"Welcome to America."

The man standing in front of me looked like a good bet. "Excuse me, sir. Do you have a pen I can borrow?"

How had I managed to spend nearly 12 hours on the plane and not fill out my customs card?

"Just check 'no' for everything." He grinned a little too widely and offered me a blue pen.

"Next," the line-monitor croaked. It would have been impossible to say a word with any less enthusiasm. She sounded like she had suffered under the fluorescent lights, tending lines of incoming American citizens, for a few too many years.

The man looked at me expectantly. He was next. "Oh, sorry. You probably want this back." I had only managed to fill in my name. For a fleeting second I considered what would happen if I tried to keep his pen anyway. These are the things you consider when you have been awake for too many hours.

It was my turn.

"How long were you abroad for?"

"Since August. Ten months about."

"What countries did you visit since you were last in America?"

"Jordan, Egypt, Israel." I was tempted to say "Palestine" and see how that turned out, but I decided to only list the countries that show up in my passport with visas. Inshallah (God-willing), it will be possible to have a "Palestine" stamp on my passport someday.

"Where did you spend the most of your time? What was the purpose of your time abroad?" He rattled off a few questions hardly waiting for my responses.

"Which country did you like the best?" I can't help but wonder what weird extrapolations were made of my answer to this seemingly irrelevant question.

"Were you paid when you taught English?" I laughed, realizing too late this might not be the best course of action when a Passport Control worker is asking you questions. "No. It was volunteer."

"So did you live on a kibbutz when you taught English?"

"Not exactly."

He didn't wait for further explanation. "Oh, OK. Well, welcome back." It seemed deceivingly easy in contrast to my recent travels in Palestine and Israel. No hassle? No restricted room for me to sit in and await further questioning? I had forgotten what it was like to be an American in America.

I staggered under the weight of my bags up to the money exchange counter. The man behind the counter mistook my tired confusion and lack of American currency. "Welcome to America. Enjoy your stay!" Yes, thank you. I certainly will.

Girls' Football

The getting-to-know-you questions are a whole different ball game in Palestine. They usually follow a list like this:
1. What is your name?
2. What country are you from?
3. Are you married? (Occasionally followed by a marriage proposal if you are a single female.)
4. How old are you?
5. Why are you in Palestine?
6. What is your favorite football team? ("Football" meaning the sport us Americans call "soccer.")

Unfortunately in Palestine there are only two acceptable answers to the last question: Real Madrid or Barcelona. Despite the binary choices available for favorite teams, the general enthusiasm for football is infinite. The program I work for, Teach for Palestine (TFP), tries to capitalize on this general enthusiasm when creating more opportunities for girls in the local community. This takes the form of an end-of-the-year football tournament and weekly practices for the girls involved. The football portion of TFP is only in its second year of operation and so is rapidly expanding and reorganizing.


When the idea for girls' football was introduced in the village the coordinator at the women's center, who is my community liaison of sorts, was dubious about the project. She felt that the families in the village wouldn't want their daughters playing sports in public and that the idea of 11-year-old girls traveling to the city of Nablus for games would be unfavorable. Thankfully she was wrong. With a little bit of encouragement, all my female students received permission to participate in the football program. I credit the overwhelming excitement surrounding football and the positive experience of the TFP English program in Deir Al-Hatab.

The next challenge was finding a place to practice. One of my bosses worked tirelessly to receive permission to hold practices at a school in the village. This seemed the most practical course as I had about 20 girls who were desperate for the opportunity to play football. Carting them to Nablus once a week to use the field at a TFP affiliated school was out of our budget. It was also necessary to use the school facilities because the area is very hilly and there are no other open flat lots. Further more, the walls of the school would provide necessary protection from any potential scrutiny from less open-minded village residents who might harass the girls, a sad but important consideration.

On the edge of the village is a beautiful new school. It has a wonderful and large football field surrounded by a fence. The girls assumed we would get permission to play there and were very excited at the idea. To my dismay, the ministry was only able to grant us permission to use the small school in the center of the village that had a courtyard not much bigger than my classroom. Upon further investigation, I learned the reason we were denied use of the school on the outskirts of the village is that the school is often attacked by settlers from a nearby Israeli settlement. Allowing foreign NGO workers and groups of Palestinian girls to use the facilities outside of school hours was too much of a security risk. With all parties heartbroken, I had to pick just eight of my girls to play football since they would have to take expensive taxis into Nablus for a weekly coaching.

All the struggle paid off today though. My girls managed to put up a fierce fight and won second place in the annual tournament. They beat the rivaling village team of Salem (along with many other teams) and gave the defending champions a run for their money. The game was only lost in a "sudden death" style shootout, an impressive feat for the newest TFP site.

Now that the precedent has been set, many of the younger girls have told me they can't wait to be older and play football too. The residents of Deir Al-Hatab continue to impress me with their enthusiasm and support for progressive ideas and learning opportunities. Hopefully, the TFP football program will receive the support it needs to flourish in the coming years.

The girls halfway through the tournament: tired but determined. 

Sarah (in black) intercepts the ball.

Team captains face off. Jiana (in black) plays for Deir Al-Hatab.

We even keep the refereeing fun!

Hamed's Birthday Party

The warmer weather is finally here and along with it comes outdoor parties. Today I attended my first birthday party as a teacher. As I headed to the spot where I catch the servees van back to Nablus, I was accosted by one of my favorite students. Quds is in 5th grade and, although average in her academic English, is precocious in her speaking ability.

"Come, come!" She pulled my hand. "My brother's party is today. We want you to come, please!" It didn't seem like I had much choice in the matter. Her brother, Hamed, is also one of my students.

The birthday boy, Hamed. 

"Just for a little bit." I was wary to stay too late and miss the last servees home.

The purple plastic chairs were set up in a circle in the garden. In the center stood several tables, parading as one massive table. It was loaded with plates of various snacks and a beautiful white cake with one large candle. Kids of all ages sat around the table, eagerly awaiting the signal to go ahead and dig in. There was a contagious giggle present that is often found at birthday parties. That is something which is certainly universal.

Hamed literally squealed when he saw me. He was so excited to have me at his party. I had never seen this already cheerful child any happier. It was then, for the first time, I saw through a teacher's eyes what a teacher's presence and approval mean to a child. I know I will remember Hamed's 9th birthday party forever.

After several renditions of "Happy Birthday" including an Arabic version complete with clapping, the music continued. Several popular Arabic songs were sung and then my students performed the Deir Al-Hatab top single, "We Will Rock You" along with several other tunes I taught them in English class.  I was given the honor and duty of cutting the cake. But true to Arab hospitality, my attempt to cut myself a small piece was thwarted and I was served an impossibly huge slice to work on.

As the food was finished, the games begun with a balloon tossing activity. The sun was quickly setting, and despite many protests, I was forced to head home.

The party felt like a window into the world of my students, which is something truly invaluable. Although I ended up taking an expensive taxi home, I wouldn't change a thing about this experience.

A funny moment with some of my students. 

A Forced Vacation

Taking a vacation isn't really fun if you don't have the money for it. Nor is it fun if you are forced to take it without a regard for your personal desire. It is especially not fun if you don't know whether you will be able to return from it, back to the life you know and love. This was the situation for me as I headed to Dahab, Egypt for a few days. 

Dahab, Egypt

Dahab is a famed alternative resort destination. I found it to be an odd juxtaposition of local Bedouin culture (vestiges of the former fishing village) and the consumerist tourism culture of any resort town anywhere. Dahab was one of the few places I could stretch my savings far enough for me to do the necessary visa run. The necessity of this visa run was created by the complicated dynamic. Although I teach in the West Bank, in an area underneath Palestinian Authority control, my visa and ability to leave and enter the area is controlled by Israel. This makes it extraordinary difficult to get a visa that would allow me to continue to teach my students for the full semester, much less the whole school year. 

The moonrise over Saudi Arabia as seen from Dahab.

As I sat on the picturesque Red Sea, trying to enjoy the sun and warm wind, my thoughts always turned to the possibility I would be saying goodbye to Nablus and Deir al Hatab in just a few days. Often volunteers reentering the country are given shorter visas than normal, making it impossible to continue teaching. This sad possibility overshadowed the sunniness of Dahab. I couldn't imagine telling my 50 plus students in the village that I had to leave them. They are no longer just my students. They are my children in a way, my family away from home. I am very invested in each and every beautiful little future. 

Driving through the Sinai, enjoying the austere beauty. 

Today I received the best news possible. I am approved to stay in Nablus for another three months. This news made my travels to Dahab completely worth it. It was worth draining my limited resources. It was worth sleeping in a dilapidated hotel room where the slats were more than present through the thin mattress (the only accommodations a volunteer teacher can realistically afford). It was worth being stranded in a small desert town hundreds of kilometers from my destination due to a 10-day bus strike. It was worth being a single traveler alone in a resort town geared for groups of tourists. Despite the hours of teaching preparation I have to squeeze into one day (tomorrow), I can't wait to see my students and tell them that they get to continue to learn English and that I don't have to leave them yet.

An afternoon in the village: haunted caves, hecklers, and tea galore!

I was so excited when Tala finally asked me to come visit her and her family at their house. I had been hinting, bribing, and finally outright asking my students to invite me to meet their families. Despite the fact that my students obviously love me (I find evidence for this as they cheer when I walk in the classroom and have started bringing me flowers), they were too shy, or thought it strange to invite me to their house. Luckily for me, after Tala invited me to her home, I had a whole slew of invitations that followed. I credit Tala for breaking the ice.

Tala's younger sister Leen is in my less advanced class, while Tala is one of my best students in my higher class. I headed to their house on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, excited to see what life was like for my students outside of class.  

The view while walking to Leen and Tala's house on the outskirts of the village.

Tala and Leen come from a family totaling seven sisters and one brother. I got to meet the whole family except one of the sisters while I was there. Expecting a simple tea, I was pleasantly surprised as they warmly welcomed me in to their family to share a full meal. After tea and sweets, they fed me the most delicious meal of spiced chicken and soup. Following several rounds of tea and coffee, the girls took me on a walk to explore the neighboring caves, learn a bit about the local village folklore, and enjoy the newly budding flowers.

Out walking with Leen, Tala, and two of their sisters.

One of Tala and Leen's older sisters is studying to become a pharmacist at the local university and knew all the names and medicinal uses for the native plants we saw. I was happy to finally learn some names of the shrubbery I see everyday. During our nature walk, I discovered that part of Deir al Hatab has an intricate system of caves underneath the olive tree and flower-covered hills. Legend has it that some of these caves are haunted. We peered into a few but mostly found trash. No ghosts this time!

Tala and Leen check out a wide cave opening.

Many of the caves have small dark openings that simply look like holes in the ground.

The walk concluded with an interesting insight into the dynamics between neighboring villages. As we walked through the fields, I was shown the border between Deir al Hatab and the neighboring (much larger) village of Salem. To the naked, uninformed eye, it is impossible to distinguish which house belongs to which village. But to the residents of these two villages, these distinctions seem important. Two girls from Salem heckled us at one point, yelling unsavory things and insults about Tala and Leen's family. I inquired where this hostility came from and was informed that it is a recent parting of ways, that at least these two villages used to get along quite well. Unfortunately our mutual language skills couldn't bring the conversation much further than this.  

Elma is the definition of feisty and loved our walk. 

I was sad to leave after only a few hours but received several invitations from Leen and Tala's older sisters to visit them at the university and a precious invitation from Leen and Tala's mom for Palestinian cooking lessons. I plan to take them up on both! I feel like I know Leen and Tala better now, and have noticed they seem even more comfortable and open in class. Not only did I enjoy myself immensely, it was meaningful to meet the important people in my students' lives. 

Nearing Celebrity Status?

"Teacher! Hi, Teacher! Hello, Teacher!"

This is a now familiar chorus that greets me everyday as I pull up to the women's center where I teach my English classes in the village. The students surround the taxi, vying for a turn to open the car door for me. I'm sure I will never be treated more like a celebrity again in my life.

I don't have my own key to the women's center where I teach, so I wait with the early students until we are let in. The time standing outside in the street has become some of the most precious time during my experience here. During the classes, I only speak English, but before class I get to practice my Arabic and learn more about my students than their limited English would otherwise allow. Sometimes we sing songs I have taught them in class. Other times we swap words in English and Arabic, expanding my Arabic vocabulary immensely while helping them build their English word banks. At first the exuberant mob that surrounded me was overwhelming, now I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

After the last class, I get to spend a little more time with my students. I walk to the center of the village to wait for the servees (the shared taxi). A few of the students live close to the place where I wait on the street. They always come out to wait with me. Often they bring their baby brothers and sisters to introduce to me. When it was colder, some of the older boys would build a fire out of the burnable trash they could find. An amusing (if not dangerous) endeavor that had the added benefit of warmth.

Sometimes I meet students and their parents walking along the street as I wait for my ride home. The street is a prime social gathering spot in Deir Al-Hatab as most people walk everywhere in the village. I look forward to building stronger relationships with the adult members of the community, moving beyond the casual meetings on the street. I am making progress in this area as next week I have invitations to the homes of several of my students. To add to the excitement and busyness of the week ahead, I am starting up a girls' football team and a weekly women's English class in the coming days.

Hanging out with the boys before class.

Some of the girls in front of the lemon grove that provides before-class snacks. Yes, they eat raw whole lemons.

The girls on their perch where they wait for me to arrive.

Two of the girls show off a poster they made for our classroom highlighting some of our newest vocabulary. 

Mohammed and Mohanned came to me at the bottom of the pack but are nearing the middle of the class.

Rafif is the sweetest student I have. She is working hard to catch up after a stint in the hospital. 

Four of my best, most enthusiastic students.

Inclement Weather: a Cause for Celebration?

Today was my first ever day off from school as a teacher. I'm not sure what to call it. It wasn't a snow day; there was absolutely no snow. Maybe a rain day or perhaps a hail day? Well, despite not knowing what to call it, it was lovely. Why didn't I realize that days off from school are even more magical when you are the teacher?

The weather turned out to be considerably pleasant: only a few showers, a little bit of hail, and a surprising amount of sunshine. The past two days were comparably worse. Despite my negative feelings towards the cold and white precipitation falling from the sky, my fellow Nebulsi citizens seemed to find it an occasion to celebrate. Or in the very least, an occasion of such rarity that it inspired true awe.

Yesterday, as the hail started falling, I went to my window to inspect the substance making small tapping sounds against the glass. Although, I had seen it hail before in Nablus, this was different. It came down so hard and fast that it actually started to collect on the street below. People wiped it off of the cars parked on the street, tossing the icy precipitation around with their bare hands.

As I stood at my window, I noticed many of my neighbors were doing the same thing. Across the street, several of the windows in the office building opened and people stuck their hands out the window to collect the hail in their hands. With the range of my camera, I was only able to capture two of these windows, but in one building alone at least six people were at the window enjoying the hail.

Down the block, a group of shebab (young men) were literally dancing in the street, gleefully kicking the slush around. In the following video you can hear them cheering after the the thunder. Growing up in the Northeast of the United States, I had always learned to dread such weather. But perhaps I had it wrong, maybe inclement weather is something to celebrate after all?