Hebron: What's up, Abraham! / Hello, muzzle!

Well, it seems we have some catching up to do. 

Hebron  (al-Khaleel = الخليل)

We had a week off of school for Eid al-Adha at the end of November.  I didn't participate in any of the animal slaughter that was going on, although I did have the opportunity.  I did, however, take advantage of the time off to visit Hebron. 

Hebron is a hotbed for conflict, as it is the only place where there are settlers and Palestinians living in immediate proximity. Everywhere else the settlers are in settlements that are outside of the city, totally separated and under strict guard. In Hebron, there will be settlers who live in one house and Palestinians in the neighboring abode.

Honestly, this was all I knew as I made plans to go there... and by "made plans" I really only mean "set a time to meet at the service station".  I even arrived there a bit late after a sleeping in because of the previous night of planning for a riddle-driven birthday quest for our boss.  I had a vague idea that we could reach Hebron through Ramallah, and I heard that it took far longer than necessary.  This actually brings us to the end of any knowledge I had prior to leaving.

We found that indeed, we were able to go directly from Ramallah to Hebron.  The entire trip there took us about two and a half hours, despite the fact that the distance between our two cities is about 60 mi (99km).  There a many checkpoints along the way, and when our van was stopped at one, a teenager/young man (ages are odd here) was pulled out.  That part didn't take quite as long as the process of the driver making sure he'd been paid for the young man's journey into detention somewhere between Nowhere and Bethlehem.

Once we arrived, I asked a shop owner what I should see considering it was my first trip to Hebron.  "Hammam al-Ibrahimi," he kept telling me.  I got that it was a mosque, but beyond that I wasn't given any further information - or perhaps I was and simply didn't understand.  I certainly didn't understand why a mosque would be called "The Abraham Bath house", but it was more than I had to go on, so we walked in search of it.  In keeping with tradition, no one ever gave detailed directions as to how to get there, but we were instead given the next chunk of the journey and told to just ask someone when we got that far.  I don't know how I'll deal with living in a place with street names again...

As we make our way in that direction, we find ourselves in the old city, in an old souq (market).  As I continue to ask the way, I encounter a woman whose sister had started a woman's collective in Hebron, which was what she was selling there.  I asked her just what was so special about this mosque.  In a mix of Engl-abic, I realized that this was where Abraham - the father of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam alike - was buried, along with his wife Sara, his son Isaac, and Isaac's wife (whose name escapes me).  How appropriate that I visit this place during the Eid al-Adha break.  Eid al-Adha is the holiday that commemorates the event of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac at his lord's behest.  And perhaps how inappropriate that I had no idea before leaving.  If you would like further information on the Tomb of the Patriarchs, as it seems to be called in English, you may find it here.

When I visited the site of Abraham's tomb, a mosquigogue (half mosque, half synagogue), I entered on the Arab side. I went through the requisite IDF security checks, and as I approached the entrance, an Arab man demanded of me and a very confrontational manner, "Where are you from?" I replied, "America," to which he responded - equally as harsh - "What religion are you?" "Christian." His face brightened and a smile lit across it. "Oh, welcome!" He said in a suddenly cheery tone. It occured to me that he likely thought that my friend and I were settlers entering the mosque side.

As we walked inside, I started to cover with my scarf. 

"It's a mosque.  We should probably cover,"  I told Jess. 

"Oh... I didn't bring a scarf..." 

So I drape my outer sweater over her head, but as we walk inside we are directed toward a wall of hooded capes, many of which were made from an odd faux-denim-looking material.  We put them on, looking quite stylish, I assure you, and wandered in.  We look at gates labeled with the names of Abraham, Sara, Isaac, and Wife of Issac (what was her name?). 

 

After leaving the mosque, we return to see Layla as we'd promised, and she tells us that if we walk to the roof of the apartment beside us, that we could see where their water tanks had been shot by settlers. She said something about one of their children dying, but I didn't understand just what, and I feel it impolite to ask people to repeat themselves when discussing the death of young child. So we make our way up to the roof left to wonder.


From the rooftop, which was enclosed by razor wire, we could see a minaret just across the way from two huge water tanks painted with the Israeli flag. Some of the water tanks on this rooftop were inoperative due to their having been shot. That, we were told, was the point. We could also see a large accumulation of trash atop the make-shift roof they'd created over their walkway. We'd been told that the settlers threw things down so often that these were erected everywhere for protection. You could see the same thing throughout the souq.

On the rooftop.  Note the bullet holes in their water tanks and the "Howdy, neighbor!" razor wire.

View from rooftop.  Note the crescent topping a mosque on the left and the water tanks decorated with the Israeli flag in the the more distant right.

From the home we visited.  In the foreground you see clothes hanging on a clothes line - normal part of everyday life for anyone.  Behind that you see the make-shift roof, weighed down by trash, and in the background you can also make out more razor wire.

I talked to a boy who lived in the home we'd visited.  He told me about a DVD that had been made in 2003 or 2004, during the second intifada, when he could not have walked the souq corridor we were then standing in without having been shot.  I bought the DVD from him, although I have not yet watched it in its totality. 

This did not surprise me, as Nenita, the Spanish-Palestinian woman I've befriended in Nablus, showed me the apartment of her son which she had not fixed up since his death.  One of the walls of the apartment was missing from shelling, and the walls were sprayed with bullet holes.  However, in Nablus, there is no razor wire or makeshift rooves to serve as a daily reminder of the tension.  Our reminders are more subtle and removed - like sonic booms.  Funny what passes for subtle... guess everything's relative.

As we wandered the city, I asked a waiter in a restaurant where else we might find these areas with Palestinians and settlers living together.  Other than the old city, which had a clearly demarcated and heavily guarded section for the settlers, everything else looked like a typical Palestinian city. 

"Just walk 20 meters that way," he told us.  Easy enough.  This is what we saw.

Straight ahead, in the mobile unit blocking the road, is a checkpoint with Israeli guard on the other side. 

This sign is indicating that the area is under control of the Israeli military.  I can only assume that this is refering to the varying levels of control within Hebron, with areas classified as H1 or H2.  Here is a wiki-clip to explain:  Restrictions on Palestinian movement in H2

"Palestinian control of Hebron is limited to the 20 or 30 square kiliometers of H1, which contains around 120,000 Palestinians. In H2, where more than 500 Jewish settlers live among 30,000 Palestinians, the Palestinian populations' movements are heavily restricted whilst the Jewish settlers are allowed total freedom of movement and protected by the IDF.[13] Palestinians are not allowed to use Shuhada street, which is one of the main thoroughfares of Hebron, which is restricted to settlers. Shuhada street has received millions of dollars of renovations funded by the United States.
As a result of these restrictions, about half the shops in H2 have gone out of business since 1994, in spite of UN efforts to pay shopkeepers to stay in business. Palestinians cannot approach near where the settlers live without special permits from the IDF. Palestinian criminals come to H2 to flee the Palestinian police.[13]"

On the other side of that trailer.

It was soon time to head home.  I'm not sure that I could actually tell the tale of our journey home and do it any justice... basically the driver of our service was absolutely mad, the traffic was insane, some off-roading was involved, and Jess and I just spoke to each other in Spanish the entire journey home so that we could privately pray for our lives. 

Alrighty... one journey down, several more to go to catch up.

As always, much love.

K

Uhh… boom? ¿Qué es eso?

It's Sunday night (Sunday being the first day of the work week here), and happily it is also the start of my vacation.  We have the rest of the week off - Monday for some sort of Independence Day (independence from what, I don't know) and the following days for Eid.  I'm hoping to do some traveling during the break, perhaps to Hebron and mayhaps elsewhere. 




Was that an explosion I felt, or are you just happy to see me?


Last week was the first week to experience a number of earth-quaking booms, the origins of which I have yet to completely verify.  The first I heard one, I was sitting in a cocktail joint (it's a delicious fruity milkshake thing) and I felt the ground shake.  Considering that absolutely no one inside or outside of the establishment seemed to take notice, I ignored it and assumed that it was simply a harbinger of my descent into madness.  However, when I returned home, my roomies were talking about it, too.  The sensation of the ground, windows, and walls shaking was apparently far more intense by our house.  There was debate as to whether it was a sonic boom or a sound bomb. 


It happened a handful of times while I was at school, and the first time that it happened during a lesson, I ignored the shaking windows, but the second time I stopped the lesson and asked my 5th and 6th grade class, "Hands up - who can tell me what that was?" 


Some said that it was indeed a sonic boom from Israeli jets that were flying nearby, and almost everyone agreed.  They, just like the people in the city center where I had been enjoying my fufakhina (fruit cocktail), took no notice of these occurrences.  One of my students chuckled, looking both amused and somewhat bewildered, and asked, "Are you scared?" 


"No," I answered, "I just want to understand why is it happening all the time now?"  For this they had no answer.


One child - absolutely certain in his analysis - said, "I know what it is.  My dad told me.  It's from the... when Israel..."  Searching for the words in English, he asked if he could draw on the board.  He drew what appeared to be a satellite, and said that Israel was spying on Iran.  I'm not sure how satellites play into this scenario, unless the idea is that they're being catapulted into space with such speed that they are breaking the sound barrier. 


It's interesting how certain people can be in their many theories about what is going on, and how very little idea I ever have as to what is actually going on.  I assume that the majority of the class was correct in their beliefs that these were just regular old sonic booms caused by Israeli jets flying low and fast... although I have yet to figure out why they started occurring with some regularity last week, and then stopped altogether.  It seems that they've been a common tactic in the past (http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2005/nov/03/israel) and the not so distant past as well (http://justimage.org/blog/words/2009/02/18/sonic-boom/), although both of these are referring to Gaza.  I must say that they are a tinge unsettling, in that perhaps-there-has-been-an-explosion-just-outside-and-we-are-under-attack sort of way.


Over the weekend, I took a short trip over to Jerusalem.  It's so interesting passing from one extreme to the other... almost as interesting as how normal it all seems to me now.  The extreme difference in quality of life passing from one side to the next, the inconveniences one must go through to travel such short distances... and it's so in-your-face in Jerusalem since the city is divided itself, with the Arab side and the Jewish side.  On one side, I feel extraordinarily uncomfortable being heard speaking Arabic or even discussing what it is that I do.  On the other, everything looks dirtier and cheaper, but I don't feel that I need to make up a cover story.


I did not begin my touring until Saturday - Shabbat - the Jewish holy day, which means that when I went to the Wailing Wall, I could not take pictures, as this would be offensive to those who keep the Sabbath.  I actually just stumbled upon the West Plaza (that's where the wall is) as I was wandering through the old city without a map or any idea of where I was going.  As I wound through the crowded stone corridors, passing shop after shop selling the same crap, I found myself approaching a metal detector and guards with guns.  This is usually a sign that there's something worthwhile on the other side, so I figured I'd go through.


Once through, I looked to the large sign on the other side of the metal detector, and I read the long and detailed explanation about how it had been declared by rabbis (or a rabbi?) of note that going through a metal detector in this situation was not considered to be breaking the Sabbath.  As I emerged from the tunnel, I saw the wall and the West Plaza, and in the center of the plaza was a sign kindly requesting that visitors refrain from taking any actions that would be considered to break the Sabbath by the devout, including smoking, women having uncovered hair, or using a camera.  They should have included using a pen, as I found myself being corrected by a kind older woman as I began to write on a piece of paper that I would add to the wall overflowing with requests for God.  I put the pen away and quietly gnawed at the cracker I was offered as an opener to the gentle chastisement in Hebrew.  I sat there and thought about the people who were placing their prayers in the wall, and wondered if the strictest among them had written their wishes the day before in preparation. 


Walking backwards - like you do - I wound my way out of the plaza, laughing on the inside as I saw a woman being loudly corrected for her attempt to use a camera.  The woman unfortunately did not understand any of the languages being shouted (Hebrew, English, and body language), and I found the whole scene quite humorous.  There were two exits, one to the left and one to the right, leading to the West and the East respectively.  I quelled my desire for further exploration and for being around things that look new and clean, and I made my way back East, taking a bus back to Ramallah where I would switch and take another to Nablus. I really wish that I had been able to spend more time in Jerusalem, and I fully intend to in the future.  It's a lovely and fascinating city.  Those kids aren't going to learn the word "supercalifragilisticexpialidocious" themselves, though, so I had to get back for my one day of teaching before the break.


My new friend: a super-old Spanish lady in the middle of Palestine.
As I waited for the bus to Nablus from Ramallah, I began speaking to some other women who were waiting for the bus to Nablus, and one of them asked me, "Habla español?" It took a few attempts at asking this question for me to register that she was speaking in Spanish… sort of the way that one reacts differently to the taste of orange juice when they are expecting milk, it just doesn't hit you the same initially. It clicked after a moment, and we became fast friends, chatting during our trip back and making plans to meet back in Nablus. She is a weathered but spritely older woman dressed in the abaiya and hijab, and her Spanish incredibly dusty, which leaves us to speak a mixture of Spanish and Arabic, although many a listener – in the bus and on the streets – have asked her in Arabic, "You speak English?" assuming that must be our mutual language. They, too, were not expecting a random Spanish speaking old woman in the middle of the West Bank.
Nenita (that is her Spanish name; her Arabic name is Mariam) deserves more attention than a snippit here, though, and I have babbled enough for one post. I shall continue with tales of salsy misunderstandings, egg pizza and bullet holes later.

For now, here are some random photos to keep you company. 
If you want to see some adorable photos of my first graders during their enactment of the Hajj, check out the "Photos" section of my class blog.

 

The candle holders I made when my friends ran out of their electricity.  You pay for electricity here the way you would purchase minutes on a pre-paid cell phone.  This was the solution until they could go fill up their card.

No, it's not a Burger King.  It's a Burger Ameer. 

I woke up to find this one morning on my fridge.

Look at that tiger one of my first graders drew.  That is precious.

And that teddy bear?  You're getting a tooth ache, aren't you.

During a rousing game of Never Have I Ever in Jerusalem at the hostel.

Two of our PBS/TFP ladies, Helen and Sara.

Continuation of the hostel games in Jerusalem.

Yeah, that says "F. Z. R. FRiDAY'Z".  No, I have no idea what it's supposed to stand for.

Me with my first graders.

Decapitated heads and skanky lingerie for Ijanib-oween



Karma sold one! 



Here's the word, birds. 



Hamza selling his papes.



Last week we finally got our first edition of the school newspaper out.  My kids had seen some of the movie Newsies, and they also sang a song from the movie for our song competition today (which we won!) and performed scenes from the movie in class.  I unfortunately didn't have my camera charged up for the song competition, but I'll get them singing it on camera again later.  They love it.

Here are some pictures of the kids selling the papers after school.  They look just like the real newsboys who we read about in class.  I'm so proud of them! 

I actually dressed like a "Newsie" myself for Halloween - err, "Costume Day" (Halloween is haram).  The kids wrote in class that they would go on strike if we didn't get to wear costumes, and the principal came into our class and announced that she would give into their demands.  They were SO excited.



I believe Ziad was going for the pirate-biker look.

We didn't do anything particularly Halloween-ish amongst ourselves... although the day before Halloween proper, a few of us did a scavenger hunt around the city that some current and previous teachers had made up.  There was a list of things to photograph or bring back, and each pair had 4 hours to do it.  No Arabic could be spoken, and you could not tell anyone about the game.

Our first point - "A photograph of you inside the headquarters of an international NGO."

My partner, Nick, still at the Red Crescent Society... This was our first photo in an attempt to get points for "A photo of you with a people from 3 different religions."  This guy was Muslim, and unfortunately the Christian who works there wasn't there that day.  In line with the stipulation that no one could be told about the game, we claimed that we were doing research about religious diversity in international organizations in Palestine. 

We made our way to the souq.  This is our photo for the "A photo of both partners in a hijab in a public place."  Another thing we needed was "A shekel you saved by bargaining."  I tried to work that into every other point.  This guy wouldn't budge on the 5 shekel price, so I didn't buy these.

We got points for "A photo with an ijanib you hadn't met before today.  She was a bit startled as to why I shouted "HELLO!" and started talking to her and wanted a photo with her, and Nick made it all the more normal by asking what religion she was (in our effort to get in a picture with people of 3 different religions).  Unfortunately, she said she didn't have a religion, so just one point for the ijanib photo.

We had to get "A photo of you with a hole in the ground toilet".  We hadn't seen one by the time we'd made our way to the nicer part of town, but we did see a toilet store, so we went in there and figured that if we found one it'd still count even if it wasn't usable.  None downstairs, so we ask to be let upstairs.  I'm sure the guy escorting us thought we were insane... we spotted one, and I'm whispering, "Get in the picture!  Lower!  Right by it!"  Then we look around and make some comments about faucets and tiles to avoid seeming quite so crazy, then hoof it on out.

"A photo of you doing something that is illegal in America but not in Palestine" (jaywalking)

"A photo of the decapitated head of a cud-chewing animal" - check.



Other points we scored -

• Food that was given to you by a stranger (not in a wrapper, and you cannot pay for it)
• A shekel saved by bargaining
• A child's toy (that you didn't buy)
• Something haram
• A live animal
• Something that you purchased in a lingerie store for a member of the opposite sex intended to titilate rather than function

The best part was our 1-2-3 combo on the shekel saved, the something haram, and the lingerie.  We went into a place in the souq asked for the price of some ridiculous ladies undies.  15 shekels.  Could we spend less?  10 shekels?  No.  Lightbulb goes off in my head - "Please, we just got married TWO days ago."  Keep in mind, this is only in English, and they don't speak much of it.  I'm pointing at Nick and I, holding up two fingers... who knows what they thought I was saying.  I've stashed my left hand in my purse, realizing that I clearly am not wearing a wedding ring.  They cave.  "You'll get them for me, won't you sweetheart?"  "Of course, darling."  Bing bang boom.  5 shekels saved, something haram, and lingerie in one (terribly uncomfortable) stop.

Hopefully I'll get Nick's photos and video... he had me recap the scenario on video so that the judge (Sean) would believe that we'd truly accomplished all three in one stop.

That's it for now.  A few of us made our way to Ramallah this weekend, which was nice.  Oh, and I've started teaching girls sports at school with Sean... I'll see if I can get some video footage of the game "Knock Miss Kelly Down" this week.  I've also started teaching for another program, Teach For Palestine, teaching older students from the Balata refugee camp. 

Lata yall

K

Update - photo of the haram below....

Uppercase Caterpillars and Graphic Tongueplay

Not a terribly eventful week... here are the things that stand out.


• Uppercase caterpillar

I've been teaching my first graders to distinguish between and identify uppercase and lowercase letters. This week our "read aloud" book was The Very Hungry Caterpillar, in which (**spoiler alert**) a very hungry caterpillar eats a lot of things and becomes big and fat.



I'm reading it to my kids for the first time, and they are loving it. Each new thing that the caterpillar eats has them absolutely riveted. As I turn the page to the first illustration of the newly massive caterpillar, almost every one of the children begins shouting excitedly, "UPPERCASE CATERPILLAR! UPPERCASE CATERPILLAR!"



I kinda want to name my class The Uppercase Caterpillars now, but I don't think that will help in my efforts to convince them that the word uppercase applies only to letters. Boo.



• Make it rain...

"Zero break" is the term used at our school for detention... there are two 20 minute breaks in the day, and if someone gets "zero break" then they will be given a slip of paper which inexplicably has a dinosaur on it and they will have to serve their time.



Also necessary to fully understand the humor in the following story is the colloquial meaning of "make it rain"... it usually refers to dollar bills at a strip club... and I'll leave it at that.



In a moment of frustration as my 5/6th grade class kept speaking in Arabic while they were working together to block their scenes from Newsies, I may have silenced them and then shouted in a very threatening manner, "I will make it RAIN zero breaks! Make it rain."

• Chopfest 2010

My Thursday afternoon excursion included a trip to the store where I had bought the blender/food processor which so infuriated me last week. After a demonstration which assured the merchant that the product did not work, and after a dispute as to how much I had originally paid for it (in all fairness, I was combining shekels, dinars, and dollars for the transaction), I was told that he could not give me my money; the owner would have to come. A few hours later, the owner arrived, plugged it in, and with right-left-right-left-A-B-left-up-right-down secret combo, made the thing work. I spent the rest of the night chopping, slicing, and blending everything I could get my hands on. The culmination of my efforts and zenith of my joy was a fresh salsa eaten on freshly baked pita chips.



This was the highlight of my weekend.

• Palestinian census... or Hamas?

I was at home alone (or so I thought) this morning, and someone was ringing the doorbell. I'm not a fan of answering the door, considering that if someone is buzzing or knocking, I probably don't know them, and I'm typically terribly haram inside the house and would prefer not to have my haven of haram invaded.



These people wouldn't give up, so I finally caved and opened the door (after covering my shameful shoulders and thighs). Apparently our landlord had commissioned some gents to do some work outside, and they wanted me to take down the clothes hanging on the clothes lines outside. Growing increasingly irritated (because I'm a jerk), I take down the clothes my various roommates were drying and head back inside. Annoyed that there will be men out there for the rest of the morning, meaning that I won't be able to be haram near any of our back windows or on our back porch, I head into my room and re-haram.



I've barely had time to get my naked shoulders settled when there's another round of knocking at the door. Muttering a few things (which were definitely haram), I sleeve myself up and wrap a skirt around me to open the door, finding - to my surprise - a woman wearing an official-looking badge, carrying a clipboard and a suitcase. She begins asking me questions in Arabic as I return little more than a quizzical look.



"Do you live here?" she asks me in Arabic. "Yes," I reply. She continues down a line of questioning which seems rather odd coming from a stranger who has just arrived at your door, although I'm sure it would have made more sense if I had a broader vocabulary. I stop her.



"Who are you? Why are you asking these questions?"



In the end, I decided that she was telling me that she was administering the census, however the likelihood of such a thing occurring in the West Bank seemed a bit incredible to me.



In the end, I believe that I've either participated in a Palestinian census, or I've just sealed the fate of myself and my cohabitants in some way or another.



Time will tell.

• Things I should mention:
• Shapes have joined the Axis of A#*holes at the bidding of my colleague, Helen.
• I had a grown man stick his tongue out at me in an odd, licking fashion when I chastized him from the street for trying to run me over.  Strangest manisfestation of road rage I think I've ever seen.  Surprised and disturbed by the simultaneously graphic and childish display, I resorted to a more traditional response and flipped him off.  First time to do such a thing here, but I was caught off guard and it just slipped out...
• I'm teaching my kids to sing like the kids in Newsies.  "Not 'a Saturday night with the mayor's daughter', it's 'uh Satuh-day niyt wid da maya's dahw-tah'!" 
  Awesome.

That's it.  Bedtime in Nablus.

Cheers.

China has joined the Axis of A#$holes.

It's the end of another week.  Main events of the week include going to school, tutoring on the side, dinner with our principal, the continuation of Gossip Girl season 2, and the joy of having successfully downloaded some of the new seasons of 30 Rock and It's Always Sunny in Philidelphia. 

Having purchased a blender/food processor would be on that list, but the thing appears to be better suited for placement in a model home than actual use.  The instructions are in Hebrew, and I have received no response from my email to the Chinese manufacturer.  One of my roommates insists that this is an intentional FU from Israel, and I hold the Chinese culpable.  Either way, both countries have now joined my personal Axis of A#$holes.  I'm keeping a list.

As I wasted hours of my time fiddling with the homefill, digging around on the internet searching for answers, I kept hearing the nightly "booms" that we typically hear around 10pm, although this time they were followed by car horns and then sirens.  None of this deterred me from my quest, but my efforts were fruitless nonetheless.  To date, I have no idea how to use my blender, nor do I have any idea what those booms are.

That's it for now.  Below are some quotes from my life here for your enjoyment.

"Haram"-related quotes
The following things are haram:  exposed shoulders, kneecaps, the female form, the smoking of cigarettes in public by women, and a good amount of my normal activity.  *Note:  I'm not dressing like a pirate-hooker, but just wearing a tank top constitutes showing off my haram-bits.

• "Hey, if you're gonna be haram, stay in here.  The owner of the building is here."
• "Guys, the Arab staff isn't coming in on Saturday, so if you want to be haram, you can." 
  (pause)  "I think she's talking to you, Kelly." 
  "Yes, I was."

Things our kids say

• I taught one of my first graders to answer the question "How are you?" with the response "Straight chillin."  It's awesome.
• One of my 5/6th graders had been touching me too much, and I had told her frequently, "We don't touch Miss Jones."  After school she was touching me again, and I asked her, "What do we say?"  Her immediate response -
  "Life isn't fair." 
  "No, Karma, not our class motto; the other thing.  About touching me."
  (For the record, she wouldn't say "We don't touch Miss Jones" until I sat on her and crumpled leaves in her face.)
• "Miss Jones, Miss Jones?"
  "Yes, Nassir?"
  "Uh... Close only counts in horse shoes-es and... uh... what is it? Gredanes?"
  "Hand grenades."
  "No, it's just gredanes."
  "No, HAND grenades."
  (Miss Jones pantomimes pulling the pin of a hand grenade with her teeth and hurling it at Miss Jessica, imitating the sound of Miss Jessica exploding.)
  "Keep working on it Nassir. No Jone$ies unless it's perfect by the time you get in line."
• "Students, there will be no Jone$y Store this week for anyone because Nouraldeen didn't do his homework."
  (a collective groan comes from the class)
  "What should we do about Nouraldeen not doing his homework?"
  "We should kill him with a knife!"
  "No, Bilal, let's not kill our classmates with a knife.  How about we just remind him to do his homework."

Weekend wrap-up

Weekend in Nablus, which means I have the energy and time for an update.  I'll keep with the present for the most part rather than playing any catch-up on the time that I wasn't posting.

I spent the entirety of my last weekend at school working on lesson plans and preparations for the week to follow.  The difficulty I've had making lesson plans was rather surprising, but after co-planning my last week with my director, I feel that I have a better handle on what I should be doing.

In the midst of my marathon work weekend, I received an email notifying me that Josh Rake had died in a car accident.  For those of you who don't know, I basically grew up with my best friend, Melissa, after the age of 12.  Her brothers are like my brothers, and Josh and his twin Matt have been close friends of her younger brother Ryder for the last decade or so. 

Immediately after receiving the email, I got a skype call from my family, along with my 2 year old niece.  Seeing her smiling face, singing Itsy Bitsy Spider with her, and making faces back and forth allowed me to wipe away the thought of the painful news I'd just received. 

Josh's funeral was held two days ago.  Ryder was a pallbearer.  The Itsy Bitsy Spider's effects finally wore off on me by Thursday.  Not being around people who share your grief seems to compound it.  Not being there to comfort the people you love who are grieving sucks, too. 

The Strouds had another loss this week, Uncle Rick.  In less than a week's time, Bob and Ryder will both be pallbearers for their close friends.  If you are reading this, please keep the Strouds in your thoughts and prayers right now.  Please keep the Rake family in mind as well.  Josh's parents just lost their 20 year old son, and Matt just lost his twin.

My great-aunt Beverly just passed away yesterday, as well.  Beverly had been suffering, and we all hope that she has now found relief. 

On a lighter note, I heard Avril Lavigne's "Complicated" played on the banjo yesterday.  Must say that it was the highlight of my day, if not my week.

Love to all. 

Episode Uno.

My apologies for the lack of updates.  I was working on a video compilation about two weeks ago, but after my efforts being thwarted by technology, or perhaps by a defecit of skills on my part, I gave up.

Yesterday was the official one month mark in Nablus.  It's been a good experience thus far, with a smattering of the requisite frustrations.  I'll start with my first week - Enjoying the Honeymoon.

During the first week, my co-workers and I were basically just settling in.  At this point there were five of us.  Greg (from Colorado, the People-eating State) and Delphino (a small boy trapped in the body of a giant wall of a man) were the two who I met at the airport.  When we found our way to our new place, Jess, our house-mom/Assistant to the English Director/First and Second Grade Teacher Extraordinaire was there to welcome us.  We all chose rooms in the spacious 4-bedroom flat, although at that time it was uncertain who would be staying there, as the final roster of Team PBS was not yet settled.  The lower level of our place is occupied by our fearless leader, He Who Is the English Department, "Dr. Sean". 

The boys and I took a trip to Jerusalem a few days after arriving to pick up our newest teacher, who we were to meet at the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem.

In front of the Damascus Gate in Jerusalem

There were a few issues with our plan.  It was the last Friday of Ramadan, and on that day, Palestinians who might not usually be able to get into Jerusalem are permitted so that they can pray on this very special day.  Well, despite this, the checkpoint at Kalundia was shut down.  We arrived to a mass of cars, taxis, and people on foot crowded on our side of the cement blockades, and Israeli soldiers on the other.  I have a short video below that I tried to take discretely. 

We followed Sean's lead, who has found in his four years of living in the West Bank that when all else fails, repeat the word "American".   With a wave of our magic blue passports, the soldiers let us to their side of the baracades and we were free to make our way to the waiting area with the turnstiles to take part in the spectacle 50 people trying to get through 3 turnstiles, each of which actually let someone through once every 5 minutes, typically to turn them away.  Apparently, those younger than 60 would not be permitted entry, despite the rumor that the cut-off was 50, and likewise no entry after 12:00 noon, as the entry allowance was for that prayer.  After finally getting through myself, I told my co-worker, "I haven't felt so happy to be an American in a long time." 


Now through, we made our way to the Damascus Gate, where we were to find the newest member of our team in a sea of hundreds of people.  Sean and I were the only two to have seen his picture, and Delphino and Greg were instructed by Sean to "just look for a black vampire."  And so it went that we searched for Blade in the Holy Land.

After seeing this sign, I realized why people didn't understand where I wanted to go when I asked which way to the Damascus Gate, having litterally translated those words.  The litteral translation would have been "baab dimeshq" - the gate of Damascus.  In Arabic it's actually called "baab al-a'amood" - the gate of the column.

Street in front of the Damascus Gate.  Note the guy with cart impeding traffic.  There was some honking involved.

Five hours later, no vampire sightings, and I was apparently sitting in an open-air urinal.  Fortunately my sense of smell leaves something to be desired... with the exception of this case, in which I was pleased to be able to sit in the one available shady spot without being driven away by the (apparently) overwhelming odor. 

We finally gave up on Blade, assuming that he would not come out while the sun was up, and we made our way back to Nablus.  The return journey included a ride in a shared taxi bus ("service") with fewer seats than people, and I ended up riding in a hole, balled up on the floor.  I might note that it had plenty of seats, simply one less than the driver wanted to cram in, and I was not forced into the hole but chose it myself after deciding that it was the only way the bus would ever start moving.  My attempt to crawl into the hole was, in true form, less than graceful, and assumingly left the other passengers with the renewed belief that all ijanib (foreigners) are classless/tactless/inappropriate/goingstraighttohell.  If only I could assure them that I offend sensibilities equally in the West. 

By the time we had reached our destination, I had a fantastic opportunity to practice my Arabic, translating for Sean's belligerent confrontation with our taxi driver regarding the price of our transport.  It was an extra 5 shekels that day due to the high demand (it being the last Friday of Ramadan and all), which displeased Sean, to put it mildly.  Finally, after telling him that I did not intend to translate the word "theif" into Arabic, Sean threw his 20 shekels through the window of the van and walked off.  I politely handed the man my own 20 shekels, as did the others.  I wish that I had this on video.


Well, that's it for now.  Although that only gets you into the first week, I'm going to stop with that adventure and get some work done for school.  Next time on IPS - Our cast of characters expands... and then contracts; adventures in the souq; and Kelly's attempt at being a teacher.  We'll make our way to present day soon, where you'll hear about my weekend in Tel Aviv, my newfound addiction to Gossip Girl, and the difficulties and joys I've encountered in my first attempt at being an elementary school teacher.  Once we catch up, I'll try to keep this updated more regularly. 

Much love, y'all.

Kelly out.

Snug as a bug in a rug

Oh happiest of days!  After all sorts of chaos, I'm finally here in my new home.  Here's some catch-up on the last day and a half of travels -

I received a call Tuesday morning around 8:30am (only three and a half hours before I had to be at the airport) letting me know that, after analyzing the blood test I had done on Friday, it turns out that I do not now, nor did I ever have what they thought I had.  Perhaps I just needed that experience to prove to myself just how determined I was to do this?  Who knows, but I'm not one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, cuz that's how you get Oregon Trail diseases.  (Isn't that how the saying goes?)

From DFW, I flew into Philadelphia, and from there I went straight to Tel Aviv.  After making my way through passport control, I was to meet up with two of my coworkers.  After a short period of wandering and wondering if I would ever find them, I spotted one guy who looked suspiciously like one of the two who I'd seen on Facebook.  It was them, and after our cumulative idiotic attempt at using the Israeli payphone to call one of our fellow teachers/admins, we gave up and decided to just ask the taxi driver we ended up using to use his phone.  We did, and he kindly allowed us, despite my painful butchering of Hebrew. 

He drove us to the spot where we were to meet our next contact, who would take us to our final destination.  I'm going to make my first attempt at including video so you can see what I recorded during the trip from the airport.

We were all pretty relieved to finally be done with the traveling portion.  While we were in route (yesterday) there was a shooting of four Israeli settlers, which the armed wing of Hamas has claimed credit for.  There were concerns that this might make our passage through all of the check points more complicated, but this was not the case.  Political/historical/backgroundical sidenote - Hamas is in power in Gaza, and this group has a strong rivalry with Fatah, the group in power in the West Bank.  It is significant that Hamas would take action in the West Bank (where it is banned, and where Mahmoud Abbas controls as president), and this coming at the time as recent discussions of resuming peace talks does not seem the least bit coincidental (Abbas is the one involved in the prospective peace talks).

We reached the house easily, and it is fantastic.  There will be one more house in order to accomodate everyone, so it's not certain who will end up where, but this one is fantastic.  Photos to come.

I went for a short jog and then came back after having realized that I was possibly lost and finding my way back with the help of some little boys, worked out in my room, showered up, and then walked to a store down the street to get some food to make breakfast in the morning.

So there it is.  No one can complain that I didn't check in, cuz this shiznit is on the inferwebs.  Love to all of you who helped me get here, and please know that I am totally safe and very, very happy.

Til next time.

On my way!

Just found out this morning... Plan A is back!  No more scouring the internet!  Huzzah!

No updates just yet...

This morning I got a request by the people at the school to send over all of my results and whatnot, and they were planning to take them to the Ministry of Health. I haven't heard anything since. So it would seem that the final word has not yet been uttered.


In the meantime, I have been scouring the internet and exhausting my contacts to figure out Plan B.  There are a number of possibilities in Egypt, but because I have access to a listserv for expats in Cairo that allows me to network more efficiently, it's probably misrepresentative of reality.  I feel like Jordan may be a better starting point, considering I have more contacts who are closer by way of degrees of separation, and also considering that it's about 250 miles from Tel Aviv to Cairo and about 65 from Tel Aviv to Amman.  I have been in contact with someone in Bethlehem - which is about halfway between Tel Aviv and Amman - who has an extra room and would allow me to use it for a bit while getting things sorted out.  Now my thoughts are circling around things like - "If I don't have a stable place to live and I'm going to be frequently on the move... two 50 lb. bags are not acceptable."  So now I'm trying to figure out how to score an adequate hiking pack.  There may be a drive to Waco in my future (a friend in Austin has one, we may meet in the middle tomorrow).
 
Right now, nothing is certain.  I am at once incredibly overwhelmed by and surprisingly at peace with that reality.  And who knows, perhaps I'll find out on Monday when my test results come in that the first test was wrong and there never was anything to worry about!  I'm not keeping my fingers crossed on that one.
 
Just 2.5 more days.

Here we are.

Here's the news:

1)  Took a blood sample to be tested in the hopes that the initial test provided a false positive.  Results come in Monday.

2)  Got a call from the school.  No job for me.  If it was a false positive, I assume that would turn around.  The likelihood that it was a false positive... I have no idea.

3)  I'm now looking for other possibilities that would allow me to use the plane ticket and maybe find a different job.  Anyone have any contacts in Egypt?

Fingers crossed for somethin' good.

Well, crap.

My flight takes off Tuesday.  That's 4.5 days from now.  And I don't know if I'll be on that plane or not.

The question stems from a medical concern.  My last job (which I quit in order to take this one) was at a refugee resettlement agency.  As a little background, since not everyone is aware of refugee resettlement policy or practice in the US, or even what a refugee is for that matter, here are the cliff notes:

1. You (individually or with your family) are not able to stay in your home due to legitimate concern for your safety, and you are not able to seek help regarding this matter from your own government (typically your own government is the reason you can't stay).  So whether you are of a minority ethnic group, 'inappropriate' religion (in the eyes of your persecutors, that is), or you are an activist speaking out against a repressive regime, you had to leave your home country. 
2. You can't stay whereever you originally fled to, so you work with various international organizations and state governments (the US resettles over 50% of refugees who are resettled worldwide) to find a home in a third country.
3. If that third country is the US, our government works with various national agencies, who filter down to local resettlement agencies which will help provide some basic needs and other types of assistance for a period of time.  This is where I worked.

Understandably, coming from these backgrounds, health conditions in the places our clients came from were not typically as keen as one might hope.  The end story is that I was diagnosed with something that is not communicable at present, and it is unlikely to become a risk to myself or anyone around me in the future. 

I was diagnosed yesterday, at which time I notified my contact at the school where I would be teaching, informing her also that my doctor gave me clearance to travel and to teach children with zero qualms.  I got in contact with a friend of a friend living in the area, a doctor himself, who told me that I would be able to get the medicine I will need over there (which changes the small statistical likelihood that I could become contageous to an even smaller one), and he also said that he would be happy to help me in this endeavor.  His email was forwarded to my contact at the school, and she said she would forward it to her supervisors.

This evening, after having finally forgotten how incredibly stressed out I was about all of this, I received a voicemail from my contact at the school, who informed me that there are 'concerns'.  She does not know which direction the concerns will lead them, but there are indeed concerns.  Those who make decisions will speak tomorrow, I hear.

Basically, whether or not I have a job is not guaranteed at present.

So it's 12:30am on Friday morn.  I've given up my job in Austin.  I've given up my home in Austin.  I've cancelled my car insurance.  And of course don't have medical insurance, considering I gave up the job that provided the insurance... and ironically enough it was that job which provided the need for the insurance.  I have a non-refundable ticket that cost me almost a grand.

...

My flight leaves in 4.5 days.  And I don't know if I'll be on it.

Wrapping up Austin like a Breakfast Taco.

T minus 16 days.

Yesterday was a milestone; it was my last day of work at RST. The plan was to shut down the office at 2pm, feast on a variety of goodies brought by co-workers for a potluck (unless you were fasting... ouch, bad timing for a potluck!), then leave and enjoy happy hour nearby. And my own party was scheduled for 9pm that night, so full day.

The morning started a bit late after an AM/PM mix up on my alarm... Tired from staying up all night making salsa and preparing the sangria, I realized once I got to work that I'd trained my replacement well, and I really had little to do. I had never once been present in that office and been so entirely useless. It was an odd feeling considering the fact that I'm usually flying around that place with my mind racing as I try to keep a mental hold on the 52 things I need to get done.

So I did productive things like make Melissa mimic the pose of the drawing she so loves on the side of one of the donations bins.

I got one last nuzzle, although Elyce informed me that it was perhaps more of a motorboat...

I took pictures of the things I'll miss... like the wall of drawings I'd created behind my desk from kids who came through the office.

Thanks to the arrival of warm, delicious, homemade taquitos (thanks, Cleanton), I was able to survive until the 2pm feast. Everyone drew teardrops on their faces and most wore black in honor of the departure (of both myself and our final summer interns). One of our old interns even came by to say bye to me and to show off her new baby. Twas joyous indeed.

Here you can see our photo sessions displaying the tears some had drawn on... imagine me yelling in the background, "LOOK SAD! NO, YOU - SAD! SADDER!"

Off to the Flying Saucer where many of the ladies of the office (where are all the men?!) enjoyed some beers, discussed the Refugee Ruff Riders membership, recounted the exaggerations of true stories that they would tell about me after I was gone to the new people, somehow started talking about Miley Cyrus which turned into a 2 Live Crew discussion with Jenny... Twas magical.

My side of the table is clearly unaware that the other side all has their fingers crossed.

Then off to my place, choppin' berries and grillin' quesadillas for my party. I told everyone who came that they were supposed to burn me a CD and write a quote on it. Here are some of the quotes:

• "I make it a rule to never smoke while I'm sleeping" (Mark Twain)
• "The first person you meet when traveling is yourself"
• "Why did you bring me here to live in the street!? Tell me why!!" (Anonymous)
• "Sometimes you just have to pee in the sink." (Charles Bukowski)
• "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." (Mark Twain)
• "I'm the one who said just grab 'em in the biscuits." (Digital Underground - The Humpty Dance)
• "For rectal use only" (medicine bottle)

The content of the cds, most mixes, included artists such as:

George Clinton

Edith Piaf

Oum Kalthoum

The Kinks

The Misfits

Sir Mixalot

Ricardo Arjona

Manu Chau

Billie Holiday

There was also one cd complete with introductory Czech lessons (the cd was titled - "Czech Yo Self"). You never know when you might need to know a little basic Czech.

The driveway circle.

The drink station... Kate making martinis once we ran the sangria down to nothing but fruit.

Me n Trish. No caption required.

Dancing to "Booty Time," the cd Melissa burned for me. I was rockin the cat ears all night because the party was on Friday the 13th.

So I'm officially done at work... I've finished my favorite job I've ever had, where I met more amazing people than one should hope to meet in a lifetime and learned and grew in one year more than I did in the last five combined. I'll be drivin' out of this city in less than 72 hours.

Next stop - Lafayette, LA to see my brother and drop off some furniture. Then back to Dallas until it's time to fly out. In Tel Aviv by September 1. And then the next adventure begins...