A Bun in the Oven

i'm waiting for you all..;-)

2011-08-04T10:00:00.001-05:00

Hi friends! My new blog is finally up and running and I have figured it out (mostly) and I think it is doing its job pretty well.
Come visit, it's lonely over at imsufyan.com without you.

NEW BLOG ADDRESS

2011-07-25T03:09:00.003-05:00

Hi Everyone!
I have moved this blog to:

imsufyan.com

Please check it out and update your bookmarks!

I just posted about the effort it takes to practice yoga and be a mom and have a household and have a life outside all this....

Let me know what you think!

post burnout: a week of divine intervention & pics of Ramallah Life

2011-07-22T13:08:00.004-05:00

(scroll down for some good pics of Ramallah)

Nobody ever told me there'd be days like these.
And man have I been craving guidance!
I have been listening through the static, sorting through the jumble, trying to make sense of the scribbles and taking a fine toothed comb to every little happening in my life. But it turns out that when wisdom is going to be bestowed it doesn't sneak in quietly and wait with the groceries to be discovered. It clobbers you over the head and takes a bullhorn and screams, "NOW HERE THIS".

The Karmapa Speaks Truth: about the truth we already hold inside ourselves. A good truth to pass on to our children.
My mother had been to sit in the presence of the 17th Karmapa. We have had very little time to talk about what he had to say, but the things my mother conveyed to me were really powerful. Essentially, without trying to quote the Karmapa here, he told his audience that it didn't matter much what religion a person followed. What matters is to be a good person, a good human being. And (for me this was the big moment) he said we need to stop looking for answers outside ourselves and look within our own "minds".

Life is fragile: Love is not.
I am not going to elaborate much here. We got some very difficult news this week. What is important is that love is stronger than any fear. It is stronger than any pain. It is stronger than life itself and it matters that we love in this lifetime. "God, give us love in the time that we have" is an Iron & Wine lyric that I keep repeating lately.

A reconnection: I can set down the burden of a certain loss.
This week I talked to a friend who I had not spoken to for nearly 20 years. She was my best childhood friend, and growing up with her was like having a twin. We did everything together and understood each other on a level that is impossible to overstate. We were incredibly mischievous in the tree-climbing, secret-world-creating, "let's both be veterinarians when we grow up" way. We were soul mates. For a some time our friendship was the measure for all friendships that came after, making my expectations of close friends a little too high. Our teenage years split us apart though, a split helped along (maybe to some extent invented) by strife between our families. And the years slid past. Then suddenly this week I was talking to my mother on the phone and my friend happened to walk past and my mother just kind of put her on the phone. And there she was. I can only say that the feeling of reconnecting so suddenly was perfect. I miss her, and though so much time has passed, she remains a potent personality for me. She holds the keys to much of what made me who I am, my early understanding of myself.

An email of potent advice/thoughts from outside my own box:
A woman I don't know very well but with whom I've spent a few moments of co-mothering back in Austin sent me a long email after reading my post about Burnout. She had the audacity to verbally smash my narrowing view of the last 2 years of my life, and stomp all over my sorry for myself attitude. Thank God. After I read her email everything shifted. I felt it shift as I was reading, like someone had just pulled my chair out from behind me that I was just about to settle in to, but the fall being necessary to my enlightenment I didn't attempt to catch myself. I have no idea how she got these insights into my life, but there it was. So instead of paraphrase I am going to share the email (we are all friends here, no?). It may/should even be meaningful to someone else. Here it is--(the emphases are mine)

Hey Love,

I was moved by your post, so I am going to say some things to empower you. This is what works for me. It comes from a place of love and comradery, not judgement.

You were right when you said you "have had a lot happen in the past year and a half." But remember, it didn't happen to you. It just happened and you were there. Some of it happened because you chose it. Out of love, you chose to get pregnant barely a year after the birth of your first child. It seems you've also chosen to hold onto the story that you are mourning a relationship with your first child. That is a story and it is made up by you. It will come between you, Sufyan and Laila until you choose to let it go. I think that is what moved me most about your post to send this email. Why put yourself in pain? Your son is right here with you. Take action. Make special Mama-Sufyan dates, so you can reconnect just one on one. And yes, Laila had GERD (which I cannot begin to imagine). And you loved her right through all of it. Through the screaming and exhaustion. You loved her right through it because you chose to. Out of love for your family you chose to sell your house. You needed more room. You didn't leave any part of your heart there, that's another story. You love that house and you will continue to love that house for the rest of your life, you just won't live in it anymore. (This I have experience with. We sold our house in March. I spent the best 10 years there.) You chose to live in a bigger house and it happened that you needed to move. You chose to move to an occupied country.

And out of deep love you are choosing to educate those of us who are/were completely ignorant about the situation in Palestine. For this I am so grateful.

So you had to ask your husband to come home from work. I had to do that at least twice when my daughter was less than 2-years old. We had a code so he could distinguish between when I was letting off steam and when I needed him to take action. It was, "The pink giraffe is in the living room." That meant it was a family emergency of epic proportions. Come home now. I used to feel like I failed somehow because I couldn't do it all by myself. That was my story. Here's a news flash: no one can do anything all by themselves. We are all in this together. If one person is suffering we are all suffering. Please call me, night or day, if you reach a low point. I mean this. If it's at night, call my house phone because I don't keep my cell in the bedroom. My cell phone is________. If I read a post where I see that you need to reach out to someone and you didn't, then I'm going to send you another email like it or not. I don't know you well, but I love you and your family. I love what you stand for. And by the way I am pregnant, so I am paying it forward in advance. At some point in the future, I may need to be reminded that I cannot do it all by myself.

You are powerful beyond your imagination. Just remember that. And go ahead and burn the story. Or read it out loud until it becomes hilarious, then burn it and be free.

and for the record, I agree with her 100%.

As for educating about Palestine, here are some particularly lovely pics I took this week of Ramallah Life:

This man is like many here who wheel carts through the streets and vend everything from fruit to bread to seasonal treats like roasted corn or roasted fresh chick peas. These guys work really really hard.

Laundry.

Trash telling it like it is

For you to see the explosion of population here. The closeness of the buildings. That every building is forced to store water in sad black tanks on the roof. I particularly love the narrow building in the lower center left with the rounded face. It is like a corner building except the angle is like 30 degrees instead of 90. All built on the sides of steep hills that make up Ramallah.

These 3 guys were riding through the street today, all bareback and all wearing "cowboy" hats.

Another cart. This one full of green grapes.

A lovely old home. This is a more wealthy seeming home but still quite old and in the old style of buildings here before everything was high rises and uniform white bricks. The kids and I found this house while getting lost going elsewhere one day last week.

The Coptic Church. A landmark. As in, "Take a left going up the hill toward the Coptic Church..." Mainly I want to make it clear in case you didn't know that there is a Christian population here. After all, Christ was born here.

A mosque towering over the same area as above. This is near our home.

So I will be digesting that email for some time. And all the other eye opening things that happened this week.
Thank you to everyone who has written me and called me and let me know I am not alone.

some views of Ramallah

2011-07-17T13:36:00.013-05:00

Mint lemonade...at Stars and Bucks.

This place is amazing. It's a shoe shop. The shoes are made here in Palestine (in Betunia). If they don't have what you want, they'll make it for you. Women even go to the nearby factory and cut their own shapes and designs. The pair I had made for me (because I LOVE shoes) keep getting mistaken for Campers. But they are even better because they are made here!

These are water tanks. Every building has them. Our water is shut off except for 3 days a week for the summer months, but since we have 2 tanks we don't notice it unless we try to use the outside hose. Israel controls all sources of water, even the municipal sources. We cannot even build reservoirs to catch rainwater.

City scape

other direction, pic taken from a 3rd floor apartment.

inside the community center called the Sariya, a bit like a YMCA (but not the Ramallah YMCA which does exist), this is a door and window outside the bathrooms. On the table is a burner and coffee accoutrements. I like this pic because it captures the old tile floors, the old metal door, the old stones and the extremely different idea of what is appropriate in a public space.

Another evening view of our hills.

This brush was on fire as we drove past.

a closer look. there always seems to be a fire. We see them constantly across the wadi on the hillsides.

A strange area outside Ramallah:

this is a view of a total lack of municipal regulations for building. Look how close together these are. This situation exists in a very strange area of Ramallah that Israel considers to be a suburb of Israel but only allows Palestinians to live in, and so only Palestinians with a Jerusalem ID and yellow plated car can live in it. I cannot live there, for example, but neither could I if I was Israeli. However, the people there pay Israeli municipal taxes and receive NO municipal services. At the same time Israel doesn't allow Palestine to provide these services because technically it's a Jerusalem suburb. Catch 22. Result? Below. And trash trash trash galore. And bizarro driving conditions, and a lot of obvious suffering from poverty and neglect.

This is the same place, just a different angle on a building that is being built. I have a friend who lives here and she says there are no building codes so the buildings may collapse due to any of a number of oversights: wrong concrete, inadequate support, etc. But she has no choice but to live here due to her ID status with Israel. For all that, her place is really nice even though getting there is frightening.

this is actually a main thoroughfare. Can. You. Believe. It???

Traditional dress called a Toub. Hand embroidered. But this is not a relic! I see women wearing this kind of dress and even more elaborate ALL the time every day.

close up of the embroidery.

Argile. It is also everywhere which is unfortunate. And when we go out to eat it freaks me out to have my kids running around near them because they are topped with hot coals and there is always "Abu Ali" walking around with a hot tin of fresh coals for the smokers. People come to restaurants and shops to smoke these and are given a disposable plastic cover for the mouthpiece.

Laundry. We all dry our clothes in the sun here. Everywhere I look is laundry. And I have come to love the colors and shapes of it!

A better day

2011-07-17T07:31:00.020-05:00

Today was Laila's first day with no diaper going out of the house!!! She did great and we had no oopsies at all. In fact she didn't use one single diaper today. Not one! Go Laila Go---in the potty!

Sufyan in flight

laila in flight ("watch dis JUMP mama!")

(and when she runs she says, "Watch dis EXTRA fast!")

Sometimes I wonder if I am the only person in the West Bank listening to whatever music I am listening to. Today it's Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys. But more often it's Iron & Wine. However, if I ever get a craving to listen to 80s music or early 90s I know there is NO WAY I am the only person listening to that. In the car 2 nights ago I heard Karma Chameleon and My Name Is Luca in the same errand! LOVE it.

My blog post called "Burn Out", more of a transmission from the edge than an update, prompted some private emails from other mothers and friends. In those emails was the love and support I needed. And some good advice. Thank you all so much.
The heft of this advice was to take better care of myself in order to care for my children and give myself a break. Good ideas that we moms have trouble implementing. But so crucial.

One piece of advice was quite profound:

Burn The List.

Lose the list of difficulties I've/we've faced this last year. Abandon the burden of how hard things have been. Write it down one last time and BURN IT.

Stop craving compensation for all that has gone "wrong" and unburden myself of the anger, the pain, the guilt and sadness that I am carrying.

What a fantastic idea.

My life has many more moments for "hallelujah" than it does "aw, crap". I have so much to be thankful for and if I could let go of The List I would surely be more free to enjoy these things.

Like my little girl.

And this awesome ice cream truck that Laila LOVES. The most menacing ice cream I've ever seen, and it was playing "O Come All Ye Faithful" and "We Wish You A Merry Christmas".

Hot afternoons of summer = necessarily creative indoor play. Here are some of our favorites:

Bubbles and water and kitchen things like measuring cups and spoons

An open suitcase became a bed, a house, a car, a bus, a hide-away...

A place to read books...

And of course there's always simple yoga poses like this to pass the time.

They never get tired of mixing things together with water. Here it's flour and water.

And here they are mixing beans, lentils, flour and water.

We walk in the wadi when we get out early enough:
Baby olives ripening. Olive trees are EVERYwhere here and they are so beautiful. Very sturdy, ancient looking trees.

Under the olive tree.

another JUMP!

"I'm a lidda' girl" she says.

"It contains the basic needed items of food..."

I made an attempt to remedy my constant craving for thick, moist loaves of German bread. If there was ever a time for comfort food, this is surely it.
My first ever loaf of real bread -Bauernbrot.

burnout

2011-07-14T06:05:00.006-05:00

Let's talk mommy burnout for a moment. Let's talk depression.

In a really low moment 2 days ago I locked myself away in my room and cried after just totally dropping the ball in a difficult moment with my kids. Faris came home---because I called him home because I was totally lost and crushed and because my good sense had flown out the window. I hit the mommy burnout wall. Hard. Like while I was running one direction looking the other direction. SMACK.

While locked in my room I did the second most pathetic thing I could have done (the first being buy a plane ticket for home. Just one plane ticket for home). I googled "isolated stay at home mom breaking point depression". *Ahem*.

Isolated Stay At Home Mom Breaking Point Depression

The google search returned an article from a blog called "The Honest Mommy", and I really think the article saved me. It was like a little reality check, and a divine intervention. I encourage you to read it right away. It is well written and to the point.

Holy crap if I have to make one more dinner that my kids refuse to eat...if I have to close the blinds to pretend it's dark outside and miss one more beautiful sunset...if I have to hear the song "Hello Everybody so glad to see you!" one more time instead of Fugazi "Waiting Room"...if I have to spend one more day listening to my own voice say things like, "No feeding your sister beads" or "Please don't lick the wall" or "NO SITTING ON FACES!" or "Put your underwear back on please so we can get in the car and go to the moon" I really will lose my mind.

But is it burn out or is it depression? My friend L reminds me that there are good solid reasons behind the way I am feeling. The article reminded me that my mood does indeed respond to "cheering up" and my head space improves considerably when I get a chance to either get out of the house by myself or have a good yoga practice. Sometimes just a phone call from a friend and a good cup of coffee are all it takes to do me a world of good.

But I have had a lot happen in the last year and a half. Looking back, I don't wonder at all how it has come to this moment of me calling Faris home from work and locking myself away to cry and reach out to the internet (!!!) for help (because basically everyone I know is sleeping in another time zone when my world falls apart in this time zone).

Here is a brief synopsis:

#1 The birth of a second child.

Mourning the loss of my exclusive relationship with my first child. Being unable to say goodbye or let go is a special difficulty for me. I mourned this loss preemptively, and I mourned it after my second child was born. It was hard to talk about this pain, since everyone wanted to know how much joy I was feeling and also because the immediate thought is that it effected how much love I felt for my new baby. All I can tell you is that Laila had GERD, and everything that came after is a blur of sleep dep and painful realities where there should have been honeymoons and cooing and falling in love as a family. But we made it through and I love Laila with a love that is so deep and wide I cannot begin to explain it. And thank god for my midwife (JULIA BOWER) who truly saw me in this moment of pain, and who really heard me as no one else could and who gave me good advice, good homeopathy (pulsatilla of course), and lots of loving but firm support.

Baby with intense reflux (GERD) who screamed day and night for 11 months straight and who never got comfortable enough to be cuddled or even rest her head on me for more than 5 seconds. And who I wanted to love and hold and cherish so badly that my very skin and hands and bones actually ached for her. But she was in too much pain to let us have any moments of stillness.

Suddenly selling the home that I adored and that I gave birth to my 2 children in. I left part of my heart in that house as maybe most people do when they leave their first real home. Then moving with GERD 4 month old and stunned 2 year old in tow, to a house we disliked. Then being forced out of that house after 6 months by the landlord wanting to move "home" (SURPRISE!), a move to another house for 8 weeks (thank GOD for my friend Eileen), and then moving to a foreign land---exciting? YES. But there are also some other adjectives that apply.

Seeing daily the occupation in Palestine. This cannot be summed up in this blog post. It's too huge.

Isolation. What is the sound of one hand clapping? I bet it is about as useful and empty as the sound of one adult talking--to 2 small children and herself all day long, every day, for 5 months now with very little exception.

I didn't know how hard any of this would be when I signed up for the job of SAHM. The following lyrics have been in my head a lot these last 5 months: "Nobody ever asked me if I thought I could be everything to someone."

Ramat Gan, Israel

2011-07-13T04:35:00.000-05:00

Picture this: you are enjoying time with your kids on a crowded playground when suddenly you look up to see the friendly crowd around you has been quietly moving away from you. Something has changed. The happy faces have turned to blanks. Instead of that smile of recognition of common "mom" purpose, other moms are now eyeing you suspiciously. Kids are whispering, hanging back. As a friend put it, "It's like that moment at the bar when you realize everyone else is just a little too drunk". This could go either way.

We went to an Israeli playground in Ramat Gan. I don't want to exaggerate the experience because after all, nothing actually happened. Most of what went on was like an undercurrent, so it had a big impact on a mental/emotional level, but technically everything was just fine.

The weeks before the trip to Israel were difficult. Some of those weeks I wished I could pack up and go. I have been housebound A LOT. The playgroup failed and I canceled it, the friends I've made have gone home for their summers, the house was disorganized, the kids were both going through something that made them grumpy, I had aggravated a back injury...anyway, rough weeks. I reached out to a woman here whom I had met only twice but who I like a lot. She is one of those people who always has a solution and she's very confident about it. She also has 2 kids the same ages as my 2. She is palestinian with a Jerusalem ID which means she retains the right to enter Israel as a Palestinian by maintaining a Jerusalem address and paying taxes there (more on that later). She has recently moved back to Ramallah from abroad and she has a similar perspective to mine on how difficult things are here for young kids.

She says that going to Jerusalem to partake of the clean, modern amenities (like green grass, water, excellent playscapes, zoos, clean food, kiddie museums, good healthcare) is the way she gets by. In her words, there is nothing for kids inRamallah, "it's all crap."

But to get to Jerusalem you have to have a yellow plated car and if you are stopped you'd better have the right stamp in your passport. I currently have this and she has the yellow plated car of a Jerusalemite. At her insistence, following a tearful and desperate phone call from me in which she correctly diagnosed me as depressed and in need of some new ideas, I was convinced to go with her to a playground in Jerusalem. I have been rather desperate.

But I knew it would not be easy, and it is the desperation that won me over.

We had to cram into her car as mine is not permitted in Israel. That meant Sufyan rear-facing in a toddler seat in the FRONT SEAT of her Jeep. Her 2 kids were in their seats in the back, and Laila was IN MY LAP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BACK SEAT. We didn't even have a seatbelt. I told you I have been desperate. Nothing but sheer exhaustion of other options could have put us in this situation. But before you forgive me, let me tell you about the roads: small, windy, unkempt until Israel where they become fast highways of aggressive drivers. No, no excusing me.

We made it to the park. It was an incredible park and play area. Ducks, waterscapes, greenery, a restaurant and snack bar, acres of play space. Women were wearing what they wear in America: tank tops, shorts, tattoos. I haven't seen that much skin in 5 months! Not a hijab in sight (just to set the scene, I've no problem with hijab and actually think they are pretty most of the time). We got to the actual playground and I am not exaggerating to say it seemed space age to me. There was a recycling bin out front. RECYCLING, people. I was thrilled! The playground was permanently tarped from inclement weather and sun. It was very safe, very clean, and very full of happy kids. Here is a picture:

(Laila can keep up with the big boys on the trampoline)

We had so much fun despite the heat and despite the fact that I was nervous being surrounded by a hostile country. It turned out that as long as they assumed I was American, I was fine. Kids came up to us, shared toys with us (notably there were about 3 Plasma Cars and 5 SuperMopis. Rich kid toys--not Ramallah toys).

(awesome swings)

But when people got the idea where we were from they got visibly uncomfortable right away. They stood back, moved away like we smelled bad. They literally moved away from us. A man handed out treats to some kids, but not Sufyan who DID notice and was asking me why he couldn't have one (well, that actually was fine with me. Candy from a stranger, after all.)

After meeting a lot of eyes and some of them not at all friendly, we decided to leave. It was getting late anyway.

The park is so big that we got lost trying to find the exit. By the time it was time to go, my friend's child wasn't feeling well and the poor kid was refusing to walk. We didn't have a stroller, so we were up a creek because we each had our hands full of our 18 month olds. We had to ask for directions, and some people refused to give us directions even though we were in an obviously bad predicament. They sort of looked through us when we tried to stop them. We were walking with heavy diaper bags, carrying 1 baby each and each with a toddler in tow (1 who was toddler who was collapsing into a heap on the ground every 2 steps due to illness). It was a bit of a fiasco and surely it was obvious we were in need of help. One man did stop and at first he was reservedly friendly. But it was odd: the longer he talked, the more his face changed. He gave us shorter, ruder answers. And then he just walked away mid explanation. It seemed as though he sort of placed us as he talked to us, finally knowing we were from the "other side" and once he knew he got a sour expression and just ditched.

Eventually out of options and still towing kids who were less and less agreeable, we split up and I literally ran through the park with Laila while Sufyan stayed behind with my friend and her 2 kids. I found her car, then I found a pizza delivery guy with english enough to tell me how to find my way to the other end of the park where I could pick up the rest of my expedition. I put Laila in the front car seat and drove off onto strange roads with signage all in Hebrew...I luckily am good with directions because I know exactly zero Hebrew. oh, and I cannot legally drive in Israel...

While I was getting the car an old man sat down to flirt with my friend (who is, did I mention, beautiful). He stayed until he found out she was Palestinian. Then he got up and left.

Now, I know none of this is a shock. Palestine and Israel are not happy neighbors. There is a lot of hatred on both sides. Of course people moved away. Of course there is suspicion. Of course we were treated like untouchables. Its just that I had my kids with me. My babies. And I am not a bad person. Nor do I smell bad. Nor did I come to Israel for any other reason than a day out with my kids and old fashioned curiosity. Have you ever seen Ramat Gan?

But while this experience is old hat for some, I have never felt like this before. Wanting to hide my identity yet feeling compelled to stand in opposition to the racism and fear. Playing with my children should feel and be innocent enough, yet I had to shield them from the strangers who hated them just knowing they were Palestinian.

It felt awful. I wanted a day out for my kids (who mostly loved it, by the way.) I wanted them to have a day without trash and broken things.

I was so relieved to return to Palestine! I literally breathed a deep sigh of relief when we crossed the line under the yellow sign in Hebrew announcing that we were entering Palestinian territory.

(sunset over Tel Aviv as we drive home)

I was happy to see the pot holes, the mangy cats, the donkeys roaming the streets, the kids up way past bedtime playing near the street, the old women in their traditional garb carrying parcels on their heads, the insane traffic with no rules....what a relief to be "home".

And no surprise, Laila (who nursed constantly on the car ride and certainly knew I was stressed out by the trip) took her time to fully decompress from the strange experience. She was acting very upset and easily put off balance for the 2 days after.

It didn't help that we actually got lost INSIDE the 2nd largest Israeli settlement

(called Ma'ale Adumim here is a pic I took)

on the way home and had to ask a police officer for directions out of the damn place.

Ramallah is noisy

2011-07-03T13:05:00.002-05:00

I am working on a post about a recent adventure to Israel. It could be called a misadventure, really. I think it is a story worth telling and worth your time to read. I think we are all recovered now, nearly a week later. So while I put that together, here is a little sound video.

SOUNDS of LIFE HERE

Ramallah is nothing if not a city FULL of fantastic sounds. My neighborhood is on the outskirts of the city, but over the months I have noticed that we have a rich soundscape here. I captured my favorites on video (morning birds to evening prayer and everything in between) over about a month period and here is a 3 minute video of the sounds of our life here. Really, these sounds are so singular to Ramallah that I know I will hear them when I am 80 and immediately be back in this house with my 1.5 year old Laila and 3.5 year old Sufyan.

Enjoy!

For my Aunt Jill

2011-06-29T14:16:00.003-05:00

Birds I saw in Israel yesterday:

crow

Eurasian Hoopoe (here is a link to a better pic, but not my pic and YES it was doing that thing with it's feathers on it's head but I couldn't get it on film. See the link.)

No sure...anyone?

only in Ramallah

2011-06-29T05:22:00.001-05:00

only in Ramallah
We went to our usual park and it was being worked on. Normally construction and children don't mix, but the "worker guys" (as Laila and Sufyan call them) were super nice to us. They came over and told me that the swingset was still open. Then when they saw how thrilled Sufyan was to see a "BIG MACHINE!!!" they scooped him up and plopped him right down in the driver's seat. Can you see how excited he is? That made our day. And it was very "only in Ramallah" and we loved it.

Laila was thrilled, too. Actually she refused to get back out of the big machine. It took some coaxing.

"Is that MUD in there, Mama?" (grin)

This is the bottom of an amphitheater at the Ottoman courthouse in old Ramallah.

only in Ramallah
Our city in the hills. the most beautiful sunsets I've ever seen are here in Ramallah

These colors were even more incredible to the naked eye.

only in Ramallah

Snow Bar, an oasis within Ramallah. Walking down the 3 flights or so of stairs built into the shaded hillside, the air cools tangibly and shade increases. At the bottom is a little stream stocked with Koi. The wooden deck is covered in tables and couches, and all around are other little nooks with a couch or 2 each. It's lovely. Just beyond is a beautiful pool for swimming and a kiddie pool lies behind that.

The view is of the wadi and the terraced city of Ramallah beyond. The music they play at Snow Bar is purely American. I have heard everything from freedom rock to early 90s emo to 90s era techno. ("and I miss yoooooooou, like the deserts miss the rain. and I miss yoooooooou..."is a big song all over Ramallah. I've heard it like 10 times since coming here and it had been literally a decade since I'd heard it in the states. Color me happy, though, since I like that song.)

Late afternoon at Snow Bar, a waiter going to the bar with an order, the big wooden deck, rainbow sashes, big pine tress from which the place get's its name (snobar are pine nuts)

A nice terrace of colorful pillows. up top is a ledge of couches where couples sit and eat, drink and smoke argileh.

back at my house, we improvised a swimming pool from this huge plastic tub! We love it. And we found the tub at Abu Habib's store, the Ramallah 7-11 where literally any odd thing you might need exists in some form. Cookie shapers, flip flops, pots and pans, ropes, and now tubs.

only in Ramallah
now here I am going to get on my soap box. Studies show again and again that in childhood, consistent overexposure and even what we would consider moderate exposure to sun can lead to cancer. Now why OH WHY doesn't Austin do anything to cover their playgrounds? one word for Austin: TARPS. It makes a huge difference! And really, it can't be too expensive for a designer flip-flop town like Austin. Mamas, take note: if Ramallah can do it, so can Austin.

and...

only in Ramallah

We bought them all. Every box. No matter that my kids hate them. If an organic product appears here we buy it like it is the last time we will ever see organic products. It kind of feels that way sometimes....

"bidoon jlooteen" (without gluten)

addendum to post below

2011-06-27T08:07:00.001-05:00

Sufyan said it best today when he said:

"my belly wants to move to Vancouver, but my bum bum wants to stay in Palestine."

*smile*

2011-06-27T05:34:00.007-05:00

on my 3rd cup of tea today. afternoon tea is such a treat. I had Pu-Erh (organic, looseleaf) sent to me like the snobby pampered American that I am. Er, that I used to be.

These are heavy days for me. I have to admit that I have not been the even-keel person I recognize as myself since moving here. I don't recognize myself some days.

It's more complicated than that, of course.

It's not entirely the move that has got me down. In fact, I love Ramallah.

My stress is coming from an untenable lifestyle that I am completely unwilling to give up in order to stay and be happy here. I am certain people think I compare life here to life in the states and Ramallah comes up short, but that's not it either. I don't compare, actually. People who know me know that.

But I do have certain things I consider personally essential to a happy life as a mother.

The list used to be quite long, actually, but it has been whittled down to this:

community.

for me and for my children. Available community. People to share our time with. People to come for impromptu dinners, go to the park with, call when I am feeling overwhelmed. People for me to have coffee with---without my kids. People to have coffee with me and my kids. Women to connect with. People who want to get to know us, and know me, and vice versa.

I feel like such an outsider here. It doesn't help that I have spent so much time alone with my children by now that adult conversation makes me sound like an idiot! I stumble through my sentences and reveal too much all at once: I'm craving connection. I sound (and I am) desperate. I wish it wasn't so.

I have not been...

It has been a real downer lately that my inner resources have not been as stalwart as I would like. I have not been as empathetic or patient with my children as I used to be. It's a blip, not a trend, but still. It sucks (oh, and I am not as eloquent as I used to be either.)

I have not been as happy or positive with my husband as I would like. I have not been as understanding or forgiving with myself as I need to be to get through this.

Then again, I have been alone A LOT since moving here. And my baby girl has been in serious sleep regression AGAIN, making me sleep deprived and exhausted. My playgroup became a diminishing returns situation, such that while I spent all day prepping and cleaning and making snacks (creating lots of frenetic stress) and no one was showing up. I canceled it. There just isn't the interest in that kind of "hippy mama" play group that makes me happy and comfortable. I mean, I like to see my kids playing and snacking and not necessarily "doing" anything (nothing structured). And my kids like it that way, too. But I got the sense that moms here wanted the group to be "about" something, like art time or stretching or sports. That just isn't the age kids I have, and it isn't my forte to organize activities for all the guests. I just wanted to hang out a bit. C'est la vie.

So here we are. Every time I get out of the house I fall deeper in love with Ramallah and with Palestine. How could I not? It's lovely. It's beautiful, and things here are so much sweeter and more real than what I have experienced before in my life. Yes, things are less organized and more chaotic and more dirty, but there are things that happen here that happen no where else (good and bad, of course). I love it.

Then every time I am stuck at home wanting to scream with no one to call for perspective I mentally pack my bags. I mentally buy a plane ticket for each of us. I mentally cross the Jisser and get on a plane.

But where to?

I don't want to leave. And an interesting thing has happened to me since moving here: I cannot live in the US again. At least not now. The scales have dropped. I cannot see life the way I used to, and it leaves me feeling empty to think of just going back to life as it was. I can't imagine it right now.

I am even afraid to talk about how things really are here. Afraid to talk about it on this blog and afraid to tell my friends because the gulf that has formed between my reality and theirs will swallow me up forever away from them. And I don't want that. I miss them, and I love them. I have intelligent friends who are anything but insular in their world view, but American life foists a kind of insulation from everywhere and everything else onto every citizen. You have to fight against it, and you have to know to fight against it in the first place. And people are busy.

In a perfect world I could talk to them and make them understand me from here, the me who is going forward from this move to Palestine the occupied. But that's asking a lot.

Then again, if friendship endures it has to endure with a lot of flexibility. At least, that's how I see it.

In summary, I'm in search of community and waiting to understand how I can make staying here work. And in the meantime, I miss my friends.

Life as Resident Tourist

2011-06-18T10:07:00.006-05:00

Language

Wow do I understand how it feels to be an immigrant now. I can't believe how impatient people can be when you can't speak their language. Recently I have encountered a couple of folks who were not patient enough with my clunky arabic and instead of slowing their speech they just got louder, as if I couldn't hear rather than couldn't understand. It was uncomfortable. And their body language was clearly showing me that they thought I was not only deaf but stupid as well. I am actually trying hard to learn Arabic. And I wanted to say, "Hey. I'm not just a stupid foreigner. I love and respect your language. Give me the benefit of the doubt, or at least the benefit of our common humanity." But of course my Arabic is not that good yet.

Housewife

I recently met a woman who has changed from full time activist and work-a-holic (her words) to no work and staying home. She has 3 kids but all are in school or daycare, so she is on her own and for the first time in her life she is looking for friends...like me. Or, as she put it, "I am trying to connect with housewives..." Housewives. She said the word like it was a slur of some kind. And frankly that is not the word I would use for myself. Stay at home mom, that's me. It implies a job (I hope) and a purpose. But housewife? Someone bound to the work of the house, not educated, with narrow horizons and limited interests? Someone who listens to sappy love songs on the radio and longs for another life--one of freedom from the mop and scrub brush? Someone who actually mops her floors? Not me. I was almost insulted and would have been if not for the fact that she is not American and so does not share my connotation of the word. Surely SAHM is a term that Americans have coined to soften the other way to say it: housewife.

I wanted to say, "Hey Lady. I am not a housewife. I chose to raise my kids myself, which is a full time and demanding job and I left a full time and demanding job behind happily in order to do so. I may look disheveled but that's just the playground dirt. I may seem discombobulated but that's just the sleep dep." And then I would prove my point by not finishing any sentences and falling asleep at the table.

moment of brilliance. 12:am

At the end of a long day I lay in bed and considered something that was bothering me. Why is anger hard to let go of? Particularly when I feel that my anger is justified and fully supported by facts I find it hard to let go of. I practice yoga to find balance and connect to the divine and LIVE my highest value, and that practice has allowed me some perspective on attachment (especially study of the sutras). I can see clearly the way to keep anger alive and I can see clearly how I could let it go completely. Why, in the heat of the moment, does it feel so satisfying to fan the flames rather than douse them? Don't you find that to be true? That you can feel the anger well up inside you and it is easier to be angry than to let it fizzle quietly? It feels good to stay the same, to stay angry, because that's the deep groove worn by time and habit. To change and evolve is much much harder.

People say anger is a good motivator for change, especially righteous anger. But is it anger or simply the clear recognition of a situation that is the motivator for change? Right now I feel that anger is just a reaction, and a distraction from the truth.

So the burden is of course not how not to get angry, but how to choose the best path in dealing with anger. Maybe not getting angry at all comes later down the path?

Playing in the wadi

My 2 kids, in the shade of an olive tree.

Happy boy.

Laila running away. Always running and running. "Look at this running!" she says.

Mana'ish. A great snack at the park. It is a round flat dough covered in toppings and put in a hot wood fired oven on round rocks. The bread then becomes kind of pitted as it takes the shape of the rocks it was fired on (a bread without toppings called Taboon) and the toppings become hot and melted like pizza. We usually get egg and cheese and olive oil and spices or spices and white cheese. It is so delicious. My kids love it.

Sufyan robot walking

Me and Laila at the Ottoman Courthouse.

inside the ottoman courthouse is a library for kids. Laila is not so much about the sitting still to read and climbed in and out of her chair and ran around.

But Sufyan LOVES to read and he and his Sido read books for an hour.

The other (unrenovated) rooms at the Ottoman Courthouse.

The view from the outside

And finally...

I always wondered where Santa spent his vacations!

June. Strangely sweet and sad.

2011-06-15T07:36:00.006-05:00

(Sunset the evening of my birthday dinner)

There are months and then there are months. For me, June is a big month.

Anniversary

Today is an anniversary of sorts: my family has been living in Palestine for 4 months.

Birthday

On sunday I celebrated my 36th birthday.

David Chain

On Friday I remember the birthday of a dear friend who passed away in 1998.

June is a month I remember as warm but pleasant in Michigan where I grew up, and fiercely hot in Texas where I spent the last 13 years. This June, in Ramallah, is more like Michigan. Better, actually. On my birthday this year we got treated to a little cold front. It looked like it might rain, but it didn't.

Birthday Dinner at Tropicana and photos of the setting sun behind Ramallah's hills

Faris took us out to dinner with a few friends of ours and it was a very mellow and sweet evening.

Though the 3 friends who were there were new friends of mine, I am very fond of them all and think highly of each of them. It was nice to have their company. The restaurant sat us outside beside the playground so Sufyan, Laila, and my friend's son had a great time playing. I think that Sufyan has made a friend, and his face shows it. My birthday could have been just awful and Sufyan making a friend and having fun would have made it worthwhile. I'm so happy he's finally at the age where making friends is happening.

I mean, look at him! (it helps to know that Sufyan is often not super demonstrative of his happiness. You kind of have to know him...but this is him being really really happy!)

It was a great way to do my birthday.

Look at LAILA'S face here! She LOVES presents!!!

Then we drove home and saw a beautiful Ramallah sunset. Sunsets here are really such a treat! But this evening in particular we got some stellar photos (my favorites so far are at the bottom of this post).

Missing Home

I did miss my family and friends from "home".

My friend J in Virginia made me a video of her son singing Happy Birthday followed by video of an incredible rainstorm that happened on my birthday (she knows how much I LOVE rainstorms and how Sufyan and I celebrate them by running out into the rain every chance we get). It was very sweet and thoughtful, particularly since J and her son were a big part of my life for a long time as we lived across the street from one another. We shared some potent years together: first time homeowners, new motherhood, the burden and joy of SAHM-hood, outings with our sons, babysitting for each other and sharing meals. I miss J and her family.

My Ramallah family took me out to a nice brunch on the morning of my birthday. Sufyan decided months ago that he would eat waffles whenever we went out for a breakfast and this was his day...waffles. With ice cream, no less! He had a lot of fun. Laila had a little of everything from all of our breakfasts in between exploring the restaurant and having her own fun smearing sugar packets everywhere and digging in candle wax.

June Blues

Tonight I thought of Andrea Burden, an artist that I met in Austin. Her work was and is inspirational to me. I specifically recall seeing her paintings for the first time years ago and thinking that they could not possibly be done by human hands, so otherworldly and beautiful were they. I met her a few times after that (we had mutual friends) and she eventually did the altar space at my wedding in 2004. I looked her up using Facebook and found she has passed away. The news took my breath away. She was so young. She had bacterial meningitis and by the time she got to the hospital there was nothing they could do. She didn't have health insurance. She left behind 2 beautiful daughters.

Faris went to a wake tonight for the father of a coworker. He passed away unexpectedly at only 61.

A friend sent me a funny message about a lighthearted conversation she'd had with her husband about what she'd do if he died. It was actually a funny exchange, but the timing of her email being tonight after I found out about Andrea while Faris was at a wake and I was writing this post about June being the month I remember a friend who has passed away...well. Strange.

I am pretty excited about these last photos. They are of a building under construction (actually, it hasn't really had any work done since we moved here) at the top of my street. The tarp was flapping in the cool breeze and the sun was going down and everything aligned to create something I found really beautiful.

A beautiful evening, a day in Ramallah, some thoughts

2011-06-09T09:08:00.014-05:00

Soundscape:

I have been thinking of how to share the beautiful sound of the call the prayer with you. Especially on these incredible summer nights that are cool and breezy, the Adhan sounds absolutely as otherworldly and voice-from-above as it is meant to. Since I can't upload an audio file to this blog, I decided to make a video of the audio. This is our summer evening soundscape. It's really lovely, so I invite you to turn up the sound and close your eyes (not much to see in the video) and listen. This is around 9pm every night, though the time Adhan occurs shifts with the cycles of the moon.

Just blurt it out:

Things here have been exhausting lately. Laila has been going through some kind of growth spurt that has left her irritable and easily overwhelmed as well as quite mama-needy.

I have been closing down. It's been hard to take any kind of care of myself while constantly gluing her back together. Emotionally I'm both more in love with her than ever and more exhausted than ever from both her need and my constant evaluation of every reaction and response I have to her huge expressions of anger and sadness and frustration. That and the lack of sleep has left me feeling raw and without the brainpower to tackle basic daily life like groceries and cooking.

There has been (well meaning) pressure to get with the program already. Even the woman who comes to help us clean every 2 weeks has apparently told people we "don't cook" (meaning I don't cook) and that we need food. Our agreement with her is to offer her breakfast, lunch and coffee and tea. Last time she was here we offered her Shawarma from a take out place and she took some home...for her daughter. In other words she wouldn't eat it. So BY GOD this week when she came Faris and I cooked a pot of zucchini, tomatoes, onions and garlic and served it over rice with a side of a regional green called Molokhia (cooked with garlic and lemon). We all enjoyed it.

But yes, I don't cook lately. She's right. I am overwhelmed with what Laila has been going through and I frankly I have a lot of adjusting to do in order to feed my family, clean the house, prepare for my yoga teaching, tend to my own yoga practice, and have time to hang out with my husband.

If it has gotten easier to be a mom here, it has been in tiny increments. Last night a fellow mom and recent acquaintance called me. She is Palestinian and has 2 beautiful boys who are roughly S and L's ages. But she has also lived the expat life elsewhere and knows first hand how alienating it can be to be a foreigner. She also knows how being an expat is one thing but being an expat MOTHER is another thing altogether. And because she has recently returned to Ramallah after living in a country where things are much easier than they are here she can completely relate to my own struggle to adjust.

Her compassion and her understanding were enough to help me to once again turn a compassionate eye to my own struggle with mothering here.

She knows that here in Palestine there are worries that do not plague the mothers I left behind in Texas. For example there is an issue of how to get good medical care. There is the issue of the very different treatment of children here than what I am used to. There is the pervasive sugar. Also it is hard to keep food on the table without spending inordinate amounts of time in the kitchen and upsetting the balance of being with my kids, playing, laundry, basic cleaning and keeping myself cared for as well. I had no idea how much I relied on prepackaged foods like tofu or the year round availability of virtually ANY fruit or veggie until I came here and found that everything must be made from scratch and one must eat seasonally (a one two punch that knocked out about 75% of my recipes. The unavailability of most asian ingredients knocks out another 10%).

Medical care

According to many of the mothers I have met here, hospitals and clinics here are not reliable. Especially for children. I had a feeling this was so, and have been told so over and over by other expat moms. My friend confirmed this as she has had reason to experience medical care here more often than most (I suspect). She said hospitals expect children to understand the authority of doctors and the goodness of medicine, although to a child the doctor is just a stranger in a white coat prodding and grabbing them and medicine involves scary looking things that might poke or be forced into their mouths. Hospitals, she told me, are not kind enough or slow paced enough for a child to adjust and not be scared.

I'm glad that I have permission to enter Israel for the reason that medical care there is generally considered better than here. But I can't relax about it. I don't like that solution at all. And how can a mother relax knowing that should there be an emergency, the best care is separated from you by military checkpoints? To say nothing of having to rely on a friend in order to drive me into Jerusalem because I do not have a car with the correct license plate to enter.

Lonely:

I have made a few friends here by now. But a fact of life here is that ex-pats travel home in the summer and virtually every friend I have is leaving or has left. So we are considering a little vacation for a week or two as well.

Views of life here:

At dusk, there was a huge plume of smoke on the hills on the other side of the wadi. We don't know what it was, but it happens regularly so we assume it's planned. For me its a reminder of the foreignness of this part of the world because burns this big in America make the news.

Sunrise. Laila spent a restless night and I got up and snuck out after nursing her down for the 3rd time between 3 and 5am. I decided not to fight it and go see what was so important that I should be up for it and I was treated to this incredible sunrise. Of course I still need a nap.

Yoga.

That's my mat and my white board all set up for my 9am class at Farashe. Outside the windows of this room is the Manara (town center) which is pretty quiet at 8:15am but is bustling by 9am.

The view of the Police station from Farashe's windows. That is the Palestinian flag (in case you have not seen it).

And from Farashe's other windows, the taxi depot and the Manara beyond.

and looking the other direction at the backsides of downtown buildings that surround Farashe

things we see:

A homemade kite! I don't have a clue how to make a kite, so I am awed by the fact that 2 little boys who looked to be about 10 made this kite and were flying it just at the top of our street.

The kite flyers.

also just up the street...

This guy ran away from home. Behind him is his home, and what you can't see in the picture are two little girls, about 7 or 8, with their hands clapped over their cheeks and ears in a classic "OH NO!!!" moment watching helplessly as their donkey...

...trots off down the road. When was the last time you went out to get a cup of coffee and encountered a run away donkey? I have had the experience twice in 4 months here.

My kids LOVE it.

Dear Laila

2011-06-09T09:07:00.001-05:00

short video of Laila's Skillz

Dear Laila,

Tonight you are 17 months and 1 day old. You just went reluctantly to sleep while asking me, "Where's Bruddah, mama? Laila see Bruddah!" When I told you Sufyan was going to sleep, too, you said, "Laila look! Laila LOOK." and began to crawl off your bed.

We went out to dinner tonight (I'll tell you why in a moment) and like always, people were fawning over you and calling to you and trying to get you to let them pick you up. It used to scare you, all the attention, but now you think its fun because you have figured out that you have the power in this situation. So now you just say, "No. Khalas (finished)." And when you feel like being fawned over you say everything they want to hear: "Marhaba! Keef Halek? Ismee Laila!". Young men practically collapse when they see your round little face and big blue eyes. They make a sound like, "bisss sssss bissss" and pinch your cheeks. Yesterday a man practically teared up while reaching for you and his heart at the same time and begged me to let him hold you and take you to show a woman standing nearby. The drama! You ate it up, sweet girl.

And now you have started really cracking everyone up because you look at your admirers and say, "biss biss bisssss" while pinching your own cheeks at them! HA!

2 days ago you learned to jump. Not the little heels lifting jumps (those are for babies), but actually 2 feet airborn. So of course this morning you leaped from the couch onto the floor and I knew exactly what it was when I heard the sound of your belly flop onto the carpet...but you were smiling. Thank goodness. I should have known you'd do that because you always have a goal in mind. Not just to jump, but learn to jump so you can climb and jump from HIGHER!

You love to climb. You climb all the time now. If I am not looking and I don't hear you its a safe bet you are climbing something and I better run to catch you on your way to the belly flop. You climb the bars on our patio door, the couch, my bed so that you can jump off my bed. And of course you love to climb the chairs at the table (see the video). I have begun to notice how worried for you your brother is, too! When he doesn't see you he tears through the house calling your name and when he finds you he laughs hysterically...he was worried and he is relieved to find you. He knows your proclivity to climb too high and jump.

You talk in sentences fit a 3 year old. You named a doll "Baby Talateh" (baby 3) and you say:

"I love you, too. Habik."

"Where IS Baby Talateh?"

"Hey Mama. Watch this throw!"

"I want Laila do nursing, actually. Just nursing, actually."

"rararararara! GET BROTHER!" (chasing him around)"Eat Eat Eat brother's toes!!!"

"I will do it. Laila do it."

"Ok, let's go Baby Talateh."

"My turn brother."

"HEY SUFYANO!!!"

"okiley smokiley!"

"What's brother doing?"

and your favorite:

"WHY?"

You also run. You don't just toddle, you RUN (see video). And you love to run around naked. So at the end of the night after bath (which you call "Bath Laila!") we have naked running around like crazy time. You and Sufyan yell, "ZALUTA!!!!" and run around laughing and falling down. It's one of my favorite things. And I love seeing how much you love your brother, and how much he loves you. You crack each other up.

So about eating dinner out. With all the amazing things you can do right now by shear force of will and rock solid determination, you can also use your power to make things rather intense around here. By which I mean this: Laila, I love you with a love that words cannot touch. My heart and soul are yours. And when you decide that you want something or don't want something I am happy to report you have no problem making your desires very very clear. LOUD and clear. This will serve you well in life, my love. And I'm proud that my daughter is strong in body and in spirit. Sometimes, however, your strength is my undoing. It is the gray in my hair. It is the reason I find myself doubting my ability to be a mother. And lately it is the reason I cannot make dinner, go shopping, fold laundry, wash laundry, make the bed, sweep the floor or even take a shower. You are, as they say, "spirited". I would gladly turn all my hair gray for you, baby girl, if only I knew how to make you happy when you are angry. Day by day, Laila, we are figuring this out.

I am also happy to say that you report your emotions. "I'm ANGRY. MAD!" or "Saaaaaad..." or "I'm LAUGHING!!!". Laila, my love, you are such a powerful, intelligent, willful, sensitive, loving little person. I'm so grateful you have these words to tell us what you couldn't before and I want you to know that I would move heaven and earth to make your angry moments make sense to you or your sad moments turn into happy ones. I will always do my best to be your rock, even though at this very young age you already have a clear grasp on what pushes my buttons. As your mom I take that information as my marching orders to eradicate those buttons and let us see our way through our challenges clearly and early. I'm working on it. I just hope you will forgive me for times I am not as clear as I want to be and I let my buttons get pushed. I love you through it all.

So for now, happy 17 months. I can't believe we've come so far and yet we are still beginning.

Your (humbled and loving)

Mama

Our house is a very very very fine house

2011-06-04T07:44:00.000-05:00

Did you just get that song stuck in your head?

One of our lilac trees. Full bloom this morning.

I would like to do a post about homes and houses here. For now, I am relegated to the outside of the homes that foreigners would find most interesting and most unlike their own.

What I can share is that the modern homes I see are all white stone buildings. Either people live in multi-tenant housing (most people it seems live this way) or in stand alone houses that are new and very expensive or old and worth a lot of money (land here is quite expensive!). I prefer, of course, the older homes. Occasionally there are homes I have noticed that almost stand alone but might share a wall with a business or have one upstairs neighbor. Some of these are very old--practically biblical looking. They have rough, unevenly sized stones instead of bricks. Entryway doors are arched and often so small they look hobbit sized. In old town Ramallah I have seen windows that are constructed simply by an absence of stone. No screens, just a hole in the wall. They are actually quite lovely. On the roof people take advantage of the sun by stringing laundry lines and placing solar panels up there and the ubiquitous big black plastic reservoirs of water.

Our building is white stone and newly built (less than a decade maybe?). There are 5 floors and an elevator. There is also a basement level which houses the tanks of very expensive diesel fuel which we use (sparingly) to heat in the winter. These tanks and their diesel are called "solar" here. Also housed in the basement are the tanks of cooking gas. (if you just experienced a little nervous twinge about those tanks in the basement, you are not alone.)

We also have a boiler for hot water in small amounts (like a fast shower) To use it we open this cabinet and switch water flow away from whatever to whatever. The piece of paper is the DIAGRAM the plumber drew for our spoiled and confused American selves.

My family has the ground floor and thus the only private entrance and garden-- which makes usvery lucky. We are also the only house on the street with lilac trees...

And so a tour of our house (Sufyan is our little "Where is Waldo")

Our livingroom has a rounded wall which makes the space feel bigger. There are 3 windows on that wall, and all of them have beautiful views of the canyon beyond.

Of course, we rented a furnished place. This means that a good amount of my personal adjustment to living here has been accepting someone else's furniture and the taste level of that furniture. Faux suede red couches are not the choice I would have made. Neither are the red stretch leather modern style dining room chairs or the chipboard laminated shelving. But the benefits of having a furnished apartment (besides the chandeliers which really deserve a post of their own) is far greater than in the states: unfurnished here means no toilet. No cupboards. No stove. No fridge. No leftover toaster oven from the last tenant, not even a countertop maybe. You get the picture. So living with someone else's things is common.

Our kitchen.

The kids' playroom (doors go to the balcony which has been in so many pictures on this blog).

Notice that all the windows have iron bars. These are permanent. They exist because Ramallah is at elevation compared to surrounding Palestine and we get fantastic breezes here that in the summer beg you to open your windows.

Central Air is non-existant though we do have 2 small window units. So we open the windows and the bars are security. They scare the crap out of me, actually. If I was claustrophobic I would be in trouble.

2 things:

1. how would I get out if I could not find the keys to my 3 outside access doors (each with a separate key!)?

2. my eyes want a break from the bars. I can literally feel my eyeballs wishing that they could see out to the beautiful view of the wadi without the bars breaking up the view.

Light switches look like this and are always on the outside of whatever room you want to turn lights on in.

This is my bedroom window and the almond tree that I love.

This is our street level entry gate. I took this picture looking down from my front door to the street.

Additionally we have a gate that slides open for our car.

Most houses have this kind of entry: on the street one pushes an intercom button on and it buzzes inside the house at this spy-phone. Someone answers and presses a button to let you in.

Here is ours.

Those 8 switches? 4 turn lights on in the living room and the others probably do something but we don't know what.

This is our small backyard. The swings are hanging on the grape arbor. Grape arbors are also absolutely ubiquitous.

Here is a pic of the heaters we use in Sufyan's room.

Here is a pic of the intercom phone that rings when someone pushes the buzzer from the back of the building. Oh, just above Waldo's head.

It took me a while to understand that there are actually 3 annoyingly loud and intrusive buzzers that ring in my house with 3 different possible places a person could be standing and waiting for my response. I dislike the sound of the buzzers immensely. They are like game show buzzers that mean you are about to get catapulted off the stage for being AAAAAANG! WRONG AGAIN! I would like to disconnect them. But this is the system and disconnecting it would mean disconnecting a possible link to the outside world. People literally cannot get to our front door to knock, for example, unless I answer the buzzer.

I want to include this view of the very pretty stairs across the street. We live at the bottom of a big hill and I like the way hills are part of Ramallah life.

little moments.

2011-06-02T01:00:00.000-05:00

On a recent walk to the wadi, we came across a large herd of goats and their shepherd. We stood still and silent for a moment or two and listened. The noise the entire entourage made was really interesting. The goats had a low, rumbling nasal grunt. The sound of them eating was a crispsnap of the dry grass and a munch munch munch sound. The shepherd made a sound like,"ooooosh. wooooooosh. shhhh. shhhh" as he shooed them toward the wadi and away from us.

Laila in her new favorite tent and her favorite outfit...;-)

ferral cat. There are so many of them here. Construction debris from nearby restaurant about to open. Soft sunlight in the grass. Just more dichotomy.

And this pic is of the triumph. On a hot summer afternoon I took the kids to al-Manara by myself. By. My. Self. We went to Izhiman for a chocolate (which served as our goal and our incentive) then we sat on a doorstep and enjoyed the spoils of our outing as throngs of people wooshed past us. We even went to another shop after and tried a little rice cake snack which we bought and enjoyed. I felt so accomplished! I did it all by myself! I went into the community, did something normal, and came out happy on the other side. Here are the bewildered and happy kids, "whoa. chocolate. and mama took us out to someplace new." will wonders never cease?

i don't know what to write about

2011-05-29T14:51:00.001-05:00

i'm taking a deep breath here to acknowledge that no matter how difficult things are for me I am in love with my family.

my daughter is precocious. impulsive. given to extremes of emotion that take her from laughing full belly laughs and warm smiles to sceaming in a red rage headed straight for the wall (to smack into it) and throwing the nearest object to sobbing sadnesses that last only minutes-- just until I pick her up again.

"laila do nursing!" she will say. as it is often the 3rd time in an hour she wants to nurse I might say, "Laila would you like a piece of cheese? are you hungry?" to which she will answer: "Laila do nursing, actually. Just nursing, actually."

and when she was hard to console tonight I said, "Laila, listen. Mama said 'yes' but you have to be patient." to which she said through her sobs, "Ohtay. Okiley-smokiley mama (sob)".

my son is even keel most of the time. He is in the fray and above it. he sees everything, soaks up everything. he remembers being in the womb. he is obsessed with buttons and how things work. He will watch the workings of a glass elevator (the hydraulics, the wires) instead of putting shekels in the mechanical ride-on toys. He thinks about things very deeply. He dances with abandon and moves through space at all kinds of odd angles and swoops and calls it "break dancing". He glows, he loves his sister, and he thinks her funny baby sentences are hilarious. and he is starting to gesture a lot with his hands while he talks.

a friend told me recently that her mother always reminds her to hold her baby every chance...you cannot hold them when they are 16. I know its true. i feel it in my bones, and in my muscles which are now shaped (my arms and hips at least) like the converse of Laila's backside. People are born with a path. Mine has to do with relationships: I am working on them all the time. Children are an incredible reminder that the present moment matters and shapes future moments. And therefore the past is constantly shaping the present which is shaping future moments. Which I guess means that its all happening at once...and every moment I can make it better. So today I have been looking into their eyes more than I usually do (again) so that I can make sure I see them and they know they are seen.

And now for some totally unrelated but interesting pictures. Actually, they came from a drive the 4 of us took to a nearby village called "Ein Qinya". We had heard there was a stream for walking in and beside. We didn't find the stream, but we saw these interesting sights:

Ein Qinya:
the mouth of some old structure that was at ground level and now has fields over it. maybe it always did. part of the problem of being a foreigner is I lack cultural reference points that are relevant to understanding what I am seeing. So maybe this is old, maybe its new. I think it is old.

This Israeli/settler guard post overlooks Ein Qinya. I cannot express to you how small Ein Qinya is. The road was 2 way and barely fit our car. As we entered the village it felt deserted. A donkey was running in the road ahead of us. The houses lined the road sparesly...I saw only 2 people It really felt deserted and very impoverished. And yet because the illegal settlement called "Dolev" is nearby there is this anxious military post.

I don't want to be ethnocentric (unavoidable I guess), culturally insensitive, or rude...but I find all grave markers interesting (even in my own culture). So here are a few views of a small cemetery by the side of the road in Ein Qinya.

(this one just references a verse from the Quran)

And a farm.

The view of outskirts of Ramallah from Ein Qinya

Later that afternoon we went swimming....yes, swimming...I know I have only posted photos of desert, olive trees, the dry and thorny wadi, and herds of dusty goats but just to highlight the stark contrasts that exist here, this is also Ramallah:

And Laila had her first swim here in Ramallah at a place called, "SnowBar"

from the mouths of other women

2011-05-26T00:49:00.010-05:00

"if there was a train in front of my house I would have left 12 times a day."

"this is a great place for kids because its very social."

"you have to sacrifice to be here. people sacrifice to live here."

"khalas. the only thing for you to do is put him in daycare."

"this was a paradise when we moved here." (1987)

"yes, the way people here furnish their houses is very...alien."

"kids play in the streets because they have no where to go."

"you just have to adjust your ideals, sort of adjust your expectations (to be happy here)".

"you can have any kind of life you want here. you can find anything here."

Ramallah from my roof and other pictures

how much has Ramallah grown? This picture was taken around 15 years ago. Look at the hills in the picture...they are the same as the hills you see there behind the picture.

the entrance to a kindergarten or a pre-school...called "Fun Time". While I was sitting in my car taking this picture, a van pulled up and out into the street tumbled 6 kids ages 4 and under who briefly looked around and then joined hands and disappeared into various doorways including "Fun Time." No adult was with them, they just went while the driver waited until they were out of sight.

Permanent makeup is a thing around here. I assume this is actually a "tattoo" place and not a "Tato" place.

Doctors working in Ramallah are trained in other countries and their business cards and signs tell patrons where they trained. Where the doctor trained is always part of describing the doctor being recommending to me. What I find difficult about this is that I do not consider myself an expert at discerning which countries offer good programs for dentistry and which for pediatrics and so on. So I am a bit mystified by this system.

"Hamporgers...Checken"

Hi, Tammy! Lets have coffee here when you visit.

A fresh juice place in al-Manara. The kids had bananas and milk, we had citrus, mint and ginger juices.

one of the areas of the very busy al-Manara that is being revamped. It is a dusty city and I think in part it must be rock dust from all the construction work going on. It seems like everywhere I look there is construction.

al-Manara town center on a Friday early...no one around.

A wedding car that I thought was very nicely done.

Ramallah from my roof last night.

and this morning.

colors

2011-05-22T14:33:00.009-05:00

Do you see the faces in these rocks? I've been wanting to take a picture of them for weeks now.

The colors. A view from the top of our street into the Wadi.

A horse was tied to this tree and happily munching on grass at the top of our street. We are at once very close to town and very much on the outskirts. Just behind me, where I stood to take this picture, is a swank new restaurant under final construction. Dichotomy like this is partly why Ramallah is such an intense sensory experience.

Well. Another week has nearly passed. My kids are so much older than when we arrived here in Palestine. So am I .

Laila is talking an unbelievable amount. Sufyan is putting together more complex thoughts and communicating them to us much more concisely than ever before. Both kids are learning Arabic steadily. We no longer eat preboxed meals of any kind (unless you count cereal).

I have successfully lowered my cleanliness standards to match the lack of time and ambition I have to mop my gleaming white stone floors. I have cooked Palestinian food (wara' dawali, malfoof, joory rose lemonade, mjedarra, etc), mexican food (fail fail fail), hippy food (beans, rice and avocado with yogurt), and sushi (avocado, cream cheese, and cucumber rolls). But I still cannot get a decent grocery list together because my brain has not made the long trip from Whole Foods to Bravo Suber Market yet.

There is so much to tell. There is the adventure of living here and there is the difficulty of living here. There are moments of helplessness that I cannot describe (in a nutshell, helpless is the one place I never want to be as a mother) and moments of pride that we as a family have done something most families will never do or experience (maybe there is good reason to never do what we did, but I am certain not all who wander are lost).

Today:

My son, out of nowhere, closed the sweet story book we were reading and started crying! He was saying, "I just want to go back to Austin! I don't want to live here! I don't want to live in Palestine!" When I reminded him of all that we love here and all the things we do here he was silent, teary eyed. "And this house," I told him, "you love this house! You would miss it if we didn't live in it anymore!" "I like it," he told me, "but I don't want to live in it. I want to live in Austin. I just want to go baaaaaaaack" he sobbed.

This is not the first time he's felt this way and told me so. Of course he misses what he's used to and what's familiar. He's human. But it breaks my heart when he feels so sad.

Later, he perked up and was happy enough to eat Rukab Ice Cream that we can only get in Palestine.

Rukab ice cream was enough to put him back in the mood to love Palestine again because when I reminded him that he can't get this kind of ice cream in Austin he told me he likes living in Palestine. It's the little things, Sufyan.

More awesome colors. Water from a spoon is much more tasty than from a sippy cup. Laila knows this secret.

A warm day and us on the dirt roads at the top of our street. Sufyan LOVES to be set free to run out here. "I want to RUUUUUN in the WADI!" he told me.

A neighborhood being constructed just across the wadi from us.

Climbing is a new favorite thing. Climbing trees is so nostalgic for me, and I remember the feeling of bark under my hands and feet so I tend to encourage it.

At the Family Park there is an indoor play area with a pit of colored balls. Laila loves it.

Sufyan continues to regularly go to this window in our house to "Watch the trees grow" about 3 times a week. He sits quietly, for up to 30 minutes at a time, and just watches. The trees. Its a very peaceful and quiet time. Lately Laila (who is not given to sitting and contemplating but rather to action and constant movement) has been joining her brother at the window. However, she is still very much herself. When it is time to climb down and she isn't ready she starts screaming hysterically "WATCH TREES GROW! WAAAAATCH TREEEEEEEES!"

This morning we ventured out to a park in our sister city of Al-Bireh.

The place is HUGE. The pic above is just one of the 4 levels of play area. The slides are all fiberglass and painted. They remind me of county fairs from where I grew up, which is a nice memory and makes me automatically relax a little around them. Totally illogical, the way the heart communicates with the brain via memory.

Sufyan found a seed for me. (actually this is a picture of how adorable he is).

Sufyan conquers the heights...

This van advert struck me as very local in flavor. So I took a picture and stuck it up here on my blog.

Below: Cars with yellow plates are cars allowed to cross into Jerusalem.

Jerusalemites (Palestinians with an ID that allows them to go to Israel to live and work) living in Ramallah are generally working hard to keep their status as Jerusalemites and retain permission to enter Israel. As I understand it they often pay 2 mortgages or 2 rents (one here in Ramallah where they can actually live and one in Jerusalem where they can actually work or get to medical specialists they might need etc) so that they can fulfill the requirement to maintain an address in Jerusalem. I didn't used to give much weight to whether or not I could personally enter Jerusalem. But the longer I stay the more I value the fact that I can go should I need to. Its not that the old City holds so much allure for me, its that there are things I can't get here that I can get in Jerusalem. Like mail from my parents (at someone else's PO box, of course). Or certain dietary supplements. Or certain medical attention.

I would not call this time in my life emotionally destructive. I would call it turbulent. I would also call it insanely interesting. I have zero regrets about moving to Palestine. Staying here is another matter and it has not worked itself out. Still, I am teaching every weekend and expecting to continue to make friends however slowly that happens. I tend to be easy to talk to and hard to get to know. But since moving here I have decided not to waste time on things that, for me, "don't fit." So I have a little group of people who I think of as friends here now and eclectic as we are, I am very grateful to have them.

Laila's first 16.5 months

2011-05-22T00:48:00.002-05:00

Laila, you are the light of our lives. We love you for your precocious, hilarious, active self. You challenge me to be a better mom, a more patient person, and more selfless in my parenting. You made it through a very rough first 10 months of life with intense reflux and have come to the other side of that time a vibrant, happy, strong little girl. You not only walk and run, you climb, kick a ball, catch a ball, swing, slide, CLIMB and basically do anything you put your mind to. ANYTHING.
You have even been potty training yourself.
You are not just chattering, you are saying 6 word sentences that you construct by yourself. You really amaze us. You've lately been saying things like:
I need a wipey, please!
What's Mama's doing?
For Laila for now! (when you want something right now, not later or in a minute or after brother's turn)
What's Mama's eating?
Wait a minute, that's not right!
Bath Laila ready!
Laila do it lahalie! (by myself)
LAILA, TOO!!!! (this is now your nickname because you say it so often)

So, without further ado, here finally is a 4 minute video of Laila's first 16 months of life. I'm so proud of you, Laila. We all are.
love,
your family

Dust storm rolling in, and a view from a small village

2011-05-18T06:12:00.002-05:00

love and fried food: collection of thoughts

2011-05-16T13:25:00.006-05:00

(choosing to leave the recent bad news surrounding Nakba and Gaza out of this post.)

Indeed.

Down the street from me is a restaurant completely devoted to fried food. I think I'm in LOVE. This is their menu which is conveniently located on the street just in case you doubt that really, it is pretty Crispy inside.

My boy.

This palace looking structure is... (you will never guess)

the Ramallah YMCA. Take THAT, America. What does your YMCA look like?

5/9/11

Adapting:

One sign that I am adapting is that at the playground I now have deemed certain trash "ok to play with". Little round pink cans that held bubble tape= shovels to dig with! Empty soda cans = no touching. And Sufyan calls cigarette butts "cigarette bums". As in "bum bum" which has been our word for the rear end of any person.

Muzak:
Today i woke up to Raya Soft, our public radio station, having a Muzak day. Sometimes its a Fairuz day, or a classical music day, but today it was "I Keep Holding On" with flutes and synthesizer, "Candle In The Wind" with strings and piano, "Here There And Everywhere" with woodwinds.
Then our power went off...twice.

Mail:
I just found out that the Palestinian Authority will no longer be dealing with foreign mail incoming or outgoing. There will surely be a boom in the business of renting a little PO box space for people who have PO boxes in Jerusalem. I feel hemmed in by this because care packages are life lines. Now I will continue to have to impose on a family member or friend for any mail we have.

5/10/11

Two Little Girls and some really bad manners

Two little girls (maybe 7 years old) alone (no parents anywhere to be seen) were on the playground with my kids and F and I this past weekend. They were swinging reaaly high and laughing so hard...pumping their legs and screaming with laughter. I was reminded of being a kid this age with my cousin--we always laughed like that. Laila was fascinated by them of course. They were saying (in Arabic) that they were going to swing up to the birds!

How sweet, I thought. Then F translated a bit more: they want to swing up to the birds to poop on the birds' heads. up to the birds to wipe their noses on them. up to the birds to pee on them. That was kind of funny to me, too, and also reminiscent of my cousin and I because scatological jokes cracked us up...but then a little shift and they were swinging up to the birds to kick them! and to hit them in the head!

haha...huh?

They got down and started digging in the sand. Laila, miss social, toddled over to them. I was thrilled because I want my kids to interact with kids here. She started digging with them and they yelled at her to get away! So I moved her to give her her own digging space. The girls then started eyeing us and giggling and saying they are going to put sand on Laila's head and throw sand at her! I told them not to. Faris, who overheard this and came over, warned them. The bigger girl, in one swift move, put sand on Laila's little head and the 2 girls ran away up the slide, where they commenced threatening (between peals of laughter) to hit Laila and throw their shoes at Laila. They actually took their shoes off and held them up in the air ready to throw them. AT MY BABY GIRL.

F asked where their parents were. Where is your mom? And dad? I am going to tell them what you are doing here, he says, what you did to a baby. "NO!", they say. "We didn't put sand on the baby! It was another baby! Not your baby!"

I had a lump in my throat. How could they bully a baby? Especially MY baby Laila! I felt so powerless because not only could I not understand them enough to know what they were about to do (Faris translated) and protect Laila from them, but I had a conflicted sense of how to deal with them. They are just little girls themselves. It was a hard moment for me. Laila didn't really understand it, so she wasn't upset. It was me who was about to cry.

5/12/11

If I want warm water I get it in one of 3 ways:

1) wait until a few hours of direct sunlight has been absorbed by our solar panels to heat the water. This means hot water is not available on cloudy days, and partly cloudy days yield only tiny amounts of hot water. On sunny days, I can have hot water by about 1pm.

2) redirect the water by turning 2 valves in our bathroom then turning the power on to the boiler. Wait 30 minutes and I get about 10 minutes of showering (just enough to wash my body, my hair, and shave 1 leg) or 4 inches of hot water in the bathtub. Supplement with boiled water from the kitchen (about 4 pots) and voila! a bath for my kids. Holy moly its a lot of work.

3) turn on the heat to the entire house. This uses the hugely expensive "Solar" (the name for the big gas tanks we buy to heat our house), but then the house gets warm (good for winter, bad for summer). Solar costs $1000/month if used often enough to actually stay warm.

5/13/11

storm:

It was cold all night. A storm rolled in.

5/14/11

Power:

The washing machine is apparently tripping the breaker. Every time I try to wash clothes the entire house shuts down with an audible "CLACK." And Sufyan says, "Ooop! Da power's off!" in his little boy flute voice.

5/15/11

Thoughts of a home:

I have been in a better place about living here lately. Maybe its that I met a woman who has been living here for 10+ years and the home she has made for her 3 children was so lovely. It was homey and distinctly Palestinian. It was the closest thing to the family home I have in my mind that I have yet seen: a playroom full of things intended for the kids to get into with bunk beds, a small fish tank inhabited by 7 fish the family caught in Jericho and brought home in a water bottle, books, a kid sized wooden table and chairs, crayons and pencils, and bean bags. A big back yard with a play scape, play house, and big old trees for climbing. The house had a decent amount of wood in it with wooden dining table and chairs, built in book cases, and lots of windows. The warmth of the wood was a stark contrast to what we currently live with and it was so comforting.

Trash or treasure:

This morning the kids and I went to our coffee shop and took a croissant to go. We walked down the street to the playground and we were so happy to see a man carrying 2 humongous bags of trash out of it. "YAY!" we all said. And Sufyan was so excited that he kept talking about it, "The people are cleaning the trash!". But it turned out that the bags of trash had come from the back of the maintenance area where employees hang out. So that was being cleaned while our playground was more trashed than I have ever seen it. What a shame.

Trash.

I continue to make mental categories of what trash Laila can play with, and what is off limits. My standards are loosening. Still no cans, but bottle tops make great digging tools and pretend coffee mugs. Screws are a great chance to teach her about being careful of "pokies" and letting her put them in the trash. What's a mama to do?

And we ended our play time today with a snack which for Laila was an apple the size of her head. She's such an "I can DO it!" little person.

While we played, Sufyan proudly found some "pokies" (a screw in this case)

Action shot. The kids were entertained for at least an hour finding bits of trash and sticking it in a hole in the concrete that was about 2 feet deep.

Laila found a green pastel. We drew all over the concrete with it, an activity we both loved. And Sufyan snuck a "please don't touch that" popsicle stick (apparently- I didn't see him do it until I looked at this picture! )

Green fingers, Mama!

more love of the green fingers.

Color.

Malakins

"Malakins" are what mannequins are called here, I am told. And like I mentioned they are never sporting a full set of limbs and head. I am told this is because it's easier to get the clothes on and off without their hands on.

um....strange.

I Love You, Palestine!

2011-05-12T06:12:00.000-05:00

I see that it can only be good for me to focus on what I love about Palestine and life in Ramallah since it has always been our intention to stay here for at least 2 years. That's too long to focus on the negative all the time. And while mothering here has been challenging verging on really difficult, that's not all there is.

I promise not to even mention the T-word in this post. You know, "Tr-sh" that I seem to be obsessed with.

And things somehow feel a little better this week. Maybe being an expat is similar to being a space shuttle: you get hurtled into some foreign terrain and before you find home again you have to transition through the atmosphere, which burns your outer layers away and freezes you and then lands you smack in the middle of the ocean a much reduced version of what you were when you set out. No matter that friendly shores and open arms await you once you're finally "home", because burning and freezing is what you have to do to get there. There is no short cut.

I love the weather in Palestine. My Texas acclimated body is wondering why it has not gotten hot as blazes yet; I keep waiting for it to happen like it does in Austin (where I spent 13 years and where they have had the first 95 or 100 degree days and wildfires have been tormenting the dried out countryside). But instead here in Ramallah we have lovely warm days, cool nights, breezes and rain. Everywhere there are incredible flowers and vines charging out to meet the summer sun.

These bunches of flowers came from my back yard.

Until I moved here I thought geraniums were potted and tame but here they are wild and bright and they fill my backyard garden and climb our fence just behind our highly scented roses.

When we hear the call to prayer around my house, Idhan or Ithan, the kids and I stop and tell each other what we are happy for. We hear it so often and it is so beautiful. What better way to be reminded of the present moment and the gift of being alive than hearing the devout being called to worship? Yesterday Sufyan was happy for our "drape ahboh" (grape arbor). These things make me happy.

Yesterday afternoon Sido took us all on an outing to the center of town. On these nice afternoons al-Manara is teeming with pedestrians and cars like a busy street in a big city anywhere.

He took us to Rukab ice cream first.

And I thought I didn't like Arabic ice cream, it is much stickier and uses Arabic Gum as a main ingredient which in large amounts is an acquired taste, but in fact I just hadn't had Rukab Ice Cream. It is really satisfying, sweet and cold with fresh flavors.

We all loved it. We needed the break and it lifted our spirits. Or maybe it was Sufyan's big ice cream smile that helped me feel more positive...(though this is his mama-said-smile smile).

The kids had their first cones (maybe it was Laila's big ice cream smile that did it)

Sufyan fed his sister bites.

Rukab itself is a famous spot and there was a see and be seen element to being there. I don't recall ever in the states seeing two grown men smoking and dishing over ice cream. Chicken wings, yes. But this is a different vibe.

This time of year the chick peas are ready to be harvested and street vendors sell "Hamleh" on their carts.

Hamleh is the chick pea still in the pod and roasted. You pop them open and eat the green pea inside. Laila LOVED them. Here is a cart full of Hamleh.

This is also a good time for corn on the cob and street vendors are roasting corn and selling it wrapped in brown paper. Here is one man selling corn in al-Manara.

And here is a cart we bought a couple of roasted ears of corn from. They buttered it and salted it and the smell in our car on the way home was smokey like burning leaves and buttery like, well, butter. Good stuff. These guys are a father and son duo.

We also stopped in Izhiman, a nice coffee and sweets shop. They sell beautifully wrapped chocolates by Semiramis which are dates dipped in chocolate, pistachio fillings, coconut fillings, marzipan fillings, and so on. An entire wall of beautiful, shiny chocolate greets you when you walk in and then the smell of roasting coffee. It's nice.

Then we walked around al-Manara and picked up shwarma for dinner. Laila was in love with the mannequins.

This just proves she my daughter because they fascinate me, too, though for other reasons. Like that they almost never have a complete set of head and limbs. And they often have a kind of been there through it all feeling. Mannequins here are totally amusing to me. Here are a couple of my favorites.

(this looks like a mannequin's bad dream. all in pieces, but super sexy pieces, no?)

Something else I love here is the way the buildings are built into the very steep hills. I have never seen this before as Texas is mostly flat and we tend to build around the hills. This is a friend's apartment building. I am standing on the entry bridge and looking down to the lower levels.

and it never fails to crack me up when I see English someplace where it's clearly not understood. Case in point: these Durex umbrellas shading clothes for sale in old city Jerusalem.

Something else I really like about being here are the fresh spices. I am a pretend good cook, and I covet good spices. This is my very basic spice cubby at home. Somehow, looking at it just makes me happy with it's fresh roasted sesame seeds, fresh molasses, local honey, and dried fruit. I guess I'm starting to make this rented house my family's home.

And finally, these monks are sitting inside the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. My friend Z took this when we were together in Jerusalem. As I understand it, there are at least 5 sects fighting over the very centimeters inside this church. This is a fight based on differing understandings of their common Messiah, and if one sect steps into another sect's square footage it could be grounds for some very strong exchanges of opinion. And don't these monks look confused about it all? I love this pic.

And ok, I have to also include this photo of an Israeli police. He was also in Jerusalem and was photographed by Z. You can't see it, but he's actually not "working". He's flirting with some pretty foreign girls who are asking for his picture. Ah, life. It's the same everywhere.

Lovely Laila. A confession of mom thoughts. Life in Ramallah.

2011-05-09T07:13:00.005-05:00

Mom-Life under occupation continues, as does our struggle to make a slow-paced, comfortable, laid-back family life here. And...
It seems our phones are tapped. I am not at all surprised but it is a little weird. I knew my American expectations of sovereignty and privacy didn't exist here. Apparently phone tapping is not very uncommon here as my extended family has experienced it and views it as a sad normal. And perhaps being an American family moving back to Palestine warrants some closer inspection...but I feel bad for the poor sap assigned to listen to us. Our groceries, our play dates, our little life dramas are probably hilariously ho-hum. It would be laughable if I tried to talk politics as I have spent a good deal of my life blissfully ignorant of politics, though I do talk occupied life-- but that's not news. The effect of the occupation is free for anyone to see who has eyes in their head. What a waste of time we are to the eavesdropper.
Which brings me to how I know we are being tapped:
I called Faris's cell phone the other day from our land line house phone. There is only 1 phone in our house on this line. A few seconds into the call a very audible sound: someone picking up an extension, fumbling it, and hanging up or pushing a button that made a loud "CLICK". It took me right back to the days when I would call a friend past bedtime (sneaky teenager) and my mother would try to pick up the extension in her room "quietly". I recognized the sound instantly.
Also, the day before, my cell phone mysteriously stopped working. It registered the calls I missed but it gave the callers a busy signal and I never realized I was missing a call until I looked at my call log. Unrelated? Maybe.
Sooooooo, anyway. Ahem. moving right along...

Laila, at 16 months old, has undertaken to potty train herSELF. Yesterday she climbed up onto the big potty and announced "POOP!", and then did just that. I make no secret of the fact that bribery was involved which explains why every time she climbs onto the potty to pee for pretend or for real, she grins and says, "Choc-lit."
Her favorite outfit: Laila Zaluta! (naked! a very localized word...maybe just used by my family. Not proper Arabic)

Laila wore her first pig tails yesterday. (mosquito bites all over her face. I am told foreigners often have to build immunity to these mid-eastern "namoos". Fine. But the spider bites on her and her brother's face and legs? I'm not cool with those. We have instigated major vacuuming operations to evict the culprits. I love spiders, but right now it feels like its us or them. One bite on Laila's face took 3 weeks to heal, and one on her leg is just strangely hardened, red, and weepy. Sorry for the TMI, but I feel under siege from not only the harsh reality of life here but from the shadows and dust of my own home comes this new threat of spiders invading. Sufyan has also had spider bites on his cheeks. Creepy.)

The pigtails were adorable, of course, but I had a secondary reaction that I am not sure how to admit: I felt overwhelmed. I thought, "I can barely manage getting them both dressed, fed, diaper bag packed, fresh water bottles, snacks, and teeth brushed. Plus I have to dress myself and eat and get ready to go out. Now I will be doing another person's hair, too. We will NEVER LEAVE THE HOUSE AGAIN. It will be nap time before I get them to the car!"

Similarly, when Laila was born, I remember having a moment of holding her and Sufyan at the same time and thinking, "Wow. 2 people's fingernails to keep trimmed now. 2 sets of fingers and 2 sets of toes. HOW?" Laila solved the pigtail problem for me, though. She won't keep them in for more than 30 seconds anyway. She pulls them out saying, "Khalas. Khalas! (finished) No, Mama!"

As for mothering here, I want to share an email I got recently from a mother who reads this blog and who is a native Palestinian raising 2 boys (same ages as my 2). I reproduce part of her email here with her permission, and because it put a lot of things in perspective for me. For example, I'm not insane thinking this is a difficult place to be a conscientious mother. Read:

"I was born here and I've lived in palestine for most of my life.. and still i find it hard on so many levels.. we moved out of here 4 years ago and went to Montenegro (Europe, well kinda) , we lived there almost 3 years and i just could not stay away any longer.. something about Ramallah to me is just so addictive.. i don't know if it's the occupation, the humiliation, the segregation wall, the lack of almost anything to do with the kids outside, the weird mentality of the people, so many things.. but bare in mind, i am from here.. and that's probably the main reason that made me miss all these things.. i am used to them.. i don't know how long you've stayed here so far, but i have to tell you, it doesn't get easier with time, but you get used to it.. and you adapt.. just like the kids group that you've created.. you find ways to keep your sanity..

and let me warn you, after a while, you will find it weird not to have checkpoints and not to have soldiers and wires all over the place... one time i went to Qatar to visit my friend, and we went to a huge supermarket and there was a guard at the door, the moment i saw him, i handed out my bag and opened it for him to check .. the shock on his face was hilarious.. and that's when i noticed, its NOT normal to give your bag for checking every-time you want to go to a public store... :)"

Thank you, Samah. So ok. I have to agree that it doesn't look like it will be getting easier any time soon. I don't believe I have just overlooked some little enclave of like-minded SAHMs or that I am unfairly judging this situation. I will need to adapt, that's obvious. Its hard here. I pick glass and trash out of every playground. My friend who works in an NGO in Jerusalem with Palestinian children says the #1 cause of childhood death is INJURY.

I also received an email from an ex-pat SAHM living in Ramallah, but I cannot excerpt it. She, like me, is struggling. The language barrier, the constant sugar band-aid for whatever ails the kids, the television blaring at everyone's home that doesn't get turned off for anything, the trash, the aggressive kids, the corporal punishment in many schools (and her kids' school in particular, which she has now taken her kids out of and is homeschooling them mainly to keep them safe). It's depressing. It really is hard here.

Kids are aggressive here. The little boy who tried to beat us up while we visited now sits across the street on his porch with his pretend rifle pointed at us while we play in our yard. Kids play rough together, there is no personal space. People don't understand introversion as a personality trait but rather a problem I could deal with by giving Sufyan a good shove into the deep end of preschool. Even people close to me who know we are not putting S in preschool for good reasons keep taking every opportunity to suggest it. That's the other thing. Everyone has advice for me about parenting. The other day I was nursing Laila and our friend's housekeeper stopped and told me, "Khalas! She's too big! Why are you nursing her???" In my limited arabic, all I could tell her in response was, "I love her." I could have told her about the WHOs recommendation on breast feeding for 2 years minimum. Or the AAPs recommendation of 1 year. Or that it is really personal. But I don't speak Arabic that well and moreover I know it doesn't matter what I say.

We had the kids group again yesterday, and it went well. I expect many more attendees next week so I will keep my mind open until then. Maybe this will be a little bit of connection to a community we are building. I serve cucumbers, cheese, cream cheese (labaneh) and pita sandwiches, water, apple juice, and fruit. The kids tumble around the yard and house just like I would have hoped and despite any language barrier they play together. So far, so good.

And I taught my 2nd public class here for Farashe last weekend. It went very well. 5 participants (good for a new class with a new time slot and a new teacher) and all of them were independent agents (as in, no one worked for Farashe). 2 were repeat attendees. Wish me luck as next weekend I begin my 6 week series for stress reduction aimed at NGO employees. I'm nervous. You know, Farashe often thanks me for "appearing out of nowhere" to help them expand. But I should thank them. There have been moments that my commitment to them and my desire to do something good in Palestine is why I have not lost my mind already.

Laila, glowing, at our favorite coffee shop.

Sufyan self-portrait.

Picture of Ramallah by Sufyan. There is a restaurant in that building.

Construction workers burning their trash. Trash is burned here rather than put in landfill. There are several reasons: insufficient space, insufficient municipal trash collection, habit...

Laila said she will catch Mama coming down the slide!

The old home next to the playground. I love the door and the stones.

Sufyan in his new shirt.

Laila surveys another playground. It is shamefully trashed, but it is currently our favorite as it is close and pretty age appropriate.

T-shirts I got them with their names. From my excursion to Jerusalem.

Care packages and Checkpoints.

2011-05-05T05:13:00.028-05:00

On the way to Al-Quds

(We have internet problems for over a week, so I haven't been able to post. One thing I can rely on is the frailty of our internet connection here in Palestine. And by the way, does anyone have any idea how to get baby pee out of a persian wool rug? Elimination (mis)Communication in the Holy Land continues...)

Care Packages

I got my first care packages last week. HOORAH! A surprise digital care package from the incredible momblog that I am a fan of : thebabysucks.com which made me laugh and cry at the same time and a non-digital one from my friend Tammy that I opened with my kids. We were all really excited because Tammy included some cute Elmo shirts for S and L. They took turns wearing the one with the brightest colors. But later, alone, I got a chance to go back and look at everything Tammy sent and I just had to give in and cry. I think it was the used Trader Joe's cloth grocery bag she sent that did it. *SIGH* I'm farther from home than I thought I was, I suppose. I'm so grateful for both care packages.

Al-Quds. I swore I wouldn't, but I did.

I don't want this to be a tourist blog, but I have to post this experience.

I went to Jerusalem.

We went a back road which took us through some pretty intense areas of Palestine and skirted Qalandiya checkpoint for a smaller checkpoint where we were not stopped (our car had the right plates and our driver had the right look. Thank God because as it was this was the longest I had ever been away from my 16 month old daughter and I didn't need to add detainment to that time.)

The Drive Over To the Dark Side

Just as we left Ramallah we went through a kind of no mans land. The Israelis claim it as Israel but it is entirely populated by Palestinians and Israel does not allow them to have any municipal services. Trash is just piling up everywhere. Despite the ban on building it seems buildings are going up, though with no services these are only destined to be slums. Kids playing next to the road. Tires for sale. Trash everywhere. And the now ubiquitous sheep.

Later we passed into the countryside and I was able to see Israeli settlements near to Palestinian villages. Pictures below...

We reached Jerusalem after passing through the minor checkpoint that I mentioned. No pictures of that, of course.

Jerusalem might as well have been another planet. I cannot believe that just 5 or 10 miles away from Ramallah life with its dust and stress and insane traffic is this other life: paved roads, light rail service, restaurants, clean bathrooms, tour buses full of western tourists and their fanny packs all awestruck and smiling (the holy land, after all).

I had to catch my breath! This was closer to Austin than I had seen or felt in nearly 3 months. But at the same time I was quite aware that these were not my people.

I was told that often westerners like it a lot in Jerusalem for exactly the reasons you might imagine. But Jerusalem felt creepy to me. For all the cleanliness I could not forget the cruelty of the settlements that I drove past on the way in.

One settlement that I saw (with my own eyes) has hemmed in a Palestinian village to the point of having pushed boulders in front of the original tunnel entrance (the little white sign reads, "Ahlan Wasahlan"--"Welcome") to reroute the Palestinians to a checkpoint. Here is that entrance:

And the checkpoint they have to go through to get to their own village:

Harassment, dominance, humiliation.

I could not forget the ugliness of the checkpoints.

Or the zealous hysteria that birthed this wall that we could see running far and close throughout our drive.

I couldn't forget the philosophy of apartheid, the results of which we see in Ramallah every day with the trash, lack of basic services, refugee camps, and knock off products. I personally feel the boot heel of Israel on every shekel I spend in that I would rather buy something better or with less chemicals...but all we can get here is what Israel allows.

Closer to Jerusalem we saw lots of street vendors like these:

This guy sells fresh juice from that brass decanter on his back (note the constant backdrop of trash):

It wasn't a comfortable experience to arrive in Jerusalem, but once I got to the old city (the Palestinian quarter) it was a fantastic experience. A feast for the senses, as they say.

The old city of Jerusalem is of course a city behind a wall. Inside the wall is a maze of twisting small streets just wide enough for maybe 4 adults to walk side by side-sometimes wider, sometimes more narrow-and often covered by arched stone ceilings just as if you have entered an underground market. Every street is paved with ancient cobblestones and lined with tiny stores. The city used to be divided into streets for textiles, spices, meat, and so on but now the stores are a jumble of products from fresh meat to jewelry, clothing to spices, cobbler shops to cheap toys. We entered through an huge stone archway and stepped down into the darkness of the covered marketplace.

Immediately I felt like I was in an Indian Jones movie (which shows my age).

It took me a while to feel comfortable.

Israeli police brushing past. Greek Orthodox and Armenian Priests walking past. Hasidic Jews walking past. Kids running past. Everywhere a vendor trying to meet your eye or call you over. Carts rolling past either totally empty or piled with bread and other food.

all around are little passageways leading out of the market and up to people's homes. The streets are so old.

Some beautiful rugs for sale.

And of course I got to

see the Via Dolorosa.

And the church of the Holy Sepulcher.

And the tourist industry does not shy away from holy dollars.

By the end I was LOVING it. I was using the full extent of my limited arabic to get shop owners to say, "For you, because you speak arabic, a good price my friend." A sure sign that my arabic was feeble...but not that I was getting a good price. Ha! I should say that ALL the haggling was done by my good friend Z who is a native Palestinian and who took me to Jerusalem.

The haggling game seems to go like this:

ask him the price, he answers.

you ask him, "no really, how much?"

he answers a little indignantly.

you say something about how there is no way it's that expensive and offer a lower price.

back and forth...until the guy is acting insulted and angry as if you are suggesting his goods are no good. but he offers something lower, although he is insulted. you either reach a price you like, or you are ready to walk away.

The problem I had is that I actually wanted to buy some of the things I had to walk away from, and if I had gone back hat in hand to buy them I would surely have lost the battle and the good price. I am vowing right now I will get good at this bargaining. Its just that I am so midwestern! We blush at the mention of money! How much? You might as well be asking what size underwear the guy is wearing!

Mannequin modesty at a dress shop.

The famous sweet shop Jafar (J3far), where I stopped to have this incredible dessert with Z. We had Mtabba': filo dough wrapped around rich white cheese and soaked in sweet syrup topped with pistachios.

A beautiful spice shop. One of many I saw and smelled.

Nearer the Church of the Holy Sepulcher the streets were open and wider and I LOVED this beautiful door.

Lots of leather shops in the same area.

This part of the Palestinian old city has recently been grabbed by settlers. They simply come and force the Palestinian occupants out. These windows and their Israeli flag overlook the marketplace by the Church of the H. S.

Over all it was an incredible day. I came back to find my kids playing with their cousins and totally happy. I had been gone about 4 hours, the longest L has ever been without me. Faris said she did great---though of course she fell apart as soon as she saw me. S was just happy to see me and bubbling with stories of his day with his cousins. I missed my kids so much, but I'm glad I did this alone. It would have been really hard with a 1 and 3 year old.

This post is long enough. I'll save the mom group post for next time.

Drive Ramallah and Mom group attempt

2011-04-28T11:32:00.002-05:00

(First off, thank you to everyone who commented on, emailed, and called me about my last post-- which was full of desperation. I am always grateful for the support. I wish I could say things are looking up but I can say this: We are trying a new approach. At Faris's urging, we are going to go with my first comment about the situation which was, "If community doesn't exist for you, make one." So we are now attempting to create what may be the first mom's group co-op in Ramallah. We drafted the first email invitation last night. I will put a copy in this post at the bottom. If anyone has any comments about the wording or suggestions, fire away.)

I have really wanted to show people what I see every day here in Ramallah. So I got the idea today that I could make a short video of our drive back from the Plaza Mall where we went to, well, just get out of the house so I would not lose my mind. Keep in mind that this is the prettier way to go. It's the round about way avoiding the one major street here called Radio Street. I hesitate to say this is the back way because I don't want to give the wrong impression that these are actually back roads. These are normal every day roads in Ramallah that I have now driven a hundred times. And here is the video for those of you who have ever wondered what it really looks like here:

Attempting to continue to show you life here, some pictures.
Faris sees this boy and his little brother nearly every day. They play beside the street, and this dirt pile is a slide they have created. One thing that I like about the Palestinian way of life, and of course I am generalizing and in particular creating poetry out of poverty in this case I know, is the way children play with everything and anything. A slide emerges from dirt because there is no playground nearby and no one to buy them a "real" slide. This slide is a testament to the spirit of children. I love it.

This is one of the 3 story staircases up the side of the hills here. This one winds up on the street where the yoga studio I teach for is located.

I see this woman every day. The dress she is wearing is called a Toub. The embroidery is traditional, and I am told the colors are indicative of her being from Ramallah. She, like many older women here, carries parcels balanced on her head.

Our little grape arbor. Yesterday I snipped about 70 leaves from these plants and made Waraq Dawali, or stuffed grape leaves. It was my first attempt and it actually turned out well. Laila loves them, too.

The leaves I gathered.

My first pot of Waraq Dawali! (stuffed grape leaves) made with grape leaves from our backyard.

And while I realize that most of the time one should leave food photos to experts because if not done well the food can look as ghoulish as this picture does, I still couldn't resist showing you our favorite meal. It's called Malfoof and it is stuffed cabbage leaves rolled thin like cigarillos. Lots of garlic, lemon, salt, cumin, allspice, and cinnamon. I can eat at least 20 of these in a sitting. Mediterranean diet? Not if you want to actually lose weight! This pot of Malfoof was made by my mother in law who came to show me how its done. Now that I know, we will have this dish every time I have 2 spare hours to roll all these malfoof....which is to say we will be calling Teta again next time we want some.

And last but not least, this -THIS- was the toy Sufyan got when he put 5 shekels in the machine at the Plaza Mall. Ah, Palestine.

Oh, and here is the mom group email. I will keep everyone updated on this major project. Can a mom's group exist here? We shall see.

Hello!

Our family recently moved to Ramallah and we are excited about finding new friends for our 3-year old boy (Sufyan) and 1-year old little girl (Laila). If you're getting this invitation, it's because we are hoping you share our desire to create a fun, safe, nurturing co-op style playgroup for kids ages 1-4.

Here is the group we are creating:

Kids - We'd like to welcome kids ages 1- 4 to this group, in order to keep the age-range close and maximize the chances of the kids getting along and having a good time.

Parents - Our expectation is that the parents will stay for the duration of the play date at first, but as we get to know one another we can plan to rotate parents "in charge" days in order to give each other some time off (for example having 3 parents on duty to watch 4 kids). Parents who are "in charge" will participate in caring for the group of kids at play. We will strive to provide a positive environment for the kids that is fun, safe and nurturing.
Play - Engaging and imaginative. There will be no videos or TV, and we will encourage outside play as much as the weather will allow. We have a small, enclosed garden with some swings and a slide, an outdoor play-house and an indoor play room with a kids kitchen, little table and chairs, and lots of small toys and books in a baby-proof setting.
Snacks - We will provide healthy snacks (fresh fruit and vegetables, raisins, labaneh sandwiches, water or milk) to snack on. No sugary or processed snacks please and no nuts.
Time and Place - We would love to host the play dates at our home indefinitely, or until the group decides to explore other venues. We'd like to have a regular get together on Sundays from 3 to 5 PM as a start, then discuss other times and / or days as the group feels appropriate.

We're really looking forward to getting the kids together, making new friends and having a good time with you. Please send me an email if you can make it to the first play date this coming Sunday, May 1st from 3-5 PM. Our house is at the end of Al-Tireh Street, behind Shqereh Restaurant, and I'll post a picture of the location map on the group photo album.

yoga bio

2011-04-27T02:45:00.003-05:00

"Ravyn has completed training in various Hatha Yoga lineages and has been teaching yoga publicly and privately for the past 11 years. She has studied with her main teacher Gary Kraftsow of the American Viniyoga Institute for the past 9 years and completed 500 hours of training with him in 2008. Additionally for the past 5 years she has developed curricula for and taught yoga teacher training for a major yoga school in the United States."

That's my bio for Farashe Yoga. It doesn't say that you don't have to be flexible to do yoga, or that you don't have to be "good" at it to come to my class. It doesn't say that I would love to see you in class if you are imperfect, stressed out, or just in need of some space in your mind and body, some quiet space to take stock of how you are doing in this one wild and precious life you've been given. It also doesn't explain that class will be work, but that that work will be worth every moment of focus and attention you apply to it, and that smiling sometimes helps when you feel like you'd rather be anywhere but in that particular pose in that particular moment. I wish it did say all that!

It could also say that I am a full time mom and familiar with how hard it is to take care of yourself when you are a full time caretaker, that birth moved my sacrum somewhere unfamiliar and pregnancy gave me extra pounds that make forward bends feel like punchlines to baby-weight jokes so I understand feeling discouraged.

It also doesn't say that I struggle to keep my yoga practice consistent and often either have 2 kids crawling all over me and climbing on me while I attempt 5 minutes of asana and call that a practice or I'm hiding from them guiltily while Baba distracts them for an hour and that's my practice. It should say that sometimes I feel like my practice places me directly in the light of true peace and sometimes it makes me want to eat chocolate and cry. But it always makes me a better person and a better mom. Yoga. The good stuff is never easy.

SAHM in Palestine (help help! can anybody hear me?)

2011-04-23T13:04:00.015-05:00

I like these colors. We buy spices fresh from a guy who only sells spices (and ropes for some reason) and they taste amazing. Nothing like what I could get in the states...fresher

saffron, cardamon, tumeric, cumin, cumin seed, bay leaves

Isolation and being a SAHM.
When I got pregnant with Sufyan I knew I would stay home with him. I have never regretted this choice but the transition from full time teacher to full time mom was difficult. Friends dropped away to be "replaced" by mom groups. Mom group politics with their mompetitions, mompetitors, mommy cliques, mommy business cards, mommy and me classes, Mommy Holier Than Thou and Mommy More Natural Than Thou made me eventually decided these groups were not worth the effort. The isolation of being a SAHM (mom-solation?) is a fact, though, and women need to be aware of this pitfall when deciding to stay home so they can: A) demand more of their community and B) prepare emotionally and mentally.
Plus the demands on my body from my sleepless infant (thank you Dr. Sears and Mothering Magazine for the insane idea that bed sharing is for EVERY mother and child if only the mother is wholesome/patient/in-tune enough; I'll be sending you my therapist's bills) to birth recovery to nursing and not being able to maintain my yoga practice made the transition to SAHM challenging.

***By the way, any mother of young children you know whether SAHM or no needs a big hug and you to show up with dinner. And a chocolate bar. And time for a shower. If she says "no no no, I'm FINE" she's lying.***

Of course I mean it when I say it was worth every second of hardship. For every difficult moment there were 10 incredible, heart wrenchingly beautiful, God-is-on-earth-and-is-in-the-eyes-of-my-child moments. Ah, sweet sweet agony.

Mom-solation in Palestine.
But here in Palestine my isolation is different.

All day most days my 2 kids and I see only each other until Baba comes home. We go to the parks and they're empty. We go to the grocery store and its me and the employees and sometimes some single other people. No moms. No families. No opportunities to make mom-with-kids-friends. I wave at the mom who walks her 2 year old past our house every day and she just eyes me suspiciously. I've made 2 play dates with the mom across the street (not the one with the kid who tried to beat us up) and she hasn't shown up. This weekend I went to a family get together and met a mom with 3 kids all older than mine and the first thing she asked me was, "Are you considering day care?" "No, but I was hoping that there would be other stay at home moms or mom groups or something here...?" I replied. "No," she smiled, "there's nothing."

She's right. There's nothing. Kids are everywhere here but they are nowhere to be seen. After 2 months of taking my kids to the park during the week I have met other kids exactly 1 time. I finally understand that Ramallah's children are mostly in day care or preschool.

So day after day, most weeks, its just me and the kids and our voices and the wind and the view of the hills. Right now we have cousins visiting and it has been AMAZING to see my kids play with them. They LOVE each other. But they are leaving in a couple of weeks and then its back to our voices, the wind and the view.
I have had moments of losing my mind. I have had moments of despair and thrown the words "I WANT TO GO HOME" around. I get lonely and look at the clock: my friends back home are sleeping. I get lonely and reflexively turn on the radio to hear NPR in the car but of course every voice is in Arabic or Hebrew and it sounds like a wall to me. Even my comfort foods don't exist here. I have no idea where one finds a piece of sourdough toast, though maybe I will try that store I keep seeing called, "Toasty Yummy!". But since this is Palestine and things are not always what they seem its probably a home appliance store. Anyway its a good bet they don't sell toast.
In conclusion, feeling lonely. No end in sight. Losing my mind.

On the bright side, all this time with my 2 kids has made me a better mom to 2 kids. I have honed my art, so to speak. Of course I maintain what I have always said is true, that motherhood cannot be done in a healthy, happy way in isolation. Its meant to be done in community with other families. But all things considered, we are doing ok. SOMEONE SEND ME A PIECE OF SOURDOUGH TOAST.
Here is Laila getting the gold medal for the cutest 15 month old on earth:

And here is a herd of goats crossing the road in front of us 2 nights ago. You might say I am fascinated with the goats but LOOK AT THEM!

More Adjustments

My kids have been sick almost nonstop for about a month. I know its the adjustment to life here (new germs. new allergens. new foods. new people. new stresses.) Before the move I knew I would see my kids get sick here and be more scared than if I was comfortably back in Austin with the Children's Hospital in town. Because any sickness here feels like an unknown, I automatically think it could be anything--a cold or bird flu. How would I know?

Tonight I am a little nervous for Sufyan. I keep thinking about his cough. What if it gets worse or his fever higher? Where do we go? Someone explained to me once where the hospital is but it involved Arabic street names and, well, I haven't gone to see it like I should have. I should have gone there but I'm afraid of what I will see...

We once took Laila to a drop in clinic here to get a urinalysis, and the experience left a bad taste in my mouth. The place was poorly kept and poorly lit. The waiting room chairs had holes and seemed exhausted from all the years of people sitting in them waiting and worrying. The actual patient examination room was so scary that we didn't let any part of Laila's body touch ANYTHING. Not one thing. Diaper change mid-air. The first thing I noticed was the used sharps bucket sitting on the floor. What if Sufyan had walked in ahead of us and reached in for some reason? Kicked it accidentally? It happens. Then I noticed a needle cover left on the examining table and a messily folded old cloth sheet. No disposable paper sheets here. No hand washing sink.
The best thing about medical care here so far is that it's pay as you go (no insurance and its relatively affordable) and our doc makes house calls. So Laila will probably never see the doctor's office and so much the better not only because of the above but also because she is absolutely phobic of doctors and their offices. That's another story.
Easter

Sufyan was sick on Easter and I stayed home with him while Faris took Laila out to see the extended family and have dinner at a nice restaurant

Faris and "the Doot" ready to go. The dress was a gift from Auntie Zeina.

Daily life.

just sitting...oh, here she comes....

world's best, most patient big brother.

sick, but still action ready.

I see these guards every day. Guys like them are stationed literally all over the city to guard important persons or embassies.

Speaking of comfort foods, my dad always made us Peek-a-boo eggs for a special treat. Now I do it for my kids sometimes, and since loaf style breads are not easy to find here this is a pic for my dad: a peek-a-boo egg made with "pita" bread!

window to this world

2011-04-21T09:20:00.006-05:00

(my current favorite window)

I taught my second yoga class in Ramallah on Tuesday evening. We started late, which isn't interesting on its own, but the reason we started late was that Fatah was driving through the Manara in a caravan of honking, yelling, flag and T-shirt waving young men. Traffic was stopped. Fatah had maybe 6 minivan Taxis full to nearly tipping over of testosterone intoxicated shibab (youth). The din was terrific, and the strangeness of the moment as I looked out the yoga studio windows was exacerbated by the fact that I had no idea what was going on. For all I understood of the blaring horns and flags it could have been a demonstration or a celebration. I had the brief idea something big could be starting, that maybe I was in trouble here, or in danger. I asked the only native Palestinian student in the room and she just shrugged--so bored---"Ah. It's Fatah. They're stupid."

Class went well, though I lost my voice because I am out of practice of speaking loudly to a group. I know how to conserve, but I had forgotten.
After class I exited into the Manara and began to walk---past police officers smoking with their guns slung across their chests, past shop keepers closing up, past young men who make me a little nervous, past low stone walls and stairways descending the hillside for at least 3 stories. The evening was beautiful. A light breeze, a big orange sun with a smokey violet skyline, and me walking past buildings so old they look biblical. Across the street and facing these ancient homes are newer buildings, crammed with doors, windows and cars parked everywhere, and topped with the usual big black plastic water reservoirs.

I took a deep breath and realized I have only just begun. I am teaching now, in Palestine. I am trying to put into action what I believe in my heart can and should be given freely here: the tools for deep connection to the higher self. The means of liberation here and now. Yoga. Here in the West Bank for a people so stressed out and strung out and so deserving of freedom.

my terrible arabic

2011-04-18T23:21:00.017-05:00

I'm typing this as I sit under a nearly full moon that is cloaked in haze and silent as a mother looking in on sleeping children. Silent like we don't exist down here. Eons go by, still silent.

But we in Ramallah are not sleeping yet. I hear voices, a dog barks and it is echoing across the hills, somewhere a big truck dumping fill dirt and stones (in a pile in front of something beautiful, no doubt), somewhere a massive machine is pounding something and that's echoing through the neighborhood as well.

I often hear gun shots from the shooting range I am told is nearby (I would believe anything at this point in my experience of Palestine. A war going on nearby but not so near that I need worry about it? I believe. Guards practicing at night in the Wadi? I believe. Celebration? I believe. Shooting range? Ok. I believe.)

I'm a little cold out here. The weather is shifting from summer back to spring again.

The day began pleasantly enough. The morning was hazy and warm. This is from my balcony.

greeting the morning sun

Today I started my day by pulling out of my driveway with my coffee cup on the roof of the car (*shatter*). We were off to find a new park but I got totally lost. After about 25 minutes of passing the Arab Islamic Bank over and over even though I was making different turns (there is no city grid here; it's like every road used to be a footpath and they all eventually lead back to al-Manara) I gave up. By this time Laila was trying to pry herself out of her car seat using her voice.

We did find a beautiful park, where I accidentally dinged the worldview of a class of young Muslim students. It was nothing super significant, but more like a worldview fender bender.

*Sometimes not knowing what to say is better than saying what you don't know you shouldn't say.*

The park, called Family Park, was the playground of a Muslim school (for young boys) and they had recess while we were there. A few were curious enough to talk to me, and one asked me what my name was and told me he was Abdullah. Then he said, "Inti Muslima?" (are you Muslim?) To which I said, "Leh." (Nope.) And he said, "Maseehiyyeh?" (Christian?) "Leh." And he just looked at me and I took the opportunity to do the wrong thing/tell the truth. In my terrible Arabic I said: "Bil Haqiqa, ma 3ndish hatha." (What I hoped meant "In truth, I don't have that." I was trying to say I don't have religion). He smiled, paused, smiled again and left. 2 other boys then came over with the same question to get the same answer. Then Abdullah came back and asked me again, and gave me the same quizzical but polite face. I am sure they understood my words in general, but they didn't know how to respond.

Here in the holy land, one is not allowed to "not have that". The only choices are Muslim, Christian, or Jewish. No "other". If one is not A or B, one must be C. That's all there is and in fact I am now listed on all documents here as Christian.

Faris sounded shocked and amused by what I had said to the students. He told me I had probably confounded them because they don't have any experience with that idea. They may have had no way to understand it. No box for my checkmark, so to speak.

By the way, the boys were really sweet. Curious, funny, sweet school kids. And they laughed when I told them over and over that Sufyan was 3 years old. I had no idea why until I realized later I had been saying Talateen instead of Talateh. I had been telling them emphatically that Sufyan is 30 years old. "Sufyan?", Abdullah had asked me with a grin, "SUFYAN?"

At the Family park, Sufyan picked his sister and I flowers for our hair.

Big girl.

Big boy.

There is another much larger school just down the hill from the Family Park.

This is Abdullah watching the school kids just below us doing group exercise out on the black top. Faris later told me that the big school we were watching was a government or UN run school for the less wealthy kids.

Us watching the school kids.

Dresses do not stop Laila.

We love this park because it has so much going on. Top level for big guys, bottom level for little ones, sand all around.

I also got lost on leaving the park. Near the Manara we saw this cart load of green almonds for sale and, to be honest, I wanted to get a picture of that older woman in her hijab. I am sending for a real camera from the states (tariffs make electronics prohibitively expensive to buy here) and when I do, WATCH OUT. you might actually SEE something on this blog.

As for the rest of the day, it was a comedy of errors. At 6am Laila woke me from a dream about Laila pooping on the floor. From that high point, it went like this:

*left my mug on the roof of the car and drove off.

*got lost trying to find a new park while Laila screamed at me

*rocked the worldview of a class of 10 year old Muslim students.

*cleaned up Laila's poop from the floor (dreams really DO come true!) (had to stick Laila in the bathtub)

*bravely snuck into a neighbor's yard with scissors in my hand like a crazy woman to steal these incredible Lilies. I can't quite determine what lily they are but they might be voodoo lilies or devil's tongue. Anyone know? They are huge. Almost black purple, velvety, and not at all stinky (not corpse flowers).

*dealt with a tandem meltdown about why any mother in her right mind would ever in a million years ask children as old as 1 and 3 to actually nap

*mopped up the massive spill of laundry water caused by me forgetting to put the damn hose back in the toilet before pushing start on the machine (had to stick Laila in the bathtub again for this cleanup)

*lugged a mattress into the sun to try to "erase" the damage I did by giving Sufyan an entire sippy cup of water before his nap.

*made mexican burritos with arabic cheese. mmmmm...no.

*fell in love with my children all over again as they began to actually play together and crack each other up tonight.

Also, this past Sunday was Palm Sunday and here in the birthplace of Christianity this is a big deal. Kids walk to church holding woven palm leaves decorated with flowers and leaves (sha3aneen). And in the Anglican church that I peeked into the foyer was full of tall thin candles and people packing in to hear the beautiful chanting.

The chandeliers of the Anglican church.

The view from the ornate church entryway is this pile of rubble. Fill dirt. This is extremely Ramallah.

My kids. Do they look like brother and sister to you?

Sufyan after the easter parade. I love the colors on this part of the street with the ripped down layers of posters have accumulated over the years. You can see that better in Laila's photos below

At the parade.

Cousins! Mejd and Laila are in LOVE.

S, L, Mejd and his little brother Zane. These 2 boys are seriously fun. We love them, and are so happy they are visiting from the States. I'm already dreading the day they have to go back home...

and this is my favorite photo from the event. It captures my daughter perfectly.

lighten up, Mama

2011-04-15T23:57:00.015-05:00

Farashe yoga center in Ramallah, where I will begin teaching in 2 weeks.

just a typical window, stairwell, Palestinian flag waving outside the window...this is the stairwell up to Farashe. Not sure why, but I found the view interesting and telling (the wires, the boxes on the wall, the old glass in the window, the stone walls that remain cold all the time).

Laila in a basket...Laila's big smile in a basket!

The two of them do this all the time. A basket for each.

Goats:

on the way to a very busy street called Radio Street.

the shepherd is visible here.

when I see the goats grazing here and there between buildings and beside busy roads, I wonder how the heck does a whole herd of goats actually get around town? Taxi?

Well, they walk of course.

"wait for me, Mama!" look at that cute little baby goat.

goats stopping traffic

Language:

Sufyan and Laila are picking up Arabic steadily. Laila has this conversation constantly:

"Marhaba! (hello) Keef Halek? (how are you) Alhamdulaylah (thanks to god I am fine)

or Mabsuta! (happy)"

She woke me up this morning with, "Marhaba! Marhaba! Marhaba! MARHABA MAMA!"

The other day I was trying over and over to get Laila to take a bite of food and finally she yelled at me "KHALAS!!!" (finished! Stop!)

Sufyan can count to 20 in Arabic now, and along with all the words Laila can say he he loves to say, "Leish? (why?)" and "ba3arafish (I don't know)".

But he also likes to have pretend Arabic conversations! I got one on video, which is just hilarious. He starts out with real Arabic and then switches to nonsense that sounds to him like Arabic:

Family:

Cousin Zane (18 months) holding hands with Laila (who loves him and his big brother Mejd)

We attended at festival at the Friends Boys School here in Ramallah yesterday. This is Faris's old school and it was so fun to see where Faris grew up. There was an exhibit of school kids' artwork, street fair food (S and L shared a popsicle covered in Chocolate...a big treat that went like this:

Me: Sufyan, share it with Sister. Give her a bite please." S: Ok (gives a bite). Now I'm going to finish it. Me: Share it with Sister. S: Waaaaaaah. Ok. (gives a bite). Now I'm going to finish it. etc etc etc...
This garden is in the entry to the FBS.

Typical side street in downtown Ramallah. Just showing daily life.

Thanks to all who have commented via facebook, this blog, and sent me emails of encouragement and special thanks to those who shared their expat stories. It helps a lot, and I feel grateful you all are with me.

lists. vignettes.

2011-04-13T03:47:00.009-05:00

My daily view: arabic coffee in a tea glass that I like, and laundry. LOTS of laundry.

Sufyan and Laila.

Sufyan made this list:

Things sufyan likes

1. croissant

2. muffin

3. chocolate milk

4. tooties

5. napkin I like to wipe my hands on

When we get in the car and its hot he tells me to "open my window. my eyebrows are hurting."

Last night he saw this on our washing machine: 1200. And he said, "Look. wahad teneine sifer sifer." He translated the numbers to Arabic.

Laila told us this tonight:

me: "Laila, what are you happy about?"

L: "Rice. Apple Juice. Sido."

(*Sido means Grandpa*)

Laila also refers to herself as "me", and says amazing things (at 15 months) like "Mama with me" when she wants me to hold her hand. She wakes me up in the morning by hovering 1/2 and inch from my face and saying in a sweet voice, "mama kiss" and kissing me. Then she says, "wake up mama!" and if I don't immediately respond by leaping to my feet she starts to lift me up by my shirt.

I'm defeated.

Will baba come from work home and find us still in pjs?

we got dressed at 2:30pm after L had her nap (4 hours after we get up its nap time anyway, right? RIGHT?). We were playing in the backyard when the woman across the street waved us over. She has 2 kids, one big and one I didn't know existed until we walked into her house. The big one is G and he is 4. The little one is A and he's 5 months old. G & A are English names, so this is a Christian family. No doubt, there is even a shrine with the Virgin Mary and 4 never-been-lit candles at the front door. At her feet are the most beautifully embroidered pillows all done in traditional Palestinian needlework of geometric shapes. G poured himself a glass of coca cola while Sufyan picked up a toy gun and asked me what it was, put it to his eye and announced he could see Austin through it. Meanwhile, Laila begged me for "peeeeeeeez nurshes" (please nursing) and the-mom-across-the-street poured me a cup of "Italian" (she made a point of this) coffee. Ok, I thought, she is a SAHM with 2 kids. Good. Great. She can help me with Arabic and I can help her with boredom. And then G grabbed Sufyan hard by the sleeve as Sufyan tried to pull out of his grasp. The mom-across-the-street swiped at her son with 1 hand and yelled, "STOP IT!!!! Habibi...."etc etc etc. but G stopped when Sufyan's arm was pulled fully out of his sleeve and Sufyan was starting to freak. I chalked it up to exuberance. G is quite energetic. But by the time we went running for our lives from the holy upstairs apartment with the mom-across-the-street apologizing and thanking us for our visit, Laila had been punched in the face, sufyan had been threatened with a broom handle, his hair had been pulled, he had been run over by a bike with training wheels, and Laila had narrowly escaped being drop-landed on Wrestle Mania style from a high ledge. And his mom was NOT in control in any way, despite the fact that she beat him every time he acted out violently. G is not energetic, he's fucking crazy.

And spanking doesn't work, World!

I used the term "wild" rather than fucking crazy when Sufyan and I went over the days events later.

After politely but unsuccessfully refusing more coco crispy cereal for my kids (try refusing on behalf of a 3 year old who never sees sugar cereal while someone shoves a bowl full into his hands), we ran for our lives back across the street to our cold but safe house.

So I feel defeated today. Back to square 1 in trying to find mom friends here. I'm SO lonely during my long days at home. but not lonely enough to risk our lives...

outgrowing our american bubble.

(a recent storm rolling into Ramallah)

It started to occur to me that the little envelope of american luxury we brought with us is thinning and becoming less congruent with who we are now. our organic clothes from america. our vitamins from america. my skin care products. our pounds of organic tea. we are outgrowing them, ingesting them, and using them up. Today as I put Laila's jacket on I noticed it was 100% organic cotton and it suddenly seemed like I was a woman putting all her fingers and toes into the cracks of a failing dam: ridiculous. doomed. What was sustainable in America is not at all sustainable here. The organic jacket is clearly a dying breed; a little reminder of our former blissful ignorance of the rest of the world.

there is a gulf now forming between my friends and I, too. Its the time difference, but its also that I live here. Not just overseas, but in Palestine. It was comforting for a little while to read the email threads on my mama's group about which toddler swim class to take, or what music class is best or cheapest, or what baby soap is the most natural brand to use, but now it feels irrelevant and even depressing. What toddler swim class? I am wondering which playground my children are least likely to contract tetanus or get stitches from. (Seriously, Palestine, your children need safer places to play even if there is no green space available.)

When I talk to my friends on the phone I hear them ask me about life here and I listen to life there. But what I can convey about life here and what I can relate to about life in the US is decreasing. Though I remember life in the US so clearly (it was not long ago) I can no longer relate in the way I used to.

Its kind of lonely. You know, being a mom is super lonely anyway, but this takes the (non-organic, fully-glutened, white sugar-sweetened) cake.

Yoga

I have a yoga mat. FINALLY. I was using a non-slip pad from our kitchen rug and it was perfectly fitting for my lifestyle here but YAY YOGA MAT!!!

It turns out that yoga mats are a very pricey item (around $60) and can only be procured in Israel or at great effort here in Palestine. I went with the great effort---of a friend's husband. He went to London on business and he found a studio that would sell him one (after they told him they were basically too busy to sell him one and could he come back tomorrow? to which he said they were basically his only hope between there and Palestine and he was getting on a plane in an hour. Dropping the P bomb: brave and effective.) So I have a mat HOORAY!!!! and am taking a Meditation course tomorrow. I begin teaching here at the end of the month. DOUBLE HOORAY!!! When a community doesn't exist for you, MAKE ONE. And also, more importantly, this is the way I have found that I can use my skill to help here. Its the one thing that, when I think "Get me the hell out of here", keeps me feeling like I absolutely am supposed to be here. It may even be the big "Why I Am Here" answer.

Om Gan Ganpatye Namaha

(Sufyan teaching Laila Adho mukha svanasana)

political graffiti, Birzeit, and global snack food

2011-04-11T05:40:00.004-05:00

Birzeit

We set out last saturday morning early-ish to the nearby college town of Birzeit. The city is trying to reinvigorate it's downtown by holding a small farmer's market in the oldest area of town. Local artisans get together to sell foods, crafts, and art. We got there early, and the light was lovely on the old stone buildings. Birzeit is cleaner, quieter, and more rural than Ramallah.
Breakfast in the car. Mana'eesh. This one is egg and cheese baked onto a thick round bread. The one I had was cheese and olive oil and zatar (strong oregano). LOVE it.

We parked and walked. There were a lot of tiny passageways like this. Tiny, old, and tempting. But I was carrying 2 kids.

The view walking up the old city streets to the street fair.

As we got closer to the fair, there was a tiny door that was dark inside and had a lovely smell coming out of baked foods...it was a very small and very old bakery selling triangle shaped pastry stuffed with spinach and onions and pepper flakes, or cheese and zatar, and small round "pizzas". We bought some of the triangles (delicious, fresh and hot. Tangy spinach stuffing. Salty, savory cheese.) These pics are a bit fuzzy because its just an iphone photo...but still worth seeing.
This is the ancient oven of the bakery. See the tray of coals set on the side?

The baker steps down into the pit and slides pies and "pizzas" in by wooden paddle.

The chimney of the bakery.

We saw a lot of kids riding donkeys. At least 4. And this guy? This guy is terrorizing the little kids (out of view, hiding) by making his donkey run close to them. Big kids teasing little kids looks the same the world over, right? Trade that donkey for a bike and you have the big kids that chased me on my street growing up.

Set into the outside wall of a restaurant.

A house on the square where the street vendors set up. Laila.

Kids riding bikes up the old city street.

This place says something like, "Women's Center, Medical Clinic, Safe Birthing Place." (not translating, just remembering as well as I can what Faris said he was reading on that sign).

A small collage store. The man in charge said his father did all the designs.

This is where the center of the street fair was. Nice VW bug.

I love the colors in this photo. This was just somebody's window and plants.

I followed Sufyan to peek inside this courtyard (these are homes) and found a beautiful little oasis back there.

Sufyan

My kids exploring.

"We are living in fantasy, they are living in denial". My mother in law thought in English the sentiment being expressed is that Palestine is living in the future, surviving, making the best of it while Israel is in denial of the impossibility/implausibility/cruelty/non-tenability of their continued occupation.

Palestine street art in the college town of Birzeit. We saw this on several walls. It's great.

The drive home:

The sign says, "SLOW DAWN".

another view of Ramallah. I love the views of the streets running this way and that, zig-zagging up the sides of the wadi. It highlights the village nature of this growing town.

Beduins. I couldn't get any closer as they were across the wadi. Faris said, "And when Ramallah expands they'll get pushed off that land, too." I don't know that you can see it unless you click on this picture but there are laundry lines hung up drying clothes outside the tent in the center. Immediately a lesson I had to learn in my UT Arabic class came back to me: "Yeskoonu al bedu fi al khiam..." (the beduins live in tents...)

Q: What is missing from this photo of an intersection of 2 roads? A: the same thing that is often missing at the intersection of 2 roads here in Ramallah.

Ramallah

A friend and I went out for coffee at an upscale restaurant called Azure a few days ago. As a (non-native, but 13 years living there) Texan I couldn't help but take a picture of a certain menu item with which I thought I was well acquainted but which it turns out has a human rights agenda all it's own. The mighty Jalapeno Popper goes global:

The palm tree is covering this up, but this is the Best Eastern hotel. I got a kick out of that. There is, by the way, a Days Inn going up here in Ramallah.
When I saw the Days Inn going up I just thought (and said to Faris), "How does Israel expect to maintain this insane occupation? There is even a Days Inn going up here." Days Inn is so mundane, so Western, that it should be going up in some little town in Iowa someplace. Not Ramallah. The rest of the western world is here (to turn a profit, anyway) but they aren't looking. They are seeing everything, because you can't help but see the occupation and its terrible injustice (even if you agree with it the inequity is unavoidably obvious). And Faris said, "They have a captive audience. They sell their goods to us here and we can't get them imported from anywhere else." That is true. It's evil genius. For example, one of the mundane examples that I can provide from my perspective as a SAHM in Palestine, I can't buy half and half creamer that isn't Israeli. And French butter and Irish butter is 15 NIS while Israeli butter is 7 NIS and those are the only choices. No palestinian butter. Nothing "baladia".

Kids

Laila

of course I have to post this. Of course I do. She did this herself, no coaching I swear. And she was so proud...I was laughing so hard I cried. You can tell what she did, what that is, right? It's a maxi-pad. Yes.

asleep after the long morning drive to Birzeit.

she's asleep but we were tickling her to try to keep her awake long enough to get home. but it was useless.

Sufyan

Here is S asking me on a cold day, "But WHY can't I go outside like this Mama? I want to I WANT TO." Yes he's in his skivvies. Wait...maybe he's not...

Sufyan. Obviously. Sweetest boy in the whole world. Obviously.

Cuddle time in the early morning. I know one day he won't want this. He'll be too big and too busy. All too soon. And someday after that I will be wishing and wishing it had never ended. We can't hold on, but we can cherish.

happy dystopia (and Laila turned 15 months today)

2011-04-06T12:44:00.010-05:00

my drive home tonight

This is life inside my head, my heart, and my family.

There is no right or wrong about the decision to move here. I go back an forth almost daily about how great it is to be here and how much I want to go back "home".

The decision to bring a 3 year old and a 1 year old to a country occupied by a hostile, obtuse, xenophobic power was not made lightly.

Some days I absolutely want to leave. Those are days that my kids have been sick and I am afraid to take them to the doctor's office because I am afraid it will not be clean (based on the filthy clinic we took Laila to once) and that we will expose our kids to something worse there than what they came in with. I also want to leave when the kids and I want to go to a park, which in my memory is a green space with room to roam, but simply doesn't exist here. Kids here play in the streets or get taken to the mall to ride obnoxious penny horses surrounded by smoking patrons. My experience with parks here so far is that they are often littered with trash and contain dangerous or broken equipment. Other times I look around me for another stay at home mom with kids in the same general age group as mine and see nothing but preschoolers and day care kids and moms with jobs which leaves me at home wanting adult conversation so badly I stream public radio from Austin just to hear the familiar DJ voices.

I want to leave when I get sick of the Kafka-esque, labyrinth-like infrastructure (I'm thinking of the sewage that ran down our street for weeks and the power outages caused by everything from too much rain to too cold and the non-existant postal service that delivers mail by dumping it in all in one pile on the common area floor of our building for all residents to sort through and the many various ministries of the municipality that keep people lugging paperwork from place to place for simple things like visa extensions or driver's licenses.)

I want to leave when I feel afraid: the need for a TB vaccine, the cancerous stench of the cigarette in nearly every mouth, the non-organic produce and who knows what guidelines for what kind of reclaimed water the farmers used to water the plants or how much pesticide, the visible illegal settlements so obvious to the naked eye right outside my car windows and so invisible to the rest of the world, to say nothing of an actual "war" where children and families are being killed not an hour away.

*pause to breathe*

And then there are the reasons I want to stay. It's breathtakingly beautiful here. The view is so amazing that everywhere I look I want to take a picture. My eyes have still not gotten used to seeing the hills, terraced olive farms, almond and fruit trees, wildflowers, and vines.

Just as beautiful to me are the women in traditional embroidered dresses and head scarves, the men standing over their stores selling fresh fruit and vegetables arranged in lovely heaps and baskets on the street, the vendors selling bread by bicycle, the bakers with their windows open so I can see the hearth and fire, the goats grazing between the buildings. Here there is a feeling of community united in a common struggle. There is room to do good work here, seva, like the volunteer yoga classes I will be teaching at the end of the month. There are new sights, smells, and sounds everywhere; things that I otherwise would only have read about or seen in a movie.

Most of all there is family for us here. There is no way to measure the good that having other people showering love and attention on them does for my children. They belong with family, with people who have a special and loving interest in their wellbeing and daily lives.

Sufyan and Laila have been forming a real attachment and relationship to their grandparents and great aunts and uncles-something sorely lacking in Austin where we were far from everyone we were related to. And then there is the culture that is my children's birthright. I have always envied people who had cultural heritages more than a couple of centuries old and still intact. I have always envied those people who spoke more than one language and understood life from more than one perspective. This is something that I am getting by being here, as well as something my kids get. From now on in their lives they have actually lived here, in Palestine. They will know at a cellular level what life is like outside the Western world and so will I. At a time when the West is experiencing a renewed orientalism with a more sinister bent of Islamophobia, my family and I will have real information from experience what life is like in the middle east. We will be familiar with the words, the language, the culture, the food, the ideosyncrasies of life in the middle east and we will be a de facto part of the call for better understanding and reverence for this culture. We will be helping to open people's minds about this place simply by carrying our love for it in our hearts and being good spokespeople for this part of the world. I only wish I had done this sooner.

So while there are lots of days I think, "Seriously? Seriously? We moved across the world and away from all my friends for this?", there are just as many days when I take in the view from my new window on the world and think, "Thank you, Universe.. Thank you for giving me this chance to be here."

tonight

2011-04-03T23:24:00.001-05:00

tonight i am tired, sufyan had a fever of 102.6 last night but he's fine today.

laila was an absolute wreck for the second half of the day

but I feel content. I love my family.

or maybe i'm too tired to be anything else but tired.

Faris and I took a walk tonight. The kids were with us, of course, but we got to focus on each other for nearly 5 solid minutes of uninterrupted talking (the silence of the stroller) and it was so nice.

up the street from us there is a restaurant that closed. It is being renovated and I loved the tiles and colored glass of the front door (hope they keep it). I hear they are building a night club in its place! A night club at the top of my street. I wonder how that will be...:

And here is the sunset tonight in Ramallah, Faris taking a pic of it as well.

Good night, America.