In addition to the customary nod to the suffering across the Jordan and the promises of reform, the King’s message for this Eid al Adha – the Feast of Sacrifice contained a subtle but unmistakable message about the path for Jordan and Jordanians out of the economic crisis and into the promises of the modern, global economy: work. While I could blame my Puritan heritage for coloring my interpretation, it is hard not to read into His Majesty’s message a call to get off the couch and get to work – any work, or rather work other than a sinecure secured through wasta in which an inflated sense of status and multiple coffee breaks substitute for actual effort. I applaud his Majesty’s message, but wonder how long it will take before the average Jordanian recognizes the need to get their own hands dirty instead of wrinkling their noses at hands dirtied on their behalf.
As I was reading HM’s address, I was reminded of a recent interaction with a public employee whose actions belied the antithesis of the King’s sentiment. While waiting for a meeting with a colleague, I observed his young program coordinating lathering herself up into a frenzy over the slow pace of the messenger’s arrival to her desk. The aforementioned program coordinator was a rather lovely young lady with a master’s degree and a reputable family name. While I was unclear on her precise responsibilities, it was clear that the messenger was needed for urgent work and every second of his absence was clearly a crisis in the making. Finally the poor “sheb” arrived. The messenger was a diminutive man whose dark skin suggested a childhood in the ghor, and he smiled constantly through the barrage emanating from sit program coordinator’s desk: “Where have you been!? I have been calling you for ten minutes. Don’t you know I need toner? I told you this morning I need the toner!” The messenger continued to smile: “Of course, yes, please remind me where is the toner?” “THERE” shouted the exasperated program coordinator, jabbing a carefully painted nail at the shelf four desks from hers. “In the yellow bag, right where I told you it was.” The messenger dutifully went over to the shelf, examined the distance between his reach and the toner before going into the hall and coming back with a chair. After carefully positioning the chair, he mounted the seat, retrieved the toner and delivered it five long paces across the office floor to Sit Program Coordinator’s desk. Of course, she had now taken what must have been an equally important phone call and gestured that the toner be left on the desk. The messenger stood squarely in front of the desk until she finished the call. He placed the package carefully on the side of the desk, being sure to avoid messing any papers. Would she be needing anything else? I cringed with anticipation. “Tea, and see what the anjnabi wants to drink as well!”
In his Majesty’s address, he promised his subjects that he will settle for nothing less than the best for his people. I am confident that getting down one’s own toner should also fall into the category of bearing one’s own burden.
