So after having first met this Dalia some six years ago at a party in a modernistic suburban Ammani house with fake Greek columns, I got in touch with her again through new friends here in Amman and, more improbably, through a Swedish filmmaker friend. How? you might ask. I will tell you – and this can be categorized in the world-is-so-small category.
The filmmaker was in Morocco last month for a petite documentary film festival. He meets a snus-chewing Jordanian filmmaker with a rather pleasant demeanor (yes, Dalia). He mentions this encounter in a chat with yours truly the following day. And after the Ahs and Ohs, I get her number through him. Now to the real small-world thingy.
On my and T’s trip to Aqaba last week, I sit by the Red Sea with my feet in the tepid water, watching kids and T snorkel. A head appears from under the surface, followed by a surprised look and a high shriek (yes, Dalia). Turns out that she had been there three days (we just arrived) and was leaving in an hour or two. Of all the small heads bopping up and down the Aqaba coast…
Anyways: she agreed to tell me her Life Story (a thing I am doing as part of my thesis) once back in Amman. And speaking of which: now I am sitting at Books@café waiting to do a Life Story-interview with a friend of hers, Amar O (referred to in an earlier blog as Amar no. 1). I wouldn’t be surprised to see her head bop up behind a plastic cup of Lemon-with-mint juice. Wish me luck. Oh, here he comes.