How do you like Israel ??

I found myself at the 4^th annual ‘Octoberfest’ beer festival in the Christian village of Tayber near Rumallah on Saturday afternoon. It was a good day out with music through-out the day, good food and best of all, cheap ale. Many of you back home may seem it strange for there to be a beer festival here in Palestine but there is a loud and proud minority of Christian Palestinians who like the occasional tipple. Tayber Beer (named after the village) is the drink of choice for many christians and secularists in city’s like Rumallah and Bethlehem. They have even launched a non alcholic version for their Muslim brothers and with their motto ‘taste the revoltuion’ , it will undoubtedly be a success. 

Beer in the Sun

Myself and three friends from Nablus including Kevin stayed until 7pm before getting a taxi back to Nablus. By 7.30pm it was pitch black and we had been pulled over by an Israeli infantry patrol unit headed by a grumpy little female soldier with serious issues. She was small and her smallness was only exaggereted by her helmit which was clearly to big for her. She opened the door of drivers seat who was already scrambling for his documents. Holding her M16 carbine rifle (which of course looked to big for her) she huffed and she puffed whilst two other soldgiers circled the taxi peering in the window at us like a pair of weekend window shoppers. Getting more annoyed with the taxi driver she turned her attention to us the passengers. I don’t know why I felt the need to wink at her but this definately wasn’t the time or the place. I followed the wink with a cheeky ‘Everything ok love?’ in the strongest yorkshire accent I could muster. Maybe it was a bit of nervousness or maybe it was the 6 pints I had just consumed but I always thought a strong friendly, colloquial accent could diffuse any situation. She stared at me blank face then shouted . .

‘Am I your friend’

‘No’

‘Then shut the fuck up!!’

I’ve never felt so dominated in my life . . Some guys pay for this kind of treatment. She charged around to my side of the taxi sliding open the door before shouting more and taking our passports. Kevin was sat in the front of me and she demanded he empty the contents of his bag on the dash board. His bag, with it being an absolute bitch to open, wouldn’t open in time and she grabbed him by the neck before snatching the bag to empty the contents her self. After ranting for a while and asking the usual questions she went back to her jeep to check the details of the taxi driver. This all the while the two other armed skulking soldgiers leant casualy against the car making small talk . . .

‘So . . . . what do you think of Israel?’

I was astonished. I thought to myself . . Are you for serious mate?

'Yeh, really nice' Sarcastically.

He was clearly embarssed by the actions of his supervising officer. I dread to think how she treats Palestinians with no internationals present. I fail to understand how someone can have so little respect for their fellow human beings. This is widespread throughout Israel and the IDF.

We had a laugh with the taxi driver on the way back but jokes aside he said ‘imagine this everyday’. I think he appreciated our humour though as he took us for a coffea and refused to let us pay when we got back into Nablus.

Storie's like these all too commom. Its hard to convey to you back home how widespread this daily harassment and bullying is. It does nothing but drive Palestinians to new heights of desperation. The Israelis claim these checkpoints and car searches are nessecary for their own security, this is rubbish. Israel is sitting behind the most equipped, technolgiacally advanced, trained and experienced army the world has ever seen (maybe with the US). It has encircled the West Bank with by an 8 metre tall seperation wall 723km long armed with turrets and sniper towers. This 'apartheid wall', as it is known, has been built mostly on Palestinian land – a whopping 86% further indicating that the intentions behind the builidng of the Wall, which is a violation of International Law and has been repeatedly condemned by the UN, is also a both a blatant land grab and an attempt at strangling all aspects of Palestinian life.) It is widely beleived the aim of Israeli leaders is make life so unbearable for the Palestinians that they all leave the land. They've succeeded. Unfortunately the Palestinians have no-where to go though, apart from the ghettos which Israel has pushed them into.

The rocky road to Nablus

Below are some links to other stories of humilation and bullying by IDF soldgiers.

http://www.maannews.net/eng/ViewDetails.aspx?ID=321042

http://ramallahonline.com/2010/08/the-behavior-and-actions-of-the-israeli-female-soldier-posing-with-palestinian-prisoners-reflects-the-prejudice-racism-and-hatred-of-the-israeli-army/

Live Music at Tayber

The Wall near Qalandia checkpoint.

Winter Blues . .

As ever, I find myself writing these blog entries with too much to say and too little time to say it.

Since the end of Ramadan it has been stop and start to say the least. Emotionally it has been tough with many old and good friends either leaving or being foricbly removed. I also received quite devastating news which pulled me away from the olive trees of Palestine to the old oak trees of Yorkshire. As I sat in a cold Barnsley church on a typically dull yorkshire morning whislt watching my best freinds' fathers’ coffin being carried down the Isle, I was at once again reminded of the fragility of life and how easily everything we take for granted today can so easily be taken away tomorow.

The winterblues have arrived early and boy it's cold. Lydia, a cloes friend and talented violin player I've been playing with for the last 4 months has also had to return home to be with her best friend who's is terminally ill. I wish her and here friend all the best.

In Nablus itself there have been mutiple arrests in the area by both PA (Palestinian Authority) and IDF (Israili Defence Force) forces. One of the detainnes is a local volunteer for Project Hope. Probably one of the sweetest and kindest men you would want to meet. A university student, artist, singer and Muslim. He's my age and it's his 10th time in Jail now without charge. He will yet again have to restart another year of university to cater for his time in prison which now stands at three years in total. The reason for his arrest lies in his affiliation to the resistance during the last 'intifada'. A stone throwing youth who was venting his frustration at occupation and tyranny.

The illegal settlements on the outskirts are alive again though. Building has resumed and Army presence increased. Tensions are running high. Only a few day's ago Israeli settlers broke into a mosque south of Nablus attempting to burn it down and graffitying on the walls. In Nablus itself there have been settler demonstration outside another mosque they want buldozing down.

The direct peace talks brokered by the US lasted as long as the cameramans flash. Netenyahu and his right wing mix of rabbis, rascists and mass murderers (The Likud Party) have succeeded in embarrssing yet another American administration and are destroying any chance of peace in the forseeble future. It's not Netenyahu’s first time dismantling peace initiatives either. During his first premiership from 1996 - 2000 he did exactly the same. Smiles, champagne and hand shakes behind land evictions, assasinations and huge settlement expansion. The ethnic cleansing of Palestine and the creation of Erretz (Greater) Israel from the mediterraeninan sea to the Jordan river is still top of his agenda.

It bewilders me how history repeats itself so frequently. As the sqeaky voiced yorkshire foreign secretary William Hague battles and pleads with Netanyahu to simply 'extend' the settlement freeze his predeccessor from the last conservative government 15 years ago Malcom Rifkind was pleading in exactly the same way. In 1996 Mr Rifkind stated that "The start of construction can do nothing but harm the peace process." He stated this when Netanyahu levelled the hillsides of Jabal Abu Ghunan in Palestinian East Jersuslem to make way for 6,500 housing units for 30,000 Israeli settler homes. 'This site was chosen in order to complete the chain of Jewish settlments around Jeruselem and cut off contact between the Arab side of the city and its hinterland in the West Bank.' (Avi Shlaim 'The Iron Wall'  580.)

So . . a step from peace is a lunge towards war and further misery for the inhabitants of the depressing prison.

Facebook Farmers

3rd September 2010

I arrived back from Sinai mid August refreshed and full of spirit. It was great to be back in Nablus, a city which I now feel a part of. I arrived back though to a deserted Project Hope which has been closed for Ramadan. Some volunteers have been shipped to some of the Palestinian refugee camps in Amman (Jordan) but not wanting to lose precious time I declined this offer to continue working with the children of Balata and Nablus.

With Project Hope closed I am now living with a chap called Kevin. Having volunteered with Project Hope last year, he is now out here setting up his own charity recruiting music teachers to volunteer here (http://www.musicharvest.org/). He's a great guy with a dark humour and ginger hair. A perfect mix of physical and personal attributes some might say.

The trip in Sinai was a great success. With my Visa renewed and no problems at the border I now have a another three months to continue my work here. Nablus is alive at the moment. We are currently in the peak of Ramadan. There is no food for sale during the day, no falafel, no shwarma (kebab meat) and even worse no Kanafa (a beautiful cheese filled desert). There is no eating, drinking or smoking in the streets. The fasting starts at sunrise with the first call to prayer and ends at sunset with the Iftar celebration and the breaking of the fast. Families and friends come together from all around to celebrate Iftar with beautifully prepared food and drinks. From the balcony at Kevin's flat which towers high above the houses of Nablus one can see thousands of families in their kitchens and living rooms and on the balconies and roofs gorging away.




A view from the Balcony





The morning clothes wash.



Its business as usual though with the children except we meet in the early morning during Ramadan. The lessons are now becoming less formal and more fun with both whistles and guitar now being taught at the same time. Just before I left for Egypt a large package of instruments arrived in Jerusalem from Hobgoblin Music including three guitars, three violins and a further 50 D whistles. The violins I left in the capable hands of Kevin's brother Colm, a fine multi instrumentalist who I hijacked for my project. Unfortunately Colm has now left to return to his second year at university in Ireland. He will be missed though. Hopefully by Israeli airport staff as well, as I persuaded him to 'go commando' to the airport.

The arrival of the package of musical instruments to Jerusalem incidentally signalled the worst day of my stay here. I received notice by mail that they had arrived, however they were not to be delivered to Nablus and they were being held by customs at the main Post Office in Jerusalem. I headed off at once as the letter also stated there was a daily charge for there storage.

After the 2 hour journey through the West Bank, through Qalandia checkpoint and into Jerusalem I arrived at the sorting office. A large warehouse of a building with an Argos style collection point. I showed my letter to one of the workers who pointed me to an empty reception room with just one solitary worker receptionist busy at work. The problem it seemed had originated from the invoice. The invoice from hobgoblin had not stated the true cost of the instruments as to avoid the hefty importation tax the Israelis place on goods. They had listed each violin and guitar as being worth 99p and the 50 d whistles as being worth 99p collectively. The tax and customs office didn't appreciate this one bit.

'Is there a problem?' I kindly ask the receptionist. Pretty in face, Cold in heart..

'Wait here' The usual warm reception. I had been standing in front of her for at least 15 minutes.

'Could I ask what the problem is' She looked rather busy but I had now been standing there for 20 minutes while she sat there ignoring me with her eyes firmly glued to the computer screen.

'This invoice isn't real' She waves the paper in my face. There is no eye contact. A voice from the corner of the room behind the receptionist bellows out 'Come'. There, a tiny Uri Gellar look-a-like is waving at me with what appears to be another copy of the invoice. I walk past the receptionist and have a sly glance back to try and confirm my suspicions that the bitch was just on facebook. She was, and she was busy at work cultivating here huge facebook farm. Double Bitch.

We walk to the ware house were the package is there lying on a table and already opened. He gets out one of the bright purple violins and asks me what it is.'It's a violin.' Patience is growing thin. He gets out one of the guitars and repeats the question.'It's a guitar'  He shows me the invoice and states that its not real. He swears. He is angry. He doesn't know where Nablus is. (The rest of the world know and refer to Nablus as Nablus. Israelis refer to it as the biblical city of Scrhem, a city destroyed nearly 3000 years ago.) I didn't raise my voice. A screaming contest was not going to win this guy over. I just reassured him that it was a real invoice from a real musical instrument shop. He could ring the contacts if need be. It stated on the invoice that they were charitable donations. He knew where Nablus was. I think he just wanted to get into an argument /debate.He shouted louder and louder before telling me that they're sending the instruments back to England  right away because the invoice is false. My heart dropped like an anchor. All this hard work and sponsorship pissed into the wind by some tight fisted Israeli with small man syndrome. You can sum a guy up quite well when his knowledge of foul swear words out weigh his knowledge of the present perfect tense.

I reiterate my ignorance in an apologetic tone. I am the one in the wrong, you are right. I ask if there's a way we can sort it out. I propose that I show him the music instrument website so he can see the instruments and their retail worth. He grudgingly agrees and he takes me back to his office back past the receptionist who is still busy at work, cyber farming. I even stooped to the level extenuating a limp from a sprained ankle I suffered the other day. My ankle support was clearly visible. I needed everything, including pity.We sat in his dirty office surrounded by mouldy mugs and documents everywhere. I showed him my emails from Hobgoblin and he checked the website, calculator in toe. With his glasses perched on his nose he calculated the tax up on every tin-whistle, guitar and violin. In my attempt to soften the blow, I thought I'd tell him about the project, my love of Israeli music and culture and my intention to work with children in Israel. He was telling me how its expensive to have ideals. I agreed.

After adding up all the tax he showed me the calculator which showed the sum of a whopping 900 sheckles some £200. My time had come. My life had been leading up to this moment. I needed an Oscar winning performance to get out of this mess. I slowly (but dramatically) lowered my head into my shaking hands. I croaked my voice and remained silent. I looked at my flip flops for what seemed to be about 2 minutes.I don't know whether it was the limp, stories of woe and sorrow or my tales of charity and children. Maybe it was my politeness throughout the whole 2 hour ordeal or stories of a beautiful Israeli girl friend I once had. It was probably just a mixture of all the bull shit I sold him but he eventually picked up his calculator and furiously started tapping again.

He told me to go and collect the receipt from his receptionist. She managed to spare a few moments from mucking out the pigs to pass me the receipt. I paid £58 tax. I was delighted but exhausted. I had calculated myself that it would be roughly £200 and I had brought that amount with me in anticipation. Along with Kristi (an amazing Canadian volunteer who agreed to come with me for moral support), I loaded myself up and traipsed back to Nablus with all the instruments.It was one of my finest performances but I didn't recover from the ordeal for a good week.  Charitable donations should be tax free. Project Hope is a registered Charity in two countries but it's location here in the Middle East is on the wrong side of the Iron wall. Water under the bridge. Back in Nablus and happy. The aims of the project are now shifting tilt somewhat. I have  been predominantly working solely with children in the past three months whilst rehearsing and playing with a handful of internationals. In the next three months I will be concentrating on recruiting university students from the music department of the university in Nablus to join the band. We are scheduling a workshop for after Eid where myself Kevin and Lydia will play a few tunes and give a presentation on Ceilidhs' and the music itself.

These are exciting times. The project is expanding into Israel as well. My trip in Sinai was evidently meant to be. For who should I be camping next to on the red sea but a tin whistle playing Israeli activist who is just about to start teaching the tin-whistle to Palestinian children in Israel its-self. I am helping him out with 20 whistles and will help co-ordinate his lessons.He was not the only interesting Israeli activist I met in Sinai. Another chap I will talk about in my next blog.

Visa time . .

August 12th 2010

It was a great coincidence that Ramadan commenced at exactly the same time I had to leave Palestine and Israel in order re-enter and renew my visa. My stay here so far has been under a 3 month tourist visa which expired on the 6th august and to be honest I'm lost for where the time has gone.

I left Nablus on the 2nd August at 6am with the intention of making it to the Taba border crossing by the evening of the same day. The Taba border crossing is located just south of Eilat and is the only land border with Egypt. I made it down in good time passing through the Qalandia checkpoint before getting a bus from Jerusalem to Eilat. There were the usual complications at the checkpoint with two elderly women being denied transit and ordered off the bus by some young Israeli soldiers, a scene which is depressingly all to common.

Here I am though, sipping lemon juice by the Red Sea with the Sinai Dessert firmly behind me with its towering mountains laying guard over the region. Bang ahead over the red sea Saudi Arabia glistens in the evening Ramadan light and I feel cocooned in this utopian hippy enclave surrounded by the nasty warring factions around me. If I look left up the bay I can just about make out the bright lights of Eilat, the tacky not so glamorous Blackpool of Israel. Ahead as said is the strict Wahhabi regime of Saudi Arabia, to the right is Hosni Mubaraks Cairo and behind me nestled in the mountains of Sinai there resides 'terror' groups linked to Hamas and Al - Qaida. The day I arrived in Sinai was the day insurgents (allegedly linked to Hamas) fired rockets aimed at Eilat. One landed in the sea, the was over shot  landing in Aqaba Jordan killing a random taxi driver. This type of armed resistance seems more like a Monty Python sketch than a serious threat to Israeli security.

Sinai for me can't be summed up in the limited language we human beings harness. It is both unnaturally intimidatingly and beautiful. The most famous land mark in the region is Mount Sinai. It is believed that this is the location Moses received the ten commandments from God after his daring escape from slavery in Egypt. Not three days ago I climbed it. Myself and about 1000 other tourists, pilgrims and psychopaths set off at 1 am and reached the summit by 5 am. There, we waited for the sun to rise and it eventually broke through he mountain range like flood waters breaking over a damn.

Ruined by tourists (like me), fat moaning Americans, rude Russians and one idiot from Italy who carried a cross all the way to the top (I'm sure he was confused), the experience was as moving as Jade Goodys' funeral. The only thing which kept me walking up was knowing that should I choose to give up and go back down I would have amble through the 2000 camels and 1000 morons cluttering up the narrow path which I over took to get to the front. Granted the scenery was awesome at the top though.





The Bedouin were on good form though, through my broken Arabic I heard them mocking one obese American man as he grappled up the peak of the mountain. The camels also cheered me up, as I walked past one it broke wind violently. Screams and moans of complaint could be heard for minutes after from the unlucky rear enders. I let off a sly one as well,  It was a perfect cover.

Walking down in the sunlight was also nice but mildly depressing. Tourist litter can be seen in most places on the trail and I caught one idiot throwing his batteries from his camera on the floor.  I kindly told him to pick it up. I was surprised when he did.

I'm staying Dahab at the moment, a lovely little resort in between the Sharm el Sheik and Taba. Its heaven wearing shorts and have a beer in the evening. The beaches are as beautiful as the reefs I snorkel and there is a great mix of  travellers here from all over. The place is quite empty though and has never really covered from the waves of terrorist attacks which hits the resort 5 or so years ago.Quiet is good though and it's exactly what I need.

The view from my 'hut'

Conversations with the Past

Well the peak of summer has officially arrived. The sun scorches the earth of Nablus with such venom its  hard to believe any benevolent God controls it. The classrooms are becoming increasingly difficult to control and children are being drafted out of there lessons and into the family businesses. Ramadan is just around the corner and with it a month of fasting, something which will undoubtedly have a major effect on the city and it's inhabitants.

Strange things have been happening in Nablus recently.I sat in a falafel stall two weeks ago discussing with other volunteers about the changing times which this city has had to deal with. We were talking more about how it will look at the end of our life time, should this region still be existence. When I arrived back to the office I opened my email inbox to find the message below. Jim Weedon is the kind chap from Clarke's whistle company who kindly sponsored the project a large amount of Tin Whistles. There are subsequently two further emails which follow which I want to share with you.



Dear Stuart,

Jim Weedon has told me about your splendid activities. I am the Company's music consultant so I was immediately interested, especially as I know Nablus well - or should I say "knew it well". I was a soldier in Palestine during the 39/45 War stationed in Jerusalem. A soldier friend and I cycled to Nablus on days off on a tandem bike that we hired. It wasn't a real tandem but two cycles cannibalised and welded together and was called "The Flying Bedstead". I was active in the Boy Scout movement in Jerusalem and, together with two other soldiers, ran a Wolf Cub Pack in Talbiya. We took the Cubs camping to a small Arab village just outside Jerusalem. There was an active Wolf Cub Pack in the village. We had a most enjoyable evening round the camp-fire teaching the Arab children to sing our camp-fire songs.

The last time I was in Nablus was in 1943. My friend and I hired the tandem again and had a week's leave touring and staying at Jewish settlements that had Scout groups. We went north as far as Ginnegar via the Wadi Ara. That Ara was known to be dangerous but the Arabs all turned out to cheer us on as we cycled through it. They were fascinated to see two mad Englishmen riding a tandem and were most hospitable. At one point, inviting us in to a flour mill to have a welcome cold drink. On our way back we went through Nablus and stopped at a small Arab caf for lunch. My Arab friends in Jerusalem all called me Abdul Asfur because I was always making music - Asfur means, I think, "bird".

Jim and I have helped an American lady who has a similar project to yours for children in Kosova. Those children had nothing going for them after that dreadful war. They could not even play with any safety in the fields as there was so much dangerous litter left over from the war - land mines and unexploded shells. She set up lessons on the Tinwhistles that we supplied as well as mouthorgans from another company. Then she trained adults to be teachers in various centres. Now there is a thriving programme of tuition and Music Festivals that gives a worthwhile and safe occupation for the children. She even got someone to teach the children how to make cloth bags to keep their Tinwhistles in. She has gone on to set up another similar programme in Northern Ireland.

I am now very old but I still enjoy helping Jim in any of his activities. I wish you well and great success in all that you are doing.

Good whistling,

Norman Danatt


I was obviously quite unprepared for what I read last Sunday afternoon. Its not everyday you receive such a mind blowing email. I printed it off and carried it around with me for a number of days reading it occasionally when finding my self in long service rides or military checkpoint cues. I later replied.

Dear Mr Danatt.

Thank you very much for the kind and inspirational words you gave me in your email.I have to admit, it was not what I was expecting to read when I opened my email inbox last Sunday lunchtime and I sat in awe for a good 30 minutes after reading it.

I imagine the city and the area itself has changed substantially since you were last here in 1943. There are now many large refugee camps on the outskirts. These have grown in size and population since their creation in 1948 and I have been speaking to many of the older inhabitants who can still recall the day's of the 'British Occupation'. The hill tops surrounding Nablus at the top of the valley are now all Israeli Army Bases, watch towers or Illegal Israeli settlements and the sound of F16 fighter jets fly daily overhead shaking the building of Nablus to their foundations. The old city is still there though with its tea houses and market stalls and I can only imagine the vibe which there is now is similar to how it was 65 years ago. For sure, there is definitely one thing which has not changed and that is the hospitality of its Arab inhabitants of this great and proud city.

It sounds as, like myself now, you had quite an adventure. I can only imagine what you would have experienced in those day's of old. I think I will now have to get hold of a tandem bike ! Do you have any places / villages you would like me to visit or any old friends I could try to track down. I could take a few photos of these places and send you them via email. Also, when I get back to England, It would be great if possible to meet up and share notes on experiences.

Kindest Regards

Stuart Graham

I tried my best in the email not to sound militantly 'preachy' about the state that Nablus is in now and the years of utter horror its citizens have had to endure since its military occupation in 1967 and before. He later replied.


Dear Stuart,

Thanks for your offer to look up anyone I knew all those years ago. Unfortunatelyall my friends from those days are either dead, or so old that they areprobablyin care homes. I keep in touch with one of them - he was one of my Wolf Cubs - a Jewish boy named Moshe - he sometimes comes to England on business so we meet in London in arestaurant. I ran the Old Comrades Association for members of my Regiment and we organised a yearly Reunion.  All that is now finished - one by one they disappeared leaving just three of us still in touch. I am now 90 and manage to creak on.

I met my wife Marjorie in Jerusalem where we became engaged to be married. A funny thing happened. I took her to meet Moussa Absy, an Arab friend in the Old City. He was a silversmith. As soon as we entered his shop he got his little boy servant to fetch us coffee. Marjorie could not drink coffee but it was the smell of it she didn't like. Rather than cause embarrassment she held her nose and drank the coffee, to the great amusement of Moussa and other Arab merchants who had come in to meet Marjorie.We were married in the Semiramis Hotel on the banks of the Nile in Egypt. It was the Army GHQ Registery Office. We then had our honeymoon in Luxor. By then I was no longer in the Army - I had managed to get a transfer to ENSA, the entertainments organisation of the Army. I toured Cyprus, Syria, Iraq,Egypt, Sudan and eventually North Germany with Shows.All the while I was in the Army in Jerusalem I was organist in Christchurch in the Old City near the Jaffa Gate.We always intended to go back to Jerusalem on holiday but  waited in the hopes that it would be more peaceful. The first suicide bomber blew up a restaurant right next to the flat where Moshe's parents had lived. It is so sad that that beautiful country cannot find peace. I am attaching a few pictures of myself with Marjorie and the Wolf Cubs.

I hope you are getting the children playing the Tinwhistles and enjoying doing so. Incidentally I found from past experience that a few youngsters just never managed to play the Tinwhistles - not because they were unmusical but because they had problems with finger coordination. I had a little group of them playing Kazoos very satisfactorily.

It is now about 2 am in the night. I could not sleep so have been sitting at the computer. I think it is time that I made another attempt at getting to sleep so I'll sign off.

With best wishes,

Norman

Norman was the exact same age (23) as me when he was last in Nablus in 1943, nearly 70 years ago.  I hope when I reach 90, I write with such clarity and humour. He is what my school boy history teacher (NR) would call excitedly call a primary source and to be honest there have been few emails in my life which have excited me so much. Please feel free to comment on these emails on the guest book page.

Aushwitz !!!!

The weeks here in Nablus seem to go fly by much quicker than in England. Maybe it's due to the fact that I'm still not used to my new weekend consisting of Friday and Saturday. Thursday always arrives with which such speed and I find myself engaged in the weekly conversation with the other volunteers questioning where the time has gone.

Last Wednesday there was another successful open mic night in the Pallagio Cafe in central Nablus. The turnout was huge with what seemed like 50 - 70 people crammed into the cafe sipping iced lemon juice, smoking sheeshe and singing songs. Some of my young students from Balata refugee camp were also persuaded to come under the accompaniment of one of their uncles. They showed up armed with their tin whistles. It always amuses me when I see them walking around with their bright red tin whistles all tucked into there belts like swords. They walked into the cafe like musical musketeers and it wasn't long until they joined us in few polkas and jigs.

The night was also in aid of a few volunteers who left the next day. Tributes I feel must be made to these quite remarkable people. Dermot 'Danger' Murphy, the Irish guitarist and card player extra -ordinaire  was a pillar of the sessions and a founding member of the International Contingent of the Band. His presence is already being missed, by both us and the Ben Gurion security staff. After telling Ben Gurion guards on arrival one month ago with no hesitation he was volunteering here in the West Bank, he was inevitably interrogated extensively. We received a message form him stating he was 'stripped to his boxers and glasses'.   Maeve, a lovely Irish girl with wit as sharp as Sheffield and a voice to match also departed us. The song 'On Raglan Road' will forever remind me of her.Kristie has also left, the longest staying volunteer in the house. Credit must be given her for the fantastic photo's and videos she made of both my classes, sessions and busking missions. She has one of the best photographic eyes I've seen and her wisdom betrays her age.


With Kristie and Maeve gone it leaves me as the oldest standing volunteer in the flat. I'm not looking forward to this cycle now of watching these amazing and interesting people come and go. I feel like the old man from the end of that great Tom Hanks film and book,'The Green Mile'. At least he has Mr Jingles though, the mice here don't do any tricks.I wish them all the best in the future.

It was Kristie and 8 others who joined me on another busking mission on Friday morning. The fellowship set off for Jerusalem just after 9 o'clock. We consisted of two fiddles, one tabla drum, two guitars and two tin whistles. We busked at Damascus gate and Jaffa gate, again wearing freedom for Palestine shirts. The response was overwhelmingly positive. As tourists, Jews, Muslims and Christians poured through the age old stones of the gate the music seemed to act as a barrier against there apparent prejudices. Only when the music stopped did we get a few wild comments,notably, one chap shouting 'Auschwitz' in may face; but of course, it was the Palestinians who perpetrated the atrocities of the Holocaust.In all we made an unbelievable amount of cash which after expenses will be going back into the project.

The Buskersof Al Quds

July 22nd 2010

Well, the Fighter Jets have finally ceased their war games and the sound of bird song can now be heard again. The last few day's has seen a monumental increase in air activity above the never fading blue skies of Nablus. Some flying so low over the buildings that from the balcony you can even see the distant faces of the the pilots flying the planes. The buildings shake and rattle to their foundations and I can't help think it'll not too be long until the constant low fly overs and 'sonic booms' collapse one of the buildings here in Nablus.

The last weekend was an eventful one. It was the first time I had ventured out of the separation wall in the two months I've been here. We cued in the cattle grills of the Qalandia checkpoint for an hour in the morning sun waiting for the Israelis to open the checkpoint. One by one we scuttled through barrier after barrier. What an ordeal, I had forgot how bad it was. Fathers trying their best to keep their families calm and together. People pushing in, women and men spitting and kicking. It feels more like an abattoir than a checkpoint. The buzzer sounds and the green light flashes, the barriers open and the cattle push forward and scramble to get through the barriers before buzzer sounds again and the barriers close. The old grandpa's and grandma's of Palestine stand patiently with blank expressions, they know the story. They've seen it for decades. The Grandpa wipes his face with his handkerchief with one hand whilst clutching onto his two grandchildren with the other. He is ordered through and shouted at (in Hebrew) to empty his pockets before scuttling through the metal detectors for the third time to find that it still goes off. He's now just earned himself a  personal search with a 19 years Oakley wearing IDF soldier who treats these elders with the respect a prison guard would show his prisoner.

This man could have been my Granddad. Small and plump with white hair and fair skin, smartly dressed in trousers, shirt and shoes. Probably on his way to Jerusalem for Friday prayer or maybe going to visit relatives or to shop. There are infinite places and things this Grandpa and family might be going but only one way to get there. This his life. While his dignity and pride is destroyed in front of his Grandchildren and wife, the 19 year old soldiers smoke and laugh. They mock him in Hebrew, something which doesn't go unnoticed by the Palestinians. Imagine being mocked and shouted at on a daily basis but being unable to understand what your tormentors are saying. Imagine now that your tormentors are child soldiers with the maturity of a 5 year old child with attention deficit disorder. Imagine now that this child hates you. Your existence has been distorted and deleted from the history books and you are seen as a plague upon the rightful god govern territories of Israel and as a child has no qualm burning woodlice or plucking wings off flies, these young children would not bat an eye lid raising his rifle and releasing yet another bullet into the cranium of another being whose only crime was his or hers unfortunate birth place. Finally my turn comes around and I struggle through the narrow barrier clutching onto my bag and guitar before making it to the window where one shows your ID papers. Through the stained bullet proof glass, and young dwarf of a soldier (smaller than me)is leaning back slumped in his chair clutching his gun and listening to his radio. There is no eye contact. .

'PASSPORT!!'

I show him my passport, page open at my picture. A fine picture actually,probably my best so far.

'VISA!!

With my middle finger, I hold the page open where my Visa was stamped and that was is it. It took three hours in all to get from Nablus to Jerusalem. Pretty atrocious by our standards, pretty good by Palestinian standards. I arrived at Damascus gate with a few other volunteers who had come for the ride. The purpose of my visit though was to test the water for busking sites. Lydia, the Dutch violin player had also accompanied me and we both very quickly donned 'I love Palestine Shirts' before starting our first set at Damascus gate.

Damascus gate is one of the main entrances to the old city in the Eastern part of the city which is recognised internationally as being within Palestinian borders. Unfortunately, the Israelis don't see it the same way. There are weekly evictions of Palestinian family's and a growing amount of Israeli settlers commandeering the empty houses or the houses being purposely built by settlement organisations.It is however a lovely part of the city. The bustling market sellers compete and the variety of little knick knack stores is impressive. Soldiers are every where to be seen with Snipers above the gate and armed  police and soldiers posing at the entrance of the gate having a good old chin wag. We had, on the whole, a good reception and we played for an hour or so. There were faces of utter bewilderment as people walked by clapping, singing, dancing and if there was one achievement, it was impressing the local Palestinian store owners who brought out coffee and fruit juice and in one case a parasol to shade us from the sun.






We also had some looks of disgust from some people passing by, mostly I hope due to the T – Shirts (not the music). In an eastern European accent I heard 'Why do you support a terrorist organisation ?' A laughable question undeserved of an answer.Walking though the centre later I was to encounter a nice polite chap who shouted in my in a face in a thick American accent . . 'There is no such f*****g place as Palestine'. I told him to wake up and smell the Falafel or words to that extent. (There was a falafel man on the corner of the road). But much anger and racism was directed towards the t-shirts on  number of occasions. In all though it was a successful day. We made enough money to cover our travel expenses, food and a nice welcomed bottle of cold beer. (It was added bonus pissing off the settler residents of Jerusalem).The Dutch also beat the Brazilians much to the delight of Lydia and as the sun set over the outer walls of Jerusalem and faded behind the old city I sat, pondered and reflected upon what had been quite a heavy day. I had seen the best and worst of what humanity has to offer.

The rehearsals are picking up and there are now weekly music sessions in tea houses and cafes in and around Nablus. Two Irishmen showed up as well last week and they were quickly snapped up. They play guitar and violin and will be helping me teach in the various centres for the next few months. The children in the camps are progressing quickly and I will try an upload some of the many videos on to the website in the next week.

'Open the Mic'

Saturday 26th July

Its 6.30pm and I'm currently sat on the balcony of my apartment. The view from here always manages to silence me (which is quite an achievement in itself) and never fails to leave me in a state of awe. It's a place I'm sure where many a volunteer and activist has sat and pondered over the years. I can't even imagine what it must've been like for those who were here during the last intifada. As I sit watching the traffic go by and the children from next door playing football on the street, previous volunteers were watching tanks take aim and fighter jets drop bombs. Those crys and moans in the night from the starving children of the 3 month long total curfew have thank God (should he exist) been replaced with the occasional bouts of beeping cars from local weddings parties.


 Night time naturally offers quite unbelievable views also. The lights from the buildings and street lamps illuminate up the valley and the spot lights from the Israeli military base at the top of the mountain are reminiscent from a scene of the War of the Worlds. The Fatah forces retreat to there night time hiding places leaving the streets in the capable hands of the Israeli Defence Force. From the base at the top of the hill one can see the Israeli Hummers and Military vehicles descending down the mountain roads with there orange lights flashing most likely heading for the Old city or one of the more troublesome refugee camps. So it's here that I sit telling you stories of my week leaning on the back two legs of my chair in a satisfying balance.


I'd just like to state how delighted I was to read my Guest Book page a few days ago. It reassures me greatly that my efforts here are being appreciated by some back home, not least  by some the teaching staff of my boyhood school who I personally hold much respect and admiration for. I don't know how reply to your messages personally but I send my finest regards to you and all the staff at QEGS. In response to Jim, any help would be dearly appreciated.


I co-organised what was another successful open 'mic' night on Thursday but this time in the Dar al Fanun music centre in Askar refugee camp. (One of the centres where I teach) I say 'open mic', but it turned out to be more of a mixed concert with all acts performing on stage in front of a full crowd of Internationals and Palestinians. In the audience there were also local children and the proud parents of the children who were performing. From the poetry of Mahmoud Darwish and Robert Burns to Irish Polkas and Palestinian break dancing it was an eventful night. It started with 9 or so 12 – 14 years old Palestinians from the centre singing and playing traditional songs on guitar, violin and percussion and ended with an impressive show of break dancing by the premire (only!) dance troop of the West Bank.

I presented the night with Boustami, a Palestinian volunteer helping me translate.  Again, many emotions and thoughts ran through my head as I watched the acts. Mainly the thought, only in Palestine ! I sat on the front row watching children being flung into the air in the midst of extremely complex dance routines to the music of 50 cent booming out of the sound system. I laughed, I could have been Simon Cowell had it not been for the shameful moustache and pair of odd socks.It was touch or go whether or not I was going to able to
make it though. I had been unable to teach all day due to painful stomach cramps and sickness. I was glad when I got off stage at the end having not been sick or worse . .  there were a few close moments. I rode the pain like pony through the desert though (a fine simile I know) and it was definitely worth it. A personal highlight of the night was singing the 'Star of the County Down' with an extremely talented 12 year old Palestinian kid called Muhammad accompanying me on his darbuka (Arabic drum). 

It was a the best possible start to the weekend followed by a good sleep in Friday morning (Friday and Saturday are the weekends over here).   I spent the best part of the weekend at a friends house in a village in the outskirts of Nablus. This guy is nothing short of a legend and though he doesn't mean to be, he's one of the funniest guys I've met. We were greeted with a full meal and a tour of the village where it seems every guy there is  his uncle or a cousin. We sat and drank tea in the Olive groves over looking the miles of fertile scenery having competitions with him, his brother and cousins to who could throw a rock the furthest. Needless to say, they all had good arms and would put any of my friends back home to shame (Mitch Rhodes would like these guys). But then again they'd all had a lot of practise over the years. His younger brother, a fresh faced 19 year old university student who was buried in his revision books when we entered the house had the best arm. He had also incidentally just got out of prison 3 months prior. He was detained for over a year and a half for reportedly throwing rocks. No trial though as per usual and no visits permitted in Prison. He had just turned 17 when Israeli special units shot down the door (as my friend was opening the door) and arrested him. The bullet holes in the door-way are testament to what must have been a traumatic night for his family.He was also a champion Dabke dancer with a fair few moves. He showed me and Sam a few in the house later. There we were, after being pressured into getting up and getting involved, 4 grown men gyrating there hips, vibrating our shoulders and clicking our fingers to the sound of music. Only in Palestine.

This is the great paradox of some of the Palestinian men. At times they the definition of macho manliness, brute hard ripped units hurling rocks 500 yards. Seconds later they've become the  macho man from the village people song. I am however basing this on my own narrowly formulated vision of gender and sexuality which has been sculptured by my own social upbringing. There is obviously nothing wring with grown men dancing in a small room. Its just not something we're not accustomed to. In the house there was also 'Mahmoudi', a one an' a half old little boy who I could truthfully say is the most adorable toddler I've seen. Big brown eyes and a massive smile, mischief personified. He woke us this morning shuffling,crawling and walking past our mattresses in the living room banging an empty sprite bottle and smiling his face off. The innocence of his youth was refreshing to witness, it seems like an awful long time since I was around such a young child and myself and Sam were automatically reduced to his playmates, jumping around in an attempt to make him laugh. Is there a better sound than a toddler laughing ?

It is depressing that it's children like 'Mahmoudi' which the leaders of out great democratic world ignore when they are being counted in the mortuary's of Gaza. I could not help think that his face could be any one the roughly 400 young children killed during operation 'Cast Lead' which started on Boxing Day 2008. A war which was in the grand scale of things just another branch of this ever evolving tree of bloodshed and war.

Tomorrow is Sunday so its back to the grind after a good weekend. Plenty more lessons to plan, rehearsals to be had, nights to organise and musicians to recruit. I would also like to ask all who read this blog to watch what you buy in your supermarkets and shopping centres. Say No to occupation. Boycott Israeli products.

The Real World . . they wish . .

June 22nd 2010



I arrived here in Nablus nearly 6 weeks ago with no more than website, a handful of books and a few instruments. Before I came, I would be lying if I had not questioned myself about what on earth I was doing. A fresh graduate, thousands of pounds in debt to the government, you would've thought, would opt for getting a good job and settling down. Joining the 'real world' as quite a few people have nicely told me. (I find it reassuring that the people who always give such flippant and useless advice are always the people you least aspire to be like).

Never the less, I have opted to join the 'unreal' world. There are however, probably billions of people worldwide who would give life and limb to join the 'real world' I have just shunned, not least the Palestinians. Many Palestinians don't understand why myself or some of the other volunteers would come here. Everything they perceive I've given up to come here is something every Palestinian and displaced refugee worldwide is fighting and dying for. Freedom, the right to self determination, the right live free of foreign occupation, the right to education, to unhindered travel; the right to call a place home.

The first time I remember seeing pictures of Palestine were in my R.S lessons at school. I even remember the year 7 text book, 'Signs and Symbols'.It had illustrated pictures of the Dome of the Rock Mosque, where Muhammad is said to have ascended to heaven and the Western Wall, the only remaining part of Jewish temple destroyed by the Romans shortly after Jesus' 2000 years ago. I thought it looked pretty ridiculous and to be honest, In some respects I still do.

I am still trying to understand why there is and has been so much fighting over this small bit of dusty, hot and arid land.  I get out of Nablus most weekends to visit other musicians and other music centres in the West Bank. The Palestinian designated roads cut through the land like a drunkard cutting a cake. No reason or rationality. Steep inclines and sharpe corners. It's understandable the Palestinians are convinced its just another method to try and kill them off via dangerous roads. The scenery is unbelievable. The hills roll on as far as the eye can see and I can't help but imagine that the road which I travel may have crossed paths with the historical Jesus, Abraham, or Muhammad.

Its a shame though. The Palestinians in the taxi don't seem to look out of the windows and I wonder why they neglect such stunning scenery. Maybe it's due to the fact that the beautiful scenery is a stark reminder of there situation. There land and rolling hills as designated by the UN and every international body is peppered with Israeli army outposts and Illegal Settlements. The settlements are indescribable. Identical house perfectly planted in Wisteria lane like grids (I thank an ex for my knowledge of Desperate House Wife's ). You could be looking at a housing development in Arizona. I imagine the feelings they must have must be similar to how many of the African Americans thought 50 years ago and native Americans 200  years before. Ethnic cleansing, land stealing and racial segregation are unfortunately reoccurring themes in the history of 'humanity'

Waltzing Matilda !!

Monday 13th June

The week just passed has been eventful to say the least. Plenty of whistle lessons along with three rehearsals and a very successful 'open mic' night on Thursday evening.The tin whistle classes have really started to take off, especially at the Balata refugee camp. I had my best lesson there so far with a few of the youngsters finishing there first tune. I have now heard enough renditions of Egan's Polka to last me a life time. I'm happy though, I was quite disheartened last time I went to teach at Balata to find that some of the little buggers had been using the whistles as percussive instruments instead of wind instruments. Three were already badly beaten and broken. These three lads were given a swift bollacking from the director of the centre before being shown the door. It didn't feel good to see them go. Its harsh but I have little time for the disruptive ones as there are so many of them who actually want to learn and sacrifice there time to come and learn.

I also took two other volunteers from Project Hope with me to the camp this week to play some music for the children so they can see what the tunes they are trying to play will sound like. With me I had a guitarist, Dermot, a dry witted Irishman who cheats at 'Shit Head' (a fine card game I have also exported over here) and a flute player, Nick, a softly spoken English gentlemen.  I took my mandolin  and we played some Irish reels and of course the dreaded Egan's Polka. It went down well and there were no requests for Enrique Englasias or Celine Dion so I was happy.

So yea, there is now the first part of a Ceilidh Band here in Nablus. Nick and Dermot, myself and an extremely sweet paying violin player called Lydia from Holland. We have other Palestinian locals playing with us as well but just guitarists and percussionists at the moment. Little by Little. But there will be more Palestinians to follow I don't doubt.

The open mic on Thursday was good. We had arranged a set of reels, jigs and polkas. We played for the first time in front of people and there was clapping dancing and smiling. Palestinian, English, Scottish and Irish songs were sung, Poems read but with out doubt the highlight of the evening was a  group rendition of the 'Waltzing Matilda' lead by the band and Adam, the resident Australian in Project hope.  30 Palestinians and Internationals bellowing out Waltzing Matilida, and I mean bellowing, was probably the funniest but at the same time most surreal thing I've witnessed out here. .

Tears of Hopelessness

June 2nd 2010


I'm laying in bed trying to organise my thoughts after what has been quite a difficult few days here in Palestine.

 My usual Wednesday so far has started with a 9.30 am English lesson in a women's centre just down the road in Rafidyha, a pretty nice part of town consisting of nice little cafes, fallafel bars, shops and restaurants. My students here are all middle aged women and their standard of English is pretty good. Like all middle aged women, they love a good fashioned old chin wag and we gossip about all sorts in the lessons. Always smiling, laughing and joking.I arrived there this morning to find the opposite. I hadn't seen the news about the Israeli's attack on the flotilla of aid ships headed for the illegally blockaded Gaza but they quickly told me.  In fact one of them, maybe my favourite (she offered to adopt me in a previous lesson) in the class  started  to cry.It's tough to watch grown women shed tears. Especially when you can understand their pain and suffering.

The women I teach at this centre are remarkable to say the least. Keeping a family together and raising children through occupation and war is no walk in the park. All have seen day's they'd rather forget.I had predicted a few day's before in passing conversation with other internationals that I thought there could be injury's or deaths if the Israeli navy tried to bump and scuttle the ships. I never for one moment imagined they would board them in the dead of night, with specially trained commandos armed with live ammunition and then open fire. The fiasco which happened this morning in international waters is just further proof for the world  of just how little regard and respect the Israeli State has for international law and for non Jewish  life in general. Their claim that the unarmed activists who were aboard these ships are in-fact agents for Al – Qaida and Hamas is as laughable as the 45minute WMD claims prior to the invasion of Iraq in 2003. Their brutal siege upon Gaza has lasted for nearly three years. Amidst this siege there has been brutal murders and assassinations ,not just in Gaza itself, but internationally as well. The most famous example being just a few months ago when over 10 British identities were illegally stolen by Israeli security forces to facilitate the assassination of a suspected Hamas leader in Dubai.

Sleep is for the Week

 

'The more you find out the less you know.' I can't tell you how true that is here. The more I get to know how much shit the Palestinians have to endure from there Israeli Occupiers, the more I wonder how on earth they can still smile, laugh or find any pleasure in there daily life.  I know for some reading this blog you may be uncomfortable with my language or message, but I am not righting this blog to be impartial and there is simply no better way of describing how I feel.

The Israelis use any given opportunity to intimidate and stifle the Palestinians. There fighter jets fly daily over head. There manoeuvres disrupt my lessons on a regular basis. My class full of smiling 12 year old burqa wearing girls don't flinch an inch. I do. Its amasing how even young children have been desensitized by such things.The Israeli's even take away the most simple of necessities every human being needs, sleep. Last Friday morning at roughly 6 pm, the first day of the weekend, the Israeli Army thought it apt to have training manoeuvres above Nablus and whole of Palestine. I was awoken suddenly by the shuddering walls and roaring of the planes screaming overhead. Being a light sleeper and borderline schizophrenic, I naturally jumped out of bed thinking that the tales of imminent apocalypse and nuclear war some crazy long haired American hippy I met in a hostel in East Jerusalem was banging on about were actually coming true. I sprained my neck I moved so fast. It lasted around three hours.

So we begin . .

May 27th 2010


It seems like a long time ago since I was sat outside on the steps of SOAS talking with fellow students and comrades about politics and Palestine, the occupation, its people, culture and music. I can't remember how we got on to the topic of setting up a Ceilidh Band in the West Bank but for sure I know It had something to do a chap called Ed Emery and his attempt to spread the infamous 'Oxo reels'. I remember saying in jest, 'I'll do it'.



The box of Whistles



12 months down the line here I am. Nestled in the heart of Palestine with 285 Tin Whistles courtesy of Clarke's Whistle Company and awaiting a shipment of  more whistles and assorted instruments from Hobgoblin music.  I have three separate rehearsals 2 times a week with youth music projects in Balata and Asqa refugee camps. I am giving private guitar lessons and workshops at Project Hope and starting as of next week tin whistle workshops and lessons there too. In two weeks time there will be the second open acoustic session at the French Cultural Centre in Nablus, a grand old building with acoustics to die for.The last week has been eye opening to say the least. In between the various English lessons I've been teaching, I've been travelling around Nablus and its various refugee camps holding individual meetings with the directors of various music, art and community centres. Its been a tough but through my broken Arabic, there broken English and a translator we have come to agreements as to when I come and teach whistle and to when the broader rehearsals will be held. 



These men I've met are truly inspirational. Being in charge of a music and arts centre for a 30,000 person strong refugee camp must be character building. Especially when the 'centre' consists of just a few drums and one keyboard as in the case of the Balata refugee camp. All directors have welcomed me with open arms though. Over strong coffee and  cheap cigarettes colleagues have been made and friendships created.  In Balata Camp, I was not allowed to leave before a tour of the camp and good brew (cup of tea) at the music directors house (I don't want to mention his name until I have asked his permission). Conditions here are indescribable and the inhabitants and its crumbling building are scarred equally. I have never met people with so little but are willing to give so much. After tea at his house he walked me back through the winding narrow ally ways and side streets to the taxi rank arm in arm, a sign of great of great respect and admiration here. I was humbled.

nothing changes, nothing stays the same.

“Everything seems to have changed but everything stays the same.”

This seems to be a general feeling here in Nablus and the West Bank in general. Its true that many things have changed since I first came here two summers ago. The main military check point which links Jerusalem to the West Bank now freely lets the traffic in.  The day's of taxi-ing to the border, crossing the security border by foot and a then a getting a taxi to Rummallah seem to be over. The 4 hour journey it once was has become the 20 minute one it should be. The Huwara checkpoint which used to strangle Nablus has also become inactive and the scale of development from houses to cinema's is also noticable. There seems to be a peace before the storm. Because as apparent as these changes are, the grip Israel has upon this land and its people is undeniable. Yes, the traffic can flow freely in via Jerusalem, but it certainly can't flow freely out. The  military checkpoints all over the Palestinian territories which are now idle, are still manned with the same fresh faced Israeli Soldiers who have for so many years robbed Palestinians of there dignity and basic human rights. The freedom to travel in the West Bank is at the beck and call of just one radio signal from IDF headquarters. Its just a matter of time. For every house and cinema complex built, there is one demolished somewhere else to ensure the controversial Israeli Settlement programme hits its target for this millenium.


Nablus is an intriguing place with much character. The boys don there Real Madrid and Liverpool shirts and seem to know more about English Football than I do. This morning I had a conversation with a young chap of about 17. In his broken English he asked me, as every Palestinian man does . . 

“Football . .  You like ? .” 

No hesitation  . . 'Of course'.

“ Who ? ”

I normally say Manchester United, Chelsea, or Arsenal when abroad. Its degrading to all fans when the answer is followed up by   . .  “Who's that . . . .  you like Chelsea ?” I decided though, there's no shame in being a Leeds fan. “Well, . . . .  Leeds United”  I said. He looked at me for a while before patting my back and congratulating me on my recent promotion from Division One to the Coco – Cola championship. Football is described by many as the only thing to do for many Palestinian men and boys. Myself and two other volunteers joined an 8 aside tournament last night a short drive away from the apartment blocks. There were supposed to be three teams and 30 lads there but 10 regulars where missing with news one of the regulars had been arrested by Fatah forces for being affiliated to Hamas. We played anyway, the young the old and the ugly united by our boyhood dreams to score that one goal which wins the glory.  The standard was competitive and reminiscent of my dads old 5 aside team at college grove in Wakefield. Grown men bickering, diving, cheating and goal hanging. It was a truly amusing and great night. That until I decided to go in net due to fear of me collapsing from exhaustion and dehydration. Needless to say with in seconds there was a break down the right ring , my nemesis steamed closer and closer. Understanding the skill involved . . . in kicking a ball as hard as physically possible, I prepared my self for two outcomes. The shame of letting a white haired 50 year old score against me or even worse a direct hit. (Plastic coated balls sting the legs) I covered the near post and hoped for best. Suffice to say I saved the ball but before realising I had, there was a cry around the pitch from both the players and spectators of Ooooh followed by that noise which rattles from you mouth up your nose when your trying not to laugh. The ball bounced once on the line, my legs trembled and I dropped onto my knees. I took a direct hit from less than three metres. The ball hit me with such velocity it ripped my shorts. The laughs and hollers from those watching on the balconies of the flats overlooking the small brightly lit up pitch echoed around. I wanted to cry.Between the sarcastic comments of 'you want rub it better ?!!' , the laughs and the giggles, every single one of the Palestinians playing came over to me, they ushered me to a bench suspending my legs in the air shouting 'no move . . no move. . .  breath . breath '. I had never met these men before, and judging by the arrest rates of the Fatah forces, I may never again.



Hiding the Pain



Evening seems to be the best time in Nablus. The Project Hope building has a balcony over looking the valley. The sun set combined with the lights and breeze is epic and it was definatly the most fitting place to have the first guitar lesson this evening.  Two keen local boys of around 16,myself and an extremely talented Australian guitarist, Aaron, who is also volunteering here as an English teacher, all sat around finger picking scales and chords. The boys repeatedly ask if we know that Celine Dion songs, or maybe that 'titanic song or  'Enrique Anglais  'heroe' . We flatly deny. Metallica riffs are taught instead.

The view from Project Hope

Ee by Gum Salam Aly Kum

May 6th 2010

So here I am in my new home for the foreseeable future, laying in my new bed with mosquito's taking  it in turns to crawl over my laptop. The 50% deet insect repellent burns the eyes and I'm emotionally and physically exhausted from carting my 'over-weight rucksack' (as defined by easy jet), 3 guitars, 1 Irish bouzouki, 1 Irish flute, a few whistles and 1 mandolin from Jerusalem this morning. The smuggled single malt from my hip flask hasn't hit the spot and the beeping of cars from a local wedding is less than soothing on the ears. This of course, to be brutally honest with you really doesn't matter   . . .  I really don't care that my passport was stamped despite being asked very politely that it were not so. I don't care that a tuning peg from one of my guitars has smashed and my toothpaste exploded leaving a  minty fresh aroma in my mandolin case (yes I know,a stupid place to put toothpaste).

Words can't explain how happy I am to be here. A year of talking, thinking, planning, emailing and fund-raising has culminated in me being in what seems to me to be the most of exciting places. Perched high in the steep hills overlooking the valley in which Nablus sits, the views from the accommodation are breathtaking.  The other teachers and volunteers I met earlier over dinner are an exotic and odd mixture. Nablus has been overrun by Canadian peace activists, Scottish female football coaches and Australian English teachers. This being said, my room mate is of the less exotic kind,a fellow Yorkshireman. EE BY SALAM ALY KUM !Palestinian flags are draped in most of the rooms but there attempt along with a few  maps and posters to cover the whitewashed walls is futile. Ive never noticed such big walls, Its either that the  ceilings are pretty bloody high over here or I've shrunk on the plane. Maybe both.


The Original 'Crew'