Archive for August, 2009
Inside the Camps
Today I visited one of the Palestinian refugee camps around Beirut. I woke up early with my stomach tied in knots. The image I had of what the camps would be like made me very uncomfortable.
It just goes to show you how much our perceptions of a place can be somewhat exaggerated. I’m not saying it’s completely safe, but if you go with someone who knows the area, you can see beyond the dirty streets and poverty.
At around 11:30am, I met with Mr. K and his wife. They both volunteer in the camp and have worked on several projects with a school in the camp. We stopped first at the school and spoke to the coordinator. He invited me to come Wednesday to meet some of their artistic students – those who play instruments and paint.
Mr. K’s wife is a complete sweetheart. She asked one of the ladies to take us to her home and meet her children. Samira has six children between the ages of 6 and 15. She works in a school and her husband is a street vegetable vendor. They’ve been living in the camp for 8 years but 2 years ago, finally purchased the home they live in. No more loans and you could feel the weight lifted from her when she told us.
Samira’s house is one of the better ones in the neighborhood. The house is in severe need of reconstruction, but it’s spacious. She apologized that she hadn’t had a chance to clean up for us. The little children had built a couch fortress in the middle of the room. We didn’t mind.
Almost all her children go to a neighborhood school, with the exception of her eldest son (12 years old) who works at a hardware store. The schools in the camp have a rotating schedule of morning classes and afternoon classes to accommodate all the students.
My heart went out to the family. They struggle every day to scrape by, but are a modestly happy family. The children find creative ways to keep busy and are content playing among themselves.
The next family we visited was a little further away. We walked into what looks like a patio with laundry hanging across the way. Sabah is a boisterous strong lady. We got a chance to sit with her and three of her 4 children. Her husband collects cans and plastic containers to make money. I could sense some hesitance to admit it to us, but she did. She continued to open up as she told us what their life is like.
Sabah loves telling stories. She was recently in a movie. One of her neighbors is a filmmaker and gave her a scene where she’s screaming at the neighbor for not throwing out the trash – something that happens in very close-knit neighborhoods everywhere. She loved it and even got paid a small amount for it.
Besides her children, two of the neighbor’s children were over. The littlest one of them was barely two years old. Sabah recounted how tiny she was when she was born. No one thought she’d make it, but here she was a healthy active little girl screaming at the elder children whenever they tried to leave her out.
Children of the Camp
Mahmoud, the youngest boy, loved my camera. I let him take a few shots of his sister and friends. He had a great grasp of the camera! Of course, they all wanted to take photographs after that. I watched as he taught them how to aim and click. I’m still waiting to hear back from Zakira (an organization that teaches the children in the camps to take photographs) so hopefully I can involve him.
As we walked back to the car, we passed through the commercial part of the camp. There are several different businesses operating in the camp – from grocers and bakeries to internet cafes and furniture upholstery shops. It’s a little community within itself, and the only world the new generation has ever known.
Anxiety
Nervous. Jittery. Coffee flowing through my veins and a million thoughts battling in my head. Spanish exam in two days. Scholarship project due in less than two weeks. Feeling inspired, but nothing concrete yet. People spoken to so far – many. Leads.. none.
Step one, this weekend. Step two to six: this week. I can do it. Just got to stay calm and focused. Zen.
The Pieces of One Puzzle
My never-ending journey to discover my life’s potential has been shaped by many factors, but the major factor I realized today is my relationships. They’ve shaped a big part of who I am, whether I realized it at the time or not.
By truly caring for a person, you are open to their views on life and wanting to share into it. From my first serious relationship was awakened a heightened sense of adventure and fearlessness. The cushy life I’d been used to until then was suddenly uncomfortable – but I loved it! Suddenly my time was filled with camping trips, water sports, high speed driving and even bungee jumping.
From the next, I learned the beauty in small actions and simple words. We both shared a passion for art and were able to communicate in that language. He exposed me to Pablo Neruda – the most fascinating poet I’ve ever read.
My most recent relationship opened my heart to helping others more. Life’s meaning is not dictated by career or money, but rather from selfless giving. There’s no greater satisfaction than knowing you’ve made a difference. Where I once only dreamed of traveling to help others, this person encouraged me to make it a reality. I now strive to build a career on creative activism – uniting my passions for design, travel and helping others.
All the pieces are leading to one me.. that is still incomplete, but certainly more clear.
Spain Travel Journal: Barcelona 05
/.Word to Mini-Skirts./
I feel surprisingly safe walking alone at night in Barcelona.. and in a mini-skirt.
There are people out everywhere and even the subway is busy after midnight.
Don’t worry.
/.Dali’s Mustache./
Even more mysterious than Dali’s surrealist paintings, are his sculptures. I whizzed past most of his earlier works of mountains and figure drawings. Sex has always been a recurring theme in his work (ie. “The Mastrubator”) and you can witness as it becomes more surreal.
His sculpture of a distorted elephant in motion made me stop in my tracks. The elephant looks so elongated and bent up, it appears to be melting. You hardly recognize it is an elephant, except for the tusks and skeletal forms. Tim Burton would like this.
My favorite sculpture was of a large stadium with a bull hanging into it. The bull fighter appears victorious with butterfly wings and an audience of miniature Dali’s (the man, not the art) applauding him. You instantly recognize him through his mustache. How did he ever come up with that brilliant trademark?
Gotta love Dali's sense of humour
The sculpture is also very colorful and detailed. Fused into the walls of the stadium are human arms and legs, disproportionately larger than the rest of the figures. Peering down from the sky above the stadium, is Dali with a cock-eyed expression. The perfect ironic twist, I thought. They actually built a large scale model of this sculpture, but you could only see pictures of how large it really was.
Dali lived in Spain and I heard it is very much worth seeing his house. Some of his paintings truly come to life.. or was that Miro’s casa? You’ll have to check on that.
/.New Eyes./
I’d left all my shopping for my last day, but the shops were all closed! Only small boutique shops in Bourne are open on Sundays.
Disappointed, I decided to hop on a Trixi tour of the Gothic Quarter. The Trixis are bicycle guided coaches that take you around the city. They run almost completely on the driver’s mechanical push, but feel like you’re in a taxi.
My guide-driver was very nice and would stop every few miles to tell me the stories of different locations. Even though I’d done the bike tour too, this one was a lot more personal and I was able to see things I hadn’t previously.
From Barcelona originally, my guide-driver resembled a longer-hair version of Gael Garcia Bernal (my second favorite actor). He apparently left Barcelona for the mountainside for a while, only recently returning. When he got back, he saw Barcelona in a different light, discovering new things he hadn’t noticed before.
Gael Garcia Bernal - Mexican actor
I felt the same about Lebanon when I first moved back a month ago. My sister would roll her eyes as I would point out the vernacular of the city. I couldn’t understand how anyone could possibly sit at home in such a buzzing, beautiful country. When I lived there as a teenager, my world was tiny. Restricted. Now I come back, hungry to explore the possibilities. The hidden jewels. The culture so unique to who I am.
Ok. I drifted off a little there. Back to the tour.. Gael (let’s call him that for simplicity) customized my tour to pass through the more artistic parts of the Gothic Quarter. There’s so much graffiti in Barcelona that is mere scribbles. As much as I love graffiti, I can’t stand the “Juan loves Maria” types. Who cares really?!
Towards the end of the tour, we passed by the Chocolate factory – which I didn’t even know about! (unbelievable!) I must’ve sounded like a little child, when I requested he drop me there after the tour. I was so excited to see all the chocolate!
/.A Bite About Chocolate./
Did you know…
- The first culture to grow chocolate was the Maya, more than 2000 years ago. (How did anyone live before that?!)
- Chocolate in Nahuati native language is “Cacahuati” (Doesn’t sound too appetizing)
- The Aztecs used the cocoa beans as currency. A rabbit cost 10 beans. A slave 100 beans. The services of a prostitute 10 beans.
The chocolate museum wasn’t the Willy Wonka-sort I’d imagined, but educational. I kept waiting to walk into a pool of melting chocolate or see chefs mixing huge pots of melting goodness.
They do give you an edible chocolate ticket when you come in. 
