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.
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.
posted by matt iv at 12:44 AM
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