No sooner had we arrived in Jerusalem, than the dwarves and I did a quick about turn, and found ourselves back in Jordan sitting on the Glammy's balcony crowded with geraniums and spiky plants, all of us piled onto the swing seat looking out onto the beige street scene, already faded in the May sunshine.
The boys were so happy to be back with her - they went scurrying into her brown carpeted apartment like it was their own. We were visiting for a few days for the screening of the documentary I made about the Darat al Funun gallery in Amman. The week felt almost like a reward for all the countless journeys back and forth over the border we'd made - so many that we now have a positive welcome posse at customs on the Jordan side. The week was happy and care free, in some ways.
The only thing marring it was sad news from the Glammy about her 'husband' to whom she has only been married for 5 months, has not yet lived with, and has turned out to be not the man he purported to be. He has been insulting her for a while now, and when she protests, he accuses her of being fat and strong headed. They both want a divorce. Even sadder, to me, is the advice she's been getting from her female relations, who tell her that being insulted and being unhappy is just part of married life - you lump it or leave it at risk of your family's honour. We both sat, as she explained her situation, weeping at her kitchen table over the remains of the dwarves' bowls of Cocopops. She knows it doesn't have to be like this, and she knows that there are happier ways to live. And she has such a wonderful way with children.
The screening of the documentary took place in the Byzantine area at the gallery in the darkness, between the two evening calls to prayer. It was a full house and perfect weather.
When I arrived back at the Glammy's apartment, she, her sister and her Mum (complete with hair in rollers and cigarette dangling from bottom lip) were all still awake waiting to hear how it had gone.
The following day, the dwarves spent an hour after breakfast dancing with the Glammy and her sister in her room to: 'Call me Maybe' before we drove back over the border again, and back to our wonderful house here in Jerusalem, which becomes more and more like an oasis of our own. Even though it's evidently not. But that doesn't matter. At least for the mean time.
The boys were so happy to be back with her - they went scurrying into her brown carpeted apartment like it was their own. We were visiting for a few days for the screening of the documentary I made about the Darat al Funun gallery in Amman. The week felt almost like a reward for all the countless journeys back and forth over the border we'd made - so many that we now have a positive welcome posse at customs on the Jordan side. The week was happy and care free, in some ways.
The only thing marring it was sad news from the Glammy about her 'husband' to whom she has only been married for 5 months, has not yet lived with, and has turned out to be not the man he purported to be. He has been insulting her for a while now, and when she protests, he accuses her of being fat and strong headed. They both want a divorce. Even sadder, to me, is the advice she's been getting from her female relations, who tell her that being insulted and being unhappy is just part of married life - you lump it or leave it at risk of your family's honour. We both sat, as she explained her situation, weeping at her kitchen table over the remains of the dwarves' bowls of Cocopops. She knows it doesn't have to be like this, and she knows that there are happier ways to live. And she has such a wonderful way with children.
The screening of the documentary took place in the Byzantine area at the gallery in the darkness, between the two evening calls to prayer. It was a full house and perfect weather.
When I arrived back at the Glammy's apartment, she, her sister and her Mum (complete with hair in rollers and cigarette dangling from bottom lip) were all still awake waiting to hear how it had gone.
The following day, the dwarves spent an hour after breakfast dancing with the Glammy and her sister in her room to: 'Call me Maybe' before we drove back over the border again, and back to our wonderful house here in Jerusalem, which becomes more and more like an oasis of our own. Even though it's evidently not. But that doesn't matter. At least for the mean time.
No comments:
Post a Comment