Rhythms and Joys - Week 2 of the English Camp

7/23

The second and final week of the English camp was a little less rocky than the first. We are learning so so much about limit-setting and the necessary clarity & simplicity of instructions & expectations for young children. I already had an inkling of all these principles beforehand, as I have worked with substantially large groups of children many other times throughout my life, but never has the student:teacher ratio been so large or the children so rambunctious (though with good reason--see my blog on Week 1 of the English Camp). We have Atallah there to be the "bad man" when things really get wild. Also, 5 young teenage girls come to help a bit in the teaching.

I have so enjoyed my mornings waking up at Hisham's house this week. Walter and I spent 2 nights in a row in Arroub this week, and it was such a delight to feel more and more like I was a part of Hisham's family--helping cook a huge breakfast in the mornings, sitting in fig trees with Balqeese and Lujain looking for the ripest ones, running out to meet 

Walter when he walks over from Aytallah's (where he spends the night) and hollering back to Huweida, Lujain, and Balqeese back in kitchen that "Walter hoon!" ("Walter is here!", in Palestinian Arabic) alerting them to scurry to put on their hijabs again so that Walter may enter the house. 

Hisham is still as outspoken as ever--this week, during a political conversation, feeling comfortable enough around me to declare, "I HATE Americans!!!" But while I feel welcomed in their house, Walter still gets tested by Hisham and even by Hisham's brother Muhammad in various ways. Here's Hisham below lecturing those gathered on America's favoritism towards Egypt.

After all the boys came back from working on the site for Hisham's second house, Walter offered to help Huweida in dinner preparations. When Muhammad waltzed in to see Walter sitting around the kitchen table Huweida, Lujain, Balqeese, and I, learning from us how to roll up rice inside grape leaves, he sneered in all seriousness, "Walter, what are you doing? Get out of here. This is WOMAN'S work." Walter just tsk-ed him (as is customary in the culture, by the way), looked up at him plainly, and continued to work with us. I have to say that this is one of many examples in which Walter is able to live counter-culturally in Arroub, but in a way that never rocks the boat too much. I know that the many ways in which he shows his gratitude for the women's work and his desire to interact with each in her element (offering Huweida help in the kitchen, playing chess with Lujain) is a light to the household, a light that begats even more warmth and hospitality on the part of the women. And I am not the only one who is seeing what the heart of servant who serves out of love can start.

Last week, the English Camp covered basic introductions between people, vocabulary and a few basic sentence structures to be able to talk about foods, drinks, the numbers, and the colors. This week covered vocabulary for people, rooms, and objects in school and in the home. And one day, we used some of our vocabulary to travel to different places in the world! We had different stations for Peru, Egypt, and the U.S., and the kids read handouts with pictures and simple sentences of Walter and I in these different places and did different fun activities in each country. They were thrilled at the prospect of imaginary travel, which we played up to the utmost, as many of them (though they live only 30 minutes from Jerusalem) are confined by checkpoints and the permit system to about a 20 minute driving radius which does NOT include any part of the state of Israel. 

One of our activities for the "U.S." station was swing dancing, which a few of the girls refused to do (even with another girl). As you may remember from a previous blog where I had a very unfortunate experience with my clothing at the women's side of a wedding party, women and men RARELY dance in one another's presence unless they are married and in the confines of their bedroom. Aytallah, who had brought me to that wedding party the previous week, helped me oversee this swing dancing, and had no problem with it as the style I was teaching was even more de-sexualized than swing dancing already tends towards. Luckily I had a chance to redeem myself from the last party I attended, when the woman who keeps the key for the Women's Center where we hold our camp, invited me to a party "lil-nisaa, bess!" (for the women only, in Palestinian Arabic) to celebrate her daughter's high score on the Tawjihi, Palestine's equivalent to high school graduation exams and SATs rolled into one. I went dressed to a "T," with a little make-up, and very welcomed and not judged. Everyone wanted to get up and dance with the foreigner in the center, who to their surprise knew "raksa arabee!" (Arabic dance)

At the end of the week, we held a kind of ceremony for all the kids in the English Camp.  They showed off their conversation skills, and we played some of the educational, interactive (some also having an element that develops emotional communication skills) games from the week to their parents, presented each child with certificates of achievement and candy necklace medals, and served juice and cake afterwards to everyone. Only about 30% of parents attended, but those that attended saw the progress their children had made. Walter, Hisham, and I made respective speeches about how their children watch them, look to them for encouragement in their education, and desire to be assured that mistakes are a necessary part of learning. Given their situation, it is easy to feel like they are not smart enough to learn English, for example. But if the parents try to use and practice with their children what little English they know and allow THEMSELVES to make mistakes, but to be humble enough to keep trying, then their children will follow suit.

Here are a few pictures:

Aytallah's ready to tag someone OUT!

Walter's dodging with the rest of them.

Now it's Walter's turn to get 'em out.

The campers' folders of all of their drawings of their houses, favorite and least favorite things, etc.

Walter and I reviewing a song with motions we taught the kids to sing in English and Arabic for their parents.

Walter holding the pictionary board for Malik, Ahmad raising his hand.

Me giving a hint to Sarah.

From the left, Raheel, Balqeese, me, Maha (who just got a chance to visit Spain!), Ilham, and Lujain after the camp one evening. The older girls helped us keep order in the classroom!

Hebron

Walter and I have taken several people around one city in particular in the West Bank, Hebron. This is from a day we took around a guy named Jacob that we met in our hostel. Jacob is an American who was about to join the IDF, but now he is not as sure.

These are the IDF observation towers on the road to Hebron from my "servees" (the word for a minibus/service taxi).

Welcome to Hebron, the Old City. 

Hebron is Muslim majority, and a rather conservative Muslim majority (you won't see a single woman out on the street without a hijab or niqab), but with growning numbers of settlers. The IDF actually would rather not have them in Hebron as they only create tensions, but as Israeli citizens, the IDF is obligated to protect them. To the right, you see Walter in the Old City, the trash, stones, and shoes above where Walter is standing were thrown by Jewish settlers living above the Palestinian store owners. The grate is what stops those things from hitting the Palestinians.

The shop owners here used to be numerous. In fact, Hebron's Old City market used to be the only one in all of Israel and the West Bank to rival Jerusalem's Old City market. But because of increasing Jewish settler presence in Hebron (despite the IDF's efforts to evict some), more and more stores are closed down by the IDF, their shops padlocked, welded shut, and then graffitied with a Jewish star or other symbols.

On this particular visit with Jacob, we talked to a shop-keeper for some time who explained how the IDF's actions had affected him personally. 

Here he is at the front of his frame shop showing us one of the rocks the settlers had thrown at him. He has a small pile of them that he displays at his store front.

Below, he shows where the IDF has welded shut most of the stores around him a few years ago.

Here we are back in his store again, having some tea. Jacob is the one standing up.

The floor was very wet, and he apologized for it and proceeded to explain the cause. When Jewish settlers moved in above his shop, they drilled holes in their floors into his shop and poured their sewage through these holes. 

Here is a bucket where he collects the water from a particularly drippy place and a shot of the floor that he has already been working on cleaning, but you can still see the used toilet paper.

He showed us that TIPH (Temporary International Presence in Hebron) had been there to document the damages. Here I am with the documentation in my lap:

And here is a closeup of the first page. TIPH also took pictures of his damages at the time of the incident (much worse that they are now, even though now, his entire roof is about to cave in...and he had us WALK on it in his attic to see the holes drilled through the concrete).

Much of his merchandise has been completely ruined by the water and sewage. But he did have in one of his frames an old picture from the Second Intifada, or "uprising," from 2000-2003 of one of his friends being carried away after he was shot and killed by the IDF in Hebron.

Here we see, from left to right, military netting that is strewn all over the place seemingly randomly (I can't imagine that it's strategic military covering anymore, I think soldiers just put it where they have to stand so that they get some shade), then an IDF look-out post on top of one of the Old City street corners, and then an IDF camera on a building corner (there are plenty of these in Hebron).

But what few stores in Hebron's once massive Old City market still remain open have a lot of great merchandise. Mostly their business is very, very bad. Hardly anyone comes to the Old City market. When Walter, Jacob, and I sit in our friend from last summer, Jamal's, fine woven things shop, I see only about 3 shoppers (tourists and locals) go past every 10 minutes. Below, Jamal is the one smoking and pouring us tea, and Walter and Jacob are in the foreground. There are several human rights groups present in Hebron, but just with few workers. The wallets below and to the right are from a women's rights group lead by a two vieled Palestinian locals.

So what's so special about Hebron? Why are there so many Jewish settlers who want to live in a city that isn't exactly welcoming them? See below, the Tomb of the Patriarchs. It holds the remains and the cenotaphs of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, and Jacob and Leah. There's a Muslim side, the mosque, and a Jewish "side" (it's really more like a big tent filled with scholars and bookshelves and torahs), the synagogue. Each side is able to view the cenotaphs (which are in the middle) from windows on their respective sides.

This is the mosque side.

Here is Sarah's cenotaph (tomb, but her remains are actually underground) from the mosque side. The window to the right of the picture is an IDF watchpost.

This is Abraham's cenotaph from the Jewish side.

Here is a Hassidic Jew coming out of the Jewish side looking out over Hebron.

And below are several pictures of rows upon rows of stores that have been welded shut and emblazoned with Jewish stars, skulls, menorahs, fists, and a variety of other insignia. It almost looks like a reverse Kristalnacht. The metal boxed cages over the windows are there to shield inhabitants from rocks thrown by settlers. A very few Palestinian families have actually moved back into these apartments since I was here last summer. 

Next, here is a walk Walter, Jacob, and I took through a residential area which remains Palestinian. There is however, still rather disturbing graffiti from the settlers. 

Most of the bad graffiti and the store closings were making way for settlers, who in moving in and scattering Palestinian business and livliehood, made way for a new synagogue and civic center, pictured here. 

Here is the civic center.

Here is the synagoge on the right as Walter and Jacob look out over all of Hebron.

You will also see on the mountainside that some of the apartments and homes have a lighter layer of brick/concrete on top. The lighter, newer top layer that doesn't match the bottom is because a Jewish family somehow managed to get a Palestinian home and to build on top of it, later forcing the Palestinian family below them to leave for one reason or another.

Here is Walter speaking with a local Palestinian girl and her little brother. Settlers have thrown stones into her house. They asked us to take pictures and to show our friends, and she asked me to pray for them.

Ups and Downs in Al-Arroub, Week 1 of the English Camp

7/18

The first week of the two-week English summer camp in Al-Arroub was a success, but definitely had its ups and downs. Walter and I hold the English camp from 4-7pm at the run-down but large "Women's Center," but when we aren't setting up, teaching, or taking down the English camp, we're just spending time with our friends in the refugee camp.

First, an "up."

Sunday (the start of the Middle Eastern work-week) early afternoon, just before the first day of the English camp started, I finally realized what my role should be with my inflammatory, opinionated, go-getter of a host, Hisham.

I walked into Hisham's house to find him smoking his rather expensive French cigarettes, lying on his couch in the living room watching the news on Al-Jazeera. "Sabah a-full," I said and slung my hand down to him to give him a high-five. He grabbed my hand and proceeded to lecture me with a mix of Arabic and English that I couldn't decipher as I usually am able due to my shock that he had snatched my hand and was gripping it rather tightly. Walter stood on the other end of the room agape. Hisham finally slowed down enough to explain to me that I had greeted him with something to the equivalent of "A bean-y morning to you!" rather than"Sabah Hafool"or "A shining morning to you!" I repeated the correct pronunciation a few times, looked over to his first wife, Huweida, who was laughing and decided to take her lead and smile back at Hisham, relaxing my hand. Hisham gave my had a good pat, and told me that I was a good student, a good girl, and that Walter should never let me go. Below is Walter, from Aytallahs' roof, and Hisham, from the site where he is building his second house, shouting at each other:

Hisham is an excellent father to his children. Always rough-housing with them, engaging them in conversation, joking and teasing more than I am used to, but always patiently teaching them. And this instance let me know that my role with him is best played as a student-daughter. This has been working out splendidly. I am beginning to feel like a part of their family--cooking, cleaning, and watching the news right alongside everyone. I have been learning loads of Arabic when I spend the night at their house, while Walter stays at our friend Aytallah's. This puts me in a position where Hisham sees the parts of me that desire to serve so clearly, especially in light of my work with the kids in the English camps, and thusly I am allowed, nay encouraged, to let out my real beliefs, views, and opinions--even on politics and faith. After this week, I can say that Hisham and his family have really seen me.

Next, a "down."

One night, when Walter and I were lounging on mats after dinner at Aytallah's, his whole family gradually trickled in (as most families that Walter and I spend an evening with for the first time tend to do) to welcome us with a barrage of questions, jokes, and complements. Below are Walter and Aytallah being cute and looking at something in the street below Aytallah's roof. The next picture is the two of them in the room with the mats where we had dinner this particular night.

***One of people in Arroub's favorite conversation topics is when Walter and I are going to get married. "Why are you not married yet?", "When will you get married?", "Will you have the party in Arroub?", "We will make a big, Palestinian wedding for you!" I am fairly used to these questions by now, but nevertheless, it can be tiring to explain to people who are one step away from being strangers and many steps away from understanding the concept of dating, that we will probably have to wait a bit longer to know whether we want to be married.*** 

Aytallah's mother is very spunky, and began to engage in me in conversation on the state of my relationship with Walter. But her Arabic washed over me so quickly, phrases like "I will make" and "dress" and "cake" and "your wedding" and bursts of laughter from her and the other 10 family members standing over us in the room came at such a rate that I began to sense that I was being a little misunderstood or maybe even lampooned. 

I felt my face get hot and I slapped my hands on the mat and in Arabic almost yelled, "No! I have only known him for a year, and for now, we are just dating!" I awkwardly, but successfully conveyed that I wasn't angry, but was just overwhelmed by the speed of the conversation.

And another "down."

Later that evening, Aytallah took Walter and I to a wedding party in the camp. Parties in Palestine (as in much of the Middle East) are always separated into the girls' party and the guys' party. I was incredibly excited and didn't mind that I wouldn't know a soul on the girl's side of the party. I walked into the girl's side, expecting the be able to rely on the constancy of Arab hospitality and also upon my white skin to at least provide me with a few curious conversation partners. I was wrong.

I had been told in the past, but had sadly forgotten on this occassion, that Arab weddings (even in refugee camps) are extremely dressy events. Most of the women not only take their various headcoverings off, but get elaborate up-do's, hair extensions, and coloring jobs. They put glitter in the most surprising places and wear everything from halter tops and tight jeans to prom dresses with see-through midriffs. So when I walked in with a mouse-brown t-shirt, a dusty purple zip-up sweater, and dirty Keds, everyone leaned over to their neighbor and whispered. Some even pointed, and a few laughed at me. Pretty hard. Strangely enough, not a single woman welcomed me into the room, introduced herself, or even asked me what I was doing there.

But thank God for children. About 6 children came up to me fascinated, like everyone else, but with the most honestly curious smiles on their faces, accepting me at face value. I still felt very out of place for the whole party, I wanted to dance so much but felt too scrutinized to do so, but the children eased my discomfort. When Walter and Aytallah called for me, one of the girls smiled up at me and said, "Hebbik!"..."I love you" in Arabic.

Then I became painfully aware of just how frustrating the social dynamic on the girls' side of the wedding was when I heard about the guys' party. The guys get to take up the whole street with confetti, video cameras, big screen projectors, fireworks, silly string spray, while the girls are confined to one rooftop which is covered on top and from all sides with tarps, so as not to be seen by the men. Their rowdy music practically drowns our love songs out, and they have enough room to all dance together at once instead of sitting on footstools judging the 5 or 6 girls who do have room to dance and show off their clothes.

And lastly, the English camp itself, a mix of "ups" and "downs."

The goals of this English camp are to get the kids speaking and to give them a positive, fun experience associated with English. Hisham enrolled about 30 children between the ages of 7 and 12 for me and Walter to teach basic conversation, and we do fairly well with what Arabic we need to teach. We play a lot of games, lots of "listen and repeat," and a good bit of "sit down!" too. We also worked very, very well together most of the time. Taking over when the other felt tired, exasperated, or stressed.

After speaking on the experiences of this week with several others, I am finding that most Palestinian school-age children (not just those in refugee camps) have an enormous amount of energy that often expresses itself in being extremely concerned that they get enough of the teacher's attention and extremely concerned that they have enough of various classroom resources like paper, pencils, balls, etc. In the United States, each classroom has one or two "problem kids"--kids who can't sit still, act out a lot, and have many other behavioral problems/immaturities characteristic of some kind of emotional struggle. 

In our classroom, about half of our kids were what we in the U.S. would call "problem children." This might be due to poor parenting, it might be due to the harshness of life in the refugee camp, but more than anything, I believe it is a lack of space. Even in the inner city of every metropolis, there are basketball courts or some kind of park space. In the refugee camps, there are no public spaces. 

Every bit of government-allocated land is for housing, so children are cooped up most of the time and have only the street to play in. This energy normally spent on exercise, movement, games, and other types of self-expression for children (since they are able to express themselves through play far earlier and more fluently than they are with verbal language) gets diverted to all sorts of other activities and behaviors. In Al-Arroub, the top 3 activities I see children doing for fun are throwing rocks at bottles or people, shooting toy guns, or sharing bikes. 

In our classroom, I cannot tell you how desperately each child wants to be played with, recognized, or spoken with--to the point that they hit each other, and can say horrible things to Walter and me. One day, I had everyone draw a picture of their least favorite activity or thing and if we had not already studied to vocabulary word, that I would give them the right word. This was very challenging for some as they wanted to avoid expressing the bad things they have experienced. But one boy named Qais, one of my best students, quitely came up to me for his turn to talk wiht me about his picture. I asked him questions about what was going on in the picture, and finally what the picture was of. The picture was set in Al-Arroub and it was of "qataal," he said. "Killing," in Arabic. Qais senses the tension around him...the discontent on the part of the refugees, the military presence across the road from the camp, and his own desire to do better in school so that he can go to college.