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|  | My Experiences | I went to Jordan in the summer of 2008 and had an amazing experience seeing what life is like in the Middle East. The last time I had been there I was four and don't really remember my trip into Palestine itself so I have an excerpt from my mom's diary to account for that trip.
Please read the excerpt below.
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My trip into Palestine in 1996: (an excerpt from my mom's diary of the trip)
I guess I was the most determined to go there-I wanted Grace to see her Great Grandmother Tinish Nuhud in the West Bank. I just had to go. And here starts the true story of an adventure... with soldiers, villages atop hills, exotic meals, springs in the desert, and marketplaces with tables full of lambs' heads for sale.
To start, we were already in Jordan, visiting Hakim's parents and seven sisters-and our taxi ride to the Jordan River took less than one hour. But we waited, and had to go on a special bus to cross the river. The river was like a creek, the landscape-hot desolate desert- you wouldn't wand to get lost out there. Not with the barrenness of it and all the "Caution: Mines" signs I saw. Of course we were searched at the border on the other side, and we waited 45 minutes for our bags. There were Israeli soldiers from all over. European, Russian, even African ones, and we met one "from New Jersey." None  looked to be over the age of 20. Back outside... to a chaotic mixture of old taxis, buses, very old and very young taxi drivers, huge woman in cloaks with gigantic suitcases, scantily clad German tourists. The heat of August intensified everything. Hakim got Grace and I safely into an old Mercedes Benz taxi with non-adjustable black well-worn seats and windows that rolled down halfway. Putt putt, past Jericho, past date palm groves, over curving roads, past fields of greenhouses in the desert with signs in Hebrew. Past the Jewish settlements, high atop hills and surrounded by walls dotted with lookout towers. Past the Arab towns and refugee camps, past groves of olive trees, flocks of sheep with shepherds in close attendance, and to the occasional "checkpoint." The taxi driver and the soldier would mumble something in Arabic or Hebrew. Some of the soldiers were poor young Palestinians from North Africa who worked for Arafat's new government. They were never Palestinians from Jordan or the Middle East, or the West Bank itself. It seemed a miracle to finally get to Hakim's Uncle Samir's front gate in Toul Karim.
What a welcome we got! It wasn't the food or the formality... everything was simple and relaxed. The atmosphere was indescribable. Uncle Hassan had a lovely flowered and treed garden, where water dripped into big barrels from springs below. Children laughed and played with Grace-they treated here like a little princess! Bringing her all the fresh flowers her hands could hold. This garden is where we sat for most of our meals and evenings. Uncle Samir's house was in the same courtyard as Uncle Elias's house, also in the same courtyard lived Great Grandma Tinish Nuhud... in her original house! The same stone house Hakim's mom grew up in. All three houses were enclosed within an eight foot wall that actually formed the edges of the village street outside. and you entered by a "gate in the wall." Hakim's Aunt Ghadeer and Uncle Humud didn't live far either.
Now one evening we set out on foot: Great Grandma, Samir and his wife Amin, their four children and three of Ghadeer's children. We were to walk to the land that still in part belongs to Hakim's father-no short walk. First past the orange groves, the chicken farms, and the fields of thyme... this is where Grandma Tinish decided to race me- and she ran fast! She was 74 years old then, and no real health problems, except the occasional clogging up of the pipes, in which she drinks oil of cascara and isolates herself. She would lean back in her chair during the huge family meals and look at all the great grandchildren and say "all of them, related to me" and smile in amazement. I always chose to sit as close to her as I could.
We were almost to the land, which was quite a task to find. You see, the land is divided off by stone walls, and each family has a portion of it, we hiked through rocky terrain for a long time before Samir was at last able to identify the family land. There it was-there we stood-on this land on a hill surrounded by olive trees and rolling hills as far as your eye could see. Except for the occasional chop chop chop of an Israeli helicopter low overhead it was a quiet and a peaceful as you could dream of. This is a land under occupation, and at constant war. It was a land of more contrasts than I had ever experienced before. Hassan and the Others were already heading back, the sun was setting, creating beautiful hues of many colors as a backdrop to the already beautiful scenery. Hakim stood there alone for a moment... and then he set out over the rocky soil to find the others.
Up hill and down, at last we rejoined our party and that's when Great Grandma Tinish began to sing songs she learned in her childhood. Think the 1920's in Palestine now. And these songs came from her Grandma, think the 1860's in Palestine now. Anyway this collection of songs was meant for a bride and groom, Picture us all on a rocky trail on a hill-no houses in sight-only many many rolling hills of olive trees. Imagine all this and a sky during sunset-colors of peach, gold and blue. And you can hear her 78 year old voice singing, and all the children clapping, and surrounding Hakim and I. The first song was for Hakim, about how tall he was, his strength, rich hair, dark walnut eyes, not everything could be translated, it was of an ancient Arabic dialect. Then came a song for me about my lips, hair, my love for Hakim, ten minutes of singing, clapping dancing... and suddenly Grandma Tinish added in her own creation..."and she's as tall as a giraffe!" With the "affe" pronounced high pitched and shrill-though on tune. Now we were all laughing and dancing the way they have done it for centuries there, with the clapping and the shoulders moving and the legs kicking up. As we rounded the last bend we saw the town of Toul Karim at dusk. Back to reality? Well in the sense of the West Bank-the town was a flicker of lights, with sounds of farm animals, homes with "rooms of the roof." The stars were coming out. A pregnant donkey was tied to a lemon tree. Aunt Ghadeer's sister lived right around the bend at the edge of town.
Lingering a little behind the group, I closed my eyes and prayed "God, you made this place so beautiful and I don't want to ever leave it, please help us get to come back here again."
Hakim, Grace and I spent part of July and August, 1996, in Jordan and the West Bank.
Story written by G. Nelson | |
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