Journey to Palestine: Day 12

I wake up to what feels like a drunken stupor; in fact, it has to be the closest I’ll ever come to feeling hung-over. My head was throbbing. This is going to be the most absurd thing you have ever heard but the feeling I got was as if my brain, yes my brain, had a mind of its own. I’m sure many can relate to the feeling where your brain assaults the inside of your head every time you move. It was analogous to being a rain-stick; you turn the stick and then it takes a second for the small beans or rice make their way to the...I have no idea what I’m talking about. I think I’m just rambling as large parts of day 12 remain a blur to me. The pain in my stomach had somewhat alleviated and after taking a cold shower and more than the recommended dose of Paracetamol, I had decided that the kids would not go without a teacher, not today.

Under-prepared, cast under a medicinal spell and woozy as hell, I somehow managed to make it to the girls’ school. The girls were relatively subdued but with my senses heightened, the softest of sounds were like shrapnel to the brain. I sat down as the girls lined up outside, clearly aware that there was something not quite right with me. I knew I was going to have to drag the lesson out. Perhaps I should’ve stayed in (that thing I called my) bed but I didn’t want to risk the kids having no teacher at all. I was joined by two new girls who had transferred from the other summer camp to be part of my class. That should be flattering, right? Well, no...because it didn’t make sense. I took a deep breath, scratched my head and knelt down by the desk where the two new pupils were sat. What then ensued can only be described as a brief grilling as I asked the girls why they joined my class. It was surreal. I don’t know what the hell I was doing and the girls looked genuinely scared because they had no idea what I was asking of them. Plus, the zombified persona which I had adopted due to illness was one that later even scared me when I accidentally caught sight of myself in the mirror. But here I am, thinking clearly, asking you – Why, oh why, would someone want to leave FREE SHAWARMAS, FREE T-SHIRTS and exhilarating lessons to join my class? Believe me, I wasn’t a fantastic teacher. They must have been spies. Oh dear God, thinking back, those poor girls must’ve been terrified. Totally explains why the class was so quiet that day! It must’ve been the equivalent of having a lesson facilitated by Hannibal Lecter.

Like I said, I dragged the lesson out. I wasn’t miserable though, I’m sure the smile was there, somewhere, noticeable if you looked closely enough, and maybe squinted. The class practised ‘You Are My Sunshine’ today and a lot of them had really improved. I was genuinely impressed and most of them it seems were competing to impress. As with the boys yesterday, the girls learnt the names of different foods today and started drawing out some of their favourites onto paper plates. After a while, I think some of the girls picked up the vibe that the lesson was hitting a dead end and bless them, they started co-ordinating the lesson themselves. One girl shouted, “Fast Fingers!”, followed by nods of approval and ascending squeals of joy by the others. One of the girls, Alma, was a clear favourite to win – she was incredibly bright, her English and maths skills were outstanding for the level she was working at and she was fiercely competitive. After winning three games in a row, her next opponent stood up and then turned to me to ask me a couple of questions. The questions she asked had become almost customary, no more unusual than being asked what my name was: “You love Palestine? You love Israel?” She looked as if she had just been in deep thought, wanting to ask the questions for a while, waiting for the right moment. Surely, they knew the answers to these questions? I simply construed it in the way a parent will ask their child: “Do you love me?” The answer is known but it’s always uplifting to hear.

Everything has its end and just like that, class was over and I dragged my feet over to the boys’ school. At this point, I felt worse and found it difficult to swallow even the smallest amount of water. Unlike the other days, the boys said very little as they lined up outside, apparently staring at the evil twin of their usual teacher. Maybe some of the pupils misconstrued my sickness as fury because no sooner as we entered the classroom, a few of them walked out and I had no energy left to stop them. Perhaps they gathered that misbehaviour would not be tolerated today, the irony being that today was the day where my sickness meant that intolerance could not be afforded. For a few moments, I sat behind my desk in silence, slowly sipping on some water. The rest of the pupils stared back at me in pin-drop silence, probably assuming that their teacher had finally cracked and sensing the beginning of the end. No one is burdened beyond his scope. It’s funny, today turned out to be one of the better lessons. With the trouble-makers gone, I was left with pupils eager to learn and keen to impress. It was actually bizarre to have them so quiet and even found myself whispering to a teacher who had come to check up on the class, in an impetuous effort as to not disturb the ambience of the classroom. This virus had me acting craazaay. The actual lesson I carried out with the class revolved around...well, we talked about...what we did was...we looked at...ok fine, I can’t remember anything but seriously, I was completely out of it. You can’t expect me to remember everything.

After class, I left my colleagues behind to rush back to the community centre, our humble abode, my sanctuary. I actually ran. I have no idea where that second wind came from. There was no real thinking involved. I just wanted to be out of the sun and get into bed – my brain told my feet and my feet obliged. Upon entering the community centre, a sweet smell led me to the kitchen. An aromatic trail was almost tangible, like something out of a cartoon and Hansel followed the trail to find a humongous cake sitting there on the kitchen table. Admittedly, my taste-buds were off key and my stomach seemed to growl as if to say, “Dont you f-ing dare!” But...but...the sisters working at the community centre had so lovingly made it for us. It’d be rude not to at least try it. Ha, I didn’t even wait for the others. I spat in the face of constipation, knowing full well that later on that night, it would spit right back at me. I couldn’t thank the ladies enough; we made small talk and after taking that first bite of cake, I was already starting to regret it. Anyway, after around my 12^th bite, I rushed to the bathroom and the rest, as they say, is...bloody disgusting. I’ll save you on the gory details but one thing that’s worth the mention is that the sewage system couldn’t cope with paper being flushed down the toilet, so it had to be disposed in a bin that was placed by the toilet. So, not only was I dying but as I sat on the floor of the bathroom, my wilting body taking support against the toilet and my head hovering over it, I had nothing but disposed toilet vapours to keep me company! I apologise; there was no need for that :D

For the first time, I was uber relieved that I didn’t have an afternoon project scheduled for the day and neither was I looking forward to planning the lesson to be facilitated at the university tomorrow, focussing on ‘Islam in Britain’. I lay down on the mattress and sleep overpowered me. A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of children laughing outside and shouting my name. A stone or two struck the window as I barely found the energy to muffle in between my dying groans *cue sympathy* – “Go awaaaaay,” I bellowed. Well, I say bellowed but I doubt I could manage anything more than a stifled groan. My mind drifted to another one of our groups who were working in another camp where water restrictions meant that they were reduced to having weekly showers. Ugh. It’s important to remind ourselves of what we don’t have to really appreciate the things that we do.

At this point, the room was intolerably humid and I was drenched but I was barely able to move. It was getting dark outside and unexpectedly, I was instilled with a renewed impetus in response to the call of prayer. Without delay, I showered and made the brisk walk to the masjid. Salah had already begun and I joined the congregation. To be honest, being in a state of inertia, it just felt like I was going through the motions but it was certainly more tranquil than rotting on that mattress. After salah, I ran into G, our closest friend in the camp. It was a blessing. After a day consisting of very little food and even less water, he took me to his home and in a paternal manner, compelled me to eat yoghurt with olive oil, chips and soup which his wife, ‘the president’, had made for me. Also, though I had avoided it all day, I drank some tea blended with sage to help ease my sore stomach. While I still felt quite sickly, I was really glad to have eaten something. G’s children tried to get a smile out of me but I’m sure I must have been horrible company to be around.

After thanking him for his hospitality, I rushed back to the community centre. It was only wise that I remained within close proximity to the bathroom. I had hardly spoken to my colleagues today and barely spoke with them when I returned. They were occupied with lesson-planning and I headed straight for the mattress. I lay there for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling. All of a sudden, I jolted at what sounded like a thunderous fighter jet, rocketing above us, drowning out all other sound in the process. It never got any easier listening to that and something which I don’t think I could ever get used to.

I have just realised that this post is enveloped in narcissism and has very little to do with Palestine, so for that I apologise. But what can I say, is it so awful to ask for a little attention and a little affection every now and then?! lol ok, I’ve just been told that it is. Noted.

Here’s hoping tomorrow is a better day.