Posterous theme by Cory Watilo
Matthew Creber

Portraits of a City #2: Football 'n that

On arrival in Nablus, one of the first things you notice is the proliferation of Palestinian Flags. Since this flag, and even using even this combination of colours was outlawed until 1994, it's not surprising that the Palestinians use it to assert their national identity at every opportunity.

What is more surprising, however, is the frequency with which you encounter the colours of Barcelona, or Real Madrid. Usually being worn proudly by group of young boys, I am curious to know what came first, the shirts or the fandom; call me a cynic, but I suspect some savvy spanish marketers may have been promoting their clubs abroad through philanthropic gestures (ie. giving away shirts... this could well be something to do with Bacelona's agreement with UNICEF). Or perhaps this is simply a product of the fact that only the finest of European football is screened on Arabic TV.

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From an Olive Grove, Near Beit Leid

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It has been couple of weeks since a postcard last tumbled through your letterbox/twitter/facebook newsfeed, so I thought it was about time I gave you all a bit of an update. The main reason I wasn't available to treat you all to a missive from Palestine towards the end of the week was that I was merrily pulling green beads from gnarled and twisted trees on the stony side of a mountain just outside Nablus. That's right: it's olive picking season!

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From Qalandia Check Point, West Bank Palestine

In a wonderful display of stereotype destruction, our friend and co-volunteer here at Project Hope, Abby, is Jewish. Most of the time, her presence ensures a re-assuring representation for all three of the major religions for whom this is a Holy Land (along with my Christianity, and a number of flavours of Islam). This weekend, she provided an opportunity to visit Jerusalem for Yom Kippur - The holiest Day in the Jewish Calendar.

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Portraits of a City #1: The Old City

So I've realised that, although I've banged on a fair bit about politics, I haven't really told you lovely people anything about where I'm staying. So this week, and maybe in the weeks to follow, I will write a little about the city of Nablus, and its inhabitants.

Today, #1: The Larch The Old City.

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From the Rally for Palestinian Statehood, Nablus

As the socially engaged, intelligent, newsreading people I know you all are, I am sure you have noticed that there have been one or two little developments in the West Bank this week. And as your local correspondent in the aforementioned West Bank, it seemed tardy of me not to comment.

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So everyone here has been talking about September for some time. "September", of course, is shorthand for the application of the PLO (Palestinian Authority) for Statehood. Students have been talking about it. People in Bars (Coffee, of course - Nablus is a dry city) have been talking about it. The Project Hope volunteers have talked about little else. But still i find my thoughts and emotions regarding it shifting from moment to moment.

I have just returned from joining the crowds as they stood together to watch and celebrate as Abbas submitted the application. The mood was ecstatic. 

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From Askar Refugee Camp, Nablus

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On Thursday night, I went to a graduation ceremony! Of the details, I can't be entirely clear, but I know that it was a celebration of the success of a large number of young people - the event being marked by various performances of Dabka dancing (perhaps the Palestinian equivalent of Morris Dancing), readings, and martial arts demonstrations. A huge banner was erected. All the friends, and family (and anyone with a passing interest) turned out to be part of the huge crowd.

Which would be overwhelming enough, I suppose. But the really striking thing about the event is that it took place in one of Nablus' 3 refugee camps.

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Greetings from Luton Airport!

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I am sitting, eating a breakfast bap, keeping one eye on the departure board, and the other on my online time counter (11p/minute). This could quite possibly be the last pork product that passes my lips for some time, and although overpriced, I feel it is well-deserved after queueing for an hour to get through security - half the journey time from home!

But while I was shuffling along, feeling smug that instead of paying £3 to waltz through the fast track, I was squeezed between indie traveller kids in plaid shirts, and the "Darts Tarts on Tour", I realised that for a lot of Palestinians (ie. those who work on the Israeli side of the wall) this is a daily reality. Getting up at 4am, to travel to the check point, to queue for hours, crammed up against hundreds of other people. Taking 4 hours to make a journey that should last less than 2. Being treated with suspicion, and having to ensure all their paperwork is in order. But, I imagine, no bacon roll on the other side.

So I think I should see this as a learning experience. It will probably prove to be the most gentle learning experience of my day. Now I just have to get on a plane, get through Israeli immigration, and find my way to Jerusalem before everything shuts down for the Sabbath. Wish me luck!

From My Ancestral Home in Wymondham...

...Also known as my parent's house.

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"My" bedroom is crammed full of all my worldly possesions. The bed in the spare room is covered with neat piles of socks, books and camera equipment (including 12 films for my beloved 1950s folding medium format). The crucial details of my trip have all been scanned and copied and some await my arrival, in the cloud (thanks Google Docs!). I have been jabbed with rabies the requisite three times. I have bought travel soap, travel toothbrushes, travel insurance. And, perhaps most importantly of all, I have uploaded a large chunk of my music collection onto my phone.

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