As one of the most important holidays of the American year, Thanksgiving is not taken lightly (pun intended). However, I lucked out this year with not one, but three different “Thanksgiving” feasts from three different groups of people.

Abu Eid, the plumbing teacher at the Ayn al Basha site, invited the office staff over to his residence in As-Salt to enjoy a veritable bounty of Arabic treats that his wife had prepared. As a Roman Catholic, his house is filled with all kinds of statuettes and angels, and he was more than happy to pour a glass of whiskey for whomever was interested. Jeff and Aaron hit on this opportunity to learn more about the joys of 4-H, such as what it means, and how they could get involved with it. At least I’m sure that’s what they intended to do with the information I gave them. Abu Eid was his usual boisterous Arab self, and refused to let us empty our plates before filling it up with more roasted chicken, white creamy leban, and even lasagna. Although I’m not even counting it as one of three (because I’d already eaten), Brittany had me and other friends over to her house later that same evening and she served another dinner, with spiced scrambled eggs, beef kielbasa sausages, and fried potatoes. It was like some sort of paradise.

Wajih, Khalil and Maher (the accountant) enjoy the well-endowed spread

The next day, I discovered that I was to be the unsuspecting host of the next feast, when Lillie and Aaron informed me that they were coming over at 4 in the afternoon to roast a giant turkey in oil on my friend porch. Even though I was caught by surprised, I was never going to pass up a big fat bird roasted in mazola corn oil. I had just gotten back from the last 80 K bike ride of the season with Sa’ad and the rest of the Cycling Jordan crew when my “guests” started showing up (to be honest, I felt like more the guest in my own home).

Jeff was the Frymaster General for the bird, taking charge of turning it in its giant pot, suspended over the flames of Philip’s gas stove. Lillie took care of the deserts (as it was also Jeff’s birthday, too) and Aaron made the traditional green bean casserole. I soon realized that they weren’t throwing a combination going-away party for me and Jeff’s birthday party, but this was their trial-run for frying a turkey before going to Wadi Rum to hang out with Suliman for the weekend, like we had done last year. I’m definitely sad I won’t be able to join the gang for that always-excellent camping trip, but at least I got to experience a delicious turkey dinner for free…although I did have to do all the dishes.

The oiliest turkey you ever shall eat

Then finally, this last Sunday, Jeff, Aaron and myself had “a big dose of Belladee” as they described it. I had gone to the Ayn al Basha to finish up some last things before taking my leave, and I discovered that Heasham, my replacement as Info Tech teacher, had invited Aaron and Jeff to dinner at his house after work. As the two of them were my ride home, I of course had little choice but to succumb to Heasham’s entreaty to eat kibseh at his father’s farmhouse.

Belladee in Arabic means “country-like” and that’s a good name for the sort of friendly gathering that you get with a dinner like this. I’d eaten in similar styles at last year’s wedding in Tibna, and with the Sheikh in Ghor Safi. Heasham and his older brothers welcomed us proudly to their house, where their father, a huge Sheikh of a man wrapped in a long gray dishdash and a bright red keffiyeh. After the traditional welcome, we were served the traditional coffee which has so often burned the top off my mouth, which was traditionally shaken after one gasping cupful to signify that one would be enough. If you don’t “shake after drinking” they’ll just keep filling your glass, over and over. The Sheikh and his elder sons took definite interest in us and asked a lot of questions about the economy in America, how we enjoyed work in Jordan, and why we weren’t married to nice women and making lots of children (I’m not kidding about that last one). When the kibseh arrived, the six of us knelt around the giant bowl of rice and roasted chicken and dug in with our right hands shoveling the food into our mouths. The Sheikh enjoyed my usage of Arabic, and was enthralled with my iPod Touch and the Arabic “dictionary” I’ve spent the past year writing on it.

Aaron, Heasham, and Jeff enjoy the "picnic dinner" of kibseh

As we were finishing up with the delicious spread, Jeff and Aaron turned to me in wicked delight after learning that this was not only a vegetable farm, but also a goat farm. “Really!” chuckled Aaron. “Then Zach’s going to go out and show us how to milk a goat; he’s a professional at this.” Of course then the conversation had to turn to how many goats the Abu Zach owned, what their output was, and how they were cooked. I apologetically told the men that I was ignorant of these matters these days and glowered darkly at my colleagues across the room, who were grinning broadly.

Thankfully, Heasham informed them that it was too dark to see the animals now, but Aaron cheerfully assented to be shown the goats “next time.” As we were leaving the farm, he commented to Jeff and I under his breath, “Well, they paid attention to Zach most of the time and stayed focused on him while we ate. The plan worked perfectly.” I realized then that I had been brought along as a diversionary object, but I had enjoyed myself and meeting Heasham’s family, so I certainly didn’t mind.

Two more days at Whitman rounded out my final week in Jordan for 2009, from Thursday’s meal at Abu Eid’s til now. I’m currently sitting in the Queen Alia airport, two and a half hours after I was supposed to fly out of the country to my transfer in Istanbul. Bassem picked me up from my house at about 3:30 in the morning, as we expected my flight to leave at 6:30 as posted. However, when I arrived, my heart sank to see that it had been “Canceled.” Not even delayed, just outright canceled. Why? Because of fog in Istanbul, the planes leaving from the country had all been grounded. When I asked when it would be possible to get my flight to Chicago, the controller shrugged apologetically and told me to come back 24 hours later and try the same flight again.

Now, I’m not going to miss my family’s excellent meal just because the Turks don’t want Americans to celebrate Thanksgiving with their loved ones. So, I picked up my bags, went to the other side of the airport (which takes all of five minutes; O’Hare this is not) and booked a direct flight with Royal Jordanian to fly me directly to Chicago at 10:45 AM. Being four hours late is better than being a day after!
Insha’allah, there won’t be any further problems and I’ll see you all next year!