…count to one

Mostafa and I

The grapes hang heavy and low now; one month and they will swell with royalty. They form a canopy, a shade from the sun. They are a decoration, like Christmas lights that glow green, pregnant with promise.

One week and I will visit home for 15 days (and by home I mean Maine, where kale and dandelions no doubt wait for me, and I for them, eagerly). I look forward to the trip, not the travel, nor the torment I will undoubtedly suffer in my underwear at Ben Gurion Airport (they don’t seem to like internationals who spend time in the West Bank). I will not speak Arabic, that is for sure, since that has already got me into a bit of trouble with the Israeli securities elsewhere, and I will play dumb, as if Palestine means little more to me than one summer abroad.

Tareq

One week and my time at the Excellence Center will be over. It went by so quickly, day after day in this school, lesson planning, teaching, eating. My second home’s here; my first family. But I don’t think it will be the end of our relationship. No, this place will continue to be a hoverground for Tim and I, a place to land safe feet, a roof always open. We will sit there and say, “its just like old times. Remember when…” and our love for Palestine will always be sweetened with the welcome here. And by staying in our apartment we will live with the male interns that pass through the Excellence Center over the months so the relationship will only change.

Omar

One week and Ramadan begins, where, for one month, Khalil will essentially shut down while everyone fasts between the green glow of twilights. And when they hear that call to prayer broadcasted from the minaret’d hills, they’ll eat, smoke and finally drink something. Tim and I will return here and get to celebrate the second half of Ramadan with our suffering brethren. At Ramadan’s end we’ll experience the delight of Eid al-Fitr, the “christmas” of Islam, where it is tradition to feast for three days, buy new clothes and visit family, as far as I know.

Mahmoud

One month and we will begin a new job teaching English in Palestine (this time for pay), which will allow us to stay here for one year and take Arabic lessons and go to haflas and hold hands and kiss and finally, hopefully converse beyond the wide shallow pools we have been splashing in thus far. And falafel will become less of a daily affair, for we will be able to afford kitchenware, but always a recurring fling, for we won’t be able to completely divorce from it.

Noor

And I will continue to live among this cluster of sweet Himonys. And I will swell with pride to bear their name. And I will count each one you see here as my friend and brother...


But between then and now, one great vacation.