Dinusha’s digs

Again, sorry for the delay in updating. I’m going to try to be better about this from now on.

On Friday, Dinusha invited Jacqui and me to lunch at her family’s apartment. She and Kumar came by around noon, and we took a taxi over to Jabal Amman (I think), where her family lives. We were greeted by her mother, her sister and brother, and sundry cousins–Kumar isn’t related to them, but he’s a close friend.

Now, Dinusha’s family lives in a tiny, low-ceilinged, two-room basement apartment on a slummy street . Their bathroom consists of a curtained-off corner with a bucket and a hole in the floor. For all that they don’t have, however, their house pride would put anyone to shame: the apartment was lovingly decorated and spotlessly clean.

Maid in Amman

(Apologies to all my fans for the delay in updating–I’ve been so busy accumulating material that I’ve had no time to write any of it down. I’ll try to be more vigilant in posting regularly, but for this week, at least, you’re getting a week in review.)

Now, for those of you who like to think that indentured servitude is a relic of a less enlightened past, I have some bad news: here in Jordan, it is alive and well. Amman is host to large communities of domestic servants imported from poorer countries to the east–particularly, Sri Lanka, Indonesia, and the Philippines. These workers, mostly young women, are brought here under the care of sponsors, who employ them, pay them at their discretion, and hold their passports to prevent them from fleeing the country. While some of these workers, like Hilda’s Indonesian housekeeper, are treated decently and paid a living wage, again, they are the exception, not the rule. For example, Rani, the young Indonesian woman who is employed by Jacqui’s landlady as her housekeeper and as caretaker of the building, has not been paid in three years. She is currently trying to get out of the country, but in order to do so, she must get a new passport.

Interviewed

Today, I went down to NYIT to meet with Melissa Bos, the director of the English Language Institute. This, like all things, was to be an adventure. Again, on a gut feeling, I pocketed my passport, and again it was necessary (Jacqui advised me later that it’s probably best if I keep it on me wherever I go).

Books@Cafe

Friday morning, Jacqui, Walid and I went in Walid’s jeep to visit Hilda at her studio, which just so happens to be right next door to the Israeli embassy, which just so happens to mean that Hilda and her family live in a perpetual state of sustained anxiety.

(It also means that you can’t take any pictures of her street without having your camera confiscated and perhaps also having yourself subjected to some Krav Maga, which I’m to understand is quite effective, so although her house is quite nice inside and out, if I do happen to post pictures of it, please don’t expect any exteriors.)