Hospitality

I am going to start taking official Arabic lessons on Wednesday. I am pumped. I cannot wait to learn the language of the beautiful people I am living around and working with. So far, I have been trying to learn from people around me. It has been a challenge. And oh so entertaining.

One of the other teachers at the school has given me an informal lesson. It was so much fun. She sent a taxi to my house and assured me that he knew where he was going. I should just hop in. So, I hiked up my driveway to the main road and waited for a taxi to show up. As the yellow cab pulled up to me, I waved and asked if he was sent to pick me up. “Yeah, yeah, get in.”

After about five minutes of winding through the streets of Beit Sahour and up through Bethlehem, he pulled off the main road and turned down the steepest, dustiest, gravel road I have ever seen. As we made our sharp descent I started questioning my life choices. What if this is the wrong place? There is no way I am walking back up that hill. What if she isn’t home? I don’t speak Arabic. Help. When we finally stopped at the bottom of a series of steep hills, he looked at me like “why are you still sitting there?” So I asked him how much I owed him and reached into my purse. He said thirty shekels and started honking the car horn vigorously.

Just as I started pulling my wallet out of my purse I hear Nisreen’s wonderfully raspy voice call “Helllllooooo my friend! How are you??” She started walking out of her apartment building towards the car. As soon as she reached us, she turned to the taxi driver, yelled something at him in Arabic, tossed him 15 shekels and tells me to get out of the car. “Don’t pay him.” As I got out of the car, she hugged me and quickly ushered me into her adorable little apartment. Her sister and mother were seated in the living room and the table behind them was filled with plates of food: maqlubah, Arabic salad, drinks, chips. I love food. I was in heaven.

I love talking almost as much as I love food. So does Nisreen. So we sat there at the table talking and laughing. When we finally got around to the language lesson, we had about 45 minutes before both of us had to be somewhere. (I should explain that I agreed to teach her Spanish if she taught me Arabic. So, the lesson was more involved than it normally would have been). Nevertheless, we sat down and began writing English, Arabic, and Spanish phrases and words in these little notebooks. I can now say “sakre al bab” (close the door), “Iftahe al talage” (open the refrigerator), and other random phrases. I don’t know how useful they are, but knowing some phrases—any phrases—is better than nothing.

This informal lesson has been one of my favorite experiences here so far. The wonderful company, delicious food, and hilarious conversation flawlessly exhibited the precious hospitality of the culture. I felt at home.