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.
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