The warm snow nights

Amman has changed so much since my childhood, about 60 years ago.

How happy my siblings and I were when the snowflakes fell down like a gymnast’s ribbon, dancing and twisting their way to their destination.

We would huddle, cramming our cheeks against the cold window glass, with our wandering eyes roaming the horizon begging for more snow.

We naturally did not go to school. We would sit at home with my mother preparing sahlab, a milk-based drink, or hot cocoa, to warm us up.

Our jubilation would reach a crescendo when my mother would pour hot sweet macaroni into a big ball. Each of us armed with a spoon, we would muscled our way into the ball. In tens of seconds, the bowl would be empty.

Knowing that in advance, my mother would bring yet another bowl.

A lesson we learned was that if you are raised in a large family, you develop the skill of eating fast. Until now, if I am on my natural self, I find myself eating fast. The hidden competition is always there.

A lesson in patience was learnt as we sat watching my father roast chestnuts on the charcoal flaming inside a kanoon (an open iron-made three-legged tray).

He would pick one chestnut and give it to the youngest. The hot chestnut almost burnt our soft hands, but we kept tossing it from one hand to the other and blowing on it.

When colder, but not necessarily cold, the chestnut would be hastily pealed and devoured.

When the chestnut ritual was over, my father would eat one and then return to his den to write. He demanded absolute silence while he did that.

We, the six brothers and two sisters, would sit on a long bench doing our homeworks. Each older sibling was supposed to help the younger ones with things they failed to understand.

Being the sons of a great teacher of both Arabic and English, we performed very well at school. Anyone whose marks showed regressive trends was put to shame.

When all our homeworks were done, each had a book to read from my father’s 10,000-book library.

We loved to see the stories we read on the screen.

Cinema was the love of our lives. Our knowledge of all Egyptian, Hollywood, Bollywood and European (especially English, French and Italian) movies was way beyond our ages.

Nowadays, I really do not know what the children do once caged at home in winter days and snowy nights.

As young children, we weaved many dreams. We would share such dreams together until we would be reminded that it was 9pm and we must put the lights off and sleep.

The games we played when my father was at home were not the same games when he left for an errand.

When he was there, we would play chess, compete in poetry memorisation, or challenge each other with puzzles.

In my father’s absence, we would fight, play basketball using a small soft ball, or hand wrestle.

Six of us got their PhDs from the US and the UK. The other two were engineers and chose to be businessmen.

When it snows, I get that wordsworth feeling of nostalgia. These days, flash upon the inward eye which is the bliss of solitude. My heart with pleasure fills and dances with snowflakes. 

The writer, a former Royal Court chief and deputy prime minister, is a member of Senate. He contributed this article to The Jordan Times.