You know you're getting older when the card is more important than the present, and you start to notice birds. The sky has been an eternal blue for the last few weeks, and every morning at 6.30am the birds are in full song. You wouldn't know it was January. The Duke is worried about the lack of rain. Normally his cows are eating their way through shoots of new grass now, but he is having to feed them to keep them going through this January drought.
On this day, January 24th, one year ago, J, the dwarves and I arrived in Amman and began our lives here. After such a short time we barely know anything different. It has become home, yet in 7 days will cease to be so. We've been visiting many of our usual haunts for the last time. The Bird Garden where we spent many a happy hour looking at the crazy chickens, feeding the rabbit with a limp carrot or digging in the litter infested sand. We are greeted by many families when we go there now - mostly by Jordanian children who always recognise the Lozenge and Rashimi; the supermarket, where this morning, Rashimi went around kissing all the head scarfed, well made up ladies at the check out which earned him a swiss roll; and the Children's Museum which has become like a second home and will be sorely missed.
We've had some fun evenings with Jordanian friends, who will also be much missed. Many of them are Palestinian originally. In some ways I feel a little awkward going to make a home in their country where so many of them cannot or would not ever live. One friend admitted to me the other day, in relation to the Israel-Palestine situation: 'It's our fault. Not theirs. If we had stuck together and brought out some good leaders, we wouldn't be in this mess.' And another friend suggested that living there would be a lot less polarised, and more tolerant than we could ever imagine looking from this side.
Having been feverishly working on the documentary in my den trying to get a first edit together to show before we leave, my computer has been feeling the pace. After a few hours each day, half the screen turns blue, purple and green and I'm forced to switch off and let it recover for a few hours before beginning again. It's like going for a run with someone who's rather unfit, and waiting for them to catch up. In some respects it's probably good as it stops me tripping over myself and going too fast. Unfortunately, due to similar treatment from impatient dwarf digits, the ipad has also turned up its toes. The dwarves and technology are a fatal combination, and often when my back is turned, they break into my den…
J and I have been desperately sad this week, after the Taverne du Liban, the Lebanese restaurant in Kabul, was destroyed in a Taliban attack and the owner, Kamal, killed along with many others. It was one of the few places we could to go for dinner during our 2 years in Afghanistan. Kamal created such a relaxed atmosphere and was the heart and soul of the place - always laughing and joking and offering double helpings of chocolate cake to take away. It was a haven for so many people in the city - day and night. And was supposedly one of the securest. His is another footprint in the dust. He will be remembered by thousands who knew and loved him.
One week til we leave and the Lozenge is eternally gearing up. Yesterday morning he scribbled a 'letter' of little squiggles in felt tip pen and dictated as he wrote:
"Dear new houthe. We can't wait to thee you thoon on the 55th day of January. From Friday afternoon. In ten days. All my teddies and imaginawy fwiendth are coming. And so is Grathe. And God. And Noah. Washimi and I are excited to see you. To the next mission. Love from me."
On this day, January 24th, one year ago, J, the dwarves and I arrived in Amman and began our lives here. After such a short time we barely know anything different. It has become home, yet in 7 days will cease to be so. We've been visiting many of our usual haunts for the last time. The Bird Garden where we spent many a happy hour looking at the crazy chickens, feeding the rabbit with a limp carrot or digging in the litter infested sand. We are greeted by many families when we go there now - mostly by Jordanian children who always recognise the Lozenge and Rashimi; the supermarket, where this morning, Rashimi went around kissing all the head scarfed, well made up ladies at the check out which earned him a swiss roll; and the Children's Museum which has become like a second home and will be sorely missed.
We've had some fun evenings with Jordanian friends, who will also be much missed. Many of them are Palestinian originally. In some ways I feel a little awkward going to make a home in their country where so many of them cannot or would not ever live. One friend admitted to me the other day, in relation to the Israel-Palestine situation: 'It's our fault. Not theirs. If we had stuck together and brought out some good leaders, we wouldn't be in this mess.' And another friend suggested that living there would be a lot less polarised, and more tolerant than we could ever imagine looking from this side.
Having been feverishly working on the documentary in my den trying to get a first edit together to show before we leave, my computer has been feeling the pace. After a few hours each day, half the screen turns blue, purple and green and I'm forced to switch off and let it recover for a few hours before beginning again. It's like going for a run with someone who's rather unfit, and waiting for them to catch up. In some respects it's probably good as it stops me tripping over myself and going too fast. Unfortunately, due to similar treatment from impatient dwarf digits, the ipad has also turned up its toes. The dwarves and technology are a fatal combination, and often when my back is turned, they break into my den…
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| Oh no. An edit assistant. |
J and I have been desperately sad this week, after the Taverne du Liban, the Lebanese restaurant in Kabul, was destroyed in a Taliban attack and the owner, Kamal, killed along with many others. It was one of the few places we could to go for dinner during our 2 years in Afghanistan. Kamal created such a relaxed atmosphere and was the heart and soul of the place - always laughing and joking and offering double helpings of chocolate cake to take away. It was a haven for so many people in the city - day and night. And was supposedly one of the securest. His is another footprint in the dust. He will be remembered by thousands who knew and loved him.
One week til we leave and the Lozenge is eternally gearing up. Yesterday morning he scribbled a 'letter' of little squiggles in felt tip pen and dictated as he wrote:
"Dear new houthe. We can't wait to thee you thoon on the 55th day of January. From Friday afternoon. In ten days. All my teddies and imaginawy fwiendth are coming. And so is Grathe. And God. And Noah. Washimi and I are excited to see you. To the next mission. Love from me."
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