Monday, November 11, 2013

Monday, 11 November, on the edge of Jerusalem
   First, a spelling correction from my last blog: the village Khitam is from that we visited over the weekend is Nahef, not Naher.
   It's another of those lovely early September sunny days though it's approaching mid-November.  With luck, the rains will start next month and continue through January.  This land needs those two months of rain.

Amira and Khaled
   The weekend in Nahef where Khitam's family is from and where her sister Zada and several nephews and nieces live, was full of food and family chatter and olives and olive oil and the sea.  On the way up, we stopped to pick up Khaled, one of Khitam's brothers and the only one who lives outside of Palestine; he lives in Houston.  Khaled recently retired from his job as bar tender and assistant restaurant manager in Houston.  His daughter lives in Japan with her husband and two small children - Khaled and his sister Zada and her son Inas flew to Japan for the wedding, no small feat from Palestine!  He is visiting for five weeks, a week of which is left.  Last year he didn't see his four brothers or five sisters at all, and now he's spending time with all of them.
Naseba
   We went to Khitam's sister Naseba's home for "lunch," which is usually a misnomer here, because lunch implies a meal that is not a feast; here, it is a feast!  Khitam's sister Amira was also at the house, along with her daughter and granddaughter and another daughter.  Eventually, her son arrived with his baby girl, Naseba's granddaughter, and his wife.  Naseba has divided her house and given two-thirds to her son and his family, keeping a couple of rooms and a kitchen and bathroom for herself.  Lunch was, well, by now, you know: kibbeh (a lamb dish), chicken and rice, two salads, and eggplant dish, leban (yoghurt), fresh Arabic bread and more.  We crowded around a table set in the small living room and ate and ate.  "Tfuddel, Al, kibbeh." (Al, have some kibbeh.)  "La'a, shookran." (No, thanks.) "Lish?" (Why?)  Khitam told them I don't eat meat, so instead of insisting I eat a plate full, they were content that I ate a little and said it was delicious, which it was.  Amira did put another serving on my plate when I wasn't looking, but I passed it on to Khitam and there were no protests.
 
Three generations: Naseba, granddaughter, daughter
We talked…well, they talked and I listened, understanding a little,  More people arrived and some left, and eventually we left to drive to Zada's house in Nahef, half an hour away.  Naseba and Khaled came with us.
Naseba's granddaughter and son
   When we got to Zada's house, people were waiting.  As always, the greetings were warm and profuse, with kisses on cheeks, three (kisses, not cheeks), and much: "How are you?  How is your family?  Thank God.  How is your work?  Praise God.  How is your health?  God is great…"  In Arabic, of course.  There was food, but we got off lightly.
   Zada's son Inas and his wife Hinadi and their youngest daughter, who is eleven, were there.  Inas and Hinadi have three daughters and a son who is a year and a half and full of piss and vinegar as little ones are.  The three daughters are in a terrific music program started by a man who wanted every youngster who wants to play music to have the opportunity, whatever the financial circumstances.  As a result, this program which he started offers scholarships to those who cannot afford it.  Inas and Hinadi's girls play violin, piano and guitar - I think I've got that right.
   While we were talking, I asked Hinadi if she had seen the video of Nigel Kennedy's version of Vivaldi's Four Seasons with Polish and Palestinian musicians.  She hadn't so I opened my laptop and we began watching it.  This concert was at The Royal Albert Hall, I think - or some large symphony space in London.  The musicians working with Kennedy are from a Polish orchestra he has developed and Palestinians from the Edward Said Conservatory in Palestine.  (I recommend the video highly; it's on You Tube.)  Kennedy is brilliant and an engaging clown and what he has done with this orchestra and Vivaldi is delightful.
   So, while we were watching, a fifteen year old Palestinian - they're all wearing Palestinian kafiyas (the head scarf) on their shoulders -got up to play a violin solo, brilliantly.  "That's Mustapha!" Hinadi said.  We know him.  He's in the music program the girls play in."  Soon, another younger Palestinian look-alike got up to sing/hum Arabic strains and Hinadi said: "That's his younger brother!"  Later, she identified the older brother, all three of whom are in the music program with the three girls.  Small world.  Watch the video.
   I'm off to do some teaching so I'll stop now and continue the visit to Nahef in my next blog.

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