Refugee camp or housing?

A few days ago we visited the Ballata refugee camp in Nablus which was built between 1948 - 1951. The camp was meant to shelter a maximum of 5000 people which were forced to replace from the Israeli west coast to the now known Palestinian West Bank. Starting off we received a presentation on the development of the camp, little did we know about how it actually looked like.

One of Ballata's inhabitants told us that he and the rest of his family moved from Haifa to Ballata when he was a young boy. The now, grey haired man, told us that their moving was directed by the United Nations who promised it would be for a maximum of five years. It was just a temporary solution until all its 'new inhabitants'  would have a place to live and safely settle in their new country. As you all know: the rest is history! They were never allowed to go back, their homes were taken away, families were torn apart and were never again allowed to return to their soil.. Forced and punished to live in a refugee camp with 30.000 refugees who have dealt with the same destiny. Imagine how a 30.000 inhabited refugee camp must look like when it was built to shelter only 5000 people..

Exactly, it's a labyrinth of small houses, 30cm narrow allies with occasional lightening, garbage on many corners, children running everywhere and surprised to see foreigners, asking for pictures and where we're from. Smells. Some good and some bad, small windows, many doors, many voices, electricity cables on dangerous places. Because of this and many other reasons, people have psychological, physical and financial problems, little education, if any! Frequent Israeli presence and spread of fear in order to remain in control by forcing the acceptance of new laws, mostly in their disadvantage. Where can these people go now? Their homes and citizenship have been taken away from them. Just imagine that for one minute. One day you are sitting safely in your home and the other day your home is taken away, you are forced to leave your home, put in a refugee camp which has created the worse circumstances you can ever imagine and NO OTHER PLACE TO GO.

And then, there's light again. We are out of the labyrinth and at the entrance of the refugee camp again. The first thing that caught my attention was the United Nation's waving flag at the front door. It made me sick to imagine that this institution, a well-respected institution, has played a part in the creation of all this. And even worse, their flag waves to create the illusion that they're 'actually helping'. One can ask himself if the UN ever intended Ballata as a refugee camp or has always known it would be their new housing..

I admire the people who live at the refugee camp and still try to make the best of it. Develop a social center for youngsters in order to keep them 'entertained and educated' in this rough situation. I admire their will to develop good from bad, work hard every day without knowing if their situation will ever change. In my eyes they're true heroes!

Moroccan shame!

This hasn´t been my first journey to a middle eastern country and it hasn´t been the first time my Moroccan nationality has resulted in negative reactions when present in the region. According to middle eastern Arabs, Moroccans don´t speak Arabic, only French. They are too liberal, modernized, don´t know anything about the Arab world and their women are ´too loose´. At first I didn´t understand what they meant with the term ´loose´ towards Moroccan women, until two years ago someone told me Moroccan prostitutes are a well-known middle eastern problem. Due to their lack of contact with ´steady´ Moroccan women, my nationality has never been solid when visiting the middle east. Sometimes I am Dutch, then Tunisian, Algerian or whatever they think I am.. especially when it comes to taxi drivers: then I’m never Moroccan!

So even here, when I didn't think it would be an issue again, it actually was! Volunteers and students on campus pull an ugly face when they hear I’m Moroccan, speak about 'private matters' in my presence while thinking I don't understand one word. How could I if Moroccans only speak French? While conversing with many of the local volunteers and students, they were even more surprised when they found out I actually understood their private messages. Questions on Moroccans and my Dutch status unraveled after various conversations and some of their visions towards Moroccans actually started to change. At first it annoyed me: again? I thought. Even here..! But then it occurred to me. Many of them have been shut down from any form of contact with the outer world, no one had ever met a Moroccan, they never had the opportunity to travel and I guess news travels faster when bad.. So I decided that, aside from the many work we have to perform here, I have to explain something about Moroccans as well.

I don't see myself as a typical nationalist, of course I love Morocco, but then again I love many other countries as well. It's funny how culture works, you don't really seem to care about it, until someone endangers or criticizes it. Then it becomes yours and totally feel like defending it, this 'Moroccan culture' that every Moroccan fills in for him/herself..  I realized that if all Arabs keep on thinking in this line and there's no room for debate then we will never be able to unite and bring any change on Moroccans within the middle east. I know that I’m the only Moroccan present here and change in thoughts has a long road to go. Yet, bit by bit and starting here, these weeks in Palestine, I hope to make at least a minor change in their thoughts and hope the rest will pay itself forward..

Imagine this..

 Being here is harder than I could have ever imagined it to be. Having the opportunity to start my journey in Tel Aviv was the best way to get started my travel to Israel and the Occupied Palestinian Territories. Not because I was very charmed with the city, but because it made it possible to analyze and understand the situation a little better. Only knowing the region from books, articles and television doesn´t begin to explain how you feel when entering the countries. The Israeli´s working at the custom are allowed to use every force or invasion of privacy in order to understand why we want to visit the country. I found that most ironic because I, and probably many others with me, still don´t understand the legitimization of their being in ´the promised land´.

Imagine Tel Aviv as the city that tried to capture many pleasures in life: beautiful houses, paved streets, booming nightlife, luxurious bars, restaurants and one of the most beautiful coastlines covered with the best beaches you have ever seen. The sand feels as if satin hugs your feet every time you take a step towards the clean, bright and heaven blue water. They don’t come anything short, enough showers to wash yourself off at when you’re finished swimming and the most expensive hotels  cover the boulevard of Tel Aviv. While walking through the city, you can find everything one pleasures in life these days, except one very important component: peace of mind.

It seemed as if the people living there carried a type of worry, sadness and knowledge over them. Something they all shared, but no one spoke about. Whenever sudden sounds or police cars would occur I could easily see their faces become more worried and question each other on what was going on. Life in Tel Aviv is all supposed to be about fun, forgetting what is really going on in ‘the promised land’ and try to enjoy all the luxury the west has built for them. Yet, at the end of the day they didn’t enjoy the most important facet in life: mental peace. Somewhere deep inside they very well know at what expense they are living, little did I know about how these expenses would actually look like..

When crossing the check point in order to enter the West Bank I rapidly saw the situation change. The Israeli flat and fruitful land made place for many high and dry mountains, some of which were exploded in order to build new homes in what is now called Palestine. The houses all carry that same mountain grey color, simply because it is their only access to stones in order to build their homes. Imagine Nablus, the city where I am now, as a grey and sad looking city without all the luxurious components Tel Aviv has, nothing more than only the absolute basic needs in life. Basic commodities such as housing, a few basic stores and parks here and there. People here, constantly remember  you on being careful with water and electricity, considering everything can just be cut off for days. What a bitter pill when remembering the many showers and artificial created neon installed palm trees at Tel Aviv’s beaches.

When finally starting to teach classes in Nablus I came to realize that most of the Palestinians are imprisoned in their own country. Many of them don’t carry a legal citizenship and have never been outside the West Bank. Imagine it, never outside the West Bank into Israel,  the country where their ancestors used to live and where banned from. Sadly, they never had the privilege to go to the beach and let their feet be caressed by the silky sand and summer heated water. Never!
Being here and looking over the mountains makes me realize now, more than ever, that there is an imprisoned country and it is called Palestine. We frequently hear about it on the news, are taught multi sighted stories about In schools. But a majority will never really understand out of fear for what we might come to know of if we would actually listen, open our eyes and visit the region for just once!

Israel, Palestina.. Waarom?!

Israël en Palestina wat ga je daar in vredesnaam doen, waarom? Doe je het wel rustig aan? We hopen echt dat je weer veilig terug komt. Sommigen denken dat het elke dag oorlog is in Israël en mensen op de hoeken met geweren bewapend staan. Ok, het is vreemd dat er op de gekste plekken camera's hangen en iedereen geschokt rondvraagt wat er aan de hand is wanneer er een politie ingreep plaatsvindt.. Maar voor de rest lijkt een ieder rustig zijn eigen leven te leiden. Precies zoals wij dat kennen in Nederland, Frankrijk of de Verenigde Staten: het is allemaal heel westers. Zo westers, dat ik soms vergeet dat ik me in het Midden Oosten bevind.

 Uiteraard, als ik een ontspannen en leuke vakantiebestemming mocht uitzoeken, had ik nooit voor Israël gekozen. Maar, ik ben hier niet op vakantie.. Met ingang van 26 augustus neem ik deel aan een internationale, twee wekelijkse zomerkamp in de Palestijnse Westbank. In samenwerking met de Westbanks belangrijkste universiteit 'An Najah' wordt er een twee wekelijkse programma geboden, waaraan ook ik een bijdrage zal leveren. (Kijk voor meer informatie op:  http://www.najah.edu/node/30473 )

Omdat ik mijn reis naar Israël en Palestina graag van beiden kanten wou meemaken, heb ik besloten om mijn eerste en laatste dagen in Israël te slijten. Op deze manier hoop ik een 'allround' visie op te doen.

Mijn reis begon een aantal dagen terug vanuit Casablanca, gezien de overstap in Rome kon ik niet opmaken wie er allemaal naar Tel Aviv zouden vliegen. Na de overstap vielen mij een aantal Marokkaanse passagiers op, die in tegenstelling tot de eerste vlucht nu keppeltjes op hadden en liever geen Marokkaans meer met elkaar spraken. Daar waar diezelfde mensen mij in Casablanca niet hadden aangesproken, keken diezelfde mensen mij nu lief glimlachend aan. Alsof ze zeiden: 'aangenaam, ik wist niet dat wij uit hetzelfde hout gesneden waren.' Uiteraard glimlach ik lief terug. Tijdens het wachten op mijn volgende vlucht rapt een Marokkaanse jongen (die inmiddels ook zijn Keppel op heeft) hardop en trots in het Hebreeuws. Ik versta er niets van, maar merk wel op dat onze medepassagiers het erg vervelend vinden en hem hierop aanspreken. Wilders, je kunt opgelucht adem halen! Het heeft niets met het geloof te maken. Marokkanen kunnen gewoon overal lastig zijn..

Kort daarna ontmoet ik een Palestijnse die mij, in het Arabisch, alle ins en outs over Israël en Palestina opdreunt. Ze is werkzaam voor de Verenigde Naties en stelt voor om haar eens in Ramallah te komen bezoeken. Later voorspelt ze dat dat de douaniers me zullen ondervragen bij aankomst en ik me gewoon rustig moet houden.. Inderdaad! Aangekomen op Beni Guerion Airport word ik er als eerste uitgeplukt om verdere vragen te beantwoorden. Wie zijn je ouders, hoe heet je opa, heb je een dubbele paspoort, wanneer zijn je ouders naar Nederland gekomen, waar werk je, wat studeer je, met wie ben je hier, voor hoe lang... naar mijn schoenmaat werd nog net niet gevraagd.. Uiteindelijk werd ik wel gezegend met een akkoord en mocht ik het land in.

Tijdens mijn taxirit naar het appartement tref ik toevallig een Marokkaanse taxi chauffeur die zijn, nog gammele Arabisch, graag met mij wil delen. Hij is zo blij een Marokkaanse te treffen en wil me graag direct aan zijn hele familie voorstellen! Gezien de tijd inmiddels al op 5.00 uur ’s ochtends staat en mijn reis een dag eerder om 9.00 uur 's ochtends begon, wil ik eerst graag naar bed...

Greatness and Random

Meet 'Greatness' and 'Random', friends or enemies we have all met in life..

In order to be great in life you have to give up the need of wanting to be random in whatever it is you do. Random feeds on the need of a 40 hours’ work week; randomly picked because it pays the bills, keep the risk level low in whatever new activities you undertake and at least have one child before you reach the age of 30. In order to achieve greatness, it requires to sacrifice these and many other random needs in life.

 Greatness requires hard work, analysing, active participation and accepting every challenge which contains the highest amount of risk. Greatness requires activities outside the mainstream thoughts and random life inside the box. The box of Random has four walls a ceiling and a floor. Greatness on the other hand requires wings, the sky as the limit, no floor to break your greatness on and most definitely no walls that could ever limit your vision.

Greatness has no home. Home is seen as a tacit concept which may vary from one great achievement to another. Home is seen as limiting due to its bounding counterparts which carries the risk of boxing the amount of greatness in life.  Where greatness on the one hand is very well aware of random, random on the other hand has little if no awareness of greatness and its responsibilities. The amount of work, passion and sacrifices are unknown and untouchable for random. Random lives with easy satisfaction mediocre accomplishments and a mainstream way of living.

However, nobody ever promised that greatness befriends happiness. Greatness sometimes cuts of friends, loved ones and many joyful moments, which are seen as limiting their greatness factor in life. Fact is, at the end of the day it's hard to define or measure the level of Greatness and Random's happiness. Who is to say when one is happy? Random that doesn't shimmer in life, yet has the privilege to, almost every day, go to bed as a peaceful and content person? Or greatness that is tired half the time and works much harder to feel that same satisfaction weeks later?

The question remains: which path do we choose, random or greatness and what could make us truly happy?