Most evenings, as the final call to prayer of the day resounds over the seven hills of Amman, the Lozenge and I say prayers too before he goes to sleep. There's a limit to what you can explain to a three year old, in a region which is ripping itself from the seams over differences of religion, which is perhaps only a veiled excuse for basic human greed and fear. And there has never been a point in my life where I've thought more about what faith is, or what it means to us in our lives. I've never doubted religion, yet needed some sort of faith, as much.
So I guess all it is, is trying to help the Lozenge get into the habit of reflecting on his day: things to say thank you for; things to say sorry for; accepting that things sometimes don't go exactly how you'd like; and people to think about and pray for. This week has been a good week, and most nights he's said: 'Ooh, Mummy, I don't think there'th anything to thay thorry for today!' But we still haven't managed to get to a church, talk about what Easter means beyond chocolate, or read any of the Bible stories, despite living smack in the heart of where it all began. It's orthodox Easter here this week, and he came back from school with some bunny ears he'd made, but I couldn't remember the significance of the bunny anyway. So at some point we'll need some help, from a school or someone else. Anyone?
But for adults, Madaba a town 30km south west of Amman, is a good start. Spread out on the floor of an orthodox church, is a sixth century mosaic map of the holy land - not entirely complete, but deciphrable nonetheless (particularly when you go with someone who can read ancient Greek…thank you Grandfather of Lozenge and Rashimi - please can you also teach them one day). It was uncovered in 1884 during clearance work for a new church, and is mysterious and beautiful with all the place names we'd recognise, Jerusalem, Philadelphia (Amman), Nablus and Hebron, all written in Greek, in their appropriate places. And as you wander around peeping into old Ottoman houses, it feels like a friendly town. It's 95 per cent Christian, but with a growing Muslim population due to continuous urbanisation. Yet you don't feel that either is jostling each other, at least from the surface. And long may it stay that way.
We managed to get the handbrake jammed as we cruised, in the minibus, through the one way system in the centre of the town. As the line of cars grew longer and longer behind us, and the tooting got louder, a gang of men gathered jesticulating through the window. Before we knew it, men were taking it in turns to hop into the driver's seat to try and unclench it. After a purposeful wallop on the handbrake, one man eventually managed and there was a resounding, 'Hooray!!!!' and clapping from the group of onlookers.
We were invited to a party this week and the invitation read: 'Take inspiration from Dubai, Yemen, Canada, Switzerland, England, Scotland, Russia, Holland, Georgia, Nigeria and Siberia and amazing, wonderful, beautiful, Jordan. Life is juicy.' So dressed in a long piece of cloth from Niger with a huge head-dress to match (me), a Jordanian keffieh (J) and a long Afghan Karzai-style coat (J's Mum) we set off in the minibus. It was the moment when I longed to be stopped by the police, but to no avail…
The party was brilliant though. Almost all Jordanians gathered in a big white room with white sofas, overlooking the twinkling lights of the old city of Amman. The editor of the magazine I've been writing for was there, though understandably it took her a little while to recognise me. Her daughter, in her mid 20's was also there, and I talked to for a long while as I'd seen some of her work in the National Gallery here. She's an impressive girl who has just walked up to Everest base camp with friends to raise money for cancer research. Educated in Canada, she's an artist, photographer and yoga teacher. But the thing that most impressed me about her, was her desire to come back and settle in Jordan, to work here, live here, and share the educational opportunities she's gained from outside. So many other young people her age leave here never to return, causing the 'brain drain' of talented people which leaves a country deserted of juicy human talent like pulling up trees, and never planting new ones.
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