Harvesting Olives

On Thursday many of the other international students and I joined the olive harvest. We were hosted by the Stop the Wall campaign and they drove us out to the villages that were requiring internationals to help harvest their olives. The villages struggle either with the Israeli army or Israeli settlers, who prevent the inhabitants from picking their olives by either blocking off the area or attacking them. And so, during the olive harvest, internationals flock to the Palestinian Territories to stand with the Palestinian farmers in the hope that their presence will dissuade soldiers and/or settlers from approaching. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This time, for us, it worked and we weren't bothered. Though one of my classmates who went to a village near Bethlehem to harvest wasn't so lucky and the group she was harvesting with was set upon by tear gas and rubber bullets. Needless to say, they ran and the olive trees were left unharvested - for the moment at least.

We harvested in a village called M-, which is near Nablus. We were directed to focus on the trees near the Israeli road, as that was where they had the most trouble. There were about twenty internationals and we got through the trees quickly, though perhaps a little unskilfully. I have two snapshots from this experience.

The First Snapshot: A Family Affair

Picking olives is a family affair - from grandparents to babies there is a role for everyone, with perhaps the exception of the youngest. Walking through the olive groves you come across babies and young children asleep in cribs or bundles of blankets in the shade of the trees. Their families labour nearby, coming over to check on them occasionally and carrying them to the next area once they have picked all the nearby trees. The grandparents sort through the olives that have been picked, removing small branches and leaves and placing the olives into sacks ready to be carried home at the end of the day. The women gather the olives that have fallen onto the ground, weed the areas around their olive trees, brew tea and prepare meals for the family. The men climb into the trees or on ladders to reach the highest branches and strip them of olives. As visiting internationals, we do a bit of everything - though the women don't let us help with the food and tea as we are their guests.

The Second Snapshot: Picking the Olive

The best part of harvesting is when you begin a new tree: the branches are covered in olives and you can just fall upon the tree and strip them away with ease. We use a small comb devise that can strip the small branches with a single swipe. It's such a satisfying feeling hearing the olives fall on the tarp that is stretched out at our feet to catch them. After this preliminary stage the process becomes slower as you search and struggle to find and pluck the stray olives. This is when you receive the scratches on your hands and arms that are inevitable when harvesting as you must reach through the branches, balancing on your tip-toes, struggling for that single olive you see dangling tauntingly above you.


We were fed lunch and after harvesting two more trees the bus returned and we prepared to leave. As we walked to the buses, D. (one of my classmates) approached me and asked if I was interested in spending the night here and returning to Ramallah tomorrow. I wasn't sure if it was possible but I agreed to ask with him. The secretary of the municipality said it was not possible for us to spend the night in this village, however one of our classmates had already arranged to spend the night in the next village over, A-, and we could join him there.

Altogether, five of us spent the night in A-. Originally we were going to spend the night in their Municipality building; however when we went to one of the villager's homes to use the bathroom, the family invited us to spend the night with them. The house was actually home to two families - each taking up one half. The two halves had separate entrances and could operate independently of each other, though there were also doorways that connected the two halves so the two families could pass into each other's homes. The men of the two families were brothers. For the purpose of our stay there, the family segregated along gender lines and all the men (including D. and L., my classmates) stayed in one side of the house while the women (including me, C. and R.) and the children stayed in the other.

The two sisters-in-law were very excited to have other young women to speak with and to have an opportunity to practice their English. They were twenty-one and twenty-two years old, having been married at the age of sixteen. They had two and three children respectively and were curious as to why we were not yet married, repeatedly asking when we were going to get married? Finally I said that we would get married after university and this satisfied them - L. (the eldest) nodded soberly and said 'you are clever, it is good to get education'. They said that they were currently studying through open learning as they planned to be teachers, but L. said that she was doing poorly because with her three children (one only a baby) she had no time to study. We asked if she would be having more children and she said 'inshallah no' (God willing no). Both seemed melancholy at their situation, though L. particularly so. Perhaps it was just because they were faced with us and the possibility that we represented - being university students and not yet married with children.

I have several impressions from this night, but I will record here just two.

The Third Snapshot: Henna from Mecca and a Hijab

L. asked if I liked Islam. I replied diplomatically that Islam is lovely but I am a Christian (I find it's always best to avoid saying that I am not religious). She struggled to express her words as her English was not very good, but her body language was clear: her face lit up in ecstasy and she lifted her hands and face skyward as she said 'Islam is beauty'. I could tell she wanted to continue the conversation, but her sister interrupted by bringing in her wedding album. As we poured over the photos complimenting her on her beauty (we also looked at L.'s album but she was more self-effacing and didn't seek out our compliments) we began to speak about the difference between our clothing and Islamic clothing, so the sisters decided to dress us in their hijab and dress (a single piece of clothing that hides the shape of the body and covers wrists to ankles, buttoning right up to the neck). One by one we were dressed and the sisters laughed, though L. particularly stressed to me that this is a good way for me to dress. We also had our right hands and nails painted with henna that was a gift from their parents-in-law from Mecca. On my hand they painted a flower and a letter 'M' and on my nails all different designs: a heart, two swirls, a little flower and a diamond.

The Fourth Snapshot: Lessons in Patriarchy

L.'s daughter was playing with a ball and cup - throwing the ball and trying to catch it in the cup. She laughed as she played and we often joined her by throwing her the ball and trying to catch it when she threw it to us. Then the smaller boy (her cousin) took the ball and held it behind his back. She tried to reach for it but missed and began to cry. L. came and took the ball from the boy returning it to her daughter but then the boy began to cry so L. took back the ball with the cup and gave him both. She then picked up her wailing daughter and took her to sit with her by the wall, holding her in her lap and silencing her protests. The girl struggled to stand and reclaim her toys, but L. held her tight. The boy appeared to taunt her as he stood before her with her ball and cup in hand. He then began to play with them, laughing and running around after the ball. This was a lesson in patriarchy and both children were being schooled - the boy was learning of his superiority and the girl was being made aware of her lower status. This is how it seemed to the Western witnesses of this scene.


We did not get much sleep that night, as the sisters wanted to keep us up as long as possible so that they could enjoy our company and the children were rowdy with all the excitement. But still, we were woken early so that we could join the family for another day of olive harvesting. It was a peaceful day with the family, all of whom were so kind to us. They kept giving us food and tea and coffee until we were almost bursting at the seams. Though even in this happy time our ideas were challenged.

The Fifth Snapshot: Prejudice and Suffering

The mother-in-law of our hosts, the grandmother of the family, was a lovely woman: hospitable, welcoming and strong. She is the headmistress of the village girl's school and her husband is the headmaster of the boy's. She asked us many questions and spoke with us at length. She was obviously a headmistress, a woman of status. She was more confident in her English than her husband, despite the fact that she had not used it in years and often struggled to convey her meaning. Over lunch she turned to L. (a German) and asked if it was true that six million Jews had been killed by the Nazis, because she had heard that it was a lie. His reply was unequivocal: 'Yes, it is absolutely true.' She looked at him sceptically and said that she did not believe that this was the case, but that even if it was, what does it matter now? Israel is killing Palestinians every day.
Such a lovely woman, and a Holocaust denier.

I forgot to mention that she has two sons in gaol, one arrested only recently and being held without charge. Because the Territories are under the jurisdiction of the military court, Israel is able to arrest people in this way without charging them with anything. It is called an 'administrative arrest' and it was first introduced by the British Mandate. A person can be held for six months, though this can then be redeemed. The longest term that someone has been held under administrative arrest is about eight years.

I also forgot to mention that just one month ago a fifteen year old had been shot dead by the Israeli military at the edge of the village for being suspected of trying to attack the settlement that sits on the hill above. The end of the village is only about one hundred metres from the edge of the settlement. This boy's eldest brother had been shot dead in the same place a few years earlier. After this latest death, the middle brother who is seventeen years old, was arrested without charge.