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July 24, 2007

Last week, Umm Daoud, (her name means “Mother of Daoud”), met me and three friends at a bridge that crosses into her neighborhood. It was just after sundown; the streets were darkening as she guided us toward the narrow path which leads to her home. She and her five children live in a humble two room apartment in a crowded “low-rent” area of Amman.

As guests, my friends and I sat on a makeshift piece of furniture, an old door placed atop two crates and covered by a thin mat. She and her children sat on the floor. Apart from a television and a small table, the living room had no other furniture. The television remained “on” while Samil, her youngest son, seemed completely absorbed in a “Tom and Jerry” cartoon.