They Like Us, They Really Like Us

During my press trip to Jordan in November, I spent one evening interviewing a DTS grad who lives there. (We’ll call him Bob, which is not his real name.) As Bob was driving me back to my hotel that night, a machine-gun wielding soldier flagged us over.

I gripped the sides of my seat. “What’s going on?”

Bob looked at his speedometer. “I was probably doing about three miles over the speed limit.” He wasn’t joking. “But watch this—I’ll speak only in English. They love Americans—you’ll see.” He pulled over, rolled down his window, and smiled at the guard. “Hi.”

The man held his stern expression. “Your name, sir?”

“Bob.”

“Where you are from?”

“The United States.”

A fraction of a smile appeared.

Bob took advantage of the opportunity. “What do you think of Obama?”

The smile inched bigger as the guard considered this question. I had arrived there with seventeen journalists two days after the election, and—though we’d looked—we hadn’t found one national who wanted McCain to win.

The smile gave way to a grin. “Oh-h-h—BA-ma. O-ba-MA. O-ba-MA.” Then he stopped and looked past Bob to me, stern again. “What is her name?”

“Sandi.”

“Okay. Bob.” He nodded. “Sandi.” He nodded again. “You go.” He tilted his head in the direction of the road and flagged us on.

Bob sped off. “What did I tell you?”