Monday, May 28, 2012

The Desert Castles.

Our home is not a village, rather it is a medium sized urban area.  Home to 80, 000 people it is the desert capital, riding on the familiar cusp of mountain, desert and, a bit distantly, river.  A string of ruined forts, hunting lodges and churches litter the desert and, perhaps as a gilded lily, are referenced as "the Desert Castles."

We are becoming part of the horizon here.  Another castle in the desert, another pair of camels.  We've moved from one side of the city to the other and it is sometimes difficult to remember that we are not living in some kind of bizarro world America where we still fight with our internet service providers and have dinner with friends.  When we are reminded it is a jolt to the system.  A bar or two of English caught while passing the Islamic Charity, a blonde woman outside the Protestant church is all it takes to cause one to stop hard enough to cause whiplash.

There are more reporters coming through our city these days.  Students from colleges in America looking to understand the Syrian refugee crisis from an up close and personal point of view.  They are concerned about numbers.  They are concerned about rations.  They are concerned about experiencing culture shock upon returning to the United States after two weeks in Jordan.

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