The title comes from a conversation we had with the father of one of the friends we made in Farkha. My response, "Except for the Occupation it's a wonderful place". Our friend's name is Hussein (though everyone calls him Sein) and we visited him and his family in Beit Anan last week. He was born in Brazil and holds Brazilian citizenship along with his brother and mother, though he speaks only Arabic (and shway - a little - Hebrew). He met us in Ramallah with his cousin Muhammad (Karlos) and they showed as a good time around the city and an awesome time in his sister's village of Beit Duku. We spent the afternoon picking grapes and walking up hills though Roman ruins (until about 8 Israeli soldiers politely told us there was "no problem" and we "could stay as long as we like"). Sein's father works in the Ministry of Education in Ramallah and is a member of Fatah. He also knows how to make you feel really guilty when it's time to go home.
Some more notes:
On the service taxi from Beit Duku to Beit Anan, I met a 16 year old kid who looked 12. He was with (I think) his grandmother. He was born in the US and an American citizen. His grandmother flashed his passport at the checkpoints. She isn't an American, though she told me that some.. I think 2 or 4.. of her children still live in the US. At least one lived in New Orleans and was displaced after Hurricane Katrina, now they live in Mississippi. My vagueness with the details comes from the time delay and the fact that all conversations recorded (exceptions noted) are in my lousy Arabic.
I saw that kid the next day in Beit Anan when I returned for a wedding.
Even in the villages, the girls are saucy once the headscarves come off. They congratulated me for being unmarried at the ripe age of 31.
When you're invited for dinner, be prepared to eat.
There's a fine line between a warm welcome and a kidnapping. Our visits have always ended with a nonviolent struggle, an insistent invitation to return again, and heavy feelings of guilt.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Farkha (Salfit District)
It's been awhile since my last post, and again, I don't know where to begin. I'm hoping that the photos I've taken will jog my memory once I get back and need to put down words on paper for the sake of the degree known as the MFA and.. well also... so that I can horrify everyone back home with the atrocities going on in Palestine. Maybe little ol me can start a revolution in the US that will spread over to this part of the world and maybe keep a few kiddies from getting shot in the head, or at least get them from one place to another in a reasonable amount of time.
This past week my international buddies and I (Karin the Italian and Salim the Spaniard) went to a teeny tiny village in the Salfit District of the West Bank called Farkha (translation: Little Chicken). We were there to work and play at a work camp -slash- youth festival that consisted of moving stones and sand from one place to another, clearing out brush from a cemetery, painting a school and singing, dancing, flirting, and flag waving. We spend about 24 hours there, then returned to class in AL Quds, then back for another 4 days. To keep it short, I'll give you the highlights:
Most were somewhere between 14 and 30. Then there were some adults, mostly organizers and locals from the PPP (Palestinian People's Party aka Communist Party.. bet you thought it was all Hamas or Fatah right?) and of course, the requsite number of 7 to 10 year olds who floated around at all times of day and night.
People came from all over the West Bank, the familiar ones-Nablus, Jenin, Ramallah, Bethlehem - and the unfamiliar ones - Sebastiyya, Tubas, al Ram, Beit Hanna.
We were 3 out of maybe 8 foreigners (most of whom didn't work much except from the Korean-American). Workers and lazy communists alike, were all exotic. I think there are about 500-plus pics of me floating around cyberspace about now. I don't feel so bad about taking pictures of others any more, I paid my dues.
I learned more Arabic in 3 days than in the entire $500 course at Al Quds University (not recommended, it's usefulness is only in the eyes of the Palestinians we meet, in the fact that it's NOT an Israeli University).
Most of the people over 18 had some sort of scar, either along their face, head or body. I only heard one story though. Mahmoud from Tubas (who I'm in love with even though he doesn't speak a word of English), told me he was shot in the head during the second intifada.
The other (unrequited) love of mine is Fadi from Al Ram who is 14 years old and I named him the mutarjim (translator) he spoke great English and I learned later that he went to a "special school".
Palestinians really know how to do it up. Lots of music, lots of laughing. I learned how to dance Palestinian style. I also smoked a lot of Nargileh.
Many also all have bluetooth technology, even if they don't have finished walls or floors in their homes.
One guy named Ali left early because he got a phone call that his house in Jenin was bombed by the Israeli army. It turns out, it was someone elses, but he already left.
When the girls take their headscarves off they're just as naughty as us. The guys moreso (I think).
At this point, checkpoints have become less of an exotic adventure and more like a major hassle, just think if I actually lived here, the word "prison" comes up in daily conversation.
Little by little, my buddies found out I was Jewish. My evesdropping in Arabic is still shway shway but I figured out they found out my secret (actually, I wasn't keeping it secret, it was don't ask - don't tell, but one person did ask, and so I told).
One of the Hamas posters in the town had a picture of a young boy, I later found out he was an ex-classmate of another favorite, killed by you-know-who.
This past week my international buddies and I (Karin the Italian and Salim the Spaniard) went to a teeny tiny village in the Salfit District of the West Bank called Farkha (translation: Little Chicken). We were there to work and play at a work camp -slash- youth festival that consisted of moving stones and sand from one place to another, clearing out brush from a cemetery, painting a school and singing, dancing, flirting, and flag waving. We spend about 24 hours there, then returned to class in AL Quds, then back for another 4 days. To keep it short, I'll give you the highlights:
Most were somewhere between 14 and 30. Then there were some adults, mostly organizers and locals from the PPP (Palestinian People's Party aka Communist Party.. bet you thought it was all Hamas or Fatah right?) and of course, the requsite number of 7 to 10 year olds who floated around at all times of day and night.
People came from all over the West Bank, the familiar ones-Nablus, Jenin, Ramallah, Bethlehem - and the unfamiliar ones - Sebastiyya, Tubas, al Ram, Beit Hanna.
We were 3 out of maybe 8 foreigners (most of whom didn't work much except from the Korean-American). Workers and lazy communists alike, were all exotic. I think there are about 500-plus pics of me floating around cyberspace about now. I don't feel so bad about taking pictures of others any more, I paid my dues.
I learned more Arabic in 3 days than in the entire $500 course at Al Quds University (not recommended, it's usefulness is only in the eyes of the Palestinians we meet, in the fact that it's NOT an Israeli University).
Most of the people over 18 had some sort of scar, either along their face, head or body. I only heard one story though. Mahmoud from Tubas (who I'm in love with even though he doesn't speak a word of English), told me he was shot in the head during the second intifada.
The other (unrequited) love of mine is Fadi from Al Ram who is 14 years old and I named him the mutarjim (translator) he spoke great English and I learned later that he went to a "special school".
Palestinians really know how to do it up. Lots of music, lots of laughing. I learned how to dance Palestinian style. I also smoked a lot of Nargileh.
Many also all have bluetooth technology, even if they don't have finished walls or floors in their homes.
One guy named Ali left early because he got a phone call that his house in Jenin was bombed by the Israeli army. It turns out, it was someone elses, but he already left.
When the girls take their headscarves off they're just as naughty as us. The guys moreso (I think).
At this point, checkpoints have become less of an exotic adventure and more like a major hassle, just think if I actually lived here, the word "prison" comes up in daily conversation.
Little by little, my buddies found out I was Jewish. My evesdropping in Arabic is still shway shway but I figured out they found out my secret (actually, I wasn't keeping it secret, it was don't ask - don't tell, but one person did ask, and so I told).
One of the Hamas posters in the town had a picture of a young boy, I later found out he was an ex-classmate of another favorite, killed by you-know-who.
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