Al dunya shittaat

The colloquial expression when it rains here is: 'Al dunya shittat' which literally means: 'the world is raining.' Last week the rain was so heavy during the night, it sounded like multiple running taps. Both dwarfs wet their beds and the Lozenge came scampering naked into our room at 2am, having stripped off the soggy pyjamas, and clambered in to bed with us, rubbing his feet up and down my leg and pushing himself around into a comfier position until we fell asleep again. It was like sharing a bed with a seal - silken, slightly sticky skin and a solid form rather tricky to roll over to create space for myself. Though fortunately without whiskers or fish breath.

Then he was up and out of bed a couple of hours laters humming jingle bells under his breath and bringing in boxes of paper and glue to make some early morning chrithmath decorationth. Rashimi wandered in at 7 asking to watch 'a little bit of iPaaad', in the tone of a street urchin who wants some money. 'I want Fireman Tham on Youtube. But not the Fwench one!' The perils of globalisation for the anti-glot.

After school the dwarfs have been making the most of the enormous puddles outside our house thanks to the blocked drains - and the radiators are constantly steaming with damp socks.

The political backdrop rumbles angrily on, with the news of a 'Nation State Bill' which has been approved by the Israeli cabinet and has been widely contested. As far as I can see, it would put an official tag on what already functions as an apartheid state, and give recognised priority to Jewish citizens. As the director of the Advocacy Centre for Arab Citizens in Israel commented: 'The nation-state bill...comes on top of the basic laws that already defined Israel as Jewish and dozens of laws that give excessive rights to Jews in Israel and throughout the world, while ignoring a fifth of the country's citizens'. 

And as the Israeli-Arab graphic designer, who created the 'State of Israel, second-class citizen' stamp in the wake of the bill surmised: 'What's new here? We were never first-class citizens. At least now you have said it out loud. I prefer that they tell us directly and not pretend we live in a democratic country, where they are self righteous and say there are equal rights.'

I've been reading to the dwarves a nightly chapter of Roald Dahl's Fantastic Mr Fox, and the chapter where the fabulous fox family are bulldozed out of their hole by the 'terrible tractors' is so reminiscent of the political situation here. House demolitions and other dirty tricks, with the ever exhausted but still wily fox, who has lost his tail after Boggis or Bunce or Bean shot it off, a symbol in my mind of the Palestinian struggle, as I read to the dwarfs out loud.

There's been the decomposing corpse of a dead cat outside our garage for the past 2 weeks causing an almighty aroma which we receive mouthfulls of while climbing into and out of the car. 'Why did the cat die, Mummy?' asked Rashimi, ever fascinated by death and drama. I explained the Mummy version of events which involved the cat having had a long and happy life, and after a while when he grew tired, he lay down on the pavement for a nap, and never woke up. 'No,' interrupted the Lozenge. 'I don't think that's the thtory. I think that probably, the polithe shot it.' Another sign that perhaps Israeli tactics do not go un-noticed by dwarfs.

I've been working with a Palestinian friend at home translating some of the latest footage I've taken from Arabic into English. She arrived at our house and for once was not wearing her headscarf. She looked much softer and younger without it. Over lunch she told me all about her husband, who is so jealous over her, that he even feels put out when their son kisses her. As if this prison of Palestine wasn't enough - to have a marital prison at home, must be incredibly limiting to daily peace of mind.

Despite the rain, the Christmas spirit is fighting its way through, with a fortunate break in the clouds last Friday for the Lozenge's school Christmas fair which we held out of doors in sporadic sunshine. To be honest, I'd always hoped I would be never be one of 'those' Mums.

And as I laid out the cakes on the baking stall at 8am with my Christmas trees hairband having roped in 17 year old Mark 'the muscles from Moscow', one of the secondary students, I did wonder why my hand had gone up in the parents meeting, along with the hands of the dazzling array of Scandi ladies - the fellow fair fairies. Perhaps it's because they're so nice. Well, we had a good time, and we made over £400 just from the baking which all goes towards a children's summer camp in Gaza. And I think no one from the outside would have guessed that this 'community school' was made from disparate nomads from all around the world. And fortunately a good number of Palestinians just to keep our feet on the ground.

J was here for a weekend in between two weeks of work trips, and we met a lovely guy who I hope will become a new friend, and might be moving here from the UK. And double hooray - he's in the same trade as me. As we talked I realised it's been almost 2 years since I talked shop with a fellow Brit. We need people like that here, or I could risk going entirely 'native': the great fear of all governments for their diplomats. Though I'm not sure there are guidelines in the expat instruction booklet for trailing spouses that head down that route. Normally we're meant to trail along to keep the diplomat on track.

Then another Great Brit, known to dwarfs as 'That lovely laydeeee', Emma, came to visit and we embarked on a visit to the separation wall, which I'll enlarge on in another post, to look at the graffiti. A while back, the Lozenge asked me as we drove through its grey impermeable bulk: 'Mummy, is that thing still called a wall? Because it's the ugliest one I've ever ever seen.' And this time, he still thought it was ugly, and: 'weally annoying becauthe you can't see over it.' So they tried to have look under a chink below a solid gate instead.

Rashimi was fascinated by an old chair on top of a rubbish tip that could have been positioned there as a mock viewing platform. 'Why has someone put that chair there, Mummy? Look - it'th an antique!' 

After a glass of fresh orange juice at one of the cafes cashing in on tourist coachloads coming to witness the wall, we meandered back towards to Jerusalem along a pretty winding road through the hills to go to a Christmas fair at the Lutheran church in the old city. Without any of us noticing, Rashimi managed to strip off all his clothes in the back seat, much to the surprise of the Ethiopian and Russian 'Israeli' soldiers at the checkpoint. 'Oh no,' said the Lozenge. 'Washimi is naked again.' The little man is heading towards almost professional levels of exhibitionism.

Although a beautifully festive and Germanic experience, the Lutheran fair was not the best for visiting with 2 dwarfs, and 2 scooters. We spent the half hour inside with wailing coming from down below as one after another shaggy head was whacked with shopping bags and cameras. I juggled a mug of 'glug', the scooters and 2 sticky hands clenching mine. We found a sandwich and some cinamon infused cake, and the Lozenge dropped the glass plate which smashed all over the ancient stones. An unmerry ding dong it was, though fortunately we bumped into our lovely Palestinian friend Robert who popped a Cohiba cigar into J's shirt pocket and laughed with us about how he'd forgotten what this kind of thing was like with 'al atfaal' the children. His girls are all grown up.

The dwarfs were invited to a pirates and princesses birthday party and Rashimi needed no encouragement to wear his outfit from uncle Duncle. He ate 12 marshmallows in a row and the 'cutlath' was wielded with ever more fervour.

The Lozenge was too mature to dress up, but wore his Tshirt with sharks on: 'Like shark infethted waters.'

The pudding bowl hairdos have been dealt with chez Chris the Armenian hairdresser, who is famed for trimming Tony Blair when he's here. I'm afraid to get mine done there in case I get 'the Cherie'. I said to the Lozenge: 'Imagine if I sat in that seat and Chris cut all my hair off.' L replied: 'Then you would look like Grandpop.'

In fact, Rashimi's new style is frighteningly Tony-esque - complete with the ears.

As the Lozenge spotted a brush and started sweeping up all the hair, (he does love a job) I thought to myself that it was almost worth Tony Blair being nominated for that ludicrous Global Legacy Award this week by Save the Children, just for the humiliation of the in-house, and then public outcry, and over 100,000 signatures, to revoke it.