paws for this one

cats just scurry out of those big public trash disposals and scamper away and catch you by surprise for a second long fleeting moment, when you dont expect anything four legged, fuzzy or living to just pop out of those bins as you walk past them.  but theres tons of cats, no so much in Ramallah, but loads more in Nablus.  One of those Nablusi cats got pretty darn lucky, in fact luckier than most Palestinian human beings, as luck met chance and the kitty captivated an international's heart with something that the locals could not give a crap about: it's kitty cuteness.  

street kids in nablus beat cats and play with them and toy around with them or pelt stones at them to pass time, and entertain themselves.  now of course this sounds absolutely horrible to us, people not living under an occupation or in a developing country, where cats are creatures of companionship, endearment, and again cuteness. We like to hug them, and pet them and stroke them and make them a part of our family ( i don't, i can't stand cats).  We don't beat cats, we take them to animal doctors, give them medicine, buy nice food for them and heck even dress em up sometimes.  Come to think of it, cats and dogs in America are probably luckier than the majority of human beings around the world.  Anyways. That's beside the point.  The point is, in Nablus a cat's life is a life of struggle.  They live in a city where the people have lived through atrocious amounts of trauma, plagued by war for decades. 

This is actually my rommmate's story. When she was working in Nablus, she found a tiny kitty stuck in a hole in the wall, whimpering, scared out of its wits. Albeit not being a cat lover, M saved the cat.  And promptly handed the kitten over to the other internationals working at the school, and the kitty was adopted by a couple of american girls.  Peebs.  the cat even got a name, and for about a year lived inside the apartment with these americans in a little bubble of its own, saved from the dangers of the Nablusi streets and the children, reared with love and affection.  Then one day, it came time for the internationals to go back home, back to America.  What would happen to this cat? It would die if it was let loose in Nablus again, it has absolutely no survival skills to combat unloving, unaffectionate attention from the townspeople.

it was decided that the cat needed to go as well.  My roommate somehow became the one responsible to carry out this mission.  What exactly was the mission you may ask.  The Mission : To prove that this was an Israeli cat.  Not a palestinian one.  So that it could board a plane and go home..to California, USA.

Now what does this entail? here goes.  Maggie had to arrange for the cat to come to Ramallah from Nablus.  That was an amusing journey because no one had a cat carrier, but someone did have an old bird cage, so maggie put the cat in the bird cage and sneaked it through the checkpoint.  sneaked it again through the checkpoint to take it to Jerusalem.  we were kind of worried as to how the soldiers would react...to a Palestinian cat in a bird cage trying to pass a checkpoint.  Would they shoot it because it's palestinian? Would the cat not be allowed through because it's Palestinian? Would it be harassed? Held up? Detained? Arrested? Because all of those things happen to people.  But no, the soldier thought the cat was cute and let it pass without any qualms.  again, the luck of this cat surpasses the luck of the people.

Next : in Jerusalem Maggie had to prove that the cat was Israeli and that it needed a check up.  Her skillful fabrication skills linked with her incredibly friendly non threatening demeanor got the job done.  Then came another step.  Finding a cat carrier for the plane.  Maggie went to the store and I think struggled to find one, but ended up finding a bag, the only one left that was going to be Peebs'.  A camouflage bag.  

The trusted cab driver for the internationals in Nablus, along with all the locals that these internationals knew, were acquainted with and friends with, were partially amused and partially laced with outrage and jealousy.  This cat was going to America.  Most of them could not dream of that fate.  Heck, many of them can't even go to Jerusalem, a town that is 43 miles away from them. 

So the morning of Maggie's flight From Tel Aviv to the States came, and there went Peebs, peeking from a camouflage bag, hiding its true Palestinian identity to pass through Israeli security to start life anew, in America.  

 Meet Peebs: 

From Nablus: 

To Cali:

it's just beautiful land

i never think about the fact that i'm american until i cross her borders and i'm elsewhere in the world.  i guess you dont think about your "nationality" until it has to be used somehow either because it's under threat, it can save your butt or you need to justify it to someone or something else.  in everyday normal homeostatic way of life, there's no need to think about the labels in your passport.

the labels in my passport had become an obsession.  because it certainly mattered and dictated my moves, quite physically.  one of the many reasons why i decided to move to palestine, is because to an extent i was fully conscious of the sheer value of my american passport and the privilege and mobility it provides, so much so that personally for myself it didn't seem any less than  a moral obligation to do everything in my power to use it, to quite literally see the world with it (as much my broke teacher's pay allows me to).  My so called American-ness is like 90 percent of my identity now.  I can move in and out of cities in Palestine claiming to be a lost tourist from Israel just because I have an international passport, I can go into Israel and pretend that my life in Palestine doesn't exist, just because of my passport.  And I can certainly leave Palestine largely because my passport is American.  

I failed to realize how complicated this relatively small part of the world known as the Middle East really is, even though i considered myself an aware individual before coming. it's not a lie, you might think you know, but you really don't know the extent of how screwed up and beautiful this place is until you are here and things are staring blatantly at your face.  Each border that you pass matters, and it asks you where else you have been, and the labels and stamps in your passport matter, a lot.

To live in Palestine, I have to prove that I live in Israel.  To enter Palestine, there is no Palestinian stamp, since it's not a real country, you are dependent on the Israeli entrance and exit stamps, and the three month tourist visa (at most) that will allow you to essentially sneak into Palestine and illegally live/work there.  There's only three countries in the Middle East that accepts an Israeli stamps in your passport : Turkey, Egypt and Jordan (as far as I know, correct me if I'm wrong).  The following list of countries will not accept your passport if it has the Israeli stamp : Bangladesh (WHAAAAT!!!), Algeria, Pakistan, Iran, Yemen, Sudan, Somalia, Syria, UAE, Malaysia, Libya, Lebanon, Kuwait.  I don't know if I'd venture out to Somalia or Libya or Djibouti or something, but the fact that I CAN'T says something.  Also let's look at this list : Lebanon, Syria, Iraq, Iran, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Gaza strip and a few others.  These countries are "enemy countries" for Israel, and visiting these countries, WHETHER you have an Israeli passport or a Foreign one, as in even IF you are ISRAELI and you have visited these countries, if there is anything on you that indicates you have stepped foot into these places, subjects you to legal prosecution. 

I guess because most of my life has been spent in North America, inside the United States, and since North America is not exactly known for boasting the most number of countries, to me another country is really far way (minus Canada and Mexico) and it really is a distant thing to traaavel.  But here now that I'm in the Middle East, I feel squished.  Everything is just so close and so small. And rules change and bounce around as soon as you cross borders.  To my american friends, its like every state within the US being a bitch about every other state border that you might have crossed and making you wait at state borders because something seemed off and goofy about where you had been previously.  and going through your State border history, and every state border leaving a permanent mark on your 'resident id' that you had been there.  

I wanted to go to Syria to study Arabic this summer.  If you look at the enemy list, there it is right there, Syria is on the enemy list.  Going to Syria means deleting the part of my life that has known Israel/Palestine, and coming back to Israel/Palestine means deleting having anything to do wtih Syria.  It's doable.  Just stressful.  Anytime there are rules, what's important to know is that there are ways to break them.  And like a pothead friend of mine had told me once "everything is legal, until you're caught".  I can't believe I actually use that motto now. 

I got a second passport in  lieu of my desire to go to Syria.  and then I flew into Amman from Ben Guiron, the airport in Tel Aviv, solely because after careful calculation (by this i mean obsessing over routes for weeks) i realized flying in is the only way that would hide where I was coming in from (Israel).  Ben Guiron was a tough one, but doable.  I was on high security terrorist alert and went through their pretty intensive security measures before being "cleared".  I can't get over this, among the many many thigns they checked, they went through my hair for a good 10 minutes with gloves on, like those sterile surgeon gloves.  do people hide explosives in their hair? really?  that's just a snipped of the Ben Guiron experience :)

After a couple of days in Jordan, I ventured out to the Syrian border and they took one quick look at my American passport and denied my American butt (a month ago, they'd give visas at the borders, but supposedly the rules for Americans changed where now you have to get permission to enter aka the visa from Washington DC)

So now I'm in Jordan, in Amman.  for how long I have absolutely no idea.  The plan is to go back to Palestine, but that is still up to chance and luck. 

Last week, I met up with 2 Tarheels and went to Umm Qais with 2 other friends.  We stopped to see the Sea of Galilee.  From the mountain in Jordan, you can see this Sea, which belongs to Israel, but the source of the water is the Jordan river which obviously is in Jordan.  It's a complicated area (even just this small piece of area : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sea_of_Galilee ) the point is,  I wasn't too phased by the fact that I was standing physically in the country Jordan, but I was looking at Israel, and West Bank far in the distance, and to the other side of me was Syria, somewhere where I wasn't allowed to go in, and way in the distance I saw mountains that belongs to Lebanon.  I guess I wasn't phased, because all I saw was really beautiful land, and in the natural order of things, the land didn't inherently come with borders.

The Garden

the best part about my apartment is without a doubt the garden that Georgette, the landlord, has planted. when you enter the gates of the house (she lives in the giant 2 story stone house, and we live in this back cottage sort of apartment), there's about 5 or 6 big rose plants, a jasmine tree,  a giant lavendar bush, another night jasmine tree, and other plants which fill up the spaces in between whose names i dont know.  circling around the back, directly behind our bedroom windows, is a patch of garden with fresh Zataar, tea herbs, mint, different flowers (like those giant giant lilies), and more things which i dont know the names of.  and in the main garden that we look out to whenever we sit in the back, is a giant almond tree, a handful of big lemon trees, some fruit trees, and several rose bushes  I feel like the richness of the garden alone is the thing that makes me feel like i live in luxury.  everything in the garden and our lives parallel to it living in this stone old fashioned house/cottage has a kind of co-existance that I'm not entirely familiar with.  The appreciation and love for it is something that I hadn't known or learned before. My mom back home is famous for her gardening skills, and she grows a wide number of vegetables.  She has to tend to the dirt, buying bags and bags of fertilizer and mulch to make the ground 'healthy' enough for her patches of tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and a like five different types of chilli plants, eggplants and different kinds of spinach and herbs to grow. its funny how much money you have to dump on the ground to get 'natural' things to come out.

Here, stuff just grows.  not just grows, but grows in a way that i'm just not used to, and in a way that is almost enchanting.  sitting outside in our small outside patio place, the serenity that you feel is so soothing, it makes everyone fall in love with this place.  Sometimes I feel pampered.  When I go to work every morning, I have to brush my hands against the lavender to get a nice whiff of it to start my morning. the jasmines have been in full bloom for the past couple of weeks, and those tiny flowers have the biggest sweetest aroma that is just too lovely.  i walk to school, with a couple of jasmine flowers, and i just cant stop smelling them.

i was walking to school the other day with my roommate T and i had a couple of jasmine flowers in hand, and i asked 'call me crazy but i really dont think flowers in the States smell this good'.  she looked at me and said "you're going to miss this place a lot when you leave.  you should remember every step that you take up this hill to work every morning so that when you close your eyes back home, you can be back here again".

Is it bad that the first time M and I were walking around the garden trying to figure out what all the plants and trees were, I had no idea what these things looked like in real life.  For instance, when I think lavender, I either think light purple or I think one of those highly overpriced small aromatherapy bottles in  Bath and Body Works, that's supposed to make me sleep better or something.  So when I saw the lavender stems for the first time, long dusty green stems with small rigid leaves with vertical flower buds at the very tip of them, I had no idea that you had to brush your hands against the stem to get the seeping aroma from the leaves onto your hands.  In fact if I had seen this lavender bush in passing, I would have thought it was weeds and shrubs or something and wouldn't have even bothered trying to smell them.

  When the roses would come in full bloom, I would think about how much a collection of those would cost in the States, and I would feel pampered knowing that the flowers came out of OUR garden for FREE.  giant blooming roses, of all colors, lavender, yellow, red, yellow with orange tipped petals, peach with bright pink tips,  birght vivacious pink and pure white, all of them grow in our garden.  There would hardly ever be day when M and I didn't have a 'bouquet' of flowers in each of our bedrooms, the bathroom and the kitchen table.

and so many times I would think to my self that all of the worlds problems, all of the solutions to these problems can be found inside one of these beautiful flower petals.  I wish I could explain what I mean by that. But when you are surrounded by a peaceful serenity of the natural gifts of nature and you see the inimitable perfection that it is and how comforting it is for you, you as a person also being a gift of nature, every problem that is man made seems ludicrous and foolish.

New Perspectives

For the last couple of weeks, M and I went from living as 2 people in our house to 4.  T and Y moved in, a week separated from each other.  We always had house guests at our apartments, most people that found M on couchsurfers, random travelers and backpackers who are bouncing from one place to another who need a roof to stay under and a floor to sleep on.  They'd spend a night or two with us, we'd give them a glimpse of our lives and then they'd be gone.  I became so used to having random people just visit our place.  It's funny, back home in the States, I'm not sure how comfortable I'd be with this, I mean we are taught to be absolutely obsessed with "safety" and being "careful", which always feeds into an underlying message of never trusting anyone until they give you a reason to trust them, instead of the other way around. But the funny thing about travelers or traveling is that you don't need all the introduction and background and a mental security check for you to open up to each other. When you meet another fellow traveler you realize what a fleeting and temporary encounter it is, and (from my experience) you treat each other with patience, curiosity, kindness and generosity.  Sometimes you discover yourself pouring out things about yourself that your best friend probably doesn't even know.  Again, probably because subconsciously you know that chances are slim that you're going to see that person again and also because there is a sense of freedom when you present yourself as a stranger to a person that has no history on you. and often you discover a lot about yourself through your own dialog. 


The first set of couchsurfers we had hosted were two British guys, who were here doing an internship.  They stayed over for a couple of days and we even trusted them to stay at our apartment for the entire week and a half that M and I were out of the country in Egypt for.  From then on, we had a pair of German girls, a French couple, and lo and behold a Russian-American Jew who came to Israel on  Birthright trip who wanted to see the 'other' side.  Bless his heart.  M and I literally spent a ten to fifteen minutes laughing thinking of the irony, and we made sure to tell this kid that he can not mention that he is a Jew and we asked if he was even aware of the occupation (as most Americans are not).  When he got here, the first thing he said was "well I'm not dead, that's a good start.  They (friends in Israel) told me that I'd get shot the moment I step out of the bus. 

T also found us through the listserv that circulates through the international community in Ramallah, because she needed a place to stay as she was planning on spending the summer working on her Arabic.  Her entrance into my life in Palestine has been nothing short of a blessing.  I didn't found out until her second day here, that she was actually Muslim.  And I remember feeling this wave of happiness, I know that sounds silly, because I was so eager to talk to her about issues that puzzles me so much here, and to engross in discussion.  Finally, I was getting a Muslim view, a Muslim perspective that I had been lacking.  It's so strange, it's not a lie when people say that you really don't realize what you have until you don't have it anymore.  At UNC I was so used to having Muslim friends all around, people who were genuinely interested in questioning faith and understanding the answers using logic, knowledge and curiosity.  I just didn't have that here, and I felt so suffocated.  When I discovered that T was a Muslim convert (from Florida), my thirst for discussion grew.  Honestly Muslim converts put "real" Muslims to shame.  


A week later Y moved in.  A Palestinian American experiencing Palestine for the first time.  That was an eye opening for me.  I realized how much I didn't know about Palestine, I realized how emotional seeing this land can be for someone with Palestinian blood, and as goofy as this sounds, I really realized that I was not Palestinian.  As much love as I might feel for this place, I will never know what THAT feels like, the feeling of returning home, and on the same not I won't really ever get what it feels like to know that your ancestors come from this part of the world but for generations the land and the people here have been imprisoned.  The first night Y was here, we went around town, and SHE introduced me to the snacks that you typically eat for breakfast, how you prepare certain breads, what snacks to eat, she was communicating with everyone, completely familiar to the culture in a way that I will never be.  Seeing Palestine, or experiencing it with someone of Palestinian descent suddenly shifted my entire view of how I look at this place, it made me realize how much I don't understand.  Just like I couldn't teach someone how certain smells of flowers and fruits from Bangladesh soothes me and makes me feel at 'home'.  So through Y's presence I became more cognizant of my international identity within the Palestinian context.  When I speak to Palestinians, either they struggle to speak to me in English or they are happy that they can practice their English knowing that I am an English teacher, or I struggle to squeeze out a few Arabic words.  But I don't have mobility in the language like Y does, it's a very different kind of connection and experience.  


I guess it goes to show you should never allow yourself to think that you know (or you've gotten the 'full' story, or that you really understand something) because you dont know what you dont know, and once you get a glimpse of that, you start realizing how much there is to learn, how much room there always is for growth.  I feel so grateful that I can see Palestine in a new light, appreciate certain tastes, smells and sights through Y, who knows so much more about the people, the land and the culture than I've learned in the past six months.  


To be continued..

Ground Zero - Nablus

I didn’t know how I felt about it the first time I tried it, it was just …inteeeresting.  Hot melting cheese, subtly sweet, with a orange beaded crusted top dripping with the sweetest sugar syrup, all cut into this giant square piece of dessert that makes you feel like you ate a brick by the time you are finished.  The first time I had it was in Dearborn, Michigan. Then I ate it in this fancy restaurant in Ramallah, and it was alright, nothing great, still interesting.  And then I had it again in Ramallah, when a colleague brought it over, and I discovered that there are 2 kinds, one that is soft on top and one that is crunchy and I realized that I am definitely the crunchy fan.

And then last week I had Kenafa in Nablus. Fresh kenafa.  Like the dude had this giant circular flat pan of melting cheese over fire that he flipped over right in front of us exposing the bottom orange crusty layer and then he waited a few seconds before pouring the sugar water all over the hot kenafa.  You cant get fresher than that, watching it be made all in front of you! we all oooohed and aahed and the guy was tickled, looking at us like “get a grip on yourself, I do this about a hundred times a day”.  It was Nablusi Kenafa, where kenafa originates.  The kenafa capital of the world. It was mouth wateringly delicious, no longer interesting, but probably one of the best desserts, ever.

That Kenafa shop was our last stop that day, and we ended the long, emotionally exhausting mentally straining tour of Nablus on a sweet note. We were a group of roughly fifteen, mostly composed of Bir Zeit University students, myself and Y (my friend from UNC who just arrived to work in Ramallah for the summer, currently living with me in my apartment).  T, my other roommate, organized this tour for everyone.  Last year she worked in Nablus for 3 months.  Nablus arguably is the real deal Palestine.  Ramallah is definitely not, Ramallah is like the NYC of Palestine, a complete bubble, it’s liberal, it has a night life, and we don’t hear gun shots every night nor is there a nightly curfew because Israeli soldiers are rolling in with their tanks, getting ready to ‘monitor’ the city during the night hours. Nablus is that.  T’s experience in Nablus working on a project introduced her to phenomenal people, one of whom is a friend of hers, a guy in his early 30s who was a medic during the invasions of 2002, during the second Intifada.  He has seen more, experienced more, than your brain can fathom.  He is the one that took us on this tour, of the old city of Nablus, telling us stories about nooks and crannies of the city, stories from only several years ago. 

I had walked through Nablus a couple of times before and I remember the gloomy feeling in my heart because as beautiful as the hustle and bustle of the old city markets was, authentic in many ways than Ramallah will ever be, posters of fighters who were killed, martyrs are plastered all over the city.  Maybe if you don’t know what they are, it’s easy to ignore, but knowing that these young men were killed, who came from this city, I don’t’ know its heavy. You wonder about their age, their story, their families as you stare at them and they stare at you from these walls.

Sunday May 30^th : I learned that Nablus is not just known for their delicious Kenafa.  They are also known for their soap factories.  Most of which were blown up by Israelis, leaving nothing but rubble.  We passed through one part of the city that I’ve passed through before, and Maroof (the medic) stood there telling us that that spot where we were standing, an empty field, was the site of one of the bigger soap factories.  The Israeli soldiers had tied up and blindfolded Palestinian young boys inside the factory, and then dropped a F-16 bomb on it as the boys were inside alive still.  The end result was flesh, blood and a destroyed factory.

When I say that the city is being destroyed, I don’t know how to exaggerate that enough or to convey that it is not an understatement.  Nablus used to boast 42 soap factories, now there are 2 left in the city. The city was in lockdown for nearly 10 years, meaning that no goods were allowed in and nothing was allowed out.  The checkpoints were closed, which means nothing is going in.  how do you live like that? I don’t know.  In America our constant supply of goods and services is something that we take for granted soo much that I don’t think we can imagine what this means when a city is in lockdown for almost a decade, none of us know how to imagine that even.

Invasion of 2002: walking around the city, when actually pointed to look, really look at the walls, I saw perforations, hundreds and hundreds of them, the walls are covered literally with bullet holes.  I don’t know how to convey what it feels like to be physically be in standing ground, to stand where this much violence took place, because you wonder about the people, the human beings that were shooting these bullets and the people that it was aimed at, because bullets have no other purpose than to kill.  We walked under an arch, and M the medic stopped us to tell us that that spot was where 150 dead bodies were lain, all shot dead.  As a medic, they were not allowed to dispose of the bodies.  The Israeli soldiers wanted the dead decomposing bodies to just stay there in the street because they would do their rounds and come back around to do a head count of who they killed and shoot them again in the head to make sure that they were dead.  Mcandidly told us that it took 3 days straight to wash all the blood off the street.

We stopped abruptly at a random spot.   M and his best friend J stopped to tell us about a secret path that they used to take when they had to carry a wounded person back to this small room where they would apply gauzes and bandages and do basic medical things.  They described one instance when they heard gunshots and saw a boy shot on the ground and as they were going to pick him, the soldiers kept on shooting at them instead.  Jihad at that time being only 17, froze in place and couldn’t move out of fear.  Maroof had to go back to get him and together they carried the body through this secret passageway.  They took us through this narrow path, that weaved in thorough a building and out into the main street of the old city.  Even in broad daylight and sunlight, it was dark and we had to crouch and watch our steps on the uneven stairs and steps and walk forward.  I don’t know how they did this at 2 or 3am in pitch black darkness in the dead of the night.

M continued to tell us about their ‘hospital’ room which was basically a makeshift room with basic supplies.  He told us that it was basic medicine that they used to have, and they used to go door to door to see families.  Several times as they were inside soldiers would come inside to demolish everything in the room, leaving htem with no supplies again, until they were able to somehow gather more.

Then they took us to what used to be a very nice museum, boasting the roman history of Nablus.  The place was absolutely destroyed.  I kept on thinking of what could have been.  In a perfect world, if the city was intact, its hard to imagine why tourists from around the world wouldn’t flock to its beauty, history and its gifts (like the best kenafa in the world).  Nablus is one of the world’s oldest cities, having existed continuously for 4 thousand years (THE oldest city in the world is also in Palestine, a city called Jericho).  

It’s the largest city in the west bank.

The city, with its stone walls, arches, reminiscent of roman architecture, narrow cobblestone passageways, situated by mountains on all sides, houses and buildings sitting on the curves of those mountains, I realized is standing currently on a foundation of resistance against annihilation.  Getting off the mini van (the public “buses” here are small orange mini vans called a “service” (pronounced serveeeeese) which usually drops you off at the center of town, what will take your breath away is the view.  High mountains covered with replicas of white stone buildings. I always take a moment to appreciate it, because it truly is a sight.  It’s a conservative town.  There are 2 or 3 restaurants where women are allowed in.  most places are hangouts for men only.  There are a lot more women covering their hair then you see in Ramallah.

Passing through demolished homes, factories, museums in scattered parts of the city I couldn’t escape the thought and the feeling.  It was a familiar feeling in an odd way.  The kind of heaviness that was taking a foothold in my heart was the same feeling I had felt when I had seen Ground Zero for the first time.  The destruction site of 9/11 was somehow this devastating feeling that Americans and people around the world sympathized with.  However, walking around in Nablus, it feels like since the occupation, countless ground zeros here are ignored. But more than ignored, they are tarnished, the deaths are displayed to the world as barbaric terrorists being killed for someone elses ‘security’and their families are never shown, their stories are never told.  I don’t know how Americans would feel if someone shoved it in their throats that all the people that died in the twin towers deserved to die.  Feels awful doesn’t it? that’s how the rest of the world sees Palestinian deaths to many degrees. 

Before leaving Nablus, I saw an especially enlarged poster of a martyr.  T told me that it’s his house under the poster.  I saw a woman and a kid, and T told me that it’s his widowed wife and his son.  That was the hitting point for me, and I couldn’t shake it off.  I couldn’t believe, this young boys’ face that is plastered all over Nablus, that that was his wife and son that I was looking at. 

I hope no one thinks that I personally condone suicide bombing.  I think it is a ludicrously ineffective violent act that is a huge tragedy.  However, people should know the cities that people who are forced to take this action are from and what their stories are.  If America wages wars left and right after one ground zero..  imagine years and years of never knowing liberation and being surrounded by ‘ground zeros’. 


more about Nablus during the invasion : http://www.redress.btinternet.co.uk/rgiacaman4.htm

Flotilla

June 4^th

“The siege of Gaza has been deemed collective punishment, a crime against humanity, has imprisoned 1.5 million people in the most densely populated place on Earth, and has created a humanitarian crisis of unimaginable proportions. The international community has failed to to put an end to this immoral blockade.”

We saw Palestinian and Turkish flags lined up alternately side by side, blowing in the wind as people were sitting outside of Zamn café (one of the posh places in Ramallah). My new roommate T (I’ll just use her initials) and I were planning on going to Jerusalem today but decided against it, anticipating clashes at checkpoints and in the city, and the bar against men under 40 to pray inside Al-Aqsa masjid, which always causes a huge scene.  Demonstrations had occurred in Ramallah yesterday and the day before, but, as internationals who want to stick around, we avoid the demonstrations as much as we want to go, because we don’t want to get filmed and/or deported.

Israel has gotten away with so many human rights violations, so much atrocity, so much evil, that it just does not know its limits anymore.  As proven by the Flotilla incident.  It seemed as if when it first happened, even the Jew news sites were confused about how to twist this story around to make this appear as if, once again, like every time, Israel is a poor innocent defenseless helpless suffering nation always fighting hard against God knows who to ‘defend themselves’ by murdering other people mercilessly without reason.  Its funny that people don’t stop to question how it is that Israel is consistently ‘defending itself’ albeit being a first world nation, an oppressive regime supported by world super powers to equip themselves with state of the arts weapons, from a non-existent country who have nothing on them but rocks, and its funny that Israel is constantly ‘defending itself’ but somehow it seems as if they are never hurt, and the ‘attackers’ are murdered. It’s distressing that so many people around the world perceive the oppressors to actually be the oppressed, which by definition is impossible.

I was distressed to found out from friends that the headlines in the US have stopped.  I know I shouldn’t be surprised, but I can’t help but be appalled at how people swallow blind lies and somehow overlook the fact that their hard working tax dollars are financing bullets going through people’s heads ( humanitarian activists; heads). I feel like Americans get more riled up and  espoused over animal rights and animal rights violations then human rights violations.  For some reason a suffering cat pulls on heart strings way more than suffering human beings (more to come on this later, I’m actually not lying about this and I have stories to share)

To those listening to the argument that the people on board were violent, they should question who these humanitarian activists were.  They should also question the manner in which the information is being presented.  If fully armed soldiers raided a vessel, I’m sure if you were on that vessel you would not embrace these men with a hug and a cup of tea. 

For those listening to the argument that there was something ‘suspicious’ on the ship and it was safety precautions being taken against Hamas…seriously all 700 international humanitarian activists (including 1976 Nobel Peace Prize laureate Mairead Corrigan Maguire of Northern Ireland) were Hamas supporters???? …or maybe people living and suffering in gaza..actually need aid..because…they are cut off from basic supplies…thanks to Israel?

Take a break with this Jon Stewart clip :

Clusterf**k to the Warhouse: 

http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/wed-june-2-2010/clusterf--k-to-the-war-house---korean-peninsula---middle-east

Lets look at the mini biographies of people who were killed, and you can make the judgement call on if these were ‘terrorist’ supporters.

http://lawrenceofcyberia.blogs.com/news/2010/06/putting-names-to-faces.html

There is just so much Israeli propaganda infilitrating the media and keeping the public blind.  Although if the public stopped to use a little bit of intelligence to question what they are being fed, they would see the illogical stream of misinformation.  The media is imprisoned with one side of the story.

I’m actually wondering what is being covered in the U.S.? Please leave a comment and let me know if you can. I’m very interested to know.

Attitude: What drives me insane is apathy.  Talking to a friend who responded ‘well what do you expect me to do, I’m in America, my family is concerned about putting food on the table and at the end of the day we don’t have time to worry about Israel” I realize that at the end of the day, yes, it may seem like you can’t do anything, it may seem like it’s too distant of a problem, situated on the other side of the planet, which has nothing to do with you.  But it DOES have something to do with you.  It’s YOUR American tax dollars funding these atrocities, funding oppression, funding violence.  You might not be able to ‘do’ anything, but the least someone could do is have a non apathetic attitude that is at least cognizant of intellectual analysis of what’s happening in the world, instead of just brushing it off.  I’m not putting this comment on the spot to be malicious, rather, I am sharing this because I think this is a very common and normal reaction that most people have. I take an issue with this sentiment for a variety of reasons, one being that people misunderstand silence to be neutral stance, when in reality (I personally feel) it is just the opposite.  I think it’s dangerous because it is a threat to any ideals connecting the brotherhood/sisterhood of humanity.  

This famous quote comes to mind that conveys an element of the danger of silence: “First they came for the communists, I was silent, because I was not a communist; then they came for the socialists, I was silent because I was not a socialist; when they came for the trade unionists, I did not protest because I was not a trade unionist; when they came for the Jews I did not protest, because I was not a Jew;  When they came for me, there was no one left to protest on my behalf.”

Martin Niemoeller (1892-1984), he made this statement regarding the inactivity of German intellectuals following the Nazi rise to power and the purging of their chosen targets, group after group.

As easy as it is to want to feel distant, the truth of the matter is that, in my very personal opinion, everything is connected, and to not claim any responsibility or to not care is a grave disaster.   

Is the world waking up? Maybe. Is America waking up? Not really.  I was talking to my best friend, who is a Palestinian American, and as I was pouring out all my feelings, saying that those 9  people’s death did not go in vain, their efforts left such a huge mark, and that the world really did stop to look at what was happening, at the blockade and at Gaza.  He stopped me to say ‘Fahmida..i had to break your bubble..but CNN is not reporting any of that, the headlines are pretty much gone’.  It’s one of those things you hear and your heart sinks.

How is the rest of the world reacting?Is the world waking up? Maybe. 

There was an onpour of worldwide criticism followed by stuff like this : http://www.ynetnews.com/articles/0,7340,L-3899301,00.html  

Temporary Swedish Boycott. In a statement, the union said the reason for the boycott "is the unprecedented criminal attack on the peaceful ship convoy In Gaza. Several peace activists were killed by Israeli commandos and other participants were detained without any reason."

South Africa is cool because, you know the World Cup is coming up and that is going to be ballllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllller.  But they are also baller for this :

The South African Municipal Workers Union (SAMWU) decided, by a unanimous vote of its Central Executive Committee on 4 June, to "immediately work towards" making every municipality in South Africa "an Apartheid Israel free zone" by ensuring "that there are no commercial, academic, cultural, sporting or other linkages whatsoever with the Israeli regime.

http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Africa/2010/0603/South-Africa-recalls-ambassador-over-Israeli-raid-of-Gaza-flotilla

“The blockade is neither justified nor sustainable . . .it has created a humanitarian catastrophe. This incident has shown that we need to move towards removing the blockade.”   Nick Clegg, 2 June 2010.

"You know, whatever you may think of the respective leaderships, the Israelis or Hamas, whatever Gods you pray to or whatever direction you may pray to them in, if you can't even look at Gaza, and agree that there is suffering there that needs to be alleviated, no matter who's to blame for it, then your heart is so dead, tourists flock there to float on their backs in it." Jon Stewart 2 June 2010

What can you do? If you care in the slightest, go to demonstrations, learn about divestment.  If you don't care to go to these demonstrations, then publicize these demonstrations.  If you don't care to do that, at least when you hear ignorant comments, news sources, speak against it.  if you don't care to do that, simply educate yourself. 

More links:

Excellent blogpost deconstructing the context of the situation:

http://therebelproject.tumblr.com/post/654406213/israeli-propaganda-and-the-freedom-flotilla-free-gaza

Global boycotts intensify: http://electronicintifada.net/v2/article11318.shtml

19 year old American shot in the head 4 times at close range on Flotilla : http://abcnews.go.com/WN/Media/american-killed-gaza-aid-flotilla/story?id=10814848

blog post about blogging : an extended disclaimer

Apologies for the irregularity in the posts. I know I have no reason to apologize but at the same time there are a few friends who look forward to reading regular posts.  Also apologies for the hassle of making this completely a private invited only blog, reason being when I saw that someone from tel aviv, Israel was reading my blog for an extensive period of time, I’m not gonna lie, I got paranoid.

I’ve entertained the thought of blogging about little stories here and there, snippets of life I suppose, like I have been doing and writing about the more serious, detailed stuff, that I don’t feel comfortable blogging about in emails to friends.  Truth of the matter is sometimes its hard to squeeze any words out under a constant mental pressure, which is why I’ve actually found myself avoiding even this venue, the blog, to stay connected. Sometimes I’m at a complete loss of what to even say because my brain has gone through rounds of rapid fire thoughts about a plethora of different issues simultaneously. 

A brief and concise update about my personal life: teaching/school ends in one week, I might be (inshAllah) going to Damascus to dedicate the summer to some intensive Arabic learning, I have a new roommate who is phenomenal (a lovely girl from Florida, who is a new Muslim convert) and my friend from UNC, a Palestinian American, who just arrived about three days ago (both of these individuals have given me so much to think about and so much to reflect on, that it has quite literally put a very interesting spin and twist on my perception of Palestine).  I spent an intense day in Nablus this past Sunday on a tour of the old city with a young man, a medic, during the invasion of 2002 that left me appalled, angry, and awed at what I didn’t know, what the world doesn’t know, and how much just goes on untold about the extent of evil that can be committed by people.

More to come on all of this soon.  inshAllah. 

Safwan

I met him upstairs beaming with a giant smile and embracing me as his friend 2 seconds after finding out what my name was.  The upstairs, a big open space with a two giant doors leading to a small balcony overlooking the garden had a single mattress on the floor,  and Safwan was peeking out a little bit anticipating to see M upon hearing her voice.  I had heard so much about this little 6 year old boy and I was eager to meet him.  He dragged his little body across the room and let himself be scooped by my M into her arms. 

I was eager to meet this boy for many reasons.  One of the main ones being that he was the reason my roommate is in Palestine and will continue to be here.  The second because I heard his story.  Born with Spinal Bifada, paralyzed from the waist down, he was abandoned by his parents, left to die in the hospital.  His disability, half a paralyzed body, a large head, was too much to bear for the then 15 year old mother, and both parents abandoned the newborn.  A group of Catholic nuns (from Mother Teresa’s Missionaries of Charities group) took him in.  And raised him since.

I was astonished to hear his English, fluent and perfect, without a trace of any struggle to express any thoughts or emotion that second language learners often face.  He grew up bilingual at the Sister’s house hearing them speak a communal English (the sisters are all stationed here coming from various countries, with English being their binding language, which turns into a mixture of old English meets formal English meets colonial english) and Safwan picked up their lingo along with his native knowledge of Arabic.

I was astonished by his warmth.  That afternoon, was my first time in a convent, and in an orphanage.  And this place was an orphanage inside of a convent.  The top floor was for outcasted children, who were left to perish before they were taken in by these Sisters. The other kids that I saw were barely moving.  One sat up on the floor staring off into the distance.  The other was sitting in her wheelchair, completely non functional.  Clapping in front them sort of elicited a response but for the most part they were severely disabled, not stimulated by anything at all, they needed to be changed and fed and they lived.  This was also my first exposure to disabled children.  I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous and uncomfortable.  Playing with safwan for half an hour made me completely forget that he was a paralyzed child and that half of his body didn’t work.  He was just this vivacious kid excited to watch movies on maggie’s laptop and play catch throwing around a giant ball across the room.

The bottom floor was for women who otherwise have no place in society, some battered so severely that they have lost all mental capabilities, others who are senile due to abuse or age.

I remember thinking how can someone abandon their child? how sad it must be to grow up in an orphanage.  I was corrected on this issue by Maggie saying “thank god Safwan was abandoned! He grew up with 5 mothers! (the sisters) who knows what his parents would have done to him if they had actually taken him, he’d probably have been left to die, or locked up somewhere because they were so ashamed of his existence.  Safwan had two other siblings.  One of whom was fed a bottle of bleach and had to be rushed to the hospital.  The kid miraculously survived.

Once in a while safwan’s dad visits to take safwan around town to beg for money and then after collecting the money for himself, he returns safwan to the Sisters.  Sounds like a movie doesn’t it?

A couple of weeks after I met safwan, he came to Ramallah for 2 weeks for some necessary medical procedures.  During that time, M had created a rotating schedule of friends who would go spend time with safwan at the hospital for several hours during the day and then Maggie would spend her nights at the hospital with him.  I’d play with safwan, and watch him wheeeeeeeeee through the hallway on his wheelchair, talking to every single person on that floor.  Running after him I met some of the most interesting characters, and at that point in time, those were my first interactions with Palestinian Palestinians.  I met a man suffering from bullet wounds from Jenin, and his entire extended family who would sit me down in their room for hours to ask me a variety of questions and then feed me sweets and ask about safwan.  I guess that’s when I really bonded with safwan, spending time with him in the hospital, helping with his homework, or just fooling around with the camera.

You would think occasions like Mother’s day would be a sad day for little safwan, since he is fully aware about what his parents did and how they feel about him, but it actually ends up pretty humorous.  He gets confused why he makes only one mother’s day card, because if there is only one, who amongst the five Sisters, who have all been mothers to him, is supposed to get that one card?

As bright and lovable as safwan is, the truth of the matter is that he has absolutely no future in Palestine.  Disabilities won’t get you far. To have a future of any kind ,he needs to get out.  Knowing this, Maggie’s been on the hunt for a family that would be willing to adopt him.  you’d think that that would be the problem.  But no, there is already a family lined up from Spain who is waiting for Safwan, knowing his background and his life story.  However the problem comes in with his biological parents.  And the community who stirred up this controversy that the Sisters are just simply trying to convert this little boy and that sending him away to Spain would only complete their mission. 

And that “legally” adoption is not a possibility because the State law (what state?) and “Islam” (the same Islam where the Prophet (pbuh) himself was an orphan?) forbids it. 

???? I was so perplexed hearing this.  Where did this come from?? That adoption is illegal in islam? After doing much research and literally obsessing over this and many other issues of Islamic jurisprudence, I still have no answer to why people would intervene in the life of a disabled boy to stop him from having a better life with the dogma of religion.  Somehow handing the boy over to a Christian family would be injustice to islam (according to the townspeople) but ..sending him back to the father (which is something they suddenly decided to instigate and provoke, by literally buying the father off) who has no problem abandoning his child or attempting to kill them would be preserving islam?

Not having Muslim friends around  anymore or not having anyone of the same faith to immerse into Islamic conversation with  (in real life, not virtual cyberspace), situations like this heightens a sense of urgency to figure out how political, social and cultural elements of society can use religion to come up with ridiculous jurisdictions and cover it up in the name of a blanket term “islam”.  Especially when the conversation is happening with a non muslim, and even though I am not directly held accountable, I am still somehow on this other side that “forbids” something so noble.   It sends me on desperate hunt to dig and search for the truth, whatever that may be, hidden under so many many things.

Often times I make sense of things by telling myself that it’s not Islam with the flaws, its Muslims, and the lack of unity and a deeper understanding of faith and the spirit of Islam that gives birth to so much of the complexities within the community.  Of course this issue is not exclusive to islam and muslims, it exists in all groups. The freedom of will to interpretation comes with the burden of too many types of interpretations leaving a dangerous space for manipulation and blind stupidity.  i wish instead of muslims constantly defending islam to outsiders by having a selective scattered cliffnote collection of Quranic verses and hadiths, they’d look inwards to become active and progressive agents of unity and change within the internal community.  Instead of wasting so much time digging up and arguing about the past, I wish people would struggle more with figuring out answers for the present and the future by admitting when and where they are or were wrong. I wish humanity would come before dogma.   


*This adoption question led me on a quest to ask anyone and everyone I know about this, including professors, friends and family members.  I found out speaking with my mother, that nowhere in Islam does it say that adoption is "illegal".  In fact she herself has 2 cousins who have adopted children in Bangladesh, and though its a complicated issue, it certainly is not a forbidden one.                                                                                                                          

Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) Was an Orphan Who Adopted the World

...so why is adoption in modern muslim era such a huge, complicated issue? why is it not a noble deed? is it a noble deed? do you know of any muslims who are pro-adoption or who have adopted?

..coming soon..

"the good samaritan"

I always knew that the phrase “being a good Samaritan” was something that meant being kind in some way, being a good neighbor/ compadre so to speak.  But did you know that they, the Samaritans,  are an actual group of people who live on top of a hill in the city of Nablus in Palestine? And that there’s only 700 of them left in the world? Some of them live on this hill and some live in a place called Holon, outside Tel Aviv, Israel ( and these are the only 2 spots on earth where they can be found) But they all, all 700 of them, gather together once a year for Passover on top of that mountain, Mount Gerizim, to commemorate a super ancient tradition of Passover, from the days of Prophet Moses, the traditions of which, according to the Samaritans, have been  kept holy and unchanged for 3600 years.

Judaic Passover commemorates ancient Israelites being freed from slavery from the ancient Egyptian pharoahs, and it’s a time when people reflect on the struggles of the ancient Jews. Most images of Passover conjure up quiet time of reflection and.. flatbread.  The Samaritan Passover is quite different.  And quite bloody.

A couple of weeks ago, M, the French teacher Marie, and I  took off to Nablus right after school to go see the Samaritan Passover, a special invitation that I couldn’t really pass up.  It was quite an event and I was shocked to see more photographers and journalists and spectators from around the world attending this event than the actual Samaritans! They didn’t seem to mind, this was not a quiet secretive affair, in fact it was very much the opposite.  We got there around 3:30 pm  and the actual festiviites did not start until the sun set on the sunny clear sky.  Children wore all white, and older men in the community walked around with long robes and a special hat.  Walking inside a gated area, we saw giant pits blazing with fire, and the children adding in logs to light up the pits more, in preparation for the meat festivities that were to come later on.  Straight in front of me was a comical sight, I thought, because there was a set of bleachers set up similar to those that you’d see in a kid’s mini league baseball game.  Except for this one, on either sides, stood armed Israeli soldiers with the Israeli flags flying over them.  The crowds got bigger and bigger, and more and more robed men entered through the gates, and after a while they all took their seats and chanted for a good while.  The highest priest of the community was pretty easy to pick out.  He was an old,  large man that came in with a bright vivacious silky green robe, with a suited man walking in front of him holding the bottom of the priest’s robe up from the gound so that it doesn’t get in the way of the priest walking.  His age and his clothes said it all.  Photographers snapped away and pretty soon we were relocated to a special area, the non Samaritan spectator area, which after an hour got packed like a can of sardines with barely any spot to move. 

Truth be told, I had no idea what I was witnessing.  It was a lot of standing, lot of waiting, lot of being crushed and tiered restless feet, wondering when the stupid sun would set.  Photographers were literally climbing on top of us to get some good shots of Samaritan spiritual leaders sitting in the center area waiting for the feast to begin.  An hour or so before the sun set, a herd of sheep were brought in.

Fastforward 3 hours.  Pure madness and chaos.  The sheep were all slaughtered, herds of people were standing on rooftops, trying to get a glimpse of the Samaritan leaders singing and chanting and praying, and seeing the fresh bloody sheep, being placed on a series of large hooks, hung for everyone to see.  The Samaritans all had a smear of the fresh sheep blood on their foreheads and they went about carrying huge wooden stakes to hang the sheep which would be prepared and cooked in those giant pits and not eaten till midnight. 

The Samaritans reject the Jewish, Christian and Islamic focus on Jerusalem, and instead believe that Mount Gerizim as God’s chosen site.  They boast a continuous lineage from Prophet Moses’ brother and have a complete record of the high priests of their community that stretch across over 130 generations*.

I am continually surprised at the permitted and prohibited lines drawn in and around Palestinian communities by Israeli authority, restricting movement, and perpetually squeezing them into tight spaces.  Though this Mountain is on top of Nablus, there is a checkpoint outside of the Samaritan community that does not allow Palestinians to pass through.   

*http://www.bravenewtraveler.com/2010/04/01/from-moses-to-modernity-passover-with-the-samaritans/