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.