The ladies breakfast was more like an upper East side 'salon' with an average age of 75, brought down only a little by my presence. We sat in the shade of a huge mulberry tree and I heard all about their lives and their families. Most of the women were American, married to Jordanians or Palestinians. The only problem was the roar of the fountain behind, which we all had to shout over, and most of the table was hard of hearing. The maid was very efficient at filling up the coffee cups, and I realised when Widad and I left back to her house that it must have been that kind of coffee that tasted weak but had a high caffeine level - so my hands were shaking which is never good before a morning of taking photographs in 35 degrees.
Widad and I returned to her house and after a few portraits of her and the little terrier, Zizi, I set to work trying to capture the essence of her house. She called me to come downstairs to look in her drawers of silver, and I hurriedly picked up my camera bag with the shaking hand. One of my most precious lenses flew out of my sweaty palm and I watched in slow motion as it bounced, step by step down the marble staircase. Smash, bump, clunk, crunch, jingle, crack. I froze. A brace of Filippinas rushed to my aid with a dustpan and brush, but there was no time to deal with the panic, so I forged on with the lens that was already on my camera and went downstairs to talk to Widad.
I pushed the accident to the back of my head as I carried on working, occasionally wincing as I thought of my mangled lens and whether my insurance would deem it worthy of coverage. And I followed Widad as she opened drawers rattling with silver; pulled out multicoloured dresses from all over the Arab world and explained technical and cultural differences of each large and tiny article we looked at. Ali Baba's cave would have looked boring in comparison.
Then she left me to it in her basement, so I crept around taking photographs of everything I could see. I was in one of the darker rooms, crouching down to take a picture of some of her library of Arab art and heritage books when I smelt something funny. Actually, something very nasty that smelt suspiciously like....
Zizi had obviously been down there that morning and had left a large memento on the carpet in the library. It must have measured at least the size of her head. And I had stepped right in it, in my espadrille. I tried to pull the shoe off without touching it, and hobbled back up to see the Filippinae in the kitchen to explain, without Widad hearing. They thought it was hilarious and luckily I was only responsible for cleaning my own shoe - not the carpet.
Now barefoot, I carried on working and had finished by about 1.30pm, feeling shaky, very hot, and now rather hungry. Then two Palestinian men from one of the oldest camps in Amman arrived with bags and bags of Arab dresses, and Widad convinced me to try on 2 of the dresses from Ramallah which strangely were made to measure - even in length, so I parted with £20 and got a free belt. 2 hours later I eventually left - with a bag of Palestinian dresses, a smashed lens in my bag and remnants of doggy doo doo on my now brick-like espadrille, which hadn't enjoyed the hosing. The sun beat down but I decided to walk as we live not far from her house. Then I got snarled up in the crazy road system which can often lead you the wrong side of a wadi if you don't get it right. So one hour later I limped in the door, changed into my shorts and flopped on our sofa on the balcony. The saving grace of the day being that the material I have to work with is fascinating and extensive, and I also had an hour before the boys got back.
The Lozenge and Rashimi came scuttling in at 5 with the Glammy - sweaty and smelling strongly of sun cream and biscuit. The Lozenge gave me full details of their day, and then said: 'Tho tell me, Mummy. How wath yourth?'
Widad and I returned to her house and after a few portraits of her and the little terrier, Zizi, I set to work trying to capture the essence of her house. She called me to come downstairs to look in her drawers of silver, and I hurriedly picked up my camera bag with the shaking hand. One of my most precious lenses flew out of my sweaty palm and I watched in slow motion as it bounced, step by step down the marble staircase. Smash, bump, clunk, crunch, jingle, crack. I froze. A brace of Filippinas rushed to my aid with a dustpan and brush, but there was no time to deal with the panic, so I forged on with the lens that was already on my camera and went downstairs to talk to Widad.
I pushed the accident to the back of my head as I carried on working, occasionally wincing as I thought of my mangled lens and whether my insurance would deem it worthy of coverage. And I followed Widad as she opened drawers rattling with silver; pulled out multicoloured dresses from all over the Arab world and explained technical and cultural differences of each large and tiny article we looked at. Ali Baba's cave would have looked boring in comparison.
Then she left me to it in her basement, so I crept around taking photographs of everything I could see. I was in one of the darker rooms, crouching down to take a picture of some of her library of Arab art and heritage books when I smelt something funny. Actually, something very nasty that smelt suspiciously like....
Zizi had obviously been down there that morning and had left a large memento on the carpet in the library. It must have measured at least the size of her head. And I had stepped right in it, in my espadrille. I tried to pull the shoe off without touching it, and hobbled back up to see the Filippinae in the kitchen to explain, without Widad hearing. They thought it was hilarious and luckily I was only responsible for cleaning my own shoe - not the carpet.
Now barefoot, I carried on working and had finished by about 1.30pm, feeling shaky, very hot, and now rather hungry. Then two Palestinian men from one of the oldest camps in Amman arrived with bags and bags of Arab dresses, and Widad convinced me to try on 2 of the dresses from Ramallah which strangely were made to measure - even in length, so I parted with £20 and got a free belt. 2 hours later I eventually left - with a bag of Palestinian dresses, a smashed lens in my bag and remnants of doggy doo doo on my now brick-like espadrille, which hadn't enjoyed the hosing. The sun beat down but I decided to walk as we live not far from her house. Then I got snarled up in the crazy road system which can often lead you the wrong side of a wadi if you don't get it right. So one hour later I limped in the door, changed into my shorts and flopped on our sofa on the balcony. The saving grace of the day being that the material I have to work with is fascinating and extensive, and I also had an hour before the boys got back.
The Lozenge and Rashimi came scuttling in at 5 with the Glammy - sweaty and smelling strongly of sun cream and biscuit. The Lozenge gave me full details of their day, and then said: 'Tho tell me, Mummy. How wath yourth?'
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