My bus finally broke down... in the desert.

I've finally returned Palestine, and as such, I will attempt to get back to my blogging ways. My return was delightful, miserable, and as always eventful. I returned via Egypt, having heard from several people that the southern border crossing into Israel is relatively easier to pass through compared to entering through Tel Aviv. I was a bit worried my third visit, the second in less than two months, might throw up red flags with Israeli authorities. Thanks to my mother's job with Delta (please think of using them the next time your "travel plans call for air travel") I flew from NYC to Cairo first-class. As I picked up my copy of the Financial Times, and flipped through their monthly magazine insert "How to Spend It", while sipping a cool glass orange juice, I was relieved to see that finally someone appreciated me as a consumer with discerning tastes. I was quite impressed with the new line of special production bicycles by Porsche, but less impressed with the luxory watches on review. You really can't have enough finely built, handcrafted time pieces.

Despite my fully reclineable seat and not having to deal with the rabble in coach (... I don't even know why the let them on the plane) I spent a fairly sleepless night. I arrived in Cairo and left as soon as I could. Before doing so I made sure to sweat... a lot, and to play the video game-like challenge of crossing streets in a city with over 20 million people, and even more cars. I'm fairly confident that my survival is owed no less to the many hours I spent as a child playing Frogger on our 1982 vintage IBM PC at home. I took an overnight bus to a little town called Dahab, situated on the southerneastern coast of Sinai (only an hour north of Sharm Al-Sheikh, of presidential summit fame).

Dahab features a number of world class diving and snorkeling spots and is a backpacker's favorite. I spent 4 days here. The first catching up on sleep, the second two playing in the water, and day 4 relaxing. I hung out with a couple of American guys and a Canadian girl while I was there. The 29 year old from Ohio was quite a character, and a traveler. He's an avid climber, and enthralled me with his account of his ascent of Everest. He didn't make the summit (only the final advance camp (about 24,000 ft)), but I have a feeling he will eventually do it, and make it down to tell the tale. The other American was in the 9th month of an around the world adventure that has included stops on all seven continents... yes, Antarctica.

I was tempted to go diving, but for a hundred dollars for two dives, i decided to stick with snorkeling ( a hundred dollars is 3 weeks worth of food in nablus) ). The time I spent in the water was amazing. I was really impressed with the wide array of tropical fish, some decent coral formations, and the sheer extent of the underwater environment. I snorkeled around a sight called blue hole/the bells... amazing. There is a coral shelf about 3 feet deep which leads to a cliff/ledge that then drops to over 300 feet. It was unbelievable to see all the bright coral and aquatic life just drop into a bright blue abyss. It was a strange sensation to hover over this cliff feeling as if the laws of physics were somehow turned upside down I could plummet into the deep blue.

The two and a half hour bus ride from Dahab to Taba (on the border with Israel) took almost 5 hours. Our bus came to a stop to give water to a stranded truck driver (remember we are in the middle of the desert). As we are preparing to get back underway a group 6 foreigners comes walking up from the back of the bus demanding to be let out... I look back the bus is filling with smoke... I had just drank the last of my water about an hour ago. I knew I would eventually be on a bus that would break down. I figured it would probably be one of the Boston-NYC Chinatown buses. The thing is that, I-95 going through Connecticut is just a fundamentally different environment than the Sinai Desert.

After the smoke had more or less abated we were hearded onto the bus, by the driver who was visibly agitated due to our delay. The following 5 minutes would be the most frightening bus ride I've had since I thought I was going to die on a chicken bus in the Andes coming down the mountains from Quito in Ecuador. Contrary to my prior belief, there are hills and mountains in the desert, and there are roads that take sharp turns, and apparently there are bus drivers who are willing to bet lives on timely arrivals. For a couple of minutes I really thought the bus had lost its brakes. At least I wasn't going to die of dehydration on the side of the highway...

I took me forever to get out of Egypt, as one poor guy labored away stamping passports while 4 other border workers looked on, apparently managing logistics. I lost track of the number of times people cut in front of me. The line morphed from 3 separate lines to 2 to 1 and back to 3, all for the same station in the 30 minutes I was waiting. I won't even go into the hastle I created for myself by asking for a special re-entry stamp... wasn't worth the $15 it would have saved me. Putting my best game face on I entered the Israeli border control station. All smiles, I made a sarcastic joke about not being with the tour group entering at the same time as me and passed through the metal detectors. Of course they wanted to go through my bags.

Then came time to step up to the plate and get my stamp. The early twenties-something girl behind the glass asked me what I was doing and where I was going. As she looked at my last exit stamp she then became intrigued, "Where are you staying in Eilat (the Israeli town on the border)." I had a hostel picked out... easy question. "Can I see your return ticket to the states?"... Electronic ticket, I don't have a print out of the itenerary. Next question please. A bit befuddled, but not looking as though she was prepared to call in the reserves she leans over to the girl next to her and starts talking. The two of them had tones in their voice that suggested that something was awry, but it didn't appear as though the system had me flagged, and I was all smiles... what could they do. I pretty much ran out the place and didn't even look to see if she gave me a 1 month or 3 month visa until I was at the bus station in Eilat.

Getting from Eilat to Jerusalem was uneventful except for the peculiar anxiety that seemed to permeate the Israelis around me. There was a rush to get on the bus, a rush to get off the bus. The girl behind me in line at the rest stop was climbing on my back waiting to purchase her yogurt. Every step I took forward, she took two. I felt as though if I had bent down to pick up some change I would have been leap frogged by atleast ten people by the time I stood back up.

The first week in Nablus has been pretty calm. I spent the first night in my old apartment. My favorite old roommate was prompt in letting me know that there had been no prior notice of my arrival (which wasn't my fault) and that since the apartment was now "full" (which is up for debate), I would only be able to stay for the night. I thanked him for keeping me abreast of the situation. I have spent the past four nights at the apartment of an orginization that has a good relationship with the university. The apartment acts as a homestead for international travelers coming to Nablus for short periods of time. All of the visitors so far have been French accept for the interpretive dance couple who were from England. I don't know how long this will last, but I do have my own small room and it is relatively clean... so I'm not complaining.

I've started teaching an English class at the university, and it is good to be back in the classroom. I had my first Arabic tutoring session, and that appears as though it should work out nicely. Congratulations if you made this far. I admire your stamina and promise to do my updates fairly regularly so that you're not subjected to book-length posts in the future. Hope all are well.

peace,
ryan

Follow the Women

So, unbelievably, my time here in Nablus has come to an end (at least for this trip... I'm still pondering whether I'm coming back or not). This past week has been a fairly full one (the weekends do tend to drag, a problem I will have to rectify if I do come back). The biggest event was by far the presence of over 150 women from 25 different countries in Nablus. The women were participating in a campaign for womens' and children's rights, and peace in the Middle East. The gimmick is that they are riding their bikes (they do get bused between locations, but it's a great event nonetheless).

This is a pretty big deal in a city where women are looked down upon if they ride a bike. The one reason for this social stigma that I heard can be requested in writing, as I don't want to offend any of those with more delicate sensibilities. Fortunately, the ride went off without a hitch. The women were supposed to enter through Huwarra checkpoint and meet their bikes (which were being shipped in trucks around the city for fear that they wouldn't be let into the city through the checkpoint). The morning of the event we received word that the women had decided they were going to ride through the checkpoint, "they hadn't come all this way to simply go visit historic districts and watch dance troupes from the local children's organization. They were going to make a point." Interestingly enough, when they showed up at the checkpoint the Israelis more or less let them right through.

Besides the horrid sunburn I got on my recently shaved head, the rest of the day was great. I got brush up on my Spanish with the contingent from the Catalan region of Spain, and learned a few words of Turkish. I'm not going to lie, I was just a bit depressed that evening when all the women left... I will be visiting Turkey at some point soon.

My depression aside, you should check out this group (www.followthewomen.com) and you can see the press release I wrote at http://youth.zajel.org/Study_visits/studyvisits26.htm. If you have any connections to media outlets, this group could use your help, and deserves to get more press than they do.

This past Friday I headed over to a local community service organization called Tomorrow's Youth Organization (http://www.tomorrowsyouth.org/4.html). It is being run in-country by a couple of girls from the U.S. (I mentioned Shauna, one of the organizers, in the previous post). They were having an open house so I headed over to release some energy and play with some of the kids. As always there were a few rascals (Dad, when you called me I had a couple of kids throwing leaves and flowers on my neck and poking me in the back, hence my seeming a bit distracted). I have to say I was really impressed with how well the kids behaved. I've had a much harder time telling that kid to give me the ball, or put the stick down (please remember I still can't count past 6 at this point) in other situations.

More picks of the kiddos and the women of Follow the Women on my Picasa web albums!

peace, ry

Gas and Guns... nothing to see here

A week and a half ago I was itching to get out and roam. I suggested a hike to a friend (Shauna is from the States and is 1 of 2 in-country directors for a new community service organization in Nablus). The hike didn't work out, but we instead headed to Ramallah on Saturday night (the end of our weekend here) for an international film festival call Pangea Day (http://www.pangeaday.org). They were simulcasting a show with hosts stationed all over the world, and showed a collection of films from amateur and new filmmakers. Some of the films were pretty decent, others left much to be desired. The hosts were for the most part miserable, not the least because of their cliche script and equally unimaginative reading of said script.

Regardless, the highlight of this trip was chilling around a campfire having a few cold beers, some peanuts, and conversing without having to worry about making sure that what you say will be understood, or won't be taken in the wrong way... I've learned over the past 7 years that sarcasm does not translate well (Nick can tell you a story or two). The trip to Ramallah was a great breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively. I honestly had this sense of release in me as soon as I was outside the perimeter marked off by the Israeli military around the city. Even though you don't directly see the Israeli military on a daily basis, your subconscious knows that you don't have to go far before your freedom ceases, if only briefly, to exist. I might also contribute a bit of this feeling to the conservative stigmas that are also present here (I think twice before I throw on a pair of shorts, to go for a run).

Oh, yeah, "Gas and Guns." As I arrived at the checkpoint (you get out of your taxi , cross the checkpoint on foot, then catch another "servees" taxi on the other side) I saw gas being let off. The canister was placed so that the wind took the smoke across the pen that you enter to have your I.D. checked (it is not an exaggeration to describe it as a cattle pen where, the cattle are lined up into a single file line between metal fencing), so as to clear all the people waiting in line from the area. As I walked up towards the front of the gathered crowd I saw four Israeli soldiers with their machine guns pointed in the general direction of the crowd and beyond. Shauna, who had gone through the checkpoint minutes earlier, phoned me and suggested I try to flash them my passport. I was politely told by the soldier to "back away", apparently this is only a move for attractive young ladies from the States. I was actually glad I wasn't given any sort of preferential treatment. I would have felt pretty horrible if a bunch of people saw me just walk through. Needless to say, I hung out with the crowd for about ten minutes, exchange shakes of the head and a few smiles with those around me, and then they began slowly letting us through... after all that, "nothing to see here."

My first smoke since the wind changed direction suddenly at that camp fire.

Yusra is the eldest of the Jamous girls. She has been living in Ramallah for a while now, and I had yet to see her (she was not at last week’s gathering at the family’s home). This past Thursday was the Palestinian Labor Day. On Wednesday night I decided to take a trip to the Golan (Northern Israel) to see some of the beautiful landscapes and historical spots around Nazareth and the Sea of Galilee. I was motivated partially out of a genuine interest to go and partially so that I would have material for my “vacation” to recount to the security at the airport when I leave at the end of May. To get to the Galilee and Golan I would have to go via Ramallah, via Jerusalem. I decided to set off.

First step was to leave Nablus. At the checkpoint the soldiers were friendly to me. They asked me where I was from, before I handed them my passport, and how I was doing. We exchanged courtesies. They asked me what I was doing in Nablus, and I replied tourism, “Just checking the place out”. We all smiled and I wished them a good night.

I met up with Yusra an hour later. I was going to crash on her couch, but her roommate, who was very nice and seemed pretty liberal (dressed liberally had a good job, etc.) just didn't feel right about a guy staying the night in the apartment. Fortunately, Yusra had a couple of really nice friends, Sa'id and Mohanad who took me in for the night and gave me one of their beds. The following day I decided to scrap my planned solo trip, to hang out with Yusra and her friends. They had planned a barbecue at a park area just north of Ramallah. The food included the traditional fair of pita bread, humus, yogurt, and a variety of meat dishes such as kafta (ground beef with spices) and lamb… wicked good.

Yusra and her friend Marwa had been on a marathon of smoking nargila over the past few weeks (water pipe for smoking a fruit based substance (no more noxious to your health than cigarettes and no chemical effects like marijuana (you can find it in the States)). The nargila is a quintessential artifact of Arab culture and daily life. Every café in the Middle East and Northern Africa has them, and you would be hard pressed to walk into a café and not find at least one for every two patrons. Toward the end of the day the girls started to seem like they were getting a little loopy and I began wondering if this nargila thing was an Islamic substitute for alcohol (or maybe it was the sugar from the marshmallows we were eating). Giving in to my curiosity I decided to try it. Despite the sweet apple smell of the smoke released by the smoker, this stuff was hooorrrrrrible. Of course, I coughed and they all had a good time watching me. I’m happy to say that it’s not a past time I’ll be taking up, but a bit disappointed that my inquiry into this nargila smoking has ended without answering any questions… primarily why anybody would smoke it in the first place.

The views of the surrounding hills were nice, and it was great get away from my city center apartment. In the photo to the right you can see an Israeli settlement. It seems incredibly bold, and completely unjustified that Israel would plant a settlement this far into the West Bank. I will try to write up a brief explanation about the current main themes of the conflict here, but for the time being, it’s useful to know that these types of settlements are one of the main agitators of the conflict, and that many believe they are an attempt by Israel to establish “facts on the ground” which will have a bearing on any final settlement between Israel and the Palestinians.

A Long Awaited Reunion with the Jamous Family

[Distclaimer: After re-reading this post several times, I feel like I spent too much time concentrating on the cultural difference that stand out to me in my relationship with the Jamous family. This post does not reflect accurately the overall feeling of my visit with them, which was one of a joyous reunion. Seeing as how I don' have time to re-write it, please keep in mind that what follows tends to focus, not necessarily on the great friendship I have with this family, but more my observations on their life and reality as it is different from a cultural, and security standpoint, compared to that which I experience in the U.S. The Jamous family has always welcomed me into their home as one the family, and I'm grateful for their friendship.]

During my first visit to Nablus I became good friends with one of the student ambassadors, a girl named Yasmin. I was also friendly with her two sisters and brother, who were also involved in the camp to varying degrees. I was invited to their home to meet their family and to make kunafeh, a traditional Nabulsi dessert (Mr. Jamous , pictured at left with granddaughter Jenna, is quite proud of his kunafeh, as he should be). From the time I decided to come back to Nablus I had been eagerly awaiting to see the family again and to meet Yasmin’s Husband, Bashar, and their 6 month old Jenna (Yasmin & Jenna below).

Heckem, the oldest son, invited me over to the family’s house last Friday to join him and his colleagues for a lunch in honor of his upcoming departure for a job in Dubai. I arrived to the house before the rest of the guests and waited patiently in the living room, chatting with Heckem and greeting his father. His colleagues began to arrive and we all talked (I wasn’t doing too much of the talking of course) while the food was being prepared behind closed doors. When lunch was ready, we were invited into the next room, where the table was already set and the door to the kitchen was closed. The women of the family were kept out of sight the entire time. This, of course, was tough for me because I was waiting to see the rest of the family. The meal was delicious and was followed by kunafeh, this time, not Mr. Jamous'.

Once the rest of the guests had left I got to see the whole the family. Both Yasmin and Mais (Yasmin’s younger sister) are a bit more conservative. They wear a head covering and won’t shake a man’s hand… this was always a little tough for me, especially saying good bye to Yasmin four years ago, when a hug was definitely in order. On seeing them again, my immediate response was to get up and give them a big hug… but I stayed put and said hello with a wave (as awkward as this felt for me).

I stayed at the house chatting with everyone for the next 5 hours or so. Of course religion, politics, and the conflict came up. Mrs. Jamous (at right with Yasmin and Jenna) recounted to me that about three months ago Israeli military came into there house around 2am and forced the family out onto the street until 5 in the morning. It seems they were looking for someone or something in the house adjoining theirs. In the end there were bullet holes in the front of their house, and some of the younger children still get upset from the event.

When people here tell me their personal stories of their reality living under the occupation, I can't fully understand it. I tend to grasp for the emotional response that is warranted, but I am constantly trying to view their stories from some sort of objective lens, always trying to understand the factors that perpetuate the conflict here. Sometimes though, it really is just an innocent family suffering as they try to get on with their life (and this, I would venture, is by far, more often the case than not).














peace,
ryan

Funerals and the “Most Disgusting Restaurant”

At the end of my first full week in Nablus I left with Alaa, Jilal from the office, and two other members of the university staff. We were going to grab some food, but needed to make a stop along the way to pay our respects to a colleague whose father had passed away. On arriving at the house I suggested to Alaa that I wait out front, seeing as how I didn’t know this person, and that I was wearing sandals, ect… “No, no Ryan, if you going to lean about our culture you have to share not only in our celebrations, but also in our sad times…” so there was not getting out of it.

In Palestine, when a Muslim dies (I don’t want to make any assumptions about custom outside Palestine or for non-Muslims within Palestine), the body is buried and then there are several days of mourning afterwards, during which two homes are opened (one for women, and one for men) for members of the community to go and give their condolences. You are greeted at the door by several members of the family and offered to sit down in the family room or parlor. A very small cup of very strong coffee is served along with a large fig. We sat in silence for five minutes or so, then there was some soft chatter, and then we got up to leave as another group of men entered the home. Unfortunately, this past week I attended another such event for Mohanad, a university student who has become a good friend, after the passing of his oldest brother.

Following the first of my experiences in mourning in Nablus, our small band headed down to the city center to eat at the “The Most Disgusting Restaurant,” as it was heralded by Alaa. The event began with the purchase of olives, pickles, beverages, and napkins at a small shop next to our final destination. Newspaper served as our tablecloth, and the grease and oil from the liver sandwiches we feasted on claimed a few shirts. It was a spectacle. Everyone left happy, and the restaurateur has requested a copy of the picture at right.

Doptka, Ulaz, and National Politics

The end of the academic year is approaching, and to celebrate graduation, each school hosts its own party. The festivities including dancing the Doptka (guys only please), the distribution of certificates of appreciation to student government members, and photo ops with the family. The particular day I attended also included a fight between two small groups of students which managed to disrupt the flow of the festivities only a bit. I was told that in the past, students from each political party (Fatha, Hamas, Islamic Jihad, etc) would organize their own celebrations (national politics, for obvious reasons, infiltrates all of life, including college campuses, in ways vastly different from those in the lives of Americans in there 20’s and 30’s). In an effort to unite students and minimize the negative results from political divisions, the university has forced the student groups to organize joint celebrations. I’m not sure how well this is working. Somewhat curious to the outside observer, the banner hanging over the stage displays the leading “martyrs” from each of the major political parties (I'm delaying posting the photo of this at the request of my boss here who does not want the University Administration asking him why his international volunteer is making the university look like it's supporting armed resistance or extremism. I'd like to note that there is a policy on campus that prohibits the posting of the types of "Martyr Posters" that are plastered all over the streets of the city). Please visit my Picaso albums to see more photos of the celebration and the An-Najah campus, which is quite beautiful, and not full of political paraphernalia.

On leaving the celebration some kids were tapping me on the back trying to knock a cigarette off my backpack (it unfortunately burned a small hole in it). At first I wasn’t sure if I should thank the kids or suspect them. Later on down the road they were still walking near us, and either their conscience or the admonitions of Alaa caused them to confess (at least this is what I gathered from the sparse translating that was being done for me). We eventually let them walk off in front of us with a girl, perhaps a sister to one of them. Alaa explained that kids in the refugee camps (he must have concluded their origins by their accents) grow up with the idea that they are the most oppressed, and that the fighters from the camps are the toughest.

There is also quite a bit of discrimination towards those in the camps. Alaa pointed out that the girl with them would not be thought of as a suitable match for any guy who wasn’t from the camps himself. During my first weekend here, we conducted a workshop for this year's Student Ambassadors for the international exchange program (like the one I participated in 4 years ago). One of the staff here asked why it was important for the Student Ambassadors to do the volunteer work at the refugee camps during the international exchange (each morning the Local Volunteers and the Internationals go work at a kids camp in Askar Refugee Camp). It became apparent that most of them had never been to the refugee camps, nor did some of them even know anyone from the camps. I began to wonder how many student at the University were coming from the camps. Much Israeli attention is paid to the camps, as many militants come from there. This is the population that was kicked out of there homes in 1948 and pushed east from what is now the state of Israel. It is here that the pain of that time is most concentrated in the newer generations. Interestingly enough, as Israel celebrates its 60th anniversary as a country (banners may be in some of my photos from Jerusalem), the Palestinians are remembering 60 years since the Nakba ("The Great Catastrophe"). An exhibition commemorating this time will open at the University next week... more to come. I began to wonder if the University could systematically reach out to youth in the camps to try to encourage them to follow a path of education as opposed to the alternatives. When I asked one of my roommates (an upper level staff member), the response was a bit defensive, arguing that getting into the University is very easy if you have the requisite grades (which apparently are not difficult to attain), that funding was easily available... this apparently is a sore/delicate subject, and so I will tread lightly and observe some more before I formulate any further thoughts.

To celebrate Roman’s (volunteer from France, pictured at left, doing a pretty good job at the doptka) last day of work in Nablus we went for some traditional Nabulsi sweets (see pic below of freshly made ulaz, a crispy sugary topping over goat cheese. This again is the theme for most Nabulsi sweets; lots of sugar syrup over goat cheese. It's delicious!). Following this we took a leisurely walk back to the city center. Earlier on, at the graduation festivities, I had been asking about the political climate, and Alaa had mentioned that he had voted for Hamas just to punish Fatha for their mismanagement and corruption. This surprised me, that someone as moderate as Alaa would vote for Hamas even though he didn’t agree with their policies. In some ways it reminded me of the reactionary voting that swept the Democrats into power in the last congressional elections, as dissatisfaction with Bush and the Republicans was mounting. Along the way to the city center I questioned Alaa about why folks would vote Hamas. He mentioned that Abbas (the current president, a Fatha member) was seen as conceding everything to the Israeli’s and that he was betraying the resistance at all levels. While, he said, that he doesn’t believe in violence, the existence of a resistance gives you some power at the bargaining table, and that Hamas, unlike Fatha was not seen as extinguishing the resistance. He noted also that Palestine was a country in disarray, without any real strategy, and that from his point of view Palestine should not become a separate state but part of Syrian or Lebanon.

The sentiments about voting against Fatha (as opposed to voting for Hamas (which, are in their practical outcome, the same thing) were echoed in several other conversations I had. In particular, one with a Physics professor who I will hopefully have a chance to meet with again (he was quite a personality, quite fiery, and had a long history with Nablus and the University), and the Mother of a family I am close to here. The latter mentioned that Abbas is completely absent to the people, that he has been to Nablus once in so many months or years (remember its a small place and Nablus is one of the largest cities). She talked about Arafat being present. He would go to mosque with the people, and he would walk amongst the people. As I read the news about Abbas meeting with Rice and Olmert (our Secretary of State and the Israeli Prime Minister, respectively) toward a peace process, I seriously question how much of his effort will be worth anything if he does not have the people behind him.

Destination Nablus (part 2 of 2)

The driver was getting impatient. If I tried to explain that I wanted to try the call again, his English wasn’t good enough to understand me, and he was guarding the phone to the point where I didn’t feel comfortable just dialing again myself. I got back in the car telling him, in one word, “An-Najah”, to bring me to the university.

Of course, he had said something to me about the price of the call beforehand, “hamzeen,” which sounded like five to me (5NIS is about a buck and a half). Fine, I say. I arrive outside the university ten, anxious minutes later, and tell him to wait for me (mostly in hand gestures) while I go into the university, hopefully find Alaa, and get some scheckels (NIS) (I only had USD on me at this point). I drop Alaa’s name at the guard entrance and they let me in. Relying on my vague memories of 4 years ago, I manage to meander my way to Alaa’s office… he’s not there. Fortunately, folks in the office suspect who I am and tell me that they’ve been expecting me. A volunteer from South Africa, Dominique, who I had been communicating with by email for the past month says hello, and is nice enough to foot me the 15 to 20 sheckels the cab ride should have cost me. When I run outside to pay the cabby, who still has one of my backpacks as collateral, he looks at me with disgust and repeats hamzeen, hamzeen, counting off 50 by tens… S.O.B.. Certainly not the first, or last time I will have been jerked around by someone looking to take advantage of the unwary foreigner. Not looking to make any enemies during my first 15 minutes in the city, I go back into campus (taking my time) up to the office to inquire as to the whereabouts of the ATM. After the ATM will not give me Scheckles (it was only offering Jordanian Dinars at this point. The Dinar is also accepted in the Territories, similar to the way both, the Euro and the British Pound are accepted in the border counties in N. Ireland) I scurry back up to the office, and Dominique pours out her pockets to lend me the last of her money. To the cab driver's credit (there is always a silver lining), he didn’t drive off with my bag… Hamzeen has become the first number in Arabic to stick in my mind.

Alaa eventually got back to the office from a class he was teaching, and we gave each other a big hug. It was great to see him. I recounted the events of the last hour and everyone in the office was shaking there head, while a few laughed at the story of the cab driver gauging me. (At left: Dominique, Alaa, and Me)

As always, the first few hours/days in a new/foreign place can cause a bit of unease. Later that morning a student volunteer, offered to take me with him to the bank in the city center so that I could change some money. On the way he took me through a cemetery (a shortcut) which held many tombs of martyrs (anyone who died due to violence attributed to the occupation, or someone who devoted there life to the Palestinian cause, these include: Politicians, innocent civilians killed by Israeli military, militants, and suicide bombers. The latter are never referred to as such, only as martyrs). There was an old man in the cemetery who was saying something to us in a raised voice, and I became a bit worried that this student was going to get us into trouble. He then took me through the Old City to get to the bank. This excursion, through an area where I might be suspected as an Israeli spy, was unnecessary, and given that I had just arrived, and barely new this kid, only served to raise my nerves further. The rest of the trip was uneventful and the student and I had a nice lunch, over which our conversation revealed that his father used to be (I’m assuming back in the 70’s or 80’s) the commander of artillery forces for the PLO in Southern Lebanon… hmmmmpp

Later in the afternoon Alaa sent me with two students, Amir and Seif, who have become good friends, to go to my apartment. I have to admit that, upon entering the flat, my heart sank a little. As I walked around the house further, I became seriously concerned that this situation was not going to work out. The bathroom was disgusting, from floor, to walls, to shower, to sink, and I didn’t even want to think about sleeping in the bed (I always travel with my sleeping bag). My roommates include a Dean at the university, an assistant to the President, and a professor from Turkey who speaks very limited English. The latter is a super nice fellow that has a Mr. Bean-esque manner. Unfortunately, he only stays at the house one night a week, during which time he always reminds me, in broken English that he is “very happy with me”.

The University rents and maintains housing for faculty and staff as a result of the occupation. Over the past two decades there have been extended periods of time where professors and administrators who do not live in the City of Nablus have been unable to arrive to work because checkpoints were closed, or there severe delays to movement because of tightened security. Renting the apartments and requiring employees to stay within the city limits (during really bad times) is an example of the kinds of measures that are required to maintain a certain level of normalcy under the occupation.

I think I may have offended one of the roommates (not Mr. Bean) the second night I was there when I spent 4 and ½ hours cleaning the bathroom (steel wool is remarkable for removing soap scum from tile walls). Unaware that we weren’t allowed to have guests over, the third night I was there, I invited Amir up to the apartment (he had offered to see me home) to finish a very serious conversation we were having about his personal feelings about the situation here. As we were talking the Dean walked in, I had yet to meet him, and we exchanged pleasantries. The following morning in the office, Alaa informed me that guests are not permitted in university flats, and when I returned home that night, several notices, in English, were posted on the walls with rules for living in university housing (apparently a University employee spent four years in an Israeli jail when he was accused of not revealing the visit of a wanted person... unbeknownst to him a guest of another occupant of the apartment was a wanted person, and this unfortunate fellow became an innocent victim of circumstance.... Not a bad excuse for not allowing any guests). Thus it was a bit of a rocky start to the home life, but things are settling down, and the conditions have improved.

During my first few days in Nablus I was invited to go to some local cafes (men only please) where you can get tea, coffee, juice, and nargila (water pipe used to smoke a mash of fruit and sweetners… apple seems to be one of the more popular flavors). The second hand smoke is sweet in smell and is not too bothersome to the non-smoker. Unfortunately, people smoke cigarettes everywhere, at the café, in offices, even in the hallways at the university. I’ve become convinced that Spain and Palestine could support the tobacco industry alone should this foul habit become extinct in the rest of the world. It is also popular to play a game very similar to backgammon while relaxing at these cafes. My knowledge of Arabic numbers has thus grown from hamzeen to include the numbers 1 through 6... poco a poco.

Destination Nablus (part 1 of 2)

Security and Disruptions to Daily Life:

I’m happy to say that my first two weeks in Nablus have been enjoyable, with many warm welcomes, great reunions, and a million new names to try to remember. The situation here is on average much quieter than compared to my first visit in 2004. Four years ago, every night I was here there was automatic gunfire and the burst of sound bombs (used to both warn families that an incursion is imminent, and to stun potential targets when detonated at close range (at least these are the explanations I’ve patched together)). For the past two weeks I’ve only noted three nights where there was activity (there have been more, but I haven’t noticed them). Most of the activity is focused in four areas: The Old City (about a half-mile from my apartment), the Al-Amoud area, and the two larger refugee camps in Nablus, Askar and Belata (both a couple miles from me). There have been no daytime incursions by the Israeli military (contrast this with a couple of days of imposed curfew, and the sighting of Israeli tanks in the streets the last time I was here).

Nablus or Bust:

My arrival to Nablus was, of course, not without event. I left Jerusalem early on Thursday 4/17, after having confirmed that Alaa (the director of Zajel) was expecting me. I took at private taxi from Jerusalem to Nablus (about 1 and ½ hours, 250NIS=65USD. I should have taken the cheaper more complicated route to save myself 50USD; live and learn). The taxi driver was friendly, but as the miles slipped by he became more and more excited about impressing upon me truth of the Muslim faith, and that he felt it his duty to spread this message to those who have not heard the calling. He recounted to me that in his former years he was “one of those” who harbored hatred toward... let’s say, “the west,” for the sake of parsimony, but that a friend had convinced him that we were not evil individuals; that he should see us as different from our governments; and that he should try to teach us what the true Islam teaches (which I think from his current perspective did not include hatred or violence). To say the least, George Bush and cartoon’s depicting the prophet Mohammed, non-hatred aside, are not well liked by this cabby or anyone else this side of the green line (except perhaps Israeli settlers) (the Green Line is the name given to the 1949 Armistice lines that constituted the de facto borders of pre-1967 Israel). Although I never felt threatened, the ride had its share of awkward moments for me when all I could say was that I agreed with him (despite a fairly good command of English, language, and, I would guess, his well solidified mindset, prevented discussions of subtle points of reason). When we arrived at the checkpoint located at the southern entrance to Nablus (Huwarra Checkpoint) he made sure to tell me that I could call his cell phone if had any problems getting in, and that he would wait for 10 minutes to see that I got through.

I was quite relieved that the checkpoint was open to those entering the city (I only had to walk through a turnstile). Security checks are conducted for those exiting the city. That means every person planning to leave Nablus to the south, must pass through security (similar to that at an airport) before moving on. On the other side of the checkpoint an all-too-friendly, opportunistic cab driver ferried me off to his car. I was supposed to call Alaa once I got through Huwarra. The cab driver had no phone so we stopped by a shop along the way toward the city to use one of his friend’s phone. He dialed the phone number I gave him and a man answered that sounded like Alaa. “Hey, Alaa this is Ryan”

“Ah, hello..?"
“Yeh, this is Ryan, I’m in Nablus.”
“Where do you want to go?”
(very funny joke right?) “Ah, I don’t know you tell me…” at this point I’m a little nervous.
“Do you want to come to Ramallah?”
“NO, I’m in Nablus.” Now I’m really confused.
He asks, “Who are you looking for?”
“Alaa Yousef, are you Alaa Yousef?”
“No”
“Do you know him?”
“No, I’m sorry. Really, I’m very sorry”…. not a good start...

I start thinking, what are the chances that the cab driver misdialed, and happened to get someone who sounded just like Alaa, and spoke good English. Had I been talking with Alaa Yousef the last couple of days…? Or to some random guy on the other line who just kept saying yes, and OK to whatever I said…

He just wants to listen to Madonna and Michael Jackson

I've touched down safely, and due to some lost baggage I've spent a couple days in Jerusalem (I don't think they would have delivered the bag to Nablus). The trip got off to an exiting start. I was booked to travel from Baltimore to N.Y.C on Delta (I fly stand-by at a good rate thanks to my mom's employee benefits). My bag was checked through to Tel Aviv from Baltimore. Unfortunately, after I checked-in it became apparent I might not get on the flight, so my father, brother and I hopped in the car and zoomed over to a highway rest stop in Baltimore in search of a local stop for Chinatown buses to NYC. The scene was, at times, hair-raising as shady peddlers selectively sold "bus tickets" from unmarked black bags, for buses that would arrive "who knows when", and throngs of hopeful travelers rushed at oncoming buses in the hopes that seats would be available and that in fact, perhaps that golden ticket they just bought for $20 was legitimate. I managed to throw a nasty spin move on this old Italian lady and landed myself an aisle seat on the second bus to pull into the "station"... maybe there wasn't an old Italian lady, but there definitely was a spin move used at some point.

I arrived at JFK around 11p and went toward the El Al check-in counter. I should point out that I can't be completely forthright with the Israeli authorities about the purpose of my trip, given that from their point of view my work would be seen as aiding the enemy (that being, in this case, all Palestinians) , and because it looks quite bad for them if innocent internationals are hurt in their country or the territory they occupy. I'm sure they would also argue that they might refuse me entry for my own safety (interestingly enough I discovered today that there are actually tours from Jerusalem that take internationals through Nablus... depending on whether the checkpoint is open or closed that day). I thought that I would have a 10 hour plane ride to get my "tourist story" straight. Unexpectedly, El Al had employees, who were also Israeli government employees working at JFK doing pre-check-in security screening. Needless-to-say I drew a bit more attention than other passengers and I was selected for further screening. The questioning was relatively light compared to the 20 minute interrogation I faced when leaving Israel four years ago. They asked to hold onto my carry-on bag for two hours. Eventually I was cleared to get on the flight and I sat next to a kosher butcher, named Kerri. He and I talked quite a bit and even ventured into the dangerous waters of religion and politics (he actually brought it up). He was moderate in his views and the discussion was enlightening for both of us.

My stay in Jerusalem has provided me a good chance to rest and has been entertaining, not the least due to this kid in his early twenties from Jerusalem who is staying in my dorm room (there are six of us). His mother, who has kicked him out of the house, is demanding he become a Hasidic Jew, while all he wants to do is "listen to Madonna and Michael Jackson, and watch TV." This apparently includes porn; as he explained his plight he showed me his recently purchased portable dvd player, along with some choice titles not to be found at your local public library. The poor guy is all over the place emotionally, but appears quite harmless. In the last two days he has asked me for money for food (I lent him 10 shekels ($3USD) which he promptly paid back today after a trip to the bank), for food directly, and even to wear my pants this morning, so that he could go out and buy pants (he had been wearing sweat pants which he was hesitant to go out in in public)... unfortunately for him I'm not that generous. Last night he finished taking a shower around 2am when I his voice come from the bathroom, in a really meek broken English "excuse me... excuse me," I couldn't take it anymore and I just laid there thinking maybe he forgot a towel... Sure enough, next time I go in the bathroom there is wet toilet paper all over the place. I just shook my head and muttered, "poor guy."

I left the hostile this morning (wearing my own pants) to do some touristy things, so that I could post some pictures for folks to see. At left is the Dome of the Rock (golden dome) sacred to both Jews and Mulims (from this rock Abraham was to sacrifice his son, and Muhammed flew up to god). To the right of the dome is the Western Wall (also known as the Wailing Wall (I believe)), and is a sacred prayer ground for Jews. Muslims have more or less exclusive use of the area above the Western wall, which includes the Dome of the Rock and the Al-Aqsa mosque, which can hold up to 5000 people at a time. Below are two more photos of the Dome and the Wall. For those of you interested in seeing more photos from today's walk around Jerusalem you can seen them at my Picasso account by going to http://picasaweb.google.com/ryanjmccann/JerusalemFirstFewDays (you may have to join Picasso.. don't know, but give it a try). My bag arrived today, so I'm off to Nablus tomorrow morning, I'll be sure to check-in in a couple of days, once I'm settled!


peace,

The What, Where, Why & How of my Journey to the Holy Land

As I sit at my father’s in Annapolis, I figured it’s an apt moment to put down some pre-departure words on where I’m going, what I’ll be doing, and for whom I’ll be working in Palestine.

As a quick note, for those of you new to blogs, as you can see a blog is a kind of online journal where you can post text, photos, videos, etc. And, where people who read your blog can (in many cases) leave comments. Blogs also offer additional functionality such as the archives of previous posts (see left sidebar), as well as a host of other personal touches an author can add. I’ve added a section which displays the latest news stories (also in the left sidebar) about Nablus (the city I’ll be living in).

The City of Nablus is located approximately 35 miles north of Jerusalem, in the West Bank. The city is spread along the floor and hillsides of the valley between Mounts Jarzim and Ebal , and is home to An-Najah National University, where I’ll be working. In particular, I’ll be volunteering in the Public Relations department of the university (this is the group that organizes the cultural exchange in which I participated in August of 2004) (http://youth.zajel.org/). My work will include a variety of activities including: editing the English language version of the department’s website, coaching this year’s student ambassadors in English, and preparing them culturally to receive their international guests. In addition, and most important to me, I’ll be working on starting an initiative within the Public Relations Department to look at non-violent responses to the conflict within the Palestinian Community. Aside from my work with the University my primary objectives are to learn Arabic and work on gathering material for doing some writing on the Palestinian-Israeli conflict.

I’ll be living in University Housing (not sure what this means yet, pictures to follow). I met a lot of genuine and kind people during my previous visit, and I’m looking forward to reuniting with them. The city is generally considered to be fairly conservative and is a focal point of the Israeli occupation of the West Bank. I should note at this time that much of the recent news coming from this part of the world has focused on Gaza, where Hamas militants have been bombing Israeli towns near the northern Gaza border. These attacks have been met with Israeli strikes on Gaza. The game of circular accusations over who is responsible for the continued violence is never ending. The situation in the West Bank is quite different, and if it hasn't changed much since I was last here, the Israeli occupation of the city takes the form of road blocks at each of the city’s entrances (where many young Nablusi men are denied exit), and nightly incursion by Israeli military looking to extricate specific persons who are wanted by the state of Israel. I am assuming at this point that more detailed accounts of these types of occurrences will be available in later posts.

I want to make it clear to anyone who may have concerns about my safety that I am not walking into this city blindly. I won't argue that I'll be as safe as I might be in Boston, but the risks are calculated. During my previous visit I became confident that my hosts are quite capable of ensuring that I am relatively safe. The organization I am working for hosts 10's of internationals each year. They are well connected to the community, and while they are not direct associates of some of the cities more unsavory characters, they are aware, in general, of their attitudes and normal movements, and there appears to be a tacit agreement between militants in the area and my hosts, that it is in everyones' best interest that international volunteers be welcomed to Nablus. As a volunteer at the university, members of the community will recognize me a such, and as long as I don't go out of my way to offend anyone, I expect to encounter, if not profound hospitality, at the very worst a benign acknowledgment of my presence there. If you take the time to read some of the news stories at the left of this page, please keep in mind that I am in a different situation from many of the foreigners in Nablus, and that I will be carefully following the lead of my hosts with regard to my movements and my actions. In addition, while part of me admires the courage of some to actively protest the Israeli occupation of Palestine, I will NOT be standing in front of any bulldozers, or linking arms in front of Israeli military. That is not why I have come here.

I leave from JFK at 2:20am Monday, and should arrive 7:45pm (Mon) local time (time difference is 7 hours). If all goes well getting through passport control in Tel Aviv, I will be spending my first night in Jerusalem and then travel to Nablus by taxi the following day.

I’m looking forward to sharing with you the events of my time in Nablus, and the thoughts and images to come. I hope you will enjoy this adventure with me. Please keep in touch, and feel free to make comments which everyone can read (see the comment link below each post). I’ll be in touch soon.

peace,
ryan