Early evening, I’m sitting in Amman
airport. It’s Ramadan and the daily fast
is about to end. All around me are women
and children, still and silent as statues, apart from occasional surreptitious
glances at watches. Suddenly, with no
obvious signal, everyone moves at once.
Bags are opened, sandwiches unwrapped, fruit peeled. The silence is replaced by murmurs of
pleasure as hunger is swiftly appeased.
My neighbour offers to share her bag of dates. I’ve not fasted, but they are so delicious, I
almost miss my husband walking out of Arrivals.
So begins our most unusual and wonderful Christmas ever.
