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February 7, 2007

View from the bus

Lately I've been thinking that there is so much that you can learn about a place by riding a bus, and I've found that to be especially true here is Palestine and Israel. Sometimes I feel that I am living in a Christian bubble here. I live in one of the most pluralistic cities in the world- a place called "The City of Peace" where Jews, Christians, and Muslims; Arabs, Israelis, and Druze; the secular and the religious live together. It has been a joy to work with the Christian community here. However, while I have learned to discern and describe the intricacies of the Christian community here down to the smallest detail- sometimes I am not sure where the entry point is into all the other communities that I manage to co-exist here with. The bus may not be a place of deep interaction- but I've found it to be a perch from which I can observe.

Every morning I walk for a few minutes through the checkpoint and most mornings I get on the bus which will sail me on to work as opposed to an hour-long walk. I see young girls sporting chic headscarves that match their shoes, old men with carefully ironed kaffiyehs (Arab scarves), and women with colorful hand-embroidered well-worn traditional Palestinian dresses. Sacks of vegetables and other wares to be sold on the city streets are thrown with a thump into the trunk of the bus. There are different routes all the time- I have to pay attention and yell "dugri! dugri!" ("go straight! Go Straight!") if I think the bus is taking an inconvenient shortcut. Then… there is the "bus etiquette." An elusive set of unspoken bus rules.

A woman should not sit down in a seat next to a man if there is another seat open.

If there are no other seats open and a woman has been forced to sit by a man that she does not know, as soon as there is a seat open fore mentioned woman should move to the empty seat.

If a man comes onto the bus and the only open seat is next to a woman sitting alone it is polite for him not to sit by her, but to stand (note: this does not mean that she smells- she shouldn't be self-conscious- he is just trying to be polite).

If someone who is older than you gets on the bus and there are no seats left you should get up and give them your seat (this one is pretty much universal!)

It's polite to say "Yatik Il-Afia" when leaving the bus- It means something along the lines of "God bless your health while you are working" Nice.

When a soldier gets on the bus that means it is time to take your passport out- you have arrived at a "flying checkpoint."

Tongue in cheek social rules aside- I have observed a great deal from riding buses here. A few weeks ago, for example, after having tea with a friend, I took the bus home by myself. After driving for about five minutes our bus pulled over at one of those unexpected flying checkpoints and a soldier, carrying a very large gun, and wearing his khaki green army uniform and hat came on the bus. Everyone pulled out their light blue Jerusalem IDs and added them to the stack that he was now carrying down the aisle. I slithered my dark blue navy passport- my little get out of jail free ID- out of its black holder. Unless I have to I don't like to advertise my American citizenship in an area where American policy has such significant influence in a time when the majority are just frustrated with politics and especially with that American influence. As I handed my passport to the soldier the silver decal which indicates my nationality flashed in the bus-light and he sent my passport back to me with the slight wave of the hand. I just wanted to disappear- I never know how to handle this differential treatment. Moments later he walked off the bus with a dozen Jerusalem IDs and one of the unlucky passengers whose ID was green, indicating that he is from the West Bank. We sat. We waited. We watched traffic flow by for 20 minutes. I saw other lit buses flash by- filled with people- I wonder what their stories are… The soldier came back on the bus and handed the stack of ID cards to the man in the front seat. As he clumsily passed them around I saw one more bus pass. This one was different- a green bus filled with men who looked the same to me- they all had dark suits, a long curl of hair in front of each ear and a dark hat- some of which were carefully wrapped in clear plastic bags because of the rain. Othodox Jews filled the green Israeli bus that would only be driving in that direction if it were going to a settlement. I wondered how the man sitting in the next seat must think of me- me with my blonde hair, my new backpack, my headphones, and my passport that gets waved away at flying checkpoints. I wonder what the man sitting next to me must think of the men in that bus that just passed- knowing where they are going and why this checkpoint is here. Is he angry? Frustrated? Or is he just tired? What about the men in the green bus with their hats protected from the weather outside? Is hasn't been too many years since those green Israeli buses were primary targets of suicide bombs. People rode those buses at their own risk.

Ahhh… now everyone has their IDs back and we are free to move and take the Shua'fat road exit ramp down to the intersection that is famous for unfortunate reasons and nickmamed either "suicide corner" or "the racist traffic light" depending on which direction you're driving from. I look out the window and see the army post that has always been manned since the second intifada when this intersection earned the nickname "suicide corner." More suicide bombings occurred on this corner than any other during that time. The corner that was targeted is a spot where settlers catch rides up the road that only leads to settlements. This is one of those intersections where everyone driving to the east is going to a settlement and everyone going north is heading toward an Arab area where numerous shops and offices, including the one where I work, are located. If you are driving south on the opposite side of the Shua'fat road and heading from an Arab area toward downtown Jerusalem you will have a very different experience of this traffic light. Traffic from the settlements and the access road flow leisurely through the green stoplight. Finally, when the light turns orange, signaling that it will soon turn green everyone on the Shua'fat road side starts honking and gunning their engines… the light turns green and in a wail of clashing horn honks they slam on the gas and if they're lucky four cars deep in the line get through. It feels like a scene out of a cartoon until you're late for a meeting and waiting. In any case, when giving directions to the office, sometimes I'll describe it as being close to the "racist traffic light" and most people know what I'm referring to. As cars wait at the light, young kids, whose faces become heart-breakingly familiar use this perpetual traffic jam to sell air fresheners and packs of gum for a few shekels- explaining with persistence how their parents will beat them if they don't bring home enough shekels at the end of the day. Most people I know keep some extra change in their cars for these kids, especially that cute one with the gap between his teeth that nobody can ever turn away.

The view from the bus... I arrived back in Jerusalem a month ago. At the airport I took an Israeli shared-ride van called the Nesher back to Jerusalem. It mostly goes back to West Jerusalem, and because of concerns about safety will only drop passengers off at hotels on the edge of East Jerusalem. So, at 3am I was dropped off at the American Colony Hotel, where I tried to get a taxi to take me and my heavy bags back to my apartment. I was worried because most taxis can take me back to the checkpoint, but don't want to cross to the other side. If a Palestinian who doesn't live in the neighborhood goes through the checkpoint they will need to drive 25 minutes out of the way to get out a different way. With all my luggage and the rain, I didn't think I could walk the ten minutes up the hill past the checkpoint. Fortunately, I found a taxi that could take me all the way home.

My seven months in this place have been filled with bus rides. I remember riding the green Israeli bus up north to get to Nazareth for a meeting...where soldiers become equals as they snore accross the aisle with guns pointing askew on thier laps. Riding buses with groups who come here to learn and experince, even if it means getting off a bus and walking through a checkpoint terminal in solidarity. Riding in informal Palestinian services around the West Bank with the music blaring the the handfuls of sticky coins passed up to the front of the bus. I look forward to the day when I can ride a bus and just look out the window, watching for the gradual changes in the seasons, instead of being assaulted by the political realities that are always simmering just below the surface. I look forward to a time when buses will be a tool for transportation and connection rather than further division.

Today is a benchmark day for me. Today I have been back in Jerusalem for a month after a great visit home, I've been living in Palestine/Israel for seven months today, not to mention the fact that today is my 24th birthday. :) I still feel like living here is a perpetual learning experience, but I'm really starting to get a handle on all the acronymns, the shortcuts, and the language. I'm still studying Arabic, but I've started taking lessons from a new tutor now. I have an amazing group of friends here. We cook together, have poetry nights, go to protests, take yoga, and explore together. Sometimes the conversations are almost entirely in Arabic, but I'm learning to understand more and more! Next month I need to leave the country to get my visa renewed, so I am going to Prague with some good friends. As much as I enjoy the work that I do here, it is a tense place to live sometimes, and it is nice to get away every few months.

Krista's previous stories:

Krista Johnson graduated from the HELM Leadership Fellows Program in 2005. A Chapman University graduate, she is a member a member of Southport Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in suburban Indianapolis.

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