the first week
Yesterday marked the end of my first week in Bethlehem, and it was definitely not as I had expected. I don't think I ever really sat down and prepared myself emotionally for what it would be like to arrive totally alone, to start completely from scratch in a new language and to build up a support network from the ground-up. Even when I went to Egypt, I had a friend with whom I could commisserate, and was surrounded by other American college kids, all of us heads spinning and eyes wide. Here, I walked into a completely normal life, peaceful in its own right, and relatively uninterrupted for years. I am starting to settle in, but it is certainly going to continue to take time before I really feel like I belong here.
Slowly, as I get to know the children, I'm starting to get an idea of how they ended up in the village. One girl, Inas, is maybe 15 years old. She lives in the girls' house with the other girls who are older than 14. Though she speaks perhaps less English than I speak Arabic, we managed to have a broken conversation about her childhood, and I learned that she came (with her older brother, who is also still here - he loves to hug her and tell me she's his girlfriend) when she was about 8 after her father was killed in Jordan. Their mother couldn't provide for them anymore, so they came to Bethlehem where they would have all of their necessities. Another boy's family lives right in Bethlehem - I actually met his biological father when we went to church together on Sunday - but they rarely see him, and he doesn't visit very often.
My legs are in constant pain from walking up and down the hills in and out of town, but every day I take a new street and feel a little bit more comfortable. Yesterday took me back to the cell phone store for the third time this week; the owner obviously recognizes me and sort of chuckles every time I walk in. He knows I have another silly question about how to use my phone. I also tried to buy some envelopes yesterday so that I could start mailing letters - though I had directions, I couldn't find the store, and ended up wandering into a small tailor shop and trying to describe to the old man inside what it was that I was looking for. "I am looking for a small....(box shape with hands)....for letters. If I want to send a letter, in the mail...I put it in a....small suitcase, for the letter?" I managed to get my point across, and rather than pointing me in the direction, he stood up and walked me the half-block or so to the store. Typical Arab warmth. It turned out that he had actually seen me a few times before in town (this town is smaller than Wayne!), and he invited me to come back if I ever needed help again.
As it turns out, I managed to buy the envelopes and find the post office, but, like the public schools, the postal service is on strike. I am not sure yet what this means for sending and receiving mail, but I'll find out.
The children are starting to know me and take an interest in me; its nice to be walking along and suddenly feel a small body attached to my leg, or to be sitting reading and have a tiny pair of hands cover my eyes. I eat dinner with a different house every night (though during Ramadan most meals are taken outside, with everyone together), and some of the children ask me who I'm eating with each day, and when am I going to eat with their houses? It feels nice to be slowly breaking into a community, but I would still like to make some friends my own age; as fun as 10 year olds can be, theres only so much personal connection you can have with them.
The nights are getting colder; when the sun starts to go down, everyone disappears into their homes and reemerges later with a sweatshirt or jacket. It seems so strange to me that I was sweating when I arrived in the car last week, and now I huddle on a porch at 6 pm sipping tea to keep warm, and yet for everyone here it's completely normal. That's not a very profound statement, but it is a very interesting experience watching someone else's routine so closely. The details that I find so exciting are so simple and automatic, as I'm sure my own are when I'm at home in Wayne or New York.
Slowly, as I get to know the children, I'm starting to get an idea of how they ended up in the village. One girl, Inas, is maybe 15 years old. She lives in the girls' house with the other girls who are older than 14. Though she speaks perhaps less English than I speak Arabic, we managed to have a broken conversation about her childhood, and I learned that she came (with her older brother, who is also still here - he loves to hug her and tell me she's his girlfriend) when she was about 8 after her father was killed in Jordan. Their mother couldn't provide for them anymore, so they came to Bethlehem where they would have all of their necessities. Another boy's family lives right in Bethlehem - I actually met his biological father when we went to church together on Sunday - but they rarely see him, and he doesn't visit very often.
My legs are in constant pain from walking up and down the hills in and out of town, but every day I take a new street and feel a little bit more comfortable. Yesterday took me back to the cell phone store for the third time this week; the owner obviously recognizes me and sort of chuckles every time I walk in. He knows I have another silly question about how to use my phone. I also tried to buy some envelopes yesterday so that I could start mailing letters - though I had directions, I couldn't find the store, and ended up wandering into a small tailor shop and trying to describe to the old man inside what it was that I was looking for. "I am looking for a small....(box shape with hands)....for letters. If I want to send a letter, in the mail...I put it in a....small suitcase, for the letter?" I managed to get my point across, and rather than pointing me in the direction, he stood up and walked me the half-block or so to the store. Typical Arab warmth. It turned out that he had actually seen me a few times before in town (this town is smaller than Wayne!), and he invited me to come back if I ever needed help again.
As it turns out, I managed to buy the envelopes and find the post office, but, like the public schools, the postal service is on strike. I am not sure yet what this means for sending and receiving mail, but I'll find out.
The children are starting to know me and take an interest in me; its nice to be walking along and suddenly feel a small body attached to my leg, or to be sitting reading and have a tiny pair of hands cover my eyes. I eat dinner with a different house every night (though during Ramadan most meals are taken outside, with everyone together), and some of the children ask me who I'm eating with each day, and when am I going to eat with their houses? It feels nice to be slowly breaking into a community, but I would still like to make some friends my own age; as fun as 10 year olds can be, theres only so much personal connection you can have with them.
The nights are getting colder; when the sun starts to go down, everyone disappears into their homes and reemerges later with a sweatshirt or jacket. It seems so strange to me that I was sweating when I arrived in the car last week, and now I huddle on a porch at 6 pm sipping tea to keep warm, and yet for everyone here it's completely normal. That's not a very profound statement, but it is a very interesting experience watching someone else's routine so closely. The details that I find so exciting are so simple and automatic, as I'm sure my own are when I'm at home in Wayne or New York.
posted by kate at 11:43 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home