head back to Amman for another four-hour journey. The same scenario is repeated when I go with my daughter to a public park: sandpits are full of empty juice boxes and cigarette butts, the swings and slides are either broken or in a miserable condition, and the overall experience never meets the minimum expectations of a safe space for children to have fun and spend a day in the sun, and so, back to the boxed homes and video games.

I would love to spend the day walking around the town centre with my wife, shopping in the street markets, and enjoying a meal or a short coffee break in a nice café on the pavement overlooking the swarming crowds just like you’d find in any given European city. However, the continuous gazing and catcalling, the littering, and drain water on the pavements makes that activity impossible to enjoy. So back to the fancy overpriced restaurants and “niche” cafés.

One would assume that with proper urban planning, practical public transportation, and ample public parks the problem would go away. Yet, all those would not protect from the deep-rooted vandalism culture and disrespect or indifference towards the others’ wishes for peaceful living. My only consolation and reason for perseverance is the broken windows theory: in short and simple words, you know how when you are done eating a greasy bag of chips you can’t wait to get rid of it, well if you were walking down a spotless street, you’d probably hold on to that bag until you find a waste basket. However, if you were walking down a filthy and littered street, the chances of you promptly throwing that greasy stain hazard of a bag on the ground will increase considerably, because how’s an extra bag on the ground going to make any difference?

These phenomena of destructive social behaviour extend to the welfare element, and with that I shift the focus towards the government and its responsibility to provide decent education, healthcare, and public infrastructure that allows every individual in the community an equal opportunity to evolve into a productive member that contributes to the development of the nation. I am aware that Jordan currently offers the previously mentioned services, however, those are considered only when faced with the lack of alternatives, i.e. the impossibility to afford the hefty costs of private schools, private healthcare, and private means of transportation.

Reliable welfare in my understanding is when a family can live comfortably on low income, not having to work 80 hours a week just to afford decent education and healthcare. Of course, it is everyone’s choice to work more, earn more money, and spend it on the luxuries of life, but when the motive is to simply afford the basics of life, then it is not really a choice but more of an obligation. Those, for me, are basic human rights that should be guaranteed by the state.

This is where the “bad apples” mainly start piling in the community (of course bad apples are not exclusive to the underprivileged class, and can be observed across all classes). But without proper welfare provided by the state, parents will rarely find the time for instilling the healthy and principal values in their children, and schools wouldn’t be enabled to do so either. It takes a village to raise a child, but what happens to the child if everyone in the village was busy making ends meet?

However, a reliable welfare system as described above comes with a hefty price tag, and this is where the opportunity element comes at play. Considering all the resources in Jordan and its geopolitical location, the Jordanian economy can most certainly grow to become one of the region’s largest, and accordingly, it would be able to support the existence of such a welfare system. Jordan has an abundance of talented and educated manpower; it has all the logistical enablers, sufficient consumer demand, both domestically and internationally, and can certainly transform into a commercial hub and an incubator for regional businesses. However, my observation is that our governments (one after the other) have been in a continuous firefighting mode trying to survive from year to year with nearly nonexistent long term planning or an envisioned future for the country.

I will not dwell on the development needs of the Jordanian economy, however, what I know for certain is that for an entrepreneur to confidently invest in Jordan, he or she would need the right factors to be in place: ease of doing business through clear and comprehensive laws and regulations, an efficient and just legal system that preserves that rights of everyone equally, a market that is stable and does not change based on the whims of policy makers, and finally access to a talented and capable labour force. You do the math!

With those three elements in place, I imagine myself working in a meaningful job that I’m passionate about, with reasonable work-life balance necessary for proper upbringing of my children and preservation of a healthy and happy relationship with my spouse. I imagine living in a city where I can simply move around using public transportation, where I can enjoy a walk around town, where I can perform outdoor sports and recreational activities, and where I can appreciate the beauty of Jordan’s nature and unparalleled climate safely. Most importantly, I imagine resting my head on the pillow confident that whatever may happen, the future of my daughters is in safe hands, the hands of a community that would support them with all the means possible to grow and become the excellent members of society that I wish them to be.

That is my Jordanian dream… a place where I belong.