I teach a class of teenage girls in Askar refugee camp, Nablus, Palestine. Last lesson we talked about Ahed Tamimi and what she means to them. I suggested that we make a short film talking about Ahed, to tell the world who she is and why her struggle against the occupation is so important. They write the following script:
Who is Ahed Tamimi?
She is a revolutionary.
She is a Palestinian, like me.
She defends Palestine against the occupation.
She is a brave and strong girl.
She was arrested and now she’s in prison.
She is a child and shouldn’t be in prison.
She teaches the world about the occupation.
She is a part of the resistance against injustice.
She makes us proud to be Palestinian.
We take turns reading out a line each and then I film each student reading a line on my phone. The girls are all aged 13-15, just a bit younger than Ahed, who is nearly 17. I wrote about her high-profile struggle against the Israeli occupation, and the settlements, in a previous post. The girls laugh when we talk about how she bit a soldier’s arm when she was younger, and they act it out for me. These girls are so good-humoured despite the difficulties they face living in a refugee camp. Sometimes they are giggling at a joke while at the same time telling me about the Israeli soldiers coming into the camp at night to arrest people. They’re always upbeat and laughing at themselves and each other. We talk about their lives and how the occupation affects them. They tell me about the electricity outages and the cramped living conditions in Askar camp. In yesterday’s lesson we discussed the Nakba (Palestinian word for the creation of Israel in 1948) in Jaffa, where many of their grandparents are from, and many of the refugees in Askar camp.
I visited Jaffa at the start of my trip. At that time it didn’t have so much significance in my mind. I knew a bit about the Zionist invasion of the city in 1947-1948 but my knowledge was vague and intangible. Now when I think of Jaffa I think of these girls in Askar, how they say they come from a place they have never been and may not be allowed to visit, and I think about Israel’s refusal to recognise the right of return. I’m not sure I could visit Jaffa again and so easily enjoy the cafés, galleries and beach knowing what human tragedy this beauty rests upon. One Palestinian I chatted to in Nablus told me he used to run near his house every day. Then he got a permit to visit Israel, and he went to Jaffa. He said that Jaffa was so beautiful that when he returned he couldn’t look at Nablus in the same way again – the rubbish, the pollution, the mess – and he hasn’t been for a run here since.
I’ve heard a range of different views on the occupation and political situation here, but bitterness and hatred have been rare among them. The story of running and Jaffa encapsulates a sort of quiet resignation that I’ve seen a lot. One person told me that Palestinians are apathetic about trying different things because day to day life is restrictive or difficult, so why bother. She said that Palestinians don’t ‘go travelling’ like Europeans do, because ‘for us, going to Ramallah is so difficult it’s like going travelling!’ She told me that when she was younger she thought that British people would have to show their passports at checkpoints to go from Manchester to London. She didn’t know the occupation was an occupation, she thought it was just normal life. I asked on my first day here about hiking in the hills above Nablus. The woman I was chatting to said don’t go there, the settlers will shoot you. And they do attack Palestinians, often. In 2017 there were 59 injuries from settler violence in the West Bank, and 114 incidents where property was damaged (UN), figures that are up on 2016. I have been walking in the hills, although not near settlements, but the internalised attitude of Palestinians that warns against exploring is more debilitating, and it results from fear of the occupation, and the settlers. Another day I was at the climbing centre in Ramallah and chatting to the local guy who works there. He said that it’s difficult to market climbing as an activity to Palestinians. One of the outdoor climbing areas near Ramallah where they climb is near a settlement, so I can understand the reservation. Of course, people do hike and climb, and cycle here, but the figures aren’t high.
Another restriction, particularly on women and girls, is that of tradition. I witnessed an argument between a Muslim feminist woman and an older man about whether women can travel alone. The man said that it is forbidden in the Koran. The woman is forbidden to travel alone by her family, and thinks there is nothing Islamic about that rule. He replied that women are weak and so need men’s protection. I chipped in to say that I cycled from England to Turkey. The man dismissed me quickly. The feminist translated: he said that I’m not Muslim so I don’t count. Muslim women are weak. I laughed and the feminist continued to argue with him. I thought about Ahed Tamimi. Nothing weak about her! And nothing weak about the girls I teach in Askar camp. They talk to me about nonviolent resistance, about injustice, about human rights and international law. They’re brilliant and I admire them.
I wasn’t so surprised about the man’s views on women and Islam. Nablus isn’t Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia, but it’s not Beirut or Istanbul either. It’s a conservative place where most (but not all) women wear the hijab or niqab, and it’s not usual to see women walking alone after dark. I teach a yoga class to women in Askar refugee camp. My classes were busy at first, then the numbers started dropping off. I worried that I’d misjudged the ability and made the classes too hard. Now I only had a few students. One day my feminist friend was with me and could translate for me. She told me that many of the women came to a few classes then were forbidden to come again because their husbands decided yoga is haram. I was reminded of the uphill struggle faced by women in conservative places trying to stay active, explore or be independent.
The (unmarried) women who remained in my class told me that they love doing yoga because it’s the only time they can feel free being physically active. They say it relieves stress. In the eight weeks I’ve been here I haven’t seen a single woman on a bicycle, or going for a jog. And why I am worrying about this sort of thing – there’s a slow-burning conflict going on in Palestine against the occupation? An Israeli settler was killed in Nablus last week, and in reprisals the soldiers killed a 16 year old boy in a village near the city. This sort of violence is sadly not new in the West Bank, and forms part of the backdrop of the ongoing occupation and expansion of Israeli settlement on this land. In this context, stress can build up, impacting on health. Further restrictions on people’s (especially women’s) ability to exercise or explore just compounds this stress. I read this article about a 70 year old grandmother who runs a gym in Kabul and it makes me smile. And this one about a 73 year old grandmother bicycle mechanic in Balata refugee camp, Nablus, and I think I’ve found my latest heroes. There will always be women who refuse the gendered boundaries of their societies even in the most difficult situations, and I’ll hold those women in my heart for when I need inspiration. As I write this, Israeli fighter jets are making a racket in the skies and I’m reminded again of the occupation.
I think again of my cycle trip to get here – happily winding my way through Swiss mountains, the long wide Danube, Dalmatian coastline, idiosyncratic Albanian farmland peppered with Enver Hoxha bunkers, Turkish highways, unwanted advances, unending generosity – and not for the first time I’m grateful for my freedom. I shied away from saying my trip was about Palestine or about this or that cause, maybe because I was scared I would fail. Now I’m here I’m not so shy about saying that my trip was a cycle for freedom, in the hope that girls and women everywhere can say, ‘maybe I can do that, even thought they tell me I can’t.’ Somewhere around Croatia when the wind destroyed my tent and I was dispirited I was convinced I would fail at everything. And I thought a lot about all the things people say girls can’t do, and how much girls and women internalise these rules. Then I decided to ignore them all. Maybe others can do the same.
Feminist on a bike ride 
Wonderful article Susannah, you have achieved so much in such a short time, love Sarah x
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