Salt and Baq'a

Even though I really haven't had a lot of time to write in this thing - not to mention I admittedly am not the most dedicated blogger - yesterday is definitely worth writing about.

Around mid-day a couple of my fellow classmates and I decided to go check out the city of Salt, which is located about 20-30 minutes west of Amman. It is known to be an ancient city of trade between Jerusalem, Amman and Nablus. The "formal" bus system in Amman consists of smaller mini-busses that fit around 25 people. On the sides and fronts of each bus is written the respective routes (in Arabic of course). To get on the bus there are designated areas (that aren't clearly marked) on the sides of the roads; however you have to flag your bus once you see it. Once the bus stops, what I have lovingly been calling "the fixer" hops of the bus and asks where you are headed to ensure you are getting on the right bus. Once on the bus and moving the fixer comes by to collect the fare. As you move along the route the fixer calls out the name of each stop to see if anyone is getting off. Suffice to say that this is a fairly efficient system and you can really get around anywhere on it. What's nice about having the fixer there is that you can ask them where you need to go to get to a destination not on his designated route and they will always point you in the right direction.

Salt was fairly quiet as was to be expected on a Friday afternoon. Not many shops were open and the town almost seemed abandoned. My initial reaction was that Salt reminded me of a small town in southern Italy. The way in which the houses were lined up on the hills, the grape vines and just the feel of the city in general was akin to cities I had been through along the Almafi coast - minus all the color. The city center was very cute and seems to have been recently restored and a new design implemented as all the store fronts were in the same style and the signs the same font. I remember when I was living in Ramallah, they were planning on doing something very similar in order to make the downtown more cohesive and attractive. In this case it really added to the charm of Salt.

We wandered around the stairs of the old city that took us further up the hills and in between old abandoned houses that were seemingly stacked on top of each other. We came across gigantic fig and olive trees and grape vines, and rooftops that had been converted into private patios. We continued further up still to the top of the hill where there was a Muslim cemetary and a mosque. We watched children enthusastically attempt to fly a kite from the roadside. While they were playing, the call to prayer began. As soon as we walked away they were successful and we saw their rainbow kite flying high over the hills of Salt.

Although the town seemed abandoned for the most part, when we did run into people we were greeted with "hellos" and "welcomes" and "what is your names." We were invited by 2 painters to join them for mansef. We were invited by shopkeepers to join them for Pepsi. We were invited by teenagers to join them for argileh. We were quite the spectical in Salt and drew a lot of bewildered stares and attempts at speaking English at which we always responded in Arabic.

At one point we started to ascend the second major hill in Salt. A car with 2 guys in it slows down and the passenger, a young guy maybe in his early 20s wearing a backwards baseball cap and a white t-shirt says to us, "Hello, how are you? Where are you from. I am from New Jersey" in full on Jersey accent. He then proceeds to ask us if we have been getting problems from any of the people and if we are being harassed. We say know and then he tells us that if we have any problems "up there" (as he points to the top of the hill) to tell them that we're friends with "Junior" and then he just drives off. Uh... can anyone say Jordanian mafia?

So about 5 or 10 minutes later we get "up there" and this shady looking guy kind of makes a b-line towards us and says something in Arabic like "are you friends with Junior?" We laugh and say yes and he proceeds to tell us that Junior sent him to make sure that nothing happens to us. He asks us if anyone was given us problems... we again say 'no'. As we continue along, our new friend goes with us. At some point we end up being surrounded by about a dozen little boys who were riding around on bikes and/or playing football on a lazy Friday afternoon. Although they were not bothering us, this guy decided they were and basically told them to bugger off - and boy did they listen. We ended up reaching a point where we couldn't go any further and had to turn back around and go back the same way we came. We reached the same exact spot that this guy had approached us and he stopped and turned the other way. No goodbyes, no nothing. Think what you will of this situation but we feel as we had a taste of proper Jordanian mafia (if such a thing exists).

After walking around for a little longer we grabbed some kanafeh and boarded the bus back to Amman, still grappling with what had just happened. We made our way back to Amman where we caught another bus to Baq'a, which is the largest Palestinian refugee camp in Jordan (with nearly 100,000 people). We had no intentions by going there other than to talk to people and see what their living situations were like. When we told the fixer on the bus where we were going he and a couple passengers asked what we wanted to see and do there. We had no answer. How do you explain to someone that you want to see their suffering first hand?

Once inside Baq'a we just walked. We got a lot of stares, but the only ones initially brave enough to talk to us were children. We were followed by a pack of boys - dirty clothes, infected eyes, snotty nosed boys. It was disheartening. They asked for money almost immediately. We had to say no. As we walked, I tried to teach them how to say "what is your name" in English. Sadly, at some point they started grabbing at my purse so I had to get mean. I told them "enough" and "go away" and they did. We continued walking. The houses are made of concrete.. makeshift and seemingly on the verge of collapse. The extremely narrow roads are made of dirt and lined with trash. At some point we came to an open area and a wedding party drove by. Vans and cars loaded with people clapping and celebrating... laughing and yelling. Life is good. At least for a moment.

We continue to walk and the sun is setting. We reach an intersection where we can just see the red sun and orange sky. It is beautiful. A half a block later we are greeted by a family that is sitting on the sidewalk outside of their house enjoying the cool night air. They ask us to sit down... we do. We meet Khaled. Khaled is a journalist for a major newspaper in Jordan. His father (who still smokes 2 packs of cigarettes a day) is 85 years old. He sits with his family balding and toothless with a cane made of olive wood and a twinkle in his eye. In our broken Arabic and their broken English we talk... about how life is hard in Baq'a... about family... about politics. We drink tea. We meet all the children and find it hard to know which one belongs to who. We learn that 25 people live in the house beside us.

At some point, we are invited to move down 2 houses and drink coffee. We meet more people and even more children. From a window without glass across the street several children are yelling "what is your name" and "hi" and "hello" to us. We are a spectacle again. I wave to them... they giggle. Mohammad leaves at some point and comes back with a watermelon. Khaled gets out the argileh. I join him. We joke. Mohammad tells me I am funny. It is now 10:00 and the last bus is at 11:00. We are invited to sleep there. We are invited for lunch the next day. We are invited to come back as much as we would like. Yousef gives us a ride home. We have officially made friends in Baq'a.

Amman

I changed the title of my blog to reflect my current situation. Earlier this year I was awarded the U.S. Department of State's Critical Language Scholarship, which allows me to take part in an intensive Arabic language training program in the Middle East. I happened to be placed in Amman, Jordan and as of yesterday that is where I am. I will spend the next 2 months practically speaking Arabic all day, every day. This blog will now be telling stories of this adventure.

Me and 36 of my fellow scholarship recipients arrived in Amman yesterday at around 10pm after a two day orientation session in Washington D.C. As soon as we walked off the plane I couldn't help but smile because I felt as if I had never left the Middle East some nine months ago. We all exchanged our dollars to dinars, bought our visas (which are basically just stamps taped into our passports), passed through immmigration and picked up our luggage. We were greeted by some of the coordinators who will be with us during the program and then boarded a bus to head to the American Center for Oriental Research - which is where sleep and eat.

I purposely sat at the front of the bus so I could have a good view of coming into Amman at night. At some point we passed a road running parallel to the highway that I had driven on and got lost on back in December 2008. It was here that myself and my four bedouin friends made our way to a rural horse ranch where one of the bedo would ultimately purchase a new horse. Continuing into the city we passed a long stretch of the road where dozens of cars were parked while dozens of people sat by campfires enjoying the cool Jordanian night. Supposedly this is a makeshift park, albeit a roadside one, where locals like to go to get away from the city and spend time with friends and family.

We entered the area of West Amman known as Tlaa al-Ali, which is near to the University of Jordan, and finally reached the place that will be new temporary home situated on top of a hill. The facility is nice enough - there is a lobby, kitchen, veranda and library on the ground floor and all the upper floors are residence halls. I have a room, which I share with one other girl. It is a typical dormitory type room - with two twin beds, a desk, two closets and a bathroom with a toilet and shower.

This morning I found out that I was placed in the lowest level of Arabic at the program, "Beginning Advanced," which is basically one step below Intermediate. I am happy about this because I feel that it will allow me to learn in the best possible way and help me to only improve!! We had our first Amiyya Arabic lesson today. Amiyya is the dialect that is spoken here in Jordan. As it is very similar to Palestinian Amiyya, I had a bit of an advantage. It was interesting to see how people who had purely been trained in Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) had difficulties moving over to the colloquial stuff. I think for me it will be the other way around!!

kanafeh anyone?...

I don't even know where to start talking about my recent day in Nablus. So, I suppose it begins at kanafeh. A couple of weeks ago the city of Nablus was celebrating the entrance of the world's biggest kanafeh into the Guinness Book of World Records. It was the talk of Palestine without a doubt. I took the bus from Ramallah into the city center of Nablus and as soon as I saw the duar (square) I knew that I was in for a crazy day. After picking up a young American couple who just started working at the university, I headed into the madness of thousands and thousands of people gathering around the huge pan of kanafeh. I was in awe. Within a few minutes I ran into Mithqal and his little brother, Muhamed and his friend, Muhamed, who was there with his nephew, who's name was Muhamed. And no, I am not joking. Not much later another friend of Mithqal's came along to join us. Surprise, surprise... his name was also Muhamed.

So there we stood in the midst of this massive crowd. Me, getting stared at intensively, being the only non-Arab person around. Old Palestinian women pushing and shoving to get past us. Teenage boys oogling at the tattoo on my back that is barely peeking out from the top of my shirt. Actually seeing the kanafeh was impossible as the crowd surrounding it was at least 40-50 people deep. The next step was to try and get up high in one of the surrounding buildings. Unfortunately they were all locked. We were shooed away from one building as security preparations for the arrival of Palestinian PM Salam Fayyad were underway. A little after 11am, and after the press had taken the necessary pictures, the flood gates opened for the public to get a piece of this kanafeh, this moment in history. We were shoved along with the flow of hundreds of people trying to get their piece.

For some reason, despite the crowds and heat, I was determined. I started pushing my way towards the goal. I made it as close as I could and made eye contact with one of the kanafeh distributors. We gave each other a knowing look and a few seconds later, after holding up my hands in an Oliver type manner, I had myself about 4 pieces of this famous Nablusi dessert. I continued holding my hands up as if I was holding manna from heaven and made my way slowly through the crowd until it began to slightly dissipate. Afterwards, I followed Mithqal and his friends to a the Nablus Coffee Shop. I knew immediately that it was a men only coffee shop and was a bit apprehensive about entering; however I was reassured that because I am a foreign woman that it was ok. We were able to get a fabulous view of Nablus, while drinking fresh limon ma nana. Such a nice break from the craziness that was happening and that I had just escaped down below.

After refreshing ourselves we headed into the Old City with its narrow alleyways, ancient mosques, spice shops, sweet shops, and beautiful vintage barber shops. There is something about Nablus' Old City that is so much more authentic than, say, Jerusalem's. I love seeing the butchers in their tiny little alcoves and their huge wooden/tree trunk chopping blocks. I love seeing the children playing with toy guns in the tiny streets. I love seeing the cheap, plastic Palestinian flags flying proud strewn across the pathways. I love seeing the oldest mosque in the city always being filled to its capactiy on any given day at any given time. I love that we can just walk into one of the 2 ancient Turkish baths and be given an on the spot tour. I love that there are parks erected on the sites of horrible massacres that have occurred at the hands of the Israelis. I love that I can watch kanafeh being made by some of the most expressively jolly men I have ever seen. As usual, the beauty of this city never ceases to amaze me.

After a busy day in the hectic crowds and hot hot heat in Nablus, I had the chance to escape with Mithqal and his family to their village. Yitma is a small village about 10 miles south of Nablus and Mithqal's extended family owns a huge portion of it. We arrived at the family's "hill", where there are several houses that were built by the family decades ago. It was beautiful and peaceful. We sat out in their large garden smoking nargileh underneath a fig tree eating fresh picked almonds as the sun slowly creeped below the horizon. Palestine at its finest.

differences tossed aside...

S and I decided to go to Jerusalem last week to do a bit of shopping. There are some items that one can find in Israel that you can not find in the West Bank. For me - it is fancy beauty products. For S - good quality and (most importantly) stylish shoes. S squeezed his 6'3" frame into the tiny seats as we made our way from Ramallah to the Old City of Jerusalem. We got off the bus just north of the Damascus Gate and walked down into the depths of the never-ceasingly beautiful Old City. I never get sick of this place. Although, for the most part, the shops that line the narrow alleyways are filled with generic clothes, cheap trinkets, year-old candy, etc. there are a few gems that always make it worth while. For instance, the old Arab man with the tiniest of tiny metal working shops, where he sits day after day hunched over his saw, or his blow torch creating and fixing countless items. Or the spice shop that creates beautiful sculptures with mounds of za'atar, sumaq, and other indeginious spices. Or the butchers that have been operating for hundreds of years, with their freshly slaughtered lamb stuffed with parsley hanging out front for all to see (and smell). Or the Jerusalem Restaurant, which is where a 70+ year old man lives out his days making fresh falafel, meat-stuffed pastries, and various salads trying his best to entice tourists. He faces a daily struggle of making ends meet in his tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant which is situated just below his home right in the heart of the Muslim Quarter. He keeps his 15+ year old pictures of his one and only visit to the U.S. close at hand to show his customers. These are the reasons I keep going back.

A 15 minute walk through the Old City brings us to Jaffa Gate which is on the western side of the walls (the Damascus Gate is on the northern side). We walk outside of the Old City into a square where tourists and locals alike can get a view of both the ancient part of the city in East Jerusalem and the modernly developed part in West Jerusalem. The difference in the atmosphere and the people is staggering as opposed to where we had just came from (be it Ramallah or E. Jerusalem). I see 70 times more skin. I hear 70 times more American accents. I am so used to being in the West Bank that I have a tendency to go into culture shock when I enter W. Jerusalem. It is uncanny how different I feel - a feeling hard to describe other than to say that I feel slightly uncomfortable and on edge. I still haven't figured it out.

S and I headed down into Memella Mall, which is just down the steps from Jaffa Gate. This place is a brand new mall full of modern and trendy shops such as, Tommy Hilfiger, Top Shop, Crocs, Versace, etc. Not exactly my kind of place as I have an aversion to malls and these kind of shops in general. But a good place to go for what we were looking for. S was very impressed with the place and was in heaven being able to ogle the kind of women that he hadn't seen since leaving England. It was actually hilarious because his smooth-talking self had transformed back into a horny teenager. Afterward getting what we needed, we headed back into the Old City and I breathed a sigh of relief being back in familiar territory -- back to a place where I don't have to stop myself mid-sentence when I speak Arabic -- back to a place where I don't have to see other women's bosoms -- back to a place where I am made to feel like I am entirely at home.

day trip to bethlehem...

Heading out just before noon, myself, O and V went on a day trip to Bethlehem last week. Geographically, Bethlehem is fairly close to Ramallah; probably about 15 miles or so, if not less. However because Palestinians can not drive directly through Jerusalem to get there, they have to circumnavigate the city and approach Bethlehem from the east as opposed to the north. This route goes through the notorious Wadi Nar or Fire Valley, which is essentially a road that has been poorly constructed and planned and is one of the steepest, windiest roads I have ever been on. Last time I went on this road as a passenger I was extremely ill. However this time, thanks to the joys of dramamine, staying hydrated, and a decent driver I managed to escape Wadi Nar unscathed!

We dropped O off for Friday prayers in Beit Sahour (a village just east of Bethlehem) and while he was there V and I decided to take our chances at the Orthodox shepherds' fields. There are 2 "shepherds' fields" in Beit Sahour. The first one is a place I have visited before, where it is traditionally believed that the shepherds saw the star of the nativity before Jesus' birth. This is where the majority of tourists visit when in the region. However, most don't know that the Greek Orthodox church has an entirely different place that they believe to be the actual shepherd's field. V has tried to visit here at least a dozen times before, but they have always been closed. As we pulled up we saw a tour bus outside of the gate and thought that it must be a good sign. Alas it was! To our surprise the place was open. We went inside to an immaculately well kept garden courtyard. On the right was the Orthodox-style, red-roofed church rising high into the contrasting blue sky and on the left was a path covered with bright green blooming grape vines leading to ruins of an ancient monastery. It was beautiful.

After exploring, we headed back to the mosque to pick up O. From there we went to an area of west Bethlehem called Crimson, where there are some really lovely views of the olive groves and Palestinian hills. This place was off of the beaten path and the road was a dead end that led to a nunnery hidden in the hills. We parked the car and got out to admire the view. The sad part was that almost everywhere we looked we could see Israeli settlements or signs of Israeli interference. The bridge in the following photo cuts right through Palestinian land, yet can not be used by Palestinians as it was built purely to transport Israeli settlers "safely" back and forth from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. Oddly enough, as we sat there a car drove up and a man got out. He asked us if there was a place around there that sold wine. O, being suspicious, asked where he was from. He said Spain. Immediately V approached him and started to speak Spanish. It seems that she knew him and that he and his sister, who currently live in Palestine, had also lived in Colombia for some time. More and more each day I discover just how small a place Palestine really is!

Next we made our way to the Church of the Nativity -- a definitive stop while in Bethlehem. After swinging through the grotto so that V could say a quick prayer, we were invited by the head Armenian priest at the Church of the Nativity, a close personal friend of Os, to visit him in his office. We had to approach a door that is normally off limits to tourists and be buzzed in. We then entered the priest and staff only area of the church. It was amazing. They had a beautiful garden with grape vines everywhere, huge sunflowers, mint, etc. It looked and smelled lovely. All of a sudden I heard this raspy, robust voice coming from up some stairs. I looked up and saw a jolly man in his 50s with a big pot belly waving at us. It seems this was him. Up we went into his office where we listened closely to this chain-smoking, loud-mouthed, wonderfully happy priest of a man tell dramatic stories in Arabic to O. What I forgot about while witnessing this was the religious aspect. V reminded me. Here is Father --- sitting with O, an extremely devout Muslim and they are the best of friends. A prime example of how it could and should be especially in this part of the world.

After thanking Father --- for his time we headed to a new restaurant in Manger Square called, fittingly, The Square. Such a wonderful place to sit and people watch, drink a refreshing limon ma nana (pictured), and just plainly enjoy Palestine. Such a perfect ending to a fine day in Bethlehem.

office hunting...

The office that I work in is only a year old. It is in a very nice looking, new building and has all the amenities that one needs when it comes to office life -- air conditioning, heating, kitchen, parking, etc. This and its prime location on Al-Bireh Municipality Street cause most people to ooh and aww at it when they initially see it. Despite how it may look on the outside this office is basically crap. The central heating doesn't work and when it does is only turned on for 2 hours a day (yes, we do need heaters in Palestine -- the winters are cold!). The air conditioning system does not cool things down in a sufficient manner and is turned off at the hottest times of the day. The internet is sporadic. We have no hot water. The elevator doesn't work. The parking is so poorly planned that my boss has to maneuver at least 50 times just to get into her parking spot. This, and we are paying a ridiculously large amount for it. All these things combined have made it necessary for us to start looking for a new office and I must tell you what an adventure it has been.

In Palestine there are no tools to advertise for real estate or office space or apartment rentals. In the U.S. we have agents, websites, offices, magazines, etc. that are specifically for this purpose. Here, there is no avenue like this that one can go through when trying to sell property. Instead what we do is call. We call everyone we know. Perhaps they have seen a sign. Perhaps they work somewhere with an empty space. Perhaps they overheard someone talking about it. If calling doesn't work, we walk. We walk around asking the tenants of each building if they know of any available offices or buildings. If we see someone in the street we ask them. It is crazy, but it is normal.

A couple of days ago Mithqal and I were on a mission to find a new office. I called O to see if he knew of anything available in the area by his office on Irsal Street. Low and behold, he did... and he had a number to call. After contacting this gentleman, we made a plan to see the place. So, at the end of the day, Mithqal and I hopped into a taxi, went up to Irsal Street, and so began our quest. The first place we looked at was a huge office (280m2). Although the size was just right, unfortunately the fact that it didn't have parking was a problem. We thanked the man for his time and then scoped out a line of nearby buildings. We slowly approached them looking for someone who may know more. We spotted 3 elderly gentlemen sitting in a line, smoking nargileh outside of the 2nd building. Mithqal approached them and one of them just happened to be the owner. Wow, what do you know?! So he took us into the 1st building up to the 3rd floor where we viewed a small and quite dirty office. It was no good and wouldn't be suitable for what we are looking for. We said our goodbyes and going on another suggestion from O we walked to a different building in the area in hopes of having luck there. We were able to find what would be the equivalent of a "supe," who told us that there were no empty offices.

Undefeated, we walked back up to Irsal Street where Mithqal stopped to ask a woman for directions to the "mall" and also if she knew of any places that had offices available. What do you know? She did! She pointed us in the right direction and we were off again. We found the building and were immediately impressed. It looked brand new and was in a good location across the street from the Ministry of Finance. We couldn't find anyone to talk to, so we decided to do some exploring ourselves. We headed up to the top floor where there was a wonderful, spacious empty office that hadn't even been finished yet that we could explore. This particular office had a huge balcony and the 360 degree views of Ramallah were fabulous! We then walked down to the floor below us where there was an office already in place. We were able to finally get a hold of the building manager who showed us the rest of the empty offices. The spaces were very bright and well-constructed and the cost was very affordable. This, in addition to what we thought was a good location and secure underground parking made it thus far our top choice. We decided to call it a day, but not before calling our manager to let her know what we found. Unfortunately the location of the office was not to her liking. So... the search is still on.

cooler weather...

After a spell of a 90+ degree daily temperature, a good bit of cloud and wind has made its way to Ramallah over the last few days. Although it has made for slightly more humid weather, it has also made it tolerably cooler. This makes me happy as I can walk around and go shopping without sweat dripping from my face within 5 minutes of when I step outside. So the other day after work I went to the big produce market in Ramallah's city center. I have one particular vegetable stand that I always go to as it pretty much has everything I need and because the man who works it always gives me good deals. I made my way through the crowds -- young boys asking if I need a shopping cart, men saying "welcome, welcome," old women waddling along in their traditional Palestinian dresses, the specials of the day being shouted out, the smell of melon in the air.

I made it to my favorite booth. "Marhaba... keif halik? Shoaf barik? Shoo biddick?" (Hello... How are you? What is new? What would you like?) "Marhaba... taman, wa enta? Anna mish airif biddee... mumken shway kool ishi." (Hello... I am fine, and you? I don't know what I want... maybe a little of everything.) He handed me a bag (kees) and I started loading it up with tomatoes, cucumbers, and zuchinni. Then I asked him if he could get me a couple of green peppers (filfel). After putting the peppers in, he held up 2 hot chiles and asked if I wanted them. I said no its ok, but he put them in the bag anyway. Then I asked if I could get a couple of onions (basal). After he put the onions in the bag, he held up 2 potatoes and asked if I wanted them. I said "leesh la?" (why not?) and he threw them in too. So in the end I had a huge bag full of tomatoes, cucumbers, zuchinni, peppers (green and chile), onions, and potatoes. The grand total... a whopping 5 shekels -- $1.25. To say that produce is cheap here is an understatement. It is glorious!

After the produce market I needed to get some nuts (pecans to be exact) Getting nuts here is not like in the U.S.-- you don't just walk into a store and buy a can of mixed nuts, cashews, almonds, or whatever your heart desires. There are specific shops that specialize in nut roasting and they are where everyone purchases their nuts from. I have one particular place, Al-Maslamani, that I absolutely love. I got a 1/2 kilo of pecans (noos kilo joz) and then noticed that they had my favorite "Chinese mix" - a trail mix made of sweet and spicy rice treat goodness. You know how in most trail mixes there is one particular part that you like the most and that you can't get enough of? Like in gordetto's its those rye bread chips. Well this mix is no different. There are these large chunky dense rice cake things that are cheesy, and sweet and spicy and just plain delicious. I told Ghazi (the guy who works at Maslamani) "Anna bihib hatha bess" (I only like these), while pointing to the good bits. So, being the good man that he is, he took his scoop and worked his way through the Chinese mix and got me a little bag full of just my favorite parts. "Moomtaz... shukran jazeelan ya Ghazi!" (Perfect... thank you so much Ghazi!).

I needed a few basic food items (milk, water, yogurt) so I went to my local corner store, Ar-Rafedin, to pick them up. I was looking at the spice rack, taking my time because I had to turn all the labels around so that I could read them in English rather than Arabic just because I was too lazy to read the Arabic. The store was recently renovated and up at the registers they installed a call button for the staff to use if they need assistance from another staff member. When the button is pressed a kind of doorbell sound is heard in the store. On this particular day I was standing by the speaker where the sound was coming from. However, in addition to the ding-dong sound, there was also a creepy, high-pitched voice (think Bird Lady from Kids in the Hall) saying something like "hello and welcome." It completely caught me off guard and I thought it was the funniest thing so I just started laughing out loud in the middle of the store while looking at spices. Of course as soon as I started to laugh, some guys were walking by who had no clue why I was laughing. I couldn't stop. It was Bird Lady. In Palestine.

outlandish...

Those of you who know me well more than likely know that I don't particularly care for hip hop or R&B music. Ok -- maybe I liked it when I was like 9 and 10 years old -- but now... now is a different story. So when the prospect of going to a big R&B/hip hop concert (or party/"hafla" as the Palestinians call it since there is not a word in Arabic for concert) came about I was a little apprehensive; however I have told myself that I want to experience as many different facets of life in Palestine as I possibly could. So... on the internet I went to check out this band Outlandish, who are from Denmark and whose group members originally come from Morocco, Pakistan, and Peru and consist of 2 Muslims and 1 Catholic respectively. There music is nothing special -- just kind of chill out, mellow stuff; however I must say that the lyrics were intelligent and atypical of what one usually gets from this type of music (that was a total stereotype). They sung about the love for their god, the love for their wives, political issues (including the Palestinian situation), and such. Their lyrics are extremely positive and I have to say it was a breath of fresh air. I must admit that I kind of liked what I heard. I was surprised.

On Thursday I went with O and V and then later Mamoun to the "party." I felt like I had stepped into a completely different world where girls were scandalous and wore revealing clothing and smoked freely in public and where everyone spoke English with an American accent. I felt like I was in high school all over again. It was strange. The explanation for this could be a combination of things. More and more lately, Palestinians who lived abroad are moving back to their "homeland." Typically those Palestinians are the ones with money and the ones who can afford to send their children to a concert such as this one. In addition, Outlandish is quite big in the U.S., especially amongst the Arab and Muslim community -- by the way, the group sings in English, Spanish, and very little Arabic. On top of this, a lot of Palestinians who live in Israel came to Ramallah just for the concert. Hailing from Israel they have a tendency to be a bit more liberal - hence the revealing clothing and smoking.

We all started the show sitting; however Outlandish proved to be quite danceable and by the second song we couldn't resist getting out of our seats and shaking are butts. I find myself wanting to dance all the time in Palestine. I don't know what it is. Maybe its that Arab music is just amazingly danceable or maybe its just the atmosphere. The other day I found myself moving to the sound coming from the church bells in Bethlehem - what is that? So for the rest of the evening I danced and had a wonderful time. As you can see by the picture of other people dancing, it seems I wasn't the only one. Everyone was so happy to have an event like this in Palestine that it seemed that for one night social taboos were thrown out the window. Boys were dancing with girls in the same place! Wow... that's a big deal here! Other than the cheesy one liners that the guys from Outlandish kept spitting off, all in all a wonderful evening and one that does not come often for Palestinians. That, in and of itself, is a cause for celebration!

ramallah ramallah...

This past weekend was a busy one indeed. I will start at the very beginning... Wednesday. Myself and V had made plans with Ghada and Makazi, who was leaving to South Africa for a month. The plan was to try out a new coffee shop, La Costa, and then afterwards attend a screening of the first ever Palestinian-made animated film at the nearby Al-Kasaba Theatre. O dropped us off at Duar Se'a (Clock Square) and we walked to Al-Kasaba where we were to meet Ghada and Makazi. They were running late so we decided to do a little shopping in general vicinity. 15 minutes later we came back with some new scarves -- which seems to be the only thing I have purchased in Palestine that might be considered an item of clothing. A few minutes later we got a call from Makazi letting us know that she was just down the road. We headed their way and to our surprise saw that Nadia (a friend of Ghada's) was driving. She told us to hop in the car. When we tried to explain that we had particular plans she interrupted and again told us to get in. At this point we were backing up traffic and felt we had no other choice to hop on in. So our plan was foiled and instead we were crammed into a hot car and driven to Nadia's house, which is at the furthest western reaches of the city.

Nadia is an interesting woman - an aristrocat through and through. She has lived her life all over the world as the ever so blessed wife of an ambassador. She is now a widow, but still lives an extraordinarly privileged life. Her house is in the nicest neighborhood of Ramallah and is ridiculously big (3 stories) for just her and her daughter. She is an extremely brash person who isn't afraid to speak her mind and I have to admit there are times when I don't particularly care for her -- she is a bit too in your face for my liking. When we arrived at her house we sat in her front garden while we were served tea and Arab style cookies. Although our little get together (that Nadia originally was never invited to), was supposed to be in honor of Makazi who would be living for South Africa, the conversation centered around Nadia and I don't think Makazi was able to say more than 2 sentences the entire time we were there. I felt bad and needless to say, annoyed. Nonetheless we made the best of it with our niceties and such.

Once it came time for the film -- which fortunately had not been completely removed from the plan, Nadia dropped V and I off at the theatre where we met O who had been saving seats for us. Good thing he did because the place was packed! As soon as we took our seats I observed the copious amounts of internationals in the room. Ramallah never ceases to amaze me in regards to how many people from other countries it is home to. It is a constant reminder that my being here is in no way special.

The film itself was, as aforementioned, a Palestinian produced animated film; the first of its kind. The story was about a young woman living in the Gaza Strip who discovers that she has a lump in her breast. She eventually is diagnosed with breast cancer and will need treatment that cannot be given within Gaza, but rather in Israel. The film follows her and her family's struggles to enter into Israel and the ultimately tragic end that ensues. It was a very sad, but very well done movie showing the realities of life in Gaza. We concluded that it would be a great film to show to the international community, but is also a good reminder to Palestinians living in the West Bank of what the citizens of Gaza have to go through.

Since we were nearby to the new coffee shop that had been part of our original plans, we decided to stop by after the film. It is up on the 7th floor of a building in the city center near Duar Se'a. I have been scoping this place out for months -- I started to see the signs from the street below and my curiosity finally got the best of me. The particular building where La Costa is, is a bit run down and has a reputation for being slightly dodgy. However I must say that La Costa was a breath of fresh air. The decor was beautifully and modernly done in blacks, greys, and maroons. We took a table by the windows and were able to get a completely different view of Ramallah. The menu was simple; juices, coffees, cocktails, drinks galore, nargileh, and to eat, dessert only. I had my usual - limon ma nana and it was very nice. Something interesting about this place is that it has a small room that one can rent to play PlayStation and then another bigger room that is like a little mini-cinema. Kind of quirky, but fun nonetheless. Overall I really liked this place, the atmosphere, the location overlooking the city, and the drinks were good too. What concerns me is that it will turn into a shabab - or a place where only teenage boys go to hang out. While we were there, myself and V were the only females. I will go back; however only with a man in tow!

In the next few posts... Outlandish... Bethlehem... Ilham Almadfa'l... and pictures!!

sweet sweet generosity...

On a daily basis I am blown away and completely humbled by the generous nature of the Palestinians. Here is just one story: In a previous post I talked about a project I had been working on with staff and students from the Faculty of Fine Arts at the university. The first time I met with them, several months ago, they were so excited about the opportunity that had been given to them. To thank me for it, they presented me with a student-made ceramic plate that had been engraved with an ancient Palestinian cityscape and a symbolic old house key, representing Palestinian refugees' desire to return back to the homes that the Israelis expounded them from. It was completely unexpected and I felt that I was undeserving of such a gift, since I really hadn't done much at all other than coordinate between them and the organizers of the festival.

A couple of months ago I returned to the Faculty of Fine Arts for the annual student exhibition. It was amazing! The entire building had been turned into a big art gallery displaying various mediums of artwork -- ceramics, tiles, paintings, graphic design, architecture, etc. At the end of the day the dean of the faculty told me that I could choose something from the ceramic display for a gift. At first I said no because I felt bad taken home someone's piece of art that they had worked very hard on. After much insistence from the dean, I choose a beautiful muted turquoise plate with white Arabic script on it. The script was a quote from the Qur'an and if I remember right from O, the translation is a reminder to be kind and generous to others. How fitting!

While at the exhibition, I had also fallen in love with some of the paintings. There were a few that were of the old city of Nablus and were just beautiful. I thought of how nice it would be to have something like this as a keepsake of my time in Palestine. I asked one of the professors if they would ever consider selling the paintings. He said yes, but not until the exhibition was complete. I pointed out my favorite ones and asked that he keep an eye out for them and to let me know once they were on sale. A couple of weeks ago I hadn't heard from him so I thought I would drop him an e-mail to see if he had heard anything. He responded with the following (a direct quote from his message):

"Regarding the Painting that you like to have, I talked to a teacher who teaches landscape on this summer course. I told him to find the best student to make a new painting on the same style you like, inspired from the old city and will pay him just the materials. I want to make you a favor. I'll let you know when it is ready."

Needless to say, this was completely unexpected and entirely humbling. I am in awe. Period.

back to jifna...

A week or so ago there was the annual "Mish Mish (Apricot) Festival" in Jifna. The festival is held every year to celebrate the apricot harvest in the small farming village and to show support to local Palestinian farmers. As we started walking down the narrow road that led to the location of the festival, I was amazed by the amount of people streaming away from and towards the activities. It seemed to be the event of the week in Palestine. As we approached I immediately spotted about 5 classic American cars. I was shocked. Classic cars, especially American ones, are pretty much non existent in Palestine. I couldn't believe my eyes -- I was a very happy girl.

We then entered the main square where there were booths upon booths of local Palestinian products on display and for sale. I liken it to an American-style county fair, only without the white trash people and with much better food and music. There were mosaics from Riha (Jericho), glass works from Hebron, hand-stitched embroidery from local villages, many many food and agricultural products, and of course apricots! We all walked around people watching and eating our apricots, which by the way were ridiculously delicious. There was a huge stage set up where there was a full band/orchestra and choir playing glorious traditional Palestinian and Arab music to a crowd of hundreds. It was so beautiful! I felt so privileged to be able to experience something that felt so pridefully and nationalistically Palestinian. Viva Palestina!!

music in jifna...

A couple weeks back a friend of a friend of a friend's band from Italy was in Palestine to do a few performances. After hearing very good things about them me and a few friends decided to go to one of their shows that was being held in the village of Jifna, which is located just north of Ramallah. First of all, Jifna is amazing! Such a beautiful town, with its ancient architecture and wonderful hidden treasures like an underground olive press and Ottoman-era tunnels. I was immediately taken upon seeing the place.

It seems that they had completely cordoned off the main square of the old city to make way for the performance, which was also a celebration of the 6-7 university students who had recently graduated from nearby Birzeit University. The whole village, young and old, had turned out. The atmosphere in the square was amazing. The stage had been set up on the ruins of an ancient building -- the band had to climb arched staircases to reach it. The walls of the shops that encircled the square were lined with chairs where old Palestinian men sat drinking their coffee and smoking their nargileh, elderly women gathered in their traditional dress, teenagers crossed their arms, and children ate their ice cream. It was a beautiful sight indeed.

The music was so fitting for this celebratory evening -- danceable and non-evasive. It was a crazy mix of reggae, ska, Middle Eastern, Mediterranean -- they sang in English, Italian, and a little Arabic with a wide array of instruments. I couldn't get over how surreal the whole thing felt. It felt as if I was in a movie -- the atmosphere, the smiles on the faces of the locals (their friendliness unforgettable), the ancient ruins, the ambient lighting, the company. It was, dare I say, a perfect evening.

even more randomness...

I love walking in the middle of a city of thousands of people and having to watch my step for fear of the dreaded goat dropping.

Is Ramallah really that pretentious that there are even mediocre restaurants that require making a reservation?

It is beyond me why I would choose Palestine out of all places to discover the glories of squash.

The more I go to Nablus, the more I like it -- complete with its boulevards, kanefeh, parks, bullet-ridden refugee camps, and magnificently beautiful old city.

Only in Palestine do you have to seriously wonder whether what you just heard was fireworks or gunshots; on the same notion, only in Palestine is it normal when it is gunshots.

I find it ever illuminating how incredibly generous people in Palestine are: a place where a late night trip from Nablus to Ramallah can turn into a kanafeh sharing and eating party.

One of my favorite things to see in the morning on my way to work is the various "ke'k" carts. The sound of the vendors yelling "ke'k" to announce the arrival of their fresh batch of special sesame bread is music to my ears. The sight of them rolling their carts up and down the streets never fails to make me smile.

I was told the other day by a 6 year old girl not to eat with my left hand because it is dirty. Thanks for that.

Friday for me consisted of stumbling upon an Israeli movie set, making friends with a 14 year old kid named Abdul, falling asleep at an office, playing squash to my heart's content, going to a barbecue and filling up on wonderful meats and salads, smoking mint nargileh, attending a "mish-mish" (apricot) festival along with hundreds of Palestinians, and laughing at a friend's attempt to translate the word mechanic into English.

al-bazan...

on the way to Al-Bazan

The same day I went to Sebastiya the other week, I also went to a glorious place just to the north east of Nablus called Al-Bazan. We drove through the Askar refugee camp with its streets lined with mechanic shops and old men sitting on their plastic chairs in the shade. At some point outside of the city we rounded a corner and I saw a large, decrepit, abandoned ferris wheel taking over the horizon. Its faded, but still present colors were a wonderful contrast to the blue sky and the brown mountains. So lovely, and although forgotten about, still there.

photo from americanintifada.com

Once we reached Al-Bazan it was obvious by the amount of traffic that this was a very popular spot for the locals. Up until recently the region was completely isolated because of an Israeli checkpoint on the main road leading from the village to the south of the West Bank, which made it extremely difficult for people to travel freely to and from the village. Because of this, the village (which has been a very popular spot for locals for many years) suffered economically. Al-Bazan houses an abundant spring - so abundant that the streets almost seemed to be flowing with water. Typically where there is a spring, there is also greenery and oasis like settings -- these places provide a temporary escape for Palestinians in light of occupation.

We ended up going to a park that is owned by family friends of O and Ma'moun. This place was indescribable. It had a flowing river/canal running through the middle. surrounded by paths, trees, shubbery, etc. In each section of the canal were tables where you could sit and have a barbecue with friends and family. When we first arrived I spotted a table of old Palestinian men sitting in water up to their calves, playing chess or maybe checkers while smoking nargileh. It was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. The sound and coolness of the water along with the shade from the trees to protect from the hot Middle Eastern sun made this place extremely relaxing and calm.

We had ourselves some food -- watermelon (which is cooled by submerging it in the cold water) is in season right now and can be purchased pretty much on every street corner (there are vendors in the most random places). We had some nargileh and tea afterwards as the sun started to set. A wonderful, relaxing way to round out the day.

double-fisting" the nargileh

sebastiya...

A couple of weekends ago I went with V, O, Ma'moun, and Dalool to Sebastiya, which is a small farming village just northwest of Nablus. As soon as we entered the outskirts of the village we started to see beautiful, vintage tractors dotting the roadsides. O has a bit of a fascination about them and admits that he would move to Sebastiya just for the tractors! As it was Friday, the town was quiet as we drove through slowly trying to find our way to the Roman ruins. Something I find beautiful about Palestinian men is that they are not afraid to roll down the window and ask for directions. In turn, the "director," as it were, acts as if we are all old chums and leans in close as he points and directs us where to go. I believe on our way to and through Sebastiya I think we stopped at least 3 times to make sure that we were going in the right way.

We arrived at our destination and the following description found on http://www.nablusguide.com/ sums the place up pretty nicely:

We enter the site by the Roman forum, a large artificial quadrangle built in the Herodian era, on the end of which are the remnants of the civil basilica, the shape of which is visible by the few still standing columns. North of the forum, from the platform behind the cafeteria there is a plunging view on what used to be the race track a few columns beneath show us where the gates stood. A path, leaving the north end of the basilica leads up to the acropolis. We quickly arrive to the Roman theatre, maybe built over the Herodian theatre behind which can be seen a large round semi-cylindrical tower. This ruin is one of the most beautiful Hellenistic monuments of Palestine. Built around -320 it is stuck in a Israelite wall and connected to a Hellenistic wall which was part of the fortifications of the acropolis built during Alexander the Great’s era . From the seats one has a beautiful view over the hills of Samaria.

The path leads up to the Acropolis through olive and fruit tree plantations, and leads to the steps of the temple of Augustus, built in -25 by Herod. Before it is a large square courtyard where the alter was. At the top of the steps, on the floor of what was the “cella” of the temple, elements of Doric columns are scattered. The large room was surrounded by two long hallways. To the south was a building with three rooms, the use of which has not yet been determined by archeologists. But under the temple a neighborhood of the Hellenistic city was discovered, under which was the palace of the kings of Israel. Here is where the famous ivories that are kept at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem were found. Going around the digs on the southern side, we notice the bases of the columns that once lined the main street of the roman city, and that date back to the reign of Septimius Severus. We quickly reach a small church built by the crusaders and dedicated to Saint John Baptist. It was built between the 11th and 12th centuries, on the crypt where according to Jean Phocas (1185), the head of the Precursor was found.

I can't describe how beautiful and peaceful this place was and we had it all to ourselves! The view was so lovely overlooking the hills and villages of Palestine. We even spotted some ancient olive trees that were more than likely from the Roman era -- evident by their large, knotty trunks and branches. Old pieces of pottery were everywhere we went and after doing a little digging, which I probably could have done all day, we found even more. I tried to imagine what is was like in its glory days, with its opulent marble, paved roads, and bustling courtyards.


I am ever surprised by all there is to see in Palestine. I so badly want the world to know of these beautiful destinations -- Sebastiya, Nablus, St. George's Monastery, Wadi Qelt, Hisham's Palace, etc. I want the world to know of the hospitable nature of the Palestinians. I want the world to know that Palestine is not scary; that it is surprisingly lovely and full of things to see and places to visit. I want the world to know that it is ok to come here and that their lives would be greatly enriched if ever they did.

more randomness...

The other day I saw a 2, maybe 3, year old Palestinian child with a "Slipknot" shirt on. Excuse me, what?

Last week I heard strange, screeching noises coming from outside of my house. It was very loud and sounded as if it was via microphone. I had to investigate. I went into my garden and peered over the fence into the courtyard of the Khalil Sakakini Center. A middle-aged European man was standing there making crazy noises, and saying unrecognizeable words to an audience of about a dozen. I didn't know what was going on. I thought he might have tourette's syndrome. He continued and then stopped. The audience clapped. He then started up again this time interspersing his high-pitched screeching with growling and English and French words. He stopped. The audience clapped. For his final performance piece he basically yelled and repeated the same words. Then 2 guys came up beside him and started sprinkling flour all over his head. This, ladies and gentlemen, is performance art. Wow.

After having been told by S, an Englishman, that I have a Spanish accent when I speak Arabic, I was told by a Palestinian that I have a very good Palestinian accent when I speak Arabic. That's better.

Gyms in Palestine are pretty much exactly like gyms in the Western world -- complete with oogling men, ridiculously unmotivating techno music, and women wearing unnecessarily tight fitting clothes.

People here like to use baby-like nicknames in place of complicated first names. For instance, I am ju-ju, Mithqal is ku-ku, S is su-su, and so on... I am not so sure I like being called "ju-ju." Just think about it.

I am beginning to believe that it doesn't matter where you are in the world, the 'happy birthday' song is universal. I have made it a point to learn the Arabic version while I am here.

Why is it that the internationals of Ramallah don't acknowledge other internationals? How is it that when I walk down the street blatantly staring at the 'ajnabiyyat' that I don't get so much as a smile upon eye contact? Welcome to the bubble that is Ramallah. Now get over yourselves.

When referring to the term 'cocktail' in Palestine please remember that it is not a alcoholic drink like in the West; rather it is a freshly blended fruit juice, usually made with ice cream - a bit like a smoothy actually and can be found on almost every street corner.

The only shops that you will see that are open 24 hours a day in Palestine are the bakeries - stressing the importance that Palestinians place on having fresh bread at hand at all times.

life in the office...

I haven't written much about what I do on a daily basis, so I decided to dedicate an entry to my lovely office and my even lovelier colleagues. I work a pretty regular week; Sunday to Thursday, 8am to 3:30pm. Because the university is based in Nablus in a city that is considered quite conservatively Muslim, we have our weekends on Fridays and Saturdays as Friday is the Muslim holy day. I leave for work around 7:40 every morning and make the 20 minute walk to the office, which is located in Al-Bireh; a city basically connected to Ramallah - you can't tell the 2 of them apart really. My work consists of mainly administrative things such as being the main point of contact for international visitors or volunteers to the university, contacting embassies, consulates, and representative offices to organize meetings, making all logisitical plans when we have guests come to the university, updating the website, disseminating information on upcoming proposals, writing news articles, editing items that have been translated from Arabic to English, etc. I rarely have a full day's worth of work which can make things a little slow at times; however there are some weeks where I can be extremely busy and end up staying after working hours. Sometimes it feels like it is everything at once or nothing at all. I go to the university in Nablus probably about 2 times a month; usually if I have a meeting to attend or things to set up that I must be present for.

Mithqal, who is from Nablus, and has been working with K for 3 years, is amazing! The very first time I arrived at the office I was greeted with a huge grin and a handshake from him. Allegedly he couldn't understand me at all when I first arrived, but after a few weeks we were able to hold normal conversations and now what can I say other than it is just amazing how far his English has come. He is such a fast learner - I just wish I was as quick to learn Arabic as he is to learn English. Now we are able to have debates about religion, talk about friends, family, and what true love is, discuss our weekends, and tell each other candid jokes. He is officially the Office Manager and is a joy to be around. He is beyond funny, beyond cheeky, beyond helpful, and beyond sweet.

S, who is from the UK, arrived 1 month after me. He is an academic working on his PhD, which he will be researching for while he is here in Palestine. He has made a plan to be here for 2 years! S and I hit it off immediately. I remember his first day we just kept chatting and chatting and chatting. Mithqal asked me if I was happy that I could speak English full on with him. I sheepishly said yes. S has a very sarcastic sense of humor, typical cheeky Englishman, but is seriously hilarious. He is intelligent and well-spoken and can take on any subject with no problem at all. His job consists of strategic planning and analysis on a high level. He works on proposals and the planning and implementing of million dollar projects at the university. He is fantastic at what he does and has even been offered a permanent position when he finishes his PhD.

I am so thankful that I am working with who I am. I get along with both S and Mithqal so well and feel very blessed because of it. I can't even imagine coming to work everyday if they weren't there. When I had visa issues a couple of months ago and the prospect of having to leave earlier than expected came about, I just kept thinking about how much I would miss S and Mithqal more than anyone. They take care of me, make me laugh, and keep me sane.

olive groves...

Last weekend I had the opportunity to go with V and O to a barbecue in the olive groves with some friends from a local village. We headed out on the windy roads that lead north and then east of Ramallah, making our way through tiny Palestinian towns and up and down Palestinian hills. The landscape of Palestine is absolutely gorgeous and like nothing I have ever seen. The hills, albeit green, are very rocky and each one is covered with olive groves that have been terraced out of the hillsides. The light is so bright here that I am always squinting and the air is filled with a slight dusting that blurs the horizon and the distant hills. The area of the West Bank that we went to is one of the few areas that is free of Israeli settlements - so it is a good escape for some to be able to forget about the occupation (at least for a day).

We arrived at the village (whose name escapes me) to be greeted by a very large and welcoming family who escorted us into a small living space in their house for refreshments and conversation. Not longer after we had sat down a beautiful old man, wearing the traditional white headcovering of a 'haj,' entered the room. He sat down and started telling stories, which had to be translated to V and I by O, of years long past. His stories were enthralling, even when being translated and it was a moment when I truly wished I understood Arabic completely so that I could have heard the way he told it. After a long visit with the family, and after the men had finished Friday prayers, we all loaded in our cars for a short drive to the hills for our feast.

This family owns a parcel of land that has a spring on it - this is extremely rare in Palestine as water is sparce and because most springs in the West Bank have either been stolen or at least tapped into by the settlers. I love Palestine-style barbecues. They are fully representative of Palestine as a whole. The men work on the fire; gather sticks, tinder, and stones from their surroundings; and deal with all things pertaining to meat. The women prepare the salads, deal with the beverages and look after the children. A large mat is spread on the ground, the food is laid in the middle and everyone sits around taking what they want to eat.

After everyone has had their fill, out comes the nargileh and the tea. O's friend had brought these tiny individual nargileh pipes to make sure that everyone who wanted to smoke, could. They were the cutest things I have ever seen. Such a good idea! After we had cleaned up, some of the ladies went for a walk. This seems to be a bit of a tradition here because the same thing has happened at other barbecues that I have been to. While we wandered around in the olive groves, I was amazed by the different types of wild flowers I saw; unique, beautiful, muted and bright colors. In addition to flowers, the village women were able to spot wild herbs as well - sage, za'atar, thyme, etc. When we headed back to "camp" everyone was getting prepared to go, so we grabbed what we could and headed back to the village where we said our goodbyes and thank yous before leaving for Ramallah.

When I do things like this I feel like I discover so many more beautiful things about Palestine and the Palestinian people. Things like how an 80-something year old man still speaks of his wife as if they were newlyweds, or how Palestinians will never need to use maps because their directions involve who lives where, not where a certain street is, or how they don't need fences to mark their property lines - a stone or a tree will do just fine, or how they're not afraid to give a fat girl diet tips, or how even in the midst of poverty Palestinians have the most generous of hearts.

politik...

I have been working on a project at the university for the last several months which entails sending 5 An-Najah students and 2 professors to a theatre festival/summer school in Naples next month for 2 weeks. At this festival they will have a chance to interact with students from Israel and Italy while learning different theatrical techniques and traditions and being directed and trained by some of the top theatre directors in the Mediterranean region. It is a fantastic opportunity for intercultural dialogue and has been my "baby" from the beginning. The project began with choosing a good instructor in the Fine Arts Faculty who could nominate 5 students and 1 assistant for the festival. Afterwards, we formulated a proposal and a course plan for the Palestinian portion of the summer school. The end result includes using visuals of Palestinian symbols, live oud performances, and poetry recitals all to convey the level of importance the Palestinian people put on their rich heritage. At the end of the course the 15 total participants will take part in a short play that sums up what they learned about Palestinian culture during the course.

Ihave met the Palestinian students who range in age from 20-24. They are so happy and enthusiastic about this oppportunity to show the world what it means to them to be Palestinian. They are excited to learn news things and teach others new things. For the students, it is their first time out of the country - ever. They meet on a regular basis, at least a couple of times a week to discuss the festival and practice their dabka - traditional dancing. Although I am only a few years older than them, I feel like I am their mother guiding them along step by step; reassuring them that all will be taken care of and that they will have a fantastic time in Italy.

With a little over 3 weeks until they depart we are just now submitting their visa applications to the Italian Consulate. This is because of a few hold ups regarding health insurance and the usual office politics. Nonetheless, we were able to get everything in order this week and will be delivering the applications tomorrow morning; however yesterday I was informed of some devastating news. It seems that the Italian Consulate already had a list of the names of everyone who would be attending the festival. Upon checking into those names it was found that 2 of the students were affiliated with Hamas. Immediately upon hearing this, the Italians decided that these 2 students would not be attending the festival and contacted the President of the university to inform him that we had to revoke the applications of these 2 particular students. I was gutted when I heard.

Do the Italians realize that these students have been working their asses of for 6 months in order to attend the festival?

Do the Italians realize that these students paid to receive passports just so they could travel to Italy for the festival?

Do the Italians realize that in terms of skills and experience these students far exceed the others?

Do the Italians realize that the whole point of the festival is to enhance opportunities for intercultural dialogue and break down stereotypes and that by discriminating against someone based on their political viewpoint they are defeating the very purpose they set out to accomplish?

I by no means support the actions of Hamas; however I do believe that it is unfair that someone be judged according to their political standpoint. I feel horrible for the students. They have worked so hard and are looking forward so much to going to Italy. When I have to tell them that they can't go - but can't tell them why - they will be hurt terribly. In Palestine, opportunities such as this one do not come around very often. When will ignorant governments wake up to see that and stop jumping to conclusions when they see what they have deemed the dreaded word 'Hamas.'

randomness...

I love how random life in Palestine is.

Where else can you be walking in the middle of a bustling city where cars are zipping and horns are honking, while at the same time a horse-drawn cart is moving past the Palestinian Legislative Council and a herd of sheep is being sheparded from pasture to pasture at a stop light?

Where else can grafitti artists be treated to free water, pastries, meals, and kind words while they are working?

Where else can you find an ice cream truck that plays Christmas songs in a Muslim neighborhood in order to announce its arrival to the children?

Where else can you spend hours on end in a nut roastery only to meet a man who is Palestinian, but speaks English in a Spanish accent because he was born in Puerto Rico, but lived in the US and is now back in Palestine running his own shoe shop called "Chicago Shoes?"

Where else can you learn about a family name (Al-Muslimani) that is named so because they converted from Judaism (Samarian sect) to Islam only 70 years ago?

Where else can you ask where the best cocktail in Nablus is only to be told that they all use additives and instead be invited into someone's office to enjoy a fresh, all-natural date drink called "tamirhindi?"

Where else can you walk around an old city to discover an ancient butcher's whose current owner puts pictures of American visitors and friends on the walls of his business in order to attract more customers?

Perhaps I will try to have a "randomness" blog every week to keep track of everything that happens here that makes me laugh and say, "this is why I love Palestine!"