Back to Nablus

     Yesterday Khitam and I drove back to Nablus, an hour north of here, for her second workshop with kindergarten teachers and their principals.  Sunday, she focused on drawing and painting as a means to tell a story.  Teachers and principals made their own simple drawings, then worked collectively in small groups and finally worked in two large groups.  After each exercise, she talked with the group about what worked and what didn't.  She was good at listening and responding.
     The focus was on music and movement and theater.  After Khitam introduced the workshop, I told an Armenian folk tale, "One Fine Day," about a fox traveling through a forest.  It is also a Palestinian folktale that I wished I had learned.  I asked for questions and comments after telling the story.  They were kind; they liked physicalizing the story; liked the way facial expressions and changing voices helped them see the different characters.  We talked about storytelling and kids, ways to use stories to get them involved and then Khitam took over.

Khitam with some of the teachers and principals

     She started with music, putting out simple percussive instruments, many for children, plus a couple of Arab drums.  The teachers sorted through the instruments, trying them, putting one back and taking another, deciding on one and then looking for another.  Before long, everyone had an instrument, and Khitam told them to experiment with sound.  The result was first class cacophony and everyone knew it.  Now they were into it.  Khitam told one to start a simple rhythm, then told the others to join in.  She went around the circle until everyone had a chance to lead a rhythm symphony.  When one had trouble starting a rhythm or started one that was too complicated, she helped without imposing a rhythm on the group.  The enthusiasm in the room once the circle found its groove was palpable, and the teachers could feel just what their students will feel when they do this exercise.  Next was singing.  Khitam asked them to sing some of their favorite songs.  All the songs they chose were Palestinian folk songs, nothing new and popular.  But they sang the folksongs with gusto, and whenever they all knew the song, they rocked the room.  Sometimes one of them would know more verses and would lead while others joined in, and again, the room was rocking and rolling.  Their enthusiasm was infectious and I held back from joining in only because I was there as a visitor and the only male in the room.

I've got rhythm!

     After the songs, Khitam asked me to introduce some theater exercises.  Like Khitam, I had them do the exercises I wanted them to consider doing with their young students.  We learned how to make statues and then sculpted characters from the story.  One of the older principals suggested it might be necessary to do some simple exercises leading up to statues to get their kids used to the idea.  Then we made pictures or "polaroids," group statues illustrating the story.  They were hesitant at first but soon were joining in with enthusiasm.  I talked about making cartoon strips of the story, using polaroids; or having one group do a polaroid of one part of the story, another group of another part of the story; even having each group tell the whole story using polaroids that illustrate the high points of the story.  Then our time was up; three hours had passed quickly.
     The teachers were eager participants and learners.  Clearly, what Palestinian schools need is support.  If teachers here have an opportunity to learn new techniques, new ideas; if they have an opportunity to use new materials, they are eager to learn and to change.  What stands in their way is a lack of these opportunities and a cumbersome bureaucracy, like most bureaucracies.  In my encounters with Palestinians at work, I am impressed with their eagerness to change if they see any possibility for meaningful change.  Too many are out of work; too many are underpaid; too many held up by untrained for new work, but they're eager to learn.

Outside shower

     On our way back from Nablus, Khitam headed inland and took us to a site that reminded me of Zahleh in the Beka'a Valley in Lebanon.  Way back in the 1960s, we would drive over the mountains from Beirut to the Beka'a Valley in then peaceful Lebanon.  There, by a mountain stream in the town of Zahleh, outdoor restaurants would be packed with families on weekends.  Meals were large: hummus and baba ghanoush, tabouleh, bread, olives; then fish or chicken; then lamb or beef - maybe kabobs, maybe raw, maybe made into patties.  For desert, fruit and strong Arabic coffee and sweets if you had room.  Then the men and occasionally a woman or two, would smoke a narghile while the children played and mothers chatted.
     Our destination on the way back yesterday was similar.  Waterfalls tumbled down the rocks beside the road and cafes were tucked into the side of the steep incline that climbed from the road.  Outdoor markets selling pottery, baskets and kitsch from China lined the road.  We climbed several stairs to a cafe half way up the incline where we had tea and Khitam enjoyed a narghile while the water tumbled by.  On a hot day, it was a treat.  By summer, the place will be packed.