Movement of Coffee

© 2011 Mahmoud Shbatat. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/10/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5036-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5037-4 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-5038-1 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011904473

Printed in the United States of America

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….To all people who have fallen in the streets and liberty squares for the sake of democracy and justice all over the Arab world

Contents

Preface

The Lost Dream

The Beginning from the Village

The Foreign Guest

The Great Host

The Troublemaker Competitor

The Tourists and the Painted Board

Coffee and Tea Talks

The Riot of Khaleel, the Trader

After Childhood

The Role of the West

The Revolutionary Phase

The Fall of the Mulberry Leaf

The Undiminished Peace

And the March Continues

The Spam Decade

The West’s Military Bases in Our Region

Madrid Psychedelic

The Fruits of Peace

September’s Earthquake

The Western Guest

The Feelings of Frustration

The Bitter Truth

The Contradiction

The Sparkle

The First Meeting with the Media

The Echoes of the Café Incident

The Beginning of the Troubles

The Expansion

The Bomb

The Quick Response

The Great Transformation

The Worldwide Repercussions

The Western Street

Overcoming the Crisis

The Celebration

Preface

When a person loses a close friend or relative, a world of events full of bitterness and sweetness goes away with that person. The loss of one friend or relative, especially a close one, is a great loss; it is a tragedy and a painful experience indeed. But what would be the size of such loss or tragedy when a nation loses another nation that is full of values, presence, and capabilities? Sometimes it is hard to imagine how serious and painful the catastrophe would be. This is exactly what happened to the Arab and Islamic peoples when they lost their true friendship with the West and got shocked by the collapse of the bridges of trust leading to it.

Fortunately, whatever distance living people may have, the probability of their meeting again remains an option too. But before the Arab and Islamic peoples think of restoring that lost trust and friendship with the West or before the West itself initiates and rebuilds the shattered friendship and extends again the bridges of trust to the peoples of the East the peoples of the West should first recover the noble humanitarian values they lost, which caused the loss of friendship of the Arab and Islamic peoples and their trust in the West. Without those noble human values, which the great immortals in the West fought for and enshrined in the Western constitutions in the age of liberation and construction, there is no use talking about any kind of friendship or cooperation between the Arab and Islamic peoples on the one hand and the West on the other.

The Lost Dream

Greetings. I am Ali; I have a story about my Uncle Salama, owner of a café unique in the whole world, the tolerant merchant and faithful fighter for the sake of democracy and peace. The good friend who had a great hope and bet on his friends or those who considered them as friends over the past decades of time, but they let him down and disappointed his hope perhaps without realizing it.

I lived some episodes of this story with my uncle, whilst the rest of the episodes were told by him till the night of his death. Consequently, I am glad to be able to narrate this story in the memory of my uncle, as I experienced the events with him. This of course relates to the other episodes that he keened to tell me them once I met him. Hopefully, this may alert his friends, awaken them from their slumber, and motivate them to continue the march in which he tried hard to enlist them as partners, to achieve even a little bit of his lost dream.

The Beginning from the Village

Along the road overlooking the holy River of Jordan, extending from Umm-Qayes (Jaddara) in the Far North, to Amman which is full of antiquity and history, Amman that shadows the Baptism on the river of Jordan by its right wing, while the left wing shadows the miracle cave of boys whose story is mentioned in the holy Qur’an, those who slept there for three hundred years; through Madaba, the city of mosaics, the first Christian churches, as well as Mount Nebo and Mukkawer. Then to Karak and Tafila, where are located the shrines of the companions of Prophet Muhammad peace be upon him. Then south to Petra City which is one of the Seven Wonders of the World, where one of its mountains embraces the shrine of the Prophet Aaron, peace be upon him. Along this same route, old Jordan was located and most of it is today.

Jordan was and still the eastern twin of the holy lands in the west bank of the river, where the road of the Christians’ pilgrimage to the holy land begins with a sunrise in Jordan to end up with a sunset in Palestine. Hence, the beginning of that holy day is in Jordan whilst the beginning of the quietness of night and holy prayers is in Palestine.

Therefore, one of the scattered villages that is immersed with the Lord’s blessings and tranquility is my village, which is called Al Ain Al-Baida, The White Eye, located in the directorate of Tafila, 200 kilometers south of the capital, Amman.

Herein, there is a water spring in my village which stems from the foot of a White Mountain; another name of spring in Arabic is the eye So my village took its name in reference to this spring.

This water spring was the only source of water for drinking and domestic uses in the village, in addition to irrigation in the valley down from the village. It is also used for watering livestock and building houses. The spring used to flood and increase in winter season because of rainwater and snowfall that met the water demand of the villagers. Winter was very long, cold, and harsh when I was little kid, but now it passes by unnoticed. Without a doubt, the blessings of the West have played a big role in creating this newly fast, warm winter. In my lifetime, the spring’s water has decreased in the villages to about a quarter of what it was.

Since Jordan’s foundation date and until the end of 1982, there were less than ten telephone lines in my village. There was no power supply as well in the village. But by the beginning of 1983, the village was lit with supplied electricity, and the communication system was also updated. This led to an increase in the number of telephone lines. As a result, the worldwide technological and communicative revolutions had finally reached the village. Consequently, mobile phones and the Internet are now also common fashions in the village, but many villagers in the generation of my father and my uncle see life in the present as far different compared with the past. That is, life in the past was more tasteful and much better than it is now due to the current effects of technology.

When I was a little kid, there was only one public clinic in the village, attended by the doctor once or twice a week. There was no dental clinic in the village, and patients with dental problems had to travel to the city of Tafila for treatment.

Also, the village had only two public schools, one for boys and the other one for girls. These schools included all grades, from the first primary grade to the last grade of high school. In spite of the fact that children were largely preoccupied in helping their parents in the fields with tending sheep and cultivating crops, their parents were very keen to send them to schools so they might learn.

I still remember that many of the children who were living outside or at the edges of the village had to travel for several miles a day back and forth to schools. Even severe cold and harsh heat did not prevent them from attending schools. As a result, the village of Al Ain Al-Baida became an example and a status symbol of education for the rest of the villages at Tafila directorate.

One of the main reasons that led parents in the village to teach their children was to compensate for what their parents could not achieve in terms of education in the early establishment of the Kingdom. I remember that some parents in the village felt ashamed when one of their sons failed in his studies or did not reach the level of his father’s expectations. Most of the parents in the village wanted their children to become doctors and engineers in the first place, and if this was not to be, they could become officers in the army as a second option.

Consequently, the commercial activity in the village was very limited because the population depended directly on animal husbandry and the products of the land in form of vegetables, fruits, and grains. However, there were only two shops in the village, namely Uncle Salama’s shop, located on the main road passing through the village, and Khaleel’s shop, which was inside the village, away from the main road. Uncle Salama’s shop was not only a store, but it was a shop in its infancy and then later on became a café at the same time for entertaining villagers, tourists, especially foreign passersby toward the historical city of Petra. Most of the villagers preferred to buy their own goods and needs from Uncle Salama’s shop.

In addition to being friendly and natural, Uncle Salama’s shop has all the needs of the villagers such as goods. Also, the prices at his shop were lower than those at Khaleel’s shop. Uncle Salama was very helpful with villagers. He used to sell to customers on credit till the harvest season approached. Then they would sell their crops and sheep and pay Uncle Salama. Sometimes, instead of cash, Uncle Salama took dried fruits from the farmers and sold them for tourists.

Khaleel, the other merchant in the village, did not have all the goods the people needed. Also, his prices were more expensive compared to the prices at Uncle Salama’s shop. Khaleel was the other way around: he sold goods for the villagers on credit to keep his customers, but he required them to pay their debts as soon as possible and not to remain for long periods. He insisted on requesting payments continuously. These made the village people reluctant, and they preferred to deal with Uncle Salama and buy whatever they needed from his shop.

The relationship between the only two merchants in the village, Uncle Salama and Khaleel, was not fine, especially from Khaleel’s side. The reason was not the people’s preference of Uncle Salama’s shop over Khaleel’s, but there was another very important reason, namely, the foreign tourists passing through the village.

Because of the location of Uncle Salama’s shop on the main road passing through the village and its entrance in particular, his shop was a destination for tourists, visitors to the village, and all passersby. People of the village bought their own things from Khaleel’s shop by going into debt, but foreign tourists had to buy their needs from Uncle Salama’s shop, and they paid in cash. This, of course, annoyed Khaleel, who was always biased against Uncle Salama, who acquired the larger percentage of customers in the village and the tourism trade at the same time.

At that time, no paved roads connected north Jordan with the south, particularly at the beginning of the establishment of the kingdom, except the Royal or Silk Road, as called by some people, or the Holy Road, as I like to call it. This road was already in areas known for their reverence and holiness, from the northern part of the kingdom to the south. Then, shortly after independence, the government paved the Desert Highway from Amman to Aqaba Port, the only exit of Jordan toward the sea. But the situation is now different; it has become possible for travelers who travel from Amman to the south of Jordan to embark on a three-paved road to reach Petra or Aqaba in the far south. These roads include the Desert Road, the Royal Road and the third one through the Jordan Valley and Wadi Araba, and certainly this is much better. But foreign tourists till this day prefer to walk across the Royal Road that passes through my village Al Ain Al-Baida. They strike through this path, killing the two birds of tourism and pilgrimage with one stone.

I often played with the other village children my age near the road leading to the historical site of Petra and Aqaba. The traffic movement on this road was less than it is now, making the passage of different vehicles in the village a real pleasure for us till the cars passed the last house in the village.

One of our happiest moments was when we observed an aircraft flying over the village, heading north or south. would wave our hands joyfully, shouting, King Hussein … King Hussein …, This is because we believed each time that King Hussein was the pilot of this plane. Also, one of the other joyful moments in the life of the village’s children was when the large blue tourist bus would pass, carrying blond women and men. As soon as they reached us, we immediately ran near and behind the bus as it found its way through the village carefully and clearly, taking pains to avoid running over one of us or any of the cattle crossing the road. Also the bus ran through the street going slowly left and right in order to avoid the drilling and scattered holes along this street.

We used to run next to the bus and succeed it until we get tired waving our hands to tourists and shouting Hello … hello … hello … At that age, we did not know any word from any language other than Arabic. English was the only foreign language learned in schools, but from the fifth grade and above. Now, English is taught right from the first grade until the last, where French is taught in many schools in the Kingdom as well.

Whilst the passage of foreign tourists riding their bicycles and winding out through the village was considered a festival to the children’s village by itself, these foreign tourists very often, if they had not dragged their bicycles as they passed the village, they certainly had stopped to buy some of their needs from Uncle Salama’s shop, as well as to drink coffee and tea. Coffee and tea, of course, were offered by Uncle Salama for tourists at no charge, for some reason we did not know at that time.

We used to escort the tourists from the moment they entered the village until they left. Everyone saw from afar as the other children of the village came quickly and joined us in this simple and spontaneous childhood carnival. We felt at that time something vague that pulled us toward those tourists. We did not understand or know what was that mysterious thing or that hidden feature. Was it the power of the tourist’s countries? No, we believed that our country was the most powerful country in the world. Was it because they were strangers? Maybe. Actually, for some reason we were very attracted by these tourists. Innocent childhood and fun prevented us from understanding and realizing these reasons at that time.

But later on, with time, as we moved from innocent childhood to the dreams and heyday of youth and on through troubled adolescence, we realized that the secret that drew our attention toward these tourists was the charm of Western freedom. It is true that the East was fascinating those people by its ancient civilizations and magic. We ourselves were also fascinated by the democracy and technology of the West.

We realized that the reason for their importance was not money or power or material resources. For instance, the Soviet Union had the power, capabilities, material resources, and science, but it collapsed completely. The scientific possibilities and huge material resources which it owned could not rescue it from collapsing.

Also, the reason for our attraction toward the West is not the Western mind, since there are a lot of Arab and Muslim scientists in the West. They have contributed to the enrichment and construction of Western civilization, which is dazzling us today. The reason very simply, is the freedom. Though it is not the freedom of dress, or freedom of food and drink, or way of life. It is the freedom that guarantees rights to each person without anyone having full custody over him or her in any way, whether in terms of government or individuals.

However, whenever tourists disembarked at Uncle Salama’s café and shop for shopping or drinking a cup of coffee or tea, we walked with them and escorted them from every side. They attempted to talk to us in their different languages, but we did not understand them. Still, seeing the smile drawn on their lips made us very pleased.

Whenever tourists entered the café and shop of Uncle Salama to buy their needs, we followed them for no reason but to see how they would address Uncle Salama, the unique shopkeeper at the entrance of the village, in their own different languages.

Uncle Salama was not only a merchant but also an adviser of the village, and one of the most important men in it by virtue of his business and the large numbers of inadvertent contacts with people, especially those traveling through the village. A village’s traders at that time still acted in effect as news agencies. They worked on receiving news and stories from every visitor, then they passed them on to others, and so on. Uncle Salama was an important information center in the village by virtue of the site of his unique shop at the entrance of the village. It was rare to find a visitor to the village who did not stop at Uncle Salama’s shop and inquire about the road or a resident in the village or to buy some things from the shop. Most of those visitors have stories in which Uncle Salama is the first one, of course, to tell and be told.

Therefore, whenever tourists entered Uncle Salama’s shop and café, we would keep silent until we heard Uncle Salama talking to them in their own languages. The scene seemed very strange and exciting for us. To be more particular, it was a strange thing to see a village man who is at the age of our fathers, or perhaps older, dressed in the local thobe (long garment worn by men in Arab countries) and a woolen head cap or a handkerchief, and a headband like the other men of the village to see such a man speaking to foreigners who in many cases wore T-shirts and shorts and Western hats, with dark eyeglasses, and carried cameras in their hands. We asked ourselves, Oh God! How can Uncle Salama speak the language of these foreigners? How did he learn all of these strange words? Those moments of silence were interrupted by the light laughter of some of the children here and there whenever they felt that Uncle Salama was experiencing difficulty in understanding what some tourists said, particularly Europeans who did not speak English very well. But in fact this rarely happened.

We were surprised each time we saw Uncle Salama speaking foreign languages, in comparison with the rest of the men of the village, who could not do that. After the tourists left the shop, we would ask each other: Can your father speak a foreign language like Uncle Salama? The answer of course was no. But when other children would ask, trying to tease me, about whether my father could speak a foreign language, I immediately answered them no, but my uncle Salama could! Honestly, I felt good and proud whenever I saw Uncle Salama speaking to tourists in their varied languages. I remember whenever I quarreled with other children, I would teasingly insist that their uncle could not speak with tourists or keep a shop and café like my Uncle Salama!

In addition, we were surprised by those tourists buying fruits and vegetables in pieces according to their number, no less or more. We noticed this with surprise, as we did not buy in number at all but rather in bulk and by weight more than our need in most cases. This made most of our fruits and vegetables subject to damage due to the lack of refrigerators at villagers’ home. This was probably one of the bad consumption habits that village people had at that time.

The Foreign Guest

It happened, one cold and rainy evening, that my elder brother, who by the way was an English teacher at the village school, came back home accompanying one of the foreign tourists! My brother had met him at sunset time sitting, cold and tired, under the umbrella at the village bus stand. The poor tourist did not know what to do, or where to go. My brother found him next to his bike, blowing on his hands and stamping his feet so that he would not freeze.

Interestingly, my brother invited him to stay that night in our house. The tourist had no option but to come with my brother. Such Jordanian villages as ours at that time had no hotels or guesthouses for tourists and foreigners, and most still do not.

Also, it is one of our customs and traditions, especially in rural and nomadic areas, to welcome our guests for three days without even asking them whether they have a need or not. It is considered shameful to let them go to sleep at the hotels, even if available. The fact is that this is one of the most important teachings of Islam too. People in villages are more religious than the people of the cities, so they are more given to hospitality and fellowship.

The tourist came to our house accompanied by my older brother and sat in the guest room. In fact, the room was not reserved for guests at all, because our house at that time was small and could hardly accommodate the family members. But when a guest came to our home, the room became a guest room; when the visitor was gone, the room was converted again into the family’s living room.

My younger brothers and I looked through the peephole of the door at my brother and his guest. We saw them talking. The manifestations of confusion, fatigue, and cold shone clearly on the tourist visitor’s face. Once my mother learned of the arrival of the tourist guest, she rushed to the kitchen and prepared a fast dinner from the food that was available in the house. As an Arab proverb says, Generosity is what is available at home. The supper was of our products. My mother baked bread from wheat flour grown by my father in the field. Also, we had some goats that gave us milk from which my mother made different types of cheese, butter, and local yoghurt. We had eggs from chickens that my mother raised at home in a small coop within the house yard. Also, we had many varieties of natural vegetables and fruits planted in the farm irrigated by the spring’s water. My mother was very self-sufficient. She used to dry a large quantity of fruits and vegetables such as grapes, figs, apricots, okra, tomatoes, and others for the winter season.

We and most of the people of the village bought little food from the market, notably sugar, tea, and rice. The rest of the provisions and caterings were present and conserved at home. Most residents were self-sufficient to a large extent.

Moments later, my father attended and welcomed the tourist guest and joined them in the guest’s room. After looking at the guest for a long time through the hole, we began to find the nerve to introduce ourselves. I was the first to join the guest visitor. Then the rest of my brothers followed me.

Soon dinner was announced, and we sat down together to eat. The dishes were placed on the ground, as there was no dining table at our home. My little brothers and I watched the tourists to see how he would eat the food without a fork and knife, as was the custom amongst the people of the cities. What else would he eat? My elder brother started speaking to the guest, describing the various dishes and how my mother had prepared them. He stated that all of these things were homemade, such as the butter, cheese, fried tomatoes, eggs, olives, and baked bread. The rest of us children watched the guest, who continued to surprise us. However, after the tourist guest felt the warmth of our reception and of the place, he approached the meal eagerly, ready to enjoy all types of food. He was very impressed by the baked and toasted bread.

After dinner, my mother served the tea to the tourist. I do not remember his name, but I think he was a German, speaking with my brother and telling him to convey his thanks and regards to my mother for the delicious variety of food. As he stated, he felt in a real countryside and rural area such as he had never experienced before. I also remember that the tourist was very impressed by the tea which my mother prepared.

The weather was very cold that winter night. I remember that during those years when I was young, winter was very cold. Vehicles passed through the village with difficulty in those days because of the heavy accumulations of snow.

The tourist spent that night at our house with honor and dignity without any compensation, so others will not get confused in the matter. The next morning after the sky and air became clear, the tourist took his breakfast and morning coffee along with my father and elder brother. He then prepared to leave. My father and elder brother attempted to pursued him to stay for another night so that they might take him on a tour around some of the archaeological sites and natural areas around the village but he preferred to leave on his bicycle so that he could reach Petra, 80 kilometers from the village, before nightfall.

Life has changed now in our region, with people busy in daily pursuits that have departed considerably from the pattern of village life in the old days. Still, I can confirm that the majority of the people of the villages in Jordan, in most Arab countries, and indeed in the Islamic world are willing to host any Western tourists, regardless of their nationality and have no concept of the so-called tourism industry. This is because, as I mentioned, hospitality is considered a part of their