After a full day of I teaching at an elementary school and an additional couple of hours working an after school program, the director of the program came by and asked if I wanted to head over to the class taught by my friend Helen at the Balata refugee camp.
"Yeah, sure. Can we stop at the produce guy on the way home?"
"Sure."
And so the evening began. Knowing Sean, I should have realized that the agenda would entail far more than just a stop by the Balata class.
Sean and I arrive at the site, directed in by an 8 year old boy waving us in and then holding up his hands as an indication to stop, as though we otherwise wouldn't think to stop before plowing down a pack of small children. I doubt it occurred to him that the more prudent choice may have been to avoid standing in the middle of a roadway. No matter. I smile and wave.
Stepping into Helen's class, I see two of my students from my 5/6th grade class at my elementary school. I had forgotten that they'd gone to help out. Our elementary school caters to the wealthier echelon of Nablusi society. Those kids don't run around without shoes on in the winter like these kids. It was nice to see two of my girls helping out in the classroom.
After a while I pulled my girls out to review what they had missed in my class that day. I had adapted a reading from Al Jazeera English called "Women of the Revolution". We read the stories of women who were involved in the protests in Egypt. I was excited to teach them about women who stood up to the police, women who were on the front lines and took rubber bullet shots, women who lied to their parents* to participate in the protests, women with an interest in politics, women who are active and resourceful. Strong qualities such as these are not typically encouraged among women here, so I enjoy exposing them to things like this.
*I would like to point out that the women to which I am referring are indeed adults. The woman who lied to her parents to participate in the protest was Gigi Ibrahim, a 24 year old political activist. I did not encourage my students to lie to their parents. However, if they came away with the idea that a 24 year old woman ought to be able to make her own decisions, I wouldn't begrudge them that.
Soon after we finished reading, Helen's class was over and it was time to head home. But first, a short stop at the Balata pet shop (unexpected stop #1). My students were hauled into the shop to serve as translators for Sean, who was apparently in the market for an iguana. Who knew. After exchanging numbers, feeling confident that he would soon be the proud new parent of a four-legged scaly friend, we headed off.
But wait! We need to pick up Mr. Jon from the boys' TFP site (unexpected stop #2). Somewhere along the way it occurs to us that one of the girls lives dang near to the Mediterranean, and that not only will the hilly trip be a challenge for our humble coach, but we'll need more gas just to make it there. So after picking up Jon, we stop for gas (unexpected stop #3).
Sean hands the guy a 20 shekel note to put in the tank.
One of my girls looks at the 20 shekel note in shock. "20 shekels! My dad gives the man 200 shekels when he buys gas!"
"Well, maybe your dad should encourage the school to pay its teachers more money."
Incidentally, I gave my students the opportunity to write an essay for extra credit (actually, for up to 3 Jone$ies, my class currency) about what they would protest about and why... this student wrote a superb essay about how she wants to protest about the English teachers not being paid enough money. She cited the gas incident, noting that if we can only pay 20 shekels for gas, how can we even buy fruits and vegetables?
Back on our journey to take the kids home, we realize that Jon needs to return to the boys' school briefly (unexpected stop #4).
Yet again, back on our journey, we make our way to drop off our students. Having been working for the last 11 hours straight, I am moaning in the back seat, demanding that we stop for hummus. I bribe my students with Jone$ies, telling them that if they spot a hummus vender, and that leads to my eating hummus, that I will give them 4 Jone$ies.
They got no Jone$ies, and I no hummus. However, we were concerned that our trusty stead wouldn't make it up the hills to the second student's house and were ready to celebrate when it did. My student just about broke her leg scurrying out of the car, desperate to get away from all of us crazy ijanib who were made even crazier by our lack of food and sleep.
We decided that the only thing to do then was to make a trip to the Samaritan Village. The Samaritans are a very small ethnic community that lives on the top of one of the two mountains that are situated at either side of Nablus. They practice a religion that has its roots in Judaism, although it is not precisely the same. Their community is nonetheless protected by an Israeli checkpoint, and I generally have to surrender my passport to enter. A number of our students are Samaritan. The best thing about the Samaritans is that in their set of beliefs, alcohol is not haram.
But wait, yet again! Jon has recieved a call that the electricity is out at his house. We were going to stop by there for money anyhow, but now he has to stop and give some minor training in how to refill the pre-paid electricity card. At least during this stop, I got to hop out and buy some hummus, making unexpected stop #5 a somewhat pleasant one.
So we make our way to the SV, parking just before the check point and jumping into the car of the alcohol runner - the guy who takes calls all day and night and delivers orders to the checkpoint for those who would not be allowed onto the other side (ie, non-Samaritan Arabs). He lets us hop in and we surrender our passports at the checkpoint. One of my coworkers was without a passport, so we were apparently let in with a 30 minute window to return. We were not aware of this fact. There is now a timer on unexpected stop #6.
He drives us to his store, telling us that we'll have to wait while he goes somewhere. We agree, and mull around the shop attached to his store. We grab some cold ones from the fridge, and I also grab a giant tub of ice cream, and we sit down at a table in the abandoned restaurant/shop. As we tip our beverages back, I bust out the ice cream and grab some spoons, and we all sit there eating from the communal ice cream bucket.
"Ummm... I think some students just ran past the window."
"What?"
"Well, I saw a small person looking, then pointing, then running."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I slide my bottle to let it hid near the leg of the table. We all start going through the list of Samaritan students, each of us praying that it isn't one of our own.
A student walks in.
I lose.
It was one of my kids. "My mom wants you to come for tea." Aww, crap. Unexpected stop #7 is officially the least expected of all the unexpected stops. Of course we accept, telling him we'll be over shortly. At this point, the driver returns to allow us to make our purchases, and informs us of the 30 minute time limit. Perhaps after 30 minutes our passports would turn into pumpkins, I don't know.
Regardless, we go for tea at my students' house. One of their sons is in my first grade class, and another in my 5th grade class. I was quite relieved that of all the days that this could have happened, it was the exact day that the older boy had been returned to my class from the lower level of English. I was also pleased that, despite the fact that I did not realize he'd be returning to my class that day, when he was ushered in by Mr. Sean, I immediately had my kids start singing the song I'd taught them when we returned to school this semester- the theme song to "Welcome Back, Kotter".
After enjoying some tea and seeming to terrify all three of the family's sons (two of which are my own students), our host was called by someone to remind him of our time limit. I don't know if the guy from the store of the guy from the checkpoint was calling... that's just how it is around here. Everybody knows everybody and everybody knows everybody else's business. Despite our protests, my students' dad insists that he drive us back to the checkpoint.
"I left some things at the store."
The car clinked all the way back to the checkpoint.
Piling back into our sadmobile, we finally head to the produce shop. This is so far the only stop, other than Balata, that I had expected. On the way, though, Sean gets a call from the guy at the pet store.
"Hello? Umm, hold on. I have a friend who speaks Arabic."
Sean hands me the phone. We talk shop, getting the price and other terms settled. The highlight for me was when I was asked to find out if he could also get a heat rock or a heat lamp. I was rather disappointed that I was unable to communicate these concepts to the man on the other end of the phone.
Hours after we'd begun, I finally got my avocados, bell peppers, tomatoes and bananas.
I must say that I enjoy the randomness that fills so many of my days. Sometimes I feel like my life is what a life would be if a child were given permission to design the life of an adult.
Speaking of which, there's a baby bunny running across my floor who I must attend to.
Hope all is well with you and yours, where ever you all may be.
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| This is Nourmeen. She'll get her own post at some point. |
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| Negotiations successful. |
