It’s a lovely start to the day and I wake up to the sight of illuminating smiles and coffee by my side, just how every good morning should start. The first time I tried it, I found the strong coffee - qahwah’ - quite repulsive and I remember reluctantly sipping at it out of politeness. By the end of my trip, I’d wake up every morning in the hope of smelling the coffee. I leapt out of bed and stretched before being embraced by our coordinator as he whispered “Mabrook” in my ear. I was taken aback. It was my birthday but I genuinely did not remember and that shouldn’t be so hard to believe considering where I was; however, it’s definitely one I’ll remember.
It must be like 100 degrees outside and we hurry down the road towards a small shop which has a tree at the foot of its entrance. Its shade provides some relief from the blistering heat as the group stocks up on water before we catch a ‘servees’ and head to Ramallah for the day. The journey is a bit of a rollercoaster since we take a perilous, mountainous route, the ‘servees’ having to turn at ridiculous angles. Although I’m aware it’s not his first time, the wicked smile on the driver’s face does little to instil me with comfort. Still, the mountainous view all around us does provide for a stunning setting. Solar powered street lamps line our path and Herodium – a volcano-like hill, the zenith being where Herod built a fortress and palace – lies to the right of us, trailing behind us in the way that the moon appears to do so on a clear night.
We arrive in Ramallah (which literally means ‘Height of God’) and it is...different. No sooner had we exited the ‘servees’ did I thank God for allowing me to be placed in the camp I was in, closer to Hebron. Ramallah is generally considered the most liberal of all Palestinian cities and that was apparent immediately. Stone statues and monuments dominated the surroundings while bizarrely dressed men in high boots sauntered along the streets, vending coffee to passers-by. Tourists lined the congested streets and we blended in with the noisy crowds but for some reason, I felt more alienated than I did in the camp. In a weird and wonderful way, I preferred to be in Hebron, despite the continuous tension and presence of only a handful of foreigners.
Although considered an interim solution, Ramallah has quickly become the capital of the Palestinian Authority, hosting almost all governmental headquarters. Many Palestinians I spoke to were quick to point out that this was no accident. According to them, ever since the initiation of Israeli occupation, Israel had taken steps to allow Ramallah to flourish, prompting Palestine to adopt it as its capital, thereby allowing Israel to lay a greater claim to Jerusalem as its own capital. Sneaky.
A little wander drifts us away from the hubbub and we arrive at the entrance of the tomb of Yasser Arafat. The entrance was guarded by two armed policemen of the Palestinian Authority who were quite pleasant actually, as opposed to the mardy-arse nature of...never mind. The grounds were less secure than I had envisaged and they were quick, almost careless in waving us through. I anticipated it to be full of people but it wasn’t; it was just us. I walked over to where he was buried, enclosed in a simple but graceful structure erected on the grounds, again guarded by two officers. I paid my respects and that was that.
We then made our way to a lovely seating area, public but also quite enclosed from the raucousness that tourists bring. It was mainly occupied by families and there, we were reunited with some of the groups who were working in the other camps. In all honesty, we hadn’t spent much time together prior to this and the only interaction we had was at the training days. However, it was an absolute delight to see them. We were a family. Maybe it was the mutual goals we shared but they’re some of the most thoughtful, funniest, and heart-warming individuals I’ve ever had the pleasure of calling my friends – and I assure you, this is not some perfunctory statement that stems from the party-poppers, cake, ‘keffiyeh’ and without doubt the best birthday card I have ever received :D It was really sweet. There were some who questioned whether my surprise was genuine but it really was! I was overwhelmed.
Even though seeing some of the others was wonderful, it was also slightly awkward because in such a short time, we had become accustomed to not interacting with women so freely. This was demonstrated by uncomfortable handshakes and close-call embraces. Speaking on behalf of the group I was a part of, it’s almost as if we preferred the more conservative setting – believe it or not, it IS liberating. Regardless, it was great to share our experiences and get an insight into how the others were spending their time in the camps. We shared our stories – mostly uplifting but it was also heartbreaking to hear the story of one boy who had been shot in the head – I can’t remember the details surrounding the incident but it was a stark reminder of the real dangers that encompassed the Palestinian people and for a short while, us too.
It had been a long day and I was exhausted. I fell asleep in the ‘servees’ as we made our way back to the camp. On our return, I headed to the masjid and after salah, I sat with an elderly gentleman – Shaykh Nimr, who had taught himself English, quite superbly might I add. Before my trip to Palestine, I was warned to steer clear of discussions related to politics and religion...so what did we discuss? Politics and religion. Being a Muslim, I felt that the locals were just so quick to open up to me; they didn’t hesitate and I had nothing but time to listen. He nodded in a sense of fatherly disapproval when I told him I couldn’t speak Arabic. Thereafter, he spent around 20 minutes speaking to me in nothing but Arabic. Amidst the unbearable awkwardness, it was kinda invigorating. I’m really competitive so I leant forward to grasp as many Arabic words that came out of his mouth, translating as many as I could in super quick time. Whenever I tried to respond in English, he would smile half a smile, barely displaying the whites of his teeth, and place his hands over his ears. He was quite impressed actually and assured me that if I stayed with him for six months, I would become fluent. I was chuffed and even spontaneously raised my shoulders in a way a child might after being praised - I’m an easy audience lol. He invited me back to his home – a natural consequence of my unequivocal charm :D – but I look up, scroll through an imaginary calendar and promise him that I’ll visit tomorrow.
After I leave, I catch up with the rest of the group who manage to get a table in the local cafe. Tonight, the place is packed and has a bar atmosphere as crowds surround the TVs to watch Brazil play Paraguay in the Copa America. I’m nearly brought to tears as local friends, brothers, have gone out of their way to buy me birthday gifts, further welcoming me into their family, though undeserved. It was a fitting end to the night and I got to finally partake in the customary four kisses by which men greet each other and guess what, it wasn’t weird at all! In fact, it was kinda nice :)
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