It hasn’t even been three years since we moved to Jordan and I already see that the “Bent il Balad” traits have overcome those of “Bent il Khaleej”. People still claim that they can tell that I wasn’t raised in Jordan because of the way I dress (“you look like such a Khaleejeyeh cause you’re wearing white on white, who wears white on white?!”). Yet, my wardrobe has less razzle-dazzle and plenty more comfort, and the entire collection doesn’t change according to fashion any more.
The drive-thru guy at Burger King looked at me puzzled last week when I told him that I am Bent il Balad after he told me I’m too smiley and that I must be a tourist. Yet, a colleague at school also told me that I look mighty scary with my kashra when I’m behind the wheel.
I wasn’t killing myself over arriving 5 minutes late to a meeting a few days back, something the Gulfian Kid in me would have never done. Yet, the other 3 people who were supposed to be there too were 20 minutes late, and so in comparison, I’m still the Gulfian Kid.
But I’m really starting to get comfortable with the “Bent il Balad” persona, jeans, kashra, et all.
(Prelude to a “Banat Il Riyadh” post that should be showing its face somewhere in this space)