Crossing the Jordan

In two days time I cross the Jordan into occupied Palestine. I will go there to bring in a new year. I find it so strange to say I am celebrating in Beir Zeit. It sounds so wrong, so problematic. I am going to my home, my land, my people and yet I feel such guilt at wanting to spend my new year there. I feel guilty about being in my country. I feel guilty for wanting to be with my family and friends, my people. I feel guilty for wanting to celebrate and laugh and be joyful as there are guns and tanks and a bloody apartheid wall. I feel guilty with so many people held in prisons, so many people separated from their families so many people suffering under occupation. It is just so wrong.

 

 

Yet, another part of me screams something entirely different. It screams of entitlement. I should not have to feel guilt nor should I apologize for being home, for wanting joy in my land nor should I apologize for celebrating where I justly should and could. The occupation may control and restrict my movement. The occupier may tell me I am “illegal” in my own country if I don’t have the right permit. The occupation may build a wall that separates me from my family and friends on its other side behind concrete, electric fences and check points. The occupation may imprison my cousins and uncles, torture and beat them. But the occupation will not quell my spirit. It will not so disenfranchise me that I have no joy or life. I resist by crossing the Jordan to what is rightfully mine. I resist by walking in my family olive grove. I resist by meeting my friends and sharing a moment of joy with them. I resist by living. And for that I will not apologize, and I will cross the river and I will go to occupied Palestine and celebrate there because I can and I will and the occupier (for now) can not stop me.

 

 

On Embroidery

I first started to cross stitch 12 years ago a friend of my mother’s taught me. It was really easy. You get a fabric with enough holes in it and count out the pattern. But it wasn’t about how easy it was or knowing how to count. It was about being completely and utterly consumed. So consumed that there is no room for a single thought other than needle in, needle out , cross over and count. If you are distracted, look away, think away a stitch is dropped, and the pattern skewed. And so it was the perfect all consuming activity to replace the ex. The ex who took up four and half years of my life. And in his departure left a huge void to fill. I didn’t want him replaced by another, nor did I want him back. But I wanted the time and space he occupied in my life reclaimed. So I embroidered. I consumed myself with something other than him.

 

Embroidery became my therapy. And so over the last 12 years I have picked up my needle and thread and thought up patterns in times of distress. I started after him and stopped when I was ready to reengage and face the world without him. Having something to fill the time and space when there wasn’t anything else. I picked up again seven years ago when my world was turned upside down. I made a few pieces and stopped mid piece about two years later, when the world was right side up. It took me five years to finish that particular piece, and only recently. It was started in Amman and finished in Beirut. I have been embroidering like a fiend in Beirut for the last two months. A sign of distress and dissatisfaction. A sign that I needed to stop my mind and still my thoughts and consume my hands, my eyes, my head and my heart.

 

I have started another piece now and want to finish it and be rid of it. You see I rarely keep any of my work. When I was reflecting on that I realized that these works come from a place of sorrow and sadness and sometimes even depression. And when they are finished I give them away, and in that act make them pieces of joy. This last piece I am working on was started as a piece of joy. I wanted to turn the tables around on my act of consumption. I wanted it to be a work of joy and to be given in joy. The irony is that though it may have been a labor of love, it will now be given away in sorrow.

 

 

Impressions of: Where Do We Go Now? By Nadine Labaki

This week I went to see the film everyone is talking about “Where Do We Go Now?” By Nadine Labaki. I was really excited and expected a good show. And a good show it was. It made me laugh, it made me cry and it made me upset! The story is one that if it doesn’t preoccupy every Lebanese person I met, it at least affects them in some way or form in their everyday life. That isn’t what upset me, my issue with the story is it’s reinforcement of some of the most ugly gender stereotypes. Stop here if you don’t want any spoilers.

 

The film depicts the village women as the gate keepers of peace, the ones that are conniving, calculating and  manipulative. It doesn’t matter that they are portrayed as such for a good reason. It matters that they are portrayed

Where do we go now Poster

as such. In the film they are seen more than once sitting together plotting and planning. And who do they manipulate? Who do they conspire against? The buffoons, the stupid, war mongering, blood lusting men. The men can’t who can’t think for themselves, are driven by machismo and testosterone to fight like this is the only solution. The men don’t think to question the news, they don’t think to talk about what

is happening. Instead they plot little attacks or pranks in the church or the

mosque that later escalate into standoffs, as if that is the only way the men can express themselves and their affiliation with their sect/ religion. They only time the men are shown to co

me together and talk is when they are planning attacks and strategizing about where to keep their weapons. And to add insult to injury, when the women’s tactics don’t work they bring in skinny, blonde, half-naked women to distract the men, thus appealing to their basest instincts, the distraction is bought to it pinnacle with the women drugging the men and making the skinny blonds dance for them as they hide all the arms.

 

These portrayals were done with such craftsmanship and artistry that you leave the film with a feeling of satisfaction that can easily makes you forget these stereotypes and the problems they present. I also feel (and I could be completely off base) that since sectarianism in Lebanon is at the heart of the film that these issues will be overlooked and take a backseat in the discussions around it. If I am wrong, and there are discussions about the gendered presentations within the film, please link me to the critiques and discussions or alternatively, start one in the comments section below.  I am disturbed by this representation and how it reduces both men and women to these ugly vignettes. I think that characters and the story could’ve been built without both lumping women and men into one of two camps, the complexities of the situation could’ve crossed the gender line and ultimately presented a more interesting, and maybe even a more realistic story.

 

Ramadan- A to do list in Amman

So, a lot of people are wondering what to do during Ramadan. It’s quiet, boring, slow, things shut down, our routines are disrupted and it seems like there is nothing to do! The other part of this is money, everything costs a lot of money to do… so here is my list of things to do during Ramadan, in Amman, for under 10 JD.

1- Go to Turtle Green for a coffee and manousheh, hang out on your own, or with friends with an internet connection and a chilled out atmosphere. Don’t forget to check out the original artwork on the wall downstairs- It is really cool.
Cost= -about JD 5

2- Walk down a side street at sunset and revel in the silence, enjoy it… Amman only becomes this quiet at this time during Ramadan. Alternatively,  take a walk in with Fast Walk – or do your own walk in one of the old neighborhoods of Amman and smell the fabulous jasmine bushes that waft round the corners. This is a whopping zero to do and lots of fun with the right persons.
Cost = ZERO

3- Experiment with your atayef – make them from from scratch or buy them ready made and just stuff them with different things. I’ve done cream and jam, dried fruits, nutella, labneh, pumpkin pie stuffing, bananas… try  anything you like, its fun to experiment.
Cost = about a dinar for a kilo of atayef  and the cost of stuffing. It really is cheap, fun and yummy.

4- Go to Citadel Nights- you can stroll around and have some evening fun in an amazing setting and cool night breezes. Cost= entrance is JD 5 and  if you see a Qalaa kid hanging around and can’t get in buy them a ticket and let them in (makes it an even 10JD).

5- Feed someone: check out Tkiyet Um Ali, smile in a box, under my olive tree, or just do your own thing…
Costs= the costs vary depending on what you do… and it is very rewarding a lot can be done for under 10 though.

6- Hang out with one of the kids in Jabal Al Qala and ask them if they can teach you to make a kite- they will love it and so will you.
Cost=  about 3 JD tops.

7- Goto one of the art galleries in Amman – there are many and learn about the Art. Jacaranda is happy to talk to you about the Jordanian Artists they exhibit and are open from 12 pm- 5pm.
Cost= ZERO

8- Check out one of the ramadan tents that have argileh, cards and other great things…
Costs= The costs vary depending on where you go, but I am sure you can manage to get a nice cup of tea for under 10 JD somewhere… just make sure there are no cover charges or minimum charges.

9- Downtown Amman is a must, before iftar go to the vegtable market and stock up, the closer it is to eid the more you want to check out the craziness that is Italian Street, great buys and lots of fun. After iftar you can have a ramadani juice at any of the juice stands, Creme caramel at al quds, S7our at Hashems, or buy yourself a DVD for a fun night in with your friends. You can also check out the new lights of King Faisal Street- I am told they are really cool.
Cost= anywhere from 1 JD for a DVD and upwards depending on what you do and what you buy. The walk around the hood is free and very energizing

10- At su7our, go out and talk to your local musa7arati- you know the guy with the drum (He’s like santa only comes out once a year and is hard to catch).

Feel free to add your favorite thing to do in Ramadan for under 10 JD… and watch for the Arabic version- It is coming soon.

Ramadan Kareem.

 

From Brown to Green Thumbs

For years I have believed that I can only kill plants. Anything green left in my care will wither and die. I even managed to kill a cactus at one point. Late last year the Jasmine tree cutting went brown, and I didn’t have to do anything really just leave them in water and they will take care of themselves. It’s quiet pathetic. Yet I cann’t reconcile this belief with the desire to have a big green indoor garden. One of my most vivid memories of leaving Kuwait was the collection of potted plants my mother was leaving behind. It filled a third of a room and was just beautiful.

So, following in my mother’s foot steps, and inspired by a wonderful person here in Beirut and yet another all the way in California I have started to introduce greens into my home. I got a cutting of an Aloe for my balcony from my friend. And this month I have Jasmine cutting from a tree I walk by everyday. Next I think I will start some herbs for the kitchen and slowly I will turn my ever so brown thumbs into vibrant greens.

Aloe thriving on balcony ledge

 

Wein Ramadan?

So it is the first day of Ramadan, or is it? When I look around me, there is no Ramadan. Nothing around  me tells me it is except for the facebook statuses of old friends and of course the call to my mother where we chat about the ritual that is the first meal in family. There are no Ramadan decorations,  food stalls with Ramadan specials, or any of the other signs that it is Ramadan today. If you are wondering where I am, I am smack in the middle of a Christian neighborhood  in Beirut.

 

Nothing really changes here, offices hours remain the same, banks stay open and operate with the same hours and restaurants continue to serve food throughout the day and it is not against the law to eat on the street. Many of the people I know think this is all cool and great. But me, well, I grew up for 33 years in countries that rearranged public life to accommodate Ramadan.  I grew in a home where I was taught to fast and it was a struggle to unlearn that. I grew up in countries where shops, restaurants, schools, banks everything really ran on a different schedule for a month. I was surrounded by things that only appeared during Ramadan like atayef stands, amareldin juice, Big charity food tents for iftar and an overall sense of something different. At night people divided into three groups: those that prayed taraweh, those that played cards (in Ramadan tents or at home), and those that stayed in and for 30 days watch Ramadan specials on TV. Sometimes people mix and match between the three evening activities. But here I find none of that, and it makes me sad and nostalgic.

 

Growing up I went through phases of dealing with Ramadan from believing to questioning to disgruntlement to acceptance and today living in a place where there is no Ramadan I am in a phase of missing it. I have no issue with being told not to eat or drink on the street during the day, or any other “restriction”. For a month there used to be an atmosphere of community even if that atmosphere was one of disgruntlement at all the angry drivers or the nicotine withdrawal  shouting. For a month our social calendars would be full of invitations to share and break our fasts with different groups of friends and family. Ramadan is not just about the religion and the farida of fasting, it is a social event with it very own rituals and rules, and it lasts one whole month.

 

This is my second year of Ramadan away from Ramadan and I am going to try to recreate some of it in my home , even just a little bit. Happy Ramadan to you where ever you are… and when you breaking your fast this month and you are having atayef, have one for me.

 

Ramadan Kareem.

 

 

Letter Writing

I keep getting these invitations to join my “friends” on google +. I keep looking at these emails and I keep them marked in my inbox as unread. Why? Because I can’t decide if I want to join my “friends” in yet another online endeavor. After there is facebook, that I now use to play scrabble with random strangers on and just check notifications and maybe respond to the occasional message. There is twitter that I just keep being followed on despite very little activity. There is gchat that I usually don’t log on to. There is my yahoo mail (the only thing I do check religiously) and they keep threatening to upgrade me to the new and improved version. And skype which I never log into except from my work account. And of course there is my smart phone  that allows me to connect to all the above. And let’s not forget this blog too.

 

What’s funny is I am not an avid user of all that connectivity. None of it seems real to me, so why would I connect through one more thing and add to the list of accounts to manage and passwords to remember? I don’t know what google + is, so this isn’t about it or its functions, I know that I will eventually find out. But I think this weekend I will dedicate some time to old fashioned pen and paper and write some letters and head to the post office and get some stamps.

 

Maroun Al Ras, May 15

I started to write this on my way home after a day that started way too early for the weekend, but if truth be told it is like any day that is a day for going to the Palestinian border. It started with the scramble to find the bus that will take us there. We had to reserve days before, yet we were told all the buses were full. We went anyway, and secured the last seats on one of the buses organized by AUB’s Civic Welfare League.  We headed off at 7:15 a.m. to Maroun al Ras, but first a stop in Shatila. We needed to drop off the extras on our bus. Instead we found more people and no bus. “All 2500 Lebanese buses have been commissioned and about 1000 more from Syria,” our bus driver told us. “They are expecting 150,000 thousand people,” he said. We all pitched in to hire another bus, where from I have no idea, but everyone was going to go. We pulled away and started off, and for the next three hours we kept seeing crowds. Some were on the street waiting for their buses, others in bus, after bus, after bus.  Slowly, excitement replaced the morning grumpiness. And with every kilometer we got closer we saw more and more people, and more and more buses.

Just before we got to Sour, we were stopped. Not to be asked for our IDs or to be searched. It was not a military checkpoint, but rather the organizers. They were counting and logging. Bus number? From? How many passengers? The enormity of the organization slowly sinking in with every bus on the road, and every florescent vested organizer we saw. Once we passed Sour, and at every possible turn there were organizers with walkie talkies, and they waved us on in the right direction. At every three or four kilometers there were signs saying “To Palestine, X Kilometers.” With every sign we saw we became more jubilant “TO PALESTINE.”  Our bus driver, Zafer, was a darling. He would pick up the mic and point out towns and villages, he spoke of Hezbollah resistance and fighting the Zionist enemy, he gave us snippets of his wisdom, and he told us about the festival we were going to attend, as this was the fourth year it is being held. He made the trip that much more.

 

6 KM to Palestine

5 KM to Palestine

At the four kilometer point we were given caps and flags. At the three kilometer point we disembarked, we had to walk the rest of the way. And so we strolled, with hundreds of others down the path, past the two kilometer marker, and then we saw it. We saw occupied Palestine with its settlements, farm lands, and the electronic fence that marks much of the boundaries and walls the Israelis put up. There it was the valley below in all its spring glory. Below we saw people near a dirt road, we weren’t sure we thought they were Palestinians of 48. We later found out that they were people trying to get to the fence, still on Lebanese soil.

The caps

   

Walking to the border

We continue to walk, past food vendors and organizers who made sure we didn’t stray off the path. We passed a gateway that read “The Iranian Garden” where people’s bags were being checked. And we walked in to see a massive sign in Hebrew and Arabic saying something along the lines of we shall return.  There was a festival area segregated by gender, and we walked into the Women’s one. There we tried to find a way down to the slope, we wanted to sit on the grass and just gaze at Palestine. Instead, we found no way down and were subjected to the ranting of whoever was speaking on the mic. Soon we heard gun shots, not one, or two, but a whole array of bullets.  We looked at each other and decided to take higher ground. But it felt like slow motion. I was amazed at what I saw. The women who were sitting down in the front rows stood up as if in unison and waved the Palestinian flags they were holding in defiance. Others started to gather their children who were crying in fear, wanting to get them to higher ground. It was sad seeing how quickly the children, traumatized by years of violence, started crying immediately and just wanted to go home. Ironically, home was the one place they couldn’t go, not in that moment.  And so we walked up to what seemed like a safer distance, we stopped to catch our breath and try to understand what just happened. We were told this was Lebanese army fire trying to keep back people who wanted to go to the fence, and we should not be scared. It didn’t make sense. In such an environment, in such a location, with so many people, why would you fire shots? Even if they were in the air?

people at Maroun Al Ras

The festival area and Palestine beyond

We had made an agreement amongst us, the small group of three, that we would a- stick together, b- respect, and not question anyone’s decision to leave, or move at any time. And so we decided to go find a grassy spot to sit on, and from there watch and see what was happening in the valley below, but from a location farther away. And so we continued to move at a very slow pace back up the path. The atmosphere was slowly going back to that of a festive crowd at a picnic. People milling about, eating, walking, watching, smoking. We stopped for a bite to eat as it was nearly 2:00 p.m. and we hadn’t really had breakfast. But we realized the sound of sirens kept getting louder, and more frequent. We kept trying our phones, but the signal was weak, and kept coming in and out. Finally, someone on the phone told us the news. The shooting was not friendly fire anymore, and there were casualties, and deaths already. The Israelis had opened fire on the unarmed protesters at the fence. We kept trying to get more information from around us, from the internet, from others with access to TVs and radios. It was unclear how many were dead, and how many were injured. Numbers ranged from 3 to 50! We walked out and up, we were trying to get a glimpse of what was happening, and find out more information. We kept being pushed aside by soldiers running ahead, clearing a path on the crowded road, to make way for more ambulances coming out of the site. So many ambulances. They were on both roads the one we were on, and the dirt road below that we saw earlier. We were able to see the crowd from afar and the people running back and forth. We saw the Lebanese army mobilize in the valley below us, but when we saw the army trucks drive past us to mobilize on the top of the hill, that’s when decided it is time to leave. There was nothing we can do, except move.  Slowly, we made our way to the bus. All the while trying to call friends who we knew were there but couldn’t find, the phones were still not fully functioning, and everyone was desperate for a connection.  It took us over an hour to find our bus.Wwe walked through the parking lots, and then down the winding line of buses parked on the side. We were lucky it just three quarter ways  down the hill, others still had a long way to go.  We had thought if we found it, and found out when it would leave, we could walk back and see what was happening. But with an hour or so each way, and no phones, emotionally and physically tired, we stayed, and slowly the stories started to come in. People with pictures, film and experiences started to tell us of the horror that was taking place as we stood. The worst of which was one person from the AUB group, a student, had been shot in the back. It was the worst because that story just didn’t end with a retelling, or hearing the number of deaths and causalities. But because his friend who was with him needed to found and told, we were called and asked if any of us have the blood type (O-), as he was in desperate need. We had to drop of his friend who’s phone had died and was franticly trying to find more information, contact the dean, contact the friends, contact anyone who could contact his mother.  It still doesn’t end, as today I have heard he has been airlifted into AUH, in critical condition. He had been shot with a dum dum bullet that ripped through him. He has already lost a spleen, a kidney and parts of the bullet are lodged in his spine.

There are so many details that I can’t begin to piece together. The landmines that were still down there, the boy who lost a leg being pulled away from the fence as the shooting started, the young man who was walking amongst us his clothes completely soaked in blood. The fear and anxiety in some and the matter-of-factness of others. All of us knew the monster that is the Israeli soldier.

My story is not an exceptional one as you may have read and heard much more from the people who were at the fence. You may have read the news (I haven’t. I want to try and make sense of what I saw and heard already). This violence is nothing new, it just a fact. Israelis continue to use excessive force when they see a stone being lobbied against them. The use excessive force when a child stands in their way. They use excessive force when they see a Palestinian Flag. They try to erase us. They tried at Maroun Al Ras, and they couldn’t. They tried in the Golan and they couldn’t. They tried in Al Karama, Amman, and  Cairo, and they couldn’t. They tried in Qalandia, Gaza, and all our Palestinian cities and towns, and they just can’t. May 15, Nakba day is the day we will all remember. No matter how many people they kill, No matter how many demonstrations they stop, no matter how many homes they destroy. No matter. Palestine is my homeland.

 

Your junk can be someone else’s treasure…

So its that time of the year again… SPRING CLEANING. And as you go through your closets and cupboards and boxes and bags you will have things you don’t use anymore, things you don’t like anymore, things that don’t fit anymore, things you don’t have places for anymore…

 

Don’t keep them… give me a call and drop them off at mine and I will recycle, reuse, redistribute them to those who may need them.

 

In return you can go through the growing pile of things and take whatever treasure you may find.

 

So its recycling swapping cleansing drive…

 

Things you can put into the pile:

Clothes,

books,

toys,

kitchenware,

appliances

gadgets,

knicknacks

Household items

 

The pile grows and shrinks so bring them any time… to my house or my office

 

 

And thanks in advance for the contributions.

 

Back It Up

I’ve been having a lot of different conversations or reading commentary on various things that have opinion and not fact as their argument.  Some of my comments have been heard and in others I am asked for the burden of proof, and other times people just dig their heels and stick to rumors and gossip. I am really tired of having arguments with people when there is no factual proof for them to argue from and they are using opinion as fact. Yes you have a right to your opinion but then make it clear that it is so… I will give an example of one such discussion I am having right now.

 

A couple of days ago Future DVD Store in Amman was attacked. A physical and violent assault on the owner, his son and their property (their new store) took place. On camera there is record of four men assaulting them with what looks like bats. A criminal investigation is still taking place. No official statement of who the attackers are and why this attack took place. Yet, boycott calls and allegations against one of their competition started immediately. It is are all over the social networks, on and offline.  I find this very disturbing. Gossiping and rumor spreading, and action to hurt another business are the first response when really there is nothing factual to back it up except broken glass.

 

I think that if you are going to make an allegation against any entity you have to have the proof to back it up. The burden of proof lies on you, not me. If it is opinion then say it is so and do not word is as fact. I like hard evidence- not opinion!

 

Going back to the Future DVD store. Boycotting the competition doesn’t help Future as much as supporting Future would. The owner is in need of both moral and financial support after the attack and so if you feel that you want to do something- do something positive. Go to the store, see Zaki, buy a DVD. And when the truth about the incident comes out… then take the appropriate action and back up what you say.