In preparation for my travels to the Badia, I, along with several others in my SIT cohort, thought it fit to buy an assortment of traditional wear so that we could compound our obvious otherness with an awkward attempt to fit in aesthetically. Of course, I say we, but what I really mean is them: in one of my Arabic classes, Miss Khulood, who by the way is one of God's most noble, compassionate, and sweet creations, brought in a whole mess of Jordanian accessories, everything from hijabs to kufias, and volunteered me to be one of her models. She called me up, sat me down, and commenced to demonstrating the ins and outs of kufia wearing with the aid of my eager crown.
She pulls out the kufia, a beautifully woven product of hours of labor, the colors red and white intricately walzing in sharp angles and clever lines, a symbol of Jordanian nationalism. She flaps it out, folds it, and lets it fall onto my head. Instantly, I see the faces of the class sitting in front me change, as I changed. While seconds before I had been an idle brown boy sitting before them, Miss Khulood's kufia had turned me into a young sheikh, reclining in a throne of majesty and mystique. Of course, they all said, "Oh em gee! You look so Arab!" I checked the mirror. They were right I guess. Although, I still could've just as easily been a Mexican in a kufia. Either way, I thought reproducing this contrived authenticity would be fun, and I would have leftover souvenirs, so on a kufia run I went.
There are two types of kufia one sees most commonly in Jordan. The most common is the Jordanian kufia, the red and white masterpiece Miss Khulood let me wear. The second looks slightly similar in design, but is vastly different in color, politics, and meaning. It is the Palestinian kufia: it is black and white and it represents solidarity and struggle. You might remember seeing it:
Of course, the lovely Rachel Ray isn't actually sporting a kufia. It's just a black and white scarf that evoked images of Yasser Arafat (so much so that Dunkin Donuts decided to pull the ad). Anyhow, I went out and got two. One is black and white and the other is Jordanian. As I've worn them and seen them being worn, I've come to the conclusion that there isn't a more versatile or practical article of clothing around (aside from, of course, the button-bum pajama). It's both warm and breezy, pretty and meaningful. It can protect your mouth and nose from breathing in unwanted dusty air while it simultaneously conceals your identity. Needless to say I love it.
I'm going to be heading out into the Badia tomorrow. 5 days and 4 nights of roughing it with people who define the meaning of the word rough. Catching a brief insight into what the Arab brand of the simple life is. Or of course, my preconceived notions could be jarringly ripped from me when I walk into a house that has satellite tv, hot water, and a playstation. But that remains to be seen.
My new homestay father has a flock of sheep. I can't wait. Herd or be herded, these are the options of life.
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