I use to know a Dajani of Jordan (with Palestinian and Circassian heritage), who I think had spent more time outside Amman than inside, including Egypt, Morocco, Canada and the United Kingdom. In fact, he eventually married a lady in the UK while studying for a masters at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS).
I use like the Dajani (for being knowledgeable in humanities), but he once explained to us that the Jordanians (of east bank origin) are not really Muslim. For instance, according to him, there was once a street protest and the police arrived to contain it. Behind them were intelligence. The demonstrators were using religious chants. Whereas on the police side, cursing of the prophet of Islam could be heard.
The last time I met him, he argued (with me) that learning Arabic only takes around six months! Of-course he was lying and for this reason as well as pressuring me to socialise with his friends in Jordan, who were always speaking English or, if I was ‘lucky’, speaking colloquial. However, colloquial is not normally taught in Jordan so I never understood, except the bit when it’s clear that they hate Wahhabis, which after hearing many times sounds the same in every language. Also, always trying to get me to attend Thursday Sufi dance sessions, and something they called dikr with bikr. Eventually, I gave up being his friend. I was annoyed; I felt that rather than be a true friend, he attempted to weasel and I did not like that one bit.
How can a true Sufi behave like this? However, with hindsight, he was a saint compared to somebody else we knew.
Qadeer Ali, who studied Arabic with/and Islamic studies at SOAS, and (despite supposedly a friend) contributed to the toxic environment (described above). Qadeer Ali also encouraged me to dikr with bikr, arguing that it is beneficial for my learning of Arabic, (but not for his obviously). Probably Qadeer did not want to attend himself (perhaps he only did it so he could get free accommodation with the Dajani, who could be very generous) and felt it only fair that I should force boredom upon myself also. He finished off with giving me a handwritten copy of all the verb conjugations. I already had this in my books, but he insisted that I take it as a souvenir. He should have given that to the guy who failed his Arabic (see below).
In their hearts is a disease, so God has increased them in disease, and for them is a painful punishment because they used to lie (2:10).
In addition, an Arabic-turned-history-turned-media student also joined in the frenzy. He always had a chip on his shoulder; I’m guessing because he studied at Ibn Jabal, but failed the first year of BA Arabic at SOAS and then aspired to annoy me.
Admittedly, the Dajani had much better manners (on most days) than the two Brits put together.
Actually, originally, I really wanted to be his friend (of-course I’m only talking about the Dajani), but I later realised that he always had another agenda and the lies just pissed me off.
Sure, I’m not exactly perfect myself, but I don’t make it my life’s mission to recruit people, by any means.
Arabian Misadventures 