tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81627989753748805652024-02-18T21:04:14.988-08:00Painting Dreams of PeaceCasecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.comBlogger29125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-69067640838974052822014-09-26T10:58:00.002-07:002014-09-26T10:58:50.120-07:00The Narnias and Neverlands of Everyday Life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKST2LYqSdK2xO47QrGbNBmU2rY5-T2asbQhucvCQY4myYljXe4TgQ6m3PFbuAiIZQqwZ9tcJoljFBWjl_xhUPRpFMxoTI9XFoVeYQs2qUg2-Of_te2m3Cdvd_niUyMIkg6a9lEi1l-0/s1600/cairo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtKST2LYqSdK2xO47QrGbNBmU2rY5-T2asbQhucvCQY4myYljXe4TgQ6m3PFbuAiIZQqwZ9tcJoljFBWjl_xhUPRpFMxoTI9XFoVeYQs2qUg2-Of_te2m3Cdvd_niUyMIkg6a9lEi1l-0/s1600/cairo.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Growing up, I was perpetually fixated on the idea of Narnia,
of Shangri-La and of Neverland. The idea of simply opening a door, climbing a
mountain, or daring to fly above the clouds and discovering a whole new world—otherwise
uncharted by your human peers—fascinated me to the point of obsessive yearning.
I would regularly feel my way around the backs of the closets in both mine and
my cousins’ houses—double-checking that the wall hadn't fallen away and
revealed a magical land full of adventure and possibilities beyond my
fathoming. Even now, whenever I hike a mountain or walk across relatively
undisturbed terrain, there is a part of me that still looks at every peak, twist
and bend as an opportunity to come upon an epic discovery, reminiscent of my
childhood daydreams.</div>
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And while I will likely never give up this child-like dream,
I have come to appreciate the Narnias and Neverlands of everyday life. And for
me, the essence of these parallel realities is captured—to a much lesser and
more nuanced degree—in the balconies of Cairo. To me, they are the wardrobes;
the portals through which another time, place, reality is accessed. I sit on my
balcony as twilight falls upon the city. The Azan (call to prayer) emanates in
round from several mosques. It starts with one, then two, then three voices;
altogether roaring in reverence. They slowly trail off until only one can be
heard in a distance. Full, green trees adorn the textured skyline of a Cairo
evening. The balcony, suspended in air, transports you to this world in the sky,
this world of rooftops and satellite dishes, of muffled sounds from the street
and the crisp music from minarets and church bells. </div>
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One of the most beautiful things about Cairo is indeed the layers
of its skyline. There is no symmetry, monotony, or common height, shape or
position. The buildings overlap across a multidimensional canvas, evoking
sensations of a sultry, smoggy and stirring Shangri-La. Each balcony has its
own unique and beautiful perspective of this city’s layered skyline terrain. Even balconies in the same block present
varied perspectives from their neighbors; and whether alone or with good
company, the balconies of Cairo are a respite from the somehow endearing chaos
below.</div>
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And it is on balconies that the internal battle between
restlessness and contentment is most potent. Entering into the parallel world
relieves my wanderlust and I am content; suspended and immersed in the glowing
lights and endless rooftops. And then, every so often I see a plane in the
distance, and then again closer, over my head. And the wanderer inside can’t
help but look up, close her eyes and remember the unparalleled sensation of
impending adventure in an unknown place. My heart beats loudly and my breathing
deepens recalling the various times I’ve anxiously awaited, excitement
uncontained, for the pilot to announce the final descent. Flying somewhere new—after
fighting for hours with zippers to squeeze, smash and shove your life into two
duffle bags—, not knowing how long you will stay, what your day to day will be,
where your path will take you after, is a feeling that no drug could hope to induce.
And when I see a plane, all I can think of is how much I long to wander once
again. </div>
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But when I step back into reality, from my balcony, I am
reminded of how far I am from experiencing this sensation. Not because I can’t,
but because those moments of extreme anticipation and surreal joy are
ultimately precursors to the real motivation behind my wanderings; which is “work.”
And I hesitate to call what I currently do “work” because my time spent during
the day constitutes some of the happiest hours of my life. It is indeed
challenging, sometimes disillusioning, and frequently induces existential
crises (all when dealing with the ridiculous bureaucracy and greed of the adult
world)—but through it all, the interactions I have every day with the inspiring
groups of teenagers I have and have had the pleasure of working both with and
for, fills me with sustained joy. The previously described sensation of flying
somewhere new is rivaled only by the warmth I feel when I see teenagers who
have been through more than I could imagine smiling. Their smiles, their
ever-developing senses of humor, and their passion for education and self-improvement
are the sustenance of my soul. They give me more than I could ever hope to give
them in return. I in fact contribute very little other than facilitation and
coordination—all the growth, progress and improvement are a direct result of these
young people’s resilience and perseverance; and I feel honored to watch.</div>
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As much as the wanderer inside of me longs to once again
walk down the open road, she also knows her soul has not yet dictated a
departure. And so I sit in my Narnia, reading the words of Khalil Gibran,
humming “Moon River” and continuing on until I one day open the door to my
balcony and the road has replaced the lights and sounds of the concrete jungle. </div>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-3811900324337642532013-11-17T08:23:00.000-08:002013-11-17T08:23:09.314-08:00The Conclusion of Curfew and a Six Month Silence<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It’s been an obscene amount of time since I last wrote. Since
June 30<sup>th</sup> I have had a constant stream of relevant thoughts and
messages I wanted to share and express as someone here in Egypt, witnessing everything
with my own eyes; yet the required abstinence from politics that the
organization I work for had laid out prohibits me from publicly discussing anything
about the current situation. So while I completely agree with the reasons to
remain publicly silent (private messaging is fine), I have since lost
motivation to write; until now. </div>
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Before I begin, I would like to take a moment to say that I
absolutely and undoubtedly love Egypt. I do have a complicated relationship
with Cairo. We go through times of bitter fighting to times of blissful passion.
Cairo is (when not under state of emergency imposed curfew, and really even then as well) the city that
never sleeps. It’s exciting, bustling, chaotic and dirty; and riding in a taxi
at night down the Nile’s cornice with the mesmerizing Om Kalthoum or Fayrouz serenading
you in the background and the colorful lights reflecting on the lazy water is perhaps
one of my favorite things and fills me with that unique sensation of recognizing
I’m alive. On the other hand, the constant assault on your senses drains you;
and therefore the key to living in Cairo is living in Egypt. A day trip outside
the city to the nearby red sea, a weekend on the North coast, a week in the indescribably
beautiful Sinai or an overnighter in the desert, and you’re golden. A moment to
breathe fresh air, listen to silence and see green and blue again will keep you
from tiring of the chaos as easily. I’ve been in Egypt for over a year and I’ve
still only scratched the surface of what this incredible country has to offer. </div>
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Moving on, I returned to Cairo after three months in
Istanbul and began my current job about 5 months ago, and I think a certain
amount of written reflection is due. The work is intense; a lot more so than I
expected. It’s not the same intensity of casework, where the daily horror
stories chip away at your tolerance for humanity, but rather the intensity of
trying to balance several roles and remember to tie all the never-ending loose
ends. Some days I’ve worked extra long hours, barely remembering to eat; and
other days I’ve had seemingly endless time and have stared into space trying to
figure out what is the most efficient task to tackle at that moment. Now, five
months in, I have--as much as is possible-- settled into my role and am trying
to fulfill all my roles as best as possible. It’s been a whirlwind thus far,
and Egypt’s waves of instability have truly taught me a lesson in flexibility. Whether
it be volunteers cancelling, programs rescheduling due to insecurity, or other
cogs falling out of the wheel; the unexpected problems I’ve had to work my way
through have given me some invaluable work experience that I don’t think I
could have gotten elsewhere. </div>
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That being said, I don’t think management is for me in the
long-run. I see myself as more of a coordinator, advocate, or most likely a counselor.
I have begun looking into social work or counseling grad school programs, but
am definitely a year or more away from applying. Moreover I’ve recently began
to notice a gaping hole in my life where drama and art once were, and I am
currently exploring ways in which I can reincorporate that into my life (aside of
course from my frequent renditions of “Defying Gravity” in the empty main hall
at work as I lock up). <br /></div>
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And there’s just something so exhilarating about knowing
that in 6-7 months, when your contract is up, the world is yours. I can stay
and continue to develop the livelihoods aspect of the adult education program I
run; and as I am just beginning to work on a new training program that I hope
to expand and add on to each semester, I’d say renewing my contract is a very likely
option. </div>
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However, I love knowing that I have the freedom to do
anything and go anywhere—a freedom that had at first filled me with anxiety
from being lost in uncertainty; but a freedom that has more and more become my
most valued possession. I have a burner phone and I hand my landlord I wad of
cash at the end of the month. I use my debit card only to pull money from my ever-dwindling
savings, but rarely. Aside from the internet, I live off the grid, and I have
no physical or financial ties anywhere. If it weren’t for my commitment to my
job, I could book a ticket, pack my bags and leave within a day. It’s a unique
and wonderful feeling, but one that hasn’t come without cost.</div>
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This freedom comes at the cost of certain relationships, a
lot of hard work and low pay. I make enough to live comfortably on, but not
enough to save. I don’t have money set aside for “the future.” At this point
even if I wanted to consider having kids in the next 5 or so years I couldn’t
afford to. Credit Scores? Pfhah! Retirement? Not a thing. I’m not sure I could
even explain to you what a 401-K is. I get to make choices like: go to the
dentist or go on a night out with my friends (although let’s be real: that’s
what toothbrushes are for anyway, right?). So while I love my lifestyle, there
is a less glamorous side most people don’t see and it involves sacrifices that
are often difficult to make. It’s also not always exciting. I’m not a reporter
or photographer, so when crazy things happen here, I’m not out in the trenches with
my life on the line. I sit at home with friends, watch the news, eat, drink and
stress over cancelling and rescheduling for work: again, not glamorous. That
being said, I wouldn’t trade this concoction of good, bad and ugly for all the
stability, sweet dreams and savings the world has to offer.</div>
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You see, one of the ultimate perks is the people you meet
and the friendships you develop here in the Middle East. I’m incredibly
fortunate to have such a large and diverse group of friends here (including
those that have left but put in a reciprocal amount of effort to stay in touch)
that keep me on my toes, join me in the aforementioned escapes outside Cairo
and support me through the difficult times. The community here in Cairo is unique
and strong. Egyptian, American, European, African; we are all bonded by the
same strange draw that brought us to and keeps us in the hub of the Middle
East. However, we’re not all the same, and we bring a myriad of stories and personalities
to a rather oddly shaped table of fellowship that King Arthur couldn’t have
rivaled (perhaps for more reason than one but let’s stick to the fairy-tale
version for the purposes of this metaphor). </div>
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And it’s only after living here that I’ve fully developed a
healthy self-confidence in who I am. For the first era in my life, I am always <i>me</i>
without caring or considering what other people will think. I can sing and
dance in front of anyone, embarrass myself publicly and make goofy faces
without hiding in the shadows or worrying that people will think I’m weird
(mostly because I accept that I am). So when me and one of my friends had the chance to go on an Egyptian reality tv show episode for a free trip as part of the show’s
contestants’ challenge, I said “why not”
and made an absolute fool of myself on national television. I don’t think I
could have done that even three years ago, much less do so without reservation
and without hiding my often ridiculous quirks. </div>
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Breaking free from the shackles
of image has been the most liberating experience of my life, and I sincerely hope
that everyone I love has or will experience this feeling at some point in their
lives. Not that you have to come to Cairo or the Middle East to do so—but I think
everyone needs to find that place where they can break free.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWRnyH6Sd_qV8mZkpLH9QE35ZDf4R7c3ZW_CH7VkbpkhcGv4uuk4IQ1epQyD-rMAVHBvJfXbPgMCEbnPpKrwX84erHms8ysC3Jh_jJDN5AYpD0eEJ23ldSujBM08EnoGMQDPregxJxQk/s1600/IMG_0035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWRnyH6Sd_qV8mZkpLH9QE35ZDf4R7c3ZW_CH7VkbpkhcGv4uuk4IQ1epQyD-rMAVHBvJfXbPgMCEbnPpKrwX84erHms8ysC3Jh_jJDN5AYpD0eEJ23ldSujBM08EnoGMQDPregxJxQk/s320/IMG_0035.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Desert </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCQZKT4DGB4tmzuGWBriJzmVH5lTF986rzpA1BhOe3oEL4iio2gbxd4LN8TBvLz64nOuKi7-9wGFqet28q2bGpy5JagW7HYA1fLNfHsFmazAKNoA5_tNLy37h9-wGQ17GoNpCyBphzEM/s1600/IMG_0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCQZKT4DGB4tmzuGWBriJzmVH5lTF986rzpA1BhOe3oEL4iio2gbxd4LN8TBvLz64nOuKi7-9wGFqet28q2bGpy5JagW7HYA1fLNfHsFmazAKNoA5_tNLy37h9-wGQ17GoNpCyBphzEM/s320/IMG_0043.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTaEZeV1BH4vWkrqeNe2IinNUtNGFrFg9n5MSZXANuibGpfzFYdSMo3h5WSNjyxJ7y-dAN5fuB4uJmxFisJv8csOdL8mSfpA-DyE-xa9jEcdxqII-W4l93y3PSDk7JB9_RgWXBX_-bgo/s1600/IMG_3653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjTaEZeV1BH4vWkrqeNe2IinNUtNGFrFg9n5MSZXANuibGpfzFYdSMo3h5WSNjyxJ7y-dAN5fuB4uJmxFisJv8csOdL8mSfpA-DyE-xa9jEcdxqII-W4l93y3PSDk7JB9_RgWXBX_-bgo/s320/IMG_3653.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red Sea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNP_LYQ5FqIBQPU_TVVwiWYFfl7SnTQUTuklCgs5L-zZ5H2dtLNvQq8ZHeIYG6WaXQnI5R9NPinR3gk4OuOVQscTFgp-B_0ILFcNhBTCdiIBE8WCMBS9UBg0U_Alc7uSCphI2NJHUCntI/s1600/IMG_3659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNP_LYQ5FqIBQPU_TVVwiWYFfl7SnTQUTuklCgs5L-zZ5H2dtLNvQq8ZHeIYG6WaXQnI5R9NPinR3gk4OuOVQscTFgp-B_0ILFcNhBTCdiIBE8WCMBS9UBg0U_Alc7uSCphI2NJHUCntI/s320/IMG_3659.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sinai</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vswmiAVs04T9Rn4lClx3ma4RIeg4EJm99_IPcYbciPeF5Xhk-bHnYUbjlABX5xu1CkLG6w-FwnqcYClIfJIbshzJ9R7qKJqmo-knmcSXFKXjDRq0mUe5w3zJZqDTw4Ldhdl1bfBsSpE/s1600/IMG_3656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0vswmiAVs04T9Rn4lClx3ma4RIeg4EJm99_IPcYbciPeF5Xhk-bHnYUbjlABX5xu1CkLG6w-FwnqcYClIfJIbshzJ9R7qKJqmo-knmcSXFKXjDRq0mUe5w3zJZqDTw4Ldhdl1bfBsSpE/s320/IMG_3656.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nuweiba</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMv111mH_kBb41yejWqOLXXsncsJ4STy-ULNjlQuRGtd0ia5jS_myNvEy2tAC5QubI1FvcuSRQW6cmKQjjtlh4Avz4qGmQtDzDMI4Y7n7wfpMYsE6Knm0bFTSN9MuVK83MxXFRxrOtTs/s1600/IMG_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKMv111mH_kBb41yejWqOLXXsncsJ4STy-ULNjlQuRGtd0ia5jS_myNvEy2tAC5QubI1FvcuSRQW6cmKQjjtlh4Avz4qGmQtDzDMI4Y7n7wfpMYsE6Knm0bFTSN9MuVK83MxXFRxrOtTs/s320/IMG_0005.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day of Ridiculousness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-29177209142792611562013-05-07T08:55:00.001-07:002013-05-07T08:55:08.480-07:00Cairo, Here I Come<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I stood at my open window as the suddenly cold sea breeze
whipped Istanbul with chilled air; and it hit me that this would be the last
time I would feel fresh cold evening air for a very long time. I inhaled deeply
as the air wafted the fresh scent of water followed by the crisp aroma of
burning wood through my window. The fog snuggled against the skyscrapers and
trapped the light from the streets in a hazy glow. I soaked in the city’s
skyline, the air’s sweet perfume and the wind’s cool touch, silently pondering
my impending departure from Istanbul and the enduring heat to come with my
return to Cairo. And then as if to perfect the moment the voice of an imam echoed
from a distant mosque, soon joined by several others, erupting the city in
spiritual beckoning. I can’t explain why, but the call to prayer ignites
something inside me, shifting the patterns of my breathing as I am overcome
with a sense of prophetical fulfillment; as if the sound triggers recognition
of destiny in my subconscious. </div>
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For those who don’t know, I recently accepted a job in
Cairo, working with St. Andrew’s Refugee Services, where I previously interned;
and I will be returning to Egypt within the next 10 days. More than anything
else I’m excited; excited to end the uncertainty that has overshadowed my past
five months, to return to a place that is very much a home to me, and to dive
into new and challenging work through which I know I will experience further
growth. </div>
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Just prior to getting the offer, my dear friend of an older
brother nature, a writer wise-beyond-his-years, quoted Henry Miller quoting an
old Buddhist saying, and I quote: “If we received what we wanted when we
thought we needed it, then life would be devoid of any challenge, meaning or
excitement.“ A few days later, I realized later just how applicable these words
are to the recent turn of events. </div>
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The job I was just offered is one I had applied to at the
end of last year. However, I had been on the fence about it at the time as I was
excited about the work but was skeptical about staying in Cairo another year or
more. At the time I was dying to try something new and find an adventure
elsewhere. I was rather relieved when I didn’t get the position and I am incredibly
grateful that I have had these three months in Istanbul, away from Cairo, to
step out and look back. The separation made me realize how much I love Egypt
and how willing I am to live there again. </div>
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My time in Istanbul has been so formative in other ways as
well. I have had a very rich experience here; starting with no prospects
whatsoever and networking into both paid and volunteer vocations. It hasn’t
been perfect but I have been enriched by the challenges I have and haven’t overcome,
the people I’ve met and the new culture I’ve been fortunate to experience. I
have also gotten to spend nearly three months living with a person I consider
family; and I now have difficulty picturing day to day life without Lindsey. I
cannot yet fathom that in a few weeks she will board a plane that I won’t be
boarding, and an ocean instead of five feet of hardwood floor will separate us.
In fact, I refuse to think about it and am very much in denial that it will
happen. </div>
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Every time I leave a place for the foreseeable future to
travel or move somewhere new, I listen to the song “Send Me on My Way” by
Rusted Roots. The song creates feelings of nostalgia for the adventure that has
come to a close, and excitement for the one that is about to begin. Although I’m
not going to a new country, I am confident this year or more in Egypt will be
very much different than before as I’ll have a full time job, be enrolled in
Arabic classes, and will share a downtown apartment closer to work with friends.
I’m experiencing a modge podge of emotions, but more than anything am ready to
be sent on my way. </div>
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Day Time Views From My Apartment (which faces the burbs):</div>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-10162889926888971032013-04-14T09:44:00.002-07:002013-04-14T09:47:09.095-07:00Cancelling Cancellations <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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You know that icebreaker game that team leaders make you
play when you’re on a trip or getting to know new interns, etc: where everyone
goes around and says an adjective that matches the beginning sound of their
name, followed by their name? If I was forced to endure that tomorrow, I’d say “canceled
Casey,” and it’d be a pretty accurate description of my current place in life. </div>
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Not long after I last gushed about how perfect my situation
was here in Istanbul, it changed rather rapidly. This isn’t to say that
everything fell apart and I regret coming here; because I don’t. Unfortunately,
however, the au-pairing work turned out to be a bunch of cancellations, and
even after turning back to teaching I have received too many cancellation
notices to count. Too bad I can't cancel cancellations...</div>
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However, on my days of unemployment, I have spent extra time
with my Arabic partner and now very dear and close friend as well as some other
amazing people I have met here. I have learned to appreciate stability, of which
I have very little right now and I have simultaneously learned how to deal with
complete instability, which in ways helps me understand to a better degree
(albeit not fully) the way the refugees I love so dearly feel all the time. </div>
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The volunteering here has also been really great. It’s also
relatively spontaneous in nature, but it’s been very humbling and has increased
my flexibility. Ok now it sounds like I’m writing a cover letter, but you get
my drift. The staff at Caritas is incredibly friendly, supportive and eager to
give me as much experience as they can set up. They have even invited me to an
emergency preparedness seminar training, for which I am really excited.<br />
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Between the spontaneity of volunteering and the ever-changing
nature of paid work, my life plan usually doesn’t get cemented until halfway
through the current day, although I may have a rough idea the night before. This
lends itself to a stressed out, yet liberated Casey who feels a constant pull
between freefalling through an incredible canyon of experience and waiting for
the relief of touching ground again. Although, knowing myself, I’m likely to
want to freefall again as soon as I have that stability I supposedly want. <br />
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This all has been a very humbling, stressful, wonderful
experience, and although I had wanted to wait to write a new post till I had “good
news,” I think I needed to, tail between my legs, disclose the less bouncy walk
I’ve been walking since my last post and the many moments where I’ve melodramatically
stared into space and wondered what I’m doing with my life.</div>
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I’ve started applying for some actual jobs, one of which is
my dream job, and for which I meet all qualifications for, but I may have unfortunately
heard of it too late. Regardless, I’m applying for work and will hopefully find
something more consistent soon; or I will commit to spending 1-2 years in
Istanbul and teach for a more reliable company (that requires commitment) and
continue volunteering for and with some incredible people. </div>
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I am, in all this, so happy and grateful to be where I am. I’m
in one of the most beautiful (yet crowded) cosmopolitan cities in the world
with an incredible friend who can only be described as my sister and partner. I
honestly don’t know what I would have done these past few months without her.
Sure, I have AMAZING friends all over who would and even have helped me out
immensely. But there is something extra in having a sister with you who
understands you so deeply and loves you so strongly. There is not a detail of
my life I wouldn't and haven’t shared with her and its that openness and
dedication that has been my one ounce of stability—despite the fact that she is
also facing the same types of instability as me. Thank you Lindsey Jordan
Baker, for suggesting I come to Istanbul, for loving me like a sister, for dealing with my bad moods and bad temper not many see and for
being as weird and crazy as I am. </div>
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So no, no big exciting update; just me living in the moment, learning to be content, flexible and...patient...</div>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-79300344741513136772013-03-14T15:39:00.000-07:002013-03-14T15:39:32.652-07:00The Bounce in My Bounce<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Although my last post was only two weeks ago, my situation
has since changed significantly and I feel I should publish yet another update.
I have since established and began paid employment, found and began several
volunteer opportunities, moved into a new apartment, set up Arabic conversation
partners and fallen in love.</div>
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<i>Yes, I am in love</i>. My heart flutters as I walk down the
street, basking in the now warm sun. The already odd and frequently commented
on bounce in my step now itself has bounce, as I…bounce…down the street. I
shall lead you on no further; the object of my affection is (as per usual) a
setting, complete with a unique culture and way of life. With Cairo I
experienced love at first sight, but in Istanbul I have had the distinct
pleasure of falling in love. While I was enamored with Istanbul itself upon
arrival, it has taken just under a month for me to become fully enthralled in
all its charms as well my specific role on such a large and at first
intimidating stage. Yes, the colorful buildings, breathtaking mosques, hypnotic
calls to prayer, delicious food, and constant flow of life—as well as my now
near fully established part to play-- has enraptured me and I am once again
filled with passion, purpose and motivation. </div>
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This is not to say the past month has been perfect bliss. I
have experienced several moments of absolute panic, been frustrated and
irritated beyond reason and been tempted to quit before potential failure.
However, this is all behind me for the time being, and while I am still being
challenged in many ways, I find these challenges to be the pleasurable ones
where potential for growth is immediately apparent. </div>
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I am extremely blessed to have found employment as an
English companion for now two young children. I play with the kids and tutor
them in the English language. The timing could not be more perfect. I start in
the early evenings most days, which leaves me all morning and afternoon for
volunteer work. I should be able to survive off of working a few hours a day
with at least one child; and for this I recognize I am extremely fortunate. Not
only does my fortune lie in the nature and timing of the work, but also in the
children themselves. As much as I love children in general, I have to say I am
blessed to be working with two incredible young ones. They are both bright and
fun and I share common interests with both; making playing with them second
nature. The girl is nearly a replica of me as a child: wild imagination and a lot of expression. We
are ballerinas, queens of hearts, mothers running from the tent monster with
our little baby dolls, etc. I love being able to act again, as minor as it may
seem—and perhaps one day my ability to fake being eaten by a tent will come in
handy. With regards to the little boy, I haven’t spent much time with him yet;
but I recently made the exciting discovery that he loves Star Wars. His mother
expressed concern that he would be shy for a little while, but following my
comment on his Darth Vader figurine, I was led to his room where I encountered
a Star Wars haven. We sat naming all the action figures and spacecrafts he
owned, and I have never before been more thankful for my dorkiness. </div>
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Thanks to an exceptionally considerate and helpful fellow BU
alum, I am now connected to several refugee organizations here in Istanbul. My
week is nearly full of different social services activities with a couple
different organizations. I have set aside two days a week for a legal aid
organization that I am applying for an internship with. If that doesn’t end up
working out, I will delve further into social services and communications work.
My volunteer work requires a lot of direct interactions with Arab refugees,
which means I need to improve my Arabic skills. I have therefore met several
Arabic speakers who have agreed to do a speaking language exchange with me:
Arabic for English practice. I think my vocabulary will actually improve more
here than it did in Egypt; mostly because I used English in the workplace there
whereas here I am using Arabic more in a work context and not just daily
interactions which amounted to several memorized schpiels. </div>
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Lindsey and I love
our new house. Moving in with five other people was rather nerve-racking at
first, but after meeting our flatmates we are more excited than anything else.
We live with 4 international students: a German, Italian, Czech and Spaniard as
well as a Turk. They’re all around our age and a lot of fun. We’re both really
excited to get to know them more. Moreover we love our room, view and
neighborhood. The location is very central in Istanbul, and our neighborhood is
lively but not crowded in a negative way. We have a lot of local restaurants,
grocery stores and a weekly farmers’ market. </div>
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I don’t think I could be living more in the moment than I am
currently (as I have no definitive timeline) and I am confident that I am in
the right place at this time in my life. I am so thankful Lindsey Jordan Baker
suggested I come here. Despite my previous doubts, fears, panic attacks and
foul moods, I know I made the right decision and I have her in great part to
thank for it. She may not be “the reason” I came per-se, but she played a huge
role in making it possible for me to come and I’m so happy to be living with
her again! Love you Linds!! </div>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-58533134894767796632013-02-27T14:22:00.000-08:002013-02-27T14:23:49.949-08:00Lost and Found in Google Translation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It’s hard to beat hearing Google Translate’s audio track
deliver compliments or ask questions in a robotic while your Turkish friend and
current flat mate silently mouths the words. Such has been the pattern of many
of our conversations, as he speaks very basic English and I speak far less
Turkish (which isn't saying much). Sometimes we sit side by side and type things into Google Translate,
frequently trying to actually say the words we’re reading, something he is much
better at than me. This is necessary when deciding what to make for dinner.</div>
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“What do you want?”</div>
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“All things for the good”</div>
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Blank stare</div>
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“Error?” (types again)
“Anything good”</div>
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Ah ok. “I will make something.”</div>
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“error”</div>
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“I will cook good food”</div>
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Ahhhh ok “Let’s go make the shopping”…</div>
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I have truly been enjoying this exchange. For two people
with such a large language gap, we manage to communicate very well through
words repeated for emphasis, short phrases and lots of body language. It’s strange to become close friends and forge
such a strong connection with someone where such seemingly daunting barrier
exists. </div>
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Turkish hospitality has so far blown me away in the form of Mehmet and Gokhan. Mehmet is my Turkish friend I met two years ago while he was
doing a summer exchange program and working in Maryland. I had met his Egyptian
roommate Mohamed first, and subsequently met “the Turkish boys.” Mehmet and his best friend Gokhan have been
letting me stay with them until Lindsey and I could find a room to split
somewhere more centrally located. The guys have been amazing, insisting on
buying groceries until I get work, copying a key for me, and generally making
me feel right at home. Mehmet picked me up from the airport via public
transport and insisted on carrying both of my duffels through two forms of
transportation and several kilometers of walking. Gokhan lays out a breakfast buffet for us whenever
he is home in the mornings, which has been very enjoyable—especially with the
delicious fresh bread Turkey has to offer. I really cannot express how grateful
I am to have these guys as friends, and how much I am enjoying their
personalities and friendship. </div>
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Unfortunately, the boys live about an hour from the city
center, which means a long and relatively expensive metrobus ride to get to
Lindsey’s current flat, and basically all job possibilities, nightlife
activities, etc. However, I haven’t minded much currently, as I spend a lot of
time in the flat on my computer, applying for jobs; and when I’m not doing
that, I can leisurely ride down for
interviews. And I have enjoyed fixing dinner whenever I’m home at dinner time using
some of the most delicious produce I have ever tasted. I would live in Turkey
forever just to eat the tomatoes every day. I have even cooked an original
chicken dish—one of the first times I have ever cooked a meal involving meat. Those
of you who know my cooking habits: pick your jaw off the floor; yes I handled
raw meat, and yes I washed my hands a million times. The boys have been
enjoying my culinary enthusiasm, as their version of dinner is perfect for
everyone on that fancy new carbs and fried foods diet, but doesn’t include many
nutrients.</div>
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I’ve been here in Istanbul for over a week now, and the shock
is starting to wear off. I’ve never experienced culture shock like I have here.
I expected it to be very different from Egypt, but the historic Istanbul I
pictured in my head was no preparation for this vast expanse of city brimming
wit skyscrapers and shopping malls. I wasn’t sure how to process all this. This
is, in part, because Istanbul is much bigger and more fast-paced than any city
I have ever lived in; and on top of this—I don’t speak the language—at
all—which has been a near first in my travels. Adding to my “whelm” has been
the extreme change in prices. I went from a country where 1 dollar equaled 6.7
pounds to a country where 1 dollar is only 1.7 Lira—and the prices aren’t much
cheaper than the US either (with the exception of haircuts which are only 5
Lira!). </div>
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So re-cap. I moved to a country where I don’t know the
language, have yet to find a job and where the exchange rate does not lend
itself to relying on my dwindling savings account. Needless to say, I have had
several panic moments.</div>
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I have, however, developed several leads in the paying job
search (English teaching and au-pairing) as well as the refugee volunteer work
arena (not bad for only being here just over a week). Step one and two. I have
contacted a Palestinian on CouchSurfing
to practice Arabic with in exchange for English practice. Step three. Lindsey
and I just committed (after some searching) to sharing a room in a duplex
apartment. The room is HUGE and the only reason it’s cheap is that someone has
to walk through our room to get to theirs. We basically have the upstairs
living room, but the landlord will put two beds in (which is nice as we were
prepared to have to share a double for several months), some dividers for
privacy and an extra wardrobe. The room itself is huge and has two couches and
a wall full of large windows overlooking a large portion of this beautiful
city. We’ll be sharing the downstairs common area, kitchen, 2 toilets and
shower with—I forget how many—male foreign exchange students and a couple. It will be like living in a dorm again, most
likely, which has the potential to be both fun and harrowing—but at least we’ll
have our huge loft to retreat to: pictures to come. Step four. To do: get paid and get residence permit
before my account goes too low to be eligible.</div>
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Although I have had several moments where I completely
questioned my reasoning for coming here and my sanity (not because of Turkey
but because of the instability I have hurled myself into), I do feel, deep
inside, that moving here was the right move; and my deep-seated need for
adventure and challenge is being thoroughly satiated.</div>
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I am also truly
enjoying my exploration of Turkish culture. I love the music, the sound of then
spoken language, the Turkish obsession with house slippers and the unique blend
of regional influences and originality that permeates through Turkish life. I
love how my house mates have people over to talk, play guitar and take turns
singing. I love how Turkish tea—which is actually tastier than other black teas—is
served in cute little cups at all times of day. I love the affectionate and
caring nature of my Turkish friends, which makes me feel in some moments as
though I had lived here my whole life. </div>
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In deciding to move here, I kept in mind that it was a complete risk
and I could fall anywhere on the spectrum of success or failure. I decided to
make the move and hoped that in doing so, I would re-learn how to trust God and
that my spirituality would be stimulated once again and I would build anew my
faith. I don’t know what form exactly it will take, and my end goal is not to become more or less religious, but rather to seek the truth, to question and doubt, and continue figuring out what I truly believe. I have to say, so far
I do feel a helping hand and provider as some potentially big obstacles have been
overcome, or near overcome. The terror I felt after re-assessing the financial
aspects of this move has subsided and I feel relative peace about being here--which I cannot imagine is coming from me as I have a very hard time not being in control of my life. I foresee many ups and downs in many different areas of my life; but really, I wouldn't have it any other way. </div>
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Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-25236706209125346472013-02-18T02:45:00.006-08:002013-02-18T02:50:08.258-08:00Jumping Out The Window. Landing in Istanbul, Inshallah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I need to start by saying that today I leave Cairo, my home
for the past 9 months; but more notably, today I leave my Cairo family—some of
the most amazing people and friends I have ever and will ever meet. You all are
amazing and sent me off with (several) bangs. I love you all dearly and know
that saying “see ya later” to you all has been one of the hardest things I have
ever done. Never before have I struggled to leave as I have leaving Cairo and
you all. This only cements my resolve to both return to the country that will
always hold a special place in my heart, and reunite with you all—wherever you
may be. </div>
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A week ago today I made the decision to move to Turkey. I
don’t have a plan. I have a rough draft of what I think I might do, but nothing
officially set up awaits me in Turkey. The idea is to find a part time job teaching
or doing something that will provide income, and spend the other half of my
time volunteering with Syrian refugees and perhaps even networking into a job,
should the opportunity arise. Anything, however, could happen. I am both
terrified and excited.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I decided to leave Egypt because I felt restless. My living
situation, although nice, had become unhealthy in the sense that I lived free,
but far from my co-workers and most my friends, and had no one to really talk
to once I got home. Teaching business executives English as a means of extremely
minor income had started to wear on my patience and the influx of new interns
at Saint Andrew’s led to a smaller caseload anyway. I either needed a job or a
new destination. No doors opened. So I decided to jump out the window.</div>
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Turkey as a destination was inspired by the fact that my old roommate in
Palestine Lindsey, whom I consider to be a sister, moved to Istanbul two weeks ago,
with similar aspirations to the ones I described above (except she has a substantial
teaching job lined up). She offered to let me live with her, and she would
cover the rent until I found a job. With only the bare minimum of thought and
processing required to make such a life-altering decision, I booked the ticket,
packed my life into two duffels, a backpacker’s backpack and several jackets
stuff together; and wrapped up all logistical loose ends left in Cairo. Then I
started my goodbyes, which thanks to lots of practice, I managed to emotionally
disconnect from in the moment in order to not to feel the pain of parting I
have learned follows every goodbye. I still feel the tinges, and will likely
burst into one set of sobs, perhaps as the plane takes off, thinking about all
I am leaving behind.</div>
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<br /></div>
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However, as soon as the plane descends and I hit Turkish
land, I know excitement will bubble at the smell of fresh air and limitless
possibilities. Never before have I bought a one way ticket somewhere without
any set occupation or program. Never
before have I lived, much less visited, a country where I didn't speak at least
the basics of its language. I am terrified of failure, of not landing on my feet;
but I think this is perhaps a necessary step. My spiritual life has reached a
standstill—and I think leaping from a ledge is perhaps the only way to force
myself into figuring out what I truly believe. In all respects, this will be a
great chance to learn, grow and challenge myself in ways different from those I
have faced thus far. </div>
</div>
Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-32290260761344361342012-11-23T11:31:00.002-08:002012-11-23T11:31:45.245-08:00A Thanksgving Cornucopia of Cultures<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The nature, meaning and importance of Thanksgiving have begun to change for me over the years. It began as a few days off from school
where I got to pretend I was Pocahontas or Sacajawea (two of my childhood
aspirations for when I grew up), eat lots of food and be doted on by my grandparents. As I got
older, I began to understand the reality of the “pilgrims and Indians” and
tried to erase that aspect of the holiday from my mind, focusing on the food and
my new-found ability to drive to my cousin’s house and have two dinners.</div>
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It has further evolved now that I have spent three consecutive Thanksgivings abroad. Here are my reflections on my Thanksgivings and Christmases since, including this latest Thanksgiving, and how meanings have changed for me. I have to say, the best part of the story and my inspiration for writing is in the last paragraph or so, so definitely read that if you're short on time or perhaps attention span (as I often am). </div>
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I spent
my first Thanksgiving away from home in Rabat, Morocco in 2010, celebrating
with the four other students in my program plus one student’s Moroccan girlfriend
at a Syrian restaurant, freezing but delighting in my first courtship of hummus
and falafel and the company of my friends. I still have a video of all of us sharing in a circle what we're thankful for, despite all of us wishing we were home. It was exceptionally hard at the time, as I was experiencing a new
form of loneliness that came from my first time fully immersing myself in a
totally different culture for an extended period of time. But I had the hope
and excitement of knowing I would be home for Christmas to see all my friends
and family, soak up pumpkin spice lattes, jingle bells, lights and the
intoxicating smell of pine. I learned a lot from that immersion experience, and
the strength I gleaned from it was worth every moment of discomfort—but my
plane ticket home in December, that thought, that assurance is what got me
through the next few weeks ending the semester. I remember sitting in the Paris
airport for a layover, and watching the screen lighting up with delays and
cancellations, hoping, praying that I would make my flight before the impending
blizzard imprisoned me in Charles de Gaulle for who knows how long. I was on
the last flight to JFK before they stopped the planes. The fact that they had
lost my luggage paled in comparison to my extreme joy that I had made it home.
My mom and cousin Jesse had driven and waited hours to be able to meet me and
take me directly home, and I couldn't have been more overjoyed to see them. My
mom had packed a hot thermos full of chocolate and French vanilla flavored
coffee, with creamer and sugar all ready to go. I treasured every sip of the luscious
joe, a taste I had been <i>deprived</i> of
for an <i>entire</i> three months! I
remember the culture shock of walking into Target for the first time after
being away from such a concentrated amount of consumerism for what seemed at
that time in my life to be such a long time.</div>
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I remember going to
church that Sunday (I believe a day or two after I got back) and looking around
anxiously for my best friend, my Abby. Her family had come a few moments late,
after the songs had begun, but we spotted each other and made eye contact.
Moments later the pastor announced the time to greet one another and we both immediately
speed walked down the aisles to the back of the room and then collided into one of those laugh-cry hugs you see in the movies, my one ever . I felt like Lassie or Shadow from Homeward Bound
in that moment, and I cannot imagine feeling a stronger level of joy than I
felt in that embrace. I never appreciated my family, friends or the few days of
Christmas season I had left before Christmas so intensely before, and my memories from that winter vacation will have a home in my mind forever.</div>
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Last Thanksgiving marked my second Thanksgiving away from
home. I started thinking about “pilgrims and Indians” again, but only in
relation to settlers and Palestinians—the nuanced similarities of the situation
of my new home—the first home away from home I had ever truly had. My friends
and coworkers gathered together potluck style, with a big Turkey and all the
fixings, quite like the spread I would have had at home, with oddly shaped pots
and pans and missing the nice china and silverware my mom always broke out. And
it was a lovely evening, shared with friends. There was still a small ache of
wishing I could be home to see friends and family, but I was also with friends
and family in a way, so the ache transformed more into a fondness of memories for
the past and appreciation for the incredible relationships I had developed in
my new home. I look back and smile at the sisterhood I formed with my flatmates Lindsey and Amy in Palestine, and am so happy I got to spend such an important holiday with them.</div>
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The only pang that never left was knowing I wouldn't be home
for Christmas thattime. Unlike the year before, I knew I would be spending my
Christmas in my new home as well. I tried not to think about how hard that
would be—to miss Christmas at home for the first time in my life—as my
flatmates, or sisters rather, and I got a small evergreen tree for our flat and
decorated it with bulbs and tinsel we had acquired from the arts and crafts
store downtown. We sang Christmas carols and prepared for the challenges of
being away from home on that day by making plans to spend Christmas Eve in
Bethlehem and Christmas day in Ramallah. We had a wonderful time, walking
through Bethlehem, bundled up from the chill. We crashed an Indian/ Korean
Christmas Eve service in Shepherd’s field and then drove back to a friend’s house in Ramallah
in the rain to watch It’s a Wonderful Life (at Lindsey and my insistence) and
eat chocolate chip cookies, freshly baked from a package. Everyone went to bed before it finished, except for
Lindsey and I who were struggling to stay awake to finish our shared tradition. The next morning we exchanged
stockings which Lindsey had made, filled with candies and little gifts,
followed by an entire day preparing for a huge Christmas dinner potluck with a
mix of religions, faiths and nationalities from all over the world. It was a touching
moment of connecting our past experiences with family to our present family
there in Palestine and sharing it with many who had never experienced it
before. Despite the excitement and revelry of a new form of celebration, I
missed my family, friends from home and quiet little house on Loch Hill Road
with our eclectically decorated Christmas tree towering over an impressive home-made
train garden. I missed Central’s tradition Christmas Eve service, Maryland crab
soup for dinner and going to bed knowing my Dad had prepared some elaborate way
of presenting my brother's and my gifts (despite the fact that I was now an
adult). However, I also reflected on the previous few months and knew I was in
the right place, growing up and experiencing the challenges of adulthood which
required letting go of certain aspects of my youth so heavily tied to my heart.
And it was good.</div>
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</div>
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This past Thanksgiving marked another treasured moment of sharing traditions with people from other countries. I realized that Thanksgiving
for me really has become meeting with friends, sharing food, and outwardly
expressing what we’re all thankful for. This year one of my fellow legal
adviser interns invited everyone in the office, including our interpreters over
for a very traditional dinner with a big Turkey, candied yams, mashed potatoes,
homemade sourdough bread, green beans, pumpkin pie and much more. We had people
from the States, Canada, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Somalia, Sudan, Iraq, Germany,
France and Holland--a cornucopia of cultures. It was a wonderful night of sharing our holiday with
everyone and experiencing the true reasons for being thankful. Before eating, we
stood in a circle and went around saying what we were thankful for. Most were
thankful for being there, for each other, for family and friends, etc. The
quote of the night, however, came from the Darfuri interpreter who said he was
thankful for all those working for peace in the world, so that we may all have
peace someday. Thank you, brother, for that beautiful reminder of our calling to
always pursue peace. May we never give up our pursuit of the idealist’s
impossible dream, the beauty queen’s pledge, the small child’s prayer, the
seemingly unattainable—for despite knowing the futility of our quest we know also
the unrivaled worth of what we pursue, and that not persevering in our
pursuance is accepting defeat which is and always will be unacceptable. </div>
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“The true mystery of
the world is the visible, not the invisible." Oscar Wilde. How true this statement is. </div>
<br />
</div>
Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-28556607346463612992012-10-06T08:28:00.002-07:002012-10-06T08:31:06.493-07:00Mental Meanderings on a Train: Peace and Justice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I wrote this a little while ago on the train back from a wonderful weekend in Alexandria with two amazing friends, but I never posted it and since there's not much new news currently, voila.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ExSouCZe3iv02MwwTZWSfXgaQwFtmNw0T_sw7J8cjzXCk3DAJskvas4d4-NktxZNmiNOlVqbFZ4mC7bLFmUldjvUYsv6zGTyO8VJjcxDPodiLn6UFUAA9WmjtRB8oLM1UcgjJf1kwTc/s1600/IMG_2614.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ExSouCZe3iv02MwwTZWSfXgaQwFtmNw0T_sw7J8cjzXCk3DAJskvas4d4-NktxZNmiNOlVqbFZ4mC7bLFmUldjvUYsv6zGTyO8VJjcxDPodiLn6UFUAA9WmjtRB8oLM1UcgjJf1kwTc/s320/IMG_2614.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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As the train moved smoothly out of Alexandria, I stared in
awe and wonder at the lush green grass and trees that lined the sides of the
train tracks. I hadn't seen that thriving fertility of earth in months.
Alexandria itself is more biologically alive than Cairo, but the few miles
outside the city took me to a place in time where I used to run through forests
and roll around in the rich grass and clean soil of the earth. I miss natural
beauty. It’s been a long time since I
last took myself hiking up mountains or biking down rocky forest trails,
basking in the solitude and glory of this world we live in; the small pockets
of this world that our race hasn't yet destroyed with high rises, piles of
trash and chemical concoctions which pollute our earth, our bodies and our
minds. Why it’s so hard for <b><i>us</i></b>
to step outside <b><i>our</i></b>selves briefly and re-evaluate how <b><i>we</i></b> have damaged the
magnificence that has not only been an inspiration, the muse of all muses, for
art of all forms, but the provider of life and sustenance since the beginning
of time, I will never know. I am guilty of it too. I ride in cars, buses,
subways; I feed into the poisons of this world and buy processed and packaged
food. There are few innocent of crimes against nature, a crime not punishable
in a court of law.</div>
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And then I look at what we’ve done to each other, and I cry
from the inside. Tears gleam in my eyes but roar like high waves in my heart;
loud, crushing and infinite. I once felt glimmers of this sentiment when I
lived in the States, reading about suffering in stories and viewing it through
pictures. Now I witness it walking and commuting and wondering what I’m
supposed to do. What am I supposed to do? And what I witness is not the extent.
The stories I hear stain the mind with images of rape, murder, torture and gore
that we see in movies, but rarely connect the dots in our heads to the people
that not only experience anguish on a daily basis, but have accepted it as a
reality; as their reality. I have only heard tell. The empathetic emotions that
feed the fiery flames of passion and anger and frustration and “why, why why?”
in my soul fade and fizzle when stories are all that stain. What will happen if
I enter into those stories; if I stop listening and imagining and start seeing
and hearing with my own eyes, my own ears. </div>
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</div>
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“Life’s not fair.” Every parent dispels this wisdom on their
child from a young age when not every lollipop can be bought, not every whim
indulged. We say this when we don’t get the job we want or the person we want
or the lifestyle we want. And sometimes we say this and shake our heads when we
hear tell of the suffering overseas, even in our own backyards. </div>
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Justice is elusive. So is Peace. Both I've found are just as
important to seek and pursue, as they are elusive. Some would say Peace and
Justice are often at odds: that sometimes Peace is evaded in pursuit of
Justice; or Peace won at the cost of Justice. I wouldn't think to argue this,
as both are relative: what they are in nature varies in definition and
connotation from society to society and individual to individual. For me,
personally, I see peace as being not just the absence of fighting or conflict,
but the presence of harmony between the self and everything else. When the
music of your soul synchronizes with the music of the earth and the music of
the people around you, there is nothing more joyful or blissful, except the
additional synchronization with the music of the spiritual. And where this
harmony exists wholly and in pure form, conflict is hard pressed to penetrate.
The way I see justice is not just the conventional triumph of good over evil
and right over wrong, but the recognition and restoration of the humanity and
equality of every human born on this earth. We all have souls, hearts, millions
of thoughts, emotions and feelings. We all have needs and desires that vary
immensely but all stem from our common humanity. For me upholding principles
and morals are far less important to living justly than perceiving every person
around you with the dignity of their humanity--the equality of our existence.</div>
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So for me, when their
definitions are extended beyond absences and triumphs (although these
definitions I conjured are no more finite or complete), Peace and Justice fuse
and together orchestrate melodies of true ecstasy. In order to achieve harmony
with other people, Justice must be present in full force. How can one
synchronize the sounds of the soul between two people that refuse to see each
other as equally human? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The world we live in today, in the macrocosmic sense, seems
highly opposed to this theory, or at the very least, highly opposed to pursuing
the postulations of this theory. Who will convince the entirety of majority
clans in Somalia that the minority clans are just as human and important to
this earth as they are? Who will convince multi-national corporations of the
so-called “civilized and progressive world” that the people who lose their
homes and lives because of their dams and mines are more important than the
billions of dollars the CEOs get to put in their pockets? Who will convince
governments to stop sending drones that kill innocent villagers and children
when power and empire are at stake? Some people don’t want to harmonize with
others. Music is of little importance to them when money and power are at play.</div>
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War and suffering are
the spawn of a flawed relationship between the self and all else: that the self’s
wants and needs are of more value than the <i>life</i>
and <i>humanity</i> of another; and
therefore to convince everyone on this planet to seek and pursue Justice and
Peace (in the sense I mentioned earlier) is an impossible task in this
lifetime. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Therefore the start must be microcosmic, the individual
relationships and interactions one person has with the small percentage of the
world he or she comes into contact with. And even then, it is easier said than
done. Sure, I have achieved harmony with many of my friends, here and at
home—those that are tuned to the same pitch; but I cannot count the number of
times I have intentionally and unintentionally ignored Justice’s loud calling
and Peace’s sweet song. Because to not only recognize, but <i>restore</i> humanity and equality is an emotionally and often
physically and mentally draining task. And in witnessing so much suffering (and knowing I'm not even in the worst or <i>even near
worst</i> setting of suffering) the music I hear in my head is that of an out of tune orchestra playing different songs at different tempos. And I cannot seem
to conduct them into a clear melody or song. At this particular stage in my
life, I am left with the option of trying something new and perhaps dangerous,
or tuning them out entirely: putting in earplugs and living in quiet
indifference.</div>
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I believe that harmony with others and harmony with the
earth go hand in hand. While I would place harmony with others as more
important in terms of Peace and Justice; I believe that once you begin to break
down the barriers between people and start caring more about people than
personal comfort or convenience, you being to care more about the environment
that you <b><i>share</i></b>.</div>
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I don’t have delusions of all people living in a communal
state of equality with the same standards of living and same quality of life.
There is a difference between recognizing the equality of someone’s humanity
and living a uniform lifestyle. I don’t
think there will ever come a time when we all live completely equally and in
total harmony with each other and this earth. But that doesn't mean we should
abandon the pursuit of Peace and Justice in our own lives, in our own
interactions with others. That’s how restoration begins; and besides, a little
extra musical harmony is always appreciated.</div>
</div>
Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-53958335844082981992012-09-16T01:05:00.001-07:002012-09-16T01:16:44.055-07:00Watching the Sun Set on 21 and the Moon Rise on 22<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I haven’t written a personal update in a really long time,
and as I am just about halfway through my expected stay in Egypt, I figured now
would be a good time to post something personal--and personal it is.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_H_vEfnHiEzX9ohAyaQw88-QTNdAA-bO79brimikyxvZkEGQHf8S6ujbBVJj8sZSdasURHBv2IjcHZwP6tbdCMNiLeCNmmR40BdLhWC5ADs3lgnrRLdT5O2I2Ipdoj7ojEmG75dUQf2s/s1600/IMG_2776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_H_vEfnHiEzX9ohAyaQw88-QTNdAA-bO79brimikyxvZkEGQHf8S6ujbBVJj8sZSdasURHBv2IjcHZwP6tbdCMNiLeCNmmR40BdLhWC5ADs3lgnrRLdT5O2I2Ipdoj7ojEmG75dUQf2s/s200/IMG_2776.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXskDubwSO9ynFLD6lh0idH7rrBB2kIlIkYnetS3E2A04x9rU4qZR8h13QPiZa-skXWvw9EOGzCn86R4wdcQ62xFWxIvhyphenhyphenRS7fH-N3wNgC2eb2Qx63zrabD0HlCYkKkkvj2NIyASvd5k/s1600/IMG_2834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHXskDubwSO9ynFLD6lh0idH7rrBB2kIlIkYnetS3E2A04x9rU4qZR8h13QPiZa-skXWvw9EOGzCn86R4wdcQ62xFWxIvhyphenhyphenRS7fH-N3wNgC2eb2Qx63zrabD0HlCYkKkkvj2NIyASvd5k/s200/IMG_2834.JPG" width="150" /></a>First of all, I am safe. Cairo has not gone up in flames. I don't want to detract from the severity of the clashes, as many protesters were injured and I believe there were some deaths, but the action is confined to a very small radius in a gigantic city. I easily avoid that area and feel as safe as ever. </div>
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I just had my 22<sup>nd</sup> birthday, and I am blessed
enough to have amazing friends who made it special-- from those abroad through
messages and facebook, to my Egyptian friends that got me a cake and sang to me
in the streets, to my American and Canadian friends who took me out two nights
in a row for a lovely time. Thank you all! I had a great weekend!</div>
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I have had a wonderful time travelling around here in Egypt
on regular and long weekends, in between long crazy weeks with two 12+ hour
workdays during which I had to run around to opposite ends of this gigantic
city. I’ve gotten to experience the black and white desert with an amazing
group of coworkers, explore Alexandria with two incredible friends and together
meet a random man who took us to a private beach and pool on the North Coast,
endure the hassles of Luxor and climb a mountain in the dark to watch the most
incredible sunrise over the Nile with a lifelong friend and sage and relax on
the red sea with the same friend, reflecting on all the lessons learnt over the
past year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amongst all this adventure, I continue to see and listen to
stories of suffering and horror, whilst simultaneously having fun with
co-workers and friends and enjoying some mostly simple, but still indulgent
pleasures of life. This tense dichotomy in combination with further reflection regarding
my previous life and country of origin has definitely had a profound effect on
me emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past year has been a whirlwind; but at the same time I
feel like I’ve been 21 for ages and that these past 11 months have spanned five
years. I guess this doesn’t come as a surprise considering that life in the
Middle East often rolls over you in crashing waves as you attempt to keep the
sand out of your…well everything. This
past weekend marked the end of a year, but really the end of an era for me. My
first year, graduated from university, out in the world and completely on my
own. I feel truly lucky to be having this experience and am so grateful to my
family and all my friends for supporting me. It’s been a year of conquered
fears, tears, laughter, confusion, enlightenment and further confusion stemming
from said enlightenment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everything here seems more intense than it might otherwise
be: joy, pain, romance, friendship. I’ve had moments of pure ecstasy from
plunging into new adventures and experiencing true friendship; and I’ve had
moments of pure emotional numbness often experienced in situations of so-called
“romance.” I chuckle now at my sigh of relief whenever those “romances” came to
speedy conclusions –when it was realized that which I was constantly aware
of—that I don’t fit into the puzzle of ex-pat romances: intense and short-lived
or frequent but devoid of emotion. Being aware of that made me never fully let
my guard down—although I once did partially: a lesson well learnt—and kept me
from getting emotionally involved in something which would only lead to
emotional destruction. It has also, however, kept me from taking a chance on
certain people and relations that could have proved to be fun and perchance
even special—but I can’t say I regret my policy either. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have felt more alive this year than ever before. Moments
when I was sitting on the Cairo metro or in a shared taxi in Palestine
thinking: “I used to always wish I was somewhere else. I don’t anymore. Breakthrough.”
That’s not to say it has been a year of bliss and magic. In addition to moments
of ecstasy I have experienced moments of deep depression. An hour passed
sitting on my couch and staring into abyss, not wanting to be here, not wanting
to be there, not wanting to live, not wanting to die—just wanting to erase
existence. But even when I wished I didn’t exist, I felt so deeply alive. I was
feeling nothing, but yet feeling something, something strong but invisible—like
a burst of wind on an empty highway. You feel the toppling power of the wind,
but see nothing because you’re the only thing transient on that stretch of
pavement. The current knocks you off your feet and holds you down. It streams
so quickly over your face you can barely inhale to stay breathing. Then
everything goes dark and you fall asleep. It’s when you wake up that you see
you weren’t on a highway after all, but standing in a beautiful meadow. The
ugly black pavement has transformed into soft green grass, towering trees and
flowers of every color and design. You haven’t been moved; you just see more
clearly now—you see the world as it’s meant to be seen, and each blade, root
and petal is more beautiful to you than you imagined anything living ever could
be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The peace you find isn’t lasting, and the more suffering you
see and listen to, the harder it becomes to see beauty in anything. I’ve
realized you can’t hold on to peace here. There is not enough comfort or
stability to capture and enslave it. But peace enslaved isn’t peace at all.
It’s an illusion. Peace is meant to be sought and pursued—lost and found, then
lost again. The following is a small part of a spontaneous and lengthy stream
of consciousness inscribed onto a paper place mat at an Indian restaurant
ironically named Nirvana overlooking the red sea:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
“Yes peace is temporal. I hold to
the truth: “Seek peace and pursue it,” because every time you find it, it
morphs and moves and swims away, darting into dark caves or the deep blue
unknown. It is something you cannot ever attain in full—only at times and in
parts. It slips away into the night unnoticed and I wake up feeling heavy
because when peace abandons ship it doesn’t not leave empty space in its place,
but rather anchors that hold me where there is no air. The more I see of this
world—the more I learn—the less I understand humanity. The American dream is an
illusion—an aquarium: creatures of the sea in a replica of reality—but were
they to enter the sea…”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN4BPa8RwziYde_PM__1-4s29cfrWKTlbRXo5dkrwXCCxnrCWLpHyGuYj8UV9yeLLKDVFlRvQgh8iJzdlcGyPsJM1J7Y_g5sObFRRATrl68jvEDWP0I224h52QTwXGN23-_hdSMRuInc/s1600/IMG_2888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXN4BPa8RwziYde_PM__1-4s29cfrWKTlbRXo5dkrwXCCxnrCWLpHyGuYj8UV9yeLLKDVFlRvQgh8iJzdlcGyPsJM1J7Y_g5sObFRRATrl68jvEDWP0I224h52QTwXGN23-_hdSMRuInc/s200/IMG_2888.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
I’ve been lucky enough to spend a full week on the red sea
and again see beauty in the world. I will always remember the white beaches,
coral reefs, stony banks, pink and purple mountains and golden rising moons
with love and gratefulness, for reminding me that we come not from ugly but stunning
origins, and there are still places you can see beauty un-mangled by human
destruction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find myself very much on edge, longing only to go back to
life as it was created to be, instead of the way we have degraded it to be. Part
of me would like to just break away and spend my life working only to travel
and backpack—through Nepal, India, China, South America, anywhere and
everywhere, ignoring the cries that haunt my thoughts and drive me to
destructive vices. Part of me wants to go back to the illusions I once lived
in, always wishing I was somewhere else, yet calmed my the comforts of
capitalistic cushions. And then there’s part of me, a strong ever burning part that
is pushing me to challenge myself further and experience the source of the
stories I sift through here. See with my own eyes what I have ever only
pictured in my head as I take notes and nod, pretending I have a clue what
they’re talking about. I empathize because I’m talking with them face to face,
but I will never achieve a higher level of understanding until I actually go to
Somalia or Sudan and see the setting of their stories. Even then, I will never
fully understand the plight of a refugee.
I guess in a way I am the antithesis of a refugee: I have <i>chosen</i> to leave my home—a good one at that—because of a desire to
stay moving and transient, whereas they have been <i>forced</i> to leave their homes and only desire safety and stability. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that’s where I’m at. I’m looking for opportunities in
Somalia and Sudan primarily, but may have to spend some time elsewhere before
being considered for a position there.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ4BK_4b3j2erBlcqHRzabKQ6vnfWFEDSH0LKT4MOT6zTLQlRx-UWpGLTcpYi70s3Kx1x1UKcCXPmuV8nZ1KC4GolLlX_TIiTGtIhkg7p4IS2A9kHQDvMTLdBk0gDyb_e5PwtsH_dtgE/s1600/IMG_2864.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZ4BK_4b3j2erBlcqHRzabKQ6vnfWFEDSH0LKT4MOT6zTLQlRx-UWpGLTcpYi70s3Kx1x1UKcCXPmuV8nZ1KC4GolLlX_TIiTGtIhkg7p4IS2A9kHQDvMTLdBk0gDyb_e5PwtsH_dtgE/s200/IMG_2864.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-21604575821427192012-08-12T02:46:00.001-07:002012-08-12T22:44:02.727-07:00I Love You<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>I</i></b> Love You </span></h2>
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are alone, far from the place you know and without
anyone who cares about you or shows you love. The memories haunt you like a incurable rash—itches you can’t scratch, and when you scratch
them anyway, they just get worse. You
can’t sleep, and even when you can that’s when the nightmares come, and they’re
not that much better than the insomnia. </span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You miss your family. They were all you ever had. You had
always been marginalized because of your clan, but at least your family was
with you. You had each other. Amidst the violence, the killing, looting,
raping—they were there. Until the militiamen came to your home and threw off
your door. You ran if you could and if you couldn’t: rape, torture, murder.
They took all your possessions too, but that didn’t really matter much in the
end because life was draining from your loved ones into puddles of blood on the
floor. That’s if you had the torturous comfort of knowing what happened to your
family. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">At some point you ran. It may have been before the blood,
during or many years after-- living as a slave--but you ran. Crossing borders,
registering and finding yourself somewhere new with the chance of living a
better life. But that chance is an illusion, and you quickly learn that the
scale of "better and worse" doesn’t apply to you—you need a ticket to step on
that scale and you don’t have the money to buy one. Sometimes you say it’s worse here, but really
it’s more that the disillusionment burns you in a way you haven’t felt before.
It’s different than the fire you were thrown into or the hand around your
neck—it’s a slow, steady burn that breeds bitterness in its coals. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are young. Too young, and you beg for help. Sometimes
you find a place to sleep, but everything for you is temporal. Cleaning houses
sometimes pays for rent, but you’re always on edge for the day you’re done and
you have to find a new house to clean—because if you can’t it’s the streets
again. Sometimes the employers leave and you part ways wearily but unscathed;
but sometimes you flee because the husband wants your body or the teenager
burns your arm for the pure savagery of it. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Your body hurts. It may have been the beatings, the time you
fell, the disease never cured—but your flesh and bones ache like your soul and
it’s overwhelming. The people that pay
for medicine tell you that you have an illness or injury and give you a paper,
but you don’t know what any of it means because a diagnosis is too much for
them to give—just take this to the pharmacy and you’ll feel better. And sometimes
you do, for a little while.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometimes you push through. You work if there’s a part of
you still alive. But when its all set in—and you see that there is no
improvement coming, no redemption on its way—not that you’ve ever even dared
dream of a magic lamp or white steed—you give in to the callings of your body.
Why work and rot your body if it will all end anyway and there is no hope for
change, no ladder to climb?</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are a black woman. The beauty of your dark skin and
defined features is lost in racism and hatred of the unfamiliar. They know
you’re foreign and therefore vulnerable—so the harassment is worse and more
intense. You wear the naqab and cover everything except your eyes, in the hopes
of obtaining some amount of security--in the hopes that they won’t see your
ethnicity so clearly or your youthful but broken figure and call you names or
try and take you to unknown places. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You are a refugee. You have the card you once thought
brought life—the yellow or blue card with your name and picture that proves to
the world you are legitimately unable to go home. </span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">You tell your story. You desperately kneel at the feet of
those who gave you your status only to be given a number that gets lost in
“there’s nothing we can do.”</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I need to go somewhere else—anything will be better than
here. Maybe go home—back to Somalia where at least there’s no illusion of a
better life—I'll just die. Maybe that will be better. My fate there is set, but
here I am swimming with no land in sight and just enough left to keep my head
above water—but I know the ending to that story, so why keep swimming?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Somali “women at risk” (as they
are categorized by UNHCR) have a special place in my heart. Most of my clients
have been Somali W@R, and their stories have significantly changed the way I
see the world and humanity. I have the utmost respect, admiration and love for
these women—weak as they may seem sitting across the table from me, I know that
what they have endured is beyond my comprehension, and they have strength I
probably will never know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-5581884891818214412012-06-25T14:34:00.001-07:002012-06-26T00:49:44.615-07:00Thoughts from Tahrir<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: #ea9999;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOShAlCeOT-DU0t5Ti-hyYxs4MAAC9o9bYdddpxcXZ4YzcJFQZMNhRbRifO0N3wZsxyTV8vF0D3oHVgEPMhg8sFNKahoHMSUrkGVGwXh2P5ijnJ5I0aU8o8VdNAe3w0RPybLUQ8jOrrk/s1600/IMG_2461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #f9cb9c; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxOShAlCeOT-DU0t5Ti-hyYxs4MAAC9o9bYdddpxcXZ4YzcJFQZMNhRbRifO0N3wZsxyTV8vF0D3oHVgEPMhg8sFNKahoHMSUrkGVGwXh2P5ijnJ5I0aU8o8VdNAe3w0RPybLUQ8jOrrk/s320/IMG_2461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">The energy of Tahrir last night was so tangible it became
contagious. Whether you were happy with Morsi’s election as president or not,
you fell under the spell of the excitement of change brought about by
revolution, despite knowing that Morsi is not the desired conduit of change of
most revolutionaries who fought with their lives for freedom from dictatorship,
nor is he anywhere close to having the power currently held by the SCAF (military).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbzb86aatm8HMRHDWBhn1zF-onGJ8IWhiQ_jqaikzJwMC-R7RyGeHnNwMoHF5DZ0Dp5dMjvZZtosNi4WZ2Ln8Ci_aFygCOz0lk75OJMz26aca-d1CPXU1oTZ-gae7AzPws_OVeZ8lQUk/s1600/IMG_2446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: #f9cb9c; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbzb86aatm8HMRHDWBhn1zF-onGJ8IWhiQ_jqaikzJwMC-R7RyGeHnNwMoHF5DZ0Dp5dMjvZZtosNi4WZ2Ln8Ci_aFygCOz0lk75OJMz26aca-d1CPXU1oTZ-gae7AzPws_OVeZ8lQUk/s200/IMG_2446.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c; font-size: small;">My friends (left to right) Saad, Hamada, Bizra, Basbousa</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">After some prompting from a dear friend and ex-roommate now wanderlusting around Turkey, I decided to go to Tahrir. A few of my friends had mentioned they were going so I made a plan to meet them there. I took the metro and waited inside Hardees', on the corner of the square, for them to arrive. After my friends arrived at Hardees’ I was able to move
about freely and without worry. No one bothered me for the rest of the night,
as I expected [I'll explain as a post script what I mean by this].The air was celebratory
and remnant of the 25 January anniversary celebrations, but in many ways very different. Whereas the 25 of January celebrations were very much similar to a
festival or 4th of July event in America, the celebrations last night reached a euphoria I did not expect given the remaining political predicaments facing the new
administration. Regardless, the fireworks, chanting and sea of smiles
amounted to a level of liveliness I had never before witnessed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">A fair amount of chanting and singing was directed directly
at Morsi, yet the broader energy seemed to be from the election of a president
not connected with the old regime; the old regime that had ruled with an iron
fist for 30 years. For the first time, Egyptians have, it would seem, a
democratically elected president. This is the song many were singing, the chant
that for me seemed to rise above the others. I can’t say for sure this is true,
but that is how it felt to me. I am, however, no expert. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">I can’t help but then wonder when the vigor will fade
and turn to disillusionment at the power retained by the SCAF (military). Those
supporting Morsi, I predict, will come to resent the restrictions on movement of their new leader
and those supporting a change from the old regime, I predict, will resent the remaining
legacy of authoritarian rule. This does not even include what will happen if
and when Morsi begins making changes seen as too conservative by many. But last night, those who ventured to Tahrir were set on celebrating what they saw
as a first step in self-rule; whether or not you view the situation through the
same lens is up to you.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">My friends and I left Tahrir together via metro after an
hour or two of walking around, listening to familiar ULTRAS chants from the
Zamalek and Ahly fans (popular Egyptian football teams), taking pictures and
videos of an eager-to-be-documented crowd and of course being gifted with an
Egyptian flag balloon in the shape of a heart, perhaps poetically serving as a symbol of my feelings towards this country and its people.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kbOtmLSosRmztx8N1jTstBK1MwqY1-rBAw-thJl5gh_08nWvJDxwbS_3f6PE0CQ5RDLnFaOlwpRjTWtW0VKuNbhSQLxCysARhxKPZaH-OahqXr6U8slq-30-3_fr2m5tekwF3C3y9oE/s1600/IMG_2440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4kbOtmLSosRmztx8N1jTstBK1MwqY1-rBAw-thJl5gh_08nWvJDxwbS_3f6PE0CQ5RDLnFaOlwpRjTWtW0VKuNbhSQLxCysARhxKPZaH-OahqXr6U8slq-30-3_fr2m5tekwF3C3y9oE/s200/IMG_2440.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q927PQz08jAUEzvlA3XPXQc-v8mPgThkieMI6-2zZZKDPvAl-J2wrYNDJHctp-WgbcoZCHcYfGTC7Ge280f574WGnj8Humnp80exOnx1ZhfyS-nppwcudxgFnjBeS99NM2RxbfuVDI0/s1600/IMG_2456.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Q927PQz08jAUEzvlA3XPXQc-v8mPgThkieMI6-2zZZKDPvAl-J2wrYNDJHctp-WgbcoZCHcYfGTC7Ge280f574WGnj8Humnp80exOnx1ZhfyS-nppwcudxgFnjBeS99NM2RxbfuVDI0/s200/IMG_2456.JPG" width="200" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">I know many of you will have a reflex reaction to reprimand me for going to Tahrir last night. I would like to explain my decision before you rush to judgment. Firstly, I did not go in the afternoon when the president was announced. Had Shafiq won, the backlash could have been catastrophic as I think most people there that afternoon were praying for Morsi’s victory. I waited until the night, when it was clearly celebratory and highly unlikely to have any violent or protest-like undertones. Secondly, I carefully crafted a conservative outfit that covered everything, yet was fashionable enough to blend in and not look like a foreigner trying to cover as much as possible. And yes, I wore a veil to cover my hair. Thirdly, I went to meet up with some of my male Egyptian friends before entering the square. Now, my calculations there were slightly flawed, as I insisted to my friends that I could meet them just outside the metro station at a Hardees’ restaurant on the corner of Tahrir without any problems. They reluctantly accepted my persistence as it seemed at the time that I knew the metro situation better since they were all on buses.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">I was off by about 2 minutes worth of walking. That night, Tahrir began at the stairs going up from the Metro and the clamor up the stairs was slightly unpleasant. Luckily, there was a sizeable group of men helping the unmanned women get up the stairs and out of the bottleneck of hands. I was guided up the stairs and then behind a fence of men leading to Hardees’.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"> Regarding the male-female tensions of the night, my observations are as follows: the men in Tahrir were divided into three main groups. Firstly, there were the men (and of course women too) celebrating, singing, chanting, bouncing with excitement and waving flags. Then there were the barbarians that seem to creep out in large crowds and high-tension situations like repulsive creatures only a science fiction novelist could invent. The only ones I saw were in that bottleneck getting out of the metro, but I’m sure there was a handful more that I was fortunate enough to have my friends to keep me from. Women with Egyptian men, or wearing the Naqab seemed unbothered by these "men."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;"> Then there were the men who had voluntarily put on hold their celebrations to form human fences, barriers and bodyguards to protect women and store fronts. I have a lot of respect and gratitude for those men, especially the ones that assisted me in getting out of the subway. Whereas one group ignorantly and selfishly gives Egyptian men a negative reputation, the other attempts to redeem that tarnish through their commitment to ensuring all genders are able to join in public gatherings.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: #f9cb9c;">Regardless, I am completely fine and have absolutely no regrets about going.</span><br />
<br /></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-61519989686218928962012-06-10T01:32:00.001-07:002012-06-10T01:35:01.128-07:00Back in Cairo, the City that Never Sleeps<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The suns hot rays hit the humid air in what seemed to be an
attempt to cook me alive as I ran back and forth from the Egyptian Consulate to
my hostel in Eilat. I had arrived just in time for a wave of humidity. Back in the
hostel, the thermometer read 90 degrees Fahrenheit, in the shade and relative
comfort of the upstairs lobby. Walking back into the sun was like stepping into
a microwave and putting the power level on high. Despite the heat I felt
surprisingly comfortable in my tank top and shorts, baring my limbs for the
first time in a while. It could have been 10 degree hotter and I would have been
more comfortable than I had been walking around in 80 degree heat fully
clothed. After I treated myself to a western omelette sandwich, salad and
filtered coffee, I made my way to the border, splurging a little on a taxi, as
my boss had given me additional money for travelling that I had not been
expecting., much of which I still managed to save for Cairo anyway. As soon as
I had gotten my exit stamp from Israel, after only a few awkward glances as
they looked, I assume, at the notes next to my name, I threw on my Handala
(symbol of Palestinian liberation) shirt
and got ready to cross through the final barrier between Israel and
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After wrestling my bags through the endless bureaucracies on
both sides of the border between Israel and Egypt, I finally made it into the
hot Egyptian sun—for some reason it felt hotter there than it had in Israel,
but that was perhaps due to the additional clothing I had donned crossing the
border. I knew the bus station was just a few kilometers down the road so I
refused offers for a taxi, restarting my budget traveler mode. However, after
about 200 meters, the hot sun and weight of my bags started to wear on me, and
I had begun to wonder why I so quickly refused a 2 dollar ride to the station.
Pride goeth before a fall. I did manage to make it there, and the extra time it
took me was to my benefit in the end since I had a 2 hour wait before the bus
to Cairo would come. I turned into the bus station--or outpost rather, as it
was not much of a station—scarlet red, sweaty and probably panting. As I got
closer to the waiting area and ticket stand, I noticed my audience and attempted
to pull myself together. With what little energy I had I dragged my bags
through the sand and one at a time and with as much dignity as is possible when
a handful of men are staring at the spectacle I must have been, I lifted my
bags onto the platform and bought my ticket. As I sat there in the shade
waiting for the bus, my head pounded from the rays the sun had stung me with
earlier, and although I had been drinking water, I was most likely dehydrated.
I sipped my now hot water and waited for the pounding to subside. I heard the
trees rustle and waited eagerly for a cool breeze, only to be smacked instead by
a wave of heat, hotter than the air in the shade. I winced slightly each time
the waves rolled in, and began planning my funeral for sometime this summer in
Cairo, as I know it will only get hotter. There were a few moments where I
wondered what had possessed me to move further south in the summer, but quickly
concluded that the experience would be good for me and hopefully thin my blood
a little.</div>
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When the bus finally pulled up I got on and prepared myself
for the 7 hour ride, and ascended into the cool, air-conditioned bus. I have a
lot of friends I haven’t seen in a while, a lot of best friends I haven’t seen
in 8 months, so the prospect of getting to talk to and see one of them gave me
an extra burst of positivity as I stared out the window at the shadows of the
Sinai mountains. When the bus rolled up I got out and sat down with my bags,
politely refusing help with my bags as I was in “I’m a strong woman, I can do
it myself thank-you-very-much mode.” That mode quickly disappeared as soon as I
was greeted by Bata and Hoss who quickly scooped up my bags and put them in the
car. Driving through Cairo again filled me with a strange concoction of
feelings and thoughts which swam around in my head circling like sharks about
to feed. It’s been two weeks almost, and those feelings have much subsided. </div>
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I am currently living with Bata’s mom, Eman, who is an
incredibly sweet and wonderful woman. She likes the company, and I have quickly
felt right at home with her. The commute to work is tiresome: 45 minutes to an
hour on crowded public transportation, but the area I live in is quiet and
safe. The only real downside, besides the commute is that I can’t host events
at my house, and getting back late at night can be tricky if I don’t have a
friend with a car around. So far I’ve been lucky to always have a friend with a
car to take me back at least part of the way. On the other hand, new friends
from work have already generously offered up their places as crash pads, should
I ever not be able to get home. We’ll see how it all pans out.</div>
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As previously stated I’ve been here nearly two weeks now. On
the one hand, time has flown by and I haven’t been bored for a second; on the
other hand it feels like I have been here for ages because I’ve so quickly
adjusted to life here. No doubt I miss my friends and family in both Palestine
and America, but at the same time, I feel very much at home here in Cairo for now.
You know me though—I can’t seem to stay in the same place for all that long. I
never fully unpacked in Palestine. I haven’t fully unpacked here. I think for
me fully unpacking is a sign of commitment; commitment to a flat, a city, a
country. Apparently that kind of marginal commitment is something I’m just not
ready for. I’m interested to see if Cairo transcends the pattern or ends up
another notch on my suitcase.</div>
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My internship is incredibly interesting and intense. Last
week was training for 4 hours a day in the morning. It was by far the most I
had sat still consecutively in about a year; since I graduated university. I
have since conducted two solo intake interviews and my first follow up
interview. I am currently handling three resettlement cases, and despite my
previous knowledge that survivors of such unsettling circumstances would have
shocking stories, nothing could have prepared me for the distress and
desperation flowing through their words. Having to ask the hard questions and
coax clients into revealing gruesome details of their past and current
sufferings to the point where they break down into tears is something no amount
of preparation can account for. A now single mother breaks down and tells me
she has nothing, no way to care for her children, is one step away from
camping out on the UNHCR steps because of imminent eviction, and all I can do
is tell her that I will do my best in submitting her claim to UNHCR but
ultimately it’s in their hands and the process takes months to years. Remind me
to never complain about my life again. And I’ve only conducted three interviews
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I’ll start teaching English classes at a center in a week or
two to earn a little pocket money. The woman who organizes the classes is
incredibly nice. I wasn’t looking forward to teaching again so soon, but with
curriculum, materials and a potentially conversational-based class, I’m not so
opposed.</div>
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On the other hand I’m having a blast here in Cairo. There
are great evening venues, like the Jazz club where my friend Ahmad’s band
played the other night. A bunch of my coworkers and I went and had a great
time. When I’m not out experiencing live music or the like, I’m hanging out
with new and old friends at cafes, on the street or in Cairo traffic. I miss
Palestine, but I’m not going to lie; right now I’m really happy to be in Cairo.
I just wish a certain group of ex-pats were here with me too (shout out to ol’
Nablus crew). </div>
</div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-31968603776299795642012-05-21T13:33:00.001-07:002012-05-21T14:04:36.227-07:00Saying Goodbye to Palestine, My First Home Away from Home<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Tonight is my last night in Nablus. I know saying “I can’t
believe it,” and “It hasn’t sunk in yet” are the trite phrases people use to
fill in conversations about their impending departure, but in all earnest, that
is exactly how I feel. This has been, by far, the most amazing experience I
could have possibly imagined. I have been challenged in so many ways—to the
point where multiple times I wanted to
quit and give up—and have made some incredible friends and acquaintances whom I
will never forget and am determined to see again someday.<br />
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Even though I wrote not all that long ago, a lot has
happened. I had seen the wall of separation that divides Israel and Palestine
many times before, but knew there was a segment outside Bethlehem with
incredible graffiti protesting the existence of tangible hatred from the
occupier. Just south of Bethlehem lies Hebron, the city I had been wanting to
visit the most as I knew it to be the most visual representation of the effects
of occupation due to its unique situation, so me and some friends set off to
see them both and make a weekend of it. It was incredible trip starting out
with a night on the town in Ramallah Thursday night for the opening of Snowbar—an
outdoor bar in Ramallah open only during the summer. After dancing the night away
and a large collaborative breakfast the next morning, I set out with Ella,
John, Emma, and a couchsurfer I had run across named David (who is the current
president of the Salsa club at Boston University) for Bethlehem. With a great
group dynamic on all accounts, we walked around Bethlehem and up to the wall, taking
pictures, talking to people and admiring the art and creativity crying out
against oppression. As the afternoon sun began to wane we hopped in a service
(shared taxi) and headed off for Hebron.<br />
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Hebron has two sections of the city: H1 and H2. H1 is under
Palestinian control, whereas H2 is an occupied military zone home to the
Palestinians that have always lived there, and Israeli settlers which had occupied
that part of the city. We spent the night at a Palestinian couchsurfer’s house
in H1. He was incredibly generous to let us all crash in his living room. The
next morning we set off to tour H2. Hebron was a Palestinian city. The settlements
there (and in general) are documented as illegal by the United Nations, and are
therefore in violation of international law. This is a fact, not an opinion. We went on a tour with a known activist who is
constantly persecuted for standing up (non-violently) to the horrible
conditions under which he and his fellow Palestinians in H2 live. They are not
protected by Palestinian law as the PA has no authority there—and they are not
citizens like other Arabs in actual Israel—so they are not even marginally
protected under Israeli law. The Israeli settlers walk around with large
machine guns, while Palestinians have nothing. I could go on for hours with
stories he and his family told: his pregnant wife getting beaten to the point
of miscarriage and her filed complaint ignored, children getting beaten (the
Palestinian school has had to continue to build more fences, walls, bars on
windows, etc. to keep settlers from attacking, settlers cutting down
Palestinian fruit trees and plants and throwing garbage (including a broken
washing machine) into their yard. I could literally talk for hours about the
things I saw, heard, and saw video footage of. This isn’t science fiction about
the evils of the enemy—no! What I was told was supported by facts, video,
evidence. I dare anyone who challenges me to spend some time in H2. You can
feel the hatred, see it written in graffiti, see it in the gleam of an M16 on a
settler’s back, see it in the damaged foliage and rotting trash courtesy of their
occupying neighbors. If you want to see oppression on multiple fronts, go to
Hebron. If you don’t want to see it—go anyway, for the challenege.</div>
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After H2, we walked through the old city and bought some
things at a women’s co-op and then headed off for the last Keffiyah factory in
Palestine (Keffiyah= Arab scarf, distinct between the different countries). Now
most are made in China—go figure. They have a plethora of colors and styles to
choose from at the factory, and we got to see how they’re made. I think the
thing that made the trip was that each of us there was easy-going, down for
anything and everything, and good at making interesting and open-minded
conversations.</div>
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Since then, I’ve had my end of the year celebration at
Balata with my refugee kids who showered me with gifts and love letters I will treasure forever, visited a few of their houses (Taima the scholarship girl for next year and Zainab who started her scholarship to PBS this year) to say goodbye on a
more personal level, been in a water/hummus fight with my private school kids
during which I was covered in a disgusting blue hummus and other unknown edible
substance mix, and now said goodbye to nearly all my wonderful friends and
students. I will visit my Palestinian family for the last time in the morning
at which time I will also say goodbye to my dear dear Aussie: Ella and my partner
in Askar camp crime Rita.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">I went to Taima's house (girl on my right) and almost never left. Zainab (the one on Taima's right) is the girl on scholarship now and perhaps the girl I am closest to. Salem (directly in front of me) is so smart and fun--she came out of her way to deliver an incredibly sweet handwritten goodbye letter. </span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
Leaving Askar camp for the last time in the foreseeable
future, although I do intend to visit, is going to leave me with a strange
sensation I am sure. This was my first home away from home, postgraduate, on my
own. I have laughed harder here than ever before, cried harder here than I can
remember, and made sisters here I will always love and never forget. The
isolate nature of this house, being outside the city and holding the only
ajanab (foreigners) in Askar has been the source of joy and frustration, but
most memorably, of some incredible people who have welcomed me with open arms
and free food, whether they’re selling it on the street or serving it to me
from their home ovens. I can’t describe how blessed I feel to have lived here
with these people.</div>
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<br />
What will I miss most? I will miss my co-workers and friends, the
rolling mounts surrounding me, the variety of flora and fauna everywhere, the
ancient ruins left unguarded, the street kids that now refer to me as Cristiano
Ronaldo, my favorite students whom I love and who love me back, being referred
to as Ms. Casey (just kidding, not a fan), being mocked by my seemingly cynical
but really big-hearted fellow teacher, free fruits and veges from Khalid in the
Askar market, amazing hummus and other foods, the other cities and friends I
have in Palestine, and really just living in Palestine in general. I couldn’t
have asked for a more amazing first (mostly likely of many) homes away from
home. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next time I post I will probably be in Egypt, starting a new life there. Or perhaps if I am bored tomorrow waiting around in Eilat to get my visa for Cairo I will ramble on about something in more detail. Regardless, last post from here. I'm excited to start my new internship with refugees from Iraq and Sudan in Egypt, and hoping to soon gain more insight into if Sudan is the next step after Cairo. We shall see. I tried to find a good ending line that wasn't incredibly lame or trite, but couldn't, so I'm going to end with a quote that I am trying to live by: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
"Seek peace and pursue it" Psalm 34:14</div>
</div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-25010170525091994532012-05-01T14:09:00.000-07:002012-05-01T21:55:49.418-07:00Hitchhiking from Jericho--> Egypt--> Jerusalem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I know it has been FOREVER since I last wrote, and for
that I apologize. I apologize to myself 20-30 years down the line when the
details of my life here have started to fade, and I apologize to those of you
who have followed me thus far on my journey. I’ll start off with a political
bit that I’ve been itching to write for a while and then go into my visa run
trip to Egypt two weekends ago and other such interesting tidbits from my two
months of silence.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Caught up in work and personal decisions, I have largely
ignored my political motivations, thoughts and frustrations lately. However,
the news has been buzzing lately with contradictions and controversies that I
can no longer put off writing about. <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Firstly, a bit about Land Day: March 30 marked the
anniversary of the 1976 strikes and protests in Palestine and Israel that
resulted in the death of 6 unarmed Palestinians/Arabs and the injury of many
others. The protests were a response to the appropriation of a large amount of
Palestinian-owned land for settlements and other purposes. This included land
owned by Palestinian refugees that had fled, AS WELL AS Palestinians who had
become actual citizens of Israel. Previous to this event, protests from Arab citizens
of Israeli had been sporadic and limited due to the poverty, isolation and
discrimination that they found in their new situation after the 1948 take-over.
Additionally, they were under strict military rule and did not have the right
to assemble. These are people that stayed in Israel, did not flee to the
Palestinian territory, and were given citizenship in Israel (Sound familiar
US?). <br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Every year Palestinians in Palestine and around the
world—along with others that see injustice in the blatant theft of land by a
country with a stronger military and powerful set of allies—gather to
commemorate the lives lost that day, as well as to protest the injustice still
rampant in the ongoing conflict over land and the right for a people to call
their nation their own. This happened this past year, and people from all over
the world protested. I’m happy to say I have a friend Patrick in Australia who
took a passionate lead in organizing a demonstration there. And of course there
were protests here, at the immense wall that Israel has built to separate the
two worlds. Peaceful demonstrations were met with violence as usual, nothing surprising
to report.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In addition to this taking of land from its own citizens, Israeli
continues to steal (this is not an exaggeration) land from Palestinians’
territory in the West Bank. Settlements are indeed illegal according to
International law, and Israel has been informed of this. Yet, settlements continue to be ordered and
built. I read just yesterday of an order to remove well over 1,000 olive trees
in the territories. It was not clear what the motivation of this order was—settlements
or pure cruelty, as these trees signify a livelihood and way of life for their
Palestinian owners. Its actions such as these that cannot be ignored. </div>
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The Netanyahu administration’s
blatant disregard for human rights is actually appalling. Case and point :
"<b><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span>Israel has cut working relations with
the UN Human Rights Council, officials say, after it decided to investigate
Jewish settlements in the West Bank.”</b> This was the headline of an article I posted on my facebook about a
month ago. I suggest reading the article, as it shows just how blatant a
disregard for human rights law Israel has (<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-17510668">http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-17510668</a>).</div>
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Ok enough politics. The weekend
before last I set off for my second visa run to Egypt. I left Nablus Wednesday
afternoon at 2:30pm and had to be back Sunday night in order to teach on
Monday. As buses run infrequently, I decided to take a shared taxi to Jericho
and hitchhike my way down the Dead Sea to the border and beyond. Not long after
being dropped off by the main road to the Dead Sea, I found myself standing in
the middle of a dust storm. Small rocks and was felt like enough dirt to bury
the empire state building was hurled at me by relentless high speed winds. Standing
pathetically at the side of the road near a tied up camel and watching cars
pass by in the midst of all this was proving an ineffective tactic in getting
someone to stop. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Luckily, as seems to be the usual
case, a friendly Palestinian across the street waved me into the lawn and
garden set up. The three Palestinian workers gestured me to join them in their eclectic
employee area for some food and drinks to wait out the storm. They asked me
what I was doing, the usual, and made lighthearted comments about the storm in
Arabic. I waited a solid 45 minutes to an hour before venturing across the street
once again. After a little while I was picked up by an Israeli family man on
his way home to the Ein Geddi Kibbutz. He was incredibly friendly and
open-minded about everything. I enjoyed
chatting with him as he drove me down to Ein Geddi. The next person to pick me
up was an older Israeli man who did not speak any English. It was a relatively
silent ride which took the pressure off for random chatter trying to avoid
politics. He tried talking to me in Hebrew, and from what little I did get he
was telling me he would go a different route to take me a little further and
drop me off under some lights, as it had started to get into the evening. It
was very kind of him and he insisted I take some chocolate wafers with me as a
parting gift. The next car to pick me up was another Israeli man, probably in
his late 20’s, who also didn’t speak any English. I think he tried to play
music I would know as he shuffled through his iphone. He dropped me off about
150-200 kilometers north of the Eilat, the city that borders Egypt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
I was immediately picked up by the happiest
truck driver on the planet. His name was Moshe and he spoke just enough English
to communicate with awkward pauses and slips of Hebrew, which I of course did
not understand at all. He was all smiles as he chatted and drove down the road.
He was younger than your typical truck driver—my guess early thirties—delivering
milk to hotels in Eilat. He called his friend who met us in Eilat. Moshe
dropped off the truck and him and his friends took me all the way to the Taba
border crossing, which is a few kilometers outside of Eilat. I felt bad as I
only know how to say a simple “thank you” in Hebrew, which I said like five
times repeatedly as I waved goodbye. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
I had two options: keep on
trucking through the border and take my chances on the Egyptian side, or try to
crash a camping group on the beach outside the border. It was 10pm and I was
feeling a pull to go on through. I walked through with ease, as only a few
people were crossing at this time. Walking out onto Egyptian soil in the border
town I remember from last time filled me with an immense feeling of freedom,
and slight apprehension as I now had no place to stay and no idea how I was
going to get a ride with little money and little traffic. I didn’t feel scared
though, as I was filled with what I believe to be divine peace. A taxi driver
spat out some high prices for me, and I just said I would walk. He looked at me
like I was insane, and rightly so. After a minute contemplating how serious I
was about this, he drove off. I kept walking towards to checkpoint that let out
of town. I chatted with the guys at the checkpoint as they took a unnecessary amount
of time to look at my stamp. They were nice though, and amused by my
determination to keep pressing on by myself at night. (Side note: had I not
felt at peace with the situation I would have most definitely figured something
else out, but like I said, something just told me to keep walking). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
Then a small shuttle pulled up.
The guy opened the door and inquired about my intentions with the same curiosity
all the others had. These are the moments when speaking a conversational amount
of Arabic comes in super handy. He told me he was going to Nuweiba to pick up
people at a resort or hotel to bring them to the border. As he had no passengers
with him, he offered to take me a far as Nuewiba for free. It was incredibly
nice of him to do this, and I was sincerely grateful. He suggested I find a
cheap place to spend the night in Nuweiba as it would be hard to find cars
going to Dahab this late, and it wasn’t exactly a wise idea to wander around
further this late at night (by the time we arrived in Nuweiba is was most
likely past midnight). I again felt a pull to stay in Nuweiba so I did. I
walked down the road to the camps from the main road and inquired where I could
find the cheapest lodging. They directed me to “soft beach.” I think I was one
of 3 people staying there besides those that worked there. The toilet had to be
flushed with water and the room was really basic, but I could not have been
more pleased. The man that ran it was A Sudanese man who had been living in
Egypt for a long time and spoke incredible English. I chatted with him and some
other guys at the fire for a while. I woke up and had a coffee and was greeted
by my first Bedouin girl of the trip. The Bedouin girls roam the beach fronts
selling homemade bracelets and jewelry. I chatted with her for a while a bought
a bracelet for one of my Palestinian friends who had helped me cut my hair. Lodging
for the night plus the coffee cost be a total of 20 Egyptian pounds, which is
about 3 dollars and fifty cents. I could not have been happier with the
situation. I offered the owner some of my spices I had brought as a gift to the
person I was couchsurfing with in Dahab and he in turn kindly offered to take
me to the best place to find cars going to Dahab. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
The first person to stop was a
taxi driver who offered to take me down the road further for free when he
realized I was serious about not spending money on a taxi for the hour long
trip to Dahab. He was literally the only person who turned out not to be nice, but
he just let me out 10 minutes down the road and that was that. I wasn’t
bothered by his misunderstanding of my profession as I’m quite used to that by
now and know how to insist in Arabic that I am merely an English teacher. Done
and done. The next car to stop was a couple of Bedoiun men. The owner of the
place in Nuweiba had advised me to only ride with Bedouins, as they are
friendly and trustworthy. It was only later that I remembered that whole
kidnapping thing that happened a few months ago—although to be fair, its always
a small group that misrepresents the majority in the media. When they offered
to take me to Dahab I verified that they were not a taxi, and their reponse was
“No! We’re Bedouins!!!” It made me smile. </div>
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They dropped me off at the place I
was staying: a hotel run by a fellow couchsurfer who offers to the ouchsurfers
stay there for free. We ended up having some miscommunications and not getting
along, but that didn’t become problematic until around the time I left, and at
first we seemed destined to be friends. Funny how things work.</div>
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Anyway I met up with a Canadian couchsurfer
who had stayed with me in my flat in Nablus, and we had got along really well.
We chilled on the seaside drinking chai tea and catching up. It was SO nice to
not have a care in the world and enjoy her company. She will inshallah (God
willing) be in Cairo teaching when I move there in LESS THAN A MONTH, which is
amazing as we have become quite good friends, and I am so looking forward to
hanging out with her more. </div>
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She left the next morning and I
spent the entire day at the beach taking in the sun, gazing at the mountains,
and staring in disbelief at the many shades of blue boasted by the sea. I put
on sunscreen but my skin, which had barely seen the sun in months, was red by
the end of the day regardless. The next morning I did some shopping for shirts
that are lightweight but cover my arms so that I can survive this last month of
Nablusi dress despite the increasing heat. One of Kira’s friend’s friend helped
me to the checkpoint from which I could hitchhike as I had missed the last bus
to the border. They instructed the people at the checkpoint to find me a ride
to the border. I ended up with a group of really fun and nice musicians who had
played in Dahab and were on their way back to Cairo. I really enjoyed talking
to them, especially one who teaches music and theater in Cairo, sharing my
passion for the dramatics and who also had a very interesting perspective on
politics. From where they dropped me off I ended up having to take a taxi,
ironically with the same driver who had taken Lindsey, Amy and I to Dahab the
first time I did a visa run. It was an expense, but I had saved so much that
weekend from hitchhiking (half the time unintentionally) and staying for free.</div>
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I spent a long time at the border
being grilled with ridiculous questions about my work and personal life in
Nablus and waiting for who-knows-what to be decided about my liability to the “state”
of Israel (if Palestine does not have the right to statehood, I don't see why Israel should). Apparently which bar or club I go to on my weekend nights potentially
poses a serious security threat. After a few hours I was granted a 2 month
visa, which is all I needed to cover my remaining time teaching here. I was
again stranded at the border at night, and decided to go around the campsites
at the beach to see if there was an extra tent lying around. It seemed like
there were very few people there, although I realized the next day I only
needed to go down further. However, I was quite lucky to run into a few men
with their kids, there to camp for the weekend. They generously offered to let
me stay with their families and even insisted I eat dinner with them. They were
so incredibly nice and hospitable and the 12-yr-old boy ran around collecting
pieces of coral for me after I had shown slight interest in one I had picked
up. Now I have a huge bag full, so if anyone wants some coral, please let me
know. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
They took me to the bus station
the next morning, again really nice. Once there I was informed that the first
bus to Jerusalem that was not completely booked was not until 5 pm—it was about
9am in the morning. I sighed and set out walking to the outskirts of the city
to once again stick out my thumb and face constant rejection in the hopes of
being picked up by a friendly face. The first person to pick me up took me
about an hour North after which I was picked up by a first generation in the
region couple (one from London and the other white Zambia) who immediately
lectured me on the dangers of hitchhiking, which was really quite sweet. I appreciated
them taking pity on me and we ended up having a nice conversation. They were
really quiet open-minded about the situation. They took me all the way to
Jerusalem which was literally a God-send. Once in Jerusalem it was easy to
catch a couple buses back to my home in Nablus.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 12.0pt;">
I had an amazing experience that I
would never take back, and while I don’t intend to hitchhike unless its
necessary or 10 times more convenient like it was this past time, I do not at
all regret my decisions thus far. I am thankful for the lessons learned and the
people met who have inevitably touched my life in some way or another. </div>
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As my post is already quite long,
I think I will leave it at that for tonight and spend some time thinking about
what I need to share about my time in Nablus that I have no already shared.<br />
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</div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-6482706513058906442012-02-29T15:10:00.000-08:002012-02-29T15:10:28.085-08:00Come to the home?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">My Balata students never cease to amaze me. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This semester has been off to a rough start in Balata, as only 5 or 6 students from last semester are coming, and about 20-25 new students are showing up to the first class. After registering the students, and permanently kicking out the trouble makers, I now have a pretty regular 20 students with a few extra that come irregularly. I did not like these new kids at first. I wasn’t used to their rambunctiousness and they weren’t used to my style of teaching. After some tough love and a very stern Miss Casey at the beginning, they have begun to understand my rules, and I have begun to become my goofy and lighthearted self in front of the white board. I enjoy them now, all their quirks and attitudes taken into account. </div><div class="MsoNormal">The second class had all my favorites returning, although without the consistency that is needed for a good class. And on top of that, they have been speaking in Arabic deliberately and without regret. I love them to death and I make it a point to be lenient on them, but at the same time, I think some tough love may be in order. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But as I said, my Balata students never cease to amaze me. Heavy rainfall today didn’t bode well for students showing up to school. For some reason rain is taken very seriously here and people, especially children, are hesitant to leave their homes. I’ve noticed however, that a fair number of my Balata kids come on rainy days. My first class only had about 9 students, but those 9 came in soaking wet and eager to learn. It was definitely the most fun I’ve had with them thus far this semester. One of the girls I couldn’t stand a month ago is now one of my best students, and I love having her in class. Then, in my second class only three girls showed up, two of which were already at the center because their father works there. The other one told me how her parents had had a disagreement over whether or not she could come. Needless to say, she was allowed. They talked in Arabic a lot, but instead of ending the class I decided to try something different. I put on the Happy Days Theme Song and The Lion Sleeps Tonight (two songs they learned last semester and loved) and we all started dancing to them, Middle Eastern style. If you know the songs and anything about Middle Eastern dancing, you know they don’t exactly blend together, but graceful movements and harmony weren’t the focus: laughter was. We all sang at the top of our lungs, and since it was girls only, danced without shame or embarrassment (not allowed to dance in front of men). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">However, the best part of the day was being invited to two of my students’ home. Mohamed and Salsabeel are both in my first class and have been coming since last semester. They’re both really bright, and as I found out today, twins in 5<sup>th</sup> grade. After class ended they approached me and asked me to come to their house. Last semester I was likely to try and excuse myself, but my immediate reaction this time was “when?” I told them I had to teach another class but I could come after. So after my last class was finished, I walked outside and saw Mohamed standing there, umbrella in hand. He led me back to his house, offering me his umbrella, which I politely declined as he definitely needed it. I was welcomed warmly my Mohamed and Salsabeel’s mother and two younger sisters. She sat me down next to their gas heater, chatted for a minute or two, and then told me she would bring me dinner. I then met Mohamed and Salsabeel’s older sister who is 19 and a student at one of the local universities. Apparently they have another sister who is my age but she is married and therefore doesn’t live with them. Mohamed’s mom brought out avocado, bread, yogurt and grape leaves stuffed with rice. The food was delicious and was followed by tea and Arabic coffee (which is the reason I am writing this as it is midnight and I’m not at all ready to sleep). They put on the 19 year-old’s engagement party video and we chatted in Arabic about the kids, education, me, them and other little things. The kids showed off their English reading and speaking skills, which made me realize they’re definitely ready to move up to the higher class—it was the perfect opportunity to tell them, especially as Mohamed brought it up. I got to meet their father as well before I headed out into the rain. I have an open invitation to return and was invited to the sister’s wedding in September (should I be here). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHj3DH1swa5RTeXn_mJfb2r-Vs9O3QDXcqzdF-sV7LGQE69IY9dTybHdNUMO1dh2lh9YmcnkNXCyZxu3UCNpEqrlCB2Ycoyc5sdtwCodT6o2B_d3kDzB-_DJ5LLrRZzuMlceu302wQRQ/s1600/IMG_0639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVHj3DH1swa5RTeXn_mJfb2r-Vs9O3QDXcqzdF-sV7LGQE69IY9dTybHdNUMO1dh2lh9YmcnkNXCyZxu3UCNpEqrlCB2Ycoyc5sdtwCodT6o2B_d3kDzB-_DJ5LLrRZzuMlceu302wQRQ/s320/IMG_0639.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mohamed on left</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXbcgbf0xDyfK3otSSYaIsXEtTLVq7L4ziRbj79DTBmDNtQMwCMnWeMYc3wAtW6yXgujiX5GHMhD3krUQzC3n9r8WO9uetLpexAfA_eNyUZ3MPn4d1Y-UQEYG0kjsZXZVkuZoB7C5JoU/s1600/IMG_0644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPXbcgbf0xDyfK3otSSYaIsXEtTLVq7L4ziRbj79DTBmDNtQMwCMnWeMYc3wAtW6yXgujiX5GHMhD3krUQzC3n9r8WO9uetLpexAfA_eNyUZ3MPn4d1Y-UQEYG0kjsZXZVkuZoB7C5JoU/s320/IMG_0644.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Salsabeel on right</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">They’re hospitality and kindness doesn’t surprise me, as that is a well-known trait of Palestinian families, but it does amaze me--every time. I wish everyone could come to Palestine and experience the warmth of being welcomed into a Palestinian household. It truly is quite amazing. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Right after that I got into a service (cab with a specified route and standard low fee) with perhaps one of the bubbliest drivers I have ever run into. He immediately greeted me with a resounding Kifik (how are you) several times and asked me a bunch of questions. Then he went on to say he only knows a few words in English including the infamous "what's your name" (get that a lot) and "how many books are on the table?" He then asked me what "how many books are on the table?" was in Arabic. I translated and he giggled a bunch and said something I didn't understand. The he drove me down past the drop-off point that I paid for so that I wouldn't have to walk far in the rain. It was really very nice of him. I was really glad when someone else got in the cab needing to go further down the road. Palestinian hospitality: love it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lately I’ve been reflecting on all the many experiences I’ve had since coming to the West Bank four months ago. It’s truly hard to believe I have only been here four months, as it seems like I’ve been here for over a year. Perhaps I feel this way because I’ve packed in so many challenges and life experiences into such a short amount of time. I’ve been tried and changed in just about every aspect of my life--in some way or another; and despite the harsh realities I’ve had to face and the hurdles I’ve had to jump, I can’t think of a single notable regret. I don’t think I could be more satisfied with my overall experience in terms of personal growth, knowledge gained and friendships formed. Oh and did I mention? I love my kids!</div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-87771501654230890262012-02-21T13:58:00.000-08:002012-02-21T13:58:36.793-08:00Lice or Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Perhaps part of the reason I’m writing now is from my lack of motivation to do lesson plans. After drawing a water nymph and part of a centaur appropriate enough for first graders in Palestine as a favor for my roommate, I’m not exactly in work mode. Reflecting seems much more appropriate. </div><div class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t the best of days for several reasons; although I really cannot complain, nor am I going to. I do, however, want to focus on an event that has resulted in a disturbing, yet necessary self-realization.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I headed to Balata right after school as usual. I was already feeling a bit drained and very contemplative, both things leading to a degradation of focus. Before I even started the first class, I had to kick two kids out for the day for punching each other. This proved to be even more of a hassle than I could have imagined as they both came back into the room multiple times, and I thus had to kick them out multiple times. On top of that, I had a couple groups of new kids walking in, trying to join the class, which I really can’t allow--or I will lose even more control over an already overcrowded class. </div><div class="MsoNormal">Then the door opened again. I nearly made a tasteless face of annoyance, bracing myself for either new students or the ones I had kicked out so many times before. I automatically made the “close the door” gesture, when I saw a familiar face pop her head in. Three more of those faces popped in, saw the gesture, and turned to leave until I quickly changed my demeanor and told them to join. I braced myself for a different reason this time, and rightly so, as I was met immediately with shouts of protest from the other students. I explained with aggravated gestures that the girls that had just walked in were not new because they came last semester. The protestations settled, but the looks of disgust remained. The girls sat down and immediately all the other students near them flinched and moved closer to the students on their other sides. The others couldn’t wait to tell on these girls for any offense possible, however small, hoping I would kick them out. Needless to say, they weren’t focusing on the lesson.</div><div class="MsoNormal">So who had walked in? Who were these children, that their very presence should warrant such disgust? Ghaliya, Celcity, Sally, and a youngin I hadn’t seen before. All four of them are sisters from a family of 11 (soon to be 12) kids; I believe one of the poorest families in Balata and thus most likely all of Nablus. I’d gander they could be one of the poorest families in Palestine, but I really have no proof at all to back that statement. They all live in an incredibly small apartment with their mother who can’t even keep track of them all—basically they’re street children. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I hadn’t seen them in months—they don’t come to class very often, and I’m sure they aren’t going to school as regularly as they should either. I know the organization I work for gives them food sometimes, but it’s evident that they’re not healthy. They looked noticeably dirtier today too, which says a lot as they haven’t ever looked clean when I’ve seen them. They all had various cuts and scrapes on their faces, indicative of life on the streets, and their hair was matted with all kinds of dirt, and most likely lice. They were somewhat properly dressed--thank God--since its been cold the past few days, but it wasn’t enough to be excited about. They were really quite subdued in class today, which was great as I didn’t have to kick them out; but the other children’s attitudes and lack of focus were enough to make me lose it. </div><div class="MsoNormal">When we went to the back to do the hokey pokey and head, shoulders, knees and toes, nobody would stand near them. Even I tried my best to keep my hair out of contact, as I was reluctant to get lice again—an attitude which made me realize I was no better than the students making faces. </div><div class="MsoNormal">After class had finished and I had spent 5 minutes trying to clear the classroom, I approached these girls last. Of course they weren’t leaving easily, but I had another class to teach and needed to set up. So I told them to come again tomorrow and the next day, and they seemed pleased with that. Then Sally came up and gave me a huge hug. For a second I cringed, thinking of the hassle of washing all my bedding and having to pick bugs out of my hair. Then I was overcome by shame for thinking of my own comfort first when I was presented with the opportunity to show love to a child who I’m sure rarely, if ever, feels it. I moved my arms all the way around her and lifted her off the ground a little. Her sister Ghaliya came up a few moments later, and again I swallowed my hesitancy and gave her a hug. I’m tearing up as I write, thinking firstly about those girls and the unjust cards they have been dealt, and secondly of how pathetic it was for me to put my lice concerns and past struggles with germaphobia before these kids. Even though I opened my arms up in the end, the fact that my mind and not my heart played first string makes me feel sick inside. It was an important realization for me: that I had given my mind too much power, and had benched my heart—in all areas of life. My walk home gave me the space to think about how closed I had been to people in general lately in order to protect myself. And while, I know that for most things, a balance of love and logic is needed, I genuinely hope and pray that I never again second guess a moment to open my arms to a child, regardless of what else I’ll be hugging. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As embarrassing as it is for me to admit all this, I really wanted to share about these girls without painting myself as their saintly teacher to the rescue. I also really needed to write this all down into a coherent train of thoughts, and this blog has pretty much become my journal for the time being. </div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-43797746928369115952012-02-15T13:50:00.000-08:002012-02-15T13:50:06.445-08:00A New Hope<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">(if you get the reference in my title, I love you)<br />
<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">No need to brace yourselves; this post is not nearly as long as the previous one. I have officially been back at school teaching for 2 weeks now. I’m starting to get back into the swing of things, adjusting to my previous schedule which allotted little to no time for a social life outside of school. Luckily, I have some incredible co-workers which make the day to day pleasant and the weekends oftentimes extraordinary (even when we stay in). Now, as I mentioned I’m sure many times in my previous posts, all but one of my best friends here in the program (cheers Ella) have moved on from TFP. Three or four weeks ago that idea made the prospect of this semester seem rather dark and (pathetically) hopeless. I suppose I wasn’t factoring in the potential of the new teachers, and I’m happy to say that they all have been wonderful and I am enjoying getting to know all three of them. I have to say, my current flat mates and I have been getting on really nicely, and I enjoy living with them. Of course it goes without saying that the dynamic is entirely different, and I will continue to miss my sisters even after I leave Palestine.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Which brings me to the main motivation for writing this update: as you may or may not know from my blog and/or any conversation you may have had with me in the past month during which Im sure I mentioned Egypt at least once or twice, I love Egypt and got the idea in my head (and heart) that I want to go back. So I began looking for summer internships in Cairo, just to see what I could find. When googling “refugee rights cairo internship” one of the first things that pops up is the Resettlement Legal Aid Project in Cairo. After reading up on the position, I began working on the application right away. I’m not sure I’ve ever spent so much time on or asked for so many opinions about a cover letter before. I also completely revamped my resume and debated for a while on which writing sample to submit. 10 hours over 4 days or so later and I submitted the application. I interviewed and just today sent my email of commitment. It’s not paid, but I’ve already had two families express a desire to host me (exhibit A why I love Egyptians), and I have some money saved up from my previous work at About Faces, so I’m not worried. Then of course there’s the bonus that I already have a great group of friends there that I am excited to spend more time with. So needless to say, so long as something completely out of my control messes everything up, I’ll be shipping off to Cairo from September to January and perhaps beyond. Oh I suppose I should say what I would be doing, as that is my primary motivation for taking a leap of faith. I would be interviewing refugees and preparing written submissions to international organizations (UNHCR, IOM) regarding the refugees’ need to be resettled out of Egypt. The majority of the refugees are Sudanese, with some Iraqi and Eritreans in the mix as well. I’m really so incredibly excited for the opportunity, and am hoping for enough political stability in the region to make it there this summer or fall. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> Now I just need to find something for the summer which allows me to break even. In all likelihood, that will be the summer camp at the school I teach part-time at currently. Unless anyone knows of something elsewhere in Palestine or Egypt?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Regardless, as the title states, this internship has given me an incredible feeling of hope, peace and relief that I had been lacking previously. That paired with and prompted by a renewed motivation to focus more on my spiritual life (which I had left to the side for too long) has left me feeling rejuvenated and motivated to give the next few months my all—go out with a bang and all that jazz. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Also, on a side note, I have started getting into the Wire, a television serious which apparently put Baltimore on the map in the international community. Bmo certainly doesn’t look her best, but they do say the camera adds 10 pounds, right? Or does that only apply to people?</div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-40273312027157517592012-02-04T09:45:00.000-08:002012-02-04T09:45:44.512-08:00It's been so long...so here's an equally long post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">This is a super long entry so be forewarned. I would suggest skipping to the section on Egypt and Cairo if you are short on time.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So it's been a really long time since I last wrote here. Partially, its been because the past month since Christmas has been rather hectic. There was New Years followed by the last two weeks of classes, followed by an amazing 10 day trip in Egypt. The other reason I have not written is because I'm having difficulty choosing what to say exactly. I feel very conflicted inside. On one hand I have had some of the best experiences of my life with some of the most amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, yet on the other I don't know of a time when I have felt so much like I am drowning and unable to catch my breath.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My breaks have been incredible. For New Years I went to Tel Aviv with my roommates and some other good friends. Because neither Jews nor Muslims really celebrate the calendar New Years as each religion has its own New Years, there aren't many places here to ring in the New Year. But we heard rumors Tel Aviv was the place to do it so off we went. We had I believe one day off for new years in addition to the weekend so we got to Tel Aviv on Friday and left New Years day. Amy, Lindsey, and I couchsurfed with a really fun and outgoing Israeli named Nimrod (Nimi). He was a lot of fun and showed us and our friends a really good time. It was a weekend full of dancing, goofing off, volleyball on the beach and incredible sunsets (pictures on facebook). Lindsey, Amy and I went back after the others (as Nimi and his friend Alon made us an incredible New Years Day Shakshouka). We took the bus back, but missed the rounabout we were supposed to get off at in order to catch a cab back to Nablus. This took us into the middle of a settlement: a first for all of us. It was like a picture out of the Stepford Wives, and although we don't look particularly different than many Israelis, we were recognized as outsiders. It was a very strange and eerie place and we could not wait to figure out how to get out back to our home in Palestine. Luckily we found a presumably Arab bus driver (I do believe some Arabs work in the settlements) who gave us a free lift to the roundabout outside. It was very kind of him. We got back and tried as best we could to recover for the week ahead.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After 9 days of teaching, all the teachers breathed a sigh of relief for the break. Teaching here is utterly exhausting. We have to create our own curriculum from scratch and at the same time draft extensive detailed lesson plans with all the documents attached the thursday night prior to the next week. So thats 10 hours of teaching with nothing to base it off of, every week (and thats just for the private school). It gets hard to think of new things to keep the kids engaged, or for my class: engage them to begin with. I have a really tough class, which most teachers note to be the hardest class in the school. I have the lowest level of 5,6,7 graders. They are already unpopular because theyre not in the upper classes. A lot of them I believe have un-diagnosed learning impairments. And most could care less about learning English. Therefore so much of the work I do in planning is wasted in me spending 20 min or so trying to get them quiet at various points in the class. A couple kids moved up and I am getting some refugee students on scholarship, so this semester should (inshAllah) be better in terms of discipline, but we shall see. Its all just a lot of work, and considering I came here out of a passion for the conflict and human rights (which not only do I not have time for, but am not allowed to do so I dont compromise the program..which I do understand), its been very trying on my passion and motivation.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">On top of that my two roommates and other good friend quit. They are my family here. I love them so much and they keep me sane. So that was an incredibly difficult thing to face. I thought about quitting so many times. But it didn't feel right at the time. Partially because this is my first job and it would look really bad to quit halfway through, and partially for the kids. So I chose to stay. And I was optimistic by the time break rolled around. That's why i was so excited for the break. I thought perhaps I would be able to re-energize for the next semester.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So we set off for I trip to Egypt. The basic outline: Nablus--> Jerusalem--> Eilat, Israel--> Border cross to Egypt--> Dahab, Egypt (on the Red Sea)--> Cairo--> border cross to Israel-->Eilat--> Bethlehem--> Jerusalem-->Nablus<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I went to Eilat a day before the girls because I planned to go to Cairo for a couple days to visit friends and you need an additional visa to exit the Sinai (coming from the Israel border). So I couchsurfed with a very nice and fun Austrian figure skater. He was a great host and we enjoyed wonderful conversation late into the night. Then I met up with the girls (Amy, Lindsey, Emma--the other friend that left) and we headed to the border. After some worries about being able to get back in for more than a few weeks or month, Emma decided to stay, but Lindsey and Amy I crossed. We missed the bus to Dahab so had to pay extra for a taxi, which was unfortunate, but provided some business for the Bedouin driver, as the border is pretty dull these days except tour buses. We arrived in Dahab in the early evening and set up at the Penguin Hostel (4 bucks a night). It was a really nice place, right on the sea, with a great sitting area and fire pit (pillows and rugs on the floor with low tables). We spent much of our time just sitting there in the sun during the day and by the fire at night. It was chilly all week, but the sun felt so good on our skin. We spent 5 days in the sea town, which was a lot longer than originally planned. We made friends with fellow travelers from Norway, Sweden and Ireland, sitting around the fire and sometimes under the stars. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Despite the stresses of the girls' situation and my sadness to see them go which did lead to some down moments, it was a great trip and we are all so happy we had that time together before we are forced to split up. My original plan was to spend about 48 hours in Cairo taking a night bus there and back, and then going hiking with my sisters and other friends in the Israeli Negev desert. But I realized (thanks to our Irish friend Mark) that th 25 marked the anniversary of the revolution. That was that. I HAD to be there for that! I had studied it in college last year as it was unfolding. I wanted to be there for the anniversary. And I was happy to spend more time with my Egpytian friends. The plan was to stay until the 26 and leave (I ended up staying an extra night and barely leaving then).<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">So I set off on the night bus for Cairo (about 8 hours). I felt pretty neutral at the moment as I was excited to see my friends in Cairo but sad to leave my sisters. But when the bus hit Cairo I felt filled with nostalgia for the city and people that sparked my interest in the Middle East and the Arabic language. It felt good to be back. My friend Hoss (Ahmed Hossam) was there waiting for me (he had told me to have the bus driver call him before I left). He brought me to Mohamed's (one of my friends who is actually in Maryland studying now) house. His family had offered to host me for my time there. I was greeted by his very dear and sweet mother who brought me to the room I was to use, complete with a Ravens blanket. She also brought in a tray of fruit, yogurt and juices. Then I slept for a few hours (got into Cairo around 7 am). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After I got up and got ready, they called Hoss and Mostafa (who's nickname is Bata, or duck in English), who came to pick me up and take me out. They asked me where I wanted to go first and I said: Starbucks! (oh how I miss American coffee!!!). So we went there first and waited for Amin (him and Mohamed were my first Egyptian friends I met in America) to come and meet up with us. It was great to see them all again. Then we went to a mall outside the inner city area where some more of their friends, some of whom I had met last time were working giving out free samples of a cheese-filled croissant called Molto (of which I came away with a ton of as well as two t-shirts and some key chains). Then I went back to Mohamed's house for dinner where I was stuffed to the brim with delicious food (which became the custom for every night—I was never hungry while I was in Cairo). I have never been so full in my life. And every bite was amazing. Then I actually ended up eating again at Bata's (he had come to pick me up) even though I wasn't hungry at all, but his mom was soo sweet and kind and the food was incredible...I mean...when in Rome right? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Then we went and hung out with the guys. Aly took me for an exhilarating and terrifying ride on his motorcycle without a helmet in the crazy Cairo streets. Then the guys took me out to find cheap shoes since I only had one pair with me and my tendonitis was kicking in. We didn’t have time for much else by the time we found them, so we went to Rehab city and sat at a café for a while. We spent a lot on time in transit that night (which goes for most of my time in Cairo), but I was never bored, even in standstill traffic. Bata was worried a lot that I was bored or not enjoying myself, but I assured him that just hanging out with him and the guys was all I cared about. I mean, that is, after all why I came to Cairo again—to see and spend time with good friends. And genuinely, I was not ever bored with them. And when it was just me and Bata, we never stopped talking and laughing. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">He was a good friend before this week, but my time in Cairo made me realize that he truly is one of my best friends. We click so well and have such a unique and refreshing friendship. We joke about the same things, openly shared our vulnerabilities with each other, and disclosed secrets that often hadn’t been told to anyone else. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The custom in Egypt (and the Arab world) is that women shouldn’t pay for anything when they are with men. Of course, as an American, this is incredibly difficult to accept, as we have issues letting others pay for us and accepting gifts. So usually I would argue when he (or any of the other guys) bought me something, which was utterly futile as it would go against the custom. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But above and beyond custom, he went out of his way the entire week to spend money in order to make me more comfortable, happy and enrich my trip (starbucks, frozen yogurt and such). And he would get frustrated when I wouldn’t tell him if I wanted something, or if I said I didn’t care what we do. His goal was simply to make me happy and nothing would stand in the way of that When I told him he “didn’t have to do that,” he would tell me he wanted to, that “there are not two Casey’s” or “there is only one Casey,” amongst other incredibly sweet things. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so valued in my life (outside my family). It was perhaps the sweetest thing ever, and every time I was touched with by his generosity, selflessness, and care for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The next day, Tuesday, I went around with Mohamed's mom, her Coptic Orthodox friend and Mohamed's sister Sara (and of course Mohamed's nephew Aly who is the cutest baby in the world). We went to a couple churches and then got coffee at a really nice cafe strip. Im having a hard time remembering the exact order after that, but I know there was delicious dinner at Mohamed's house and then Bata picked me up. He took me to get a milkshake and we went to the Mall and met his friend Myar, who is so incredibly sweet. We met up with her a few times after that, and I wish I would have had more time in Cairo so I could have gotten to know her more. Actually I wish I would have had more time in Cairo for many, many reasons. After that we attempted to go to the Nile for a boat (Faluka) ride. It took forever to get down there, and by the time we did it was raining, so we headed back to Nasr City (the part of Cairo the guys live in). It was a long car ride, but again I was never bored. On the way back we passed Tahrir Square on the highway. You couldn’t see the actual square, but we could tell many people were already there in anticipation of the next day, the 25<sup>th</sup>, the anniversary of the revolution. We had seen fireworks going off in a different area earlier as well. After getting back to Mohamed and Bata’s apartment complex, we stayed a bit with the guys after that, if my memory serves me correctly, before heading back to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The next morning I got up and got ready for what I hoped would be a trip to Tahrir Square. However, Mohamed’s family seemed very concerned for my safety and did not want me to go. Bata picked me up and took me to a different place for American coffee (ques to find the best American coffee in Cairo). Mohamed’s mom and sister called him, making him promise not to take me down there. Then we met up with Amin, Hoss and Aly. They discussed it amongst themselves, and although they were talking quickly in Arabic, I could pick up that they wanted me to have the experience. So Hoss, one of Mohamed’s oldest friends, called Mohamed’s mom and assured her that I would be perfectly safe: surrounded by the guys, and staying only in the safe parts. She, apparently, felt much better after that and thought it was fine. So we set off for Tahrir. It was the first day where there was no traffic whatsoever, partially because it was the first day of break for schools I believe and then partially people were either in the square or at home. We parked just outside the square and walked in. The guys got me an Egyptian flag to hold and one painted on my face. Really, the only attention I got was people wanting to take pictures, but I never felt unsafe the whole time I was there. It was a more celebratory/commemorative event rather than a protest, although there were pockets of protesters, and later in the day after we left some bigger protests started I believe. We walked around and I took some pictures. It was such an incredible experience to be able to be there on the anniversary. After we walked around a bit, through the crowds, we left Tahrir and headed back. We stopped for some really delicious ice cream, of which I accidentally got a large because I wanted a couple flavors (I’m used to being able to get a small with a couple flavors…oh well). It was DELICIOUS as I haven’t had ice cream in ages! Then I went back to Mohamed’s and spent some time with the family before dinner. Aly got hold of my rather large flag and waved it around—perhaps one of the most adorable things I’ve ever seen. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After another incredible dinner Bata picked me up and we met up with Ahmed Adel to go bowling and wait for the other guys. I had met Ahmed before at the mall where he was working. His nickname is Basbousa which is like a candy or something—a very accurate nickname as he is one of the sweetest guys I have ever met. He was quite shy at first as my Arabic and his English are at similar levels, but between turns bowling we managed to chat a little in broken Arablish. He was so kind and a little shy as well, which was quite adorable. Then the other guys came so we set off for the Nile for a night Faluka (boat) ride. It was me and 7 of the guys (some I knew and others I had only met briefly). They got a boat, decked with lights and seats and playing Arabic or “local” (as they called it) music. Eventually, and as is inevitable, dancing began, and far be it from me to ever pass up an opportunity to dance. It was quite a sight im sure, but we had a blast. It was so much fun, and great to be around guy friends again (something I miss in Nablus where it is not proper to be in public with guy friends, and as a teacher I have to worry about small town gossip). And what’s more I felt really respected by the guys. It had been a while since I felt so much respect (don’t really feel it in the streets in Nablus—although I have individuals’ respect, the majority I don’t feel it from). <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After the boat ride we went to an area of downtown Cairo to sit outdoors amongst tons of men to watch the Real Madrid vs. Barcelona football match. We stayed for the first half of the game, relaxing and I showed Basbousa and Saad pictures from Palestine. They were really into my pictures and videos, especially the one of Jerusalem where you can see the grand Mosque—one of them got goosebumps. It made me realize how lucky I am that I can freely go to the Holy City, whereas they cannot. My little blue passport allots me a lot of freedom that I often take for granted. I can complain all I want about being hassled a little here and there by IDF soldiers at the border crossings, but in reality all they do is hold me and ask questions for a little. I am not humiliated, asked to take off all my clothes in front of people, pushed around, and have so far always been allowed to pass. This isn’t the case for so many Palestinians, and people from countries such as Egypt can forget about being able to cross the border with any ease or at all. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I think we went back to the apartments after that and stayed for a while in the parking lot talking. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The next morning Bata picked me up, per usual, and after coffee and an errand, we picked up Hoss and Saad and headed for the old city in Cairo, Khan al Khalili. I had been at night last year but wanted to see a little in the daytime this trip. I love the old medinas of Middle Eastern cities (after all I did live in one in Morocco). It took us a little while to get down there, but again I enjoyed just being with my friends. I also got Saad to sing some (he has an awesome voice: I have a video on facebook of him singing from my first trip to Cairo). When we finally found some parking, my first mission was to buy massive amounts of Two Apple hookah tobacco to take back to a family I know in Salem village (right outside Nablus). But before we set down the narrow streets, Hoss and Bata went on a mission to find something. About 10 minutes later they came back with a black bag and gave it to me. I opened it up to find a “belly dancing” dress (not the two-piece outfit, but a complete dress) complete with a noisy sash to tie around the waist. It was a gift based on the dancing shenanigans of the previous night. I got a good laugh out of that one, and I’m sure my cheeks were nice and red as well. Exhibit A of why I love my friends. We got the tobacco and walked around a little before leaving to go pick up my bus ticket and go back to my Egyptian family for dinner. After dinner, we went to of course get coffee (Bata was determined to make sure I got as much American coffee as possible before I left). Then we met up with some friends’ of Bata that I hadn’t met before. We spent some time with them and then went back to the mall I had gone to on the first day to meet up with Basbousa and some others who were working there. After Basbousa’s shift was over, he took me to a superstore to get some toiletries (they’re much cheaper in Cairo than Nablus) while the others went to look at a technology store. I enjoy talking to him and attempting to use my Arabic…Arablish. After getting some delicious mango juice we went back to the apartment building, outside of which all the guys like to hang out. I spent some more time with Bata and Basbousa and then reluctantly went to bed. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">I got up at 5:30am the next morning to go ride horses with Amin and his friend Louay. We drove to an area right outside the Pyramid compound where we met up with a man who Amin had been referred to by a friend. He brought out horses and we rode them slowly through the streets until we got to a sandy area. Then we rode the horses up to a lookout overlooking the pyramids and Cairo. We had some tea and enjoyed the view (of course I had forgotten my camera), and then road down. The guy who accompanied us took the reins from me and helped me gallop (had never done that before). I had so much fun! Galloping on a horse is exhilarating and a bit less terrifying than riding a motorcycle helmetless through Cairo. Looking at the pyramids and riding a galloping horse was one of those moments when I realized how lucky I am to have such incredible experiences because of my amazing friends. In those moments all you really can do is thank God and burn the images into your memory forever, so that when you look back on life you remember how blessed you’ve been. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After that, I went back to Mohamed’s for a little bit. Then Bata picked me up and took me out for a little. He bought me frozen yogurt at the Pinkberry (!!??!??!) in Cairo. The first time I saw a Pinkberry was Newbury Street in Boston; so I never expected to run into one in Cairo. I got half mango and half coconut frozen yogurt, no toppings. I had forgotten how wonderful the taste of frozen yogurt is. I savored every single bite. I could probably write a blog post solely on frozen yogurt and rant for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Anyway, after Bata made sure he had gotten me everything I could possibly need before going back to Palestine, we left and I had dinner at Mohamed’s. That whole afternoon with Bata was filled with long silences where both of us thought about the impending departure and got seriously sad. Then we would chat and laugh it off, but as soon as laughing subsided those thoughts of conclusion crept back. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After dinner Bata picked me up and we set off with Basbousa to go to a Zamalek football (soccer) game. Club football is huge in Egypt (as many may know after the Port Said tragedy). We found the upper class section as I would “get eaten alive” if I sat with the fans. But I had a great view of the Ultras (fans) and enjoyed their chants, synchronized jumping, fire shows and fireworks. It was so cool to finally see what all the fuss was about, and I enjoyed watching the game as well. We left early in case a fight broke out. Then I went back to Mohamed’s and said my goodbyes. It was a really hard goodbye for me. They had been so amazing all week. I had chatted with both Sarah and Rasha a lot. They are so incredibly sweet and enjoyable. I only wish I had had more time to spend with them, and of course little baby Aly. Mohamed’s dad was also so welcoming and sweet, and told me I should stay longer. And of course I adore Mohamed’s mom. She is so gentle, kind and hospitable. I was never hungry in Cairo or on my long journey back as she had packed me a huge bag of food. She teared up as we hugged goodbye—I came close to crying as well. I only spent 5 days there, but they became family to me. Then I said goodbye to Bata’s lovely mother, Mayar, and a bunch of the guys. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Bata, Hoss, Amin, Basbousa and I headed off to the bus station. I’ve never wanted to miss a bus so badly before. I wanted us to be late and miss it so that I would be forced to stay longer. We stopped by Aly’s to say goodbye to him and then arrived at the train station. Bata and Basbousa had to leave right away to get to a football game they had previously promised to play in. The reality of the moment hit me: I had to say goodbye to one of my closest friends, and I had no idea when I would see him again. All the conversations we shared, all the laughs we enjoyed and all the mind-blowingly nice things he had done for me rushed to my head and I literally burst into tears. I don’t cry publicly very often at all, but I’ve never had less control over my tears before. We hugged and then I hugged Basbousa as well, which was another hard goodbye. I pulled myself together as they walked away. The bus ended up being late which just made the inevitable departure more agonizing. Amin, Hoss and some other guys that had met us there and I chatted until the bus came. They put my bags on and made sure I was on the right bus before I said goodbye to Amin and Hoss and the rest of them (also so very hard) and then got on the bus. Immediately tears streamed down my face (also doesn’t happen often—I must be getting soft in my old age). I almost got off the bus about 10 times. I cried and slept intermittently the bus ride back to the Taba border crossing. Off the bus and walking to the crossing, there were about 20 instances where I almost walked back to the stop to catch a bus back to Cairo. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">But I crossed the border and am back in Nablus now. There were many instances where I have considered just being irresponsible and going back. But, I’m sticking with my commitment, and while my desire is to return to Cairo, I know I am in the right place for now. I am considering going back after this is over, or perhaps working here for the summer and going to Egypt in the fall. It’s all in the air right now, but that’s as close to a plan as I can possibly have right now. I’ll apply to things in both places for the summer and take it from there.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Its funny that I expected to be there only 48 hours in Cairo originally for a total of 5 days in Egypt, which turned into 10 days (5 in each city). That would have been an enormous mistake. I didn’t realize just how much I love my friends there, especially Bata. Its crazy how people connect sometimes and form familial bonds out of seemingly nowhere. He is my brother now. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Don’t get me wrong, I still love Palestine. I think a lot of my distress has been a return to a lack of freedom. Between the societal constructs of Nablus, and the limitations on freedom set by my job, I feel very trapped here. And for those who know me, that is perhaps one of my least favorite things. I would miss Egypt regardless, but I think I would be happier in a different position here in Palestine, and perhaps another city. I love Nablus: its beautiful. And I have met incredible people and friends here—and of course my kids. But personal freedom is something I value a lot. So perhaps this is a good character-building experience for me. I love character-building experiences after they’re done. I have to say I’m not entirely unhappy here. I have friends here as well (even though my best friends are leaving). Regardless, I will pull through, and Im sure as the semester goes on and I fall into work routines, the work will get easier and I will have more valuable experiences. <o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-84656216071526766052011-12-27T11:55:00.000-08:002011-12-27T11:55:33.279-08:00O Little Town of Bethlehem<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Twas the Tuesday before Christmas when I held an end of the semester party for my Balata kids. I will not be teaching there until February, although I will supposedly be leading a drama a few days a week. It was bittersweet, since I love those kids, even though I can barely handle the now overcrowded classes. There are now too many kids in both classes, and I am the only teacher at the site, which I find strange since Balata is the biggest refugee camp (in terms of population) in all of Palestine. Nevertheless, I would much rather continue to teach at Balata and get an extended break from my private school class. The party went off without a hitch, and the children were unexpectedly calm as I handed out snacks and sugary drinks. After the second class's party, 6 of the older kids stayed behind and helped me clean up, of their own volition. I was bombarded with hugs, goodbyes and I love yous which made all the work worth it.<br />
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On Friday I decided to explore the camp a little more because I had never walked farther than the center where I worked. I went with a visiting Brit who worked for TFP last year and had never walked around either. It ended up being a little awkward as Balata is very poor and we just looked like tourists amongst the curious glances and not so quiet exclamations. But we ended up running into Mohammed, who works at the center I teach at. His brother was one of the prisoners that just got released in a recent prisoner swap. He was arrested during the 2nd Intifada at the age of 19 and was in jail for 9 years. His entire 20s was spent in an Israeli prison. Mohammed invited us back to his house for the welcome home party. We only stayed a little and arrived at the beginning, so we didn't see much of the festivities. Nick and I were also split up as I went to sit with the women and he with the men. It was slightly awkward but I did get to meet Mostafa (the brother) and wish him my congratulations. He was a very nice, quiet and respectful man and I was dying to know his story. Definitely not the right time to ask. Perhaps in the future..<br />
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Saturday morning we headed off to Ramallah to drop off our stuff, decorate the guys' house and buy food for Christmas dinner the next day. We stayed with American guys we had met a month or so ago and have since become good friends with. They have friends with cars so from there we drove to Bethlehem. We couldn't seem to find Shepherd's Field where we heard they were having services, but after about 10 instances of turning around and asking for directions we finally found it. Its definitely a tourists' park, not an open field, but it's very well kept and nicely decorated for Christmas. We caught the end of an Indonesian service (they were ALL wearing Santa hats) and then headed up to Manger Square where we walked around looking at the decor and grabbing dinner. The restaurant was very warm and cozy, but the food and company are what made it a meal to remember. Several other friends had met up with us, so our extended table laughed, ate and enjoyed the new community we had made to celebrate Christmas. It was raining by the time we left the restaurant, so we drove to the Shepherd's field again and went to the chapel where, thankfully, they were holding an English mass for a tour group of Malaysians, Indians, and perhaps some other Asian countries. It was nice to sing carols and listen to the--quite frankly--adorable Indian priest give a message (although definitely not the style or content that I am used to). Afterwards, cold and a little wet, we headed back to Ramallah. We put in It's a Wonderful Life (which only 2 of us stayed down for the duration of) and had freshly baked chocolate chip cookies thanks to Lindsey and a Betty Crocker pre-made mix.<br />
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The next morning we woke up, made a pancake and eggs breakfast and relaxed for a little watching more Christmas movies and opening stockings Lindsey had made and we had stuffed with candy and other little things. Then we started the task of the day: cooking Christmas dinner. We all took over the kitchen in shifts. We knew people were bringing food, and the Turkey had been taken to a different house to bake, but we still made a bunch of food. Lindsey and Amy baked amazing pumpkin pies, I made a vegetable stew and others made some various other dishes. By the time dinner rolled around we had about 11 people. Then all of a sudden, at least 10 or 15 more people walk in just as the turkey is arriving. Everyone brought a tone of food: carrott cake, hummus, mashed potatoes, pasta salad amongst other delicious dishes. The boys had borrowed a second dining room table from their neighbors, so we fit as many people in that, and the rest sat at various other chairs, couches, coffee tables and arm rests. We met a lot of really cool and interesting people (all telling us to come to Ramallah where the jobs are better and the life is freer...so tempting). It really turned out to be a great night, even though I was away from my family, friends and home. Although, I have to say, my friends here are really like a new kind f family for me. I'm really glad I was with them this Christmas. And who would have thought I would be celebrating Christmas with Jews, Muslims, Christians and others...a very unique experience. For my first ex-pat Christmas away from home, it couldn't have been much better.<br />
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We came back the next day and rested. Then today after our first post-turkey workout, some of us went to the Turkish Baths for some serious cleaning. We laid on hot tiles, relaxed in a sauna and tried our best to breath in an intense steam room. Then we scrubbed with Nablusi soap and a loofah made of something like straw. It was a pretty nice experience, and the clean feeling after is incredible.<br />
<br />
Now we've begun to plan for a New Years celebration in the boho neighborhood of Florentine in Tel Aviv (apparently one of the only places where you can find a big New Years celebration because both Jews and Muslims celebrate different New Years). Two days of teaching before we head out early on Friday...and thats about all the planning we've done so far. As always, more to come.<br />
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</div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-60434260548398707032011-12-16T13:47:00.000-08:002011-12-17T03:12:44.596-08:00When Onions Stop Tears<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOBOzqG5sSt4mioyZXpPSGjYsex7i50asGhHcyfY4IJMoTNmQixHZmAgl8arF4Ha6f3ndzKpLeznsFrQCKDNjd0pxOXDLQQp_c_OeSmcGJ89kWEmF8ZyhDc9vE5NKYaMT9JIWKGdpaO4/s1600/IMG_0544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOBOzqG5sSt4mioyZXpPSGjYsex7i50asGhHcyfY4IJMoTNmQixHZmAgl8arF4Ha6f3ndzKpLeznsFrQCKDNjd0pxOXDLQQp_c_OeSmcGJ89kWEmF8ZyhDc9vE5NKYaMT9JIWKGdpaO4/s320/IMG_0544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Thursday night after work we headed off to Ramallah for a night out to unwind from a long week. We went to a cozy little place with some dancing, which was much needed after about 2 months without dancing. It was a lot of fun to unwind and hang out with some of my coworkers outside of the workplace, especially since it had been a pretty tough week in terms of student behavior. We stayed the night at our American friends’ house (they now have a Spanish roommate who is equally as nice). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then this morning Amy and I set out for Belien where we knew there was a protest. On the way we ran into some other internationals going to Nabi Saleh for a protest there so we decided to join forces. We were actually pretty glad we canged courses because we realized Nabi Saleh is the town where Mostafa, a protester, was killed by a can of tear gas to the face last week. So this week was a pretty important protest for the village since they had lost one of their own last week. They are protesting the settlement that was built on top of THEIR farmland and which has now taken over their spring where they get water. They also experience night raids and other maltreatments. This week a lot of people showed up, especially internationals who had heard about what happened last week and came out to show support. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Zm0Sh_i4J4XMYqogtyieJN_7hXQ0BdGiYLiDZ8TGRlZ4Hmz1PYFJEP7de7V2I4jkb9950nVxJgh3hqztunoXRMYpAouN1CWDuUEF5sFzxeJGKEiS8Y207eTVnZQ5NDevAfcIBjocR6A/s1600/IMG_0599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Zm0Sh_i4J4XMYqogtyieJN_7hXQ0BdGiYLiDZ8TGRlZ4Hmz1PYFJEP7de7V2I4jkb9950nVxJgh3hqztunoXRMYpAouN1CWDuUEF5sFzxeJGKEiS8Y207eTVnZQ5NDevAfcIBjocR6A/s320/IMG_0599.JPG" width="320" /></a>(look in the gas cloud)</div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">I guess for some reason I was expecting a simple demonstration. Guess again. We walked down the road to where the protester was killed last week. I stayed towards the back of the group with Amy and some other people we know from various internationals’ events and connections. There were probably between 75-100 people and a lot of them were internationals this week. Then they started firing tear gas bombs indiscriminately at the protestors. They’re about the size of a large orange and are hard…they look kind of like old school bombs. People would retreat and then move forward and then again be bombarded by tear gas. They also pulled out the skunk water canon which shoots streams of chemically enhanced water that stinks and doesn’t ever leave. We stayed far away from that. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH-T8zW4vKaUEWjF9ylL5G0G223Vy7Jp-FpdG1EgexOxLaV0g2-wnJuLZzpwVCcx0BH_VDsDrApZuzrLLznEWbYsvBZx0vgB4WzOMAwb8y6jvqXmBwwjJbKE_JyI4N0OK7WSHEuvuTlk/s1600/IMG_0542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEH-T8zW4vKaUEWjF9ylL5G0G223Vy7Jp-FpdG1EgexOxLaV0g2-wnJuLZzpwVCcx0BH_VDsDrApZuzrLLznEWbYsvBZx0vgB4WzOMAwb8y6jvqXmBwwjJbKE_JyI4N0OK7WSHEuvuTlk/s320/IMG_0542.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then the Palestinians directed people to march down to the spring which is the focal point of the protests. The spring was stolen from the village by the settlement. We waited and walked up to the top of the hill overlooking the spring. There was a 45 min or so stand-off and some arrests. Then they started firing gas at the protesters right in front of them. When they had gotten really fed up with us they started firing at the hill and that pretty much ended things for the day. *** I forgot to add this when I first published, but Ill put it in now: there were also plenty of Israeli and Jewish protesters. I wanted to include that so that people know that this is not a one sided fight against breaches of international human rights law***</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9oKTI43_OrxZzS58hoEHUl_AXw7mL2ny-EG8A9IuUD_YJfrB03mzbcsLDvhfFR6SX3mskVKHZ_GDRyFuOSKawmndUESOPbpa7daUOxZvTcZzFa_qiHwRfahkoggBwddPm9vq-Wf2B7I/s1600/IMG_0501.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-9oKTI43_OrxZzS58hoEHUl_AXw7mL2ny-EG8A9IuUD_YJfrB03mzbcsLDvhfFR6SX3mskVKHZ_GDRyFuOSKawmndUESOPbpa7daUOxZvTcZzFa_qiHwRfahkoggBwddPm9vq-Wf2B7I/s320/IMG_0501.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Now that I’ve outlined the events, I’ll give my personal commentary and reactions. I’ll be honest the first time they started shooting the tear gas at us I was terrified. It sounds like gunfire and all you see is people running and smoke flooding the air. Once you convince yourself it’s just gas canisters, the fear subsides, but those canisters are still pretty intimidating. I stayed towards the back for the most part, but at one point they fired longer range and I got caught in the gas. It’s like inhaling fire into your nose and lungs and rubbing pepper in your eyes. I wasn’t even that close to the can and I felt the effects of the potent chemicals. Ironically sniffing onions helps and some people handed me a few pieces to calm down the effects. It wore off relatively quickly since I didn’t get hit too hard. But apparently its more potent that gas someone experienced at protests in other countries like England. And they also shoot them at you whereas in other places the gas is rolled or sprayed in. Although to be honest, its never nice whether its here or the States. And considering the mass of protesters they were firing at were completely peaceful, it was definitely excessive. The most resonating images were those of the young Palestinian boys on a hill getting gas canisters shot at them as if they were a threat. At some point some started throwing stones, but this was after they had been thoroughly gassed (although stone throwing at decked out soldiers doesn’t exactly justify shooting gas cans at kids regardless…but as I said stones were thrown later, after the gassing had started). Some I’m sure would want to see the boys in the wrong, and while I don’t believe stone throwing is the best response, when you think about it from their perspective you see things in a different light. To them they are using the only means they have to defend themselves, their livelihoods. If someone took your land and water supply and then shot gas canisters from a canon at you when you protested the seizure-- which is illegal according to international law--what would you do? Now on top of that imagine that you don’t have the bill of rights or anything like that to refer to. In fact, your country, your nation isn’t even recognized by the international community. Now honestly ask yourself what would you do? </div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbPkxOGnxG6ju0k6Q1s9iYmJRp5zHLKxrZ822QdX58tLyOsSadYcjGoE9urNbX1V98EtxeC4PynkVqhQpxkHt_FIMLB72XOhQ5ZBbPj-0GG5yw35Kxu1o4NHD0gw5Eb4B5VyS0QECGE4/s1600/IMG_0619.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihbPkxOGnxG6ju0k6Q1s9iYmJRp5zHLKxrZ822QdX58tLyOsSadYcjGoE9urNbX1V98EtxeC4PynkVqhQpxkHt_FIMLB72XOhQ5ZBbPj-0GG5yw35Kxu1o4NHD0gw5Eb4B5VyS0QECGE4/s320/IMG_0619.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"> I think today reminded me 1) of why I wanted to come here, why I care so much, where my passions lie and 2) how consuming and hopeless the oppression is for a lot of the people here, especially in places directly affected by the settlements like Nabi Saleh. It’s really hard to understand fully unless you’re here, and even then as someone who has grown up being told I am free to do anything and be anything, I can’t even fully empathize. Anyway that’s my two cents. Im sure some of you might disagree. I’m open to chatting about it : <a href="mailto:caseylabu@gmail.com">caseylabu@gmail.com</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
For those of you concerned about my safety at protests and posting political pieces ....please don't worry. I'm smart and safe about what I do. Yes, there are some risks in going to protests, but I play it safe and it needs to be done. Since I have been given a passion for this conflict and for this oppressed group of people, I feel not only responsible for taking action but I also feel I need to stand up for what I believe and to defend the oppressed, which I have been called to do. My life is in God's hands and I have peace in that.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Peace, <br />
Casey<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKQxnTrdg980NOCEqkJPadqBpaqwJDiYgHddkVIQiN4rx6H8KOseNlaTAkOPxYgS0RcGW5T30CSCt04852EZraw8DMc49Ey8NA62YcLdgW-_AiCPODjfTURb2YQPmli8WTwpEdOyEj3g/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhKQxnTrdg980NOCEqkJPadqBpaqwJDiYgHddkVIQiN4rx6H8KOseNlaTAkOPxYgS0RcGW5T30CSCt04852EZraw8DMc49Ey8NA62YcLdgW-_AiCPODjfTURb2YQPmli8WTwpEdOyEj3g/s320/IMG_0630.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-30947273044191698082011-12-01T00:47:00.000-08:002011-12-01T00:47:03.419-08:00Turkey, Tattoos and a Charlie Brown Tree<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I apologize for not posting in several weeks. Coming back from the break, I haven't had much time to breath, much less reflect and write. Now that I have to simultaneously make worksheets and readings for the current week and create lesson plans for the upcoming week, all this with a finicky computer, poor internet and a shared printer I am not linked to, I basically work around the clock. Its not a problem, I knew this was going to be a lot of work, but it explains why I have been so absent in updating. <div><br />
</div><div>Its mostly been work, but I have had a chance to get out too. A couple Thursdays ago (Thursday is the last day of the school week, then Friday and Saturday are the weekend and Sunday starts the week off), me and some girls had a girls night out in Ramallah. Some UK musicians we had met were playing at a pub there so we went to watch. It was like walking into a European pub. 90% of the people were ex-pats from various countries. We felt like we had left Palestine. It was bizarre. We ended up crashing at the house of one of the Americans we had met there.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Then last weekend was Thanksgiving. We all made dishes and brought them to our friend Emma's apartment for a Thanksgiving feast. We would have liked to have it at our house, but the camp is more conservative, and we aren't allowed to have men in our apartment. The American we met in Ramallah came too and brought his other two roommates. Two are from Seattle and the other from Hawaii. We also had a mix of other nationalities getting a taste of a traditional...or semi-traditional Thanksgiving. We had sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, Musaka, rice, fruit salad, and lots of other dishes. The guys from Ramallah brought a 16 pound turkey which Emma masterfully baked in a less than legitimate oven. It was great to have all the traditional food and be around friends from work and outside of work. It didnt really feel like a normal Thanksgiving, but I think the word "normal" when referring to holidays is going to change now that I'm an adult on my own. It wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be, but the pang of not being home with my family and not being able to see my best friends from home was definitely still sharp. Christmas will be the real test I suppose.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Speaking of which, the Christmas season has begun in our little house. Walking outside you would never know, but inside we now have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree Lindsey bought yesterday. We put up some Ramadan lights we found in the closet, and plan to get more decorations this weekend (we plan on taking a night/day trip to Bethlehem). Lindsey also has materials to make clay ornaments and paint them, and then we intend to string popcorn as well and make several other paper-based decorations for the house. We have officially turned on the Christmas music and have even caught a couple Christmas movies on TV (of course none of the good ones, but for now we're just happy for the familiarity of Christmas Spirit beyond our own computers and walls). They also have a TON of chocolate commercial looking advent calendars!! We're each getting one in our apartment! Its funny because the kids have been running around with them for weeks just eating the candy. We also spotted some chocolate Santas at the supermarket. I have no doubt Ramallah and Bethlehem have more since they have significant Christian populations, whereas there are very few here. </div><div>Our big plan is to go to Bethlehem for Christmas Eve and then either come home or stay with friends in Ramallah for Christmas day (more comfortable and intimate than being in a city where we don't have a place to stay). I'm pretty excited for that!</div><div><br />
</div><div>Tattoos: We've been talking about getting them in Bethlehem, something small. I might not be ready for that kind of commitment, but what I did end up with was four temporary tattoos from my Balata kids plastered on my hands and wrists...of course who doesn't want four cars on their hands??</div><div><br />
</div><div>Speaking of my Balata kids, they seriously make all the pain worth it, well the second class at least. The private school class is always a challenge because the kids do not listen. Then I commute to Balata and teach a now very large class of beginners. Its hard because the levels are all over the place and maintaining control of such a wide range of ages and levels is difficult. But then comes my older kids. The class is smaller and they always make me smile. There are two girls in the class whom I just love. They are so sweet and eager to learn and they tell me they love me after class. One day the one girl came to class looking upset. I took her outside and found out a couple of older boys had pushed her over. It's one of the few times where I have very seriously wanted to beat someone up. Had the boys been around, I think I would have thrown a couple punches and said some pretty terrible things, so maybe it is a good thing they weren't around...</div><div><br />
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</div></div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-43460780354393488792011-11-10T13:03:00.000-08:002011-11-10T13:03:13.637-08:00Backpacking the Dead Sea and Judean Desert<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Lately I have experiences random acts of kindness from the most random set of strangers. Whether it was trying to find a cab during the holiday rush last weekend, or hiking through a mountain valley and being invited to stay in a Bedouin's camp, the kindness off strangers here has helped me out so many times. Just wanted to share that before I start on my holiday adventure.<br />
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I guess I'll begin with the Eid. Its the biggest holiday here, a little like Christmas, especially in the shopping rush capacity. We just stayed in Nablus for Eid, and then on Monday made the decision to travel. Me, my two housemates Amy and Lindsey set out to meet up with fellow teacher from Australia Ella, her friend from home Patrick, and another teacher Tim. We later decided on the title : the Intrepid 6...or the dirty half dozen. Who needs a set label anyway? I got to be the translator,as I was the only one with a background of Arabic. I enjoyed being the one who had to talk to people and ask questions. The best was when we needed to figure something out and I was able to translate from Arabic to English and figure it out. Not that I am anywhere near fluent, but I guess I know enough to get the point across.<br />
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We set off from Nablus for the Dead Sea. We had heard of a place where you could pay to camp on their property along the coast (I wouldn't say beach because its all mud). So we got ourselves there just in time for sunset. It was beautiful! Me and Lindsey got some volleyball in with a couple people spending the day there. We were one of only a few groups spending the night. After the sun set (at like 5 pm) we had a whole night and not a whole lot to do so we chatted and then did the inevitable: go swimming at night in the Dead Sea!!! We got some cuts and bruises from not being able to see the rocks too well, but it was totally worth it! There were definitely some quirks to the place: like playing awful US pop music until late at night and then starting it up again at 730 am (I never want to wake up to Bad Romance or any Lady gaga for that matter ever again). I actually didnt end up in the tent with the group. Long story short, the night manager talked to me until 2 in the morning and then gave me a little hut with a sleeping bag and pillow. I came to find out I got the best night sleep of the group.<br />
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Before I continue I have to say one of the best aspects of the trip was the group: we ha d a great dynamic, traveled so well together, and didn't once have a guide taking us around or a program manager holding our hands. We did the whole thing spur of the moment on our own terms. It was fantastic.<br />
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The next morning we set off early for Jericho. There we had a delicious and much needed breakfast feast of hummus, foul, falafel, salad and most importantly Nescafe. We picked up some food and LOTS of water and then headed off for Wadi Quelt, which is basically a gorge/ valley running through the Judean Desert. We started at the St. George's Monastery right outside Jericho. The monastery is built into the mountain, and is quite a sight. Then we trekked on through the wadi. Apparently a lot of people hike up on the top along the old Roman aqueduct (which we did for a little on the second day), but we went on through the rocky gorge. It was challenging but so worth it. We got to do a little rock climbing up the side of the gorge (we left our gear at the bottom) to check out some greenery growing in the rocks. I think in the spring there will be a little basin there, but coming out of the summer it was pretty dry. We hiked for several hours encountering a few rocky obstacles that we had to climb with our packs, which made the adventure all the more thrilling. We had a great group and made lighthearted jokes along the way. We even busted into "hit me baby one more time" at one point. Interestingly enough Patrick knew it better than the rest of us. The hike was incredible. I've never been anywhere more breathtaking, or done anything more spontaneous and adventurous. I'm afraid now that I've got a taste I won't ever be able to get enough!<br />
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As the sun started to set, we began looking for places to pitch a tent for the night. As we were looking we cam upon a little Bedouin camp (Bedouin=an Arab ethnic group known for living in deserts and the like and often being of a nomadic nature). His name was Mohamed, and he invited us in for some incredible and much needed tea. He lives there seasonally shepherding goats and sheep, while his family lives in Jericho. I think quite a bit of backpackers end up at his place and I think he likes the company.Then he offered to let us stay the night at his camp. We decided since he had some mats and a bigger tent that we might as well. We hiked up a pretty vertically mountain, or mount rather and watched the sun go over the mountains. It was an incredible view as we could see the Judean Desert mounts, the Jordan valley and we could even see the lights of Amman, Jordan! It was an incredible view after an intense sprint up.<br />
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We ate the food we had brought and watched a little bit of a movie and fell asleep. Thank God we were in Mohamed's tent with his blankets and mats because we were FREEEEEZING with all that. Had we been in a tent on our own with 2 sleeping bags to share for all of us, we would have been in serious trouble (aka we would have gotten up and kept walking). So after 2 nights bad sleep we got up, had some of the food we had left, and set of for a shorter hike to a spring. This time we hiked along the aqueduct. There was one point we had to walk through the aqueduct because it bridged two mounts and it would have taken longer to walk around or down and up. It was quite refreshing actually, even though my boots were wet for the rest of the day. The spring was gorgeous although previous travelers had left some bottles behind which really took away from the scenery. We chilled there for a while and talked to some other travelers that arrived after us (they had just come down from where we were about to exit the gorge). We then made the strenuous but not long trek out of the gorge to the main road. It was quite a view: we were able to see the whole wadi curve out to the Jordan Valley (where we had come from the day before). We drank some water, had some fruit and set off for Ramallah and then Nablus. We had met an advertising exec and his mechanical engineer friend who works for a company opening a reusable bag factory to help reduce the use of plastic bags here (which is a seriousssss problem here!) who offered to help us out with rides. They took us to Ramallah and then Nablus, which was really nice of them.<br />
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It was a totally exhausting trip, but soooo worth it! I had an amazing time with great friends, met a random group of really awesome strangers, and saw some of the most beautiful landscapes in the world. I am so blessed!<br />
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</div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-17441467971288211702011-11-03T02:27:00.000-07:002011-11-03T02:51:41.749-07:00Dwindling Vocal Chords<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Disclaimer: If you only have time to read a little, I would love it if you read down a little further instead of form the beginning, because I talk about my Palestinian family, which is a HUGE part of my life here.<br />
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I'm officially sick. That being said, so far I don't mind a whole lot. I'll take a small cold and dwindling voice over food poisoning any day. Honestly I'm more worried about my computer which keeps crashing, than I am about being sick. I<br />
The day began with a slightly scratchy voice. By the time class time came around it was course, but still pretty clear. The after participating in an impromptu skit for the kids with the other teachers (which involved imitating a teacher known for her yelling capabilities) and a unruly class (last day before their biggest holiday), my voice started to wane. And i still had two classes to teach, which involved singing Happy Days enthusiastically and of course speaking loudly. Happy Days really did me in I think.<br />
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</div><div>I spent the rest of the day and evening visiting with Kayan at her family's house about a 10 min walk away. I met two of her sisters, her mom, and her aunt. They were baking cookies for the Eid (big holiday here). I think I had like 6 glasses of drinks throughout the evening: soda, 3 glasses of tea, Turkish coffee and some really interesting but tasty version of hot chocolate. My voice got really bad at this point, which made speaking Arabic more difficult, but Kayan speaks some English so she translated a bunch which helped. It was really nice to just relax, and spend time with this incredibly nice and welcoming family.<br />
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I guess this would be a good time to explain who Kayan is, and how I came to know her. I''ll preface this story by explaining where I live. There are two buildings (each with a couple flats) within a separate walled area. The people living in these two buildings are all family in some way. We are at the bottom of one building, and what I have come to call my Palestinian family lives at the bottom of the other building. It started I guess on my first day in Nablus, when I was invited over to Besma (the mother in the bottom flat) invited me over. The whole family was there, including the family members that live above us (sorry if this is confusing). I'm not sure what the next thing was after this initial welcoming, but basically between a series of Besma giving us incredible food, and me staying to chat after returning the licked clean plates (also washed of course), I began going over there regularly. Now I pretty much go to visit on a daily or bi-daily basis. I love going over there and chatting with Besma. She is so much fun to talk to, has a great sense of humor, and speaks slowly so I can understand. She knows some English, but we mostly communicate in Arabic, which has been undeniably helpful in improving my Arabic. I'm nowhere near fluent, but I am definitely improving. It is becoming more natural to say everyday phrases in Arabic. The biggest challenge is going to be building my vocabulary. Anyway, in addition to our chats over coffee, tea, or some other food/beverage, I also get to spend time with the other family members in that house.<br />
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The Dad is so...i'm trying to think of the right word...good-natured or jolly would be the closest...and sweet, and the interactions between him and Besma are just so loving, and I can tell they really respect each other. He kind of reminds me a little of my Pop-pop when he was alive, just in his mannerisms and look. That's probably another reason I like him, on top of everything else. Besma and Mohamed have 7 kids total, the 2 youngest of whom are still living with them. Taib is 11 I'm pretty sure, and Mahdi (or as I have officially knighted him Ma-D) is 21 (just about).<br />
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Taib cracks me up. He is an 11 year old boy that speaks like a 35 year old cosmopolitan, or perhaps wallstreet man. His English is excellent and his vocabulary is surprising for even an English speaker of his age. H watches a lot of American movies apparently, and his older brother who lives above them and is married to Kayan (my aforementioned friend) taught him English growing up. He's a great kid, and so so so so cute! It makes me think of my little baby brother (ok i know he's 14 but he'll always be my little baby bro).<br />
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Then there's Ma-D. I guess since we're the same age its logical for us to be friends. But above and beyond any kind of logic, he is a really great guy, someone I would want to be friends with anywhere anytime. I really enjoy talking to him, and as we have gotten to know each other it turns out we have a lot in common. I'm really really lucky because if he hadn't been my neighbor, we probably would never have met. This is a conservative city, so interactions between men and women are pretty regulated. I feel really blessed that he lives next door and we are able to be friends. He speaks English I would say nearly fluently, if not fluently, so when he's around he translates sometimes when there are things Besma and I aren't able to communicate clearly. He is also helping me with my Arabic: when I need to know how to say something I can ask him. And after the Eid we're going to exchange Arabic lessons for Spanish lessons (he loves languages too). We're waiting until after the Eid because his schedule has been really crazy lately. He has exams, and on top of that has to work extra because of the upcoming holiday (picture retail stores one week before Christmas or the weekend after Thanksgiving, etc.). Basically he's a super hard worker.<br />
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The hospitality and welcoming that Besma (which by the way means smile in Arabic) and her family has blown me away. I mean Arab hospitality in general is an astounding phenomenon and something I was already aware of, but this is more than anything I could have possibly expected. Like every time I go I come back with food. For a while I felt terrible about it and was terrified she felt obligated, but began to realize that this it wasn't like that at all. I think the moment I really realized it was when she told me I am like a daughter to her, and since then on numerous occasions she and other members of the family have told me I am family now.<br />
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Recently I started hanging out with Kayan, Besma's daughter in law. She is 23, and we get along really well. Between her English and my Arabic we are able to communicate pretty well. Its really exciting because she is my first female Palestinian friend, and I really like her. She is so sweet and of course welcoming. I mean she took me to her family's house after just meeting me! I'm really excited to spend more time with her and become better friends.<br />
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Then there is the family above us: our host family. They are also so incredibly sweet and welcoming. The Mom Abeer had us all over for dinner the other night and it was sooooo good!!! The son Husam who is finishing up high school is a lot of fun. He's a total jokester (I've labeled him snarky mc snarkeyson). He is also always so willing to help. He's fixed our cable, brought us gas tanks for hot water and cooking, and offers to help with any other little problem we may have. He also wished us a Happy Halloween and said he wished he could make us feel more at home. It was really sweet. He really always tries to make us feel at home. Also very smart and ambitious like Ma-D (theyre cousins).<br />
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My dilemma: basically, I was just told recently not to become too chummy with neighbors (too late for that). The bosses don't want us to. The reason is that in the past they have had an issue where they were chummy with a neighbor who would come over a bunch, but turns out she gossiped about them and damaged their reputation, which is not good for the school. This is a big city and small town in one I guess. So I understand where they are coming from. However, I know for sure that this won't happen with my family, and I don't have anything to gossip about regardless. Like the woman they had a problem with would come over and snoop around....whereas I always go over there.<br />
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If they had told me when I first got here....I honestly don't know what would have happened. I'm glad they didn't tell me until it was already waaaayyyyy too late. I know that being with the family is right, not wrong in any way. I mean I missed going there one day, and the next day when I went over Besma grabs my hands and asked me where I was and then ushers me into the living room, shares a blanket with me (its getting chilly here) and tells me I'm one of the family. Like I said I see the school's point, but I KNOW that I am not in danger of that situation happening to me.<br />
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Ok I rambled on a bunch now. This has quasi become my journal since writing cramps my hand and takes up too much time, and my journal handwriting is illegible anyway, even to myself. I need to lesson plan now. I started this post last night (wednesday) but had to finish the next morning (thursday) because my computer kept shutting itself off (HUGE prayer request that this works out simply and cheaply...basically I cannot do my job without a computer as I make all my worksheets and materials pretty much). My voice is totally gone now, so Im going to stay in today (private school doesnt have English today, and I had to cancel my refugee class because I literally cannot talk. I would normally go into the school to do work, print out materials, make posters, but I think its best to stay in. I want to be able to travel a little over this week-long break!!!!) So NOW I need to work on my lesson plans for the week after break, so I can do materials next weekend when I'm back and better. Hasta Luego</div></div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8162798975374880565.post-50027561636830043142011-11-01T14:08:00.000-07:002011-11-01T14:08:39.176-07:00For the record...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">OK so not everyday is going to be as amazing as yesterday. If yesterday was an example of a great teaching day, today was an example of a horrific one. Oh well. I guess the amazing days are only amazing because of the horrific ones to compare them to. Pressing on of course, tomorrow is a new day. </div>Casecesohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02191749821626611684noreply@blogger.com0