A cool breeze has graced us this morning and sitting on the step outside waiting for the Lozenge's school bus with the boys was a welcome respite from the furnace that this city has been for the past week. Together with the news that a strike on Syria is unlikely, the atmosphere in every sense is cooling off a little. Everyone we know here is very relieved.
It's been a strange week or so, since I know the Glammy will be leaving us, and I haven't had the inclination or spirit to do much work. But I've been trying to use the time to break into this Arabic language instead. The good thing about languages is you have to switch off your head and concentrate, so the effect can be a strenuous form of meditation. Since J is away, I've been having to do all the Arabic phone calls that he would normally do. On the whole people have been receptive and encouraging. I also gave myself some time to make the most of this city, and went to a photography exhibition called: 'Children of Gaza'. There were some beautiful and poignant images, but I felt they could have made more of it, and the stories of the children didn't seem to come through as strongly as they could have. I took Rashimi on a lunch date to the centre of town on Thursday.We ate falafels, bread and hummus with our fingers, and got talking to lots of local families. It's much easier going around with a child as no one hassles you in the wrong kind of way, and most people want to chat. Although we had a very rude taxi driver who tried to charge me double, drove very fast, and told me he couldn't understand my accent when I spoke Arabic. I told him I thought he must have a problem with his ears. I knew he was doing it to be insulting and I was unimpressed. One day Rashimi will help as his Arabic words apparently sound like a local child talking. He's so lucky to have had this head start.
The Duke invited me to one of his big dinners and we had drinks on his roof overlooking the Citadel followed by dinner on his terrace. There was roast wild boar on the menu, which is generally shot on his farm by his staff, but they won't handle it or cook it, so he has to go and fetch it himself. It was delicious and it seemed most of the party was Christian or agnostic, so no one refused it. He'd invited an amazing array of people as always: artists, lantern makers, journalists, publishers and Lebanese building contractors.
Every night, the Lozenge chimes: 'Will you be having dinner here?' But this week he's also been asking: 'But who will be with you, Mummy? I don't want you to be alone.' He's been happily going to nursery and racing back on the little bus to sneak an hour with the iPad while Rashimi sleeps. He came running through one day and said to the Glammy: 'It'th very annoying becauthe when I preth thith button, Curiouth George starts thpeaking Polish. Can you fix it for me?' The frustrations of You Tube at nearly 4 years old.
The boys and I are missing J so much. He's been in Nablus for 10 days now and Rashimi has been hugging piles of his clean t-shirts calling 'Dadddeeeee' and wanting to put them on. I put one over his head and he toddled around looking like a navy blue ghost. The heat has been so intense the boys stopped sleeping so we all decamped into our room which is the only one with air conditioning. The Lozenge on J's side of the bed, and Rashimi in his cot at the foot of it.
The bed is full of sand, there's a scooter parked by the side of it. The floor is a sea of strewn teddies and children's books. On Friday morning we woke up early to Rashimi yelling: 'BaaaaaaaAAAAAAG!!' to take his sleep bag off, and read the Little Red Hen in bed together. By 8am the boys had unpacked the contents of most kitchen cupboards onto the floor and the Lozenge suggested making chocolate chip cookies. Nothing like baking in 40 degrees. But we set to it on the condition they would clear up the carnage in order to make the cookies. The parable of the Little Red Hen came in handy at this point as I reminded them how the lazy pig and cat and rat got none of the hen's freshly baked bread as they'd refused to help her sow her corn. It worked and we left a parcel of cookies for Sayyad downstairs on his way down. Friday is his only day off, and he spends it in the mosque and resting in his tiny shack at the bottom of the house. I always feel it must be the day when he misses his wife and children in Egypt the most.
Then we ventured in the red hot Chevy with dusty hairdryer air blowing in our faces, to the YMCA swimming pool on the airport road, with another family who were fortunately as sleep deprived and understood our predicament. I hadn't remembered that it stands for Young Mens' Christian Club. But as a result there were bronzing bodies in bikinis and trunks and beer on sale in the cafe. It was local, faded and cheap and just what we needed on a weekend without J.
The following day we went on a day trip to the Jerash with Honor the glamorous 19 year old. On the hottest day of the year yet, she made it all the way around the site, though the boys and I didn't get much further than the ice cream shop, where a digger had been handily parked nearby, framed by one of the Roman arches. 'But where are the Romanth?' the Lozenge kept enquiring. With ice cream, a digger, and stones to count out in Arabic, the boys were happy, and one day I will venture further than the hippodrome and learn a bit more about one of the biggest Roman sites outside of Italy other than the prices of strawberry mivvies in the shop there.
Now another week has begun and my work life is getting moving again. Last night the Lozenge and I reflected on our days together. He said: 'I do love my big bad mummy time, and hathn't it been a weeeeally cookie weekend.'
It's been a strange week or so, since I know the Glammy will be leaving us, and I haven't had the inclination or spirit to do much work. But I've been trying to use the time to break into this Arabic language instead. The good thing about languages is you have to switch off your head and concentrate, so the effect can be a strenuous form of meditation. Since J is away, I've been having to do all the Arabic phone calls that he would normally do. On the whole people have been receptive and encouraging. I also gave myself some time to make the most of this city, and went to a photography exhibition called: 'Children of Gaza'. There were some beautiful and poignant images, but I felt they could have made more of it, and the stories of the children didn't seem to come through as strongly as they could have. I took Rashimi on a lunch date to the centre of town on Thursday.We ate falafels, bread and hummus with our fingers, and got talking to lots of local families. It's much easier going around with a child as no one hassles you in the wrong kind of way, and most people want to chat. Although we had a very rude taxi driver who tried to charge me double, drove very fast, and told me he couldn't understand my accent when I spoke Arabic. I told him I thought he must have a problem with his ears. I knew he was doing it to be insulting and I was unimpressed. One day Rashimi will help as his Arabic words apparently sound like a local child talking. He's so lucky to have had this head start.
The Duke invited me to one of his big dinners and we had drinks on his roof overlooking the Citadel followed by dinner on his terrace. There was roast wild boar on the menu, which is generally shot on his farm by his staff, but they won't handle it or cook it, so he has to go and fetch it himself. It was delicious and it seemed most of the party was Christian or agnostic, so no one refused it. He'd invited an amazing array of people as always: artists, lantern makers, journalists, publishers and Lebanese building contractors.
Every night, the Lozenge chimes: 'Will you be having dinner here?' But this week he's also been asking: 'But who will be with you, Mummy? I don't want you to be alone.' He's been happily going to nursery and racing back on the little bus to sneak an hour with the iPad while Rashimi sleeps. He came running through one day and said to the Glammy: 'It'th very annoying becauthe when I preth thith button, Curiouth George starts thpeaking Polish. Can you fix it for me?' The frustrations of You Tube at nearly 4 years old.
The boys and I are missing J so much. He's been in Nablus for 10 days now and Rashimi has been hugging piles of his clean t-shirts calling 'Dadddeeeee' and wanting to put them on. I put one over his head and he toddled around looking like a navy blue ghost. The heat has been so intense the boys stopped sleeping so we all decamped into our room which is the only one with air conditioning. The Lozenge on J's side of the bed, and Rashimi in his cot at the foot of it.
The bed is full of sand, there's a scooter parked by the side of it. The floor is a sea of strewn teddies and children's books. On Friday morning we woke up early to Rashimi yelling: 'BaaaaaaaAAAAAAG!!' to take his sleep bag off, and read the Little Red Hen in bed together. By 8am the boys had unpacked the contents of most kitchen cupboards onto the floor and the Lozenge suggested making chocolate chip cookies. Nothing like baking in 40 degrees. But we set to it on the condition they would clear up the carnage in order to make the cookies. The parable of the Little Red Hen came in handy at this point as I reminded them how the lazy pig and cat and rat got none of the hen's freshly baked bread as they'd refused to help her sow her corn. It worked and we left a parcel of cookies for Sayyad downstairs on his way down. Friday is his only day off, and he spends it in the mosque and resting in his tiny shack at the bottom of the house. I always feel it must be the day when he misses his wife and children in Egypt the most.
Then we ventured in the red hot Chevy with dusty hairdryer air blowing in our faces, to the YMCA swimming pool on the airport road, with another family who were fortunately as sleep deprived and understood our predicament. I hadn't remembered that it stands for Young Mens' Christian Club. But as a result there were bronzing bodies in bikinis and trunks and beer on sale in the cafe. It was local, faded and cheap and just what we needed on a weekend without J.
The following day we went on a day trip to the Jerash with Honor the glamorous 19 year old. On the hottest day of the year yet, she made it all the way around the site, though the boys and I didn't get much further than the ice cream shop, where a digger had been handily parked nearby, framed by one of the Roman arches. 'But where are the Romanth?' the Lozenge kept enquiring. With ice cream, a digger, and stones to count out in Arabic, the boys were happy, and one day I will venture further than the hippodrome and learn a bit more about one of the biggest Roman sites outside of Italy other than the prices of strawberry mivvies in the shop there.
Now another week has begun and my work life is getting moving again. Last night the Lozenge and I reflected on our days together. He said: 'I do love my big bad mummy time, and hathn't it been a weeeeally cookie weekend.'
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