Nablus
Let us start over from here, from Nablus.
Nablus is a city built on the shoulders of two hills. Its outlying districts ascend and fall with the slopes of Mount Gerzim and Mount Ebal, its downtown and old city center nestle in the narrow valley between them. At night the city lights rise into the sky and would melt into the stars were it not for the dark red lights of the Israeli outposts at the summits of each mountain.
Checkpoints control every exit and entrance to the city and its locale, and everyone has a story about them. In the brief week I have been here, I have befriended a host of Palestinians at the community centers where I teach English. Some speak of the daily inconveniences with resignation, many with anger, some try to interject humor. A friend of mine jokingly told me that at a checkpoint he once claimed to be French; none of the soldiers knew what to do with him because none spoke French.
At night the Israeli soldiers come into the city itself. By midnight, the witching hour, no one walks abroad in the streets downtown except the Israelis and Palestinian militants. Almost every night we hear gunfire from the confines of our apartment, a ten minute walk away. In the old city center you can see the telltale signs of these nightly visits: shot out street lights, bullet ridden signs, and every single residential door with a jagged gaping hole where its lock should be.
Despite all this, miraculously almost, the people here are the kindest I have ever met. Internationals are an unusual sight, and though we are subject to the occasional harrassment, most Palestinians who talk to us are kind, invite us in to talk with them, invite us in for tea at their shop, show us around their city, or simply ask us how we find Nablus and its people. Conditions are hard here. I've only just touched the surface of things myself, and so far I have conveyed only a sampling of that in this blog entry. But things go on, and things go on.
In one of my first classes, when I was done instructing, a friend of mine, the same who told the story about the checkpoint, wrote something up on the board.
It said: Life is a camera, so smile.
I am constantly in awe of how enduring the people I met are. Even in the midst of so many troubles, which I can only begin to comprehend, many still find a place where life yet shines its beautific smile upon them.
Let us start over from here, from Nablus.
Nablus is a city built on the shoulders of two hills. Its outlying districts ascend and fall with the slopes of Mount Gerzim and Mount Ebal, its downtown and old city center nestle in the narrow valley between them. At night the city lights rise into the sky and would melt into the stars were it not for the dark red lights of the Israeli outposts at the summits of each mountain.
Checkpoints control every exit and entrance to the city and its locale, and everyone has a story about them. In the brief week I have been here, I have befriended a host of Palestinians at the community centers where I teach English. Some speak of the daily inconveniences with resignation, many with anger, some try to interject humor. A friend of mine jokingly told me that at a checkpoint he once claimed to be French; none of the soldiers knew what to do with him because none spoke French.
At night the Israeli soldiers come into the city itself. By midnight, the witching hour, no one walks abroad in the streets downtown except the Israelis and Palestinian militants. Almost every night we hear gunfire from the confines of our apartment, a ten minute walk away. In the old city center you can see the telltale signs of these nightly visits: shot out street lights, bullet ridden signs, and every single residential door with a jagged gaping hole where its lock should be.
Despite all this, miraculously almost, the people here are the kindest I have ever met. Internationals are an unusual sight, and though we are subject to the occasional harrassment, most Palestinians who talk to us are kind, invite us in to talk with them, invite us in for tea at their shop, show us around their city, or simply ask us how we find Nablus and its people. Conditions are hard here. I've only just touched the surface of things myself, and so far I have conveyed only a sampling of that in this blog entry. But things go on, and things go on.
In one of my first classes, when I was done instructing, a friend of mine, the same who told the story about the checkpoint, wrote something up on the board.
It said: Life is a camera, so smile.
I am constantly in awe of how enduring the people I met are. Even in the midst of so many troubles, which I can only begin to comprehend, many still find a place where life yet shines its beautific smile upon them.
posted by Bloo at 2:57 AM
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