The American Life

Back home. It's been a week. What have I managed to do? Eat loads of processed food, go out with friends, relax on the beach, upgrade my computer, go to class, and study. And read Al-Jazeera to catch up on Israeli/Palestinian news.

I really miss being there. I miss the people, the food, the tension, the frustration. Sounds a little strange, like I prefer being in a conflict zone because it's somewhat glamorous - at least more so than my life in Chapel Hill. Maybe part of that is true. At times in the West Bank we were a little unnerved, walking around Hebron with snipers peering at us from rooftops, or walking through Shu'fat Refugee Camp with boys throwing firecrackers at our feet. In Chapel Hill, I'm just scared a cop will bust me for jay-walking. To travel 10km in Palestine, we crossed through checkpoints that took hours, where people screamed and pushed and shoved their way to the front while more soldiers perched above us watched carefully, their machine guns slinging at their sides. In Chapel Hill, I just drive. My biggest annoyance here is a red traffic light.

All the "glamor" aside, I just miss being there. I miss walking through Azza Camp on my way to the UNRWA clinic and seeing all the political graffiti on the walls. I wish I could still walk through the cobblestone markets in Bethlehem, or sit on the roof of Mary's house and eat with the lifelong friends I made while I was there. I miss the long, heated walks up hill after hill. I miss the knafeh, the falafel, and the bread.

I don't miss the sadness I felt while I was there, though. Perhaps I haven't had a chance to miss it because on some level, I still feel it. It is hard not to feel hopeless, but optimism is the only choice. Hell, the people who have been living through it for generations at times seem more optimistic than I would think possible given what they have gone through. There are definitely ones who are not, however. There are people who think all the Israelis should up and leave; some think violence will work; others cheer on those who throw stones at soldiers because even though it gets them in prison or even killed, it is supposedly their only way of letting out their frustration.

It's such a multi-faceted issue. What's that analogy? An onion? You peel back one layer and there's just a dozen more to peel through. The more you peel, the more you cry.

Back to my real Life

I really wanted to post a few more things about my trip here, but now I find myself just itching for more time to do things. Anything. To shop, to sit with my new lifelong friends, to speak to people, to laugh with people and to empathize with people. To eat. A lot. To Live.

Today was my last day with the whole group. Tomorrow, I leave with two other girls for Tel Aviv. I'll spend a day there, then fly home to that Carolina blue sky that I have actually missed. It was a great last day, albeit a sad one. And its not actually over. Maija and I are both still awake at 5:04am, laying in bed with computers that aren't ours, waiting for 8:00 to roll around so the others will wake up. It's been a long day, but it probably won't end any time soon.

This morning I ran around town to do some ridiculously late souvenir shopping. Gotta leave with something. It was nice kind of running around on my own for a bit too. I stopped by a shop where we'd made friends with the owner. Costandi and I sat and had tea, talked a bit about politics, then realized his sister lived in Wilmington (crazy!). I ran into a few food markets where we've been buying groceries since we've been here. It was nice, it felt cozy to know my way around, make regular stops at all my favorite places where people had come to recognize me and I to love seeing them.

Eventually I ended up at home, where the girls commenced to have a "Girl Party" with our local Palestinian girl friends. It was fun - our first time seeing them with bare arms and beautiful hair! We spent hours in the kitchen preparing for our potluck, and when the boys finally came over, we sat down and had a proper feast. It was like Thanksgiving. I had a lot to be thankful for. When the Palestinian girls left, I cried. Yeah ... I do that sometimes.

We all then headed over to the Wall and painted our mark on it. A great picture, if I do say so myself, of Palestinians prancing up a staircase towards a doorway that leads to the other side. I was pretty darn proud of us.

We then went to The Tent, a bar/shisha/food place where we just chilled out for a few hours. We were exhausted, but we laughed - I started to miss everyone even though they were right in front of me.

Back at home, we spent a couple hours cleaning and getting our research surveys in order. We collected over 500 CBCLs! That is pretty impressive. Proud, again.

Then I packed. And now, I write.

I will really miss these people, this place. I say that every time I finish a program or a trip, usually after 2 months away. But something was different this time. This place is exhausting. There is so much to see, to hear, to do, to LEARN. So much to learn. I can't possibly do it in one month, or a year, or several. The group I traveled with was amazing. All from different countries, including this one. I learned so much about them, about me. I learned - a lot.

I am too tired to keep writing. I will salvage 2 hours of sleep before I continue on a mad rush tomorrow to get things done. Then, its back to the other side.

Life side by side

So as if the Tel Aviv experience wasn't weird enough, we went to Hebron on Saturday in the southern West Bank, an area infamous for it's tense atmosphere between Jews and Muslims. There is an inner city Jewish settlement in Hebron, comprised of about 400 settlers. There are 4000 Israeli troops stationed there to protect them. 10 soldiers for every 1 person. We were all very ansy to visit the place; from all that we read it seemed intriguing yet terrifying all at once. In fact, Barbora said a few days before, "I really want to go to Hebron. I heard there are snipers on every roof." Yeah. She said that.

Initially, we split the group up into 2 groups and headed to two different refugee camps to collect more CBCLs from the clinics and around town. Each group was really successful, and in total we collected more than 100 filled forms (amazing!). After leaving the UNRWA clinic in search of more families with children, our group came across a Palestinian Children's Cultural Center, where a dozen or so young teens were gathered. As we got them to fill out surveys of their own, they spoke to us about their collaboration work with the center in Aida that we've been working with the past 2 weeks. Together, the kids produce a magazine that is published a few times a year. All the stories and all of the photography are done by the students, ranging from lighthearted stories about dancing to more dense topics like being attacked by Israeli settlers. Several students ran to point out the articles they had written in the latest publication, and smiled sheepishly, but proudly, as we marveled at what we read.

After finishing the research portion of our day, we ventured into the Old City within Hebron. It's much like the Old Cities of Jerusalem and Bethlehem, with cobblestone footpaths, narrow lanes, and an abundance of souvenier shops. What differed, however, was the strange awnings that stretched between the tall buildings. Some were made of ragged cloths, but the view up above of one entire stretch was a metal screen, littered with garbage. Some years ago, settlers had come and taken Palestinian homes that still border these narrow market streets. Known to be extremely violent settlers, they often throw rocks and garbage from their home windows into the market lanes. Thus, Palestinians have erected these barrier awnings to prevent the raining rubbish from reaching them. It is an interesting image - looking up to what you hope to be a beautiful blue sky, only to have that vision obstructed by a trash-covered metal shield.

We continued on and found ourselves walking through mini-checkpoints with heavily armed Israeli soldiers. And yes, we found Barbora's snipers. One threw up a peace sign as Markus aimed his Canon towards him for a photo. We wanted to go to the Ibrahim Mosque, a Muslim and Jewish religious site now controlled by Israel. In 1994, an American Jewish pediatrician opened fire on Muslims who were praying early in the morning, killing more than 20 people and injuring dozens of others. The Jewish settlers in Hebron have supposedly erected a statue for the doctor. Since that time, security and entrance into the mosque has been controlled by Israel. There are separate entrances for Jews and Muslims, and non-Muslims can only enter after 5:00p. We all went through security and had a brief question/answer/ridiculous session with a soldier. I'll transcribe my interaction real quick:

Sonya passes through metal detector, hands passport to Israeli soldier.
Soldier: "United States of America."
Sonya stares blankly. Don't be nervous.
Soldier: "Are you Christian?"
Sonya: "Uh, no."
Now soldier stares blankly, confused at the response.
Sonya: "I'm Hindu."
Soldier: "Hindu?"
Sonya: "Yes. HINDU."
Soldier reads passport intently.
Soldier: "Patel...Patel..."
Sonya: "It's Indian."
Soldier: "Indian?"
Sonya: "Yes. INDIAN."
Soldier again stares, trying to read the eyes of this strange brown woman with no religion and a weird nationality. Then, he waves her through.
Sonya tries really hard not to start laughing hysterically.

Anyway, my first time in a mosque was a rather somber experience. It's a quiet and simple place to pray, but you couldn't help but picture the tragedy that happened there. A man whom we'd run into earlier was there explaining to us the '94 incident - as an eyewitness. He was in the mosque praying when it happened, and gave us all the details he could remember. How he could continue coming to pray in a place where such things happened, I have no idea. Seems to me that it must take an ardent faith to be able to do that, and for that I envy him. I'm not sure I would have the strength.

After exiting the mosque, we ventured into settlement territory. To get there, we walked down a small road with a concrete guardrail running down the middle. A young Jewish boy walked on one side. A Muslim father and his son walked on the other. Seriously. They walked on different sides of the street, separated by a one-foot concrete wall. I can't even make that up.

As far as the settlement and its surrounding streets go, imagine this: An old western film with saloons lining a dirt road, everyone behind closed doors as one man walks down the dusty path, big bales of hay blowing across the way behind him. He slowly draws his pistol.

Now, replace the sepia screen with a dull grey one. Instead of saloons, picture worn down concrete shops, all closed off with solid metal gates. Not only is there no one in the street, but there's no one behind closed doors either. The path is dusty, but there is no hay. Just some garbage, fluttering in the breeze. A lone man does not pull his pistol. Instead, Israeli soldiers stand at every corner, heavily armed, waiting. This is the Hebron settlement on a Friday - an erie, military ghost town.

When we saw the ultraorthodox walking towards us, each with a chair in hand as they made their way to the synagogue for Friday prayers, we finally decided to turn around. Their reputation of being hostile, along with a soldier telling us previously that if we went forth, we needed to be careful, was enough to scare us back to the other side. Furthermore, for the first time in ages I was conscious of my skin color and how I might be perceived. As we found our way back to the beginning of the main settlement road, a few Jewish girls passed us and said, "Hello! Enjoy your stay." I did not expect that. It was nice, weird, and scary to hear all at once. I didn't know what to make of it.

That was Hebron. Different than any other place we'd been in the West Bank. Jews and Arabs living in the same town. I'm still not sure how to feel about it. It was the first time I felt scared walking around this place. Despite the news recently about Egypt and Lebanon and the exchange of rockets and gunfire, I've always felt safe in this area. Perhaps too much guidebook reading before our Hebron visit scared me for no reason. Perhaps the Jewish girl that wished us well was sincere and misunderstood. Still, I definitely had a tiny adrenaline rush walking into that sad and desolate settlement area. Funny how a bunch of empty buildings and desserted streets could do that to you.

Just a few more days here folks - I've got so much to write about but dont know if I'll have time before I leave. Our crazy checkpoint experience, our walk through the huge Jerusalem settlement Ma'ale Adumim, our time in Nablus - so much to write about! I'll see what I can do the next few days - till then, ma'salama!