A WALK IN PALESTINE
When I was 12 years old I didn't know much about what I was going to do with my life and certainly didn't have the understanding of architecture that I do now, but I always had an interest in it. I also didn't know much about my culture and country, having been raised outside of it but I always felt an attachment to it. The summer I turned 12, however, I would suddenly feel an increasing awareness of both and the need to learn more. That was the summer I visited Palestine.
I had been there several times before but was too young to remember or for it to have a lasting impact on me so this was my first real visit. From any descriptions and pictures, and any vague memories from previous trips, all I could have known about it was that it was a place of great beauty as well as great violence. Unfortunately that same summer I was witness to both. But I prefer to tell the story of its beauty here instead.
During a previous stay my family chartered an old Mercedes taxi, a very common mode of transportation there, and traveled to every significant corner of Palestine. I was able to see a lot of the country but, sadly, was too young to remember. Then on this trip at an age where I could remember, because of the political situation at the time, our travels were unfortunately a little more confined to our own village and nearby areas. But this gave me a chance to become more familiar with it. So one day finding little else to do, I ventured out on my own, against the wishes of my mother, and explored the central part of the village, armed only with a cheap 35 mm camera and the knowledge of a few Arabic phrases.
A Simple Village
I can't say my village was any different than any other town in Palestine- it contained a simple mosque, an even simpler municipality building, and a couple main roads in which sidewalks were optional. A simple Palestinian village, but therein lies its beauty.
I began my short walk at the home of my grandparents and headed towards the mosque and away from the municipality building back in the other direction. The mosque had a graveyard behind it that children were said to steer clear of after dark when the fog rolled in. The mosque built in the 1960's was made of limestone blocks that were typical of the construction material in this area, although their use is now giving way to cement and other cheaper "technologically advanced" materials. In the daytime the graveyard was not so frightening and actually looked quite peaceful with its many headstones quietly acknowledging the ancestors of this village I would never know. I headed past both uphill. Up to where the road was more narrow and the limestone walls of homes and small shops encroached upon the road until the sidewalks surrendered and finally disappeared. Here I passed by a young shopkeeper who was pulling down the sheetmetal door to the front of his store and preparing to head home, which was probably the space just above the store. He nodded hello and I politely smiled and nodded back.
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