On paper, it doesn't look too far from Nablus to Jerusalem. However, maps don't take into account the Palestinian bus system, West Bank traffic, checkpoints, and the Hunger Games esque situation that is boarding a bus in this country. Add to that getting lost after another perplexing failure of relying on printed maps from Google to get me from A to B, and you can find yourself with quite a long and arduous journey on your hands. This allowed me plenty of time for reflection though, and I couldn't help but hark back to my days of reading Maus when, while waiting in line at a checkpoint, our queue was kept entertained by an ongoing battle between a cat and a mouse. By the time my turn had come, the mouse had managed to wedge itself between a pillar, temporarily protected from the cat, but completely incapable of escape. All that was now needed was for a dog to enter and initiate fruitless dialogues with each party. How insightful Art Spiegelman had been with his use of masks to represent the position of his characters, and how those positions have reversed over the last fifty years.
Despite the obstacles, I managed to arrive and spend a weekend in Jerusalem, meeting up with some wonderful New Zealanders. It was like reacquainting myself with the West, Jerusalem being a hustling and bustling Western styled city, complete with inner city trams, bustling streets and large hotels. It was a stunning city, as uneasy as I may have sometimes felt. Over the course of the weekend we managed to tick a few items off the tourist checklist. Visiting the City of David was especially worthwhile; not only does one get to see a historic biblical city and walk through an incredibly old and interesting underground tunnel, one also gets to participate in the wonderful fusion of western tourism and Zionist propaganda that is such a big part of a visit to Old Jerusalem. I also saw Bethlehem for the first time, and was sure to visit the Church of Nativity. By far, the highlight of Bethlehem was the bizarre sight of priests barging their way through tourists, entering a large room in the west side of the church, and aggressively demanding (see above, yella, definition 7) everyone to 'get out now!' multiple times before proceeding to pray. I like to think God was as perplexed at this as I was. I also got to touch the sacred sight where Jesus is thought to have been born (or at least some group in the past decided it was as good a place as any) and discovered that I don't know how to behave around relics. I have no photos because my camera ran out of battery, but I was there.
A completely different trip altogether was a recent trip into the Jordan Valley, into a small village. As I may have mentioned in a previous post, the Jordan Valley is part of Area C, and faces severe difficulties under the occupation. I cannot do justice to them here, but will try to discuss them in my next post. It is an incredibly beautiful place, and I was surprised by the extent it re-energized me getting out of the city and into the countryside. We spent our time learning about the difficult situation there, building bricks out of dirt and water, and gazing at the scenery.
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| Searching for water. Most of it has gone to the neighbouring settlers. |
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| Some local terrorists take a break to tend their sheep. |
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| Making bricks. |
Only able to stay for a couple of days, myself and another volunteer decided we would then hitchhike home, anticipating some sort of adventure along the way. We were not disappointed. Not needing to wait long at all, the first person to pick us up was an extremely kind man from Tubas, who not only gave us a ride half the way, but shouted us all orange drinks while on the road. The second pick up was going fine until we ran into heavy traffic. Inquiring what was going on, and discovering that there were police down the road checking cars, our host quickly changed lanes and proceeded to reverse at 50km/h amidst the freely flowing traffic going the opposite direction for a good kilometer or so. It was a strange sensation. About five minutes into this quick getaway the driver decided he was safe to stop. We were then told to yella, which we were happy to do, and we began the search for the final vehicle to take us home.
This week, I had the opportunity to go to Askar camp, an old Palestinian refugee camp which resulted from the 1948 war, where some locals and volunteers were doing some art work on the walls around the street. I was able to practice my Arabic, explaining that I was unable to draw or paint, but lacked the Arabic to rehash the story of being 13 years old and having my art teacher hold my work up in front of the class and announce it as a benchmark for the level she expected all students to be above. The people of Askar camp were incredibly kind, not just to us but to each other, and it was neat to witness the community centered atmosphere of the neighborhood we were working/hanging out in.
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| Andre in action. The key represents the keys to the homes lost by the Askar refugees of 1948. Many living in Askar have grandparents that were driven from their homes in places such as Haifa. |
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| An (intentional?) reference to Nixon. |
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| I drew two or three of those stars on the right. |
Although I've promised to write more about Area C next post, this article really sums up the level of bullshit that continues to go on in politics here:
http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/comment/robert-fisk-any-other-statesman-who-negotiated-peace-like-john-kerry-would-be-treated-as-a-thief-8760028.html
(and I don't swear when writing posts my parents will read unless I really mean it).
