So it is a small world after all...

Yesterday, I walked into a café in Bethlehem, remembering that a friend from Atlanta had mentioned knowing someone that worked there. I happened to walk right up to the guy, at the same time that he was working on an application to study at Georgia State University! Seriously, what are the odds? We chatted a bit about what I am doing here, and he knew my program right away, mostly due to his connection with the head of an organization that I had a meeting with later that day.  

After this, I headed over to a coffee shop nearby to spend the afternoon studying Arabic. This particular coffee shop is in Palestine (obviously) but has a bit of an American feel (with American-style coffee selections & resources for travelers). It sort of feels like the alter-ego of the Palestinian-owned coffee shop that I frequent back in America :) I was sitting there thinking about how this place reminded me of home, just as the song "Georgia on my Mind" started playing. No kidding.    

Then time came to make my way to that meeting, for which I had been given vague directions that went something like, "Go to a supermarket whose name I can't pronounce, make a couple of turns somewhere around a church, pass some ATMs, then enter the first floor of an unidentified building." If you are at all familiar with my sense of direction, you can imagine how this went. Serendipitously, as I was walking the completely wrong way, I heard someone say, "Cait! What are you doing here?" It was a friend who I had met earlier, who knew exactly where I needed to go and sent me straight there.  

On the way, I needed to get something to eat, but didn't see any places that were open... Until I stumbled upon the small restaurant that my friend had recommended as the best falafel in the whole area. To top it all off, once arriving at my meeting place, I soon realized that it was actually the home of one of my professors.  

I feel like I could extrapolate multiple meanings from this day: For one, perhaps we are all connected [even across the world] by more than we may realize. And second, sometimes things just seem to work out better than we could plan, usually when we least expect it :) 


Random, unrelated picture of Palestinian sweets

   

A Shifting of Lenses.

Sometimes when I am in my room, I can hear a vehicle passing by on the street, blaring some sort of message in Arabic from a loud speaker. The first time this happened, I was fairly alarmed, thinking that perhaps it was a military vehicle or something along those lines. Considering my context, I felt safe to assume that this was something political (I mean, I am in Palestine after all). Then one day, I happened to be outside when the mysterious shouting vehicle drove by, and I was surprised at what I saw: a small pick-up truck full of what looked like random pieces of trash. Huh? Completely confused, I made a point to ask my friend what this was all about. She responded, "Oh, that? It's a guy going around collecting scrap metal or old appliances to make money." I looked at her and said, "Seriously? Wow, I never would have guessed."

Moral of the story [reader's digest version]: things in Palestine are almost never as they seem. Oftentimes my assumptions are wrong, confusion may ensue, and questions need to be asked with an open mind.

I am learning this lesson now, but I have a feeling I will need to keep re-learning it for some time to come. There are almost always things going on around me that I can't quite make sense of, and occasionally things that make utterly no sense at all. Living and studying here is like putting together a jigsaw puzzle, piece by piece. Sometimes there are mini "aha!" moments, but other times nothing seems to fit.   

When everything is new and overwhelming, it is natural to take shortcuts in our attempts towards understanding. It is easy to make over-generalizations about a whole people group or culture based on just a couple of interactions. It is also easy to allow our pre-conceived notions or ideas to shape the way we see things around us. It is simply human nature to look for what we expect (or want) to find--to try to fit our experiences with the unfamiliar into the narrative we are comfortable with or accustomed to. Unfortunately, this can have some pretty negative consequences.   

A lot of these thoughts actually relate to the reading for one of my classes today: the introduction to Edward Said's "Orientalism"--a foundational text for any post-colonial or Middle East studies student. The essential purpose of this work is to bring to light the long history of Western scholarship that has shaped perceptions of the so-called "Orient" (primarily the Middle East, India, and North Africa). Said shows that the Orient itself is a manmade conception that has been situated by imperial powers as fundamentally inferior to the West (namely European colonizers & more recently America). He argues that the power structure present here has undeniably influenced all realms of academic and cultural knowledge with vast social, political, and economic consequences. Thus, the misrepresentations and persistent Eurocentric prejudice found in Orientalism have had long-lasting effects on the relationship between the East and the West to this day. [The Wikipedia article on this text is actually pretty good if you want to learn a bit more].

I have read parts of this book before, but discussing it in a room full of Palestinian students brought a whole new dimension to the table. In this particular class, we are asked to come with a written question in response to the reading. The professor then looks through them and chooses a few to read out loud (anonymously) to determine the direction of the class. Today the question I wrote served as a provocative conversation-starter: "As an American studying the Middle East, what do I need to be aware of?" Obviously, my anonymity did not remain so for long... Cue face turning bright red as the professor asks me to explain my motives for asking this question, with all eyes turned towards me.

Here is the gist of what I said [and what I hope I can live up to as time goes by]: "Well, I asked this question because I want to be sensitive to my role in all of this. I recognize that my identity and context carries with it certain historical/political baggage that I may or may not be aware of. I have sensed a disparity in scholarship and I want to learn to privilege the right sources."

In other words, I hope to be aware of my lenses on this journey with the jigsaw pieces, laying down what I may expect or assume about this people and this place, in order to truly listen beyond what my ears are already attuned to. To do this takes a hefty dose of honesty and humility--a willingness to be wrong as I open myself to the perspective of someone else. This path ahead may not be easy or clear-cut, but I think it is worth the challenge.

View from my walk home, thinking about perspective

Palestine Superlatives (so far).

Favorite food: Hummus! For breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No joke. Although I have been warned not to overdose too much on the hummus in the beginning for risk of getting tired of this delicious, all-purpose food. So we've also added in a variety of shawarma and falafel sandwiches (my roommate and I are still deliberating to determine our go-to spot).

Most pleasantly surprising incident: Yesterday I accidently left my phone in a taxi... I realized it right away, but figured it was a lost cause. To my surprise, the taxi driver actually used it to call my friend (who I was with), and we set up a time later in the afternoon to stage a retrieval. This resulted in me standing by the side of the road trying to get a good look at each of the taxi drivers who drove by without unintentionally hailing a ride in the process. Easier said than done. The taxi driver and I had several more phone conversations which usually consisted of me attempting to explain my whereabouts in Arabic and him saying he would be there in 5 minutes. Meanwhile, I made friends with the corn and coffee merchants also hanging out by the side of the road, who appeared to be a mixture of confused and concerned about what in the world I was doing. Eventually, the right taxi driver did show up and was exceptionally kind about the whole ordeal.

[A few things I learned from this experience: one, Palestinians are generally warm people who go out of their way to help; two, 5 minutes in Arab time does not actually mean 5 minutes; and three, check for all of your belongings before exiting a taxi.]

Proudest moment: Earlier this week, I successfully figured out how to get from school to meet my friend in Jerusalem all by myself. These locations are actually very close, but traveling between them can take up to an hour due to the presence of the separation wall and checkpoints. On the bus, I sat next to this sweet Palestinian woman and we had a conversation in Arabic the entire time! We talked about seeking peace through understanding one another and how media biases can mess with our perceptions. She told me that her religion (Islam) demands that she love all people--Muslims, Christians, and Jews alike--and that she is trying her best to do this. It was a beautiful encounter.

Clearest evidence of constantly being stared at: One day, I was at a large restaurant by myself (as the only foreigner), trying out an aforementioned shawarma sandwich. It was very messy, so I was eating it by tearing off smaller pieces, which was working quite fine. However, mid-way through my lunch, someone from all the way across the room got up, walked over, and handed me a fork. 

Funniest translation error: This one is a toss-up between the "Saloon" across the street and the side options at the restaurant around the corner. A lot of the signs here are transliterations of English words in Arabic letters, so the "Saloon" is actually a salon/barber shop--not a Old Western style bar that evokes images of gun-toting cowboys. As for the side options, apparently the plural word for salad in Arabic google translates to "authorities." So the English menu reads "Rice and Chicken and Authorities" :) 

[Side note: I am not meaning to make fun of anyone's English-speaking abilities here. I am SURE that I make even more outrageous mistakes in Arabic just about every day!]

Most enlightening conversation: On the way to school one day, I was talking to a fellow classmate (from Palestine) about the time he visited America. He explained that he spent a couple months traversing across the country from cities like New York and Boston all the way to Phoenix and San Diego. I asked him what stood out the most and he said it was the ability to travel all that way without being stopped at a border or inhibited from going any farther due to the type of passport or identity card he held. This, he said, was something most Palestinians could not even fathom. I told him that I had never really even thought about this, and felt bad for not recognizing it as a privilege. He responded that I should not feel bad, for the right of mobility within one's own country is one of the most basic human rights that should be allotted to all, but is denied to Palestinians. [Residents of the West Bank, for example, are not allowed to travel to the Arab part of Jerusalem unless they get special permission--and from what I have heard, even visiting family members is not considered a justifiable reason.]

This got me thinking about the nature of human rights: who defines them and where do they originate? who should have the power to violate them, and for what reasons? how does politics influence human rights and vice versa? Hopefully some of these questions will be answered in the three human rights courses I am taking this semester.

Shu Akhbarik?

[Shu Akhbarik? (Palestinian Arabic) translated "What's your news?" or "What's up?"]

Where do I even start? Well, I'm beginning to get settled in to daily life here, but there is a lot of "getting used to" still to be done. Another student and I are living with a Palestinian host family in Bethlehem. All together there are nine of us (the parents, four sisters around university age, a hilarious younger brother, and the two of us). Plus a lot of laughter, card games, Arabs Got Talent, hot tea, and delicious home-cooked meals shared :)

We started classes a couple of days ago, as the school week runs Saturday to Wednesday here (well, at least at this particular university--weekend days differ depending on varying religious holy days). Good news: every day on the way to school, we get to ride a roller coaster! A.K.A. a taxi speeding on tight switchbacks up and down the roads of Wadi al-Nar, translated Valley of Fire. So that's fun [please note my sarcasm].

The commute to school includes various other notable sights: men selling Arabic coffee from the median of the road, groves of olive and lemon trees, sheep grazing on the rolling hills. Off in the distance, mostly on hilltops, exist civilian communities that stand out in their appearance, even to the untrained eye. These are called settlements--Jewish-only areas that have been established within the West Bank since it came under Israeli occupation in 1967. Israeli settlers move here for a variety of reasons: both ideological (in an effort to claim Palestinian territory as Israeli land) and economic (housing here is typically cheaper and subsidized by the Israeli government). The existence of these settlements makes life even more difficult for the Palestinians, especially since they contribute towards an increased number of Israeli checkpoints and settler-only roads. In general, these settlements are deemed to be a major impediment towards peace. Additionally, they are considered illegal as a violation of the Fourth Geneva Convention by a majority of the international community (read here about condemnation within the U.N.)

The last view before arriving at the university consists of a separation wall that actually snakes right along the edge of the campus (located in Abu Dis, a neighborhood outside of Jerusalem). Israel states that this wall was built for defensive purposes, but it is the cause of much controversy considering it cuts well into the West Bank, annexing additional Palestinian land in the process. Regardless of its intentions, this barrier (known as the apartheid wall in Arabic) serves as a poignant symbol of the Palestinian struggle.

Speaking of the school in general, my experience so far has been overwhelmingly positive. I have met quite a few exceptionally friendly and helpful students, as well as some seemingly brilliant professors. The dynamics of the classroom are very interesting--mostly interactive discussions that provide the beneficial challenge of critical thinking paired with opening ourselves to each others' perspectives. I am ready to work hard and learn as much as I can in this unique environment.

Whew, that was probably a lot to take in. Welcome to my experience here! Between piecing together new Palestinian dialect phrases with what I know of Modern Standard Arabic, attempting to grasp the complex system of military and civil authority in different areas, and navigating transportation with all of its complications, I have adopted a new commonly-used phrase: "Wow, Palestine is confusing." And that's not even touching the nitty-gritty political narrative stuff! Regardless, I am grateful to be here and look forward to all that is to come.

First Impressions.

Ahlan wa Sahlan! (Welcome!)

I am currently in a small hotel overlooking Salah ad-Din street, just minutes away from the Damascus gate entrance to the Old City, the center of Jerusalem. After being picked up at the airport and shown around the area a bit by a new friend last night, I was left to fend for myself (don't worry mom, everything is fine!)

After a semi-decent night's sleep and an icy cold shower, I decided to head out to do some exploring. Unfortunately, when I tried to leave my room, I found that the door was jammed and I had no way out. After pondering my non-existent options, without a clear idea of when anyone would be coming to pick me up, I succumbed to the true desire of any jet-lagged traveler: nap-time.  

Alhumdulilah, some time later, I awoke to a knock on the door from the hotel manager who, after fixing the door, gave me a message from my host and invited me to sit and have some coffee, in true Arab style. We chatted together in English and Arabic about what I am doing here, which quickly turned political (not in an unfriendly way, that's just how things are here). He asked me some questions about America, and we agreed that almost anywhere it should not be assumed that the general public necessarily agrees with the actions of their political leaders. In reality, most people just want to live in peace, even when those in power exacerbate violence. Then he offered some wisdom to guard against stereotyping, telling me to look at my hand and notice that all of my fingers are different, just like the people in any group.

Finally on the street I had been peering at longingly from my locked room, I set out in the general direction of a few other spotted tourists and shoppers. I'm actually glad I didn't know quite where I was going, for this allowed me to experience one of the most remarkable moments I can remember. Crossing into the Old City, I meandered through a cobblestone walkway with beautiful arches overhead, as the Muslim call to prayer echoed around me. I happened to look up at the perfect moment, just as the golden Dome of the Rock appeared, perfectly framed by the archway right ahead. What a striking way to first lay eyes on this enduring symbol of the city, completely by surprise.  

It felt surreal to wander deeper into these stone streets, past sites that so many hold dear. Yet there was an interesting paradox present--formed by the normalcy of shopkeepers and students and bread bakers just living their daily lives, sharing space with pilgrims who have long dreamt of visiting this holy place.  

At one point, the owner of a Christian icon shop beckoned me over. Perhaps he just wanted to sell me something or thought I appeared lost (which I probably was, due to my determination not to look like a touristy map-holder). Regardless, I obliged and quickly found myself surrounded by walls of iconography, engaged in another conversation about religion and politics (clearly bringing up these topics with strangers is not taboo as in America). This man was Muslim, which I found sort of funny, considering he sells Christian icons in the Holy Land. However, he told me he finds meaning in this--a tangible example of living at peace with his neighbors in this place they all call sacred. Then he told me the same proverb about the fingers, so apparently this must be a thing.

Some more random thoughts:
There are a lot of cats in the Middle East.
Crosswalks, however, don't seem to exist (good thing GSU trained me on this one).
Everything is surprisingly close together, like almost on top of each other, especially in regards to the holy sites.
Little things like exchanging money, ordering lunch, and evidently opening doors take a lot of energy, but hopefully I'll get used to the unfamiliarity with time.
And lastly, I kind of feel like people are staring at me all of the time, not sure if that one is going to change.

Alright, that's all I got for now. Time to take another nap :)

Pre-Departure Thoughts.

Everyone keeps asking me the same questions: Are you ready? and how are you feeling?

Well, I've gone over the checklist more times than I can count: my bags are packed, boarding passes printed, research done, last goodbyes exchanged... So yes, I guess you could say that I am ready. But I think that depends on your definition of the word.

In some ways, I feel as if I have been preparing for this a good portion of my life. Some winding journey has led me through years of Arabic classes, pages and pages of history books, plenty of coffee shop political conversations, and precious friendships with those that call this region their home. These experiences have taught me, challenged me, shaped me--and sparked a dream within me.

Yet, I realize now that nothing could really prepare me for what I am about to encounter; for what my eyes may see, what my heart may have to bear. Too much remains unknown, unfathomable. So, I think I'll settle with being ready to embrace that.

As for how I am feeling, I am both excited and anxious, but mostly I am grateful. Yes, this is something that I have worked for, but it is not something that I deserve. I feel like this opportunity is a privilege, and with that comes a responsibility...

To learn as much as I possibly can, both in the classroom and outside of it.
To listen well to the stories of these people who are so worth being heard.
And to share this journey with you all, if you are willing to follow along.

These are the simple goals of this trip, and what I hope this blog will foster.