Having nothing productive to do since I was stuck in Paris' Charles De Gaulle International Airport, I rested my laptop on my lap and decided to video call my roommate and best friend, Natalia Yakov, considering she was online on Skype.

Nat and I had been friends ever since I first joined the local public school in the fifth grade, despite us being a pair of somewhat polar opposites. She was unusually perky most of the time and highly optimistic about everything, whereas I consider myself to be more practical and pessimistic to an extent, and only if necessary.

She was pretty, weird and dorky then, and a blend of all three even more so now. In addition to her quirkiness, she is extremely loyal and a very caring friend. From just one glance, she can tell when I'm faking a smile or when I am upset about something; her inner psychologist would often burst forth on duty.

We survived each other's antics all throughout grade school and eventually decided that we could put up with each other enough to be college roommates at Columbia University. She knew of the uneasy divide between my parents and I, but that certainly didn't stop her from indulging in cultural knowledge. I introduced her to Bollywood and Arab films and music, and taught her some Urdu and Arabic. She even bought her own copies of Bollywood DVDs and listened to ghazals while reading their translations. Basically, she was a Caucasian-Desi/Arab herself.

Nat accepted the call immediately. "Hey Hayat! Where in the world are you now?"

"I'm in Paris for a two-hour layover, well, actually there's half an hour left. It's really humid over here, but the Wi-Fi is excellent so I'm dealing with the cons. How's Indonesia so far?"

"Probably even more humid than where you are," she said. "Just wait until you get to Jordan; you're going to melt! Oh, wait, its winter there now, isn't it?" I nodded, and she continued. "Today was kinda nice; it is strange only because I haven't stepped foot out of mainland USA until now, but it's not so bad here. It was pouring outside this morning and the kids taught me how to use a giant banana leaf as an umbrella."

I chuckled. "Been there, done that," I told her as I remembered trekking through my father's ancestral property in Pakistan. He inherited acres of farmland, but since he doesn't plan on permanently residing there until after some years, the land had become heavily forested over time.

"Yeah, yeah. Oh, by the way, your boyfriend messaged me the other day asking where you were going for this spring semester internship." Her brown ringlets bounced up and down as she wriggled her eyebrows at me.

I gave the screen a blank stare. "What boyfriend?" I asked slowly.

"Mr. Marcello DiLuca." She rolled her eyes at me as I groaned.

"Tell him I'm in China," I muttered. Marc is my friend, however, he fancies me a little too much for my liking.

"If you want to lie, make sure it's at least believable," she told me. "He's not stupid; he's doing his masters in International Affairs with a concentration in International Security Policies and minoring in Middle Eastern Studies like you. Obviously he knows you're not going to China out of all places."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "So what did you tell him?"

"Jordan," she replied guiltily, trying very hard to avoid my glare.

"Great job, Nat." I narrowed my eyes at her.

"But, he's thinking of accepting the offer to intern at the UN," she piped up. "He said he wasn't so sure about going to the Middle East for an internship for himself."

"Oh, that makes things better," I told her sarcastically. "Knowing him, he'll follow my scent all the way to the village schoolhouse."

"Come on, he's not all that bad." Nat's green eyes widened as she attempted to reason with me. "He's cute, smart, funny, and he actually likes you. Not many guys can put up with your sass, you know. Just marry him, okay?" She concluded mockingly.

"Very funny, but he's not my type. Plus, have you forgotten he's an Italian Catholic?"

"I'm sure Marc would convert to Islam for you." She looked thoughtfully for a moment. "Pakka promise."

Nat, Marc and I were an odd trio, religiously and culturally speaking. Nat is an Austrian Jew, Marc is an Italian Catholic, and I am an Arab-Pakistani Muslim. Who would've thought?

"I'm on talking terms with my parents at least." I laughed at her usage at an Urdu phrase. "Marrying Marc would ruin that too."

"So you'd marry him if your parents agreed? I could help convince them!" Nat offered cheerfully.

"No, thank you," I muttered. Sometimes, Marc was normal. However, he'd repeatedly ask me out for dates and never gave up. He wasn't exactly clingy, but he was rather persistent. "I don't like Marc in that way, at all. I don't even wanna get married, not any time soon at least." I paused for a second and put heavy emphasis on, "I want to live."

"We'll discuss this later in a proper setting," she informed me. "Right now, I want to know if you've packed the right clothing."

"Yes, mom." Having known that rural areas of Jordan were more traditional, I decided to only pack one t-shirt and a single pair of jeans, while stocking up on more jilbaabs and other looser clothing. "I'm all set, and even if I wasn't, it's a bit too late to go back to New York to repack."

"Did you pack an abaya?"

"Er, no, I didn't. I don't exactly own one. But if I need to, I'll just buy some from Umm Qais when I'm there."

"Alrighty then, my Wi-Fi here kinda sucks so I'm gonna go now. Call me when you get there and stay safe!" Nat beamed and added, "Try not to enjoy your two months without me too much."

"Yes, yes, of course."I rolled my eyes playfully. "And stop telling Marc about every move I make!"

She shrugged. "Eh, I'll think about it."

"Nat!"

Natalia has ended the video call.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath even though she couldn't hear me now.

An announcement came through on the loudspeaker and like before, a female voice came through, however this one was laced with a French accent. "Attention all passengers, the local time is 13:00. The connecting flight for Royal Jordanian Airlines to Amman will soon be ready for departure. Please take all of your belongings as you prepare to board the aircraft. Thank you."

I sighed, stowing away my laptop in my carry-on bag and stood in the long queue. For a region that has had been getting quite a bit of a scare due to nearby extremist activities, Royal Jordanian Airlines has had an awful lot of passengers in the midst of January.

***

Queen Alia International Airport in Amman was no different from the JFK Airport back home in terms of the crowds. I fought through the swarm of fellow passengers as I tried to locate the customs area. It was nearly seven in the evening here, and I had just remembered that I had to call up my parents and Nat to let them know that I had arrived.

I rushed over to a little International Calling booth, prepaid for both calls and rang up my parents. It was currently in the afternoon in New York.

Nobody answered the phone, but I decided to leave a message.

"Baba, Ma, I've just arrived in Amman; it feels a bit wintry here. There's about a four hour drive from here to Umm Qais so I'll probably get to the village around midnight here. I may not get much Wi-Fi or access to international calling when I'm there, but I'll try to contact you when I can. Bye."

There was nobody on the receiving end of the call, but leaving a message felt just as dull and awkward even if there was someone on the line.

Next came Natalia. I mentally calculated what time it would be for her in Jakarta, Indonesia and gasped. It was nearly one in the morning there. She had given me the phone number of the family she would be staying with and even though she had told me to call her once I arrived, I figured it would be highly inconsiderate to awake them all at such an ungodly hour.

I'll call her at some other reasonable time, then.

After I went through security procedures at the airport, I exited the terminal in search for Yassar, who was one of the two people assigned to be my translator and guide, courtesy of the Studying Abroad program at Columbia. Sure enough, he could not be hidden by a blind eye, especially since he held up a large sign with Miss Hayat Ishfaq in bold, black letters.

He looked to be around my age, with striking brown eyes and olive skin. He ran a hand through his dark auburn hair and smiled at me boyishly. "Hayat?" He questioned with an Arab accent.

I nodded and smiled warmly. "Yassar, right?"

"Yes." He grinned and held out a hand, silently offering to push the luggage cart. "Follow me."

"Have you waited long?" I ask him, trailing closely behind.

"No, no. I've only just arrived five minutes ago. Come along; it's a long drive back." He glanced at my sleep deprived face. "You must be hungry. We'll stop at an eatery along the way."

"That would be great." My grumbling stomach would soon be satisfied.

We stopped in front of a van in the parking lot. I eyed the driver, who looked a bit weary.

"Don't worry," Yassar read my thoughts. "Khaled won't fall asleep on the drive. He's from our village." I nod and sit on the left window seat in the passenger row.

After Yassar placed the suitcases in the trunk of the van, his tall and thin frame sat in the front passenger seat beside the driver. "How was your flight?"

"Tiring," I said honestly as I leaned back in my seat. "Our village near Umm Qais is about four hours away, correct?"

"Yes, it is. But the roads we'll be taking are pretty clear around this time, so perhaps we'll reach there in less time. I've asked Rafaa to cook a meal for you by the time we get there."

"Oh." Rafaa is my other translator and guide, as well as Yassar's twin sister. I instantly felt guilty. Arabs are generally extremely hospitable people and would go very far lengths to accommodate guests. "I didn't mean to be of so much trouble."

"Trouble? What trouble?" Yassar spun around to face me and looked as though I just spat on his face. "It's certainly not trouble, especially since you've come here on your own liberty to teach our children. You have a kind heart, and this is the least we can do for you."

I didn't respond well to compliments; I always felt so awkward when people would say such nice things, so I responded with a smile instead.

"So tell me, Hayat, are you an Arab? I feel like you might be, but I'm not sure."

"I'm half Arab. My father is Pakistani and my mother is actually from Jordan. But, I'm more fluent with Urdu than Arabic though."

"Don't worry, that's why I'm here." Yassar winked at me. He looked so young with such a baby-face.

"How old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"The only people who would mind that question are middle-aged women," he laughed. "I'm twenty-three, and yourself?"

"Twenty-three? Wow, you look younger than me. I'm twenty-one," I tell him.

"You speak as though you've just hit fifty."

"Sometimes, it does feel that way," I admit and then I thought of something. "Hey, uhm, how's the condition around Umm Qais, safety-wise?"

"Not that bad, I'd say," Yassar tells me.

His reply was venturing more towards a grey area, rather than a black-or-white answer. "What does that mean?"

"Well," he begins. "We have soldiers posted along the Jordanian border to Syria, Iraq, Israel/Palestine, and other neighboring countries because of all of the threats lately. But since we're in a rural town, we don't get as much security as urban areas do."

I fidgeted in my seat. "Doesn't that, well, scare you?"

"Lately, no." Yassar looked at me thoughtfully as we turned onto a dimly-lit street. "I mean, we did have trouble with an extremist group called Al-Tho'baan. They're absolute monsters, I tell you. They raided a nearby town and tortured the people badly." He shuddered involuntarily, recounting the events in his head.

"How long ago was this?" I ask him slowly.

He bit his lip in thought. "About six months ago, I believe."

"Just six months!" My eyes widened in slight fear. I didn't recall any reports of such an event.

Yassar nodded. "These things don't happen often, though, and it never occurred in our town, so I don't think you should worry too much."

I ignore his comforting words. "Didn't the media cover the news?" I knew the answer myself before the words flew out of my mouth.

"No, that's because it was a small, impoverished town. Their deaths were worthless to the media. The media doesn't get anything from reporting events from such small villages."

I nodded slowly, wondering what would happen if something bad were to happen in the nameless village I would be in. Perhaps the better question would be, would anyone know if something bad were to happen there?

Glossary:

~Bollywood- A term that refers to the Hindi film industry based in Mumbai (Bombay), India. Bollywood is the largest film producer in India and one of the largest centers of film production in the world

~Arab/Arabic- Collect name for most people in the Middle East; language spoke widely amongst Arabs and others

~Urdu- National language of Pakistan, similar to India's Hindi

~Ghazals- (in Middle Eastern and Desi literature and music) a lyric poem with a fixed number of verses and a repeated rhyme, typically on the themes of love and spirituality, and normally set to music

~Caucasian- Of European origin

~Desi- Refers to anyone/anything from the Indian sub-continent (including India, Pakistan & Bangladesh)

~Pakka promise (Urdu/Hindi)- Phrase similar to "pinky promise", or rather, "definite/confirmed promise"

~Jilbaab- Refers to any long and loose-fit coat or garment worn by some Muslim women which covers the entire body, except for hands, face, and head. The head and neck are then covered by a scarf, or hijab

~Abaya- a full-length, full-sleeve outer garment worn by some Muslim women.

~Yassar (Arabic)- Prosperous

~Rafaa (Arabic)- Happiness, prosperity

~Al-Tho'baan (Arabic)- "The Snake"; a fictional extremist group (I made this group up; if there is such a group with the same name in reality, this is purely a coincidence)