Kharbatha Misbah

Yesterday I visited my friend A. who lives in KM. This is a village East of Ramallah, which lies very close to the Green Line. A. teaches at the local school, and wanted me to meet some of his colleagues, so I had to get up early and was in Ramallah by 8:30. However, there was only one service going to KM, and it was empty. The driver said we would be waiting two hours for the car to fill up, but offered to take me there for 50 shekels. After a bit of uming and ahing I relented, and off we went. In order to get to KM, you have to follow the road that winds its way through most of the villages east of Ramallah. This elaborate journey takes about 40 minutes altogether. Prior to the intifada, Palestinians used to be able to use the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv highway (that runs right through their land), but they have now been banned from using this road. In fact, KM is divided from the nearby villages by this highway. In order to ensure (racial) separation, the Israeli Authorities built a tunnel underneath the highway, linking KM to the next village. This tunnel, which lets you know you've finally reached the village, also has gates at either end, should Israel wish to imprison the KM residents at any points. A. finds the prospect of being like 'birds in a cage' amusing to think about - probably because it hasn't actually happened yet.

Once in the village I went directly to the school, which was conspicuously devoid of pupils. Although 700 hundred boys attend this school (age 5-18), yesterday was the last day of the teaching term. Schools here have all but broken up for the summer holidays (and it's not even June!) The staff room however was packed, with staff trying to grade the final exams so that all the pupils would be able to graduate on Tuesday. I was able to sit and talk to some of the staff while A. was finishing some of his own administrative work. Beyond the usual formalities, the people I talked to - who haven't been paid in 3 months now - all seemed fairly acquiescent to this fact. The recent marriage of one guy and the engagement of another may perhaps have lightened the mood.

After a couple of cups of tea, A and I walked to his house, on the edge of village. A. lives with his mother, two brothers and four sisters (his father recently passed away) in a small dwelling which contains four rooms. The living room/guest room where we sat contained a three piece suite, with an extra chair, a table against one of the wall and some plastic chairs. A variety of tapestries woven by Um A. (A.'s mother), school certificates, verses from the Kor'an and a picture of two children from A. extended family who had been martyred (murdered by the Israeli Occupation Forces) covered the unpainted concrete plastered walls. After sitting a while with A. next oldest brother, we were joined by his sister's fiance and another friend of A.'s from the neighbouring village.

Just after twelve we ate lunch. In order to do this the table was moved from the wall, and the sitting room became the dining room. I think this double usage of space is fairly common, especially in smaller houses. [For instance, the bathroom was in fact part of the kitchen that had been walled off, although not all the way up to the ceiling. One of the two bedrooms was also the TV room]. Despite the fact that all of A. family was at home, the only other member to join us was A. older brother, who is close in age to A. [His younger brother is only 5]. This gender exclusion is common in Palestinian homes, and warrants an entire post of its own, which I will endeavour to do when I can do justice to the topic. For the time being, I'll simply state that all the females, except for A. youngest sister, remained something of a ghostly physical presence (seen for glimpses before disappearing again) while I was visiting. However their labour - our delicious dinner - was clearly tangible. [When I asked, A. said they were eating in the kitchen].

Dinner consisted of the fabulous musachken: bread covered in olive oil, pine nuts and onions, and eaten with baked chicken. A.'s mum had also grilled some chicken, which was served on a massive tray of rice, potatoes and carrots. A real feast!

After dinner, there was the obligatory Arabic coffee, some talk of the latest developments with regards to the building of the Israeli Occupation Wall (referred to simply as 'the apartheid' (in English) by people living there), a discussion about religion (mainly asking me what the differences between Catholicism and Protestantism are), and talk about a recent football match between two of the villages that ended in a fight. Due to the intense heat, we weren't able to walk around the village or A.'s family lands, so we remained in the guest room until the early evening. Catching a service back to Ramallah necessitated a 15 minute wait - since there are only 10 cars (carrying 7-9 people each) for the whole village (5-6000 people). I did however, finally get back to Ramallah, and from there, home.