A Nice Evening Walk in Ramallah

Walking along the streets in Ramallah at night is quite an experience. A cross between dodging cars along tight mountain roads in Hong Kong, and avoiding open manhole covers on the sidewalks of Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. If you fall into the rhythm, and keep yourself out of harm’s way, the sights, sounds, and climate of Ramallah in September make for a pleasant evening.

In Long Beach you can walk along the streets at night, but passing cars and passing police will reward you with stares or requests for identification. You avoid looking directly into another person’s eyes, particularly if they are of a different race or culture, for fear of confrontation.

In Ramallah you are greeted by everybody you pass on the street, regardless of the fact you are obviously a foreigner, and there is a good probability you do not share their culture or ideology. A smile, a nod of the head, and you pass by without fear.

The city is one of hills and moguls. And like a Beijing of the 90′s, the skyline is dominated by construction and progress. This evening holds a gentle breeze, and the view of hills and valleys dotted with lights, and life, is very nice. It is good to stand off the side of the road, and look across the valleys towards Jerusalem, with its skyline lighting the distant horizon.

You feel and sense hope. Hope of people who have been through tremendous trouble and pain for the past 40 years. People who are tired of troubles, and want to think of a future that holds the rewards of working hard.

You feel that hope while walking the streets, seeing and hearing the sounds of progress.

Life in the 50s and early 60′s

Imagine getting up early on a Saturday morning in Ramallah, then driving to Beirut for brunch, going to the beach in the early afternoon, having a bite to eat in Tel Aviv, and being home in Ramallah for dinner. No, it is not crazy, it is life in the 50′s. An old man speaks fondly of those days, when life was good, and people of all cultures and ideologies treated each other with tolerance and respect.

The old man tells his grandchildren of a time when fences did not partition the land, checkpoints did not separate villages from each other, and free travel was an entitlement of being alive. The grandchildren listen with awe and envy, as the tales do not seem to have any reality today, in a land of occupation dominated by mistrust among neighbors who have shared the land for a thousand years.

And hope.

On the way back to the hotel you finally pass your first police checkpoint set up within Ramallah. The first thought is “oh my, is there going to be some kind of trouble?” Then a memory comes back of traffic stops in Long Beach you saw the prior weekend, with police stopping every car, checking for alcohol, checking registrations, checking individual backgrounds. Not much different.

A friendly nod by the Ramallah police while walking by, and back to the hotel. A really pleasant walk.

John Savageau, from Ramallah, Palestine

Learning the Real Ramallah

A machine gun pointed at my head, a smug look of contempt from a guard, walls designed to keep me isolated from the outside and under control. I am in prison.

From the outside, life is pretty normal. Citizens laughing in a sidewalk café, driving to the shopping mall, lining up to view a first-run movie. On the trip from the city my driver talks of the outside. He talks of people with hopes, futures, and fulfilling their dreams. At the prison checkpoint the mood changes, and we get a quick briefing on the rules of conduct while transferring to the “inside.”

I am now entering Ramallah. The line going into Ramallah is short – takes about 5 minutes. The line waiting to go out is long, and the driver reveals you can expect to wait about 3 hours to re-enter Israel. Cars with a Palestinian number plate are not allowed outside of the West Bank of Palestine, only Israeli tagged cars are allowed on the outside.

As we pass the border checkpoint our driver slowly turns, and says “welcome to our prison.”

I am an American, What do I know?

All I know of Ramallah is what I hear on the news, or read in the papers. I assume every street corner will have a group of terrorists ready to pull me out of the car and hold me for ransom, or execute me on a tape forwarded to YouTube for global distribution. The media has pumped me up to the point I cower behind slightly shaded windows, fearing what may happen to me if pedestrians see a foreigner in the car, and call ahead to those finding amusement harming me.

But what the heck? The streets of Ramallah are fairly wide, in somewhat good shape (at least compared to Tel Aviv), and everything is under construction. Lots of new buildings, all made with a wonderful stone façade, with designs that rival my own community in Long Beach. Even though we are in the middle of Ramadan, people are working hard at the construction sites, and moving about with purpose.

No visible weapons on the street. No groups of young men spoiling for a fight.

At the hotel I am greeted by security, a guard shakes my hand and says “Welcome to Ramallah.” The desk clerk gives me a warm welcome, and gives a quick overview of the area, and quickly fills in a couple of high-level suggestions on the tradition and culture of Ramadan, which is an important period of the year for Muslims.

Nothing harsh or threatening, just giving me a couple tips of what is happening, and how I can avoid causing myself any personal anxiety over making a social gaff. He was worried about my feelings, not those of Muslims who probably expect me to do something culturally silly.

My first Ramadan Celebration Meal

The hotel prepares a buffet. Muslims have fasted all day, and according to the practice wait until the official sunset to feast. The hotel restaurant area has a large screen display guiding evening prayers, and at the official moment of sunset announces to those present it is time to celebrate.

Lamb, a large variety of food, drinks, a true celebration. Everybody is friendly with everybody else, and even show foreigners like myself much accommodation and warmth.

A Ramallah Sunrise

On the first morning in Ramallah I take a sunrise walk along the hills and moguls of the city. Most of the buildings new. Many vacant lots with the foundations of past homes, lives, families, and a culture disrupted over the past 40 years of “troubles.” Most appear destroyed by human hand. Everybody greets me as I walk along the street, somewhat amused by my interest in the buildings and community, but no cold shoulder or indication I am unwelcome.

A new day, and the beginning of a new challenge. The challenge of making sure my visit to Palestine and Ramallah will bring value. I don’t want to be a burden, a tourist, or an ugly American. I feel the history, the spirit, and depth of a region that does not have a single centimeter of land untouched by humans. I look inside for the strength to bring my experience and knowledge to really smart people, who just need reinforcement of their visions.

We are but a snapshot, a sound bite in time. How do we bring value to an area which has ground every effort throughout history into yet another chronicle of struggle?

We will try

John Savageau, from Ramallah, Palestine