A Different Reality

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I suppose now we're getting to the crux of things. I'm in Nablus (Finally), actually even writing this from the center I'm working at. I really should be working- I have a 15 page project proposal due on Monday.

Well, I suppose, first things first.

What did come first? ...I arrived at the center, and finally met Bilal, the director. He immediately put me at ease, the first day jitters completely disappeared. Within the hour, we're hurtling off to this little town near Nablus to do the certification for this volunteer training program they had there over the last couple of days. We managed to make it there in record time (10-15 minutes), thanks to a gate/checkpoint that they only recently opened, managing to avoid the previously 45 minutes drive around that it took in prior years.

I start feeling completely like deadweight. (Isn't there an expression about that?... like... a log... or something?)

Turns out I'm the only international volunteer- everyone else is Palestinian. And as much as I struggle, the meagre Arabic I learned in Cairo just isn't sufficient, nor is it coming back fast enough. Thankfully, I had two girls graciously translate the discussion forum for me. It was a group of 16(ish) 19-20 year old Palestinians, all sharing their ideas on development. It was a really good introduction to the overall situation here.

Furthermore, I 'moved' into my new apartment- two floors up exactly from where the center is. It's a 'dorm' apartment for students at An-Najah University, the university here in Nablus, but currently it's summer break, and very few families let students live on their own for studies, so it's largely empty.

But not quite so. I could devote an entire entry to my flatmate, an 'interesting' woman named Eimear. She's Irish and an English teacher. For now, I think the best description is one that popped into my head as she was endlessly talking at me yesterday: This woman reminds me a LOT of Susan Boyle. (Britain's Got Talent)

The apartment is and isn't what I expected. It's huge- with a living room, tv, phone, fridge, washing machine, a balcony, and two huge bedrooms with 4 beds in each, but it's just the two of us. However, it. was. disgusting.

This woman, who must be about 40, had lived there a year, and when I asked her whether or not there were cleaning supplies, she said 'no', and that she'd complained multiple times but no one came to clean.
There were cleaning supplies. She just had never cleaned it.

With a lot of help, I cleaned it yesterday, and I finally had to spray Off all over myself at 1am to get over the feeling that I was being attacked by bedbugs. Which I wasn't, but the place was just that gross.

I know where I am, and I expect flies and whatnot, but ... ugh. I'm not going to even talk about it anymore, it really just makes me want to throw up.

Anyway, I barely had time there when I arrived, because I spent the night at Bilal's house. I love his family- Ahmed (22), Reem (19), Fayrouz (16), and Masa (5). Hopefully there will be more news of them in the following weeks. I met pretty much their entire extended family that day, running into cousins here and there. I also *might* be invited to her cousin's wedding on the 17th (it was offered, but not clarified) Initially excited, I now dread having to find something to wear. If so, I need to be prepared to be seen in very, very bright colours, a la Arab.

In all, the Palestinians that I have met have all been surreal in their generosity and kindness. As in Algeria, I keep assuring everyone that I will spread the news home that they are not dangerous people, but in fact, are far warmer and friendlier than anyone you'd ever meet back in what is a very private Western society.

Because this is getting quite long, I'm going to sum up with various tidbits that I've learned thus far:

"These people live in a completely different reality than we do.
Imagine not being able to wander by yourself, for fear of harassment from men, but also from the Israeli Defense Force (IDF).
The IDF is never called the long name, because people are so familiar with its presence. It was one of the first things I learned when I arrived in Israel.
...being limited in where you travel, in your own country.
Palestinians are not allowed in Jerusalem, and they are only allowed in Israel proper for a day at a time, no longer.
...not even having your own country.
Reem, who is quite socially and politically inclined, talked about the frustration she feels when people introduce her as 'Israeli' when she so clearly identifies herself as 'Palestinian.'
...being continually misunderstood.
Many identify terrorists as bad Muslims. They themselves harbour little resentment toward the West, but that doesn't matter. The connotative definition of 'Palestinian' is practically 'terrorist' in the West.
...having no voice to clear up the misunderstanding.
Thus, I believe, the amazing treatment of me. People want to prove that they are good people; hopefully I will be able to convince some people back home."

However, at the discussion in the town near Nablus, this one guy inspired protest from Bilal and my translators by gesturing to me while making a point. Again, completely clueless, I just smiled quizically. He was arguing that foreigners come in in a neocolonial attempt to impose our culture on the Palestinians. I told my translator not to get angry, he had a very legitimate point, and I think the whole forum was amazing, with young people sharing their thoughts on development. I mean, that's the first step, generally!

Among many other things, I've learned the only acceptable jobs for women (outside the home, of course), are as teachers. However, I just met a female engineer, and Reem is studying engineering, so you see buds of hope there.
Furthermore, it's pretty much unacceptable in any social situation for girls and guys to interact. I asked Reem, and it's pretty shunned to even go out in large groups with mixed genders. Attraction is mainly shown by covert glances, but certainly no talking. If you're seen talking with a boy, that's the source of scandal.
Covering up is a sign of respect for the self. You don't need to go about exposing yourself to others; men will only want you for your physical self, not caring about the intellectual or emotional sides to your personality. (I could write a whole entry on this-- I might. I generally agree with this concept, and don't consider the hijab any form of oppression unless unilaterally enforced)
However, this 'no talking' policy makes it very hard for anyone to appreciate any member of the opposite sex's personality... all you have at your disposal is heresy and good looks.

Which is why many marry for wealth. It's very Jane Austen-esque; mothers looking for profitable matches for their children, especially their daughters.

A woman is supposed to wax/shave her entire body before giving birth. If she doesn't do it, a nurse will grudgingly do it, but she is labelled as disgusting and unclean. I'm not sure, but I think this applies to every day life- they must make sure they are relatively 'hairless' (although that word doesn't seem to fit) before they go to the mosques, etc. for cleanliness' and holiness' sakes.

Most of you don't know, but Muslims are expected to pray five times a day. You can hear the muezzin/ call to prayer at 430am or earlier, especially if you are slightly jetlagged like me. On Friday, their holy day, they are especially expected to go to the mosque. Well, men are. Women don't have to, because a woman's place is considered to be in the home.

Ok. I HAVE learned other facts other than challenges facing women in Muslim society, but as I'm reading "Infidel" by Ayaan Hirsi Ali (a GREAT read), it seems to be my current focus.

I suppose to counteract, I will say that my next entry will be mostly about the IDF, and the surreal security enforcement here in Israel. My Dorothy moment ("Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore") came when, while shopping with Bilal's wife, daughters, and nieces, I held up a shirt that said "SHOOT ME" among other things, in poorly written English. We joked about wearing it to Huwarra checkpoint, where the IDF are famously rather loose with their rifles.

A different reality, indeed.

Stacey

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