the telephone call

The call came after midnight. The screen read “private number.” On the other line, a gruff voice of a man speaking in Arabic. The dialect was not the local Haifa dialect she spoke. He said her name. When she said yes, he began his monologue.

“We’ve seen you. We know where you work, and we know what kind of a car you own. We know where you live. We have a proposition for you. You will come to Jerusalem, and you will receive money. You’ll go shopping – you can buy nice clothes for yourself. And… you will also do some small mission for us. Then you will go back to Haifa and everything will be fine with you. So. Are you interested?”

She didn’t have to think about it. There was nothing to think about. “No. I’m not interested and I don’t want you calling me again.”

“You are sure of this?”

“Yes. Salamat.” And she hung up the phone.

A short conversation, but it left her shaking. They know where she lives. They know exactly where she works, they’ve seen her at work. He gave her the exact model of her car. They know her name and her phone number. They know everything about her. And she doesn’t know anything about them. About him. Not a name, not a number, not a trace.

They never called her back.

Until today, she doesn’t know who it was – it could have been either of the two players. They both use similar recruitment methods. They both have the means to obtain personal information about anyone.

A Russian, an Ethiopian, and an Arab at the doctor’s

Sitting at the doctor’s office, waiting for my turn, reading a book.

An older lady sits next to me.

An Ethiopian young woman walks past.

The older lady watches her, and as the Ethiopian woman disappears around the corner, the older lady leans in towards me, and says, in a heavy Russian accent and a broken Hebrew: “That in not Jew. That – black. She no belong here. She belong Africa. How Jew and black?”

I look up from my book, trying to think of what to reply to this, but my brain doesn’t find the words. I go back to my book.

A few minutes later, the older lady again leans towards me, this time whispering: “You like Arabs?”

I look at her, put on my best smile, and reply sweetly: “I am an Arab.”

The first shock registered on the lady as her body involuntarily jerks back from me, to keep a safe distance. She quickly composes herself, and proclaims: “Me have many Arabs in my building. Good people. Very nice. Me like Arabs.”

I just smile at her, and go back to reading. The lady keeps her distance. A few minutes pass. The nurse calls my name. I get up, walk past the lady, then stop, turn around, look at her, and again in my sweetest voice and a smile, I say, “I’m a Palestinian.”

I wait just enough to see the horror on the lady’s face before turning around and walking into the doctor’s office.

- khulud خلود

A new draft bill by MK Yariv Levin to grant Christians extra rights over Muslims

We are back to the days of the Ottoman rule and the British mandate. Israel 2014: according to a series of draft bills, proposed and promoted by Yariv Levin (chairman of the governing coalition, Likud Yisrael Beitenu), Christians will receive “separate representation and a separate frame of reference.” The bills will grant Christians in Israel extra rights over Muslims, including equal opportunities in employment. Moreover, Levin goes to the extreme of stating “I make sure not to refer to them as Arabs, because they’renot Arabs.” To top it off, he is proposing that Christians will be allowed to register themselves as just “Christians” under “Nationality” in their ID cards, to officially distinguish themselves from Arabs.

This series of proposed bills are set against the systemic policy of the state of Israel to continue to divide the Palestinian society inside Israel. Only recently, in the mass resistance to the Prawer Plan, we have seen the uniting of all groups of the Palestinian society, raising a united voice against the government’s plan to displace tens of thousands of Bedouins from their land. This united voice scares to government, and it will make every effort to act to divide our society.

In the last year, there has been a small group of Christians who are claiming they are not Arabs, they only speak Arabic, but are in no way Arabs, and are calling on Christians to serve in the Israeli Defence Forces. This small group does not in any way represent the majority of the Palestinian society within Israel. However, as I believe in one’s right to self-definition, I must therefore respect their right to define their identity as they see fit. On this point I am sure many will disagree with me, but since I define myself as a Palestinian, and I expect others to recognize my right to self-definition, then it follows that I must respect their right.

The state of Israel, however, is taking this small group to be representative of all Christians inside Israel, and using this against us to divide us.

By stating that the bill will grant equal opportunities in employment to Christians, it then follows that: (a) at the moment, there are no equal opportunities in employment for all citizens, and (b) if Christians will be granted this equality, then it means there will be active discrimination in employment against Muslims. Let’s not forget that in Israel there is a law on equal opportunities in employment.

Lastly, I can’t even find the adequate word to describe the fact that Levin actually views Christianity as a Nationality. Insane? Illogical? Crazy? Hallucinatory? Pick your choice of words.

"Haifa story No. 1" - Arabs buy cheap shoes at the market

Jumana felt a sudden stabbing pain in her lower back as she got up from her desk. Her vision went black for a friction of a second, and she had to hold on to the chair to avoid falling. 

It was close to midnight, I’ll get to the doctor in the morning, Jumana told herself. She took a scorching hot shower, brushed her teeth, and got in bed. But the pain made it impossible to lie in any comfortable position. After two hours of lying on her back, she couldn’t take the pain anymore, and decided to call a taxi to take her to the hospital.

After filling in the paperwork, she was motioned to a bed and was told that a doctor will attend to her shortly. A male doctor, about mid-fifties, appeared. He took a quick look at her, saw her dark complexion, raised an eyebrow. “Jumana?”
“Yes, that would be me.”
“So, tell me, what’s the problem?”
Jumana told him about the back pain.
The doctor looked her up and down, then said in a condescending tone, “You Arabs, you buy cheap shoes from the market, and then wonder that you get back pain!”
Jumana was so taken aback by his remark, that all she could do was look down at her orthopaedic leather shoes, which cost her almost a quarter of her salary.
“And for how long have you been experiencing this pain?”
“Only a few hours.”
“And what did you do in the last few days?”
“Nothing special.”
The doctor frowned at Jumana, “Try to remember!” It was more of an order than a request.
“Really, nothing unusual... oh, wait! Yes, I was at a demonstration a few days ago, so maybe I got pushed around or something, but I don’t remember any pain... I think it...”
“I don’t want to hear about any demonstration!” the doctor snapped at her.
“But you asked me about it... anyway, it was a quite violent demonstration, with policemen on horses, tear gas...”
“I said I don’t want to hear about any demonstrations!”
“Oh, and I picked up an injured man...”
The doctor was losing his patience. “I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you.”
“Nothing?”
“What do you want to do?”
“Can you just give me some pain killers?”
“What do you think, that this is a picnic?”
“No, but you just asked me... so what do you suggest, doctor?”
“I’ll give you a shot.”
Jumana opened her eyes wide, “What do you think this is, doctor? A picnic?!”

- (c) khulud خلود 1/1/2014 Haifa

this hand with three fingers

this dark hand with only
three fingers
caressing her naked 
body
with soft sadness
in a downtown hotel
room.
***
this smile of his
when he runs his hand
with the two fingers lost
along her body
in a downtown hotel
room.
***
the way he holds her
softly,
his three fingers intertwined
with her
five.
in a downtown hotel
room
with a view of the Haifa bay.

- khulud خلود

herstory - mystory - ourstory

changing history to –

herstory

mystory

ourstory

Changing words

power * oppression * conquering * wars * control

replace with –

***

make new spaces

in herstory books

for ourstories

***

retrieve ourstories from the past

document ourstories of the present

create ourstories for the future.   

- khulud خلود

history of Haifa's last battle - Maisoon's grandmother

(c) photos by khulud khamis, 2012

This is the history of Haifa's last battle as Maisoon knew it from her grandmother. She didn't read any books on it – no book can contain the grief and pain in her grandmother's voice as she narrated her own history. 

"I was seven… no, maybe eight months pregnant. Seedo was away with the rest of the young men. I don't know what he did exactly, because he refused to carry a weapon. This I know for sure. The night the first barrels were rolled down from Share'a El-Jabal… I remember this night fakat. The Yahud lived up the mountain, and we were down here. I was alone at the house, only with Majid. I heard some screaming outside, and I saw our neighbour Haneen running out – up and up the mountain. I don’t know if she wanted to stop the barrels, or if she ran towards them in desperation. She had six small children in the house. Haneen the majnouni we called her. Her husband was among the first ones to be killed, and she just lost her mind. After that, we never slept at night. She would wail for hours every night. It was like the sound of an animal, more like a howl. I don't think she ever slept. Someone from the church came and tried to take her children. She said she'd take them with her to Lubnan until it was safe to come back. Ya rab! I never saw a mother fight like Haneen for her children. For her house. Haneen's whole world was her family… on that night, she wanted to stop the barrels with her bare body… when I saw her running up, I took little Majid in my arms and ran after her… but Haneen was fast and I was pregnant… or maybe I should have left Majid at home but I couldn't how could I… I knew I would have to pay a price even as I held Majid and ran but it wasn't going to be Majid so I gave up the baby it was still unborn and I had my Majid and I ran and prayed please God don't please God don't please God don't but he did…

"That night the woman from the church came and took all six children. That night I lay down on the kitchen floor and bled. I bled and I looked up and I saw through the window the sky it was red there were sparks flying I thought is there a celebration someone getting married how could they at this time or is the sky bleeding Haneen's death. I didn't understand. I thought I must be losing too much blood to see the sky sparkling like that. That night Seedo didn't come home. And again I prayed please God don't, please God don't, please God don't and he didn't. Seedo came back in the morning after I had bled and I thought his clothes had my blood on them but how could they he wasn't with me to hold my bleeding body it was not my blood Abu Majid what happened and he only looked down at me and my bloody clothes and he laid down next to me and he wept and I wept. The next morning the woman from the church came again and told us there's a ship to take refugees to Lubnan and we could go with Haneen's six children Seedo told her to go away we already lost one and we will not leave our home and I held on to little Majid so tight that he started screaming and the woman saw me with my wild eyes after losing so much blood and Seedo buried the little one in the garden outside and I just couldn't bear leaving her there all alone so we couldn't leave see because of her how could I just leave her in the earth there alone Maisoon do you understand and when Majid was fifteen and came to me demanding his history I told him about this night and he asked me if she had a name I told him yes of course I named her but don't tell Seedo because he doesn't know and he asked what was her name Mama and I told him Maisoon. He gave her back to me when you were born but he made me promise never to tell you this so that you don't carry her history his history our history in your name but Maisoon you came to me and you demanded it and I don't have the right to take this with me to the grave. Majid will understand one day why he will be angry with me so please don't tell him you know until after I am underneath way under deep there with my Maisoon."

- edited from Haifa Fragments, novel, khulud khamis, 2013

another note on belonging

the meaning of belonging

this constant search, need, thirst for – recognition, legitimization, most seek.

Incongruence here.

Boundaries of belonging –

For me are:

liquid *** ever-changing *** soft *** flexible *** non-existent *** existent *** real *** fabricated *** illusionary *** slippery *** elusive *** not definable *** incongruent.

- khulud خلود

Christmasing

Oh, it begins. The happy, perfect families Christmasing videos and photos on my Facebook newsfeed. Not that I have anything against it –

But.

So you’re nearing forty

Spent most of your twenties building a career

Most of your thirties building a nice family –

You know – the whole works:

A nice house with a garden

Two kids – preferably a boy and a girl.

Your wife’s most important attributes to you –

Her beauty, housekeeping abilities, and exquisite taste in fashion.

So why not parade your happy, perfect family Christmasing on Facebook?

But.

Somewhere – along the way,

Something snapped.

Something went wrong.

You followed all the rest.

Because that’s how things are done

And this is how you’re supposed to live your life.

So –

Why is that spark in your eyes extinguished?

Why can I see a smile on your lips,

But

Not in your eyes?

- khulud خلود

Against the Prawer Plan برافر لن يمر

Some photos I took from the demonstration in Haifa this evening against the Prawer Plan.

Demonstration against the Prawer Plan - photos by khulud khamis

Needless to say, the police came prepared and they got violent.

Facebook pages against the Prawer Plan:
Prawer won't Pass Campaign - International Page

More useful links: article on the US Palestinian Community Network website

Adalah website: Demolition and Eviction of Bedouin Citizens of Israel in the Naqab (Negev) - The Prawer Plan

Discriminatory Prawer Plan to evict tens of thousands of Bedouins from their communities in the Negev - article on the website of the European Coordination of Committees and Associations for Palestine.

Prawer Plan: Facts and Figures - From the Prawer Won't Pass Campaign Blog

Video: Unrecognized Bedouin Villages in the Negev

This is just a sample of the plethora of information on the web.

Anood of the desert

Anood of the Desert 

Tayseer had literally stumbled upon Anood on one of his music-hasheesh trips to Al-Naqab desert. She was a fierce woman, black with sharp, pronounced features – deep wrinkles adorning her once beautiful face. What had immediately caught Tayseer’s attention were the unique – primitively made – jewellery she was wearing. She was a Bedouin, shunned by her hamula for refusing to marry the man chosen for her by her father. A story of a young woman, beautiful as the night, was carried by the sand of the desert, changing over the years. As a young girl, Anood’s hand had been promised to a much older cousin. But her father never imagined that the desert, with its vast expanses and freedoms, would settle in Anood’s heart and refuse to depart. She demanded the freedom of the desert for herself by refusing to be married. Here, the story branches into several versions. According to one, she fell in love with a Bedouin on a white horse who came to her tent at night. Another story has her father take her to the deep of the desert and leave her there with no water to die. Yet a third version has her rolled up in a carpet after she soiled her family’s honour and her brothers driving over the rolled up carpet in their jeep.

There are as many versions of the story as there are waves of sand in the desert. Anood was always on the move, surviving by selling her hand-made jewellery to tourists on their way to Eilat and Sinai. Where she got her raw materials and the Malachite Azurite Turquoise stones was a mystery.

It took Tayseer a whole week to locate her again, and a long desert evening of convincing and sand grains in the eyes until she finally agreed to meet Maisoon and teach her secrets of the desert jewellery. But it had to be done on her terms: Tayseer would drive her almost the whole length of the country to stay in Maisoon’s apartment in Haifa for five days.

At the end of the five days, during which neither Maisoon nor Anood emerged from the apartment, Tayseer made the trip of almost the whole length of the country again, to return the woman to her desert. Two days later, Anood was found dead by a young Bedouin boy; no trace of physical attack or injury on the body, no trace of jewellery in the dilapidated tent. No post-mortem was performed – Anood wasn’t important enough; however the coronary report noted the probable cause of death by dehydration. Anood must have known she was getting dehydrated; she’d been living, breathing the desert all her life.

Devastated by the news, Maisoon wouldn’t touch her work for days, the excitement of discovering an almost lost tradition of art fading in significance in the face of a tragic, lonely death. More legends would circulate through the sand dunes for years now – cruel Bedouin revenge angry lover broken heart destitution madness.

أربعون يوما من الحداد - forty days of mourning
After Anood's death, Maisoon refused to see anyone. For forty days, Maisoon was the only person who mourned the desert night beauty. Covering her worktable with a black cloth, she spent the day in bed in a blurry state of grief. For seven days, she was wholly invested in mourning, her days becoming indistinguishable from nights. On the eighth day, she was awakened at dawn by a disturbing dream. A black woman standing at the edge of water, smiling at her. A disembodied voice ran through the dream I gave you the art of the desert, now it is yours to take. Take it. Don’t let it get lost in the desert. It was an inhuman effort for her to crawl out of bed, her body not complying with her will. Uncovering her worktable, she gazed at the opened sketchbook where she drew the designs from Anood’s mind. Leafing through the pages, she saw the history of the desert spread before her and knew it couldn’t be kept on paper. Anood wanted her to take it.

- khulud خلود

Palestinian dirty laundry

Gone way underground

To meet the most courageous Palestinian women.

Not the activists, not the human rights defenders, not the feminists.

But those who are breaking the strongest taboos in our society.

Those who cannot come forward and expose themselves –

For the result will be definite and immediate murder.

But they are not voiceless.

They are everywhere around us – walking, living, breathing among us.

Living parallel lives.

I say they are not voiceless –

Although they can’t speak in first person,

There are ways to make their voices heard.

Making their voices heard is dangerous –

Because it will collapse many notions our society has about its morals and ethics.

Notions carefully constructed but which many know are false.

I am engaged in very intimate dialogue with several of these women

The issue is not an issue of “dirty laundry” – as the title may connote

The issue is an issue of telling the truth

Through the experiences of these women.

And it’s about giving them the voice they have been disenfranchised of.

- khulud خلود

The recent case of the Israeli singer Eyal Golan reflects the sickening ease with which men use their power and fame to sexually exploit young girls. It is not the case of one individual, but a case of a whole patriarchal culture based on dehumanizing, oppressing, and controlling women.

25 November - International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women

25 November - International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women

Because we women have the right to live in dignity
Because we have the right over our bodies
Because we have the right to chose our partner
And we have the right to walk away from a relationship without fear of being murdered
It is our duty to raise our voice,
because there are millions of women caught in the vicious cycle of violence – 
violently silenced, unable to raise their voice.
Because it is our right to live securely and safely, and not fear any kind of violence – be it physical, emotional, psychological, economic, social, political, sexual, or personal.

khulud

clean a poem

17 November 2013 – clean a poem

sweep the stairs
begin from the third floor,
descend all the way to the 
ground floor.
sweep.
sound.
silence.
Poem.
monotonous movement of the arms.
moving backward
downward.
descend.

now the water.
a whole bucketful of –
clear water.
now climb again to –
the third floor.
and begin all over –
again.
mop
descend
backward
downward.
sound
silence
Poem.

make up a poem
on the way –
spiralling
downward.
backward.

khulud - خلود