Someone told me that I'm beginning to look Palestinian, but my backpack gives me away as a foreigner.
I stared into the mirror for truth in his statement. I noticed a much darker complexion than usual, my braided hair with the split ends caused by the intense sun, and the fine lines between my eyebrows from squinting.
Bottom line: The sun did it.
I take it as a compliment. Well, for now. We will wait and see when I have to go back through Israeli checkpoints and ridiculous amounts of security. I doubt I will be flattered and batting my eyelashes then.
On a side note, I just heard some squeaking and high-pitched squealing that sounded like machinery in need of some grease, or a donkey. I looked outside of the office window and see two donkeys grazing across the street.
Our neighbor's neighbor brought us a massive bundle of plums from her tree, yesterday. They are the best I have ever tasted. I packed a whole bag and made it a point to offer some to everyone in my day.
First, I walked out of the hostel and onto the main walkway to find a man sweeping the floors and wiping the sweat from his eyes. I bid him a sabah el-khear and offered him some fruit. He smiled and took a couple.
I continued my walk to the servis station and on my way I stopped at the candy shop on the corner. Laura and I were incredibly lost our first week here and the owner, Abrahim, helped us and gave us some candy. Every morning since then, I stop in to say hello and he offers me bonbons with coffee and small talk.
After chatting with Abrahim, I continue walking down the street, and the tea/coffee man is preparing a tray for his delivery boys, who are no older than 13 and finishing their own cups of coffee. We exchange smiles and a marhaba in passing.
When I reach the station, a gentleman in his fifties greets me and directs me to the correct servis, his name is Abbad. He is always genuinely happy to help, and takes the time to double check with the driver's directions on where to take me. He teaches me a word in Arabic and he practices his English with me. He enjoys the fruit since it is always so hot in the station.
Our expert in agriculture at the Near East Foundation told me that the tree that produced these plums is often called the "poor man's tree" since it gives so much fruit and requires minimal maintenance.
If only there were more people who naturally gave the world their all without needing much.
