What's so special about Arab countries anyway?

For a lot of people at home, our perception of Arab countries and people comes from what we see on the news.  War torn lands, refugees fleeing, dictators and human rights abuses are the messages we are bombarded with.  And dismally, for some people and places, this is the case.  But what about the other side of the coin?  There has to be some good, right?

I remember going into an office where I worked last year in Edinburgh and saying 'good morning' to a colleague who literally blanked me and walked on by, clutching her coffee.  There is a definite possibility that this person just didn't like me (I can be annoyingly perky at work) but there is also something about the way we greet each other.

The Arabic language, frustratingly difficult though it is, is rich and beautiful.  There are so many ways to greet each other that form a lovely daily ritual.  My favourite exchanges are between men, calling 'habibi' (my beloved) to each other in the street or across offices, and women, warmly greeting each other with a minimum of 3 kisses on cheeks.    It is not unusual to ask each other several times in one conversation 'how are you?', a pretty little conversational dance I have grown to adore.

This also reflects the slower pace of life and difference in priorities in comparison to what I am used to at home.  In the NGO office where I'm doing an internship, my manager takes the time to chat with me every morning about life and work, it might only be for 5 minutes but they are an important 5 minutes that make my morning positive and motivating.  In the afternoon, the team enjoy an impromptu lunch of  a variety of delicious snacks from the local supermarket, everyone sharing together.  There is an Arabic saying 'salt and bread' which is used to highlight the importance of sharing food together in building friendships, and it's really true.  I love these moments, particularly when someone passes the office and is immediately invited to join us and should refuse a minimum of 3 times before they are allowed to leave!

In Tunisia, I am ashamed to say that for the first time in my life, I saw children as a wonderful part of society as opposed to seeing them as mainly noisy and annoying.  At home, we have parks and cinemas etc, but all too often children are put in adult environments and told to 'behave like grown ups'.  Here, children are allowed to be children regardless of where they are and appreciated as they are.  Thanks to the closeness of extended families, inter-generational relations are also far more common place.

The next one is perhaps a little biased, but hey, it's my blog and I'll write if I want to :)  Imagine, we each had an invitation throughout the day to take 5 minutes to relax, breathe and refocus on what's important.  This is how I feel about the 'adhan', call to prayer.  I love hearing it, I love watching people stop, taxi drivers in car parks putting their heads to the ground seeking peace and refuge from life's daily stresses.  Even if you don't accept the invite, you know it's always there!

Finally, it's the feeling of being safe, which being a woman in this world is more of a luxury than a right.  It may sound strange to say I feel safe in Palestine, of course I'm talking about personal safety and as a visitor I am not living the same experience as Palestinians of checkpoints, soldiers and daily violence committed against them.  However, in the Ramallah streets or in the avenues of Tunis, I feel protected.  Palestinians lived for years without formal law enforcement like police, well respected community leaders were responsible for justice and did so through mediation.  No justice system is perfect but perhaps the sense of 'us' as a community as opposed to 'us and them' created a greater sense of security.

I would like to end this post by sharing an Arabic proverb with you which reflects my experience of living in Arab countries, with the kindest people I've ever known;

Ahlan wa Sahlan (welcome)

It has been my dream to visit Palestine for 10 years, and finally, I am here.

Palestine doesn't have its own airport or control over its own borders because of the Israeli illegal occupation of the land so I, with a heavy heart, flew into Tel Aviv.

On the British government travel advice page, people flying into Israel are warned that their personal email and social media accounts may be accessed by Israeli authorities as a condition of entry.  Any evidence of intention to visit Palestine is mostly likely to result in hours of questioning or immediate removal - first flight home and banned from Israel.  Having a Muslim name or if you have visited other Arab countries are also likely to lead to refusal of entry.  'Security' is the reason given for such blantant racism.

So because of my birthplace, name and a little luck, I was paid little attention to and passed through immigration without problem. 

A family I met in Tunisia collected me from the airport and I spent my first days with them in their home in Ramallah.  Whilst I would like to publicly thank everyone here who has shown me great kindness, and tell their stories, at this stage I am apprehensive to do so in case of any repercussions for them by the Israeli authorities.

Ramallah is a very cosmopolitan city, with cafes, bars and restaurants and a wealth of internationals who work, volunteer or visit.  However, the apartheid wall which separates Israel from Palestine and is illegal under international law, is a cruel reminder that this is anything but a normal city for its inhabitants.

Crossing checkpoints can take hours and you never know how long Israeli soldiers will make you wait or why.  I've heard countless stories of women giving birth at checkpoints and others dying there, unable to pass even by ambulance.

Now I'm living in a refugee camp in Bethlehem supporting an artist who has a disability.  The camp has had soldiers raiding homes in the night twice since I arrived 2 days ago. This is life for Palestine's children. Yesterday we heard about an Arab bus driver who was beaten and hung by Israeli settlers, he was 32 years old and a father.  The news reported this as suicide.

Today, 4 Israelis have been killed in Jerusalem and it has been reported as 'the most deadly terror attack in 6 years.'

This year over 2000 Palestinians, including women, children and the elderly have been killed by the Israeli forces and settlers.  The violence committed against Palestinians happens every second they breathe with every house demolition, every soldier occupying heir land, every checkpoint, every blocking of food and medical supplies and every tear gas canister and bullet fired.

The prime minister Netanyahu has already promised a heavy handed response, which we know means the collective punishment of all Palestinians.

Going home

On 20th August, I began my long journey from Edinburgh to Tunisia, stopping in London and Paris. When the plane finally landed in Tunis, I was overwhelmed with nostalgia and as the doors opened, I took a long, deep breath.

Home.  I was finally home.

How I had longed for that day, to have a Tunisian stamp in my new passport, to be greeted with 'peace be upon you', to hear Arabic again, to travel down streets called 'Rue Pakistan' & 'Rue Palestine', to disregard seatbelts and queues and to throw myself into the busy crowd and get lost forever, in jasmine and sunshine.

It's strange to go back somewhere you never really left.  Tunisia has become such a part of who I am, I can't ever leave it behind.  This time, I was there for a wedding and to visit friends and a very important little girl.  But I was also there to see if everything I felt remained.  Was 2012 merely a happy period of my life or could I have new stories, new love and life in Tunisia?

As soon as I seen Lucia, the Italian other half of me I felt myself again, maybe for the first time since I left.  We hugged in the street outside the big mosque in 'Passage' and I grabbed a fistful of her lovely little curls as I always did.  She'd stayed on after I left and was making a new home with her Tunisian half :)  As she had to work, I made plans to catch up with old and new friends in Tunis before we would travel to Sousse together.

I made the decision to meet up with someone I knew only via Facebook due to our shared love of Palestine.  I was a little apprehensive but oddly, less so than I would be in Edinburgh.  Wrongly or rightly, I have always felt safe in Tunisia.  Jihed met me with gifts of jasmine and flags from the greatest countries on earth - Tunisia and Palestine, ofcourse.  We met his sister, a writer and had a fantastic lunch in a rooftop restaurant in the medina.  They invited me to a concert at night in Carthage, Roman ruins overlooking Tunis.  To my delight, it was Shadia Mansour, a rapper from London and I was lucky enough to meet her at the end of the night.  In less than 24 hours, two people who had never met me before, gave me one of the most special days of my life.

Returning to Sousse where I spent the best year of my life was extremely emotional for me.  In one city I found myself, found soul mates & family, found love and the life I had always dreamt of.  I guess I was a little scared that my feelings would have changed, that maybe my city had become too intertwined with my feelings for the man I fell in love with there.  But very quickly I remembered that actually, my heart belongs to Tunisia, before anyone else.

I will always have a reason to go back and it's not because of one person, it is because of every person.  Jalel, my dear mentor and his wonderful family who always welcome me like their daughter and sister.  AJMEC and its members - the association who took care of me and even gave me a place to stay this time around.  My sister Mariem, who makes such a difference to this world, breaking barriers and prejudices simply by being her wonderful self, she inspires me everyday.  The beautiful little girl living in SOS children's village in Akouda, who threw her arms around me and brought peace to my heart.

Until next time, n7ebbekom (I love you all) x

'' Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is."   - Louis de Bernières