On the theme of graves and reconciliation

Haaretz reports that Israel is planning on building a "Tolerance museum" on top of an old Palestinian Muslim graveyard. The area is currently called Independence Park - as if that wasn't enough of a slap in the face (you dont need be very creative to read into the symbolism of Israel's building their independence park over Palestinian graves), they have now approved a plan to build a Tolerance Museum on the same site.

As Paige put it - you can slap this into an SNL skit without even changing the wording.

Nachy calls me out

It's really time to declare a moratorium on this now irrelevant travel blog. That said, I'm not likely to get around and start a new one anytime soon so I might just keep posting here once in a while for anyone that wants to pop by.

Been incredibly busy moving back, catching up on 7 months of "This Week In Palestine"s, eating mansaf, waiting at checkpoints, readjusting to the climate and to the occupation, figuring out my new job, going to Hebron and generally tiptoing around and juggling various male egos in the public and private spheres.

I miss having the "clueless foreigner" excuse as an alternative to justifying my sometimes strange behavior. But now that Paige is visiting I just have her ask the obvious questions, take the inappropriate photos, or buy that second bottle of wine (or blog about my comically insignificant little life)

Searching for an apartment in west Jerusalem which has been more difficult than expected, although quite entertaining. I have been contacted by settlers looking to rent their studio in Gilo, and by Israeli lefties consoling me: "I'd rent my place out to you if you could afford it".

Foray into Iraqi territory

Not exactly your typical tourist attraction...

Michaela and a friend showed me how to break into the former Iraqi Embassy to East Germany, which was apparently hastily abandoned upon reunification. Some research on the property revealed that this remains the eternal property of the People of Iraq --- in other words, on my first day in Berlin i made it to Iraqi territory. Kind of looks like Iraq too.






oh, AND we found the WMDs!

train to Berlin tomorrow

I should have titled this blog "Jerusalem Beirut Kigali Beirut Paris Berlin Rome Jerusalem (inshallah)"

I look forward to the upcoming year of sedentary lifestyle, where military occupation will once again restrict my movement and the only borders I cross are de facto ones

People are still visiting this site...

In Paris, left Beirut just in time. If I have to die young, it would be a shame for it to be outside of Palestine.

I've been staying at Emily and Tania's apartment, catching up with all sorts of old friends here - high school, college, pre-school, friends of family and friends of friends. I am exhausting myself, after six months of self-inflicted separation from all things familiar (I had initially written "social deprivation", but on second thought its a fat lie, as I don't think i've ever gone out as much as i did my last month in Kigali).

Funny (but not shocking), French people don't even know that their diplomats have been kicked out of Rwanda and that people practically spit if you say "France" in Kigali.

Other than that, I don't think I can provide my faithful readers with any sort of insight on Parisian society, their post-election trauma, or the pathetic decline of this bastion of the left. I think I'm going to buy a pair of ballerinas.

Ziyad Rahbani

I forgot to mention that I shook his hand tonight, as we stumbled upon his performance at Club Social.
I love Beirut.

BOOKSTORES!

today I spent four hours at Librairie Antoine. Halleluja!

I *missed* aimless bookshelf browsing, the smell of new books, the kid-in-a-candy-shop feeling, and of course, the clerks' "are you going to *buy* that book?" glare.

I bought Kundera and Ahdaf Soueif, an unlikely match. I refuse to pick up an Africa related book for another month. I don't have place in my suitcases for any more, but I think I'll leave Ahdaf Soueif here, I didn't like the first thirty pages.

Back in land of Fairuz, although Pink Floyd and Greek dance music are being simultaneously blasted from various apartments next door.

preliminary observations of a culture-shocked Arab:

1) I forgot that warm water can come out of a tap/ shower.
2) real mattresses!
3) Beirut is orange, I guess it's khamseen season (khamseen in English? sandstorm?)
4) I think Nancy Ajram has had yet another cheek enhancement, judging from the coke ads in the airport which I had time to study as the Lebanese security forces questioned me: "But you're born in Israel?" "No, Palestine." "I'm sorry sister, this really won't take much time, we just have to register you because of your birthplace. You know how it is. By the way, are you seeing someone?" Leave it to the Lebanese to not lose an opportunity.

Kigali goodbyes were hard, I had a nice goodbye party and then a long, long afterparty, which pretty much lasted until I got dropped off at the airport. Thanks to all my Kigali people for being so awesome.

Now in Beirut, crashing in Paige and Rasha's former apartment, where Yusuf still occupies the couch, like I've never left. He greeted me with 6 different kinds of Labneh, whic I've been sampling all morning/day. Haven't left the apartment yet, too much recovering to do, too much e-mailing to catch up on.

RIP my diary, which i left at an internet cafe somewhere in Kigali. Besides being thoroughly embarassed by the knowledge that someone has probably read it, i am also in mourning. If you know me you know I have a terrible memory. I had been keeping this diary for almost two years now and was just going to put it to rest for a new one once i got back to Palestine. I started it in the first place because everything i ever wrote on my computer kept getting erased/ crashing, it's like there's a conspiracy against me or something. This blog is probably going to get erased too. That's two years of all sorts of shit I won't remember. ARGH.

RIP my computer adaptor, blew in Kigali and is now leaving me laptopless as I go on to Beirut, Paris, Berlin and Rome. If youre in Kigali, don't use Renee the computer guy. He lies, he cheats.

RIP my Made in Hebron 10 dollar flip flops that have travelled half-way around the world for me and endured all sorts of American, African and Middle Eastern terrains and night clubs. They broke during my last week in Kigali, where I laid them to rest after wearing them nearly every day. Seriously, I put them to the ultimate test and they surpassed all expectations. Photo illustrations as soon as I figure out how to use a Mac.

The Sartrean Gaze

This summarizes my existence in Rwanda. Muzungu/ Muarabu angst.

Almost last thoughts.

I haven't been good about blogging these days, but it's really because SO much has been happening and it's hard for me to relate it all while maintaining the appropriate degree of anonymity required by this blessing/curse of internet searches. It's actually kind of frightening. Someone found my site by googling "israeli stereotypes backpacking". They proceeded to spend 19 minutes here, I hope they learned something. Another one got here by when he searched "Merkava tank" - now I'm assuming this is a He - and spent about half an hour here.

(Let's see what happens: HIZBULLAH BINLADEN ALLAHU AKBAR BOMB BRITTNEY SPEARS SEGOLENE LOVES ARABS.)

Right. So where was I? Ah, yes. Kigali has been insane. I am leaving here in 6 days, after being here for 6 months. I stopped working as of Monday, my adapter blew and I'm roaming the streets of Kigali looking for a replacement that won't blow and that will get past Israeli security.

Still can't keep up with all the things I have to/ want to do. I've had very little time (or willingness) to reflect on it all... I suppose you're expecting a long, thorough, conclusive, structured post. At least Dad is.

All I have is this:

(ok so the picture didn't load. come back later).

deliriously yours,
diala

I had to look up "polyethylene" for this post

The New Times, Rwanda's highly respected and only (*cough*) English language daily, reports that one can incur up to five years of imprisonment if caught with polyethylene bags (read: regular plastic bags). Now I don't think anyone has ever seriously gone to jail for this, although they might get fined (up to five million RwF = $9,000. Most Rwandans would rather spend their life in prison then try to come up with that sum).

But let's just take this law at face value for a second.

In Rwanda, if you (intentionally) killed somebody during the genocide and have confessed to this, you are sentenced to 20 - 25 years of prison. The catch: you actually spend only 1/3 rd of the sentence in Prison (7 years), 1/2 doing community service 3 days a week (and if full-time then only a quarter so only 5 years). The rest is on parole. So that's 7 years of jail, 5 years of community service for killing someone.

Think about it. Killing someone = prison sentence for owning a plastic bag + 2 years.

Conclusion: Rwanda cares about the environment just as much as it cares about ... Reconciliation?(I am being cynical, and if you don't get it I’ll explain this to you over drinks sometime once I'm out of here).

I’m serious about the plastic bags. They don’t check you for weapons or drugs when you enter from Uganda. You can imagine my disbelief, being used to Ben Gurion airport and all… (What? No strip-search??!). But they do check you for plastic bags and make you leave them on the Ugandan side of the border.

In case you were wondering,

I leave here on the 11th. I then go to Beirut and begin my long journey home, which may pass through Europe, a plan i have devised that will allow me to postpone getting a job for another few weeks.

Poison

Researcher: Let's hope that the State takes care of these security matters and keeps you safe.

Interviewee: I agree, but I wonder if the State can really protect us from poison?

Researcher: Ah, on that matter, I think God will intervene.

[Ok so this fragment is apparently misleading. Rather than revealing extreme cynicism on the researcher's part, it's a commentary on the fact that in the villages everyone always thinks theyre getting poisoned. If it's malaria, it' s poison. If theyr'e dehydrated, it's poison. They also dismiss anyone "from Kigali" telling them otherwise. This results in many unnecessary deaths and apparently, sometimes violent witch hunts. This is why the researcher dismisses the poison concern as a potential vengeance from genocidaires who now fear that their identities will be revealed by their former accomplices. Not sure that makes sense, but I tried.]

Rwanda Nziza

Happier posts, as promised.

Kayove, from my excursion two weeks ago:

never-ending banana plantationsTea plantations, on the way to Gisenyi
Lake view from Kibuye, 5 AM.

A month of gloom

My site statistics thingie tells me that my average clicks a day has dropped.

Just because I'm writing about death, genocide, and sketchy egyptians shouldn't scare you away. This weekend has been the beginning of the commemoration of the genocide, 13 years later. So we're bombared with images of dead babies and macheted moms. On saturday I attended the official commemoration ceremony, held in Murambi this year (the site of a massacre of about 50,000 Tutsis). Hundreds of exhumed bodies, contorted and almost perfectly preserved with limestone, are on display in every classroom. One, after the other, after the other. The public walked through them all after the ceremonies, they let little kids in, one woman with a baby on her back got pushed in the commotion and bumped into a protruding severed, chalky shin.

Watching the survivors' reactions to the site - many of which survived Murambi and were maybe looking at their relatives - and people breaking down, getting carried away by the red cross' "comfort committee" was enough to make me stay in all Easter Sunday. Ah, right. Happy Easter. Life, death. lifedeathlifedeathlifedeath. I can't think of anything meaningful to write here.

Well, I think I've just made a wonderful case for you to keep reading. Tomorrow, jolly posts I promise. And now I have to apply for jobs.

heated debate in the office, people yelling and others leaving.

La question:

In our reports, do we use the term genocidaires or former genocidaires?

People are getting really, really agitated about this. The bible is being quoted, gory genocide stories are recounted as arguments, stories of redemption and forgiveness as counter-arguments. It's still happening, so I won't go into details. But if you want to throw in your two cents, please do.

This isn't about reconciliation, it's not about politics. Morally, if you have killed once, and have served your time in jail/ apologized/ asked for forgiveness, are you still a killer? What if you haven't, but you have gone 15 years without killing anyone?

JP is arguing that you cease to be a genocidaire once you finish your prison sentence (10-15 years for Category 2 killers). I quote: "If i used to be a mechanic but am now a baker, do you still call me a mechanic?" "why permanently stigmatize somebody when we're trying to reconcile people?" (why permanently kill somebody??)
Here's another question: Do I cease to be a killer the moment I pull my machete out of my victim?..... is this conversation really happening?

Leonille, almost in tears: "It's enough we're letting people whove killed more than once go after only 10 years of prison, we're giving them a chance of reducing their sentences in HALF by doing community service and we're requiring survivors to forgive them. Now, you also want us to absolve them of responsibility and save them from the stigma of being called genocidaire when they're home with their families farming their land while their victims families still mourn?"

I don't think I could live in a country where these debates are happening every day and concern me personally.

Who is a Survivor?

Not as simple as you’d think.

A couple of months ago Liz and I had a visitor - a young man, a survivor – who had strange ideas about survivor organizations. He argued that in order to keep surviving, or prevent another genocide, Tutsis should stop organizing themselves into survivors’ associations, they should stop advertising their “survivor-ness”. Back then I didn’t quite get it, but a few months later his point is clearer to me.

As the use of the terms “Tutsi” and “Hutu” has been banned from public life, (We are All Rwandans now), the terms “survivor” (and there are some others, too) is often used interchangeably with “Tutsi”. The rationale: if you were meant to be killed and you weren’t, then you have survived. As the genocide’s purpose was to eliminate all Tutsis, any Tutsis still living who were here during the genocide are Survivors. It makes sense, really.

But today it seems as the term is being stripped of its historic reference – the genocide – and politicized. This goes along with the placement of Victimhood among the foundational characteristics of the “new” state. In other words, in post genocide lingo, “survivor” = mainstream, represented by the state and entitled to benefits and represented by the government. The survivor’s existence is the justification for the state’s policies.

The young man is right - while this identification is currently in favor, it may fall out of it just as fast and have devastating consequences. I would want out, too.

I forget. Here is why I started writing this in the first place:

I just got back from lunch with my colleagues at the ministry of Justice’s cantine. I don’t work at the ministry, but it’s right down the street from our office. We have lunch there everyday, and I have already learned that we can’t talk about politics, especially as my NGO is often criticized by some Rwandans for defending prisoners’ rights (genocide perpetrators).
Someone brought up Avega, which is the umbrella organization for the widows of the genocide. I apparently made the mistake of calling it a survivors’ organization and was corrected: Avega is “technically” not a survivors’ organization, but a widows of the genocide organization.

The clueless Mzungu: “I don’t understand. If a Hutu woman was married to a Tutsi and her husband or children were killed and she survived, is she not considered a survivor?” (many Hutus married to Tutsis were killed along with their spouses for their “treason”)

Apparently, that was another foot-in-mouth moment of mine, as I was immediately shushed “Not here. We’ll talk about this when we get back to the office”.

At the office now, but no one's talking...

Foot in Mouth.

Sometimes I forget that not everyone is as comfortable with political incorrectness as I am. Spending all my time with people like Paige ... and the rest of you know who you are... has skewed my grasp on reality.

Friday night I arrived late to a goodbye party for a Marine. The table was packed with Marines and US embassy people. I brought two friends that I was meant to be "showing around": an Egyptian and a Jordanian... Come on, who WOULDN'T make terrorist jokes?

Sgt. Thompson actually got up and left our end of the table, he said he "couldn't be listening to this, he could compromise his job"

Give me a break, we weren't actually going to hijack that flight to Nairobi! (planning something of that magnitude would require spending far too much time in close proximity with an Egyptian man - a scenario I avoid at all costs).

Right. I hope the Jordanian still gets his visa... and also, that he forgives me. I'm pretty sure his dad gave up on his plans to have us married [success!]

Over half of the Jewish population in Israel believes the marriage of a Jewish woman to an Arab man is equal to national treason, according to a recent survey by the Geocartography Institute.

Sounds like male half of the Israeli population is a little insecure....

The Scramble for Africa, reloaded.

In today's Haaretz:

Jewish philanthropists are bringing orphans from Rwanda to Israel. (Uprooting them, taking them to a country that treats it's black citizens as 2nd class and non Jewish as 3rd, and discarded the blood donated by it's ethiopian citizens, and oh... i forget... with an ongoing conflict and occupation of the Territories - that's going to solve their problems!)

She quotes "Altneuland" by Theodor Herzl, who sought to alter the fate of the Jewish People, as well as "to assist in the redemption of Africans." Indeed, she sees the Yemin Orde project as the "fulfillment of Zionism." If Judaism improves the world, Israel must be a "light unto nations." [emphases mine]

Ah, the Jewish Man's burden. Please be a light unto my nation....

Sometimes, Kigali feels like Ramallah

I'm extracting myself from kigali's "social scene" - which has lately become overwhelming - for a week.

Ya tukkho yaksir mukho, as we say - I've gone from having absolutely nothing to do to too much, and I've also discovered that there is so much drama. He-said-she-said has reached a whole new level, and I thought Bethlehem was bad! That's what happens when you start meeting bored expats, I suppose.

Speaking of mzungus - you know how we say "expat" or "expat community" with a roll of the eyes, synonymous with "malaria medication taking, 4x4 driving, beer chugging and frequent user of the term "local" with a dismissive shrug of the shoulders"?

I'm trying really hard not to get sucked in. It's hard, when choosing between doing nothing or doing something. Saturday night I was at an all-expat table. Amidst the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol there were conversations about the "hired help", people exchanging horror stories about disobedient or stubborn house boys or house girls. And when the waiter brought their barely filled shot glasses of vodka, they protest: "T.I.A"

[For those of you who are uncool, that's Leo DiCaprio's line in Blood Diamond, another film about Africa where the white guy saves the day with his street smart, friendly, gentle but violent-if-angered, African side-kick. This Is (Hollywood's) Africa]

Life is really hard, you know. Why are they all so damn uppity, don't they know we're here to HELP them, with our $50,000 salaries and operational costs exceeding 55% of our total budgets?

three ba2aras, lost in translation

Transcript of an interview from yesterday, in an area so far removed from a paved road that 3 days of 7 hour drives a day have left me with bruised shoulder blades, back of my neck, legs and ass - all a yellowish blue. Well. At least I was productive:

[background: we were taking interviews in one of the districts about cases of looting during the genocide, soon to be addressed by the gacaca courts]

Me: So, how many cows did they steal?
Mr. X: They didn't steal any cows.
Me: But I thought you said they stole your cows after you ran away?
X: No, they ate my cows.
Me: Right. So how many did they eat?
X: two cows.
Me: But you're asking them to pay for five?
X: Yes because they had my five cows.
Me: So what happened with the three others?
X: what three?
Me: the cows that they didn't eat but that you don't have anymore
X: They stole them.
Me: Who did?
X: I don't know. [turns to the two kids climbing on top of me, pulling at my clothes in an attempt to reach my hair]:Tssss, leave the umuzungu's hair alone, it will fall out.
Me: Actually, umuarabu! [awkward laugh, failed attempt at building a rapport]. But thank you. But who will have to pay for your 3 cows?
X: What three cows?