Dalya Cohen-Mor - Out of Jordan: A Sabra in the Peace Corps Tells Her Story

Copyright 2015 by Dalya Cohen-Mor

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Leah Naor, Sof ze tamid hatkhala. Written in 1977; Carousel (Tel Aviv: Masada, 1980). This is a literal translation from Hebrew.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available on file.

Cover design by Brian Peterson

Print ISBN: 978-1-63450-425-6

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-5107-0037-6

Printed in the United States of America

AUTHORS NOTE

This is a work of nonfiction. All the events, encounters, and conversations described here are true and have been faithfully rendered as I have remembered them. The name of the village where I stayed, as well as the names of my two host families and their individual members, have been changed to protect their privacy and anonymity. For the same reason, the names of village school principals and faculty members at Muta University have been changed. All other names of individuals and places have remained intact.

Also by the author

A Matter of Fate

Arab Women Writers: An Anthology of Short Stories

Mothers and Daughters in Arab Womens Literature:

The Family Frontier

Fathers and Sons in the Arab Middle East

In loving memory of my brother, Shimon Aviad,

and his daughter, Inbal

CONTENTS

Whatever happens to you belongs to you. Make it yours. Feed it to yourself even if it feels impossible to swallow. Let it nurture you, because it will.

Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things

I. PROLOGUE

IN THE EARLY MORNING OF CHRISTMAS EVE 2011, PARIS CHARLES De Gaulle Airport was mercifully not yet crowded with travelers. I heaved a sigh of relief as I dragged my weary body through the empty halls of the terminal to my departure gate. The first leg of my grueling trip from Jordan back to the United States was already behind me. The midnight flight with Royal Jordanian from Amman to Paris was shortonly four and a half hoursbut exhausting. Packed with holidaymakers, the cabin was hot, noisy, and cramped. I didnt sleep a wink and had a throbbing headache. I looked at the time. It was 5:00 a.m. I had a long layovermy connecting flight to Washington Dulles International Airport was scheduled to leave at 12:40 p.m. I wished I could lie down somewhere and close my eyes. Two nights in a row without sleep were beyond my power of endurance. Luckily, I didnt have to change terminals or transfer my bags, which were checked right through to my final destination.

I pulled my heavy carry-on bag behind me and followed the signs to my departure gate. I arrived there to find a deserted loungethere wasnt a soul to be seen. Rows of empty metal chairs with hard seats and fixed arms met my gaze. With more than a six-hour wait ahead of me, I was desperate to crash out somewhere. I spotted a row of three armless chairs in a secluded corner of the lounge. I went over and lay across the narrow seats, hoping to grab some sleep. With my crumpled clothes, disheveled hair, and limp body squeezed into the confines of the metal chairs, I looked like a homeless person. In many ways, I felt like a homeless person, uprooted, forsaken, and lost.

How did I end up here, in this strange predicament, a woman of my age and stature? My head was dizzy from persistent, agonizing questions: Why? Why? Was this a blessing in disguise? Would I have been jailed or killed if I had remained in Jordan? I wanted to escape into sleep, to forget for a little while everything that had happened to me, but memories of the past few months flooded over me, throwing me into a vortex of emotions. My eyes were closed but my mind was racing through the events that had brought me here, revisiting all the scenes, incidents, and encounters, hoping against hope to make sense of it alland find clarity.

2. LIFE IS CALLING

IT ALL BEGAN ON THE MORNING OF APRIL 16, 2010, WHEN I attended the Employment Expo at the Marriott Conference Center in Bethesda, Maryland. The day before I had finished the final revision of my manuscript on motherdaughter relationships in Arab families and mailed it to my publisher. Now I felt free and eager to embark on a new activity, something other than writing. Writing is such a lonely occupation. I wanted a job that would take me out of my little study and give me the opportunity to meet new people and expand my horizons.

When I arrived at the Marriott Conference Center, the grand foyer was already crowded with men and women aged between forty and seventy, all job seekers. After an opening ceremony by various dignitaries who gave long and tedious speeches, we were ushered into a big ballroom to meet the employment recruiters. We roamed between rows of tables and booths staffed by representatives of dozens of companies and organizations who were collecting resumes and handing out brochures, registration forms, and business cards. Among the prospective employers were area banks, retail stores, hotels, the Food and Drug Administration, the National Institutes of Health, public schools, and various volunteer agencies. I moved slowly from table to table, making inquiries and gathering information. Nothing that I saw was in my area of interest or training. I was either overqualified or not competitive enough for most of the jobs. Still, I continued to stop by every booth, eager to find out what was available. Suddenly, I found myself in front of the Peace Corps table. I casually picked up a brochure with the picture of an African American frolicking with a bunch of little Chinese girls on its cover. Life is calling. How far will you go? ran the headline. It grabbed my attention and I began to read.

The Peace Corps mission is to promote world peace and friendship through the service of American volunteers abroad. It requires a commitment of two years. Volunteers serve in over 75 countries around the world. They integrate into another culture, learn a new language, and work in various fields, including education, health, business, information and communication technology, agriculture, and the environment. There is no upper age limitolder volunteers are valued for their life experience.

I felt a rush of excitement as I browsed through the brochure. I knew instantly that I had found what I was looking for.

It never occurred to me that I would find my calling so accidentally and yet with such clarity. As a native-born Israelia Sabrawho had left my country of origin and lived in the Netherlands for many years prior to settling in the United States, I had been exposed to four cultures: Israeli, Arab, Dutch, and American. I had dual training as a teacher of English (with a masters degree from the State University of Utrecht) and as a teacher of Arabic (with a doctoral degree from Georgetown University). Given my intellectual curiosity, my passion for teaching and travel, and my strong affinity for non-Western cultures, I was ideally suited for Peace Corps service. Furthermore, I was at a stage of my life where I had a unique window of opportunity to do what I wanted. Just the year before, I had walked out on my adulterous husband and extricated myself from an abusive marriage. I was now single, with no constraints, familial or otherwise, on my freedom. I could follow my passion and become part of a global family, give back to society and receive in return, and have a life-defining experience.