Directly overhead, the sun blaring down, and temperatures soaring well above one hundred degrees, a typical day in Jordan, a day that I would experience the most transformative part of my summer, taking out the trash.
I began my adventure down the steep hill, leaning back to balance myself from losing my footing on the slick pavement. As I approached the worn iron dumpster, which rested unevenly on two legs, I noticed two young girls walking through a patch of land scattered with industrial equipment and construction debris. As I reached the end of my descent down the hill I began to notice distinctive characteristics of the girls, their shirts were torn, their hair dry and tangled, and their faces blotted with dirt. The duo walked barefoot towards the dumpster, hands empty, and eyes wandering. As I surveyed the surroundings, I noticed a massive tent, comprised of rags and sheets, a tell tale sign of a Palestinian refugee family. Outcasts of modern Jordanian society, refugees are seen as a the foremost blighting influence to the Jordan community, resulting in their current ostracism. From the short time I had been in the country, I had quickly become fond of the beggars that roamed plazas and markets, begging for money. I had presumed the same of these girls, they wanted my money, plain and simple, yet what they then asked me took me by surprise. They uttered a few words quietly in Arabic, not asking for money, but for me to leave my plastic bags full of trash on the street pavement. A bizarre request, leaving me puzzled for some time. I complied, dropping my trash on the street, and headed on my way. As I trudged up the hill I continued to ponder why they wanted my trash on the ground, it suddenly became clear, they were there to dumpster dive and search for remnants of food, as I turned around, my prediction was confirmed, one girl was scanning through my trash, and the other was fully in the dumpster. I was compelled to do something, though encouraged not to give to the refugees and beggars, I couldn’t help but sympathize for the little girls, I gave what I could, though a fairly modest amount, it was monumental to the girls, who graciously thanked me and dashed back to their tent to brandish their bounty.
Over those three weeks in Jordan, I absorbed many aspects of my heritage, culture, and ancestry. Traveling abroad for a vacation is dandy, but encounters such as mine truly shed light on the disparity between the advantaged life I live, and the adverse conditions many people around the world face daily simply to maintain a living. It’s not important how I felt for those girls, but how it has been a catalyst for social involvement. Since then, I’ve joined clubs such as Model United Nations, Habitat for Humanity, and chiefly, sparked an interest in international relations, a track I hope to pursue in college. I walked away from those girls knowing I did what I could, but knowing that in the future, I could potentially do more.