The final weekend before J returned to us seemed like an eternity but we stuffed it full of as many adventures as we could. One of these was to visit a little souk in the old town where there's a man who sells honey comb. The dwarves love it, mostly because there are some stunt bees at work in a glass fronted comb, like a bee-equivalent of a fish tank, and even more mostly because the rotund and homely stall owner gives them tiny plastic spoonfuls of honey to taste. So after about 6 of those each, they careered up and down the alley veering dangerously close to Jordanian ceramics displays until we reached the end of the road. Then we were given some samples of equally sweet guava and banana smoothies. Rashimi has been nicknamed 'tetta' by the Glammy, which means 'Grandma' in colloquial Arabic. This is because he always wants to find a place to sit down and have a drink and a biscuit at any available opportunity. He shrieks: 'Sit 'eeeeeere! Sit 'eeeeere!' until we sit and produce a snack. But the drink is often a bit too cold, and the biscuit a little too crunchy, for his sensitive teeth. So tetta the Lozenge and I sat on little stools in the market and watched the world go by.
We headed back home along the busy main road that dissects Amman, and from the back of the car I heard wails of 'COC! COC!' from Rashimi. He'd opened the electric window and lobbed one of his Crocs onto the dual carriageway. There's not much you can say to a nearly 2 year old when they get unruly. It doesn't mean much to Rashimi that a pair of Crocs in his size here in Amman costs £65, if you can even find them. But we had a little chat when we got back home and I asked him what had happened. 'Window.' 'Woad,' he said, with a knowing look.
Sunday dawned, which is the equivalent of a Monday in the UK, and I spent the day filming in the gallery where I'm making the documentary. It was very hot but I was collected and dropped in a sleek Mercedes, and often turned around to find a little glass of mint tea or water perched on a wall on a tray near to where I was filming, delivered silently by one of the loyal staff there. It's a different experience from filming in Za'atari camp. But there is so much to the place, and so much to get to know and understand, that I find myself in wonder and slight awe at the prospect of doing it justice with a film.
The Mercedes dropped me home and I crashed back to earth as I climbed back into the red hot Chevy and paced it to the Lozenge's school where I wanted to meet his teachers. I walked in the tiny green gate and heard peals of familiar laughter coming from the pre-tennis class with 'Coach Mohammed'. There was the Lozenge wielding a plastic racket and swiping it in vain at a huge inflatable ball. I watched surreptitiously from behind the wall as he and the six others formed a queue, the Lozenge at the back, sniffing the hair of the boy in front in a feral fashion. Then they all filed out, and I saw his little friend Alejandra from Spain being met by her mother too. I asked him if he wanted to ask Alejandra to play one day and he said yes, he would, but added: 'Mummy that ith not her name. Her proper name is Aleeee-han-drop, okay?'
J arrived at about 1am on Monday morning and I felt the atmosphere in the house warm up, as it always does when all 4 of us are here in this city, just getting on with doing our thing independently and together.
We headed back home along the busy main road that dissects Amman, and from the back of the car I heard wails of 'COC! COC!' from Rashimi. He'd opened the electric window and lobbed one of his Crocs onto the dual carriageway. There's not much you can say to a nearly 2 year old when they get unruly. It doesn't mean much to Rashimi that a pair of Crocs in his size here in Amman costs £65, if you can even find them. But we had a little chat when we got back home and I asked him what had happened. 'Window.' 'Woad,' he said, with a knowing look.
Sunday dawned, which is the equivalent of a Monday in the UK, and I spent the day filming in the gallery where I'm making the documentary. It was very hot but I was collected and dropped in a sleek Mercedes, and often turned around to find a little glass of mint tea or water perched on a wall on a tray near to where I was filming, delivered silently by one of the loyal staff there. It's a different experience from filming in Za'atari camp. But there is so much to the place, and so much to get to know and understand, that I find myself in wonder and slight awe at the prospect of doing it justice with a film.
The Mercedes dropped me home and I crashed back to earth as I climbed back into the red hot Chevy and paced it to the Lozenge's school where I wanted to meet his teachers. I walked in the tiny green gate and heard peals of familiar laughter coming from the pre-tennis class with 'Coach Mohammed'. There was the Lozenge wielding a plastic racket and swiping it in vain at a huge inflatable ball. I watched surreptitiously from behind the wall as he and the six others formed a queue, the Lozenge at the back, sniffing the hair of the boy in front in a feral fashion. Then they all filed out, and I saw his little friend Alejandra from Spain being met by her mother too. I asked him if he wanted to ask Alejandra to play one day and he said yes, he would, but added: 'Mummy that ith not her name. Her proper name is Aleeee-han-drop, okay?'
J arrived at about 1am on Monday morning and I felt the atmosphere in the house warm up, as it always does when all 4 of us are here in this city, just getting on with doing our thing independently and together.
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