The View From Our Front Balcony

Beep, beep.  A yellow taxi goes by.  We are sitting on our front balcony in the late afternoon, drinking tea (not wine!), watching life on Jaber Ibn Hayyan Street.  We can see the Moroccan embassy across the street at the next corner to our left.  To our right a new apartment building is under construction.  Yesterday they moved rebar to the roof, two rods at time by hand from one floor to the next.  Today they are pouring concrete, four floors up.  Buildings here are universally cement block construction.  Throughout the city there are many empty lots, but also buildings under construction everywhere.  On our street alone, within a few blocks of our home, there are four apartment buildings that will likely be completed before we leave next June.

 The View From Our Front Balcony

Across the street, we are watching the two feral cats that scrounge in the silver garbage bins.  They are very healthy looking and probably the most agile cats that I have ever seen.  Prowling around the edge of the bins, they stretch and inspect before making their move to get a meal.  As dainty as can be, they consider the pickings.  I never see them bring anything out of the bin, but clearly they look well fed.  A pick-up truck pulls up.  The cats have a rival.  A man goes through the trash bin and takes out a few items.  While there appears to be no formal recycling here, the trash picker seems to be interested in metal. 

Rumble, rumble, a water truck goes by slowly grinding his way up the hill.  Beeep.  Another impatient driver passes the water truck, swerving at the last minute to avoid an oncoming taxi.  Both vehicles give another long beep, perhaps to acknowledge their success at another moment without an accident.

Amman’s water is delivered to the houses and apartment buildings by truck, and pumped to the rooftop tanks.  Although water is a scarce resource here in Jordan, we witness water waste all the time.  In our building when the hall is being washed, the water may be left running for half an hour.

Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling.  Sounds like the ice cream man.  Nope, it is the Buta-gaz man.  Cooking gas is delivered in heavy green cylinders, usually stored in the kitchen under a cute little dress that hides them. 

Hamada, the “guard” walks across the street.  He lives in a small room in the basement of our building and does odd chores like take the garbage out and bring the newspaper in.  He cleans the halls and supposedly will bring the Buta-gaz tank up to our apartment.  We haven’t had to change a tank yet, so that remains to be seen.  Our four story building has a small elevator so bringing groceries in is not a bother. 

We watch the cars go by.  We are surprised to see how many are driven by women.  More surprising is the number of Mercedes, both those parked in our neighborhood and those that pass by.  While most have Jordanian license plates, there is a smattering from Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Kuwait.  Seat belts are not commonly used, and restraining children is clearly not the norm.  Occasionally we see cars with open sun roofs and a child’s head sticking out.  We see the rare Volkswagen Beetle, including the convertible one that is frequently parked on the nearby side street.  The Accident Investigation van goes by, and sometimes the police in a large SUV with 911 prominently displayed on the side.  

                   School Girls

 

      Man in White Robe with Traditional Red Jordanian Headdress

The people walking by are equally interesting.  While most men wear western dress, typically jeans and shirts with collars, there are a fair number who have on the traditional long white robe, always looking immaculately clean.  Two women in traditional garb go by chatting away and enjoying ice cream cones.  The workmen who are replacing the tile sidewalk in front of our building finish for the day.  The man from Benghazi goes by with two of his small children.  He loves to stop and carry on a shouted conversation, frequently reminding us that he is “from Benghazi, just here for four weeks studying”.  The street noise makes conversation difficult, but this never deters him.

The sun begins to set, the imam calls the faithful to prayer, a welcome cool breeze wafts over us and we head in to have supper. 

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