'No morning is a morning without a newspaper, coffee and Fairuz,' said Nasser as he negotiated his rattling taxi down the winding route 443 to Ben Gurion airport. Fairuz is probably still one of the most popular musical icons for Palestinians. Her nimble Arabic vocals cascaded up and down against a backing of crackling strings as we drove between the separation wall: white Israeli settlements on one side, and a scruffy Palestinian village, minarets piercing the skyline, on the other. Perhaps cultural icons are ever more important for a people without a state; and why one as old as Fairuz, can live on in people's hearts for so long.
The Pea's first voyage: London to meet her cousin Lochie, even newer than herself, leaving her dwarf brothers behind for a long weekend. The Lozenge had crawled into bed with us in the morning where I was feeding the Pea. 'I always find the warm patch,' he said, nudging us onto the cooler part of the sheet. 'Is she humming a tune?' he asked as he listened to her little feeding noises.
'Are you going to see Fergus in London?' I worried that the fact the Lozenge and Rashimi were not accompanying us on the whistle-stop visit might instigate tears. But no. 'You know what I can do, Mummy. I can make my eyes sort of turn inside and I can see Fergus in my head! He's wearing swimming shorts with sharks on. I miss him.'
We were leaving the dwarfs with the raven haired combo of St Grace and the Glammy who'd come for what must have seemed like a busman's holiday from her three nannying jobs in Amman. 'Being with your boys isn't work,' she said, 'honestly I come here for a break,' she explained, sitting at our kitchen table wearing her bright red mini mouse pyjamas, as she spooned Cheerios into Rashimi's mouth. Through the Cheerios, Rashimi explained: 'There ith a RED sea and there ith a DEAD sea. And the DEAD sea has no fish and that ith why it ith called DEAD. Totally DEAD with nothing ALIVE at ALL. Not even mermaidth.'
'Excuse me, Rashimi, but I was the one who introduced you to this country, and both of these seas, and this mermaid, and you're telling me all about them?' The Glammy teased, continuing her story about her as a mermaid taking the dwarfs to an underwater world.
The Glammy is still living in Amman with her Mum and new husband, neither of whom work. So she supports both of them and their smoking habits, with her three jobs a week. She's so tired that her hair is falling out, which is her body's usual way of saying she's overdoing it. 'It's like I'm my Dad now,' she said. Her father died when she was a teenager and as the oldest girl she's taken on the role of supporting her whole family. 'People take and they take, and then my husband complains about why I don't have the energy to go out in the evening, and complains about a scratch on his finger when I've just had five injections into my scalp to try and save my hair,' she shook her lustrous locks, which still looked thick compared to what I have on my head. But everything's relative. 'Honestly, I come to your house for a break as you're the only ones in my life who actually give anything back.'
Whatever the reason, I was glad of her presence in the house during these uncertain times. And through working for us over the last three years, the Glammy and St Grace have become firm friends. I'd stocked the fridge and cupboards with frozen pizza, popcorn and crisps and diet coke for the Glammy. The Pea and I drew out of our road in the cab, I waved at the boys walking to school with St Grace, their rain coats fastened tightly under the chin. 'Bye Mummy. Bye bunny floppy ears.'
I asked Nasser the taxi driver his take on the situation in this country - the daily attempted stabbing attacks, almost always culminating in Israeli soldiers shooting the Palestinian perpetrator dead. And in almost every case the perpetrator is a young Palestinian - the bud of a life - inspired by an internet 'how to' video, or by peers, convinced that their martyrdom is worth it. It's a tragic scenario, and as the incidents continue, the Israeli reaction becomes yet more determined and angry.
'It's very bad now,' Nasser explained. He's from a village called Ein Kerem now incorporated into West Jerusalem, and formerly an Arab village. 'When I was a boy we all lived together in my village. Muslims, Christians, Jews. Our houses were intermingled with each other. My father remembers the days when no Jew cooked during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. They wouldn't even eat ca'ek (the sesame bread) in the street until the Muslims had broken their fast. We got along with each other better back then.'
'Haram' (a shame), he said, shaking his head. 'I don't want my children and my grandchildren to feel what I feel. And in my eyes Obama has been as bad as George Bush in his dealings with our state.'
As the Pea and I went through passport control, the pretty young Israeli official looked at the Pea's brand new passport. 'Congratulations on your new baby,' she said, peering over her counter to take a look at her in her pram. 'But why you go to Bethlehem in the West Bank to have your baby? The hospitals in Israel are much better.'
We boarded the flight and to my annoyance our seat was occupied. But I soon realised the occupier wasn't moving anywhere. A lady of at least 80 with a walking stick, accompanied by her daughter on her right, gave me a big smile and a shrug - pointing to her crippled looking feet. I also shrugged, in a slightly bolshy manner, and then of course we got talking. Inshira' and her mother were flying to Oaklahoma to visit Inshira's brother. They took Petra from my arms immediately and when they heard she was born in Bethlehem they laughed and said: 'Hieh Falasteenieh!' (She's Palestinian.)
I relinquished the childcare for a few minutes and the air hostess asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I looked at my watch and mumbled maybe a coke.
'Are you looking at your watch to see if you can have a drink yet?' said the hostess with a distinct Northern twang. 'I drink at any time of day when I'm flying. Go on, what would you really like?'
We were definitely homeward bound.
Inshira's Mum pointed at the clouds out of the window and asked her daughter: 'Telj?' (Snow?); as the Pea slept in her arms, and I sipped on a can of beer.
A promising start for any future travels with the Pea.
The Pea's first voyage: London to meet her cousin Lochie, even newer than herself, leaving her dwarf brothers behind for a long weekend. The Lozenge had crawled into bed with us in the morning where I was feeding the Pea. 'I always find the warm patch,' he said, nudging us onto the cooler part of the sheet. 'Is she humming a tune?' he asked as he listened to her little feeding noises.
'Are you going to see Fergus in London?' I worried that the fact the Lozenge and Rashimi were not accompanying us on the whistle-stop visit might instigate tears. But no. 'You know what I can do, Mummy. I can make my eyes sort of turn inside and I can see Fergus in my head! He's wearing swimming shorts with sharks on. I miss him.'
We were leaving the dwarfs with the raven haired combo of St Grace and the Glammy who'd come for what must have seemed like a busman's holiday from her three nannying jobs in Amman. 'Being with your boys isn't work,' she said, 'honestly I come here for a break,' she explained, sitting at our kitchen table wearing her bright red mini mouse pyjamas, as she spooned Cheerios into Rashimi's mouth. Through the Cheerios, Rashimi explained: 'There ith a RED sea and there ith a DEAD sea. And the DEAD sea has no fish and that ith why it ith called DEAD. Totally DEAD with nothing ALIVE at ALL. Not even mermaidth.'
'Excuse me, Rashimi, but I was the one who introduced you to this country, and both of these seas, and this mermaid, and you're telling me all about them?' The Glammy teased, continuing her story about her as a mermaid taking the dwarfs to an underwater world.
The Glammy is still living in Amman with her Mum and new husband, neither of whom work. So she supports both of them and their smoking habits, with her three jobs a week. She's so tired that her hair is falling out, which is her body's usual way of saying she's overdoing it. 'It's like I'm my Dad now,' she said. Her father died when she was a teenager and as the oldest girl she's taken on the role of supporting her whole family. 'People take and they take, and then my husband complains about why I don't have the energy to go out in the evening, and complains about a scratch on his finger when I've just had five injections into my scalp to try and save my hair,' she shook her lustrous locks, which still looked thick compared to what I have on my head. But everything's relative. 'Honestly, I come to your house for a break as you're the only ones in my life who actually give anything back.'
Whatever the reason, I was glad of her presence in the house during these uncertain times. And through working for us over the last three years, the Glammy and St Grace have become firm friends. I'd stocked the fridge and cupboards with frozen pizza, popcorn and crisps and diet coke for the Glammy. The Pea and I drew out of our road in the cab, I waved at the boys walking to school with St Grace, their rain coats fastened tightly under the chin. 'Bye Mummy. Bye bunny floppy ears.'
I asked Nasser the taxi driver his take on the situation in this country - the daily attempted stabbing attacks, almost always culminating in Israeli soldiers shooting the Palestinian perpetrator dead. And in almost every case the perpetrator is a young Palestinian - the bud of a life - inspired by an internet 'how to' video, or by peers, convinced that their martyrdom is worth it. It's a tragic scenario, and as the incidents continue, the Israeli reaction becomes yet more determined and angry.
'It's very bad now,' Nasser explained. He's from a village called Ein Kerem now incorporated into West Jerusalem, and formerly an Arab village. 'When I was a boy we all lived together in my village. Muslims, Christians, Jews. Our houses were intermingled with each other. My father remembers the days when no Jew cooked during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan. They wouldn't even eat ca'ek (the sesame bread) in the street until the Muslims had broken their fast. We got along with each other better back then.'
'Haram' (a shame), he said, shaking his head. 'I don't want my children and my grandchildren to feel what I feel. And in my eyes Obama has been as bad as George Bush in his dealings with our state.'
As the Pea and I went through passport control, the pretty young Israeli official looked at the Pea's brand new passport. 'Congratulations on your new baby,' she said, peering over her counter to take a look at her in her pram. 'But why you go to Bethlehem in the West Bank to have your baby? The hospitals in Israel are much better.'
We boarded the flight and to my annoyance our seat was occupied. But I soon realised the occupier wasn't moving anywhere. A lady of at least 80 with a walking stick, accompanied by her daughter on her right, gave me a big smile and a shrug - pointing to her crippled looking feet. I also shrugged, in a slightly bolshy manner, and then of course we got talking. Inshira' and her mother were flying to Oaklahoma to visit Inshira's brother. They took Petra from my arms immediately and when they heard she was born in Bethlehem they laughed and said: 'Hieh Falasteenieh!' (She's Palestinian.)
I relinquished the childcare for a few minutes and the air hostess asked me if I wanted anything to drink. I looked at my watch and mumbled maybe a coke.
'Are you looking at your watch to see if you can have a drink yet?' said the hostess with a distinct Northern twang. 'I drink at any time of day when I'm flying. Go on, what would you really like?'
We were definitely homeward bound.
Inshira's Mum pointed at the clouds out of the window and asked her daughter: 'Telj?' (Snow?); as the Pea slept in her arms, and I sipped on a can of beer.
A promising start for any future travels with the Pea.
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