Be nice to me, I gave blood today

After noticing that a rather large number of patients have been getting blood transfusions lately, I wandered down to the lab and asked the manager, Salah, if there was a need for blood here.  He replyed in the affirmative, citing a need for type-O in particular.  (I am O+.)  I was working at the time, but promised to come back after my shift to donate.

During my shift, I tried to encourage my collegues to donate as well.  Unfortunatly, Palestinians seem to be as lame as Americans when faced with the idea of voluntarily going under the needle, and I didn't get any takers.  However, at least the excuses where different.  Rather then citing a colorful recent sexual history, most stated that they could not donate during Ramadan, that married people couldn't donate, or that women couldn't donate. 

I actually didn't think that I would be able to donate myself, as my hemoglobin is generally through the floor and I have been joining the rest of the hospital in the Ramadan fast.  But I guess that a diet of yellow rice and chicken is high in iron, because I was actually in the double-unit bracket (although I only gave one.)

I did warn them about recent travel to Haiti (which is a rule-out for America because of the risk of malaria) but that was not a problem.  As an ex-screener for tissue donations, I was pretty shocked that I didn't have to fill out a 10 page survey of my medical and social problems, but things here are pretty different.

"Gas The Arabs"... seriously?

Jessica

I have been in touch with a young lady named Jessica who has spent the last few weeks in Gaza, and I was happy when she gave me a call, saying that she and another volunteer, Emmett, were in town and were hoping for a visit.  They were involved in an Art Exchange in Gaza, where they worked with art projects with the kids there, and exchanged the art with other kids in the states.

Unfortunatly, I had to work that night.  I did manage to sneak away-- I wanted to smoke shesha with them, and smoking during the day on Ramadan was not allowed.  I had suggested to then that they visit the night market, but we found out that was closed.  I was shocked-- 2AM shopping was half the fun of Ramadan while I was in Yemen.  However, the Israelis did not allow shops to be open at such a later hour.  So with only about 8 hours that one can eat, Palestinians can still only shop during less then half of those.  (Another blow to the economy.)

Jessica had actually been in Palestine about a year ago and knew more about Hebron then I did. Emmett had not been, so the next morning we had breakfast in my room and then headed out.  (As it was Ramadan, I had snagged some food during my overnight shift to store in my room, where we ate away from the eyes of fasting Muslims.)  We walked to the old city, where we were approached by what I call an "impromtu tour guide".   Seeing that we were on the way to the Cave of Ibraham, he told us that it was closed, but that he would show us around.

People come to Hebron for two reasons-- to see the Cave of Ibraham, and to see the occupation.  As most visitors to the Cave are Jewish and therefore stay in the settlements, any westerners that can be found in the old city can generally safely be assumed to be examining the effects of the occupatiuon, as we were.  Our tour guide, Ibrahim, was well aware of this and basically started to give us the tour without asking. It's hard to say "no" to someone whose schpeal basically starts with "come and see what terrible things have happened to our city."  To say "no" sounds like "I don't care".

Ibraham was a great guide.  His "specialty" seemed to center around the different art and graffitti that can be found around the settlements, as can be seen here.  The most shocking, of course, was a door that proclaimed "Gas The Arabs JDL" (JDL stands for "Jewish Defence League".) which made me both angry and highly confused. 

Shada Street
Palestinains on the left, Isrealis on the right

The roads that are around and in the settlements are often segrgated,with some roads allowed for Palestinians to walk on, and others restricted.  (There are also areas where Israelis are not allowed to go.)  There is even one street, Shada street, where a divider through the center of the road seperates the area that Palestinians are allowed to walk from the areas where Israelis are allowed to walk.  (Only the Israeli side allows cars, in general Palestinians are not allowed to drive in the Israeli-controlled areas of "H2".)
Our tour ended with a walk through a beautiful Arab Graveyard and a stop at a subterrian lake which Abraham and Sarah supposidly washed at at one time.  Washing in it yourself was supposed to be good luck, so I headed down.  The stagnent water was rancid, smelly, and buggy so I quickly dabbed myself with the green water while Jessica snapped a quick picture.  Afterwards, I felt much dirtier then before.

In retrospect, ew.

Ibrahim concluded his tour at this point, and Jessica talked us into heading to the "Synagogue part" of the Cave of Ibrahim.  After the shooting in 1994, the cave was seperated into two parts.  My tour book informed me that I was not allowed into the Jewish half, but Jessica told me that would be assumed to be Jewish and allowed in.  Turns out that she was right.  We walked right in to an area that was crowded and stuffed with people and books.  Jewish tourists mingled amoung the people praying as we examined the Cenotaphs from the Jewish side.  It was too busy for me, so after seeing everything we decided to check Ibrahim's claim that the mosque was closed.  (It wasn't, the little twerp.)

The mosque side has a totally different feel. The first thing that we noticed was the hostility of the soldiers as we endered, which contrasted strongly with the welcoming smiles that we got walking into the other side.  One of the soliders asked Jessica if she had "anything sharp, like a knife".  (I did not point out that had she been carring a knife for the purposes of harming someone she was not likely to verbally own up to it.) 

Damn it, this doesn't look like Mt. Doom

When it is not Ramdan, many people will come simply to sit in the cool shade and drink water (as often the mosque is the only place where drinking water can be found.)  The only think that I don't like about it is that women are forced to cover in incredibly hot denim capes that Jessica said made us look like hobbits from Lord of the Rings.  We took a seat by a fan and were approached by a kid asking for money.  I offered to take a picture of him instead.  He counted by asking if he could take my picture, and I handed over my camera.  As a result of this action, my camera was returned about a half hour later with about 5 lovely pictures (and 45 blurry ones) documenting the mosque and it's visitors from every concievable angle.  Palestinian children are easily amused.  He did take some good pictures, especially pictures that I would have never taken, such as the following pictures of people praying:

There is nothing that bridges a language gap like a phrase book.

Jessica and Emmett left that day for a small area outside of Bethlaham.  They were going to be staying with a woman who is dealing with an entroaching settlement that is slowly taking over Palestinian farmland.  At night, fences will appear that grab farmland and are protected by the IDF.  My hat is off to her, I can barely stomach the "Gas The Arabs" sign.

Night Shift



If you have money to blow, we could use
a few new incubators

I have been working in the NICU, and during Ramadan most of my shifts have been night shift. This is because people prefer to be home during "Iftar", the meal where the fast is broken. 

For me, one of the best parts is getting fed at 3AM.  Normally, I would either have to wake up to get food at this time, squirrel some food away, or just go hungry.

This little one is hoping that her
next leap will be the leap home.
Seriously, it's a 360-degree ultaviolet device
for jaundice.

At one point, a sleepy staff member came out and told me a bit about himself.  It turns out that he had two jobs-- one here, and one in Ramallah.  Ramallah is about a 3 hour round trip.  I asked, surprised, how many hours he worked in a week.  He told me 40.  I nodded, thinking that this was normal, until he told me that he had an additional 35 hours at the hospital that we were at.  Turns out that he is working two full time jobs.
I found out the reason for this when I asked if he had kids.  It turns out that he and his wife are not able to have kids, so the extra money that he is raising has gone to two unsuccessful in-vitro fertilization attempts.  They are trying for a third.  Having kids is vital to family life here in Palestine.  (As there are no retirement homes here, it is also vital for a comfortable old age.)