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July 10, 2004 NAKED IN NABLUS - PART I I
Story and photos by YayaCanada This article is also posted at Palestine Chronicle.com  "You talk about the terrible suicide bombers, but when you have lost your house, lost your loved ones, and are standing naked, no one asks you where your clothes are. If you had any, you wouldn't be showing your private areas to others." Muna Dawani, Teacher - Interviewed July 6, 2004 Read Naked in Nablus - Part I See Ottawa Sun background story  It was a
perfect late summer afternoon in a luxurious country setting. Visitors
from Nablus and their new-found Canadian friends relaxed on the pool
deck, chatting contentedly after a wonderful barbecue dinner.The kids had resumed splashing in the pool, and our host, Monir, was enjoying a smoke from an ancient-looking hookah as he chatted with some of the other men. In between puffs he took swigs from a can of diet Pepsi. Is it just me, or is that hilarious? Alcohol was conspicuously absent from this event. Some people might not think it possible, but today was proof that exceptionally good times can be had without it.  I
was curious about the hookah, and Monir
invited me to try it. I did, and was surprised at how mild the
smoke was. What a day of new experiences for me!Going inside the house to freshen up, I witnessed in the kitchen something that might be contrary to most people's thinking about Palestinian society. Our hostess, Samah Sabawi, and Canpalnet-Ottawa founder, Linda Belanger, were animatedly discussing the world situation while a young man in his mid-twenties stood at the stove brewing coffee.  So much for the division of the sexes. What is your name, I asked the young man. Barhoom, he answered. "I will write it for you. Barhoom Hanna." Samah overheard. "But that's only a nickname; your real name is Abraham, isn't it?" "No", he grinned, wide and sparkling. "They named me the nickname." Samah interprets, because his English has failed him and he answers her in Arabic. He prints his name for me on a piece of paper, and goes back to serenely gazing at the little stainless steel pot of water on the stove, waiting for it to boil so he can spoon in the coffee.  I sniffed the grounds in the white,
exotic looking bag on
the counter. Strong roast smell, but something flowery,
too. It stirred a memory, but I couldn't think what.Barhoom set out tiny, decorated cups on an ornate tray, and I waited until he had poured and served the coffee outside on the deck, and we were all sitting around the table sipping the fragrant brew, before proceeding to pepper him with more questions, through Samah. What do you do? Lame, cocktail party question, but I had to know. "I have a diploma in electrical engineering. I was working for the best known contracting firm in Nablus; they built homes, apartment buildings. But I was recently laid off. The company had to close down.  He
does not admit to being unemployed. "I
am self-employed now", he says, "but there is not much work available."What happened? "Nablus was the business capital of the West Bank, but it got squeezed off. Movement to other places is impossible. A trip to Jordan that used to take two hours now takes 14 hours; some trips that took one hour can take a week now. "If a truck is loaded with equipment, every piece has to be removed and inspected. Sometimes the soldiers don't feel like doing it, so you have to wait. "I have not been outside of Nablus in four years; this trip to Canada is unbelievable." Muna Dawani, the pre-school teacher, was reminded of a tragic story. A man was returning from taking his olive harvest to the press, and the soldiers took the olive oil and spilled it on the ground. Harvesting olives is an arduous task. The man had worked night and day for months to nurture and gather his harvest, his sole source of income, and he had gone through the agonizing rigamarole of getting to the press and back, and now this happens. He was devastated, and he died of a heart attack. Barhoom is not married, and doesn't see any prospects of being so. "People in Nablus are waiting longer and longer to marry, because there is no income and no home for them to make." Samah laughed. In Gaza they still marry young, she said, even though they have no separate home to live in, and they still have lots of children because somehow this gives them hope. Apparently there are some cultural differences between Gaza and the West Bank. What is a wedding like under the occupation? A young man standing nearby, whose name I didn't manage to get, told how his brother wanted to get married, and had sent out the invitations, but the incursion intervened. Somehow the guests managed to find a route through people's homes and made their way to the church. Sometimes the curfew will be lifted for a couple of hours, so now the invitation cards say, "Wedding starts when curfew lifted". If people hear that the curfew has been lifted, they know they are one hour away from a wedding. The group recalled the niece of a woman they know who got married and only 14 people managed to make it to the ceremony, and then they couldn't get back home so they slept with the bride and groom. Everyone around the table was laughing at this. I tried to see the humour in it. "Nablus used to also be the centre for marketing vegetables and fruit," Barhoom continued, "but it has been named the capital of 'terrorism', so business can no longer be carried on as usual. "There is no preferential treatment for anyone at the checkpoints, not even for the sick who need to get to the hospital." How do you survive without work?  "Most
people only barely survive, but I'm
lucky. I can always help my father with his coffee grinding
business."Aha! Then you know what makes the coffee so fragrant, I say, pretending to dab it behind my ears as perfume. Barhoom understood the gesture without interpretation, and laughed. Cardamom is added as the coffee is milled. I've used cardamom many times when making apple dishes, but would never have thought to add it to coffee. It makes a delicious after dinner treat. So is Nablus still the capital of "terrorism", I ask. Heads shaking all around the table. The Hamas leadership is very weak now, they tell me. Of course. All those assassinations. One has to be Palestinian to have a clear picture of Hamas, they explain. To them it is more of a political party than a terrorist cell. It runs people for election, it contributes to the community, the schools, the infrastructure. It's hard not to respect the leaders of Hamas; they are upstanding, trustworthy members of the community, educated, refined, generous. But now, Hamas does not exist so much as a separate entity. All factions of the people have joined together in their determination to resist the occupation, and the differences have blurred. They are all just people with one goal; to be free of the occupation.  I couldn't think
of any more questions
for the group. I smiled at pretty Rafa Naoum, who had been
sitting quietly throughout, not confident of her English and apparently
not feeling she had much to offer. I had asked her to write out
her name for me as I took a photo of her. She did so, but said,
"I am not a school teacher", as if she was therefore not very
interesting.What do you do, I asked. With help from the others, I found out she is the wife of Rev. Naoum who is priest of the Nablus Anglican Church, and had just graduated from An-Najah National University in Nablus with a degree in Industrial Engineering. She is ready to work on rebuilding Nablus when the occupation is over. But for the moment? She smiled slightly and shrugged her shoulders. YayaCanada is the web name of Corinne Allan, a semi retired computer consultant, software coach, artist, writer, editor, document and web designer, and political activist living in Ottawa, Canada. She operates her own website: YayaCanada.com and is webmaster for canpalnet-ottawa.org and the Ottawa Raging Grannies. |
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