Journey to Palestine: Day 7

I had trouble sleeping in the night. It becomes very difficult once you acknowledge the likelihood of a mosquito being in the room. I killed many, leaving their splattered bodies scattered around as a warning to the others but it only seemed to aggravate them. I feel as I have been in Palestine for months and this is a good thing; a testament to how easy the locals have made it for us to dwell among them as equals and an indication to how hard it’s going to be for me to leave this place. It was quite liberating to hear the call of prayer at dawn, something I’m not accustomed to; although the morning battle to get out of bed is universal, sleeping on a firm mattress on the floor made it that much easier to part with it. I also embraced the morning ‘wudhu’, the cool water providing some relief against the intense humidity.

As I left my rucksack back in the UK due to overweight luggage, the short walk to the school involved carrying my classroom resources in a plastic carrier bag whilst dragging my feet, gradually making the transition to full consciousness. Every day was a fresh surge of embarrassment as my contemporaries neatly carried their belongings in a bag strapped to their back, and I made my homeless entry into the school. Kids would often enquire: “What’s this?” ...pointing to the transparent bag, adding insult to injury. We would arrive at the girls school by approximately 8:30am, just in time for tea/coffee and a snack – oh yes, the Palestinians don’t do things half heartedly.  

I walked into the classroom and shouted “Good morning class!” The girls enthusiastically shouted “Good morning Ismail” in response, each pupil trying to outdo the other. I finished my tea as the girls patiently sat there, waiting for me to speak.  It was Thursday and I had promised them that this would mean (even) more fun and less work, marking the last day before the weekend (Friday and Saturday constituting the weekend). I grew fonder of my girls each day; each day a different encounter. I asked one of the girls, Khadija, to stand up. I wanted to teach the class a game and use her as an example of how the game worked but the language barrier meant that body language was our primary form of communication. Khadija was a real character, not shy to speak her mind and also one of the older pupils. Every time I told her to stand up, she would tilt her head back, grin and give the same cheeky response: “Laysh?” meaning “Why?” I laughed every time, having to use an elaborate charade in trying to explain what I wanted her to do. After kissing her teeth at me, the standard Palestinian trademark of rebellion, she usually played along.

The game we first played was called ‘Fast Fingers’. It entails two players standing opposite each other with their hands behind their back, akin to something out of Family Fortunes. The rest of the class would shout “1, 2, 3” and on 3, the players would stretch forth their hands, revealing a number; i.e. one person might point out their two index fingers, which would signify the number 2. The players must then add up the numbers on their hands together with the numbers on the other player’s hand and the first to shout the sum of the two numbers out, wins. Simples. They loved it. Such a simple game but the girls were really competitive and weren’t always gracious in defeat. The game proved really popular, overrunning the time I had planned for it but they were enjoying themselves and that was the important thing. The class ended with the classic ‘Pass the Parcel’ – something I feel was a first for the class. I don’t recall what the prize was, some girly accessory. The girl who won came to me after class with her hand extended towards me, still holding the accessory and asked inquisitively: “Me, home?” It nearly broke my heart. I smiled, put my arm around her and said “Of course, you’re the winner!” I had to throw her out (not in a nasty way) just to get her to stop thanking me and take the prize home. Moments like this made it all worth it.

I was due a good lesson with the boys and to my pleasant surprise, the lesson started out great. I needed something that was engaging but not too strenuous to keep them interested and most of them responded really well to a word search. However, I quickly learnt that it was near impossible to hold their attention for too long. No matter how interesting the lesson was, and don’t for one moment doubt that they were, the class would start to get agitated after about 45 minutes. Then, shouts of “Play” and “Outside” rapidly reverberated around the room. I couldn’t really blame them as it was hot and there was usually something going on outside to distract them. I was particularly fascinated with one boy who gave the impression that he just did not want to be there. It’s funny because none of the boys, as far as I was aware, were obliged to attend. He would turn up and simply refuse to partake in any activity. He would sit there with his head resting on his folded arms or become engrossed in sidetracking others. Maybe it was in the knowledge that attendance was a prerequisite to be able to partake in the school trip. I’m not sure. Again, ‘Fast Fingers’ was also a success with the boys and something I resorted to in future lessons that needed reviving.

In addition to teaching at the schools, I was scheduled to have two further projects – one in Hebron, namely working at the university and one project working in the camp. However, the girls I was supposed to teach were preparing for their ‘Towjeehi’ exams; I believe they’re the equivalent of UK A Level exams and a massive deal in Palestine.  For me however, it was frustrating. It meant that I was a project light and at this stage, it was unclear whether something would materialise soon – not good, considering we weren’t there for very long. I used the free time to prepare for the school lesson on Sunday and my first lesson at the university.

Around lunchtime, we would usually sit in the kitchen, discussing our classes and preparing for our afternoon projects. Other classes were usually taking place in the community centre so we didn’t want to disturb them. Then, one of the workers at the community centre, a young woman in her 20s asked us for our email addresses. She was modest, softly spoken and she spoke English very well. Her voice soon became monotonous as she recalled a short chapter of her story, her voice breaking as she forced out single words at a time. One thing you quickly pick up on in Palestine is that everyone has a story to tell, everyone – beyond each welcoming smile and each boisterous laugh of a child lies a dark, dark tale, locked up and hesitant to show its true colours. She tells us of how she was offered a scholarship to study in London but had to decline due to the struggles her family faced. Her brother had been killed when he was just in his 20s; this is something she lives with every day and I doubt something she will ever recover from. They were close. She then directed her protests towards us, her eyes full of questions. She takes us back to the day she received a phone-call informing her that her brother had been killed - a gunshot to the leg. “How can he die like that?” she demands. “Does a bullet in the leg kill you?” What could we possibly say? The truth is that his injuries told a different story. It is believed that he was thrown off a hill or a mountain, the bottom of which resided a Palestinian family who were well acquainted with the family of the deceased. She leaves the room abruptly, the story seemingly incomplete. Our weak minds had absorbed beyond their scope and maybe she had sensed it. I refuse to forget her. I meet her later. I told her that she’s my sister and that we would always have a connection, long after I leave the camp, and we hold up our ends of the bargain by frequently exchanging emails.  

It seems tasteless to continue this post after such a tragic tale but I feel it’s important to tell you what makes Palestine so amazing. That night, dinner was immense. A lot of our meals were the result of invitations so kindly extended towards us, a tribute to Palestinian hospitality and I extend a challenge to all readers to locate a more hospitable community. Today, we were taken care of by some of the ladies who carry out administrative work at the community centre where we stayed. Oh how I regret not remembering what most of the things are called but we were spoilt with vine leaves, a cucumber-esque vegetable stuffed with rice and a date-centred cake thingy for dessert. My mouth is watering just reminiscing back to that day and I now love going to Arab restaurants knowing what I want and being able to recognise large parts of the menu.

I also visited the local cafe for the first time tonight. A large, modern, cabin-like structure; a paradox of its badly maintained surroundings. In addition to the free drink I’m treated to, we get two drinks, an ‘arghila’, plus we get to play pool, all for £4 – Sorry, I just had to get that in there. Some people are cautious of our presence in the camp and ask whether one of my colleagues is Jewish. He isn’t. We brush it off with a nervous laugh and enjoy a football match that’s showing on one of the two TVs.

Another guy that showed us a lot of love was Muhammad – a guy in his mid 20s, hair slicked back, sleeves rolled up and sporting a thin, neatly trimmed beard. He walked with a swagger, holding his hands behind his back, carrying a small entourage who ran things by him. Definitely assumed to be the leader of the group, he was the only one that spoke English. He laughed loudly and was fun to be around. They were the cool ‘shabab’ (youth) of the camp. Just before Maghrib, a couple of us took a walk with them onto the main road, perpendicular to the entrance of the camp. En route, I indulged in some sour grapes that I picked off vines that were within easy reach. Muhammad laughed as he handed me a handful of sunflower seeds. I reluctantly accepted them, many of the seeds falling to the ground through my poorly cupped hands. I only discovered that I liked them once I was told that the seed had to be extracted from its shell. I had been eating them whole this whole time – not a smart move from a person who is often (mis)construed as being quite intelligent lol.

We arrived at a wall that was situated at the side of the main road, the wall overlooking a brook. Two boys were already there, filling up containers of water and securing them onto the back of a donkey. There’s often a water shortage in the camp so many people are forced to travel to nearby brooks and streams to collect water and this one was said to be the nearest one for miles. We sat on the wall, drinking something fizzy, eating wafers and trying to look natural as the ‘shabab’ took pictures of us from all angles. We had done nothing to earn the celebrity status but I just remember basking in it. It was serene. I made ‘wudhu’ (ablution) down by the brook and prayed Maghrib nearby. We then made our way back into the camp.

There are a lot of weddings that were scheduled to take place once we arrived as a lot of couples tend to get married before the start of Ramadhan. The night led us to one of those weddings. We received the customary coffee upon arrival – a shot of strong loveliness, and we weren’t going to be left alone. We got so much attention and I was just happy to be a part of it. Weddings are not really my scene and the vocal merriment and dancing was not something I’m used to so I tried my best to avoid the whole...OK, I danced a little but there’s no evidence of it...I think.

We made our way back to where we were staying, catching the dazzling moon in its first quarter as the light broke through its desert red exterior. Yes, it WAS that good. Eerie but beautiful. We took pictures and everything :) We arrive back at the community centre and I had my first lukewarmish shower since our arrival – Alhamdulillah, gotta count my blessings.

There’s not a day that passes when I don’t think about Palestine. The people there had such an impact on my life and left an imprint on my heart. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, it was the single best experience of my life and no sooner had I returned, I started thinking about how quickly it was possible for me to go back there.

Bring on the weekend :)