Posting 4- Ramallah: A Day on the Job with Anwar- 03 April 2008

Amy had to part with us early. She was to attend a meeting at AMIDEAST, an educational institution with offices across the Middle East (http://www.amideast.org/programs_services/advising/ramallah/default.htm), for a meeting regarding opening a partnership between the University of Montana, Amy’s school, and AMIDEAST and, more specifically, creating exchange programs on both ends. Amy and I planned on going in with Anwar to his central office and watching the man at his work. I was particularly excited to watch this person whom I’d traveled, observed, and, basically, lived with over the past three days operate within his professional element. With that said, after a hearty run, during which I passed both the Beth El Israeli settlement and a Palestinian refugee camp, Alicia and I saddled up and, along with Anwar, were out the door, heading to his office across town (by the way, Ramallah is a sprawling city, much of which is perched upon a hill, as is Anwar’s flat, with homes and businesses spread out and many buildings quite similar in appearance. Also, some of the buildings were so large that it was difficult to know if a single family lived there or if, as is more likely the case, they served as apartments for several families).

Anwar’s office was much as I’d expected- sheik, simple, but altogether stylish. He had everything he needed: a laptop, meeting table, dining table, and impressive library perched atop a lovely bookshelf. On his desk, a picture of his three daughters no doubt made the grueling hours of pouring over expenditure and repayment reports more bearable (these reports’ benevolence depends to a large extent on the condition of political stability in the West Bank and Gaza, and so Anwar’s job in recent months has been quite challenging; still, Faten has managed to operate profitably dating back to at least 2005, the most distant year for which I saw data). He set straight to work, responding to mounds of e-mails, speaking with fellow staffers, but still managing to find time to joke and speak with us. We learned that he would be meeting with a representative of the United Nations’ Millennium Development Goals team in Palestinian Authority-controlled region. Apparently, the agent was hoping to win a partnership with Faten for a new initiative to help blue collar workers in the West Bank and Gaza formalize their operations. The EU had been designated as the primary funder, and Faten’s good name and reputation would provide a valuable asset to the man’s proposal.

Shortly after the lunch, his team arrived. They brought with them posters advertising a law recently passed by the PA emboldening and expanding the rights of women in the workplace (I happily took one of these home with me as a souvenir, though it became quite an object of inquiry and mystery amongst security guards at the Tel Aviv Airport, who were curious as to why I would bring home a poster with text in Arabic given my lack of knowledge in the language). The meeting ran long and, conducted primarily in Arabic, largely went over my head. Still, my discussion with the UN Rep. before the talks began led me to conclude that he was a hard-working, passionate man, and I felt he had a clear and good mission to expand the opportunities of small Palestinian business actors to formalize. A strong proponent of economist Hernando De Soto’s theory on formalization (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hernando_de_Soto_(economist)#Main_thesis), I believe that expanding the legal rights of economic actors represents a great way for them to earn a secure, sustainable living. When the meeting finally ended and the contingent departed, I felt confident Anwar would agree their proposal. Still, he had many qualms and said he needed to think about it but probably would not agree. He said that he received many requests like this that were high on plans but lacking in details, as he claimed this one had been. I felt disappointed but understood that a person in Anwar’s position, with a world of good intentions but an extremely limited budget, must make difficult decisions such as these. I reckon making these types of tough, but ultimately necessary, judgments represents a key component of effective business. I am still learning in this area.

I believe that Faten offers hope for Palestinians. It offers economic assistance to those who have talent and ambition but lack the financial resources to expand their vision. We all know that people living in desolate economic conditions can be driven to do crazy and, often, destructive things. With Faten offering market-based solutions to these problematic situations, it seems as though its efforts should be boosted more by lawmakers in Washington in the form of increased funding from its principal backer, the United States Agency for International Development. After a day on the job with Anwar, I concluded he is a passionate, effective banker, and his group’s vision for, and commitment to, a better life for Palestinians across the West Bank and Gaza represents the right way forward for this troubled area, all too often let down by the constant wrangling of ineffective, often out of touch political figures.

Ken and Kathy Kloeppel: Living Life the Right Way

Ken and Kathy Kloeppel were married in 1978, thirty years ago. They met as young teachers at Sandia High School, actually beginning work at the school on the same day. Remarkably, twelve days after meeting Kathy, Ken knew that she was the one for him, proposed marriage, and, having received the answer he wanted, the young couple began making plans for their wedding (Ken, if there’s some secret to your success in courtship, I suggest bottling and selling it, my friend- it could help you get that woodworking shed you so desire!).

Both Ken and Kathy had upbringings in and around New Mexico, with Ken moving around New Mexico and the Texas panhandle as the son of an oil company representative and Kathy growing up in Albuquerque’s South Valley. In their childhoods, both Ken and Kathy seemed to have learned the value of hard work, family, and optimism, qualities they strongly exude and that anyone they meet quickly picks up on. The first time I met Ken and Kathy was at a recital for their daughter, Jenna, a good friend of mine from George Washington University. From the first minute, I could tell that each of Jenna’s parents were happy, energetic, and kind people. I liked them instantly.

I’ve come to know Ken and Kathy better through various stopovers in Albuquerque during which they allow me to park my van in front of their house as I make my way off for one type of trip or another. Whenever I stop in, I enjoy marveling at Ken’s latest paintings (he is of professional quality and presents and sells his work at many local vendors, as well as arts shows throughout the Albuquerque area). He obviously takes pride in his work and the locations he paints. Ken loves visiting and exploring New Mexico’s myriad beautiful natural areas and often simply packs up his truck, finds a road, and spends a day sketching, painting, and reveling in our state’s breathtaking scenery. Ken even gave me a poster, which features one of his paintings and hangs proudly in my room now. I hope that Ken will be able to visit my classroom later this spring to present a lesson on paining and art, more generally, to my kids, who love the subject.

Kathy was a dedicated school counselor before retiring four years ago (Ken retired ten years ago). She is a friendly, warm, and compassionate person, qualities that carried through to, and are quite apparent in, her daughter. Whenever I pass through, Kathy always sees to it that I have everything I need and is a great discussant. I love hearing her talk about Jenna because she is so proud of her. She seems to enjoy nothing more than watching her daughter grow and develop. I hope to take so much pleasure in watching my children grow.

Ken and Kathy bought their home, which is neat, well-decorated, and a place in which it is extremely easy to be comfortable, in 1988. After three years of teaching, Ken had saved up enough money to make a down payment on a home of his own, and when he and Kathy married they sold their houses (she had managed to buy one, as well) and moved into a smaller home a few blocks away from where they currently live. There is nothing flashy or fancy about their house, but they simply have everything they need and have obviously taken pride in keeping the place up during all these years. It’s inspiring and exciting to note the way in which Ken and Kathy take so much joy in life’s simple pleasures: painting, reading, discussing, cooking, and television, to name just a few. While she was never an artist herself, Kathy is Ken’s top critic, and he insists that his work is vastly better because of it. She makes me realize things I never would have, he says, and they show me a painting hanging in the living room that Ken was ready to throw out before Kathy made some suggestions and is now one of her favorite of his works. I asked Ken about the couple’s economic success over the years, and he said that simply keeping your head down and not over-extending on your resources is a recipe for happiness. I agree. It’s a simple and powerful argument. He said it amazes him sometimes how much people try to live beyond their means, when the best things are not really that costly. Many people say that, but, in the case of Ken and Kathy, it is really meant. Here is a couple that is healthy, happy, and content. These are everyday heroes, folks. They’ve raised a successful daughter who is passionate and deeply committed to doing her part to improve the world. Excitingly, they’ve given Jenna every opportunity to succeed, and, even more importantly, a sense of gratitude that makes her thankful for these opportunities and capable of fully utilizing them. It’s a pleasure to know Ken and Kathy Kloeppel. They represent a case study in living life the right way.

Posting 3: Jayousi- A Night to Remember, Friday, 04 April 2008

Leaving Ramallah was not easy. I’d made such good connections amongst Anwar’s immediate family, which consists of a strong, hard-working wife and three, brilliant, funny, and talented daughters, one of whom is quite mischievous and gives Anwar fits. Still, as I left the flat in Ramallah after a wonderful morning run through the hills around his home and past the Beth El settlement and a refugee camp from which I met two boys, who asked me if I was Israeli. It was a good, challenging run, and I made my way home in time for a hot shower (which was nice but made me fell somewhat bad because Anwar’s family, like most Palestinians, have water tanks on their roof that are refilled once per week, making water resources quite scarce) and breakfast of, you guessed it, pita and hummus. It was good to be with the family (almost all of them as one had already left the house for exams at her university) one last time during the trip.

After breakfast, we moved. The plan was to stop in at some villages and towns before ending up at Anwar’s boyhood home of Jayousi, a small village north of Nablus. The first stop I recall was at a moderately sized city call Qalqilyah. Qalqilyah has something of a notorious reputation because it has only one entry point and is entirely (literally) surrounded by the security wall. To get a better idea of how this looks, examine the shape of the upper-case ‘Q’ I typed in the name of the town. Now, pretend the small line coming out of the ‘Q’s’ bottom is the road leading up the town. The place where the line hits the circle is the checkpoint, and the circle is the security wall, which encloses, that’s right, the town. This is how Qalqilyah looks. The checkpoint at the entry into Qalqilyah is open for roughly 50 minutes per day. The city does not have a mature, well-functioning hospital. For advanced medical treatment, its citizens must travel Nablus. Between Qalqilyah and Nablus exist 11 checkpoints. If you can get through the checkpoint going out of Qalqilyah, it can take an hour or more to get to Nablus. I would imagine that an ambulance carrying a woman in labor has an extremely difficult time navigating the pass from Qalqilyah to Nablus quickly enough for the patient to receive proper care quickly enough.

As we moved through the city of Qalqilyah, we observed empty streets filled with boarded up building and sleepy sidewalks. What we were told was once one of the West Bank’s busiest commercial centers had been largely abandoned. Ghost towns refer to places in the U.S. that were, at one time, bustling hub of economic activity but that, for one reason or another, had largely dried up and become depressed. We have ghost towns in New Mexico. Qalqilyah is a ghost town in the West Bank.

Once we moved from Qalqilyah, we started to move closer to Jayousi. Earlier, when Anwar began looking for the turnoff from the highway, Anwar became a bit dismayed as the road was covered in rubble and impassable. We, instead, had decided to proceed to Qalqilyah to see that city, find a way to Jayousi, and then, we later returned to a city called Azzoun, near where the previous turnoff to Jayousi had been, and began to make our way toward Jayousi’s village. Finally, we found our route and slowly, but surely, entered Jayousi, a small town whose streets are littered with small grocery stores, houses, and a mosque. Finally, we came to the house of one of Anwar’s brothers, Manour. We hopped out and greeted Manour, a tall man who spent time working in the states before returning to the West Bank. We were to store our things and sleep in the home of one of Anwar’s brothers who lives, primarily, in Israel, working as a taxi cab driver. He’d been one of the few who had gotten the special permits required for Palestinians to enter and work in Israel after the Second Intifada began. The house was large, multi-storied, well-decorated, and comfortable. After a brief talk with Mansour in his house next door, which was similarly, large, nice, and comfortable, we began to move down the street, further out of town, towards the fields that Anwar’s family used to work. Rows and rows of olive trees lined the space, and Anwar began to tell us more warm stories about spending hours under the sun with his family working the fields as a boy. Before long, we also came to a greenhouse that, we were told, was ran by an older man who’d received a loan from Faten and was now doing quite well. The farmer came out to greet us, and said hello with great respect and warmth to Anwar, which is true for about everyone we saw in his hometown (he’s like a king there). We were then able to enter the greenhouse and pick out a selection of vegetables, including tomatoes and goodies with which to make a fresh salad for lunch. As we emerged from the greenhouse, the farmer’s wife had prepared for us some sweet, piping hot tea, which we sat down and drank under a warm, clear sky, overlooking Anwar’s family’s fields and enjoying an altogether pleasant scene.

After the tea, our real adventure began, and, again, I ask readers to proceed with an open and even-handed mind. Our next stop was at a home directly across the street from Anwar’s brothers’ houses. Apparently, the owner was the husband of Anwar’s cousin and had had a recent stint in a West Bank prison (no walk in the park by anyone’s measure). As soon as we entered the home, the former inmate ushered us in graciously, immediately, of course, offering tasty coffee, which was followed by fresh fruit juices and chocolate. Straight up—it’s fun to visit Palestinian households! As we sat down, the talks, as they so often did during our stint in the West Bank, turned to politics. Our host expressed a longing for Israel to return to the border established before the War of 1967, also known as the ‘6 Day War’. He, moreover, lamented the violent state of affairs currently besetting Israeli-Palestinian affairs and expressed a strong desire for a turn to a more peaceful time.

Now, consider this.

Before we entered Anwar’s cousin’s husband’s home, Anwar made it clear to us that he had spent time in a Fattah (the Palestinian political party of Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas) prison because he was a Hamas (the Palestinian parliament’s ruling party). Hamas has drawn the ire of many throughout the world for its stated desire to eliminate Israel. Knowing this, I questioned our host further on the issue. He claimed, and said he was walking the official Hamas party line in this, that, were Israel to return to the borders established prior to the 6 Day War, which are the borders advocated by U.N. Security Council Resolution 242, then Hamas would lay down its arms. I found his comment thought-provoking. As I left the house, the reality dawned on me that we’d just had a reasonable discussion with a Hamas party member. We were never in danger. We were never antagonized for our country of origin. In fact, I like to think that our conversation at least helped all parties better understand one another. It’s interesting what can be accomplished when folks simply sit down with one another for an honest and open discussion.

It was supper time. The smell of barbecue emanated from an open grill firing away in front of Mansour’s house. Babies and young ones sauntered in front of the house, basking in the glory of the cool, evening air. One of Anwar’s friends, whom, he told me, had something of a mental disability came by and began talking politics and soccer. He told us soon after beginning his commentary, that he’d recently one the Palestinian soccer championship, though, judging by the skills he’d soon display, I must say that I doubt this is the case. Still, I found his company enjoyable.

We began another wonderful meal as the sounds of evening set in upon Jayousi. The evening call to prayer rang out, and the town was alive with movement. We knew that, on this night, we were in for a special treat, as a large wedding ceremony was to take place at the central mosque. Alicia and I’d witnessed a Muslim wedding during our first night in the region in Jaffa, and we were now ecstatic about the opportunity to observe one in a more intimate manner. We savored our dinner and found particularly tasty the salad that was made with the fresh vegetables donated us from the greenhouse run by the Faten loan recipient with whom we’d met earlier. As the meal concluded, we shook our heads in near disbelief at how nicely we’d been treated and welcomed in this community.

Before the wedding, we stopped off at the home of another of Anwar’s brothers, which was located near the mosque. At this stop-in, we had the special treat of meeting Anwar’s mom, an 83-year-old woman who’d no doubt seen more than anyone’s fair share of change and hardship, but, in her family, had also known immense joy. Anwar’s mother greeted us in unrestrained Arabic, either unaware of, or unconcerned by, our utter lack of ability to speak or understand the language. In either case, we were fundamentally charmed by this warrior of a woman. Of equal charm was Anwar’s 12-year-old niece who was as eager as anyone I’ve ever encountered to display to Alicia, Amy, and me her developing knowledge of the English language. We talked with her about her school, our families, our homes, as well as the Middle Eastern version of ‘American Idol’, the name of which I forget (help Alicia and Amy…). It struck me as interesting that this young, dynamic person would be so eager to display her knowledge of English and Western culture. I think that we like to focus exceedingly on the cultural differences that distinguish us instead of honing on the attractive point in our unique traditions (not that I necessarily think American Idol or like-minded shows in the Middle East constitute the best that Western Culture has to offer!).

Again, we moved. As we approached the wedding ceremony, our suspicion that women and men would be separated was confirmed. Alicia and Amy decided, then, to observe the evening’s ceremonies from the roof of the building in which we’d visited with Anwar’s mother. I, however, had my sights set on the celebration’s dancing festivities. Anwar advised me that we’d wait until the show really got going, letting the excitement truly take hold. I stood with him in the plaza near the mosque and observed amazed as, literally, dozens of people came up to shake his hand, kiss his cheek, or both. The man was truly in his element in Jayousi (perhaps the launching ground of a future presidential bid?). The action intensified. A quarter sang enthusiastically to fast-paced music as young men moved into a circle, and, as an incredibly synchronized unit danced in a way that reminded me somewhat of River Dance. They locked arms and began pounding their feet furiously on the dancing platform. I wanted in.

Kindly, Anwar connected me with an older man who runs a small, animal farm across the street from Mansour’s home, which we’d briefly stopped in at earlier to take in the sights (and smells- good times). The man spoke reasonably good English and began giving me instructions as to how I could hold my own in the circle. Our arms locked, he began taking me, slowly, through the motions. When the time came to join the circle, we pounced. I eased my way into the dance, working hard to stay focused and keep pace with the young men around me. A ringleader of sorts seemed to be leading the group, ensuring that no one entered the circle at an inappropriate time and also dancing and clearly enjoying himself. Dancing, it seemed, set these folks free in a way that I’d not yet observed. Sometimes, subdued, often pensive, I’d not yet seen a group of Palestinians let loose in this manner. It was awesome, harmonious, and altogether beautiful. I feel funnily and pitifully behind in the pace but enjoyed myself tremendously. I’d just taken part, first-hand, in a Muslim wedding. I marveled at the unforgettable nature of my trip.

After joining Anwar to give a financial contribution to the groom to set him off on the right track in his marriage, I began to make the walk home. I advised Anwar to go ahead, as I’d like to take in the sights at a slower pace. At this time, something unbelievable happened. I poked my head into a small building, in which I observed a ping-pong table and two young warriors going at it, pounding the ball back in forth with the speed and precision of professionals. Anyone who knows me knows I love few things in life more than some good pong. I entered the room and, in time, made my way to the table. Restricted by language, we connected through the harmony of the game and began to move in stride, hitting the ball back and forth, back and forth. Slowly, onlookers began to trickle in off the street. By the time the game had begun, a good twenty-five adolescent and young men had crowded the ping-pong hall to observe the looming battle.

Not to toot my own horn, but I don’t lose much in ping-pong. In fact, dating back to last year, I could not recall having dropped a game (aside, ironically, from one match against a player of mine on the Gallup High School tennis team, who is, ironically, Palestinian and from Ramallah). The game developed, and the room divided roughly evenly, with nearly half the crowd supporting me, the newcomer, and the other half supporting the native son. After each point, roars came out of the enthusiastic crowd, emboldening our play and pushing us to reach deeper and deeper into our skill set. I took the aggressive, but my opponent proved to crafty and defeated my 21-16. I played freakin’ awesome, but he was too much. I made my way out of the hall on a high, hugging and shaking hands with several of the onlookers. I couldn’t believe this was happening. A Muslim wedding, ping-pong in rural Palestine- was this a dream. After being escorted by five young local residents and giving a brief commentary on the merits of Senator Barack Obama and what he would bring to the realm of foreign affairs as president, I reached Anwar’s brother’s house, brushed my teeth, closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that my dreams could be half as wondrous as the day I’d lived in the West Bank.

Posting 2: Nablus- Saturday, 05 April 2008

[A word of caution: After spending eight days in Israel and the West Bank, I have many thoughts and emotions running through my head, the intensity of which I can scarcely recall having felt. Though it is difficult for me to do so, I will attempt to describe my adventures during this life-changing trip in as objective and apolitical a manner as possible. Still, here or there, an opinion of judgment may shine through that some find offensive or inappropriate. If so, my only desire is that you come to me with your concern, as opposed to shutting me down entirely. As was powerfully reinforced during my trip, I believe that it is only from open and honest dialogue that people truly resolve their differences. Please, keep this in mind as you read my account. Thank you. Enjoy.]

In honor of one of my favorite episodes of Seinfeld, unquestionably the greatest show to ever grace a television screen, I’ve decided to retell my unforgettable journey to Middle East in reverse order. Aside from paying tribute to Seinfeld and company, doing so will allow me to describe details in greater, clearer detail, as unloading my mind of the freshest memories in thoughts will lay the groundwork for a more effective relaying of events that took place during the opening days of my adventure. I hope you enjoy!

Posting 2: Nablus- Saturday, 05 April 2008

“Let’s move,” said Anwar, as he so often had over the last four days, a time filled with experiences that will, no doubt, redefine my life. Still dusting off the sleep from the previous night’s action, during which I partook in a wildly energetic bout of dancing at a Muslim dancing ceremony and humbly bowed in defeat to a talented Palestinian teenage ping-pong wizard (I lost 21-16) in front of roughly 30 people, Alicia, Amy, Anwar and I slowly made our way out of Jayousi, Anwar’s boyhood village, and made our way toward Nablus. With this being the last full day of my trip (or so I thought), I was filled with mixed emotions. I felt happy and exceedingly fortunate to have had the adventures I’d had, met the wonderful people I’d met, and learned the extraordinary and extraordinarily powerful lessons I’d learned. I felt sorry because, in a few short hours, I would leave my friends behind to make my way back to the United States. I also felt energized, motivated, tired, frustrated, in love with my experience, and lost in the task before me: perhaps it is this emotional cornucopia that clouds the mind of anyone who becomes so close to, and impassioned by a cause in need of reform as they try to discern ways in which they can best help. I wondered, and continue to wonder, whether Gandhi, Kink, or Mandela felt this way at the outset of their long journeys in pursuit of justice. I imagine they did and that, as King said, the ultimate measure of a person is how they respond in such moments of challenge and compromise. I left Jayousi with a cluttered mind.

As our car made its way from Jayousi to Nablus, we made, as all Palestinians must (Anwar is a Palestinian man), our customary stops at Israeli checkpoints. Our first attempted entry into Nablus, a bustling city of a few hundred thousand situated in a valley in between two mountains, one of which is, according to some religious traditions, rumored to be the location from which God gathered the dust to create Adam, failed. Anwar, attempting to drive his Volkswagen into the city, was stopped by guards and informed that only Palestinians with special passes, including those of acceptable non-governmental and humanitarian organizations, were permitted to pass. A wordsmith and quite charismatic though he is, Anwar was unable to talk our way into the city by car, and so we parked it in a nearby, and somewhat sketching looking lot. As we walked away from the vehicle, Anwar expressed hope that we’d find it in one piece (and with the CD player still in its place) upon our return. Insha’Allah, he said.

We made our way to the pedestrian checkpoint and passed through easily, until an Israeli guard called us back to check our passports. Alicia, Amy, and I remained quiet as he did his business, but Anwar inquired as to why we’d not been asked to give up our passports when we’d first passed through, to which the guard replied, ‘Don’t ask questions. It goes much fast that way.’

We made our way into the city by cap. Our first stop was a soap factory—yes, a soap factory. Anwar caught one of his many friends on the street (apparently, as we’d seen during our time with Anwar over the previous four days, he knows and is held in high esteem by roughly 75% of the Palestinian population!), who invited us into his factory. We saw three men hunched over sharp sticks, cutting a super-large block of soap into tiny squares to be shipped off to bathrooms across the West Bank and other locations. We also saw a giant tub of yogurt—wait, no, soap. I’d never been to a soap factory (who has?), and it was actually really cool to see how the whole operation, which appeared extremely efficient, took place. Alicia inquired about purchasing a bar, but, unfortunately, buying straight from the factory requires a minimum procurement of about 1,000 bars. Though we were probably all a little dirty at this point, that much soap just wasn’t in the cards.

We proceeded, following Anwar per the norm, and ducked into a narrow hallway that appeared out of nowhere. Shaking my head, I simply followed the man. We’d seen so many unexpected things and met so many unexpected people during our time with Anwar that this was far from the first seemingly questionable turn. Moreover, I’d developed a trust and admiration for the man that led me to conclude that following his lead was, in most cases, a good idea. Alicia asked him where we headed, to which he replied, simply, ‘Faten’.

[Faten is a micro lending bank headquartered in Ramallah with 12 branch locations spread throughout the West Bank and Gaza. It broke off from Save the Children in 1996 and receives most of its funding from the United State Agency for International Development. Despite extremely limited human and fiscal resources, Faten has thousands of clients and has turned a profit for the vast majority of its years in existence. Moreover, totally detached from government or any political party, Faten has earned a reputation as one of the most respectable institutions across the West Bank and Gaza.]

So, we made our way up one story in an elevator, emerging into a hallway and through the doors to the office. Situated at the front, like in most offices, was a receptionist, who guided us to the room of the branch and Nablus district manager, a woman who looked at once powerful, intelligent, and compassionate. She greeted us and exchanged jokes and hellos with Anwar. As in almost all homes and offices we’d been in during our time in the West Bank, we were immediately asked our preference between tea and coffee and quickly brought a hot, delicious beverage. Coffee in Israel and the West Bank, by the way, was delicious. We enjoyed two kinds. First, Turkish coffee, which comes in small portions, maybe four ounces, and is extremely, almost face-cringingly strong, but altogether intensely satisfying for lovers of good joe. Also, we found Nescafe, which is served with milk, and goes smoothly and sweetly. Mmm, mmm, mmm- delicious. On this day, after the previous evening during which we visited about half a dozen homes and were served tea or Turkish coffee in nearly of them, I opted for the Nescafe and enjoyed every drop.

Anwar and the district manager (as you’ve probably guessed, I cannot recall her name) took care of some business matters, and we joked that Anwar was in the presence of a more impressive superior, even though his position is above hers on Faten’s formal command chain. He took it in stride, but I came away thinking that the branch manager commands, so instantly, respect that she would do great things leading any bank or company.

Before long, a traditional, delicious breakfast of hummus, pita, falafel, Tibbouli (sp.?) salad, and yoghurt was served. By this point, I had had so much pita and hummus that I pretty much never wanted to eat anything else again- it’s so good! I must say that, as a vegetarian, I found the cuisine in the West Bank and Israel much to my liking. Though meat is commonly served and an essential ingredient of many customary dishes, most meals have a substantial amount of non-meat items that fill the belly and satisfy the soul.

After wrapping up breakfast, we made our way towards Nablus’ legendary ‘Old City’ market. Endless stands manned by dozens of eager mongers sold everything from pickles and olives to lotions and shampoo. The scene was bustling, with people quickly moving through the walkway, taking care of business, moving from here to there. We, too, made our way, coming out of the market in a more subdued part of town, still in Old City, however. We were on our way to what we were told was an important location in the city, one that had conjured up a great deal of ire and agony amongst the local population. After stopping several people for directions and having a young man lead us to the exact spot, we came to a lot, filled with rubble, which had apparently been a family’s home that was leveled by an Israeli military strike in 2003. We made our way through the chilling scene and came to an opening in which we found a crew taking footage. They moved toward us, and we inquired, in English, what they were doing. They replied that they were architects, surveying the lot for a project to rebuild the houses. The mood was abundantly haunting. I didn’t know how to feel. It was amazing to think that, a few years ago, a family’s home had been in this location. Now, there was just rubble- rubble.

We exited the site and, before leaving the Old City, stopped in at an amazing antique store. Some of the stuff in the shop must have been from the last Ice Age. We looked around, taking care not to break anything, though, as Alicia made a purchase, Anwar clumsily dropped a clay artifact- so much for being Superman! The shopkeeper, however, chuckled, and told us not to worry. We spent quite some time reviewing the store’s holdings. Clocks, jewelry, paintings, pots, pans, and watches- it was all here, only it had been created a time far from the present. The shopkeeper, an elderly fellow in what looked to be traditional garb, seemed otherworldly but spoke with a clarity and smile that made him very much present. Alicia made a nice purchase, and we moved.

After the Old City, Alicia, Amy, Anwar, and I hailed a cap and made our way to Jacob’s Well, which, if you know your New Testament, is the location in which Jesus, for the first time revealed himself to be the Messiah. Much to our dismay, we found the church housing the well closed, with a large gate telling us that it was not to reopen for viewing for another hour. Fortunately, Anwar asked a young boy who had cozied up to us to find someone in the housing development across the way to open the gate and let us in to see the well. As it happened, the boy was a resident of a nearby refugee camp. Refugee camps in the West Bank are entirely common, often existing in the very midst of cities and towns- amazing.

In a few moments, remarkably, one of the church’s overseers made his way to the church and, though on holiday, gave us a personal tour in excellent English. We entered the church, which was magnificent, Christian, and finished after several years of construction with, according to our guide, funds secured by former Palestinian President Yasser Arafat, a Muslim. As we’d seen throughout our trip, Christians and Muslims live together in relative peace in numerous Palestinian towns, including Bethlehem, Nablus, and Hebron, just to name a few. After taking a sip of the well’s sacred water, we thanked our gracious guide, exited the church, and hopped in a cab.

Making our way back to the Faten office, I peeled off with a young Faten accountant, who led me to an ATM. Finding an ATM in the West Bank isn’t easy, and we tried three locations before locating one that was operational. [Many Palestinian bank branches have closed in recent years due to deteriorating economic conditions in the West Bank and Gaza.] I got my money, returned to the branch, and, after bidding adieu to the office staff, we hopped in the branch manager’s car to return to the checkpoint and find our car, which, we hoped, was still in the lot and good repair.

At the checkpoint, we passed through fairly easily, though the guard asked me what I was doing in the West Bank. I replied that I was on vacation and visiting a Palestinian friend. He was visibly confused. We approached the parking lot and, thankfully, found Anwar’s Volkswagen in fine form. As we headed north on the road to Jayousi, we reflected on our pleasant day in Nablus, a city that has seen its share as agony. In fact, a movie entitled ‘Paradise Now, which depicts and describes the conditions that lead a tragic number of young Palestinians to end their lives through suicide bombings, is based in Nablus. I had that chilling thought in my mind all day as we made our way through the city, which, to the unschooled observer would have felt exactly the same as any other bustling metropolitan area.

When we reached Jayousi, we went immediately to lunch at the home of one of Anwar’s best friend’s in the village. Anwar’s friend had worked as an accountant at the same bank for which Anwar worked during his time in Saudi Arabia. After falling on hard financial times in Saudi Arabia, the man settled in Jayousi to start a grocery store, which provided him with enough to have a lovely, clean, well-stocked home, but left him, I felt, believing that his talents were being largely underutilized. We’d spoken with the man for quite some time the night before, and he’d proven himself to be incredibly knowledgeable on subjects ranging from U.S. presidential politics to the precarious state of the dollar. I was happy to have an opportunity to continue our discussion, facilitated by Anwar, who served as our translator, at lunch. Joining one of the man’s sons and his daughter, (the other had returned to a nearby city, in which he is attending university and studying to be an engineer. He says he’d like to, if possible, complete his graduate work in the U.S., as is the case for many Palestinians who feel this would offer them a better chance of finding suitable employment than remaining in the West Bank. Amy happily gave him her card and informed him of the exciting exchange programs offered by the University of Montana, where she works as an administrator.) we sat down to what can be described as nothing short of a bounty. I enjoyed tremendously the piping hot rice and fresh vegetables, as well as a well-seasoned salad. We watched the news and saw that former President Carter was planning a diplomatic mission to Damascus to hold talks with President Assad, though the report said that the Georgian leader had cancelled previously scheduled talks with members of the Hamas party, which aroused visible sorrow in Anwar and his chum. I should say that, with many people we spoke, President Carter is considered something of a savior, and his willingness to experiment with innovative diplomacy in Arab countries considered benevolent and progressive. I like the President, too, for many reasons and was pleased to be in like-minded company, given the fact that more folks than I care for in the U.S., when speaking of Carter, first discuss things like rising gas prices, stagflation, the Iran hostage crisis, and a troubled economy, instead of Habitat for Humanity, courageous election monitoring work in troubled country throughout the world, and selfless, tireless action to make the world a better place. I really like Jimmy Carter.

Our lunchtime conversation drifted back to politics, as our host grilled us on the difference between Republicans and Democrats, as well as the Iraq War. Anwar seemed tired, and I felt partly guilty for making him continue to translate for us as we conversed, however, I didn’t want to miss a great opportunity to gain perspective on the mindset of an educated person from a culture that is not my own. Gaining different cultural perspectives is one of the best parts of travel, I’m convinced. The talks went on for some time, delicious tea was served, and, after some time, we left the kind family’s home, satisfied from a long day of travel, good conversation, and meeting kind people. Nablus was great, and the final day in the West Bank even better. I can’t wait to return to this wonderful place, wherein I met open-minded, light-hearted folks greatly concerned about the well-being of others and welcoming in a way that called to mind the incredible kindness and good will I’d received from my hosts on a trip to Nicaragua last spring. Indeed, the trip was winding down, and my heart soared, bent on making a change in a positive way in the lives of those I’d met and yearning to know why, to put it simply, things are the way they are. I felt fortunate to have had such an impacting time and to have shared it with great traveling mates. The sun setting, I left Jayousi.