The house happily hangs in the beginning of a little cul-de-sac that eventually curves and forms a round mass of asphalt perfect for the placement of a traffic circle, and everyone who has ever been to this city knows how fond Ammanites are of building circles. Fortunately though for the many generations of children who grew up on the street and to the dismay of the grouchy old lady who lives on the top floor of the apartment building, a traffic circle never got the chance to ruin the many matches of soccer that took place in this particular cul-de-sac over the decades.

My grandmother recounts that before we were all born and when the older houses in the cul-de-sac were first built, the Mseeh boys would play soccer almost everyday in what was then a much larger field. But naturally, the Mseeh boys soon became men, and in true Jordanian fashion, their family built each an apartment atop of what was once the Mseeh villa.

She continues that although the Mseeh boys retired, the sound of pattering feet on the asphalt of the cul-de-sac didn’t cease, for they were immediately replaced with my cousin and his friends. This I remember because my cousin would never let us younger kids play with his friends, and I used to hate him for that (to this day, I’m not very fond of him). Not that it mattered, because we weren’t really allowed to play beyond the gates of my grandmother’s garden at that point anyway. Only a little girl, I used to stand on the ledge of the gate and watch them play soccer, developing what were probably the very first crushes in my life. Their rule over the cul-de-sac came to an end quite early on as my cousin got a car at the tender age of 16, and who wants to play ball when you can be anywhere in Amman?

Thus our turn came to be kings of the cul-de-sac, the children of the second half of the 80′s. It started with tricycles and hide and seek, but soon evolved to real inter-7ara soccer matches, multi-speed mountain bikes, and hanging out on the sidewalk to “chill”. It was our domain, utterly and completely- we knew every stone, every tree, and every street cat. We knew every soul by name, including the people over at the Japanese motel across the street. We would ask “strangers” to not park their cars in front of our houses and give directions on weekends to lost tourists.

The cul-de-sac lost its appeal to us the same way it lost appeal to my cousin- first we got our driver’s licenses, then we got cars. Instead of having my bottle of ice-cold Pepsi on the sidewalk, I’d drink it at a coffee shop with my friends somewhere in Jabal Amman. Today, when I visit my grandmother’s house on the cul-de-sac for a family lunch, instead of the usually 4 cars of once-upon-a-time, there are at least 11, eating up the playing space.

Fortunately, as the day gets cooler, the cars can’t resist the calls of the 19 hills of Amman and the playing space is freed once more, so the tricycles and kickballs crawl slowly out of their hiding spots and the voices of the next generation of children are heard loud and clear.

On a visit to my grandmother, I honk my horn when I’m trying to park so that the kids remove their make-shift goal of stone, and I ask the elder boys to please be careful to not hit my car with their ball. The little girls play on the side of the road, and I wave to my cousin Lina who runs to me and gives me a hug. The kids that used to annoy us so bad when it was our turn to rule are now teenagers sitting on the sidewalk hanging out and drinking Pepsi from bottles that have grown in size with time.

Further down the street, the Mseeh grandchildren stand on the railing of their home’s sledge watching the elder kids, the current king of the cul-de-sac, play a soccer match, and surely developing the first crushes of their lives :)