...sit on a roof

We have finally begun the settling-in process now that our apartment received a toilet. Yes, we got a toilet. Halleluiah. Alhamdulillah. We live in a concrete box with no furniture except the thin mattresses we sleep on and the cardboard boxes that hold our clothes. But we have a toilet; we couldn’t be happier. Since this is the case, that we are settling, I can finally write about our days which, though far from identical, remain similar, as does one cousin to another.

We wake up early and walk with the boys to school. The boys I refer to are the brothers by two mothers who live in this family compound and who go to secondary school (high school): Wisam and  Ibrahim. The school I refer to is Al Hussein’s Secondary School for boys, which conveniently sits directly across the street from Markaz (center) Excellence. We can see into classrooms from our roof. I’ll get to that later…the roof, that is, not the classrooms. We are more and more frequently joined by Omar, too, Ibrahim’s little brother who will surely grow into his ears some day. Currently, they rest on his temples as beacons of cuteness. Wisam is a responsible young man who has a wide forehead and farmers’ hands. His eyes are round as is his chest and arms. He converses in the best English of the family and so deals with us the most. Ibrahim has the friendliest face I have ever seen. He approaches you, his hips slightly forward, his arms loosely at his side like any typical growing teenager who doesn’t know what else to do with them. His eyes become crescent in joy and his smile is engaging, inviting. Its something about Arabs, I think, something specific to their kind: they have eyes like fishing poles and smiles like bait. We are the exotic fish and they are in the boat. Sometimes I wonder, purely out of the strength of their gaze, if I am rude not to bite. But if I lived by this rule, I’d be late. Everywhere.

On our way to school the street is a hive of school children and yellow school busses and yellow taxis full of school children. There are no parents. In fact, young men and women and even children are often roaming the streets alone, day and night. It makes me feel safe to know that this is commonplace.

Atop a rundown structure

After a morning of work it is lunch time. We figure out what we want and retrieve it, down to the grocer and up to the butcher. At the grocer we spend mere dollars for a bag full of vegetables. At the butcher we spend a bit more. There, skinned animals hang on hooks in the windows and the men working take long drags on their cigarettes. Once we order, one stores his firmly between his lips, prepares the meat whole-handedly, takes our money, takes a drag…then sticks his hand out for a shake. Its always a bit curdling to comply.

Ibrahim Mosque

After we wash and after we eat and after the rest of the day’s work (though sometimes during it, too) we experience what I call roof culture…life on the roof. The first thing we did when we got to our apartment was ask Wesam to take us to the roof. After our first radio show we watched the sun set from the roof. On a random walk we climbed a run-down structure to its roof. In the Old City we climbed atop the Hebron Rehabilitation Center for a full view of the Ibrahim Mosque. In Bethlehem we would not be seated unless it was on the roof. At Markaz Excellence we sit, eat, relax, relate, watch, insert verb here, on the roof. It’s roof culture and I love it. The views are spectacular. Hebron cascades away in a frozen avalanche of stone and iron. She rises up a hill like a child’s stacking blocks. Life moves joyfully by below.

Bethlehem

But the day must end and we descend to the street, faced with the prospect of hiking Ain Sara. On late nights we take a taxi, but mostly we walk. Besides, the best falafel stands are on the way and its not even a dollar for one. If  that doesn’t make it taste good, the falafel-and-veggie-and-tahini stuffed pita does. Its worth the walk in money, in pleasure and in white carbs.

We are met by at least one stranger each time, too, and are engaged in a conversation. Yesterday we were actually flagged down by two rambunctious young men who merely wanted to say ‘Hi’ and invite us for coffee (or sell it to us. Not sure.). We politely declined for our bedtime was fast approaching and these days are long and hot.

Sunset from our roof

And so we make it home, and each night, at bedtime, a dog begins to bark, his timely yap  a cause to wonder. Perhaps he is being attacked? No, he returned twenty-four hours later with his incessancy and I knew it was something else. Perhaps his stray feline enemies. This thought leads me to dreams of life in the states or practicing Arabic. And I wake up early and walk with the boys to school…