Musical Missions Post: From Jordan with Love

Cameron Writes:
We spent last night surrounded by 30 Iraqi refugees singing the "old
music" for us: this gathering had been organized to honor our return.
Our host works diligently with his violin to magnetize us all into the
unified field of the music. Tonight is not a night for discussion.
Underlying all the singing voices are the instruments: two ouds, two
drums, a violin and a nay (flute) and as the night grew later more people
were drawn to dance.
Two of the women present are accomplished singers and their leads are
given appreciative space. One of these women is also a fine
percussionist.
After midnight the most revered Iraqi maqam singer began to weave the
poetic lines of his "mawals," or arrhythmic incantations, which truly
give voice to the old spiritual wisdoms of Iraq.
"Sama'i!" "Listen carefully!" is repeated to encourage absolute focus
on the poetry and the musical scales.

As I look at the faces around me, all men and women who are now exiled
from their homeland, I can see the different mixes of hardships and
suffering. And I see the childlike joy with which the music emerges from
their souls.

We have begun dialogue with the owner of a music shop regarding our
Musical Mission of Peace designed to offer support to Iraqi refugees here
in Jordan by financially encouraging their children's musical
education.

We will soon make a loop through Syria where an even larger number of
Iraqi refugees are currently in residence. It is said that at least two
million Iraqis have fled to Jordan and Syria to escape the disorder and
violence in their homeland. But neither Jordan nor Syria has the
infrastructure to offer employment to so many. That is why we are here. We
will do what we can, in our own musical way, to provide a pipeline of
financial support from sympathetic Americans.


Kristina Writes:
May 9, 08 Day one
As I walked down the street today in Amman, Jordan, tears came to
my eyes. I felt like I had come home. This feels like home to me not
because the sights are familiar or particularly beautiful. The
buildings are mostly grey concrete colors. The streets are dirty. Many people
smoke and I dislike the smell of tobacco inside the shops. It's just
that there is something else in the air that feels more powerful than the
smoke.
So how do I explain to you what it is?
Maybe security is a part of it. If I should fall down everyone
around me would come to my rescue. If I should get lost someone would
personally guide me back to my hotel. No one is trying to steal my purse.
Every shopkeeper and almost every other person I meet on the street is
saying a sincere "Welcome" or "Hi."
Maybe it is that there is less fear. I have very little fear
here. My heart is so open, because every other heart it meets is so open to
me.
I guess another word might be "relief." I don't have to be an
island. Women in the lobby of the hotel, whom I have never met before,
motion for me to sit down next to them. I am welcomed. I don't have to be
alone. Relief to know you're surrounded by loving beings.
Isn't that what home is?

I've heard that there is no word in Arabic for "alone", the closest
word means "lonely".
I wonder why I, an American, need "retreat time" or "personal
space" or "time to collect my thoughts" or "time to regroup" or just time
to shut out the world and rest? For an Arab, time alone is just
"lonely." Do we Americans tend to stress each other out? Why do we need a
break from each other? Here they just like to sit close to each other and
feel the connection. The air is filled with the currents of acceptance,
less judgment, more connection. Like Fayez the hotel owner here says,
"Arabs are your friend immediately." You don't have to "earn their
trust." It's just so much easier this way.

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