Back in Abu Dis and a Problem with Pronunciation

When I come back to Abu Dis, I am exhausted from the heat and my experiences in Jerusalem. I am also anxious about what to say about what I have been up to. A few people know that I am Jewish - not everyone - and that seems to be alright. But if they find out that I have an Israeli cousin, and I went to see him, that might be another thing altogether. They may think that I am some sort of double agent or spy. After all, there are stories of Israelis using people here as spies. And I am particularly worried about hurting my friends like Mosa. But if I don't tell them, that will be betraying them too, and if they then find out, they will be not only hurt that I hadn't told them, but will think that I am hiding something. I decide that I need to be honest, and trust that my sincerity will be accepted.

I find Mosa in a barbers shop being shaved. Some of his friends are there. There is one quite funny man. He tries to convince me that everone drinks in Abu Dis. 'Everyone here drinks and everyone smokes marijuana'. 'Don't believe him', says Mosa, 'He is a bad man'.

I say, 'But alcohol is Haram (against Moslem law)'
'In Lebanon and Syria it is Haram, but here it is not Haram because we have such a hard life, we have to take it to forget'.

I have to work on improving my Arabic pronunciation. I made quite a big mistake on this occasion. One of them asked me, 'Why have you come to Abu Dis?'
I wanted to say, 'I came to Abu Dis to be a teacher'. Only, instead of using the word Mudarris (teacher), it came over as Mutaharis. I couldn't understand why they almost fell on the floor. Apparently, in the Palestinian dialect, Mutaharis means male prostitute.

Later on in the cafe, I talk to Mosa alone. 'I have to tell you something. You know that I am Jewish. In Jerusalem today, you know that I met my cousin who is an Israeli. I am a friend to Palestinians but he is my cousin and is my family. We talked and we argued for five hours'.

Mosa seemed to accept it. I say, 'I hope you understand this'. He replied, 'Yes, but don't tell the others'. I am touched by his efforts to prevent people finding out who might take a less friendly view. He asks me if I went to my cousins' house. 'No', I tell him, 'we met and talked in a cafe in Jerusalem'. We talk about religions, what we believe in. I tell him that I believe in God and it is the same God as the God of the Moslems.' We drink coffee and smoke shisha (Turkish scented tobacco), which I have become very partial to.

His friend Mahmed, who works for the mobile company Jawwal in Ramallah, comes in.
'Speaking English is the most important thing here. If you can speak English well you can get a job here easily. In Jawwal, we speak English to each other all the time'.

I realise that being an English teacher, I have in my hands an important commodity which can change peoples' lives here. I am determined to use my time to help people like Mosa improve their English to help them in their future lives. When I decide to go back to my flat, he refuses to take any money again.