Jerusalem Day 2 Part1

I went back to Jerusalem today, walking along the cobbled streets alone. I walked along with new eyes today. Truly feeling and seeing the path that Jesus, Apostles, Prophets, and so many more walked along. I felt the city as if I'd never been there before. New eyes. New words. New soul.

Today I touched the stone upon which Jesus was washed after he was crucified. Touched it with a part of me that broke down in tears when my finger tips brushed along the cool marble-like slab of rock. I let my eyes float along the shades of off-white that danced along the stone.

I walked along the same road as before, seeing things I hadn't seen before.


But before that.....

I rode bus 18 from Ramallah to Jerusalem this morning. It was a warm day, with cool winds blowing strands of my curly damp hair in my face. I smiled as I walked along in the sun. Moving fast enough to look important. To look like I had somewhere to be. To look like I knew where I was going so that the cabbies wouldnt bother to ask me if I needed a ride. Whenever I walk the streets, everyone looks at me. I'm not sure what it is, but I get stared at. Is it that I'm not wearing high heeled sandals like the other women? Is it that I'm tall on my own? Is it that I walk with confidence? Is it that I look people directly in the eyes? Can they see the tat on my arm? What is it?
Has nothing to do with a hijab since there are plenty of Christian Arabs in Ramallah so that there are many women without scarves. It can't be how I dress, since I'm pretty modest and try not to show too much skin while I'm out. Am I that pretty to be looked at by all the men as I walk by? I know I'm attractive, but am I THAT attractive? I dunno. Maybe in Palestine I am.

I walked along this morning, feeling tired and kind of nauseated, but happy. Glad to have the day to myself. I walked along the usual path to the bus. The station is only a 10 min walk from my aunts house. It's a very calm ride until the Checkpoint. There's always a collected breath held as you go to the checkpoints. You never know whats going to happen.
When we got there, some of us had to change buses. So I got on the other bus going to Jerusalem. It was pretty full. Mostly mothers with small children. And 3 frenchmen in their 60's sitting in the back.

Once I sat down, one of them asked me if I spoke English.

"Yes, I do." I replied, not knowing what he'd ask me. His french accent was thick on his tongue. A honeyed thickness that rolled the words along his mouth. He wore thick glasses that hide the bigness of his brown eyes. His hair was all white, and wavy, with specks of black as it thinned on the top of his head. His small beard and mustache were more salt than pepper and brought out the charm in his smile. Wrinkles swallowed the youthful dimples of his face, but they peaked out in lined reminders along his thin face.

"Shukran. Good. My friend needs to get to the airport in a hurry. Do you know where we can catch the bus to take him?" He came to sit in the chair across the aisle from me. He looked me full in the face as I turned around completely to talk to him and his friends. One of his friends was short and round. Had round cheeks and big rimmed glasses that framed his face and white white hair. His other friend still had very black hair, with lines of gray here and there. His long angular face and nose screamed french from a mile away.

"Yeah. When we get to Jerusalem, there's the central bus station. Just get off and ask for the bus to airport. You'll see it when we get there." I pointed out the window, moving around my hands as many Arabs do when they talk. I've always talked with my hands, but now I do it more so since I've been here.

"You're sure? Is it the last stop on the bus or are there more? Is that where you are getting off?" He didn't want to get lost or get his friend lost.

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's really easy. You'll see the station when we get there. Just ask the bus drivers which bus is going to the airport when you get out. It's super easy. I'm not sure yet if I'm getting off there or at another stop, but I'll point it out to you when we're there." I replied. I smiled. I couldn't help but smile at the innocence of these frechmen. They were all so innocent seeming.

"Ok good. Skukran. Thank you. Thank you." He went back into the back of the bus with his friends and told them what I told him, in french.

We approached the actual check point. Traffic around the check point is always disgusting. The soldiers hold people up on purpose. To start trouble. To make fun. To pass the time. And when they do that, they cause serious traffic jams. And they do nothing to help the traffic. And neither do the police.

It was time to hold our breath again. A young female soldier with blue eye liner entered the bus. She held on to her M-16 like a security blanket. Our passports were out and ready. She already looked pissed. She stood at the front.

"Passports. Yallah!" They were all out already, clear to see, but she still acted as if she didn't see them. The looked at each of us. Eyes beaming. Belittling with just a glare. She was a small soldier. Barely 5'2. Small features. Plain straight brown hair. Plain brown eyes. Same green uniform as all the soldiers. The only personality to her was her blue eye liner, traced along the top and bottom of her eyes. She looked to the back to the 3 frenchmen.

"Passport!" She screeched. "Visa!? No?" Someone must have shook their head in the wrong direction. Someone must have misunderstood what she said. She stomped to the back of the bus. Most of the women with their children sat facing front. You did nothing when the soldiers started trouble. You did nothing. Because if you did something, you'd be in trouble too. No one wanted to be in trouble. Especially for a foriegner.

"Give them to me." She snatched their passports. You could tell by how she talked that her english wasn't very good. She struggled with the words. "Visa. Where?"

The frenchman that talked to me spoke, since he was the only one who knew english.

"We have Visas, but when we came here we asked them not to stamp our passports because it gives us trouble in other countries. Like for Egypt or something. They stamped a card and kept the card." He explained. Very simple. Very straightforward.

"What? Why not stamp?" She wasn't understanding what he said. He explained it, but she wasn't hearing it.

"Like I said, it's hard to travel to other Middle Eastern countries with a stamp from here. So I asked them to stamp the card, but they kept the card." He sounded scared and frustrated. The soilder turned to one of the bus company men who stood in front and called to him in Hebrew. He came and she talked to him in Hebrew. He then asked the frenchmen why they didn't have their passports stamped. He explained again and the man told the soldier. The soldier spoke to him again in Hebrew.

"Why didn't you keep the stamped card?" He asked the frenchmen.

"They took it after they signed it. I'm not sure why. But my friend here is leaving today and we are leaving tomorrow." He replied, gesturing at the 2 men at his side. The man told the solider. She sighed and grunted. She turned and looked at me. I think I peed a little.

"Visa!" I looked her directly in the eyes and opened the page on my passport to where they stamped the Visa. I told them not to stamp it, but they did anyway. What could I do? She looked at it, then back in my eyes. She looked disappointed that there was no fight to start with me. She turned and walked off the bus. Everyone made noises. The driver sped off. The frenchmen started talking.

"You can't be too wordy with the soldiers. They're looking for an excuse to start trouble. Just give them really simply answers. And next time you're on a bus, if they ask about your Visa, tell them yes, you have one and leave it at that." I turned and said to them. I had been itching to say something when the soldier was on the bus, but I knew better. I saved it just for them.

"Yes, you are right. Shukran. For next time." He said. His eyes and face still wrought with nerves.