Day FiftySix

Shatila Day

and the way there is becoming easier.

More familiar 

and bonded between us.

Julia is the new addition to the group since last week

and she's been amazing.

She is amazing.

Extremely conscious

and kind.

We had the classes together 

and in a very strange, unplanned way

we manage to flow together

as teachers

in a class of young rebels.

The class starts and we are in full action

to collect the running boys

and congratulate the sitting ones.

The girls are in order 

and they haven't lost their interest yet.

Meanwhile Fatme is being the queen of numbers

The struggle becomes real

when the little monkeys

see no future in sitting on a chair

with two foreign teachers.

'HALAS!'

I shout firmly.

'Shoo haida?'

[What is this?]

One time

Two times

Three times

Drop 

[on the floor laughing]

as me and Julia look at each other

and break out in laughs 

at how cheeky the kids are

and how we're almost enjoying that they're so energetic.

They watch us laugh

and they laugh too.

They get it.

And we get it too.

All they want is some attention

from a foreign vibe

that communicates with them 

more with body language than

with language.

Julia takes the lead

and goes to the board.

The attention starts being magnetically drawn

to the board.

I alternatively pick up the boys who are naughty 

and sit them on my lap to hold.

More so to refrain them from running around the class.

Foaz becomes briefly naughty and I grab him in a playfully way

place him on my lap sideways

where he leans to my left arm and comforts himself

like a lovable human form

that found the comfort he needs.

I remember him last week;

being completely defensive and traumatised

as he lied under the table

and wouldn't come out of it.

I urged him and stack around saying

'Come habibi. Come.'

I couldn't figure him out 

but I kept showing I was there.

And now he was giving himself to me.

In the way a child gives himself to the mother.

And  though I wasn't ready for it

it was the best thing

taught in class.

Day FourtyNine

Shatila Day

after Zeed motivated me to come along and teach English 

after missing out on a week and basically giving up on the girls' fitness class

which is now carried out by Alex and Mallory.

The girls kept telling me during the week

'you are loved there'

and 

'the girls are asking about you'

but

my only response was that 

'I feel everything'

which makes it hard for me to carry.

But I went.

With less weight on my shoulders and the dream team alongside.

The kids are always excited to see us

and it has become a familiar place for us too.

Even people on the streets can recognise our faces.

The day starts and we have a class and then a break.

I'm eager to walk upstairs to the girls' school

to visit them

as they pledged me to do

two weeks ago.

I know they know I know

they don't forget me;

and I wanted them to know

I don't either.

Their teacher Mohammed is on the stairs 

and I ask him where the girls' classroom is.

He says 'Which girls?'

I say 'Ifal'.

She's my younger soul sister.

He walks us to their class and opens the door.

I appear slowly in the picture

and scan the faces

I face.

I notice Ilaf,

sitting on the front seat.

The more confident funny friend sitting behind her.

Her younger sister sitting next to her.

Our contemporary dancer is sitting on the front right.

I look further,

the more mature girl who takes the class seriously sits at the far right.

I see eyes dilating

as their wonder grows 

at how I made it to see them.

We stand awkwardly,

speechlessly

motionlessly

connecting 

with no 

way

to explain to anyone watching-

all the things we've discussed

in that one moment.

Neither side wants to let go

but Mohammed is standing at the door

and Mrs Sarah, their teacher,

is like, ?,

so I say 'I will go to work now'

blink,

nod to them,

and make my way out of the picture.

#strong

#priceless

#deep

-

We go downstairs and outside for some tea on the street.

I notice a woman hanging clothes on the balcony 

of Ilaf's flat.

And I suspect it's her mother.

I always look to that balcony

in a secret hope to come across Ilaf

or her older sister.

I walk below the balcony and wave to the woman.

'Hello. Ilaf mama? Inti?'

'Eh!'

She recognises me.

I try to explain who I am but she already knows.

Ilaf has spoken to her family about me as much as I have spoken

to my family about her.

It's mutual.

'Ahlein'

Come in, she waves. Come.

I say I have to go back for the second English class

and she says I should come next time.

She is so welcoming,

it's like we've hugged from the first floor balcony she's at

and the noisy street I'm at.

I can see where the girls get this beautiful

loving sense from.

And I look forward to 

embracing their invitation.

Day Fourty

Sara from England

works with youth and adults with anti-social behaviour 

and she's here to do good.

Today,

she went to Bekka Valley to collect a fifteen year old boy 

and take him to an other village where he will be 

staying with extended family and where he will start school,

tomorrow.

She's on a fundraising mission where funds go to support refugees directly

-somewhat boycotting the idea of NGO support due to their

in-transparent fund distribution.

Nonetheless,

I'm in the kitchen cooking

and Duce comes up to me and starts describing her experience with Sara

and the mission.

She has a very,

very

grateful and humbled 

tone in her voice.

She starts by saying 'I am lucky'

'I am lucky, because even if I do not have parents

or a family

or mother

I did not have to carry my sister

who has no legs

and to see my own parents die in front of my eyes.

So I am lucky'...

I'm putting everything together in my mind as well as in the pan 

as I make the link of a very,

very

bitter upbringing 

becoming moulded into appreciation

in the sight of devastating 

and traumatic 

scenes

Syrian children are experiencing.

I turn the fire up

and look at Duce between

glancing at the clock on the wall

and thinking I don't have enough time

to add more red sauce in the pan.

Day ThirtyNine

Volunteer meeting day.

We wake up, all around 11am knowing that we have a meeting upstairs at 12.

We are in the same dorm, Alexandra, Hanna and I and they are also long-term guests here, and here for volunteering.

We make coffee and gather around the common area. Mallory arrives and so does Caroline. Zeed is out for the day but our group looks ready to go! We start discussing ideas it's the first time we are planning multiple classes on multiple days with multiple people and it makes me very proud to be part of this. And to see how this developed from two girls visiting Shatila a couple of times a week in early September.

We arrange English, dance and activities classes while considering what we might need to buy before starting. The vibe is very supportive and the girls are super excited. I'm glad. For everything.

The meeting ends and the four of us decide to head off to Cuentista; a social space with good wifi. This sounds extreme but the wifi in Lebanon is quite slow, and we all have work to do.

I get to know more about the girls and we exchange blog links. Mallory's impresses me. She has a direct and raw way of speaking it out; everything about the perception of refugees from Westerners and so we link and bond even more.

It's nice to spend some girl time with girls who are as boy as I am. And our hours pass lightly and productively, with the owner of Cuentista asking if we need anything more.

Day ThirtyFive

Visiting a refugee camp on a regular isn't easy.

And though we overlook the weight of devastation these people carry,

we are undoubtedly affected by it.

Duce and our two new volunteers Alexandra and Hanna arrive at Shatila after an aggressive check-point stop where the soldier was feeling extra generous with his masculinity and position of power.

The girls are new to this and it's their first contact with the camp. We split in pairs and walk into the classrooms. The kids are all over the place; and, being pumped up by the presence of a new teacher, take no time to impress her by acting with natural instinct of unsettlement.

The class never settles and the hour passes with me trying to explain to Alexandra that 'it's usually not as crazy as this' and that 'last week was great' and 'when they get to know you... bla bla'.

She gets it and I can see from the sparkle in her eye that she hasn't lost faith.

We take a break, walking around and grabbing lunch while we face friendly and not so friendly interactions. This is a first for me as I'm usually alone in this space and keep myself very reserved and unapproachable.

It was nice to become more than that and interact with a couple of nice people.

But the vibe, of being a foreigner, a non-muslim and a woman among this unidentified male masculinity is still quite heavy.

We return to the centre for the aerobics class I host for teenage girls.

I brought my childhood story books from Cyprus for them so I'm very excited to see them; 

and pass some English magic to them.

I lead the way, more so with eagerness to see them than neglect of the girls. I get to the hall and instantly meet Ilaf's look which had been looking for me. We fall into each others arms and without losing a chance she says,

'I miss you.'

'I missed you too habibi.

All the time.'

I say. 

The lesson starts and though captured by the girls' enthusiasm and respect for me for always coming back for them, I become aware of my group sitting on the side, watching.

I can feel how humbled and impressed they are- 

more so it touvhes me to see what's happening from an outsider's perspective. Something so mystical found recognition from other sources.

And it's inspiring.

For all of us.

I try to balance being part of this;

leading it even

and at the same time being observant and humbled to it.

Then I talk about yoga and balance itself in the physical form and 

establish that it comes through understanding your body and balance itself.

Intimacy never leaves the room.

We stretch, sit around closely and chat.

Ilaf is sitting on her knees to the right side of my stretched out legs, and an other is touching my feet. The rest are sitting crossed-legged forming a circle with no pretentious spaces between any of us as we form and feel the unity of loving female energy.

Day TwentyEight

Sometimes it's hard to post a blog piece every day.

Reasons include not having enough time to collect yourself and thoughts, or, not being decisive on the blog's context since all days seem to be extremely rich, or, even, 

what I'm experiencing today;

that the self is so overwhelmed by feelings that it lacks mental capacity.

The hostel life is fast;

and I like to take my time,

so,

this lifestyle is making me adapt 

to a faster digestion

of events

or alternatively 

gives me indigestion.

-

Today I went to Shatila.

Shatila for me is like a fix.

Can't stay far for too long and it fixes me when I'm there.

Reasons being the extreme realness of a community that only has itself.

People who only have each other.

And whether I have been fully accepted as a presence there

or not

becomes irrelevant to the amounts of love I receive from 

everyone who I do come in contact.

Linguistic communication is scarce -

with the teachers at the organisation, with the children, 

and with the teenage girls.

It all happens with the eyes.

It's through Abdullah's eyes that I know he's fully in love with me and that he knows I'm fully in love with him. He tries to be naughty by leaving his desk or by bothering other kids but the moment I look at him he returns to writing down the numbers. The fact that I'm giving him this attention; the fact that there is care and not demand in my look is what motivates him to go all the way through the lesson.

Zahra's the 8-year old version of me.

Dark brown features and growing to potentially look like Eva Mendez.

The class finishes and all three classes meet in the hallway. We start dancing and singing to Arabic and English children's songs. Zahra's at the other side of the big circle and she looks at me each time we are at an angle facing each other from the distance.

Then we all move to the dance hall and she's one of the few kids who make it to the stage 

(via random selection cz all of them wanted to be on stage).

And I observe her being so charming and full of universal awareness. 

A bright child.

She dances with charm and humbleness.

She's not doing it to be seen. She's doing it cz she feels like it.

The song ends and she runs and lands next to me on the hall carpet.

She leans on my crossed legs and makes my space hers.

She starts singing the next Arabic song and occasionally looks at me.

I look back and keep my eyes on her

a bit longer.

My eyes water and I'm not wishing for anything.

I just try to remember what happened 

between

me being her then and me being me now.

And I try to merge the two together; not having realised that I have been giving myself a lot less credits than I ever deserved.

'Al beitttttt' [home time!]

the teacher shouts.

She gets up, gives me a hug and runs out with the rest of the screaming kids.

Day Fifteen

Our cleaner Iman walks up the stairs in a worried, almost terrifying pace.

She asks if I'm going to Shatila tomorrow and I say,

'Lah! Tanein..!' [No! On Monday]

Thinking, why is she asking me again. She saw me leaving Shatila yesterday as she was coming in. I had gone to the refugee camp with another two girls who were interested in starting volunteering.

She looks at me and starts speaking Arabic with words she knows I don't know.

She looks up then looks down, she puts two fingers together and touches her chest. 

I'm starting to visualise images and I picture it.

There was a shooting in Shatila.

She's warning me not to go. Then she repeats the pantomime.

My eyes widen and I gasp-

'Oh no! Shooting?' I'm looking for an answer.

'Eh!'

My look becomes blank. I don't even want to picture it, though I'm picturing the whole community of Shatila alerted.

I think of Ilaf, a teenage girl who I haven't seen since I've been back. I think of the cute 5yr old habibi that I saw yesterday and all the kids and faces familiar to me.

I wanna see their faces again yeani.

Fuck sake.