Day 3: Arafat, Olives, and a Village Barbeque

Our first morning in Ramallah.  We were all awake by 5am, still adjusting to a new schedule.  As we waited for the hotel staff to awake we listened to the fajr (first of five daily Muslim prayers) echoing through the city from loudspeakers atop the single green illuminated pillar rising from a nearby Mosque.  At 7:30 breakfast is served, flatbread with yogurt, olive oil and a peculiar mix of spices, hard boiled eggs, cheese, and a porkless sandwich meet resembling bologna.  Oh yeah, and Arabic coffee, a potent brew with a slight sweetness served in small shot-glass sized "mugs".  Yeehaw!  Let's get this show on the road.

Fayez won't arrive until around 10am so we venture into the city for our first taste of daytime Ramallah.  Walking uphill (the entire region is hilly) on the rough sidewalk toward Al-Manara Square (city center) I survey the surroundings, getting a feel for the lay of the land.  Out of the residential area comprised of apartment buildings and moderately sized homes surrounded by tall wrought iron fences and into the commercial area near downtown.  Empty lot's that have been made into temporary landfills (no dumpster sightings yet), partially finished construction projects.  Downtown, the lively bazaar scene that we experienced last night is quiet with heavy steel doors now in place of the open shops selling fruits and vegetables, bread, Arabic novelty gifts, imitation fashionable western shoes, clothes and hangbags.  The traffic is starting to pick up and the streets will soon be at capacity (surprisingly flowing).  We are now accustomed to the attention that we bring, I'm even starting to enjoy it, flashing peace signs and "Salam" to passersby.

We're back to the hotel in time for me to enjoy another cup of Arabic coffee with the fellas at the hotel.  Fayez arrives, this time on foot, and we catch a quick cab ride to pick up our rental car for the week.  We arrive at a rugged looking office building, a clean, new BMW 5 series parked in the front.  A man walks out to meet us, well dressed, a friend of Fayez's.  He brings us into his office, very well furnished, and offers coffee.  The man speaks to us in perfect English, Arab accent with a touch of Jersey as he has spent the past several years there in the States.  We sign the rental contract and pay in shekels and dollars (discounted rate), he hands over the keys and we are off in our Ford Focus sedan.  First stop, a visit to the Palestinian Authority buildings on the north end of Ramallah to see one of the only modern monuments that you can find in the West Bank (they've got other priorities right now).

"There's our White House and Capitol Building."  Fayez points to a complex of white, unmarked (except for the Palestinian flag and a giant photo of Yasser Arafat) two and three story buildings, not all that different than many of the other buildings in the city.  We approach from the south on foot, across the street is an open lot, partial dump and partial goat farm (one of several throughout the city).  After checking in with the stonefaced guards at the entrance who ask me to leave my backpack at the gate, we enter into a clean, white-stone plaza.  To the left a rectangular white building, a mosque, and at the other end of the plaza a cubic building with large glass panels on all four sides (Arafat's grave).  The place is nearly empty except for the guards at the gate, a single guard at the gravesite, and a couple of Arab tourists snapping photos.  Respectfully, we enter the small stone building enclosing the grave, take a few photos and exit.  The building behind the grave is where Arafat spent the last two years of his life while Israeli military and bulldozers surrounded until he died of reportedly natural causes.

Next on the agenda today, we will travel to a village about 30 minutes north of Ramallah to visit an olive mill as part of our project assessment.  No surprise, the drive to the village offered more stories.  We drove past Birzeit University, the top technical institution in the region, Fayez's alma mater.  He told us that while he was a student at Birzeit during the second intifada (Palestinian-Israeli conflict from 2000~2004) the Israeli military built a checkpoint at the north end of Ramallah, cutting off all traffic out of the city.  People seeking to travel north, including Birzeit students, were forced to walk this section of road (a couple miles long) and sometimes were not allowed to travel at all.  Much of the time it was too difficult and dangerous to attend classes so Fayez and many other students would not attempt to travel to the university.  The checkpoint still stands, although no longer occupied.

We arrive at the olive mill after zipping through several villages surrounded by dry, rocky hills mostly covered in olive trees, and also getting our first glimpse of an Israeli settlement atop one hill, surrounded by a tall fence and protected by a sizable military presence.  A group of about 8 men welcome us outside the steel building that encloses the olive mill equipment.  To our surprise we find that the mill is operating today as the season ended about a month earlier.  Inside the steel building the men show us a new half-million dollar Italian made milling system (the only one of it's kind in the West Bank); twig and branch separator, olive washer, decanter separation unit, solids removal, and oil-water separation cyclone.  Fayez translates as the men describe the process and we take photos.  We are most interested in the stream of wastewater that runs out of a pipe on the oil-water separation unit into a drain that runs into an underground cesspit.  This unique and potent (1000x more than domestic wastewater) waste is generally dumped into the valleys where it degrades plant life (high BOD and COD).  After the tour, more Arabic coffee and an invitation to a barbeque in the village.

We follow our hosts through the village with liberal use of the horn to warn children playing along the rode that we are approaching (50 km/hr).  As expected, we meet surprised looks from everyone in the village as we pass in the car.  The village is comprised mostly of old (maybe ancient) stone homes.  There is no real sign of economic activity as it appears most people either work in Ramallah or are involved in olive growing and harvesting.  Men walk along the road, some leading donkeys loaded with goods, some carrying large armfuls of vegetables.  Groups of women in hijab (traditional Muslim headscarf) walk along talking and laughing, gossip circles.  Groups of adolescents "hang out" in groups inside garages.  Young kids running along the road in packs.  We park near the village mosque, an old man wrapped in his keffiyeh, sitting on a bench pays us no attention (a first).

Past what resemble ancient ruins, but what are apparently functioning homes, we arrive at our dining spot for the evening, a stone patio at the far west end of the village, overlooking a valley abundant with olive trees.  Across the valley is another Palestinian village and directly behind that an Israeli settlement.  In the distance we see Tel Aviv and the Mediterranean, so close but at the same time completely inaccessible to the Palestinian people.  A plume of dust rises next to the village across the valley, we are told that an Israeli businessman received approval to build a rock quarry which now operates continuously drowning much of the valley, including the village, in dust.  As we sit along the rock ledge along the perimeter of the patio stories are shared about the growing Israeli presence in the area, despite calls from the international community for the freezing of settlement expansion.  This is our first chance to hear our Palestinian friends discuss the situation, obviously frustrated but not distraught and still hopeful for a Palestinian state free of Israeli occupation.  Listening to the stories, it's difficult to react.  As an American I feel disconnected from the world community and the real struggle (more than fighting credit card bills) that people are facing.  There's no way for me to relate to this struggle, but being here and seeing the situation, the settlements, the checkpoints, the wall, is filling in the gaps that western media hasn't (or won't) fill in on the situation in the Holy Land.  After a delicious Arab barbecue dinner I wander through the village.  A band of young kids pause from their street soccer game to entertain some photos, flashing peace signs, running away and returning with a Palestine-Fatah Anniversary flag.

The drive back to Ramallah is somber, we reflect and digest.  On returning to Al-Hajal, the group of old cronies in the lobby are watching Al-Jazeera, smoking cigarettes and joking.  The hotel owner is in the dining area playing a Turkish form of backgammon with another older Arab man.  I'm too tired to hang with the fellas, still  trying to put all of this together.