Something went down in Jericho today. One of the roads was closed to Palestinians ("settlers and soldiers only", y3ani, VIP....) so today a parade of Palestinian cars tried to break the closure. It reminded me of the demonstration in Beitin last Christmas, when the village tried to walk down their road to Ramallah, which had also been given VIP, non-Palestinian status. Seeing the line of armed Israeli soldiers at the bottom of the hill, waiting for us, was a chilling image I'll never forget.
When I chaperoned the end-of-year Civil Rights tour for the school I worked at last year, we walked across the bridge in Selma and learned about Bloody Sunday, when demonstrators encountered a line of state troopers waiting for them on the other side of the bridge. Our students were asked, "what connections can you draw today? Is there anything you can think of that you would demonstrate for?" I scribbled furiously in my journal, but I didn't know how to express what was going through my head.
Today I thought of a song I heard at the Civil Rights Museum in Birmingham. It went like this:
I'm taking a trip
On the Greyhound Bus Line
I'm riding the front seat
To Jackson this time.
Hallelujah, I'm travelin,
Hallelujah, ain't it fine?
Hallelujah, I'm travelin
Down freedom's main line.
Here's footage from today (by Haitham Al Khatib):
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
I don't think Santorum or Gingrich (especially) will get the nomination, but the fact that they can spew stuff that the Israeli government can't even get away with....
This is from an Atlantic article called "Is Rick Santorum for Apartheid or Ethnic Cleansing or What?"
Newt Gingrich and Rick Santorum disagree about Palestinians. Gingrich says they're an "invented people." Santorum says they don't exist. "All the people that live in the West Bank are Israelis," says Santorum. "They are not Palestinians. There is no Palestinian. This is Israeli land."
As Glenn Kessler of The Washington Post points out, even the current right-wing Israeli government doesn't describe the situation this way. And if you pursue the implications of Santorum's view, you'll see why.
There seem to be three possibilities:
(1) Is Santorum saying that Palestinians in the West Bank, being Israelis, should be allowed to vote in Israeli elections? This would be a version of the "one-state solution." This scenario is favored by a growing number of people who think it's too late for a two-state solution, but most of these people are several thousand light years to Santorum's left, and I think it's unlikely that this is what Santorum has in mind.
(2) So is Santorum saying that Palestinians in the West Bank, though (by Santorum's lights) living in the state of Israel and warranting the label "Israelis," shouldn't be given the vote? This would be a variant of the one-state solution known as "apartheid." Which may help explain why the Israeli government prefers to call the West Bank "disputed territory" rather than part of Israel, even though the charter of Netanyahu's political party, Likud, seems to rule out ever giving the Palestinians a state.
(3) Maybe, if Santorum isn't embracing scenarios (1) or (2), he's just hoping West Bank Palestinians will find another place to live? This is a view held by some right-wing Israelis. (It also may be held by Gingrich, whose notorious "invented people" utterance also included the less remarked-upon line that "they had a chance to go many places.")
Read more...
This is from an Atlantic article called "Is Rick Santorum for Apartheid or Ethnic Cleansing or What?"
Newt Gingrich and Rick Santorum disagree about Palestinians. Gingrich says they're an "invented people." Santorum says they don't exist. "All the people that live in the West Bank are Israelis," says Santorum. "They are not Palestinians. There is no Palestinian. This is Israeli land."
As Glenn Kessler of The Washington Post points out, even the current right-wing Israeli government doesn't describe the situation this way. And if you pursue the implications of Santorum's view, you'll see why.
There seem to be three possibilities:
(1) Is Santorum saying that Palestinians in the West Bank, being Israelis, should be allowed to vote in Israeli elections? This would be a version of the "one-state solution." This scenario is favored by a growing number of people who think it's too late for a two-state solution, but most of these people are several thousand light years to Santorum's left, and I think it's unlikely that this is what Santorum has in mind.
(2) So is Santorum saying that Palestinians in the West Bank, though (by Santorum's lights) living in the state of Israel and warranting the label "Israelis," shouldn't be given the vote? This would be a variant of the one-state solution known as "apartheid." Which may help explain why the Israeli government prefers to call the West Bank "disputed territory" rather than part of Israel, even though the charter of Netanyahu's political party, Likud, seems to rule out ever giving the Palestinians a state.
(3) Maybe, if Santorum isn't embracing scenarios (1) or (2), he's just hoping West Bank Palestinians will find another place to live? This is a view held by some right-wing Israelis. (It also may be held by Gingrich, whose notorious "invented people" utterance also included the less remarked-upon line that "they had a chance to go many places.")
Read more...
Saturday, January 7, 2012
My day
After I went to Tubas to pick up my cell phone (the guy at the Jawwal store fixed it for free!) and buy some eggs, I went to join a family in Tayasir for lunch. They eat lunch around 3, and dinner around 8 or 9. This was the same family as the day before, but a different brother's side of the house. He has an unfinished room jutting out where the family can hang out and barbecue and not have to worry about windows, furniture, carpets and things that kids can destroy. The grandmother has eleven children and sixty-five grandchildren. At first I thought my friend was telling me how hold she was. 65?!
"If we have a family war, phew!" he said. He was joking because of what was going on at the village council next door. If you looked out the "window" you could see a hundred or so men gathering in seats outside the council office. There had been a fight between workers in a factory, and it turned into a fight between the members of two families, so now they were making an agreement to avoid further conflict.
In Palestinian villages, disputes are settled by the families involved. No police, no prisons. Outside of Area A, the cities, Palestinian police don't have any authority anyway. My friend Osama is a police officer, but he reports to Tubas.I told Osama about the two incidences I'd heard of. One was in Bardala. A man was killed, and his family avenged his death by burning down the house of the murderer's family. My students pointed out the house when we were driving through, it was a well-known story.
Also, in Deir Jareer, a crime was committed, and the whole family was expelled from the village for a year. Ahmad thought this was the stupidest thing ever.Osama said there wouldn't be any sort of retribution, just some handshakes and kisses and khalas, finished.
I didn't want to stick my camera in their business, but my friend had no qualms with taking my camera and snapping photos. I told him to be discreet, a lot of those people know the red flip-camera. I'm pretty obnoxious with it, especially around kids :P
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| Making kabobs |
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| The view from the window, including the family chicken farm |
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| A delicious meal with khubs tabun, bread from the....tabun. It's a type of oven. |
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| There are some cool-looking houses on that hill.... |
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| Aisam, watching all the commotion outside. |
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| Candid picture taken by Aisam |
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| MySpace pic with me and Aisam |
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| Always in the left hand, a cigarette |
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| Picking eggs in the chicken farm. These poor, poor chickens. |
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| Loading up the van-these eggs go to Bardala, Zebabdeh, Tubas....turns out I'd bought their eggs at the supermarket. They asked me, "Leishh, bed taza hun, why?? we have fresh eggs here!" "Ma ariftish, I didn't know..." |
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| He's helping. |
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| Peace from Tayasir |
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| hey, gimme that camera... |
Today I took a walk.
Today is Friday. Friday's a sleeping day. I slept until the end of Friday prayer, about noon, took a shower, then I didn't quite know what to do. I didn't have any food in the kitchen, and I was really hungry. Maybe I could walk down the street and someone would invite me in for lunch. That might work. I got out of the compound, onto the main road, looked left, hmmmm, should I go to Tayasir? Or should I go right...towards the demolished road? That would be a shorter journey, then I can turn around, and walk to Tayasir.
So I walked down to the demolished road, and stood there for a while. I was feeling extremely unproductive. I knew that Tayasir checkpoint was somewhere behind that road, but I'd never just....walked around. So I decided to walk to the checkpoint. Hey, I'm just taking a walk! To the checkpoint. Maybe I'll go a little farther, so it doesn't look like I just decided to walk to the checkpoint. Because the soldiers might find that strange.
It was a beautiful walk. Everything is green here, even in the beginning of January. It rains for one day and poof, green stuff everywhere. I walked down the demolished road, and it just ended at the regular, paved road between Tayasir and the checkpoint. That's not as interesting. Oh well, checkpoint-or-bust. I saw two men on horses on the hills above me. I wanted to ride a horse. Maybe they'd wave at me and invite me ride one of their horses. But they didn't. They just kept going.
So I was walking along the paved road toward the checkpoint, and all the cars that passed me were like...what? What is this blonde girl doing walking down the highway? I don't know, I'm just walking. I took some videos of the scenery, and I was tempted to go off-roading and walk through the fluffy, green hills, but I was worried about landmines and I couldn't see the goat trails and really, I just wanted to walk through the checkpoint. So I kept going. But I kept looking at the hills and wondering if the visitor program in Al Aqaba could offer walking tours. They would love that. Maybe horseback riding tours. Stop thinking about horses.
I saw the military camp first. It was a small one, with a fence around it and a watchtower. Then I saw the checkpoint. A big sign read Slow-Barrier Ahead. They call the checkpoints barriers. If only I could get rid of this barrier! It sounds much nicer. I wish I could get rid of all of my barriers. I admit, this was a little intimidating. The barbed wire fences, the concrete watchtower, that meshy, flappy material that makes it look like the watchtower is actually in a jungle, even though it's quite obviously a watchtower. This isn't a checkpoint for walking. It's in the middle of nowhere, so it's for cars. No one walks to this checkpoint. Like you're not supposed to walk up to a drive-thru window. Sometimes you do, but it doesn't feel quite right.
Anyways, I walked down the side of the road and down the stairs (the non-driving passengers have to get out of the car and walk down the stairs to the right) to the pedestrian checkpoint. I could see the soldier at the little kiosk in the middle of the road, his job was to check the drivers and the vehicles. I couldn't see anyone in the pedestrian kiosk. The windows were dark.
"Hello?" I asked. I didn't get a response, but I heard a crackling mic, indicating that someone was trying to respond but couldn't quite figure it out, so I went ahead through the revolving door. I saw the soldier through the hole in the glass, and gestured toward the metal detector-"eh? eh?" He waved me through and I set off the buzzer.
I turned to him. Now what? He was in a little tinted glass cave.
He said, "phone?"
I took out my phone, and my camera, and put it on the table, and walked back through.
Beeeep. Ahhh, my keys. I took my keys out and walked back through.
Golden. Then I gathered everything back in my purse and looked back at the soldier. I pointed to the road..."ok? finished?" He asked me something in Hebrew. I knew it was something like "where are you going? what are you doing? why are you here?" but I shook my head, what?
"Lama?" I volunteered, "why?"
He nodded his head, yes.
I said, "I live there" and pointed to where I'd come from, Al Aqaba.
He said something else in Hebrew. I said, "Ani lo midaber avrit." I don't speak Hebrew. Anglit? The other soldier, apparently there were two in there, yelled to the car-checking soldier-"Jason! sal;dkfns;lgsal;hj anglit!" Jason, that doesn't sound Israeli. He couldn't help them, he was busy. So soldier #1 asked, "where are you going?"
"I'm just walking" and pointed to the road.
"To where?"
"Nowhere. Just walking. And coming back."
"Ah, ok. Sorry." He waved me through.
I walked away from the booth and down the steps to the road and the mic crackled on again..."sorry."
I smiled. "It's ok!"
I kept walking. After a minute an SUV passed through the checkpoint then slowed down beside me, and the Palestinian man asked me, "Tihki Arabia?" you speak Arabic?" and I said, "y3ani, shweya, a little." He asked if I wanted a ride. I said "la shukran, bas, bamshi, no thanks, I'm just walking" He said something about Bardala, and I said, "no no, I'm not going to Bardala, bas...bashoof...al ard....just looking at the land." He said I could look at the land from the car. I laughed, "shukran la, no thanks but thanks!" Ok, haha, bye, and they drove off. I wondered what that conversation looked like to the soldiers at the checkpoint. I imagine they think I'm threatened by Palestinian men. Palestinian men seem to think I'm threatened by Palestinian men.
I kept walking. I could see the hill to my left, the hill I've always wanted to conquer. It seemed much more reachable from this side. Maybe things are just closer than I thought. Maybe everywhere is in walking distance if you have the time. Anyways, I could conquer that hill. Maybe the more sporty visitors would enjoy that too. There must be quite a view up there. I waited until I was a little further away to take a picture of it. Checkpoints don't like be photographed.
I kept walking. I saw a herd of cows. No one was watching them, they were just walking, like me. They had cool faces. I tried a few times to get a picture of a cow looking at me, but every time I stopped moving, they got bored and starting walking again. Finally, I got one.
I walked until I came to a sign saying "Danger-Firing Area-Entrance Forbidden." It was off the road, to the left, but I decided I was tired and should probably start walking back. I'd been walking long enough so that it didn't look like I was just going through a checkpoint for the heck of it.
I walked up the hill, back toward the checkpoint. I took a picture of the hill again, with burned tanks under it. I hadn't seen those before. Were they part of a training exercise? Or did tanks get blown up here, once upon a time? Maybe they were from the days of the border skirmishes between Israel and Jordan. Or, what the Israeli military called Israel...and Jordan. I need to learn more about this period in time. It factors into the debate about Israel keeping the Jordan Valley as a security buffer. But irregardless, they need to do this anyway, otherwise the Arabs would be too close to the other Arabs.
I saw the checkpoint again, and it was such a cool view with the hills to the right, but I put my camera away because there was another watchtower in the mini-camp and I was the only person in the vicinity. No funny business. I walked up to the street kiosk, where two soldiers were sitting with their AK-47's, listening to the radio. One stood up and asked, "you speak English?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, talk to me. What's goin on?"
I smiled sheepishly. "I'm just...going for a walk."
"You visiting?"
"No, I live here."
"Where?"
"I teach English in Al Aqaba."
"Ah." He explained to the other soldier.
"I want to learn Hebrew," I said, "it's driving me crazy."
"Yeah, well, I want to learn Arabic. Do you have ID?"
"Yeah, I have it all. I usually give my Driver's License, but I have my passport too." I handed it over.
He looked through all my pages, the Jordan stamps...."you American, huh...where from?"
"Umm...." I really couldn't think of it. "Seattle."
"Oh, nice. I'm from LA, originally. We came here 9 years ago."
"Wow....and now you're in the Jordan Valley."
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda in the army."
"You live here all the time?"
"Yeah, that's my camp."
"All week? You don't go home?"
"Well, sometimes on the weekends...hey , I gotta take care of this..." a car had just pulled up.
"K, see you later..."
I kept walking. I wondered if I would see Jason again. Maybe I'd take another walk soon and just be like, "hey, what's up, Jason?" I bet they have Facebook at the camp. I could easily have been his friend back home. I wonder if he thinks the people of Al Aqaba are the enemy. I wonder if he's ever seen an American at his checkpoint. I think he's really bored.
I walked back to the demolished road and realized I hadn't eaten, and was feeling a little woozy. So I didn't walk up to Al Aqaba, I walked straight to Tayasir to get some groceries. I think on the way someone might invite me in and feed me. And that's just what happened.
So I walked down to the demolished road, and stood there for a while. I was feeling extremely unproductive. I knew that Tayasir checkpoint was somewhere behind that road, but I'd never just....walked around. So I decided to walk to the checkpoint. Hey, I'm just taking a walk! To the checkpoint. Maybe I'll go a little farther, so it doesn't look like I just decided to walk to the checkpoint. Because the soldiers might find that strange. It was a beautiful walk. Everything is green here, even in the beginning of January. It rains for one day and poof, green stuff everywhere. I walked down the demolished road, and it just ended at the regular, paved road between Tayasir and the checkpoint. That's not as interesting. Oh well, checkpoint-or-bust. I saw two men on horses on the hills above me. I wanted to ride a horse. Maybe they'd wave at me and invite me ride one of their horses. But they didn't. They just kept going.
So I was walking along the paved road toward the checkpoint, and all the cars that passed me were like...what? What is this blonde girl doing walking down the highway? I don't know, I'm just walking. I took some videos of the scenery, and I was tempted to go off-roading and walk through the fluffy, green hills, but I was worried about landmines and I couldn't see the goat trails and really, I just wanted to walk through the checkpoint. So I kept going. But I kept looking at the hills and wondering if the visitor program in Al Aqaba could offer walking tours. They would love that. Maybe horseback riding tours. Stop thinking about horses.
I saw the military camp first. It was a small one, with a fence around it and a watchtower. Then I saw the checkpoint. A big sign read Slow-Barrier Ahead. They call the checkpoints barriers. If only I could get rid of this barrier! It sounds much nicer. I wish I could get rid of all of my barriers. I admit, this was a little intimidating. The barbed wire fences, the concrete watchtower, that meshy, flappy material that makes it look like the watchtower is actually in a jungle, even though it's quite obviously a watchtower. This isn't a checkpoint for walking. It's in the middle of nowhere, so it's for cars. No one walks to this checkpoint. Like you're not supposed to walk up to a drive-thru window. Sometimes you do, but it doesn't feel quite right.
Anyways, I walked down the side of the road and down the stairs (the non-driving passengers have to get out of the car and walk down the stairs to the right) to the pedestrian checkpoint. I could see the soldier at the little kiosk in the middle of the road, his job was to check the drivers and the vehicles. I couldn't see anyone in the pedestrian kiosk. The windows were dark.
"Hello?" I asked. I didn't get a response, but I heard a crackling mic, indicating that someone was trying to respond but couldn't quite figure it out, so I went ahead through the revolving door. I saw the soldier through the hole in the glass, and gestured toward the metal detector-"eh? eh?" He waved me through and I set off the buzzer.
I turned to him. Now what? He was in a little tinted glass cave.
He said, "phone?"
I took out my phone, and my camera, and put it on the table, and walked back through.
Beeeep. Ahhh, my keys. I took my keys out and walked back through.
Golden. Then I gathered everything back in my purse and looked back at the soldier. I pointed to the road..."ok? finished?" He asked me something in Hebrew. I knew it was something like "where are you going? what are you doing? why are you here?" but I shook my head, what?
"Lama?" I volunteered, "why?"
He nodded his head, yes.
I said, "I live there" and pointed to where I'd come from, Al Aqaba.
He said something else in Hebrew. I said, "Ani lo midaber avrit." I don't speak Hebrew. Anglit? The other soldier, apparently there were two in there, yelled to the car-checking soldier-"Jason! sal;dkfns;lgsal;hj anglit!" Jason, that doesn't sound Israeli. He couldn't help them, he was busy. So soldier #1 asked, "where are you going?"
"I'm just walking" and pointed to the road.
"To where?"
"Nowhere. Just walking. And coming back."
"Ah, ok. Sorry." He waved me through.
I walked away from the booth and down the steps to the road and the mic crackled on again..."sorry."
I smiled. "It's ok!"
I kept walking. After a minute an SUV passed through the checkpoint then slowed down beside me, and the Palestinian man asked me, "Tihki Arabia?" you speak Arabic?" and I said, "y3ani, shweya, a little." He asked if I wanted a ride. I said "la shukran, bas, bamshi, no thanks, I'm just walking" He said something about Bardala, and I said, "no no, I'm not going to Bardala, bas...bashoof...al ard....just looking at the land." He said I could look at the land from the car. I laughed, "shukran la, no thanks but thanks!" Ok, haha, bye, and they drove off. I wondered what that conversation looked like to the soldiers at the checkpoint. I imagine they think I'm threatened by Palestinian men. Palestinian men seem to think I'm threatened by Palestinian men.
I walked until I came to a sign saying "Danger-Firing Area-Entrance Forbidden." It was off the road, to the left, but I decided I was tired and should probably start walking back. I'd been walking long enough so that it didn't look like I was just going through a checkpoint for the heck of it.
I saw the checkpoint again, and it was such a cool view with the hills to the right, but I put my camera away because there was another watchtower in the mini-camp and I was the only person in the vicinity. No funny business. I walked up to the street kiosk, where two soldiers were sitting with their AK-47's, listening to the radio. One stood up and asked, "you speak English?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, talk to me. What's goin on?"
I smiled sheepishly. "I'm just...going for a walk."
"You visiting?"
"No, I live here."
"Where?"
"I teach English in Al Aqaba."
"Ah." He explained to the other soldier.
"I want to learn Hebrew," I said, "it's driving me crazy."
"Yeah, well, I want to learn Arabic. Do you have ID?"
"Yeah, I have it all. I usually give my Driver's License, but I have my passport too." I handed it over.
He looked through all my pages, the Jordan stamps...."you American, huh...where from?"
"Umm...." I really couldn't think of it. "Seattle."
"Oh, nice. I'm from LA, originally. We came here 9 years ago."
"Wow....and now you're in the Jordan Valley."
"Yeah, well, I'm kinda in the army."
"You live here all the time?"
"Yeah, that's my camp."
"All week? You don't go home?"
"Well, sometimes on the weekends...hey , I gotta take care of this..." a car had just pulled up.
"K, see you later..."
I kept walking. I wondered if I would see Jason again. Maybe I'd take another walk soon and just be like, "hey, what's up, Jason?" I bet they have Facebook at the camp. I could easily have been his friend back home. I wonder if he thinks the people of Al Aqaba are the enemy. I wonder if he's ever seen an American at his checkpoint. I think he's really bored.
I walked back to the demolished road and realized I hadn't eaten, and was feeling a little woozy. So I didn't walk up to Al Aqaba, I walked straight to Tayasir to get some groceries. I think on the way someone might invite me in and feed me. And that's just what happened.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Back in Al Aqaba
I was in a bit of a rut last night. I knew I had hours and hours of uninterrupted silence ahead of me if I wanted to get work done, but I was tired of blogging and video editing, and Haj Sami had just told me that someone from Tayasir had just raised an objection to the pictures on my Facebook account. Really, it was stupid of me of accept so many friendships without changing my privacy settings or cleaning out my photos. I was specifically called out for having photos of me in swimming pools or at the beach, wearing a swim suit, and being in a bed with boys. I knew the photos exactly, with my AmeriCorps friends in New Orleans. As I nodded my head, yes, yes, I understand, I'll fix it right away, I was also thinking to myself, why did I put myself in this situation? In some way, I must have wanted this to happen.
"The student, he can't study if he see you and he think about you and the boy..." Haj Sami had defended me to this person, saying I was a good girl and I had been living here without problems for three months, but he had never had this problem before. I hadn't done anything bad in Al Aqaba, or anything to anyone that anyone knew in Al Aqaba. Anyone could use their imaginations when I left for the city every weekends, but I was always modest and respectable, albeit a little goofy in my lessons. I did break with tradition by hanging out with the (male) mangers of the sewing cooperative, at first just to get internet, but now they're really my good friends. I have no qualms about that.
But I went back and made some of my albums private and I removed some photos. There were 20 or so that stood out, girlfriends at the beach, sorority sisters at fraternity functions, the group cuddle sesh at an AmeriCorps-mate's flat. I paused at several pictures. tanktops. hugging boys. toasting wine glasses. would someone automatically know that growler is full of beer? I knew a lot of my friends had already taken this step, and I was just dragging my feet. But I was also beaming as I looked through my photos. Part of the reason I hadn't reviewed my albums (and again, that was stupid) was because I've only ever been a student and volunteer, and I hadn't had any reason to be ashamed of my photos. I found a few from the early days of Facebook, when membership was exclusive, albums were a new concept, and drunk faces were more acceptable. I cleaned a few of those out. But most of the photos in question were from New Orleans. Those were two....excessive years. I guess I just assumed there were no apologies for that city. But what happens in New Orleans doesn't stay in New Orleans, nor does anything stay in any city anymore.
And now I'm in a traditional village, on a hilltop. I've always been that ajnabia, that foreigner, that blonde girl. But I always had the support of teachers, parents, kids, women....If anything, I'm more inspired to bring in visitors and volunteers, because I think the kids would really benefit from the new energy, not that I'm trying to Westernize or liberate them or anything.
I accept Facebook friends because I know I'm the only, or one of few, foreign Facebook friends around here, and I want to share my life with people. Is it good thinking, or is it a cruel joke, seeing as it's so hard to get out of this place? My friend Hamudeh from Deir Jareer has the best chance I know-he's private school educated, speaks good English, and has a Jordanian passport. He could get a scholarship to a university in the States or Europe. But he's one of the fortunate few.
So that's why I was in a rut last night, and it's also why I decided to stay in the village for the weekend and catch up with people. As I was walking to buy groceries, I was invited into a house in Tayasir. The father is a taxi driver and the mother is an English teacher in Al Aqaba, and their kids are adorable. We were helping one daughter study for her science test the next day, all about fossils and dinosaurs, then someone went on a tirade with the word Facebook in it and my friend the schoolteacher asked if I knew so-and-so. I didn't. I wish I remembered the name. I need to clean out my friend list.
The rest of the day with the kids was wonderful, and I was able to help Haj Sami in the office with some correspondence, so I came back home feeling energized and optimistic. I've been writing for four hours straight. And there's still more to go. I've fallen so far behind. Tomorrow I want to go to Nablus to see about the website, then there's a Fatah rally in Tubas, then we have guests on Sunday and a theater troupe on Monday....things are moving.....alhamdulillah.
"The student, he can't study if he see you and he think about you and the boy..." Haj Sami had defended me to this person, saying I was a good girl and I had been living here without problems for three months, but he had never had this problem before. I hadn't done anything bad in Al Aqaba, or anything to anyone that anyone knew in Al Aqaba. Anyone could use their imaginations when I left for the city every weekends, but I was always modest and respectable, albeit a little goofy in my lessons. I did break with tradition by hanging out with the (male) mangers of the sewing cooperative, at first just to get internet, but now they're really my good friends. I have no qualms about that.
But I went back and made some of my albums private and I removed some photos. There were 20 or so that stood out, girlfriends at the beach, sorority sisters at fraternity functions, the group cuddle sesh at an AmeriCorps-mate's flat. I paused at several pictures. tanktops. hugging boys. toasting wine glasses. would someone automatically know that growler is full of beer? I knew a lot of my friends had already taken this step, and I was just dragging my feet. But I was also beaming as I looked through my photos. Part of the reason I hadn't reviewed my albums (and again, that was stupid) was because I've only ever been a student and volunteer, and I hadn't had any reason to be ashamed of my photos. I found a few from the early days of Facebook, when membership was exclusive, albums were a new concept, and drunk faces were more acceptable. I cleaned a few of those out. But most of the photos in question were from New Orleans. Those were two....excessive years. I guess I just assumed there were no apologies for that city. But what happens in New Orleans doesn't stay in New Orleans, nor does anything stay in any city anymore.
And now I'm in a traditional village, on a hilltop. I've always been that ajnabia, that foreigner, that blonde girl. But I always had the support of teachers, parents, kids, women....If anything, I'm more inspired to bring in visitors and volunteers, because I think the kids would really benefit from the new energy, not that I'm trying to Westernize or liberate them or anything.
I accept Facebook friends because I know I'm the only, or one of few, foreign Facebook friends around here, and I want to share my life with people. Is it good thinking, or is it a cruel joke, seeing as it's so hard to get out of this place? My friend Hamudeh from Deir Jareer has the best chance I know-he's private school educated, speaks good English, and has a Jordanian passport. He could get a scholarship to a university in the States or Europe. But he's one of the fortunate few.
So that's why I was in a rut last night, and it's also why I decided to stay in the village for the weekend and catch up with people. As I was walking to buy groceries, I was invited into a house in Tayasir. The father is a taxi driver and the mother is an English teacher in Al Aqaba, and their kids are adorable. We were helping one daughter study for her science test the next day, all about fossils and dinosaurs, then someone went on a tirade with the word Facebook in it and my friend the schoolteacher asked if I knew so-and-so. I didn't. I wish I remembered the name. I need to clean out my friend list.
The rest of the day with the kids was wonderful, and I was able to help Haj Sami in the office with some correspondence, so I came back home feeling energized and optimistic. I've been writing for four hours straight. And there's still more to go. I've fallen so far behind. Tomorrow I want to go to Nablus to see about the website, then there's a Fatah rally in Tubas, then we have guests on Sunday and a theater troupe on Monday....things are moving.....alhamdulillah.
Nablus
Yesterday, instead of going straight from Ramallah to Al Aqaba, I decided to put in a last-minute Couch Surfing request to Nablus. I'd been in the Ramallah bubble for too long and I felt the need to shake things up...and my Couch Surfing venture still hadn't happened. So luckily, Nizar, who had sent me a message earlier in the week and was very well referenced, called me 20 minutes after I sent my request, and met me in Martyr's Square, by the Arab Bank an hour later.
I didn't know it was called Martyr's Square until I read it on a street sign, even though I'd been there so many times before. It was the center of the city. Nablus is full of martyr posters. Most of the men pictured are holding AK-47's. I didn't know anything about these men. I'd been to three martyr funerals, one in Bil'in, one in Qusra, and one in Nabi Saleh. The people on those posters weren't violent. I didn't see men with guns on the walls of those villages. What happened to Nablus?
One explanation is the refugee camps. Somewhere between 25,000 and 30,000 people live in Balata camp alone, which is 0.25 kilometers squared. Many of the martyrs come from these camps, and the people in these camps are from cities and villages in Israel, or "48," referring to the year they became refugees.
I greeted Nizar, who is a nice, scholarly-looking man with spectacles. He asked me early on if I spoke French, as he was nearly fluent and applying to study in Europe. We walked through the city, about fifteen minutes to Project Hope, where he volunteers. I'd been there before with my brother last year, but we arrived during Christmas holidays, when no one was around. Now there were people coming in and out, using the internet, and having meetings. My British couch surfer from last week, Ed, was getting ready to teach a drama class in Balata camp to a group of teenage boys. I was tempted to ask if I could join him, but Nizar had arranged for his friend Majed to escort me around the Old City until Nizar got off work. So off we went.
First, Majed showed me a sweet factory, where spinning metal barrels of nuts were getting slowly sugar-coated. I felt like I was intruding on the man pouring the syrup into all the batches, but he said I could take videos and a handful of nuts off the table. I figured there probably wasn't a health code here. Anyways, they were delicious.
Then we went to the spice market, where I bought a bag of safron. We chatted about what spices to put in makloubeh, my favorite Palestinian dish, and I decided I wasn't ready to do my own makloubeh shopping, so I picked safron to be safe. It was fresh, from Palestine, not from Turkey. Baladia, organic. I learned that from Souli in Ramallah, as he's always looking for organic eggs.
Next we watched some guys making knafe, a famous Palestinian dessert that Nablus is famous for. My friend Mohammad had taken me and my mom and grandma to that same shop, and said it was the best knafe in Nablus. I'm not terribly picky when it comes to knafe, and I was partial to a certain shop on Ramallah, but I still loved it. Dough and cheese and sugar. Seriously....
Then we wandered into an old soap factory. Nablus is also well known for olive oil soap. There are several non-functioning soap factories in Nablus; only a handful of factories still work. This one looked like an ancient cave, and now it's something of a tourist sight. The man opened up a vat of olive oil so we could smell it, but we turned down the offer to taste it. He showed us a large, empty hole in the stone floor where the soap was stirred with a giant wooden....spoon-thing.
Then Majed and I walked around the souk and visited his friend who works in a hookah shop. I wanted to buy one for cheap, so he pointed out all the small ones, but I wanted the regular sized one, so I said I'd wait. I asked his friend why the tobacco prices had risen so high recently. Mustafa in Bil'in told it me they went from 9 shekels to 25 shekels, and someone else told me 60. I thought it was the Israelis who had done this. I thought, is there no end?? Now they can't even smoke their argheelah in peace?? But Majed's friend said, no, it was a Jordanian tax. oops. my mistake.
Majed seemed to know a lot of people. That was cool. Then we went to visit his family just outside the old city. He lived with his mother and two younger siblings and his grandmother, same building, different floors. I chatted with his family a bit, Lamees and Noor, sister and brother, were really cute, and they wanted to friend me on Facebook. 10 and 12, a little young for Facebook, no? Majed explained to them that I live in Al Aqaba, not Aqaba, Jordan, not Aqqaba, not Aqraba, but Al Aqaba, next to Tubas. This is an everyday conversation. I'm getting better at expaining. Though I still don't know how to explain the story of the village in Arabic. I need to sit down with Haj Sami and write down all the phrases I'm missing. I keep forgetting the word for "demolish."
The family insisted I come back on Friday to visit them, and promised me makloubeh. Ma'loubeh, as they say in the city. They laugh when I speak fallahi, the village accent...
Majed took me back to Project Hope, and we met up with Nizar and walked down a few hundred steps to a Shawarma shop. This was the best Shawarma I've ever had. So good. Then we headed back up the hill, and Nizar and I raced to the top, and the cold air made me wheeze for an hour afterward. Alright, I'm incredibly out of shape. I haven't been for a run in donkey's years.
Speaking of, I was taught a Palestinian saying, when you see someone riding a donkey, you can say hamar bitawbein, meaning "the donkey had two floors." that took me a minute to get. ahhh, the rider is also a donkey. calling someone a donkey is a popular insult here, especially amongst teenage boys.
When we got back to Project Hope, they were starting their Wednesday night film. This week it was Paradise Now. I'd already seen half of it, on Netflix and TV on separate occasions, and I was kinda tired of that first half, but I thought, hey, why not...immediately I was grateful for the opportunity to watch a Palestinian movie with subtitles. The blockbuster hits are mostly Egyptian, so following the local dialect was much more stimulating.
The movie takes places in Nablus, mostly in the Old City. It's about two best friends who work in auto repair but are generally bored and listless, like so many young men in Nablus. This is during the Intifada, when the city was shut down by checkpoints and men under 40 had a hard time even getting out. They get recruited for a suicide bombing operation in Tel Aviv, and they accept. So the movie's about them getting prepared, seeing their families, who are unaware, changing their minds, things go wrong, there's a love interest...all in all the movie does a great job in depicting Palestinians as humans first, even as the main character is sitting on a bus in Tel Aviv, surrounded by soldiers and civilians, and you can see the vacancy in his face and you know he's going to go through with it. You don't want him to die, and there's no sympathy for the act, but you know what brought him to that point. Then the screen fades to black, then white, then black, then the credits roll. "wow."I was frozen to my seat.
Then everyone filtered out of Project Hope, and me and Nizar and Majed locked up and headed out. We walked into the Old City. It was quiet and empty, and our steps echoed off the stone floors and walls and tunnels. The light from the street lamps was beautiful on the Jerusalem stone. Then I looked up at the martyr posters. I felt like I had walked into a movie set. This is where it happened. Just years ago, this place was a prison, and everyone was trapped inside. Everyone is always telling me how much better the situation is now, and I try to imagine it worse. I try to imagine everywhere like Hebron, where you see soldiers prowling through the market place. Now that's rare in Palestinian urban areas, in Area A, but Nablus has a lot of recovering to do. Because of the past checkpoint restrictions, the economy was basically strangled, and Nablus lost its status as the commercial center of the West Bank.
We walked past a vacant lot in the middle of the Old City, and Nizar told me they were fixing this place up to be a hostel for internationals. Then I thought, this place is just as beautiful as the Old City in Jerusalem. 3njad, it could bring in just as many tourists. Got to admit, it's getting better.
Majed told Nizar that I liked maps, because I liked the one of pre-Nakba Palestine in the spice shop (I felt bad for inquiring about it, and not the spices...) so Nizar took me to his brother's shop and gave me a travel book as a gift. It was simply called Israel. I tried to crack jokes about it, but I accepted the gift. I like to read travel books on Israel because I'm interested in how they frame the history and the people, but I don't know where I'll put this book. On the guest house coffee table?
Then we went to Nizar's friend's house for coffee and some food, rice and chickpeas with some kind of yogurt sauce, I forgot the name but it was great. We three sat together for a while, sharing riddles and games. I gave them the 9-dot challenge (cover all the dots in 4 lines without lifting your pencil) and they were totally stumped, but they tried non-stop for a good half hour. I found out that Nizar's friend and I have a mutual friend from Bil'in. She's studying to be a doctor so he knew her from the hospital. She's the sister of Tutu and Filisteen, one of Adeeb Abu Rahma's daughters. He mentioned Batool (Tutu) and I exclaimed, "you know her?" and told him about the video she made with Yazid that I posted on YouTube. He told me he'd watched it, and quoted one of her funny questions: "what is the relation between you and your uncles Helme and Khamis?" I was so surprised, this person I'd never met had seen the video! Palestine was getting smaller, walla. I was happy that I'd made the decision to Couch Surf tonight.
Finally, I was starting to yawn uncontrollably, I yawn a lot in general so people always think I'm tired, but maybe I just don't breathe as deeply as I should. I don't know. Anyways, Nizar and I headed out and hopped in his brother's car, which took us to the outskirts of Nablus, overlooking Askar camp. I was exhausted, but I managed to eat dinner with Nizar's family. He hosted Couch Surfers a lot and his family didn't seem to mind taking care of them, even in groups of five or six. We talked about Al Aqaba, where it is, how old I am, how I'm not married, and how everything sounds funnier in a village accent, then Nizar showed me pictures of his family and his sisters' weddings. Their faces were painted white and I could tell they were tired from two days of endless dancing and ceremony. I've seen enough pictures and wedding videos to know how much energy it takes to be in the center of all that madness.
Then I passed out. It was 1am. At quarter to seven, Nizar was knocking on my door, asking "are you still sleeping? do you want to eat?" I was feeling a combination of rage, exasperation, mercy towards Sulaiman, who at least waited until ten before giving me a list of chores, and "what? food?" One of my best motivators, 3njad.
We ate breakfast, then Nizar and his brothers and I took off the little rickety car and they started teaching me Arabic proverbs. There's one about a chicken digging a hole, then falling in it. Like digging your own grave, y3ani...we were driving through Nablus while all the kids were walking to school. I usually didn't see this hour, but I was glad to be in that scene. I think it's one of my favorite in Palestine, when the streets are full of schoolkids, talking and laughing and eating snacks and cramming before tests. I love these glimpses of normal life. I wish their English books were better. As Nizar and I were walking toward Project Hope, the girls gave me their "how are you's" and "what's your name?"'s and when I answered they giggled and huddled together.
Nizar opened up Project Hope and I surfed the web a little bit. He showed me the newspaper (Al Quds-Jerusalem) that had an article about the Israeli government wanting to cut down on the number of visas for internationals working for organizations that did work in the West Bank. It talked mostly about UN organizations and wanting to screen applicants more thoroughly, but it didn't really give reasons as to why, it just seemed like it was falling into the right-wing attack on human rights organizations. It made me nervous about my next visa, though I still wondered if my lack of affiliation made it irrelevant for me. Palden told me to just seem as pleasant and friendly as possible, as the border officials are most likely bored out of their minds. My mom told me to give a timeline, like I'm going to grad school in the fall, or I have something to do in the summer, so it doesn't look like I'm trying to stay indefinitely. Really, I just want three more months. For now.
I left Project Hope for Al Aqaba, and made my way down, through more hoards of school children on their break, and thought about organizing something for the kids. You know, contacting schools and doing a presentation tour, what for? I don't know. But I think there should be a more open channel between schools and international volunteers. To my knowledge, there's little in the way of organization on that front. I could be mistaken. Or am I trying to avoid organizing something? I'd need to contact the Ministry of Education. And make another website. Ok, baby steps. Baby steps to the next visa.....
On my way to the service station, I stopped into my computer store (ok, I bought a set of USB speakers and two sets of Arabic-English-Hebrew keyboard covers) to see my friend Mohammad. We sat and talked and drank tea for a while. For the first time I realized he had an accent, and asked him if he's studied in Britain. He had, and muttered, "bloody tossers." That made me laugh. I asked him about getting a mini-computer, since so many of my friends and fellow travelers were using them. I was sick of lugging around this behemoth. He showed me the new Dell model, that swivels from a computer into a touch screen. It sold for about $750. I said I'd never owned or operated a touch screen. He said the regular mini was $400. It wouldn't do for film making, just for on-the-go internet and word processing.
I liked sitting in that shop, I told Mohammad it was so full of nice things. Colorful, shiny computers and speakers and various toys. He said his life's work was in his shop.
While I was there I heard at least four parades of students on their way to the Fateh rally in Martyr's Square. Yesterday it had been in Ramallah, today in Nablus. They were setting up for it the night before, with huge balloons of Arafat and Abbas's heads on either sides of the stage. Two of the parades were scouts, with drums and trumpets, the others were just holding signs and flags.
"These kids need something to do," I said.
"They're just happy to be missing school," said Mohammad, "if they knew what Fateh was, they wouldn't be doing this..."
"At least in the States we have sports to absorb their energy..."
I gathered Mohammad was apolitical. But he said the system had become much more organized since the Intifada. There were no Palestinian police then, just occupation forces. So there was a lot more theft and looting within Nablus. Mohammad himself carried a gun..."can you picture it?" he asked. I couldn't. So there was something to be said for the efforts of the Palestinian government...security on the streets, public services....now it's time to invest more in the kids...really, keep them out of politics.
I walked to the rally for a few minutes, I didn't see any other foreigners there but I looked touristy enough with my three bags. Still, I didn't feel comfortable filming so I snapped a few photos and got outta there. It was so loud, wallahi. Music blasting and someone yelling through a microphone. The kids looked bored.
Then I hopped into a service to Tubas, and the driver said, "Ay, Morjana..."
:)
One explanation is the refugee camps. Somewhere between 25,000 and 30,000 people live in Balata camp alone, which is 0.25 kilometers squared. Many of the martyrs come from these camps, and the people in these camps are from cities and villages in Israel, or "48," referring to the year they became refugees.
I greeted Nizar, who is a nice, scholarly-looking man with spectacles. He asked me early on if I spoke French, as he was nearly fluent and applying to study in Europe. We walked through the city, about fifteen minutes to Project Hope, where he volunteers. I'd been there before with my brother last year, but we arrived during Christmas holidays, when no one was around. Now there were people coming in and out, using the internet, and having meetings. My British couch surfer from last week, Ed, was getting ready to teach a drama class in Balata camp to a group of teenage boys. I was tempted to ask if I could join him, but Nizar had arranged for his friend Majed to escort me around the Old City until Nizar got off work. So off we went.
First, Majed showed me a sweet factory, where spinning metal barrels of nuts were getting slowly sugar-coated. I felt like I was intruding on the man pouring the syrup into all the batches, but he said I could take videos and a handful of nuts off the table. I figured there probably wasn't a health code here. Anyways, they were delicious.
Then we went to the spice market, where I bought a bag of safron. We chatted about what spices to put in makloubeh, my favorite Palestinian dish, and I decided I wasn't ready to do my own makloubeh shopping, so I picked safron to be safe. It was fresh, from Palestine, not from Turkey. Baladia, organic. I learned that from Souli in Ramallah, as he's always looking for organic eggs.
Next we watched some guys making knafe, a famous Palestinian dessert that Nablus is famous for. My friend Mohammad had taken me and my mom and grandma to that same shop, and said it was the best knafe in Nablus. I'm not terribly picky when it comes to knafe, and I was partial to a certain shop on Ramallah, but I still loved it. Dough and cheese and sugar. Seriously....
Then we wandered into an old soap factory. Nablus is also well known for olive oil soap. There are several non-functioning soap factories in Nablus; only a handful of factories still work. This one looked like an ancient cave, and now it's something of a tourist sight. The man opened up a vat of olive oil so we could smell it, but we turned down the offer to taste it. He showed us a large, empty hole in the stone floor where the soap was stirred with a giant wooden....spoon-thing.
Then Majed and I walked around the souk and visited his friend who works in a hookah shop. I wanted to buy one for cheap, so he pointed out all the small ones, but I wanted the regular sized one, so I said I'd wait. I asked his friend why the tobacco prices had risen so high recently. Mustafa in Bil'in told it me they went from 9 shekels to 25 shekels, and someone else told me 60. I thought it was the Israelis who had done this. I thought, is there no end?? Now they can't even smoke their argheelah in peace?? But Majed's friend said, no, it was a Jordanian tax. oops. my mistake.
Majed seemed to know a lot of people. That was cool. Then we went to visit his family just outside the old city. He lived with his mother and two younger siblings and his grandmother, same building, different floors. I chatted with his family a bit, Lamees and Noor, sister and brother, were really cute, and they wanted to friend me on Facebook. 10 and 12, a little young for Facebook, no? Majed explained to them that I live in Al Aqaba, not Aqaba, Jordan, not Aqqaba, not Aqraba, but Al Aqaba, next to Tubas. This is an everyday conversation. I'm getting better at expaining. Though I still don't know how to explain the story of the village in Arabic. I need to sit down with Haj Sami and write down all the phrases I'm missing. I keep forgetting the word for "demolish."
The family insisted I come back on Friday to visit them, and promised me makloubeh. Ma'loubeh, as they say in the city. They laugh when I speak fallahi, the village accent...
Majed took me back to Project Hope, and we met up with Nizar and walked down a few hundred steps to a Shawarma shop. This was the best Shawarma I've ever had. So good. Then we headed back up the hill, and Nizar and I raced to the top, and the cold air made me wheeze for an hour afterward. Alright, I'm incredibly out of shape. I haven't been for a run in donkey's years.
Speaking of, I was taught a Palestinian saying, when you see someone riding a donkey, you can say hamar bitawbein, meaning "the donkey had two floors." that took me a minute to get. ahhh, the rider is also a donkey. calling someone a donkey is a popular insult here, especially amongst teenage boys.
When we got back to Project Hope, they were starting their Wednesday night film. This week it was Paradise Now. I'd already seen half of it, on Netflix and TV on separate occasions, and I was kinda tired of that first half, but I thought, hey, why not...immediately I was grateful for the opportunity to watch a Palestinian movie with subtitles. The blockbuster hits are mostly Egyptian, so following the local dialect was much more stimulating.
The movie takes places in Nablus, mostly in the Old City. It's about two best friends who work in auto repair but are generally bored and listless, like so many young men in Nablus. This is during the Intifada, when the city was shut down by checkpoints and men under 40 had a hard time even getting out. They get recruited for a suicide bombing operation in Tel Aviv, and they accept. So the movie's about them getting prepared, seeing their families, who are unaware, changing their minds, things go wrong, there's a love interest...all in all the movie does a great job in depicting Palestinians as humans first, even as the main character is sitting on a bus in Tel Aviv, surrounded by soldiers and civilians, and you can see the vacancy in his face and you know he's going to go through with it. You don't want him to die, and there's no sympathy for the act, but you know what brought him to that point. Then the screen fades to black, then white, then black, then the credits roll. "wow."I was frozen to my seat.
Then everyone filtered out of Project Hope, and me and Nizar and Majed locked up and headed out. We walked into the Old City. It was quiet and empty, and our steps echoed off the stone floors and walls and tunnels. The light from the street lamps was beautiful on the Jerusalem stone. Then I looked up at the martyr posters. I felt like I had walked into a movie set. This is where it happened. Just years ago, this place was a prison, and everyone was trapped inside. Everyone is always telling me how much better the situation is now, and I try to imagine it worse. I try to imagine everywhere like Hebron, where you see soldiers prowling through the market place. Now that's rare in Palestinian urban areas, in Area A, but Nablus has a lot of recovering to do. Because of the past checkpoint restrictions, the economy was basically strangled, and Nablus lost its status as the commercial center of the West Bank.
We walked past a vacant lot in the middle of the Old City, and Nizar told me they were fixing this place up to be a hostel for internationals. Then I thought, this place is just as beautiful as the Old City in Jerusalem. 3njad, it could bring in just as many tourists. Got to admit, it's getting better.
Majed told Nizar that I liked maps, because I liked the one of pre-Nakba Palestine in the spice shop (I felt bad for inquiring about it, and not the spices...) so Nizar took me to his brother's shop and gave me a travel book as a gift. It was simply called Israel. I tried to crack jokes about it, but I accepted the gift. I like to read travel books on Israel because I'm interested in how they frame the history and the people, but I don't know where I'll put this book. On the guest house coffee table?
Then we went to Nizar's friend's house for coffee and some food, rice and chickpeas with some kind of yogurt sauce, I forgot the name but it was great. We three sat together for a while, sharing riddles and games. I gave them the 9-dot challenge (cover all the dots in 4 lines without lifting your pencil) and they were totally stumped, but they tried non-stop for a good half hour. I found out that Nizar's friend and I have a mutual friend from Bil'in. She's studying to be a doctor so he knew her from the hospital. She's the sister of Tutu and Filisteen, one of Adeeb Abu Rahma's daughters. He mentioned Batool (Tutu) and I exclaimed, "you know her?" and told him about the video she made with Yazid that I posted on YouTube. He told me he'd watched it, and quoted one of her funny questions: "what is the relation between you and your uncles Helme and Khamis?" I was so surprised, this person I'd never met had seen the video! Palestine was getting smaller, walla. I was happy that I'd made the decision to Couch Surf tonight.
Finally, I was starting to yawn uncontrollably, I yawn a lot in general so people always think I'm tired, but maybe I just don't breathe as deeply as I should. I don't know. Anyways, Nizar and I headed out and hopped in his brother's car, which took us to the outskirts of Nablus, overlooking Askar camp. I was exhausted, but I managed to eat dinner with Nizar's family. He hosted Couch Surfers a lot and his family didn't seem to mind taking care of them, even in groups of five or six. We talked about Al Aqaba, where it is, how old I am, how I'm not married, and how everything sounds funnier in a village accent, then Nizar showed me pictures of his family and his sisters' weddings. Their faces were painted white and I could tell they were tired from two days of endless dancing and ceremony. I've seen enough pictures and wedding videos to know how much energy it takes to be in the center of all that madness.
Then I passed out. It was 1am. At quarter to seven, Nizar was knocking on my door, asking "are you still sleeping? do you want to eat?" I was feeling a combination of rage, exasperation, mercy towards Sulaiman, who at least waited until ten before giving me a list of chores, and "what? food?" One of my best motivators, 3njad.
We ate breakfast, then Nizar and his brothers and I took off the little rickety car and they started teaching me Arabic proverbs. There's one about a chicken digging a hole, then falling in it. Like digging your own grave, y3ani...we were driving through Nablus while all the kids were walking to school. I usually didn't see this hour, but I was glad to be in that scene. I think it's one of my favorite in Palestine, when the streets are full of schoolkids, talking and laughing and eating snacks and cramming before tests. I love these glimpses of normal life. I wish their English books were better. As Nizar and I were walking toward Project Hope, the girls gave me their "how are you's" and "what's your name?"'s and when I answered they giggled and huddled together.
Nizar opened up Project Hope and I surfed the web a little bit. He showed me the newspaper (Al Quds-Jerusalem) that had an article about the Israeli government wanting to cut down on the number of visas for internationals working for organizations that did work in the West Bank. It talked mostly about UN organizations and wanting to screen applicants more thoroughly, but it didn't really give reasons as to why, it just seemed like it was falling into the right-wing attack on human rights organizations. It made me nervous about my next visa, though I still wondered if my lack of affiliation made it irrelevant for me. Palden told me to just seem as pleasant and friendly as possible, as the border officials are most likely bored out of their minds. My mom told me to give a timeline, like I'm going to grad school in the fall, or I have something to do in the summer, so it doesn't look like I'm trying to stay indefinitely. Really, I just want three more months. For now.
I left Project Hope for Al Aqaba, and made my way down, through more hoards of school children on their break, and thought about organizing something for the kids. You know, contacting schools and doing a presentation tour, what for? I don't know. But I think there should be a more open channel between schools and international volunteers. To my knowledge, there's little in the way of organization on that front. I could be mistaken. Or am I trying to avoid organizing something? I'd need to contact the Ministry of Education. And make another website. Ok, baby steps. Baby steps to the next visa.....
On my way to the service station, I stopped into my computer store (ok, I bought a set of USB speakers and two sets of Arabic-English-Hebrew keyboard covers) to see my friend Mohammad. We sat and talked and drank tea for a while. For the first time I realized he had an accent, and asked him if he's studied in Britain. He had, and muttered, "bloody tossers." That made me laugh. I asked him about getting a mini-computer, since so many of my friends and fellow travelers were using them. I was sick of lugging around this behemoth. He showed me the new Dell model, that swivels from a computer into a touch screen. It sold for about $750. I said I'd never owned or operated a touch screen. He said the regular mini was $400. It wouldn't do for film making, just for on-the-go internet and word processing.
I liked sitting in that shop, I told Mohammad it was so full of nice things. Colorful, shiny computers and speakers and various toys. He said his life's work was in his shop.
While I was there I heard at least four parades of students on their way to the Fateh rally in Martyr's Square. Yesterday it had been in Ramallah, today in Nablus. They were setting up for it the night before, with huge balloons of Arafat and Abbas's heads on either sides of the stage. Two of the parades were scouts, with drums and trumpets, the others were just holding signs and flags.
"These kids need something to do," I said.
"They're just happy to be missing school," said Mohammad, "if they knew what Fateh was, they wouldn't be doing this..."
"At least in the States we have sports to absorb their energy..."
I gathered Mohammad was apolitical. But he said the system had become much more organized since the Intifada. There were no Palestinian police then, just occupation forces. So there was a lot more theft and looting within Nablus. Mohammad himself carried a gun..."can you picture it?" he asked. I couldn't. So there was something to be said for the efforts of the Palestinian government...security on the streets, public services....now it's time to invest more in the kids...really, keep them out of politics.
I walked to the rally for a few minutes, I didn't see any other foreigners there but I looked touristy enough with my three bags. Still, I didn't feel comfortable filming so I snapped a few photos and got outta there. It was so loud, wallahi. Music blasting and someone yelling through a microphone. The kids looked bored.
Then I hopped into a service to Tubas, and the driver said, "Ay, Morjana..."
:)
Monday, January 2, 2012
Here is Palden's blog post about the visit to Al Aqaba and more....great pics!
Joyriding and Other Journeys
Joyriding and Other Journeys
On Friday night I hosted five people in Al Aqaba. One girl from Switzerland, Marjorie...she was on her third trip to Palestine this year, Couchsurfing through the West Bank. I wish I'd thought to do that last year.
Then there was Ed, a British fellow who was volunteering at Project Hope in Nablus. I'd visited PH with my brother last Christmas, and even though all the volunteers were away for the holidays, it seemed like a great program. Ed was teaching drama classes to the kids, which I'm so enthused about because the kids here need more outlets for their creativity and zaniness.
Then there was Dasha and Felipe, a couple that added themselves to the group the night before. Dasha is a Czech girl studying at Hebrew U in Jerusalem, she's a friend of Souli's so I've met her three times now. Her boyfriend Felipe is Chilean, he's studying electrical engineering in Germany and came to Israel/Palestine to visit and travel with Dasha. They stayed with Souli Thursday night, then came with me on Friday. Dasha made Shakshuka for us for the second time, and I must confess I'm in love with it...just a little.
The fifth guest was Palden, my British friend who also volunteers at a Palestinian school...the Hope Flowers school in Al Khadir, near Bethlehem. He runs their website and does some advising work for the staff at the school, and resides in the volunteer apartment on the top floor, overlooking the schoolyard. He's sixty-one, but he looks and says he feels much younger. Living alone in Palestine and traveling and blogging. Certainly he must be a little crazy. Let's start a club :)
We arrived in Al Aqaba around 4, settled into the Guest House, and Haj Sami had a batch of makloubeh delivered to the kitchen. I set up Haj Sami's digital projector so we could watch Youtube videos on the wall, so we watched some videos about Al Aqaba (I'm thinking of putting together a short promotional video of my own) and the Hope Flowers school, we watched some trailers for documentaries on Palestine (including No Laughing Matter, a film on the Palestinian sense of humor, which I really want to see now!) and the Israeli documentary Defamation in ten-minute segments. I'd seen it before on Netflix, it's fascinating.
Then we played Bullshit, then Spoons.
In the morning we ate oatmeal with Craisins and almonds, and some cake that Palden had brought. I need to keep the place stocked with tea and snacks, and fruits and veggies for each visit. What we could do with a budget, wallahi....
After breakfast we took a walking tour of the village, starting with the roof of the sewing cooperative, then making our way down to the demolished road. A little toddler brought us a round of bread from his mother's tabun, it was almost bigger than him, and so warm and fresh, wow. Felipe and Palden got a picture of him stumbling over to give it to Haj Sami, I really want to see that pic, haha...
All in all, a great visit. The initial plan was to have ten or so Israelis, connected to the Global Village Square project. In the end, they couldn't make it, but thanks to Couchsurfing and Palden, we were still able to do something new in the village. I think Haj Sami and everyone are little confused as to why I'm spending most of my time out of the village now. Every time I go back, I feel so blessed, really. I love Al Aqaba. But I'm also meeting a lot of really interesting people in my travels and in Ramallah. Collecting inspiration, I guess. The website is being made by the Nablus group (I really went back and forth on tackling that on my own or getting someone else to do it) so I'm waiting to have that to work on, but I'm also counting down to the next visa run, and trying to fit things into that time, just in case. I need to do some Couchsurfing in Israel, in case I don't get the chance again. If I get the visa, and establish the fundraising venue online, khalas, I'm ready to go. But I don't really feel stuck. I only feel stuck sometimes being in Ramallah, because it's nice and comfortable, but I'm not nearly as inspired here as I am in other places. I'll muse more on that later. Now it's bedtime. I'm hungry though. I wish we had some shakshuka.
Then there was Ed, a British fellow who was volunteering at Project Hope in Nablus. I'd visited PH with my brother last Christmas, and even though all the volunteers were away for the holidays, it seemed like a great program. Ed was teaching drama classes to the kids, which I'm so enthused about because the kids here need more outlets for their creativity and zaniness.
Then there was Dasha and Felipe, a couple that added themselves to the group the night before. Dasha is a Czech girl studying at Hebrew U in Jerusalem, she's a friend of Souli's so I've met her three times now. Her boyfriend Felipe is Chilean, he's studying electrical engineering in Germany and came to Israel/Palestine to visit and travel with Dasha. They stayed with Souli Thursday night, then came with me on Friday. Dasha made Shakshuka for us for the second time, and I must confess I'm in love with it...just a little.
The fifth guest was Palden, my British friend who also volunteers at a Palestinian school...the Hope Flowers school in Al Khadir, near Bethlehem. He runs their website and does some advising work for the staff at the school, and resides in the volunteer apartment on the top floor, overlooking the schoolyard. He's sixty-one, but he looks and says he feels much younger. Living alone in Palestine and traveling and blogging. Certainly he must be a little crazy. Let's start a club :)
We arrived in Al Aqaba around 4, settled into the Guest House, and Haj Sami had a batch of makloubeh delivered to the kitchen. I set up Haj Sami's digital projector so we could watch Youtube videos on the wall, so we watched some videos about Al Aqaba (I'm thinking of putting together a short promotional video of my own) and the Hope Flowers school, we watched some trailers for documentaries on Palestine (including No Laughing Matter, a film on the Palestinian sense of humor, which I really want to see now!) and the Israeli documentary Defamation in ten-minute segments. I'd seen it before on Netflix, it's fascinating.
Then we played Bullshit, then Spoons.
In the morning we ate oatmeal with Craisins and almonds, and some cake that Palden had brought. I need to keep the place stocked with tea and snacks, and fruits and veggies for each visit. What we could do with a budget, wallahi....
After breakfast we took a walking tour of the village, starting with the roof of the sewing cooperative, then making our way down to the demolished road. A little toddler brought us a round of bread from his mother's tabun, it was almost bigger than him, and so warm and fresh, wow. Felipe and Palden got a picture of him stumbling over to give it to Haj Sami, I really want to see that pic, haha...
All in all, a great visit. The initial plan was to have ten or so Israelis, connected to the Global Village Square project. In the end, they couldn't make it, but thanks to Couchsurfing and Palden, we were still able to do something new in the village. I think Haj Sami and everyone are little confused as to why I'm spending most of my time out of the village now. Every time I go back, I feel so blessed, really. I love Al Aqaba. But I'm also meeting a lot of really interesting people in my travels and in Ramallah. Collecting inspiration, I guess. The website is being made by the Nablus group (I really went back and forth on tackling that on my own or getting someone else to do it) so I'm waiting to have that to work on, but I'm also counting down to the next visa run, and trying to fit things into that time, just in case. I need to do some Couchsurfing in Israel, in case I don't get the chance again. If I get the visa, and establish the fundraising venue online, khalas, I'm ready to go. But I don't really feel stuck. I only feel stuck sometimes being in Ramallah, because it's nice and comfortable, but I'm not nearly as inspired here as I am in other places. I'll muse more on that later. Now it's bedtime. I'm hungry though. I wish we had some shakshuka.
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