The picture you see here is one snapshot of many I collected during time in the beautiful Jordanian city known as salt. It was the first capital of this country, and it definitely has an atmosphere of diversity and importance associated with centers of government and commerce. The city is centuries old and as we walked down the narrow streets, we saw the stories of war, preservative progress, and traditionalism unfold before our very eyes. Its street weren't exactly designed to accommodate the busy traffic of cars, buses, and trucks, but rather than tear down, redesign, and rebuild, this city has evolved from within. Its body has been faithfully preserved while its soul has rapidly changed with the advent of capitalism and industrialization. Its buildings are now simple holding vessels for the modernizing people and businesses they house. Many people on my program have been in desperate search of "cultural authenticity" and when we arrived in Salt, they were sure they had found it. Here we did indeed find the impossibly cramped streets, flanked on either side by the stereotypically Arab vivacity we see in movies. There were old women in hijabs tirelessly peeling vegetables, men bellowing out prices, store fronts blocked with burlap forts of spices and herbs, and of course, the wide-eyed Americans who wander with frenzied confusion. However, while these images are indeed representative of some of what Salt's streets had to offer, there were also some relatively unexpected items featured quite prominently in store front walkways:
Yes indeed. This is a bra that says "I love you." Almost surely a seasonal item displayed around mid-February. Perhaps, like my friends, the items that stuck out in my mind did so because I was looking for them. Nevertheless, finding brightly colored women's undergarments sprawled out on a city street in a country where the children's book version of the Little Mermaid depicts the floundering sea woman with a long sleeved pink shirt (perhaps her shell bra is underneath?), is slightly remarkable.
When I got back home after this long but all-too-short day, I looked back over my pictures and discovered that I had taken almost 200. Not too surprising given the fact that I went through two sets of batteries, but as I looked through these images, I started deleting. Not only because I had taken bad ones or multiple shots of the same thing, but more so because I realized what I voyeur I was, indeed what voyeurs several of us were. I took several of those over 100 photos of people, either because they looked different, were doing interesting things, or both. Yet at the end of the day I realized, they were just living their lives. I had no more right or privilege to capture a snapshot of their everyday experiences than anyone else had to take pictures of me as I type this post. So, I deleted every picture of a person that I took without permission or consent, every moment of someone's day that I stole, every difference I egregiously fetishized.
Of course, there were some shots that I wish I could have kept, or had asked for consent before hand, but then I think that asking for such consent would have tainted the "authenticity" of the image. Those oh so fragile and virginal moments may have been drastically transformed into wholly different moments: moments of subtle, questionable exploitation instead of "pure" joy or despair. It's ok though. I still kept pictures like this:
warning: what follows includes harsh but relatively humorous use of profanity that I thought best to reproduce faithfully.
This glorious day finished with another amazing moment that I unfortunately couldn't capture visually. As I was reviewing the pics, sitting blankly and thinking hard about the implications of uploading these images to facebook, in comes baabaa. Clearly pained by something intense, I ask "Are you ok?"
Grimacing, he says, "Ahh I have headache!"
"Oh no! I'm sorry," I sympathetically reply.
"Mother fuckers headaches!...." he scoffs! Then, unsure he looks to me, "Mother fuckers or fucker mothers?"
"Mother fucker...," I hesitantly reply, fiercely trying not to reveal my simultaneous shock and nearly uncontrollable laughter.
"Ah yes, I thought so. Mother fucker!.....Well, good night."
Yes, a good night indeed.
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