Breastfeeding In Jordan
Joan Carlton Griswold
Bellevue, WA USA
From: NEW BEGINNINGS, Vol. 19 No. 5, September-October 2002, p. 170
When my parents moved to
Amman, Jordan to teach at the American School, my daughter was just
over a year old and I was pregnant with our second child. Even as my
parents encouraged us to visit them, traveling to the Middle East with
two infants (one breastfeeding) was not high on my list of fun family
vacations. Yet, as my parents' stories of warm, friendly people, beautiful
country, and layers of history trickled back to us via email, I began
to imagine that we might be able to make the journey. It depended partly,
of course, on this new baby.
Our son, Nolan, was born with an easygoing disposition and a healthy
appetite. Eventually, we decided to make the trek. As we packed up most
of the house and set off on a trip halfway around the world with a toddler
whose favorite word was "no," and a 19-pound, four-month-old
who wanted to nurse every two hours around the clock, I began to wonder
if we had inched over the line from being adventurous to being insane.
I anticipated that breastfeeding
in public would be a problem in a country where the Muslim women routinely
covered their heads and exposed very little flesh. I knew that I could
nurse discreetly, but feared that even the idea of a breastfeeding baby
in public could cause problems. A Lebanese-born nurse in my pediatrician's
office suggested that I use a breast pump and feed Nolan from a bottle
when in public. Although I knew a breast pump could be my best shot
at cultural sensitivity, I was not too excited about this option.
My first foray into the world of breastfeeding in public in Jordan was
not exactly "public," as Nolan and I ended up in a toilet
stall. I wasn't up to pushing the cultural envelope at a quaint little
village restaurant, so I retreated to the toilet facility. I was amazed
at the reception Nolan and I received. The universality of a breastfeeding
mother far outweighed the difference in nationalities, and women came
over to watch, converse, and tickle the baby. It was a very heartening
experience.
Emboldened, I began to nurse
in more public places. I tried to take my cues from other breastfeeding
mothers, but alas, I saw none. Apparently it is customary for children
to be kept indoors for much of their first year, and though there were
many older children, infants were not in evidence.
Without any role models,
I continued to nurse discreetly. I turned my back when possible and
I always wore suitable clothing. I was never made to feel out of place.
I was always treated with respect and given privacy.
By our third and final week
in Jordan, I behaved much like I do at home. I hadn't caused any international
incidents and felt comfortable nursing Nolan discreetly in public. Curious
about breastfeeding customs, I began asking around. One woman I met
told me that breastfeeding is encouraged in the Arab world. Where she
had lived in Dubai, it is an actual law, though difficult to enforce,
that women breastfeed their infants during the first three months of
life. I also read that the new Queen Rania of Jordan arranged her full
schedule around the breastfeeding needs of her infant daughter.
It wasn't until we were boarding
the plane to leave that my questions were more fully answered. There
sat a veiled woman, dressed head to toe in black, with one breast fully
exposed in order to nurse her baby. On the surface, this woman and I
were separated by culture, language, customs, and dress, yet we were
connected by the same intimate bond that has joined women since the
beginning. We were breastfeeding mothers.
Last updated Friday, October 27, 2006 by njb.
Page last edited Sun Oct 14 09:29:38 UTC 2007.
