In the world of beauty that I came to know during my childhood, whenever we visited my grandfather’s home and the homes of my uncles and aunt, I would breathe in the fragrance of Damascene jasmine filling every corner of this mountain.
اضافة اعلان
I would be enchanted by the beautiful view from my grandfather’s house, overlooking downtown Amman and its mountains Al-Ashrafieh, Abu Darwish Mosque, the Citadel, and part of Jabal Amman.
I would walk through the streets of the mountain, where there was Abu Sami’s grocery store, with its distinctly English appearance, as though you were stepping into a film from the 1960s, with jars of licorice and English toffees, toast chocolates, and English wafers.
Then I would make my way toward Al-Hawouz Circle, its streets still wet from the spring rain that had fallen the day before, the rain would awaken the scents of juniper and pine, drawing them out from their hidden places.
There, you would find people visiting the circle’s garden, enjoying the warm spring sunshine, smoking, rolling their own tobacco cigarettes, and exchanging stories about a past that had long since gone by.
Al-Hawouz Circle used to be home to some of the earliest shopping areas what we might call a “mall” today with shops such as Bajali and Khalaf, the venerable University Bookshop, bakeries waiting for their dough to rise, a barber in his white apron, and butchers displaying local lamb and tender veal.
I would head west toward the park and Mardini’s delicious ice cream, The aroma of falafel would lead me toward Abu Mahjoub’s restaurant. God, how wonderful those days were the familiar streets where we would walk back and forth.
Yet we would run at lightning speed whenever we passed by a psychiatric hospital, hurrying until we reached my uncle’s house.
There, we would watch the peach tree grow, waiting for its green fruit to appear. We never got to see it change color, because the peaches were always picked before they had fully ripened, then eaten with a sprinkling of salt.
But there was also the garden of one of our relatives, right next to my grandfather’s and my uncles’ homes, He took exceptional care of it, from the loquat tree to the abundant peaches and that lemon tree whose fragrance would fill the air whenever it blossomed.
He loved gardening and his garden just as much as he loved music, during his service in the Armed Forces, he had been one of the founders of the Armed Forces military bands, where he played the saxophone and took great pride in his beautiful years of service.
To the north of the peach tree was a wooden staircase leading to my aunt’s house, which stood next to my grandfather’s home, there a carob tree offered generous shade and produced abundant quantities of ripe carob pods, which we loved eating for their wonderful taste.
And just as beautiful as Jabal Al-Lweibdeh is in the morning, it is equally beautiful just before sunset, at sunset, and when evening falls and night arrives. At that hour, César Restaurant would begin playing Umm Kulthum songs "Enta Omri" and others while the opening notes of the qanun filled the air with a wonderful music that brought joy and serenity to the mountain.
This was my night, filled with love. From the balcony of my grandfather’s and my uncles’ home, I would watch beautiful Amman at night, glowing like a magnificent Christmas tree in its bright and colorful lights.
Oh, how many memories you hold, Jabal Al-Lweibdeh, from the days when my cousins and I would walk along Al-Baouniyah Street.
I would stop to admire those beautiful houses, built of white and pink stone, where Damascene jasmine climbed over the walls, a fig tree put forth its spring growth, and a Syrian mulberry tree bowed under the weight of its fruit.
How beautiful you are, Jabal Al-Lweibdeh, when we walk down toward downtown. We would pass by the façade of Luzmila Hospital, where the steep descent forced you to walk slowly and carefully until you reached the Lweibdeh steps Al-Kalha.
There, a qatayef vendor would continue his work throughout the year. And eventually, we would reach downtown, where we would watch a new film starring Farid Al-Atrash perhaps Min Zaman Ya Hob or Nagham Fi Hayati.
Those were the days of old days when every street, every scent, every tree, every song, and every familiar face carried a memory.
And Jabal Al-Lweibdeh was, and remains, a place where those memories live on.
By: Nabil Ammari
