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flyingears

I am back home now. I had a long plane ride and I was really sick so it pretty much sucked. But it’s done now. There is so much that I did not write about; I almost feel that this blog was a failure because I excluded so many things. One thing I did want to talk about is my second to last night in Nablus. I mentioned this already, I think.

I went to Nazeeh’s house again to visit his family before leaving. I have known Nazeeh since first meeting him last year in the class I taught in Askar Cadeem and I have visited his family several times. Every time I have come to their house his older brother has not been there or has left the room shortly after I arrived. His brother went to university for Arabic and political science and now teaches Arabic. It was never a problem but I did notice it. A few nights ago, when I went with Nazeeh to his family’s house again, I walked in the front door and his family was all gathered around close together talking. His father was lying on the floor, as he usually does (he is crippled) and everyone else was sitting around him in chairs or on the mattress Nazeeh’s father was on. Nazeeh’s older brother was sitting in a chair and motioned me over to sit next to him. He began talking to me. He told me that when I first came with Nazeeh to their house, his conscience would not allow him to speak to me because I was an American. This is why he always got up and left when I arrived. But, he said, after hearing about me from his brother Nazeeh and hearing us talk together, he changed. He said his mind completely changed. He told me that he was very happy that we had really finally met. And he told me that he could see what kind of a person I was. It was a really great night. We all sat around and talked and did the usual drinking of tea. We ate numerous cucumbers, too. Nazeeh’s father said at one point “this is the most beautiful night!” That is how I was feeling, too.

So, that is one thing that I wanted to be sure to mention. There is really so much more—a lot of it concerns the generosity of people that I have met. And also the strength and sincerity of relationships made over such a short period of time. Relationships with both Palestinians and internationals. It was powerfully sad and happy the last two nights. I already miss friends there so much. And now I am here. It’s pretty weird.

I wrote the above a couple of days ago but haven't yet posted it. It IS pretty wierd being back home. I walked around a lot today, down to the river and around the banks. It has been overcast and grey today, and a little cold. It felt really good to wander around beneath the clouds; it matched how I felt. After I started back to my apartment, the rain began and it was coming down pretty good by the time I got back.

Someone stole my bike yesterday. So, that was a lot of fun. I picked up a comic book collection at the library and read that--it was mostly space adventure. And that's about that. I don't know if I should write anymore to this blog, since it was about my experiences in the West Bank. I don't know. Maybe I will continue it, if for no other reason, then just to have a reason to write something. Actually, not really much of a reason but that's okay. I'm not sure.

flyingears

flyingears

The last two days have been incredibly emotional. I have been seeing friends here and saying goodbye, see you, inshallah. The people at the centers in Askar Cadeem and Askar Jadeed have been so kind. I can't really relate how this makes me feel. Last night I spent some time with Nazeeh's family (a friend from last year). It was really, really good. I will try to write more about it later.

Tonight was more again like that. The other volunteers here with Project Hope are wonderful people. I am going to miss them so much. We had a gathering at Samah's house tonight....she is a true friend with a beautiful heart. I really had a lot fun and I hope everyone (Patrick, Sandy, Xen, Mahmoud, Lisa, Issam, Shahalla, Samah, Wafah, and Mustapha know how much it meant to me). I can't really write anymore right now. I have so much inside of me and I am really tired and I don't know if this place is the right place for these thoughts anyway. I won't forget how I feel tonight.

A boy in Askar Jadeed.
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Mohammed, his daughter, and a young boy in Askar Jadeed.
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This is the woman I talked to in Askar Jadeed who was in her 30s when she and her family became refugees in 1948.
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This is Mohammed, a 25 year old man from Askar Jadeed.
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And a photograph of a girl from the same school.
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Here is a photograph of a boy at the kindergarten in Askar Jadeed.
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flyingears

Yesterday was an emotional day. I was in Asakar Jadeed with Rawan, a young woman from the camp, and Mohammed and Mohammed, two of the kids from the art class. We went to a kindergarten to meet some kids and then went to the houses of some old folks, refugees who remember 1948.

The kids at the kindergarten are awesome. Kids are so cool. I felt good with all these little kids running around, smiling and looking so curiously at our strange group. The first person we talked with after that was an older man who was a boy when his family was forced from their home in what is now Israel. They eventually ended up in Askar camp. I took a photograph of him after we talked and then asked another man at the house if I could take his picture. He said no and then said there are plenty of photographs of Palestinians all over the world. He said foreigners come to the refugee camp and take pictures and then what happens? Nothing. I said I understand. I was really depressed. We walked down the narrow street and Rawan began talking. She said something like--you have to understand, many foreigners come here and try to show what is happening. they take pictures but nothing ever changes. But we have to do what we can. I said yeah I guess. Then I said that I felt like this was totally pointless, what we were doing. She understood and said no, that she didn't think so. We walked down the road and I looked at the kids in the street. I saw a couple of faces looking out of windows. I thought about why I was taking pictures and interviews. Kids were walking in the street--not streets like we think of, but more like alleys--and leaning against the concrete homes. I don't know what the point of writing about this is. I just felt really helpless and sad. We walked slowly and I wanted to cry. We walked to another house and were invited in by an old woman. We all talked for awhile with Rawan translating. This old lady, she is amazing. She said she was in her thirties when she came to Askar. She told us about her and her family sleeping in caves after being forced out of their home. She remembered soldiers encircling the whole village where she lived. Those who weren't leaving were killed. She was so kind and lively. And happy to be talking together. I felt a lot better when I left her house.
Back at the art class a little later it was also emotional. The kids in the class are really just so cool. We shared the photographs they had taken the last few days in the camp. Then we all drew pictures about saying goodbye. It was really happy and really sad. I guess that is good. One of the students, Khalel, sang a song for me while another student, Waseem, played a drum. It was really beautiful. So we all hung out and had a great time.

Today I was in Askar Cadeem watching some girls sing traditional Palestinian songs. Hatem, a friend from the camp I met last year, volunteers to teach children traditional dancing, singing, music, and folklore. The center does all kinds of things for children--drama, summer camps, lots of stuff. It's a good place.

Then I went to Balata camp to meet and interview a family whose son was shot in the head while he was sitting in the family's living room. The military was in the streets outside and firing at kids throwing stones. An exploding bullet entered the house and exploded. The bullet in its entirety didn't hit his head but the fragments of it, as it exploded immediatley next to his head, punctured his skull. It happened a couple of years ago and he is 'okay' except that there is still shrapnel in his brain. And there is no bone, no skull, in a large area on his head. The doctors here have done what they can and want to cover up the hole in his skull, leaving the pieces of metal in his brain. He has headaches from it and some sort of electical surges (I couldn't figure out what the English translation would be). And there is danger of the fragments moving and potentially causing much harm. The family had copies of the medical report and the exrays which they were going to give to an NGO. They hope to get him to a hospital that has the appropriate equipment to extract the pieces still in his brain. I read the report, it was in english, and apparently all that is needed is the proper equipment which just is not available here. The kid, Sameed, told me that he hadn't been able to play soccer for the last two years because of the unprotected hole in his skull. If he gets hit there, it would be serious problems. After talking with him and his family, I stood up to leave and his father approached me. He said 'Please. Help my son.' It is just incredibly stupid, isn't it. That there can be some little boy sitting with his family, in his house. A bullet, that I helped pay for, hits him in the head. And now it is simple--he just needs an operation but so far, for the last two years, nothing has happened. There are hospitals in Israel that could do it. There are hospitals all over the world that could do it. But everything is fucked up. He can't just get on a bus and go to a hospital. But maybe something will work out with this NGO that the family is in contact with. I am afraid though of getting someone's hopes up in a case like this. Because who knows?
The family has built a concrete wall around the windows now, in hopes of preventing something like this from happening again to their family. The father told me it is like a prison here for the people, for the children. This concrete barrier covering the windows is just another visual reminder.

flyingears

flyingears

time

flyingears

It is almost time for me to leave. Time has gone by so fast and in many ways I am not ready to leave. I know I won't have time to get done all the things that I want to do before I leave. I have hardly used this blog at all; I am rarely on the computer because I have been busy with other things. And I am hesitant to really write anything very personal on here. It is something that, if I am going to write to a blog, I should have put more time in--to give people a better idea of things here, my perspectives and feelings anyway.

I know that I won't spend enough time with the friends that I have made here before I leave. I guess this says something about one of the most powerful feelings I have about this place--the sincerity and kindness of people. Like anywhere (and many people here have told me just this) I am sure there are good and not so good people. People are people everywhere. That's just exactly it. And overwhelmingly, hugely overwhelmingly, the people that I have met are amazingly sincere and so kind. It is really beautiful.

Last night I went to a billiards place that I often stop at. There are a handful of guys that are usually there and we take turns playing pool. Last night was really fun. It was really quiet in the place, just a few people. We played some games and then sat around and talked. A lot of the talking was hand gestures and one three word sentences but it definitely worked. Two of the people there, Nahil and Said, are brothers. They have been there almost everytime I have been in there but I never knew until last night that they are brothers. They both work at this billiards place. Nahil, the older one at 30, is also a painter; Said, who is 24, works as a carpenter. Of course, like most people here, it doesn't seem like they are able to get much work. Nabil, one of there friends, is a guy who wouldn't seem out of place anywhere. He has hair that kind of sticks out all over the place and a face that is almost always smiling. He didn't play any pool; he just watched, talked, joked around, and laughed. A couple of years ago, he was shot 11 times by a settler. He's got bullet holes in his arms, hands, chest, and stomach. But amazingly he is okay.

That's the story basically with everyone I spend time with. One of the other guys there last night, Ahmad, lost his brother to the soldiers. I want people to know that it is not that people I meet immediately tell me about tragedy in there lives. That's not it. But, after spending time with someone, it often comes up in conversation. Sometimes I have known someone here for weeks and hung out with them a lot before I anything like that is even mentioned.

Two nights ago I ended up spending the night with the family of one of my students in Old Askar. His name is Hashem; he is a young man, 21 years old, who farms. He lives with his family just outside of Askar camp, between the camp and Askar village. He has four brothers and four sisters. His parents are really kind, too, like Hashem. Hashem is another guy who seems to be always with a smile. We went over to his house after class and just sat around and talked with some of his family. Before we knew it, it was dark and late and no taxis were on the road. They invited me over for the night and I slept wonderful. Even though I got up early in the morning because I had a lot to do in Nablus, I felt refreshed. We talked about a lot of things and drank tea and ate some delicious food. Hashem's family gets all their drinking water from a spring nearby. It is seriously some of the best water I have ever had. They told me about a time, during the huge invasion of Nablus in April of 2002, when there was total curfew for 25 or 28 days. All 12 of the family stayed in one interior room because the soldiers were shooting into windows and none of the other rooms were at all safe. When they had to go to the bathroom, they crawled from the interior living room to the bathroom. The day before the invasion the family had bought a big bag of rice and this is mostly what they ate. The military cut the main pipe that feeds Askar, so noone had any water. Someone in the family was able to sneak out, avoid getting shot, and brought a rubber hose to the spring, which is close to the house. With the hose, the family was able to get water. Extended family lived on either side (in one attached building) and they were able to pass the hose from house to house, so that one family would have it for a day and then pass it on. In that way, they were able to get fresh water every three days.

Another time, in 1988, Israeli soldiers occupied the house for 60 some days, I think 65. The family was forced out and lived with nearby relatives. When they finally were able to get back in, the windows were broken, a fire had been lit in the storage area beneath the floor, and the walls of the house were damaged. And with all this, and I am sure much more, the family told me that all people are people--jews, christians, muslims, everyone. And that they, I mean the people talking to me, just want to live in peace together. I mean it's really amazing. They were telling me pretty much exactly the opposite of what we are led to believe. Of course they were upset at what has been happening. They are angry at the settlements (the lights from two of which I could see from their front door), at the wall, at the land theft, at the killings, at the humiliation, at the checkpoints (in five years Hashem has not left Nablus because of the checkpoints). And what they want is peace. And peace cannot exist with oppression. They recognize the humanity of people, not based on their religion or even their government, but just that they are people. Hashem's father also wanted to talk to me about Islam, because he knows how it is projected where I live. He is not an overtly religious person, I mean not what we would consider hardcore or probably even exceptionally devout, but faith is obviously important to him. He told me that Islam is peace. And that he, and Islam, excepts all people of all faiths and all origins. So, we talked about that for awhile and all sorts of things. They brought out homemade olive oil, from some of their trees. It was delicious. And olives from their trees, too. They also grow something that I think is what we call sage. It is called miramia here and people use it in tea. It is really good. Jen knows!

It's time for me to get going. I hope that this blog has been of some interest to people. I hope that it gives a little of what I see as the real picture here. It is incomplete and I would like to say so much more; it's frustrating, too, that I feel like I can't really give enough information. There is just so much that is worth saying. Another thing I don't like is how it is so much "I". But that is part of the attempt here, I guess--to show things from my perspective. There is something else I want to say, too. People think it is dangerous to be here. It is, in some ways, but it's not how you might think. Especially now. It is pretty quiet, as people here say, compared to a couple of years ago. Everybody hopes that this is a sign of good things to come but it seems that pretty much everyone thinks it's very temporary. Hakee Fadee. Bullshit. People note that even though it is quieter in Nablus--tanks and soldiers aren't invading everyday shooting the place up--the wall is still being constructed, eating up land, and new settlements are being built. And there are still 9,000 or so Palestinian prisoners in Israeli prisons. And about the safety thing--foreigners are not in danger from Palestinians, just the opposite--people here are very concerned about my safety and look out for it--and I am not a Palestinian, all of whom are targets, in one way or another, of the Israeli military. Plus, and very importantly, I can leave. I just pop in here, like a tourist, and then leave. People here don't have that option. My family and all those I love do not live here and don't have to put up with this every day of their lives. I don't have to worry about my parents being humiliated at a checkpoint or killed in an invasion. I don't have to worry about my brother being imprisoned or shot. I don't have to worry about my sister being shot on the way to school. I don't have to worry about my partner just trying to have a sane mind. Or my children growing up in this environment. Whether they will be able to go to school, if maybe they'll be shot when throwing a stone or while sitting in a desk at school. Or just trying to have a job myself.

Even with all of these things, people hold on to the important things, like love and family. And hope, too. Which is really something. I think I have been rambling on here enough for now. I hope everyone is doing well.

This is a man who works in the Old City. He creates a variety of crafts from sheet metal, hammering and working the pieces into all sorts of containers and other things (like charcoal heaters). He's got a little shop, an alcove-like place with equipment and material, and works outside delicately making his crafts.
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This a photo taken in a center located in Askar camp. The center is for teaching children traditional dancing, music, and folklore. Hatem, one of the volunteers at the center, is currently teaching a group of children traditional Palestinian dancing and singing.
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shooting in the streets

flyingears

Hey. I am in Nablus today, at the apartment. There has been a gun battle in the streets for the last few hours. It has been concentrated in the city center, which is where this apartment is. The fighting has been between fighters in the Al Aqsa Martyrs Brigade and the police force of the Palestinian Authority. It sucks. This is just what Israel wants and facilitates. The fighting has been loud—a lot of gunfire, fighters in the streets, people shouting and running. I tried going to Balata with two other internationals for a wedding but the taxis weren’t really running. We found one that said he would take us around the fighting to Balata but as we entered the circle of the city center, the fighting spilled into that area. Groups of onlookers were standing, or running and scattering. A few men were shooting up into a huge parking garage. As the taxi driver manoeuvred through the street, I turned and saw a man let off some quick bursts of fire from some kind of gun, shooting up into the parking garage. Someone else was shooting an AK-47. We decided to postpone the trip to Balata and, after the taxi turned a corner, got out and went back to the apartment, about half a block away. I watched things from the window for awhile as the fighting moved into the street below. It was loud.

A friend of mine told me that one of the fighters was shot in the chest and is at the Rafidiyah Hospital. Someone at the mosque began making an announcement—something about asking everyone to stop shooting and that this is internal fighting and must stop because we don’t want a civil war.

The shooting has stopped for now, it seems. Some tires were lit on fire in the street below by some youth. Now, though, it is quiet and people are walking on the streets again.

And here is a photograph of some of the kids in a drawing and photography class that I am teaching in Askar camp. They are really cool guys. And now they know a new word--hacky sack. This picture is from today--the center is working on an outdoor area they have built--it has a stage and some areas for plants and trees. So these kids were helping with the work.
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Here is a picture of a boy who works in a little bakery here in Nablus. I pass by the bakery many days on my way to one of the centers that I teach at. My favorite bread in Nablus comes from this place. I usually stop in and chat with the four people who work here and several days ago I worked for awhile! It was really fun--I rolled dough into balls, slapped them down onto a conveyor that flattened them and then put them into the oven. This boy in the picture is a really sweet kid and a lot of fun to hang out with. He taught me the right way to roll the dough, with the heels of your hands. I am not as fast as he is but I think I have the right idea.
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flyingears

I wrote the below posting a couple of days ago but hadn't yet posted it. I still feel a little wierd about writing to this blog. I feel like I can't give enough information or adequately relate my own feelings. But that is the nature of communication, I guess. Anyway, I have been having some really good times the last several days. I started working with some kids in New Askar--doing some photography stuff and drawing. The kids are wonderful. They are really cool. We played a lot of hacky sack, too.

I went to a puppet making workshop in Balata yesterday. It was also really fun. There was a group of about a dozen girls, maybe around 10 to 12 years old, working on big puppets--an apple, a bananna, an octopus, and some other crazy looking things. It was fun. And another good thing--strawberries are now five shekels a kilo. That's crazy! And they are so good and sweet.

Last night a tank and about 20 jeeps entered the city, although I couldn't see them from where I am staying. A helicopter was also flying around for at least an hour, which I could hear but not see. I don't know yet what was going on. The other night there was a large explosion in the old city. I talked with a friend in the old city and he said it was the military blowing up a door to look for people. Most every night there are gunshots and sometimes explosions. But this of course never makes the news. There was another bombing in Tel Aviv last night and it was big news. It has been identified as a criminal bombing, unrelated to the situation here. It is strange though, and I hadn't really thought about it specifically until recently, but a bombing in Tel Aviv is big news but the regular explosions here are not mentioned. People wake up and it's back to the market or the university or whatever.

I have both the art class in New Askar and an english class in Old Askar today. These are two of my favorite classes and I am excited to see what the kids will draw today. For anyone reading this--thanks for taking the time.

bombing, 'cease-fire', and the library

flyingears

As you have probably heard, there was a suicide bombing in Tel
Aviv a couple of nights ago. Four Israelis and the bomber were
killed. This is really, really sad. What a waste. This whole
situation is shit for everyone involved. And as long as this
oppressive occupation continues, so will people on all sides suffer.
There is a lot to talk about when discussing suicide bombers; personal and family histories of those who choose to do this, the reality that people have to deal with every day here, and much, much more. I don't want to start right now. I want to write some about my reactions to the way in which the situation here is portrayed. After this bombing, Israel and the United States were saying that it jeopardized the cease-fire. What cease-fire? Just in the last few weeks two men were executed, one left to bleed to death and mutilated, a boy was shot and killed, and two other men were killed in Gaza, just to mention some of the violence I have heard about and nothing about the daily, ingrained oppression that constantly seeks to humiliate and degrade every person in this society. Did you read this in the newspaper or see it on your television? Israel is a massively powerful entity with missiles,
tanks, bombs, fighter jets, helicopters, nightvison, m-16s,
bulldozers, jeeps, flak jackets, attack dogs, and fully equipped and
trained soldiers. And billions of dollars to fund it all.
The imbalance of the 'conflict' is incredible. As is the sheer
quantity of personal and family tragedy. Like the soap maker who pulled up his shirt to show me thick purple scars from gunshots to his stomach, or like a friend in Askar whose nine year old cousin was killed in the street a few months ago by soldiers in a tank, or like a man I know whose son was arrested while I was here before-14 months ago-and is still sitting in prison without even being charged with anything (and after being beaten and shot in the foot during the arrest in the middle of the night). And on and on and on and on.

I was in Nablus' public library the other day, a place where I like to go and read or sit outside and look out onto the streets or up into the mountains. It is a peaceful and quiet place with a beautiful garden and cool trees. It was built 110 years ago during the Ottoman Empire. Anyway, one afternoon recently I was sitting at a table reading when a young girl sat down next to me. I could tell she really wanted to talk--after a little while and several quick glances, she asked me my name. We talked for a few minutes, she introduced herself as Heba. A friend of hers came over and they sat together for awhile, talking in whispers while Heba wrote on a piece of paper torn from her notebook. She got up to leave and gave me the paper folded in half. This is what it said:

I name Heba I live in Nabluse
Now I tell you the life in Nabluse very
difficult and so bad I hope from
american to help country the palestine

Thank Matt

I hope that shows what I mean. The fundamental difference in this
'conflict'. I don't know if I am being clear but I feel like this
note is the only way right now to express what I mean.