The village museum and curator
Muhammad is an x-ray technician who works in nuclear medicine at Augusta Victoria Hospital. He prepares patients for radiation therapy and wheels them into the room housing the linear accelerator. The original patient load was intended to be about 25 patients a day, but often 40 patients are treated. It’s the only linear accelerator in the Palestinian territories, and AVH is presently looking for donors to fund a 2nd.
Muhammad is an out-going young man who likes to talk to foreigners, especially English-speaking foreigners. He wants to learn English so that he can immigrate to Canada and practise his profession there. He often has lunch and supper with Donna and me and tries out his English, which is moderately functional and getting better. I practise my minimal Arabic on him. We have become quite good friends and Muhammad invited us to his home.
He lives in village close to Hebron. In a perfect world he could commute to the hospital daily because his village is only about an hour away by car, but Muhammad’s world isn’t perfect. A trip to and from his village would require passing through Israeli check-points and roadblocks forcing him to go kilometres out of his way and take 2 to 3 times longer to get home. So Muhammad stays in the hospital dorm and goes home once a week on his day off.
Donna and I accepted Muhammad’s invitation and, on a Saturday in February, we went with him to his village. We started with bus 75 that took us to the terminal in East Jerusalem. We transferred to bus 21 which took us to a point just outside of Beit Jala where Muhammad thought it would be better to switch to a van for the rest of the trip to Hebron.
If Muhammad’s world were normal, we could have taken a main highway directly to his village, but just outside an illegal Israeli settlement all Palestinians have to take a special back road into Hebron. The main road is only for Israelis and tourists. There are many “settler” roads like that in the West Bank and some of them slice through farms that Palestinians have owned for generations.
In downtown Hebron we changed buses once again for the last lap to the village. We’ve all heard the Zionist propaganda about how the land was empty when Jews began to come from Europe to Palestine. The centuries-old hillside terraces where generations of Palestinians have cultivated olives, grapes, dates and vegetables belie the Israeli tales told to us in the West that the land was empty before the arrival of the Zionists.
As we drove through the countryside, Muhammad pointed out illegal hill-top settlements from which untreated sewage runs down into the valleys polluting Palestinians farms. He showed us how the Israeli settlements surround Palestinian villages and spoke of the harassment the settlers use to force Palestinians to leave their land. Israeli settlers can harass Palestinians with impunity. Even with all the forced detours to get to the village, our bus had to do some fancy wheeling between strategically placed boulders forcing the van onto a narrow, almost impassable road that led into the village.
Muhammad’s youngest sister met us at the gate of their home, greeting him with a big hug and us with a big smile. She led us into an attached parlour while Muhammad went into the main house to tell his mother that we were there. Soon she and an older sister appeared and welcomed us with cups of sweetened sage tea. Then an aunt and uncle arrived with their son and daughter, and soon the room was resounding in Arabic, English, good conversation and laughter.
Soon Muhammad’s father, who had been at the mosque for mid-morning prayer, arrived home. He is a history teacher in the village secondary school that Muhammad, his sisters, father and several generations of the family attended. He teaches history and specializes in Palestinian and Arab history. Our conversation about Palestinians and Israelis, with Muhammad translating, was interesting. His father held out some hope for a just resolution eventually. Muhammad’s uncle was more pessimistic about the future.
Dinner was Arab style. Traditionally the women eat separately from the men, but Donna was invited to eat with us guys. Muhammad’s youngest sister sat with us too so that Donna wouldn’t be the only female. The meal was the traditional maklouba (which means upside down). It’s made of rice, cooked with carrots, cauliflower, and saffron, and then flipped over and topped with chicken pieces, pine nuts and almonds. We squatted or sat in a circle on rugs with the platter in the center. Each of us had one large spoon and a bowl of laban (a kind of yogurt) which we spooned on to the mixture in front of us as we all ate from the common platter. Truly an agape meal!
After dinner, more conversation, Arabic coffee, and tea! Muhammad had to be back in Jerusalem for a 2nd job in an x-ray lab, and so in mid afternoon we said multiple good-byes. They were surprised by our custom of bringing them a gift and intrigued by the inclusion of Canadian maple syrup. The family told us that we are welcome any time.
Muhammad’s uncle gave us a quick tour of the village, including the museum and the cultural centre, and then drove us to Hebron to catch the bus back to Jerusalem. It was a memorable Saturday.
Muhammad is an out-going young man who likes to talk to foreigners, especially English-speaking foreigners. He wants to learn English so that he can immigrate to Canada and practise his profession there. He often has lunch and supper with Donna and me and tries out his English, which is moderately functional and getting better. I practise my minimal Arabic on him. We have become quite good friends and Muhammad invited us to his home.
He lives in village close to Hebron. In a perfect world he could commute to the hospital daily because his village is only about an hour away by car, but Muhammad’s world isn’t perfect. A trip to and from his village would require passing through Israeli check-points and roadblocks forcing him to go kilometres out of his way and take 2 to 3 times longer to get home. So Muhammad stays in the hospital dorm and goes home once a week on his day off.
Donna and I accepted Muhammad’s invitation and, on a Saturday in February, we went with him to his village. We started with bus 75 that took us to the terminal in East Jerusalem. We transferred to bus 21 which took us to a point just outside of Beit Jala where Muhammad thought it would be better to switch to a van for the rest of the trip to Hebron.
If Muhammad’s world were normal, we could have taken a main highway directly to his village, but just outside an illegal Israeli settlement all Palestinians have to take a special back road into Hebron. The main road is only for Israelis and tourists. There are many “settler” roads like that in the West Bank and some of them slice through farms that Palestinians have owned for generations.
In downtown Hebron we changed buses once again for the last lap to the village. We’ve all heard the Zionist propaganda about how the land was empty when Jews began to come from Europe to Palestine. The centuries-old hillside terraces where generations of Palestinians have cultivated olives, grapes, dates and vegetables belie the Israeli tales told to us in the West that the land was empty before the arrival of the Zionists.
As we drove through the countryside, Muhammad pointed out illegal hill-top settlements from which untreated sewage runs down into the valleys polluting Palestinians farms. He showed us how the Israeli settlements surround Palestinian villages and spoke of the harassment the settlers use to force Palestinians to leave their land. Israeli settlers can harass Palestinians with impunity. Even with all the forced detours to get to the village, our bus had to do some fancy wheeling between strategically placed boulders forcing the van onto a narrow, almost impassable road that led into the village.
Muhammad’s youngest sister met us at the gate of their home, greeting him with a big hug and us with a big smile. She led us into an attached parlour while Muhammad went into the main house to tell his mother that we were there. Soon she and an older sister appeared and welcomed us with cups of sweetened sage tea. Then an aunt and uncle arrived with their son and daughter, and soon the room was resounding in Arabic, English, good conversation and laughter.
Soon Muhammad’s father, who had been at the mosque for mid-morning prayer, arrived home. He is a history teacher in the village secondary school that Muhammad, his sisters, father and several generations of the family attended. He teaches history and specializes in Palestinian and Arab history. Our conversation about Palestinians and Israelis, with Muhammad translating, was interesting. His father held out some hope for a just resolution eventually. Muhammad’s uncle was more pessimistic about the future.
Dinner was Arab style. Traditionally the women eat separately from the men, but Donna was invited to eat with us guys. Muhammad’s youngest sister sat with us too so that Donna wouldn’t be the only female. The meal was the traditional maklouba (which means upside down). It’s made of rice, cooked with carrots, cauliflower, and saffron, and then flipped over and topped with chicken pieces, pine nuts and almonds. We squatted or sat in a circle on rugs with the platter in the center. Each of us had one large spoon and a bowl of laban (a kind of yogurt) which we spooned on to the mixture in front of us as we all ate from the common platter. Truly an agape meal!
After dinner, more conversation, Arabic coffee, and tea! Muhammad had to be back in Jerusalem for a 2nd job in an x-ray lab, and so in mid afternoon we said multiple good-byes. They were surprised by our custom of bringing them a gift and intrigued by the inclusion of Canadian maple syrup. The family told us that we are welcome any time.
Muhammad’s uncle gave us a quick tour of the village, including the museum and the cultural centre, and then drove us to Hebron to catch the bus back to Jerusalem. It was a memorable Saturday.
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