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'.
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| 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.
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