The dreaded question

On September 6, I was fortunate enough to become a father for the first time; and like any other new father, the enormity of the responsibilities that I now have is quite terrifying.

The responsibilities are numerous, but perhaps one of the most important is to nurture my child’s curiosity, nurture the thirst for knowledge and have viable answers for all questions, or the ability to direct and aid him in finding the answers for himself.

Naturally, I have been formulating answers to questions he might ask, and paths of logic to direct him in answering his own questions.

The questions will probably range from “Why is the sky blue?” to “Why are there poor and rich?” and “Why do all these Syrians die?”

Some simple, some complex, but the great majority can be answered with rational thought. Whether answered through science or attributed to the folly of man, greed, corruption and indifference, all have some rationale.

Among all the questions I expect my son to ask me, there is one that I dread: “Why should I come back to Jordan?”

Truly, I have spent every night since I first knew I was to be father pondering this question, and so far have found no rational answer, only sentimental ones.

You see, by the time he is 18, I will have spent JD100,000 to JD150,000 to educate him, as the public schools fail the students and therefore the country, and only three or four of the private schools are worth mentioning.

I will have paid tens of thousands in private healthcare and insurance, because I would cut off an arm before sending my child to a public hospital.

By the time he is 21, I will have paid a further JD100,000 to JD200,000, because the universities in Jordan are getting worse and provide the students with minimal skills, and next to no critical thinking.

All this now. Imagine in 20 or so years where the country will be.

Do I tell him to come back to a country based in one overcrowded city, with a road network that is already insufficient (I dread to imagine it 20 years from now).

Do I tell him to return to where he will have limited career choices?

Return to one of the most expensive cities in the Middle East?

Do I tell him to pay over 120 taxes from low wages for next to no benefits, for a failing and ailing education and health systems?

Do I tell him to return to a country with ever-rising crime rates?

To a country with next to nothing for the youth to do in their spare time besides eating and frequenting cafés?

To a country where a seemingly feudal tribal system is in place of which he cannot be a part of?

No, I will tell him that he would break his mother’s heart if he did not return, and that I want to see as much of his him and his family as I can before I pass away.

Ramsey Mansur,
Amman