A room of a palace in Sabastiya (Qasr Al Kayed aka: قصر الكايد -- It was restored by Riwaq)
Tuqan olive oil soap factory in Nablus
Saturday, March 01, 2008
signing off
I didn't realize that someone is actually reading this thing, so Kathleen, and everyone else, I apologize for not wrapping this thing up. Yes, I'm back in the free-world for a length of time yet-to-be-determined. I wanted to report back on Nablus and Sabastiya, two places definitely worth noting, but since I hate goodbyes, I'll just leave you with a picture of each.
A room of a palace in Sabastiya (Qasr Al Kayed aka: قصر الكايد -- It was restored by Riwaq)
Tuqan olive oil soap factory in Nablus
A room of a palace in Sabastiya (Qasr Al Kayed aka: قصر الكايد -- It was restored by Riwaq)
Tuqan olive oil soap factory in Nablus
Thursday, January 31, 2008
dreaming of a white Ramallah
When Palestinians want to let loose, they're going to do it full throttle. It snowed yesterday and though the whole city shut down, the shabab were out pelting innocent bystandards with snowballs and I think that by now, as a result of two intifadas, an entire population has accurate aim and a good arm genetically imprinted. I stayed home yesterday but today I ventured out and I didn't even get ten steps into the Manara until I was pelted from above. I screamed in a pretty girlie way which prompted some guy to get out and yell at the kids up above, but he only got pelted in return. It was chaos and I had to walk along hugging the edge of the storefronts to avoid being shot at. Now if they tried to get me from the street level, I'd be ready, but they really had an unfair advantage. I guess they finally deserve it.
So on my way home, I ran into Omar (one of several that I've met while here, but I believe this is my first mention of this one in particular). Since both he and I were in the middle of doing nothing at all, we took a walk around the outskirts of Ramallah and talked about bad American TV (Dr. Phil, Oprah and Inside Edition), Arab nationalism, foreign leftists in Palestine, and role of African Americans in US history. I never really spent a lot of time with Omar but I have to say that today was one of my favorite days here, walking around and taking it easy while the city was out pelting snowballs and making snowmen. Even the sulta was having a good time.
sulta = Palestinian authority
So on my way home, I ran into Omar (one of several that I've met while here, but I believe this is my first mention of this one in particular). Since both he and I were in the middle of doing nothing at all, we took a walk around the outskirts of Ramallah and talked about bad American TV (Dr. Phil, Oprah and Inside Edition), Arab nationalism, foreign leftists in Palestine, and role of African Americans in US history. I never really spent a lot of time with Omar but I have to say that today was one of my favorite days here, walking around and taking it easy while the city was out pelting snowballs and making snowmen. Even the sulta was having a good time.
sulta = Palestinian authority
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Kamal at Qalandia
Remember the old days when your mom would hear from a friend or a friend-of-a-friend that there's a nice single shab from so-and-so's family who's looking to meet a bint of good repute and after a proper introduction over tea and cookies, the nervous couple would go to a movie or something like that? Times are really changing.. I don't mean the fact the girls and boys now hang out at bars and clubs to scope each other out. I'm also not talking about all this cyber-dating that guys and gals are into lately. I'm talking about checkpoints. I mean, it makes perfect sense. If you're stuck waiting with a whole bunch of others and there's some cutie in line, why not make the best use of your time and "put the moves on" as they say.
So today I was at Qalandia, which not only houses one of the largest checkpoints in the West Bank, but also has the most reliable post office in the Ramallah area. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from the last time I needed to post a letter and so I didn't just pick the shortest line this time. A few weeks ago, I found myself stuck between two gates, unable to go one way toward Jerusalem or the other way back to Ramallah all while some 19-year-old soldier behind the gate controls was presumably having a good laugh safely tucked on the other side of all that bullet proof glass and hidden cameraworks. So this time, I went all the way to the end to the one and only terminal that leads to the post office. There were about 10 or so people waiting and no soldier in sight, nobody was crossing and some old lady with a cane and a village style embroidered dress had given up and was sitting on the floor right next to the metal turnstile. So I turn to some random guy and ask him how long everyone has been waiting. A half hour he says. I ask if anyone has gone though and he says no. I'd like to say that our conversation was as easy to understand as I'm relaying it right now, but in fact, a few times this guy tried to switch languages, presumably to communicate a little easier. He insists that he speaks Hebrew well but I tell him that my Hebrew is just like my Arabic so sorry, switching to the language that would surely get me a lot of stares isn't going to help. So as I understand it, he tells me to use another line and I explain that I need the post office. He continues to give me advice and assures me that I can get to the post office using one of the other terminals. Against my better judgment, I agree to get in another line. He tells me that he wants to give me his phone number so that when I cross the checkpoint I should tell the soldiers that there are a bunch of people waiting over here. Anyhow, I think this is what's going on, but I tell him that first of all, I'm sure the soldiers already know that there are people waiting here, and second, why exactly should I give his phone number to some soldier? I can't tell if it's his Arabic that I don't understand or his logic. Finally he says, ok, the phone number is for me. I laughed and got in line, but a minute later he comes to my line and tells me that the other one has started to move and again, insists that I should call him if I ever need any help or any friends. All I had to say was that this whole phone number incident is mish aadi and that was enough for him to get the hint (not the bint). So Kamal, thanks for your help at the hajiz but I'm an old fashioned kind of girl. If our mothers introduced us, maybe we could have had a future together, but contrary to what my Zionist, spamming, second-cousin-once-removed thinks, I see no maternal qualities in the State of Israel and its military machine, checkpoints included.
Glossary:
shab = young guy
bint = girl (and incidentally, also "daughter" and "queen")
mish aadi = not normal or not customary
hajiz = checkpoint (though Palestinians will also use an Arabized version of the Hebrew ... mahsoum)
So today I was at Qalandia, which not only houses one of the largest checkpoints in the West Bank, but also has the most reliable post office in the Ramallah area. Anyhow, I learned my lesson from the last time I needed to post a letter and so I didn't just pick the shortest line this time. A few weeks ago, I found myself stuck between two gates, unable to go one way toward Jerusalem or the other way back to Ramallah all while some 19-year-old soldier behind the gate controls was presumably having a good laugh safely tucked on the other side of all that bullet proof glass and hidden cameraworks. So this time, I went all the way to the end to the one and only terminal that leads to the post office. There were about 10 or so people waiting and no soldier in sight, nobody was crossing and some old lady with a cane and a village style embroidered dress had given up and was sitting on the floor right next to the metal turnstile. So I turn to some random guy and ask him how long everyone has been waiting. A half hour he says. I ask if anyone has gone though and he says no. I'd like to say that our conversation was as easy to understand as I'm relaying it right now, but in fact, a few times this guy tried to switch languages, presumably to communicate a little easier. He insists that he speaks Hebrew well but I tell him that my Hebrew is just like my Arabic so sorry, switching to the language that would surely get me a lot of stares isn't going to help. So as I understand it, he tells me to use another line and I explain that I need the post office. He continues to give me advice and assures me that I can get to the post office using one of the other terminals. Against my better judgment, I agree to get in another line. He tells me that he wants to give me his phone number so that when I cross the checkpoint I should tell the soldiers that there are a bunch of people waiting over here. Anyhow, I think this is what's going on, but I tell him that first of all, I'm sure the soldiers already know that there are people waiting here, and second, why exactly should I give his phone number to some soldier? I can't tell if it's his Arabic that I don't understand or his logic. Finally he says, ok, the phone number is for me. I laughed and got in line, but a minute later he comes to my line and tells me that the other one has started to move and again, insists that I should call him if I ever need any help or any friends. All I had to say was that this whole phone number incident is mish aadi and that was enough for him to get the hint (not the bint). So Kamal, thanks for your help at the hajiz but I'm an old fashioned kind of girl. If our mothers introduced us, maybe we could have had a future together, but contrary to what my Zionist, spamming, second-cousin-once-removed thinks, I see no maternal qualities in the State of Israel and its military machine, checkpoints included.
Glossary:
shab = young guy
bint = girl (and incidentally, also "daughter" and "queen")
mish aadi = not normal or not customary
hajiz = checkpoint (though Palestinians will also use an Arabized version of the Hebrew ... mahsoum)
Saturday, January 19, 2008
More than KULSHI
Hello everyone, and Adwan in particular... Adwan. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of posting an excerpt of your e-mail on my blog. Although you are in Denmark, I think that the combination of your paternal Palestinian-ness and the fact that you're asking me to write about a Ramallah-moment constitutes a blog post. Your reference to Emily Jacir also means that I am obliged, as an artist and lover of her work, to make this public. So ok guys, please read below for Adwan's request and read further for the response. I wish I thought of taking a picture, to sweeten up this post but, oh well.. next time.
OK, I know that this is very stupid and unoriginal for me but I would like to ask you a favor before you leave (when is that by the way?). Would you, in best Emily Jacir style, go to the (one and only) Shawarma joint at Manara and order a chicken shawarma with not only kulshi (because by default that counter-intuitively does not give you all the good stuff they have to put in those sandwiches), but also ask for (and you have to be specific) thom, salada turkiye, sway filfil and the yellow stuff (important) they have in a plastic bottle whose name I can never remember (though they told me 100 times)? Feel free to choose yourself from traditional Shawarma roll or Baguette. If you haven't tried the baguette I can recommend it.... And then write me an e-mail about how is feels to eat it. I guess that will be as close I get to those shawarmas here in Copenhagen. It is by far not the same shawarmas you can buy here...
God, I miss those Shawarmas.
Alright, let me just be honest and tell you that I wasn't 100% on eating yet another shawarma sandwich. You, Adwan, were only here for three months this time, one could also argue that you're genetically predisposed to enjoying shawarma, but I'm approaching six so I'm not feeling all that nostalgic for shawarmas right now. Hamburgers, yes... apple pie, yes... shawarma, no. But for reasons which will remain secret, I thought I should consider it my patriotic duty to fulfill this simple request.
So I attended a chamber music concert this evening at the Friends Meeting House. It was about four or five kids playing cellos.. they were nervous, it was very sweet. I was with a girl I just met, totally randomly, in Jerusalem last weekend. So when I asked her if she wanted dinner, and she said that she just ate, I figured, well.. let me get this shawarma thing for Adwan over with so I can enjoy the rest of my two weeks in Ramallah. Unfortunately, since I wasn't anticipating this moment tonight, your e-mail wasn't fresh in my mind and the only things I could remember besides kulshi was the salada turkiye and the yellow stuff. So, I said kulshi twice and each time the guy pointed to something I said yes and repeated kulshi.. so much in fact, that he also asked me if I wanted Abed (the guy who takes the money and found the passport) with my sandwich (something I didn't quite understand, but Renad translated for me). Anyhow, I'll say first of all, thank you for introducing me to the baguette option. Great bread-to-meat proportion. Second, I think that yellow stuff was good, but I think I also took some stuff that you didn't ask me to add, which was this red hot pepper looking stuff and that stuff kinda took over the flavor of the whole sandwich. It burned my throat a little too. Still, even though I wasn't looking forward to yet another shawarma, it felt good. Not only did it satisfy my hunger but all that hot stuff warmed me up which is hard to do nowadays. I've been sleeping with a hot water bottle lately (which makes all the difference), but maybe I'll trade it in for a shawarma sandwich.
For all you newcomers to Ramallah, you too can have this experience. If you're on the Manara, go down Rukab Street (I know) and it's the first shawarma place on the left, right after the guy who sells Made-in-China backpacks and before the staircase that you'd take to get to Stars & Bucks. The shawarma really is great and the guys who work there are pretty cool too.
Glossary:
kulshi = everything
thom = garlic
salada turkiye = Turkish salad
filfil = pepper
OK, I know that this is very stupid and unoriginal for me but I would like to ask you a favor before you leave (when is that by the way?). Would you, in best Emily Jacir style, go to the (one and only) Shawarma joint at Manara and order a chicken shawarma with not only kulshi (because by default that counter-intuitively does not give you all the good stuff they have to put in those sandwiches), but also ask for (and you have to be specific) thom, salada turkiye, sway filfil and the yellow stuff (important) they have in a plastic bottle whose name I can never remember (though they told me 100 times)? Feel free to choose yourself from traditional Shawarma roll or Baguette. If you haven't tried the baguette I can recommend it.... And then write me an e-mail about how is feels to eat it. I guess that will be as close I get to those shawarmas here in Copenhagen. It is by far not the same shawarmas you can buy here...
God, I miss those Shawarmas.
Alright, let me just be honest and tell you that I wasn't 100% on eating yet another shawarma sandwich. You, Adwan, were only here for three months this time, one could also argue that you're genetically predisposed to enjoying shawarma, but I'm approaching six so I'm not feeling all that nostalgic for shawarmas right now. Hamburgers, yes... apple pie, yes... shawarma, no. But for reasons which will remain secret, I thought I should consider it my patriotic duty to fulfill this simple request.
So I attended a chamber music concert this evening at the Friends Meeting House. It was about four or five kids playing cellos.. they were nervous, it was very sweet. I was with a girl I just met, totally randomly, in Jerusalem last weekend. So when I asked her if she wanted dinner, and she said that she just ate, I figured, well.. let me get this shawarma thing for Adwan over with so I can enjoy the rest of my two weeks in Ramallah. Unfortunately, since I wasn't anticipating this moment tonight, your e-mail wasn't fresh in my mind and the only things I could remember besides kulshi was the salada turkiye and the yellow stuff. So, I said kulshi twice and each time the guy pointed to something I said yes and repeated kulshi.. so much in fact, that he also asked me if I wanted Abed (the guy who takes the money and found the passport) with my sandwich (something I didn't quite understand, but Renad translated for me). Anyhow, I'll say first of all, thank you for introducing me to the baguette option. Great bread-to-meat proportion. Second, I think that yellow stuff was good, but I think I also took some stuff that you didn't ask me to add, which was this red hot pepper looking stuff and that stuff kinda took over the flavor of the whole sandwich. It burned my throat a little too. Still, even though I wasn't looking forward to yet another shawarma, it felt good. Not only did it satisfy my hunger but all that hot stuff warmed me up which is hard to do nowadays. I've been sleeping with a hot water bottle lately (which makes all the difference), but maybe I'll trade it in for a shawarma sandwich.
For all you newcomers to Ramallah, you too can have this experience. If you're on the Manara, go down Rukab Street (I know) and it's the first shawarma place on the left, right after the guy who sells Made-in-China backpacks and before the staircase that you'd take to get to Stars & Bucks. The shawarma really is great and the guys who work there are pretty cool too.
Glossary:
kulshi = everything
thom = garlic
salada turkiye = Turkish salad
filfil = pepper
Thursday, January 10, 2008
helicopters, beatings, and curfew
I know what you're thinking.. you're thinking that there was some kind of incursion in Ramallah. Well, yes.. there was.... kind of. But it wasn't from the usual suspects this time. Today, it was from my own god-fearing president G.W. Bush. And while strangers are generally welcomed by Palestinians, Bush is no stranger to these parts. Palestinians may be welcoming but they're not suckers, so don't expect a warm welcome if you're.. well...
The word on the streets last night was to stay indoors and away from windows, and anyone on his rooftop risks being shot so plan your laundry load ahead of time. Certain streets, including mine, were allegedly closed. Al Manara was certainly closed, both to foot traffic and traffic traffic. So as all my close friends know, I'm not much of a risk-taker when it comes to snipers and police, so I tried to stay in bed this morning rather than go to the house a 5-minute walk away where I'm tutoring two girls for their TOEFL. Their mother, however, assured me that things were ok and so I went. I only found out later than many others also ventured out, but for the purpose of protesting George's visit. A bunch got beaten and arrested and released (including Omar and Hindi). Reem got them out posing as a translator for their "lawyer" who was a 20-year-old American guy with a self made haircut.
The word on the streets last night was to stay indoors and away from windows, and anyone on his rooftop risks being shot so plan your laundry load ahead of time. Certain streets, including mine, were allegedly closed. Al Manara was certainly closed, both to foot traffic and traffic traffic. So as all my close friends know, I'm not much of a risk-taker when it comes to snipers and police, so I tried to stay in bed this morning rather than go to the house a 5-minute walk away where I'm tutoring two girls for their TOEFL. Their mother, however, assured me that things were ok and so I went. I only found out later than many others also ventured out, but for the purpose of protesting George's visit. A bunch got beaten and arrested and released (including Omar and Hindi). Reem got them out posing as a translator for their "lawyer" who was a 20-year-old American guy with a self made haircut.
Monday, January 07, 2008
recurring dreams
I don't know what's wrong with me, but lately I've been dreaming about Palestinian floor tiles. Maybe something from a past life.. if I believed in that kinda thing. These are from a house in Birzeit.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
now here's where it gets tricky
I know you've all come around here looking for stories, happy and sad, coming out of the not-quite-recognized country known by most of the locals around me -- but not by anyone working at any US Post Office and certainly not the CIA nor its Israeli counterpart -- as Palestine. Today, however, I spent part of the day in Jaffa aka Yafa aka Yafo. So where was I you may or may not wonder? Is my day in Jaffa/Yafa/Yafo worthy of a blog worthy of the title, Misadventures in Palestine? Well before I get into the answer, let me relay a conversation I had via text message with my roommate, Reem, awhile back. From the Ramallah-Jerusalem bus, I sent her a message telling her to finish my fresh-squeezed orange juice that I left in the fridge because I was going to be out of town for a few days. Fresh OJ is really best the first day. She responded with a question... Am I going out of the country? Actually, I didn't know how to respond, and if she was someone else, I would have thought it was certainly some kind of trick. My response.. it depends on how you define country. That day, I was going to Tel Aviv. She sent me an sms-style laugh, but no definition to clarifythe answer to her own question.
I experienced a similar contradiction that same weekend when I bought some olives at the Shuk HaCarmel in Tel Aviv and I asked the seller where they were from, he said, "from the country." Exactly where? He said, from Ramallah. Is Tel Aviv really in the same country as Ramallah? OK ok, hold it right there. Which country is everyone talking about?
So back to my day in.. let's just keep it simple.. in Yafa. As you have probably guessed, Yafa is on the other side of both the wall and the green line. Yeah, way way on the other side. So if there are so many Palestinians around there, I guess I was in Palestine right? To answer that question is to go further back in history than I'm really ready for right now, but just think what could have happened if things didn't turn out the way they did. I'll just say this, I got so caught up with all those Palestinian stuck behind one side of the wall, I forgot about all those Palestinians stuck on the other side. And while you may be thinking, well at least some Palestinians don't need to be locked in Gaza to have seaside property, think again. I saw some brand new construction taking place just a stones throw from some homes that look like they've been there for quite awhile, and some empty spaces that probably weren't always so empty. Don't think I'm saying anything that people don't already know, cause I saw a few tourist maps plastered around the neighborhood that were stamped with teeny tiny bulldozers. I guess if artists can't keep houses from being demolished, at least they can make maps.
To be honest, I'm still not sure if I was in Palestine this afternoon. I'd really like to say yes, I was. But while I have no problem testing out my lousy Arabic in any mini-market in Ramallah, I feel a little weird doing the same exact thing in Yafa.
P.S. I've noticed that when Palestinians - the ones who allow me to butcher a Koranic language when asking for directions - talk about their comrades with the blue-ID cards, they generally refer to them as '48 Palestinians. Same goes for .. ahem.. Israel. So if we need a numeric answer to a tricky question, the answer is 48.
I experienced a similar contradiction that same weekend when I bought some olives at the Shuk HaCarmel in Tel Aviv and I asked the seller where they were from, he said, "from the country." Exactly where? He said, from Ramallah. Is Tel Aviv really in the same country as Ramallah? OK ok, hold it right there. Which country is everyone talking about?
So back to my day in.. let's just keep it simple.. in Yafa. As you have probably guessed, Yafa is on the other side of both the wall and the green line. Yeah, way way on the other side. So if there are so many Palestinians around there, I guess I was in Palestine right? To answer that question is to go further back in history than I'm really ready for right now, but just think what could have happened if things didn't turn out the way they did. I'll just say this, I got so caught up with all those Palestinian stuck behind one side of the wall, I forgot about all those Palestinians stuck on the other side. And while you may be thinking, well at least some Palestinians don't need to be locked in Gaza to have seaside property, think again. I saw some brand new construction taking place just a stones throw from some homes that look like they've been there for quite awhile, and some empty spaces that probably weren't always so empty. Don't think I'm saying anything that people don't already know, cause I saw a few tourist maps plastered around the neighborhood that were stamped with teeny tiny bulldozers. I guess if artists can't keep houses from being demolished, at least they can make maps.
To be honest, I'm still not sure if I was in Palestine this afternoon. I'd really like to say yes, I was. But while I have no problem testing out my lousy Arabic in any mini-market in Ramallah, I feel a little weird doing the same exact thing in Yafa.
P.S. I've noticed that when Palestinians - the ones who allow me to butcher a Koranic language when asking for directions - talk about their comrades with the blue-ID cards, they generally refer to them as '48 Palestinians. Same goes for .. ahem.. Israel. So if we need a numeric answer to a tricky question, the answer is 48.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)