For a country made mostly of sand and salt, those in charge of roads in Amman have not covered themselves in glory this week. All roads into Amman have been blocked and the supermarket shelves are looking like they might have in the USSR circa 1985. The Lozenge and I made a trip this week and came back with some UHT milk, a few mouldy onions and a bag of cranberries. The aisles were filled with panic shoppers - trolleys loaded and frowns deeply etched as they shunted other humans of prey out of the way. Let's hope some lorries make it in before J's family arrive for Christmas.
I had a day's work taking photographs for the US fundraising wing of Unicef on Tuesday. Roads were covered in thick ice with waist-high snowdrifts either side. I decided to walk, or rather skate, to our meeting point at the Four Seasons hotel, since no taxis dared venture out, and J had to stay at home with the dwarves until St Grace arrived. I said goodbye to them decked out in my wellies, thick coat and hat. 'Are you going to see the Thyrianth again? I love you Mummy,' said the Lozenge, with a waft of Frosties breath, kissing me on the cheek.
It took me half an hour to walk under a kilometre. I met the team and we set off. After ten minutes we were watching a car ballet of other 4 x 4 vehicles doing slow 360 degree turns on thick ice down the hill. Trying to avoid a rusty truck piled high with chickens in plastic cages, our driver moved to the snowy side of the road and waited, his hands shaking on the wheel, as we watched the surprised looking chickens be taken for the same balletic spins.
It took us 3 hours to reach Za'atari camp, where fortunately, for the estimated 85,000 residents, it had not snowed at all. But the mud was quite bad in some places.
It was the first time I'd visited the camp in winter conditions, and although high temperatures can be just as uncomfortable, people in this region are more accustomed to heat than cold. Most children I saw had some form of footwear - but very few had socks, and most were in plastic sandals. But the children were not standing around complaining about the cold like the adults - they carried on regardless, running about, throwing stones, playing with friends and siblings and any toys they had.
One of our destinations was a child friendly space, managed by a fabulous Australian woman from the child protection unit. The caravan was decked with decorations which created a busy clash with the patterned carpet on which little groups of children were huddled - drawing and chatting. The atmosphere was calm, happy and very warm. The children looked well looked-after and attentive. It can take the extremes in politics and outside conditions to make you wonder at the little areas of safety and harmony which exist within it all.
It reminded me I hadn't been to see the family near our house who I made one of the films about, for a while. So the following day, I popped around with some photographs of them I'd printed. Hamouda and her family have nothing in their little room in the disused apart hotel, apart from some pieces of clothing and matresses on which they sleep. But they have never once asked me for anything, apart from copies of the photographs I took of them over the summer. Hamouda's breath iced as she spoke, in the cold room and the five children she's now responsible for piled in and kissed me at least 7 times each on the cheeks. I noticed Hamouda's hands were red raw and offered my cashmere gloves. She hesitated, then looked me in the eye and said: 'Anjad?' (Really?) and relucantly took them. Their lime green colour matched some of the stitching on her thin shirt. I stayed for an hour or so, managing the Arabic a little better than 4 months ago, then went home to try and find some more warm clothes we could hand over. In some respects those refugees living in the urban spaces around this country, outside of the camps, are more exposed. At least within a camp there is generally a heated health centre, play area or caravan - with gas provided by the Jordanian government.
The Lozenge has been off school this week, and with most roads too treacherous even for Reem with the wheels, the boys and their little sidekick, Lulu have been running wild in our flat which for the first time feels a little small…After a few bits of testing pre-Christmas behaviour from the Lozenge - mostly revolving around presents, J and I took him aside on separate occasions and tried to explain to him, in 4 year old terms, quite how much he had compared to other children nearby. I'm never sure at what moment it's sensible to bring up frank truths - but this seemed an opportune one.
During breakfast this week, the Lozenge disappeared and came back, stark naked but for a wooly hat on his head, backpack on, and a couple of bags in each hand filled with cans of tonic water, some dates, a smattering of plastic fruit from the toy box, and an umbrella. 'I'm off to see the Thyrian peopleth and I'll be back later,' he explained.
I had a day's work taking photographs for the US fundraising wing of Unicef on Tuesday. Roads were covered in thick ice with waist-high snowdrifts either side. I decided to walk, or rather skate, to our meeting point at the Four Seasons hotel, since no taxis dared venture out, and J had to stay at home with the dwarves until St Grace arrived. I said goodbye to them decked out in my wellies, thick coat and hat. 'Are you going to see the Thyrianth again? I love you Mummy,' said the Lozenge, with a waft of Frosties breath, kissing me on the cheek.
It took me half an hour to walk under a kilometre. I met the team and we set off. After ten minutes we were watching a car ballet of other 4 x 4 vehicles doing slow 360 degree turns on thick ice down the hill. Trying to avoid a rusty truck piled high with chickens in plastic cages, our driver moved to the snowy side of the road and waited, his hands shaking on the wheel, as we watched the surprised looking chickens be taken for the same balletic spins.
It took us 3 hours to reach Za'atari camp, where fortunately, for the estimated 85,000 residents, it had not snowed at all. But the mud was quite bad in some places.
It was the first time I'd visited the camp in winter conditions, and although high temperatures can be just as uncomfortable, people in this region are more accustomed to heat than cold. Most children I saw had some form of footwear - but very few had socks, and most were in plastic sandals. But the children were not standing around complaining about the cold like the adults - they carried on regardless, running about, throwing stones, playing with friends and siblings and any toys they had.
One of our destinations was a child friendly space, managed by a fabulous Australian woman from the child protection unit. The caravan was decked with decorations which created a busy clash with the patterned carpet on which little groups of children were huddled - drawing and chatting. The atmosphere was calm, happy and very warm. The children looked well looked-after and attentive. It can take the extremes in politics and outside conditions to make you wonder at the little areas of safety and harmony which exist within it all.
It reminded me I hadn't been to see the family near our house who I made one of the films about, for a while. So the following day, I popped around with some photographs of them I'd printed. Hamouda and her family have nothing in their little room in the disused apart hotel, apart from some pieces of clothing and matresses on which they sleep. But they have never once asked me for anything, apart from copies of the photographs I took of them over the summer. Hamouda's breath iced as she spoke, in the cold room and the five children she's now responsible for piled in and kissed me at least 7 times each on the cheeks. I noticed Hamouda's hands were red raw and offered my cashmere gloves. She hesitated, then looked me in the eye and said: 'Anjad?' (Really?) and relucantly took them. Their lime green colour matched some of the stitching on her thin shirt. I stayed for an hour or so, managing the Arabic a little better than 4 months ago, then went home to try and find some more warm clothes we could hand over. In some respects those refugees living in the urban spaces around this country, outside of the camps, are more exposed. At least within a camp there is generally a heated health centre, play area or caravan - with gas provided by the Jordanian government.
The Lozenge has been off school this week, and with most roads too treacherous even for Reem with the wheels, the boys and their little sidekick, Lulu have been running wild in our flat which for the first time feels a little small…After a few bits of testing pre-Christmas behaviour from the Lozenge - mostly revolving around presents, J and I took him aside on separate occasions and tried to explain to him, in 4 year old terms, quite how much he had compared to other children nearby. I'm never sure at what moment it's sensible to bring up frank truths - but this seemed an opportune one.
During breakfast this week, the Lozenge disappeared and came back, stark naked but for a wooly hat on his head, backpack on, and a couple of bags in each hand filled with cans of tonic water, some dates, a smattering of plastic fruit from the toy box, and an umbrella. 'I'm off to see the Thyrian peopleth and I'll be back later,' he explained.
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