The Markets

I am starting to find my feet here – the Palestinian people are all so welcoming. Today I took an excursion to Ramallah markets with two German girls who will also be taking part in the Palestine and Arabic Studies program at Brizeit, one of whom is my recently arrived roommate.

We walked from our dormitory, which is only about a twenty minute walk up a light slope. We kept our pace up (or at least, I tried to make sure we kept our pace up) because foreigners get a lot of attention in the streets here – particularly foreign women from Palestinian men. Their Gaze can be quite off-putting, but moving quickly by can lessen its impact. And I've come to learn that you avoid a lot of unwanted attention if you look like you know exactly what you're doing and where you're going. So, I tried to become one with the Palestinians: elbowing my way through the streets like the best of them. Well, at least that's what I like to think - no doubt I just looked like a hurried foreigner, but at least we avoided any of the harassment that white women can often get in Arab societies.

We took a deep breath before we joined the mass of bodies that fill markets. We passed through slowly: taking that turn, then doubling back at a dead end, getting stuck in the traffic of bodies and elbowing our way out. At times you have to jump out of the way as men with loaded wagons come tearing down the paths - the weight of their burdens seem to be so great that they couldn't stop even if they wanted to! So they just yell warnings as they go.

There are two snapshots that have stuck with me from this excursion.

The first: The Boy and the Apple

I took out my camera to take a picture of the market place while we were waiting for one of the girls to buy some vegetable at the next table. Then a boy's head popped out (he was obviously looking after the fruit store we were standing in front of). He looked at my camera intently, smiled approvingly and then started speaking to me in Arabic. When he realised I didn't understand he just said 'Welcome, welcome!' in heavily accented English. He picked up an apple and pointed it towards me, I shook my head and said 'la shukran' ('no thank you') but he kept pointing the apple towards me and despite my repeated protests he took it and stuck it on top of my bag. Seeing another of the girls standing behind me he also gave her an apple. We thanked him ('shukran, shukran') and he looked very pleased with himself. Then an old lady walked up to the table, and this is the next snapshot.

The second: The Old Woman and the Potatoes

The old woman was wrapped in traditional Palestinian dress - blacks and reds with a light long head scarf. Her years were etched onto her face, deep wrinkles and tough skin. Her teeth were dark and she was missing some. She was speaking to the young smiling boy but he shook her head to her and pointed to me before walking away. I don't know what passed during their exchange, but when the boy walked away the old woman turned to me and looked up into my face (she was over a head shorter than me). She said something that may have been 'ahlan' ('welcome') and took my hand in both of hers, they were soft and warm but calloused. She spoke some more to me before releasing my hand and turning away. As she turned away her eyes alighted on some scraps of potato on the ground - they looked like two halves that had been dropped onto the floor. Quickly she swung down and picked up the pieces, flicking them into the plastic bags she carried before standing up again and moving onwards through the markets. A passing woman caught my eye and I was suddenly aware that this woman had seen that I had witnessed the old woman's actions and I realised that I was ashamed to have witnessed this old woman's poverty like a common spectator, a tourist.


We left the market and realised that we had still not found a spice shop (one of the Germans wanted some zaatar). I decided to take matter into my own hands and approached a woman sitting on the side of the road to ask for directions in my woeful Arabic:
"bidi zaatar, eine?" (I want zaatar, where is?)
But the woman just stood up saying "I don't speak English, I don't speak English" and I was quite put off that she thought I had been speaking English with her! But a young woman passing by stopped and said
"What is wrong? Can I help?" Her English was heavily accented, but clear
"We are looking for zaatar, you know zaatar? The spice" I said with many hand gestures
The woman pointed and said "This way, this way, come come" and she walked with us through the streets. I kept trying to speak Arabic with her, but beyond the simple expressions of what my name is and how I was pleased to meet her, I could say very little. Her English abilities were also limited, so we spoke little, but smiled lots. She brought us to a pastry shop that seemed heavily European influenced, they man had a booming voice and that coupled with his hand movements suggested that he fancied himself an Italian! He spoke English with ease so even though it wasn't a zaatar pastry we were after but rather the zaatar herb, we decided to buy one anyway! We said goodbye to the woman who had brought us there and thanked her, wishing her well. Then we took our pastries and began to walk out onto the street, but before we left the Palestinian man-cum-Italian reached out to us and handed us all a necklace with a beaded Palestinian flag upon it - another gift! We thanked him profusely, he waved us away and we continued on our way.

As we walked down the street we noticed a higher number of Palestinian army men along the road. Every ten metres or so a soldier stood in uniform with his weapon hanging over his shoulder on either side of the road. This was the case right down the long road. I turned to the two German girls and told them that I recommended we increase our speed because while it probably means nothing, we don't want to be here if it turns out to mean something. So once more we sped up our pace. Because the paths were narrow, we often had to weave right round one of these many soldiers. They didn't say anything, which was strange in itself because soldiers usually revel in calling out to passing foreign women. Finally we reached the last stretch of our walk some and left the soldiers behind, so we could slow down our pace a bit again. We reached our dormitories safely, put away our things and felt satisfied with a day well spent.