Wake Up Calls...

A large part in my choosing my place of residence for the summer, besides the 513 non-English speaking channels, is because there is a massive mosque about a block away. I knew that by choosing this specific locale, I wouldn’t have to worry about the dreadful prospects of getting a good night’s sleep.
You see, out in this part of the world, all of the lovely mosques come fully equipped with large minarets booming upwards to the sky. These picturesque towers are not meant to be flashy or to show the power of Allah (which would be a form of blasphemy in Islam), but to create a nesting spot for several loud speakers higher above the city’s relatively short building code. One of the five pillars of Islam, Salat, calls for good Muslims to wash themselves, face Mecca, kneel, and pray five times a day. The loud speakers of the mosques are so that the local prayer leader (not sure if it’s the Imam, Mullah, or Sheikh) can not only address the people who come to pray, but to tell the entirety of the community that it is time to stop what you’re doing and honor the Lord. Apparently, this also means discontinue sleeping. The first prayer time comes sometime between 3:30 and 4:00 AM. Thus, I am pulled out of my peaceful slumber by Aaaaaahhhhh, Aaaaaahhh, Allah al-Akbarrrrrrrr!! It is slightly resembling of Monterey when the Defense Language Institute plays taps at 5:00 and 10:00 PM on the dot across the entire city. Of course, what I just suggested is that instead of God, Americans worship the war machine, but I meant no offense.
Certainly, arising at this hour and listening to the chanting of the Muslim prayer isn’t horrific. There is a sort of peace involved in the routine of an entire country – if not an entire region – lifting themselves out of bed to commit themselves to a sole purpose. It has become a certainty when I fall asleep that I will wake up to the soothing sounds of knowing God is great. It’s almost like sleep-hypnosis, if you will.
I also know that around midnight I will be awoken by sharp cracks and bright flashes. Apparently, this time of year is wedding season in Jordan, and at Jordanian weddings, it is customary to set off fireworks to honor the new couple (usually involving a bride who is eerily completely covered in white robes and a big pointy hood, so the wedding photos are of a man who is ecstatic to begin his new life clinging onto what can only be thought of as the fundamental offspring of the founders of the Ku Klux Klan). You can only imagine my surprise the first night when I snapped out of bed to the multiple cracks of something extremely loud.
“Oh my God,” I thought, “Did I arrive in Jordan for the uprising of Islamic militants, gleefully firing their AK-47s into the air as they overthrow the government?”
I figured regardless of the culprit, I was safe enough if I pulled the covers a little bit tighter and prayed that God was watching over me so I would safely return home to my family.
Queue: “Allah al-Akbar, Allah al-Akbar.”
“Thank God,” I thought again as I drifted back to sleep,” I suppose he’s watching after all.”