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.