Why Not Dance?

Have you heard music from the Middle East, from Palestine, from Sabina’s living room in the Balata Refugee Camp?  Turn it up very loud – hard on my older ears – and watch Sabina’s 12 year old daughter dance.  She is graceful, using the hand and hip motions typical of this part of the world, and she sings along with each song.  In moments Dareen joins in.  She is 11, and she too knows the motions and the words.  Sabrina gets up and dances with the girls.

Dareen’s mother, who is my Palestinian sister named Ansaf or Im Wafa, cannot restrain herself.  She is up off the sofa, a broad smile on her lovely face.   I watch with delight because life here is so hard, and my dear Ansaf is enjoying herself.  I try to stay out of the way as the living room is small, but Ansaf won’t let me sit and watch, no matter I am stiff as a board with hips that refuse to move like hers do.  So I pretend with my hands and let myself be part of the fun.

The occasion for this playful, joyous half hour was simply to bring me, the American “relative”, to visit another member of the family, this time Ansaf’s sister. Indeed this was our second such visit of that day.  Upon arrival, we were served juice and cookies – so very Palestinian – and so very sugary.  Before the music was turned on, I sat with the little sister and made moulds from pink putty.  (I wrote about that in my blog on “distractions”. )  I only have a few words of Arabic, and there were no words of English in this humble dwelling, but putty and music, juice and cookies are universal.

When  it was time to leave, I happened to see into the kitchen.  I don’t think one can make a kitchen any smaller and still have a stove, fridge and sink.  “How does she do it?  How does she cook for her husband and four children in this tiny space?”  I thought.  This is what apartments in the refugee camps are like:  cramped, and in buildings so close together that sunlight never enters, impeccable on the inside amid narrow, dirty alleys on the outside.

Before I was whisked off to the next relative, Sabrina’s hospitality and music filled me with the warm feeling that I would burst from love and sugar.