Gun Barrel Baptismal

I blame having a loaded AK47 shoved against my back on the failure of Christian charity (and me going places I perhaps should not go).

          At the beginning of this month I was standing on the border of Israel and Jordan in a landfill across from the city of Jericho, just north of the site where John the Baptist supposedly baptized Jesus snapping photos. I was in Jordan for a nearly 24 hour layover so I rented a car to drive around. I wanted to the see the river so I had driven up a road that had some goat farms. It ended in a big pile of trash and a field that seemed to be a thin layer of dirt covering the burnt remnants of a billion plastic bags. This is the holy land.

          I had walked into the field and tried to avoid the packs of dogs. I would have rather paid to go into the Baptism site but it opens late in the morning and I had to get back to the airport. I had asked the guy who works at the place if I could go in early if I didn't drive but he stood by his barking dogs and said "No. Open at 9." If it opened at eight, I could have made it but nine was too late to make the plane.

          I wanted a picture of Jordan the river for my very Christian mother. Really, I wanted to just put my feet in it for a moment. As I stood taking a panorama picture of the mountains and the river and the dogs, I heard a Jordanian soldier whistle and wave. I stopped moving forward noticed all the military towers every few hundred meters. I realized that this place was more intense than a trash heap behind a goat farm and I started to walk back to my rental car.

          I didn't see the soldier running toward me at first, due to the high garbage filled hills, but when I noticed him I began moving in his direction. I was a little scared but I figured ignoring him would only make matter worse.
          When I got near the soldier, who looked like Brad Garrett (the brother from Everybody Loves Raymond), I said "Hello." The solider pointed his AK47 at me and said, "Go." I thought I was going so I started to turn back to go to my car. But he pivoted around and got in my way, then motioned with his gun to go toward the military tower.

          I began to walk. Then he quickly stopped me and took everything out my pockets -- my camera, my wallet with $1000 in cash in various currencies, and my passport -- and put them into his pockets then he took my backpack.

          I was saying, "Picture. River. American. Tourist. Picture. Camera. Will delete. Will delete." I didn't have time to think about how I'd lived in Arabia for nearly six months and shamefully barely speak a word of Arabic. I listened to the solider mumble something in the local tongue into his shoulder-radio and realized that the only English word he knew was "Go" because he repeated it while shoving the end of the gun into my kidney. I put my hands up and went.

          In addition to having a loaded gun pressed into my back by an angry and unpredictable soldier that I couldn't communicate with, I was worried because it was 7:45 in the morning, my flight was at 11 and it was more than an hour from the airport. I didn't know how long this take. No one knew where I was. I began to think about the American tourists who were stuck in an Iranian prison for years. I was supposed to meet my lady for a week vacation in Istanbul. I thought about her waiting for me, ruined in Turkey for a week while I sat in a Jordanian jail unable to communicate with her. Vanished. At least the Malaysian airplane that disappeared... the loved ones know a little of the story.

          A military truck approached the soldier and I. The soldiers got out. One of them started speaking English to me, asking me where I am from. They went through my belongings. They were very curious about the headlamp flashlight I had in my bag. Perhaps they thought it was a terrorist instrument or an Israeli Mossad communication device. I put it on my head and they "ahhhhed." This bunch of guys from the truck were less intense then the Brad Garrett doppelgänger.

          One said, "Get in. We go." I climbed in and sat for a minute or two then asked where we where going. He said, "Military place."

          When we arrived at the base I was given to the higher guy in command. He was a young sergeant with a big baby cheeks, and acne scars, who looked younger than my age of 33. He was comfortable: half in uniform, only wearing a white under shirt. I hoped his English was better than the other guys. He motioned for me to have a seat. Other soldiers came out to gather on this porch. They made a gofer, who was not wearing a uniform, come out and asked me if I wasted tea or coffee. I said tea. Then he went to make some.

          The sergeant made a phone call then sat down next to me. He asked where I was from and I said America. The soldiers all talked to each other in Arabic for a few minutes. They asked if my car was locked. I said yes and then the men talked for a few minutes. The the sergeant asked what I was doing in Jordan. I gestured through a story in simple English: "I live in UAE. I am on vacation. I am on a Royal Jordanian flight. Long layover. I have to be at the airport soon. Flight at 11. Going to Istanbul to see my wife. I rented car. Swam in the Dead Sea yesterday. Hiked in beautiful mountains. Today, I tried to go to Baptism site but it was not open. I want to see river. I saw no signs saying 'military: keep out!' so I tried to walk to river. Just take pictures of river. Show my mother. She loves Jesus."

          The gofer handed chai tea to the soldiers and, as I held mine in my hand, he ran to get a plastic table so that i could sit it down. The sergeant nodded along the story. When I finished he talked in Arabic with the other soldiers. He made another phone call. It seemed like we were waiting for a higher ranking person to show up. It also seemed like the guys were bored and wanted something to do. I was their thing to do.

          The sergeant thumbed through my passport. Perhaps making sure that there was no Israel stamp in it. I bought an additional 48 pages to go into my passport (since it costs the same as 24 additional pages). I regretted it as it added to the suspense as well as taunts me to get the pages filled. He looked at each page and each of the 60 plus stamps or visas in it.

          There was a nervous silence. I asked what everyone's name was. They went around in a circle. There was a Mohammed, a Hamad, an Ahmed and an Ali. All names shared with my students in the UAE. The sergeant's name was an unfamiliar Tamra. I mumbled, "Tamra, nice to meet you." I pointed to my passport, "I'm Robert."

          Tamra got up and made a phone call. I sat there drinking my bitter chai tea. My girlfriend, who I referred to as my wife to the soldiers, was likely running through the Frankfurt airport to make her transferring flight. I didn't know yet if I would meet her or if I would miss it. Would the captain ever arrive? Would I be held captive?

          Tamra disappeared into a room for a moment. He came out with his military shirt in his hands. He sat down and started putting it on. Perhaps the captain was on his way. He looked at me and said, "Military place... No pictures. Delete."

          I said "Ok." My bag was sitting on the floor. They'd stuffed my wallet, camera, and the rest of pocket stuff I had into it. I reach down and got my camera. I deleted the photos of the river and the panoramas I took. I asked him if it was okay if I keep a photo of the dogs. He smiled and nodded. I handed him the camera to check. He held my camera and I thought about the video I took with my iPad. He hadn't asked to see it but I didn't want to say the pictures were deleted and then have me caught with the lie. I reached into my bag and deleted the video as well.

          We sat there and finished our tea. Then Tamra stood up and pointed at the truck. We got in and I was driven back to my car. When we got there he said, "Sorry. This is my job." He said it in such a neutral tone that for a brief moment I still worried that they would have me open the car and then they'd confiscate it and take it away and I would stay. I told him. "It is okay. I understand. Soldier see me. Who am I? It is okay to ask. I am sorry but.... make sign that signs Military place. Stay away."

          Tamra smiled and shook my hand. I followed the military truck down the potholed road. As I did, I reached for my iPad and got my one photo of the incident. A crooked photo of a truck that watches over a border but the border itself must only remain in my memories. Perhaps I'll visit Jericho one day and see it from the other side. We'll see if the Israelis check my passport for a Jordan stamp.

          I made it to the airport on time, got to Istanbul, and told my girlfriend the story. She said she knew something crazy would happen to me in Jordan. I'm always getting into trouble. Going places I probably shouldn't go.