Chickens on the Bus - Travel Adventures in Jordan

I started getting nervous when my seat-mate grabbed a piece of my shirt in her beak and pulled. The bus trip from Maarka to Amman in Jordan would, in many other countries, be a simple commute from the suburbs to the city. But in Jordan, you never know who - or what - will be seated next to you.

On that particular day it was a loosely made, and poorly fastened, crate of squawking chickens. Let me first say that I have a few phobias, and one of them is to birds. I don't mind the kind of bird that sits in a tree and sings, but birds that swoop at your hair or peck at your feet, or offer a good hard bite from a bill that is allegedly for talking - well, they can send me into full panic mode. I know it's not rational, but the definition of a phobia is, after all, an irrational fear.

The chickens belonged to an Arab woman of indeterminate age; she could have been anywhere from 30 to 70, swathed in her robe and scarf. Few women in Jordan wear a veil, so I could see her weather-worn cheeks, and the smile crinkles around her mouth. But before I noticed those, I noticed the chickens. I saw her get onto the bus with the crate in her arms, and I knew, immediately, that she would sit next to me. I was wrong. She sat across from me. The chickens sat next to me.