by Shahla NaimiTrumbull College, Yale 2012
I went out to dinner with Americans and Palestinians Thursday night at a restaurant 20 minutes north of Nablus to celebrate the arrival of a new bus bringing children from refugee camps to a small school in Nablus.
The bus does not allow kids to eat inside, but has trays for food and drinks. Some of the kids are illiterate and the vast majority do not know English, but there is a “STOP” button should a child need to exit the bus. Yet, the kids wait for the bus in the hot sun for hours, excited at the chance to go to school.
We, the local Palestinian and American teachers and staff members of the school, did not bother to hide our enthusiasm as we traveled outside of the city for dinner, taking the same bus that carried our new students. We hardly ever leave the city, and never before with Palestinians. But we left. And we had a wonderful dinner, laughing and bonding.
By the time we finished dinner it was 9 PM: it was finally dark enough for the driver to turn on the neon blue lights that line the bus’ inner rows – something we were all eagerly awaiting. It did not disappoint and, for a few minutes, we all sang and danced (hunched over) in the tiny (and not very tall) bus to the roaring sound of the radio. Jamila*, an extremely well- educated Palestinian woman in her 30s, forgot her nervousness, about the 3 times her mother and father called telling her to come home, and she sang along with the music. She sang. He sang. We all sang together right until we approached an Israeli military checkpoint.
And then we stood and clapped. We smiled and continued louder than before, expressing happiness as almost an act of defiance against the restrictions.
We passed 3 checkpoints during our drive.
Two soldiers at the first smiled and clapped. The second set of soldiers looked confused, not registering why this bus of Americans and Palestinians were so happy. The third set simply looked irate, wanting to wave us by as soon as possible to get rid of us. But we continued for that half hour dancing and singing, not caring what the world thought.
Yes, most of the women did not strip loose their coverings and shake it in the aisle, but they did shake their shoulders and widen their smiles. We respected one another while letting loose a little bit, something we all desperately knew the others needed.
Humans have innate rights to basic food and shelter, security and the pursuit of happiness. And they have the right to fulfill the pursuit: to latch onto it at 9 PM at night in the dead of the night in a city where there are no lights illuminating the road, where the young sports teacher remembers who killed his father.
And, in all that happiness, there was the moment when that sports teacher, Ibrahim*, became quiet. Here was this young, lanky, 25-year- old sports teacher, who lines his 5-year- old kids up in a line holding hands and leads them to a room where they can be together and have juice, sitting in a bus with cheering Palestinians and Americans. And for what reason? For what reason but to refuse to give up their right to happiness despite the occupation of their homes? Ibrahim stood and danced, he sang and clapped- but he did not forget that only last year that clapping, smiling soldier killed his father in his home.
He did not forget, and so he remembered what his kids go home to and the dangers they face. But what can he do for them but to tell them he is there- there to throw a soft ball at them and teach them how to catch it? What can he do when he knows what he goes home to – a home without a father?
Happiness is here. It is evident with every car horn celebrating a wedding or young mother having her first child. But still, the occupation remains. The reminder is everywhere and it always pops up; always creeps into the bus and reminds this young man that although a soldier may smile and clap he is there for a reason. Why, the young man wonders, does he himself have to go through the checkpoint in the first place? Why does he no longer have a father?
*All names have been changed.
