somewhere else to call home

Last Wednesday, I was sent to the village of Zagtara to lead an English conversation class for adult women. As a part of Project Hope protocol, international volunteers are sent with a local Palestinian volunteer for support, to as act a guide, and for translation. The village itself is surrounded by illegal settlements. All the settlements I've seen throughout the West Bank are at the mountain tops. These ones, however, have branched downwards until they almost reach the bottom. At the bottom right by the checkpoint to enter/exit the Palestinian village or settlement is what appears to be a hotel and gas station decorated with Israeli flags. Isn't it  already enough to have illegal settlements but to have a hotel on top of that to entertain tourists as well?

An illegal settlement right next to the Palestinian village

 Back in his village, everyone is some how related to the local volunteer that accompanied me, a young man in his late teens. Everywhere he went, he's greeted with smiles, love, and respect. As I walked with him to the class, for a moment it was as if we were in a bubble and he was truly free. It was like we were not surrounded by settlements, as if he didn't grow up with occupation. The graffiti on the walls became artistic swirls  rather than words of resistance to 63 years of imprisonment.  During the class, I was greeted by a room full of loud and cheerful mothers. As usual, accompanied with bouts of laughter, I was asked whether I'd be willing to move to Palestine and marry one of their sons. I usually respond with, "only if that guarantees me endless supplies of Kanafa (a cheesy desert Nablus is famous for)."

The checkpoint-Many more like this dot the West Bank

"Where is your ID?" 

 After the class was over, my local Palestinian volunteer and I were reminded again of reality by the tall watch tower that stood over us from the checkpoint as we waited for a bus back to the office.  Several settlers came down to stand for a bus as well. As a result we moved down the road a good 20 feet away. Nonetheless,  two female Israeli soldiers (IDF) approached us and began questioning us in Hebrew. We said we only knew English so they switched over and began asking us questions about what we were doing, where we were going, and lastly for our ID and names. It was so stupid. I couldn't believe that the Palestinian volunteer who was waiting for a bus in his own town had to be questioned by an outside force. It was somewhat understandable for me since I'm an outsider  but for him to be questioned in the very place he was born and grew up in for waiting for a bus is unjustifiable. 

It was quite a humiliating image to see as he fumbled for his ID and smiled shyly at the soldiers. It would be like if in the United States, we were waiting for a bus and Canadian soldiers came up to us demanding for our ID!  We would no doubt refuse and be angry. Instead, the young Palestinian man with me was forced by knowing nothing but this occupation to submit quietly. We even submissively said, "Thank-you" after they let us go!   The way the occupation has become a part of life for 63 years has created this odd pseudo formality as most normal everyday Palestinians attempt to do whatever it takes to avoid getting arrested or detained. In that moment, the perceived freedom he may have felt walking through his village was shattered and he was reduced to a piece of identification paper. Suddenly the place where everyone knew his name became foreign and hostile. It was as if he was the outsider and the threat and not the other way around. Why weren't the settlers ID'd as well? Why could they stand there without the back bags being checked and their AK's  slung around their shoulders like they own the place?

How far we were standing from the settlers before we were questioned

 In the end, though, as upsetting as it all is, at least I have somewhere else to call home. At any moment, I can just leave back to the US where I don't have to deal with an outside force assuming I'm a threat in my own town. I don't have hostile neighbors trying take away my backyard claiming it as their own. The Palestinian volunteer that was with me, however, has no other place to call home. Occupied Palestine is his only home. Sure, he may be able to go down the streets of his small village that he no doubt knows like the back of the end and experience momentary freedom. It's only a moment though as daily reminders shatter that pseudo freedom. His own ID that he presented was written in Hebrew so as to facilitate the occupation and reinforce the virtual prison. 

A human can only handle so much. Below is a simple manifesto of why it's so sickening to live under the occupation and the conflict in general: 

where to begin...

I thought I'd be able to fill this blog every single day but one thing that has kept me is an unexpected writer's blog. I created this blog a couple weeks ago and I've only been able to write once. Part of it is that I'm still trying to absorb everything around me. There is so much to take in. Everyone here has an extraordinary story that I want to capture. Everything around me I feel like I need to document-even the walls speak with the graffiti and history. It's quite overwhelming. I talked to another volunteer and she said she also experienced a similar writer's block when she came here. It took her a good month to be able to write anything (Check out her blog here: illusionstomemories.blogspot.com). It's so different here. Another part is that occupation is worse than anything I've read about! It's one thing to read articles and another to witness it first hand. I really don't know where to begin but I'm definitely going to start writing again. My friend explains part of the difficulty of expressing it all in her latest post: 

 Everything from the Israeli occupation and oppression—stupid frustrating terms that I feel are too big and bland to truly communicate what the hell happens here. They have become such blah sounds, sweeping under the rug the true explicit, atrocious, every-day occurrences. www.illusionstomemories.blogspot.com

Until I get my next post up, here is a picture of Palestinian boys in Hebron, Palestine posting stickers of cars on a road block before a checkpoint.

from the vantage point of children

My first days in Palestine...

The hardest part about starting this blog was thinking of a name for it. I think being so invested in a conflict like the Palestinian-Israeli conflict can really drain one of any gleam for hope. Looking for hope becomes like a chase- and that's where this title for this blog came after. Light moves so much faster than us and looking for hope in the world around us can be equivalent to that almost impossible task. Chasing after light though is something that I don't want to give up as I live in this world. So here I am in Nablus, Palestine. It is located in the northern city of the West Bank. It’s quite beautiful and very green. Even though it's the largest city in the West Bank, it has that small town-feel. Everyone here seems to know each other.  I came here as an international volunteer for the NGO, Project Hope. The organization works by sending out volunteers to various areas through out Nablus and surrounding refugee camps to provide “educational and recreational activities, medical and humanitarian relief and practical training.” I volunteer as an English teacher. The people here appear to be perplexed by me. Here I am, an international volunteer who happens to be Arab volunteering for a local NGO.  They get excited when they see I'm of Syrian origin, explaining to me that Nablus is affectionately called "Little Syria." They say that there used to be a train that ran from Nablus to Damascus and as such Nabulsi people have very similar habits and customs to Damascus people. I can see that especially in the old part of Nablus.

The Unspoken Influence of Occupation

At that same time though, I can feel a major difference between the two cities. The atmosphere seems very constricted and tight comparatively. A huge part of it is the occupation. Everywhere I go throughout the city, I can see influences of the occupation-whether it's a building that still has bullet h0les into it, posters of martyrs everywhere or graffitied walls.  Not as obvious though is the effect of the occupation on the psyche of the people. The other day I was in a youth center in  the Balata refugee camp and saw a picture of a Palestinian child crying on the wall. I said to the local volunteer that I didn’t think it was appropriate to have such a picture hanging on the wall-that school should be an escape for students. She explained that even if that picture wasn’t up, it was still very much a part of their reality. She said, “There isn’t a single family in Palestine who doesn’t have at least one martyr in the family, had their home destroyed, seen someone die, or has had a family member go mentally insane because of the situation.” (Translation from Arabic). Amazingly enough, the people here have incredible spirit and hope. As an outsider, it’s so difficult to have any hope for the future of the conflict but hope is reinstalled when hearing it come from those directly involved in the conflict. Even so, as much as there are good times and laughs, the occupation is ever present within this background.

                                           Posters of martyrs hang throughout the city

“Do you like Israel?”

In another camp, Askar, we were teaching a group of children the difference between “Where do you live” and “Where are you from.” To my surprise, every child was able to pinpoint the exact city from which their families were expelled out of into their present day refugee camps-even though it happened before their lifetimes. “My name is Sara. I live in Askar camp. I am from Yafa.” The idea of right to return is a very important aspect of their life and they really haven’t forgotten their origins. Although the tents have now become buildings-it is still seen as very temporary. In the back of the classroom, there was a model of Palestine that was bleeding (using red paint) with the number 63 written on it made by some local Palestinian volunteers in commemoration of Nakba Day (May 15^th) to symbolize 63 years of occupation. I asked a couple of kids why it was bleeding. They responded because Palestine is occupied. Then I asked, “Do you like Israel?” And they said, “No, we don’t because they occupy us!” Then after a slight hesitation, one of the kids responded with, “But we will love Israel when they stop occupying us!” This conclusion surprised me. Yet it continues to be reaffirmed as I talk to many Palestinians. They really dislike Israel’s policy of occupation but otherwise would have little reason to hate it. There is definitely no hatred of Jewish people and a distinction between Israelis and Jewish people and the actions of the government and military.

                                           The bleeding model of Palestine

“I was shot here”

Going back to the ever present influence of the occupation on the lives of the Palestinians, one of the local Palestinian volunteers, a young man of 20 years was guiding myself and a couple of volunteers through the city. As we turned one corner, he nonchalantly mentioned, “This is where I was shot by Israeli soldiers.”-It was the same exact place where earlier I had gone to the bank.  Looking at him, he seems so incredibly shy and kind. Yet his mother explained to us how during the second intifada, it was difficult to keep him from running out and throwing rocks at the Israeli tanks that rolled though the cities. He hardly talks about it and there is no pride in his voice. On his hand, you can see the scar of one bullet. He was shot twice by rubber bullets and once by live ammunition- a young boy of 12. Although the image of a stone thrower in the face of a large military machine seems courageous, it’s actually quite sad because a child should not have to see tanks to begin with.

During an English speaking discussion class I had to substitute for, one of the students in a similar way, casually mentioned that he was imprisoned by Israel for three years in his early twenties. When another volunteer and I remarked what a long time that was, all the students interrupted to say that actually it was nothing, others have been imprisoned for decades. He said that many of his friends are still imprisoned to this day from the second intifada. He laughed it all off casually even as he said that he lost his fiancé as a result. It was a sort of nervous laughter as if he was trying not to show just how much it impacted him.

I’ve almost been here for two weeks now but it feels so much longer. So far, I’ve also visited Hebron, Bethlehem, Ramallah, and Tul Karam, which I will write about in later posts. Well, thank you so much if you’ve read this far. Check out Project Hope’s site, www.projecthope.ps