Ustaazna - Our teacher

Everyone in Palestine has a story of the occupation. These stories are their way of explaining why they think and feel the way they do. Whenever I have spoken with a Palestinian about the occupation and about the potential for some sort of solution they have always given their opinion and then qualified it with a personal anecdote. The occupation is not a political problem, it's a personal problem: kul yoom, kul sea'a ('every day, every hour'). These stories include confrontations with soldiers, arrests without charge, refusals of permission to travel home to Gaza from the West Bank to bury a parent, and a myriad of other injustices and humiliations.

These stories are also weaved into our classes at Birzeit University and this incorporation was especially apparent in my Colloquial Arabic class today.

My experience of studying Arabic in Palestine has been very political. An example of our vocabulary lists: war (Harb), soldier (jundi), borders (huduud), politics (siyaasa), bullets (raSaaS), missile (Saaruukh), terrorist (irhaabi), under occupation (taHt iliHtilaal), the wall (il-jidaar), the army (il-jeesh), refugee (laaji'iin)... And of course: peace (salaam).
One of the first questions I learnt to answer: 'Who hit the student?' (miin darab aT-Taalib?). The answer: 'The soldier.' (al-joondi)

We learn to say 'we want real peace' (bidna salaam Haqiiqii), but our teacher shakes his head sadly: ween salaam? fish salaam huun ('Where's peace? There is no peace here).

Today, ustaazna (our teacher) spoke to us for over half an hour in Arabic, though occasionally clarifying some words in English so we could follow. He told us some of his stories and told us his view and his hopes. I did not catch everything he said, as there were many words I was unfamiliar with, but I understood the greater part of it. I also recognised much of what he said as I had heard it from so many people here before: ana insaan, zay inta insaan ('I am human, like you are human').
And he repeated a common refrain of parents: batmanna fii salaam, mish ashaani, ashaan ibni, ashaan binti ('I hope there is peace, not for me, but for my son, for my daughter.')

At first it seemed strange, and even funny, to my classmates and I that so many words carrying the theme of war were part of the necessary vocabulary for our course. We laughed at how it seemed to be a fulfilment of the stereotype to have us learn such words in Palestine even in a university institution. But as time has gone by here, I have come to realise that the reason why these words made up the foundations of our Arabic study was because these are the words that we absolutely need to know. These words make up the stories people share with us.