I have been dealing with the feeling of confinement lately. I still don't fell comfortable out on the streets around here. Partially it's the language barrier. Even though my Arabic is coming along, I still get confused looks when I try to use it in the streets, on the buses and in the stores though I usually am able to finally get my point across or ask a question. Then there is the feeling of security. I have seen the periodic excursions by the Israeli military into the camp and observed the reaction of the people here. I keep wondering what will happen if the soldiers ever decide to retaliate. I know that I draw looks when I leave the center though they are accustomed to the revolving door of foreigners that come in and out from this camp. Still people peer curiously as I walk out of the center, especially if I have chosen not to wear long sleeves that day, my tattoos snaking out from under my t-shirt. This is why I usually, even in the sweltering heat, try and wear long sleeves that I can pull down to minimize the stares. I spend much of my day at the Ibdaa center, my work keeping me glued to a chair and staring at the computer working on the website, or a fundraising brochure, or a report, etc.

Every day when I walk out of the center, I pass by the solitary revolving gate structure that used to be the only entrance to the camp when a fence surrounded the entire area. The gate now stands as a reminder of confinement, the green paint chips flaking off to expose the cold dark steel beneath, bars missing from the spindle. While part of my own feelings of confinement are only in my head, this gate, once again, shows me a part of the life here that I will never really know. My own thoughts of confinement pale in comparison to the continued difficulties in travel for Palestinians and the former locked down streets of this camp. Many of the camps around this area still have gates and fences that the residents must pass in and out of to get to and from their homes. I have heard stories of when these gates are locked at night and someone needs to get to the hospital in Bethlehem. The possibility of getting the Israeli military that controls many of these gates to open them in an emergency is slim to none and many people must suffer through the night until they can leave their own homes. There is so much more to that story.

We had a visit this week from Martin Luther King III. It was kind of a surprise though I had been there for the initial meeting with the organization here that brought him over for a short visit to the camp. I had not heard until that morning that his visit had been approved. He came in to speak in a conference titled, "Realizing our dreams through cooperation." With my family history of my father having worked with his father in the civil rights movement, I was full of excitement and adrenaline to get to meet him for even a few minutes and hear him speak. It was a powerful moment for me to get to shake his hand and talk for a few moments about our fathers working together. He seemed to genuinely appreciate my mentioning of our fathers.

Last night we had a celebration for the basketball team that coincided with a farewell BBQ for Iad who leaves for Germany on Saturday to study basketball training. The BBQ was up in the hills outside of Bethlehem. We drove down a narrow one-lane road, shifting from paved to dirt in an instant and winding us out into a greener area than I had seen in a while. The cars pulled up to a dirt path that led up to a deserted brick house where Abu Yusef has already set up the small grills, the orange glow of the coals welcoming us to this strange site. I say strange because I never could quite get an answer about how we were able to be at this deserted house in the hills. The house looked out over some beautiful countryside leading up to a settler road, the wall and a settlement in the distance. Such a stark contrast from the land we stood on. The dirty inside walls, covered in graffiti I struggled to read. And a small stone pile 25 feet from the house. I strolled over to look closer and discovered an entrance that led down into a small cave like room. I think that this dwelling, surrounded by crumbling stone walls was one of the old Palestinian homes.

The stars came out and the moon was full over Bethlehem as we pulled skewer after skewer off the grills and scooped up humus with our pita bread. The team laughed and chatted, some walking off into the hills to find grapes and other fruits to munch upon. I climbed the stairs in the home and found my way to the roof where I could look out over the land. I saw in the distance the soccer stadium where earlier this week I watched the Ibdaa team win 6-3. So many things for the eyes to take in and process.

I ran into Iad this morning as I came back from the grocery store. He was standing, tall as a flagpole out near the side of the road with a small black plastic bag waiting for a taxi to begin his 4-hour journey to his village in the north. He will stay there until his flight from Jordan on Saturday, spending time with his family. I sped up my pace so I could catch him before he left and his face lit up as he saw me coming. We stood for two minutes by the side of the road and tried to say goodbye in our mixture of English and Arabic. Iad was one of the important people for me this first month. He is so welcoming and I believe it was really his influence that brought me onto the basketball team. Our communication over the last month was a variety of hand gestures, pictures, videos, words in Arabic and English, looks and so much more as he would sit with me some days in the center and talk about his life, his village, basketball, his studies in Germany, etc. And as he looked down at me while we were saying goodbye I knew that I would never forget those caring eyes. There are not a lot of people in the world you meet like Iad and I am so glad that I got to pass through his life for just a moment on both his and my adventures. I hope to see him again in the future...