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…