The magazine I've been writing for is making strides into unchartered terrain for a Jordanian women's mag. While trying to veer away from high heels and handbags, they're giving space to stories about women's rights and other fundamental issues, which aren't always evident here, yet once you start unravelling the ball of wool, you discover it's pretty long.
I was shocked to discover that as a woman in Jordan you aren't able to give your child your nationality - it comes only from the man. So if I'd married a Jordanian, and lived here - my children would be classified as 100% Jordanian. Or as one lady I met, told me, her son's not eligilble for a Jordanian passport becuase her husband's American. There was also a story about how a university professor was sacked from her job after her students released a video about sexual harassment on campus; and another feature about the brave Jordan Times journalist who's published a book about honour killings. It's all going on under the surface, despite the veneer of modernity, and equal pay is likely to be years away. The magazine is limited to how political it can get, and the piece was written with no bylines.
I saw a short film in the art house cinema here - The Rainbow Theatre. The film was called 'Ismail', about a Palestinian artist, made by a young Palestinian girl in her 20's. It was beautifully shot, despite a disappionting storyline. But it was a good excuse to nip out on my own for a culture fix. I sat in the one remaining seat in the cinema which was packed full of Jordanians and Palestinians only. There were long haired men and leather jackets - a far cry from Mall chic.The discussion was all in Arabic and my neighbour turned out to be an opinionated and interesting Palestinian lady of about 60, called Wissam. Before the lights went down, she said she loved this moment in the cinema. I agreed it was a moment that never lost its magic. 'There are many magic moments like that, in life. That never lose their value,' she said. She gave me a lift home and explained how she lost her husband four years before and is only just getting used to being on her own. I stepped out of the car and walked back upstairs to my boys - feeling wistful for Wissam. I got back and stared at the little cards the boys made for me with the Glammy for Jordanian mother's day, this week. Rashimi's had his first efforts at finger painting, with 'Bahibik, ia Mamma' (I love you Mummy) in Arabic, on it. The Lozenge's majored on hearts and stars. These moments of magic that could easily go unremembered.
The boys excelled themselves at an Iranian lunch at our language teacher's house, complete with mounds of pistachio-scattered rice and fesun juun, the lamb, pomegranate and walnut stew which is one of the most famous of Iranian dishes. The Lozenge had a double helping of creamy Nescafe pudding and was bouncing off the swirly wallpaper and almost off balconies from the tiny flat, cackling like a crazed harridan. Rashimi is just about walking, meaning my days as a human Zimmer are nearly over, but it also meant he could reach all the glass baubles, china lace-effect dishes and bowls of sweets. So I spent the whole lunch lunging after flying ornaments. Headscarves were awry after our visit and it was a relief to get home.
The Lozenge's teacher told me he's not really playing with the other children as they only speak Arabic, and I was feeling a bit guilty about keeping away from the expat zone and international schools on his account. But we're arranging a playdate with 'Nabiw' who has some English and his Mum sounds nice. I got off the phone to her, and as I tried to resuscitate a packet of dodgy Jordanian beef sausages (the boys refuse to eat them as they are dry and greasy all at once) by putting them into a casserole, I wondered if the cultural gap is ever entirely crossable - even when you're three. Time will tell.
I went for a job interview at an old building with peeling paintwork, where the atmosphere was swamp-like soporific, and like being transported back to the 50's, but if the job did happen, it could be an interesting one, and would help me peel away layers of this country to reveal some realities, as I was itching to do to the paint.
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