There are loads of guards on the streets of west Amman. Some people have actual policemen, dressed in camoflauge and carrying big guns, standing in front of their buildings. Others hire private security guards to keep watch on their houses.
One house on our street has a rotating cast of security guards whom we pass each morning as we walk to school. A couple of the the men wave and say hi to Kyra and Ainsley as they skip past.
Today, Kyra was running ahead, so she reached the guard booth ahead of us. When we caught up, she was standing in the guard booth, chattering with the guard. He asked me "does she understand English or French?" English, I told him.
"Then," he said in English, placing his hand on her head like a benediction, "I will pray to Allah for her good health." He kissed her on top of the head and continued, "I will ask Allah to make her a doctor. Or maybe an engineer."
Kyra rewarded his prayer with one of her glowing smiles and we continued on our way. Now, of course, we have a new spring in our step, knowing as we do that a stranger has sent his prayers to Allah on our behalf.