Stolen From My Mother
A Meander Through The Old City
This Old City is not the oldest Old
City. The current, giant walls are from around 1530-ish. The Western
Wall is in there, I guess it's a little older....but it is also
pretty much the only place I've been. My class did go up to the
Temple Mount/Dome of The Rock courtyard, which is pretty and amazing
and also, right above the Western Wall and it's the same place.
So I took some exploradora time. My
main goal was that cafe in my head that only exists there. I wanted
to get coffee in the Moslem/Arab Quarter. Despite to some, what
sounds like a reckless air, I picked the safest day possible. Two
days after the most recent Damascus Gate stabbing and early enough in
the week that it was not near their holiday (Friday) or the Jewish
Holiday (Saturday). And despite myself, or because it's closest, I
went through the touriest gate. It pops you in between the Christian
and Armenian Quarters. I wandered down the street and had a very
awkward encounter with a vendor. I made the mistake of polite
conversation. He offered me a cheap gift and I wasn't sure if I could
refuse and then he really wanted to meet again to practice English.
He gave me his number. I promised to call him which is definitely
made of lie. I'll see this lie at Yom Kippur.
The newest weird fact is that most of
the Old City has some sort of roof? I said no, but his offer to go up
to the roof was so cool that despite the very obvious reasons to say
no to this strange man who wanted to lead me up a dark ladder in a
maze, I hesitated. One of my non-coffee goals included trying to find
the 'center' of the Old City. Not the middle but the border where all
four Quarters meet.
It was difficult to separate from Shadi
(not actually his name but a nickname for people who don't understand
his name: to be honest, my Arabic blows. It took Osama, who works at
my school, approximately 40 tries and Osama is a name I'm familiar
with.). While booking it away from my newest, closest, friend, I got
hella lost. Not lost, but turned around from the direction I was
going. And the Old City is a middle eastern maze of mazes. There's
ups and downs, shitty vendors, creepily empty residential areas.
I am ashamed to admit, that in addition
to lying about calling that man, I was afraid in the Arab areas. I
think a lot of it was:
When we went to the bilingual school a
mom told us that the biggest impact her kids gained by learning
Arabic is that when they are surrounded by that language, they are
not afraid. They know what's going on around them.
I've never been in an environment where
I don't understand the language-least of all in a place rife with
tension. Also, I was a little frazzled. I never know if my presence
is inappropriate. Or my dress. And general Arabs are WAY more polite
than Orthodox Jews—they won't call me a whore or spit on me. It's
almost worse this way.
I ended up in one of those creepy
residential areas, I think they're extra creepy because it goes from
crazy tourist crazy market to two kids I don't understand. Some boys
did pause their futbol game to help me. I stopped in a convenience
store in a cave—not literally because that sort of exists here, but
it was definitely not a tourist stop-- and bought one of my favorite
candies from Chicago which is made in Ramallah. I think buying things
that have to have employed people is probably the best way to help
make life better and people less vulnerable to recruitment or
despair. It's a fair exchange with hopefully less corruption and
degradation. Plus, candy.
I never did get coffee. The problem is
another cultural one where I should have checked my Western
sensibilities before I wrecked my constantly caffeinated blood stream.
Based on my observation the Arabs don't cafe as much. They have these
real bad ass trays on chains that guys who have coffee making in
their shops send coffee to stores that don't and they all just drink
(and smoke-gross) while they're working—which I can totally get
behind.
And I realize that borders aren't as
clear as we think they'll be. Like the Christians in this region tend
to have a lot of Arabic language/culture/race/etc. So half of the
Christian Quarter is in Arabic. The Armenians are Christians so they
blend into the Christian Quarter. Everything's in partial Hebrew
because I guess this is Israel or something and oh yeah everyone's
holy sites are in the same frickin' place so it seems there's no
extricating one from the other.
And I was so frazzled from my spin
around that I forgot to use my minimalist Arabic. I am filled with
linguistic sin from that day. I don't know when I'll go back. Not
over break because they're shutting down East Jerusalem and all the
not Israeli territory for the holiday (Arab Christians? Where will
they hide Jesus' eggs?) because we are still basing freedom on the
safety of borders because we still haven't found a way to find safety
in cooperation.
