What is a typical day like for an American in a refugee camp? This question, or some variation there of has come to me through a few emails. In my work over the years I have come to realize that there is no typical day but I can, at least, describe a bit of the life I currently lead.

After a month and a half of having a roommate (who happened to be my RA in graduate school) I have moved into my own little room in the center. The room has two bunk beds, a small dresser and a desk. The window looks out over the UN headquarters for the Dheisheh refugee camp where men play cards late into the night. Every day at the appropriate times the call to prayer drifts in through my window. It has become a pleasant background noise that I usually half tune out. Its nice to finally have a bit of my own space though living with Chris was great. The space that we shared for that first month and a half was smaller than the room I now have to myself and had four beds in it, instead of two. Only one night were all those beds filled as the Ibdaa guesthouse provides housing for visiting delegations and workshops. This space of my own provides me with, at least a semblance, of separation between work and home. Though that distinction is still blurry at best. I spend a good chunk of my days in front of the computer that has earned me the nickname, "Pablolaptop" given to me by Ibrahim, one of the caretakers of the Ibdaa center. My work has evolved a bit from just working on the Ibdaa website (which I am still waiting for approval from the administration to upload), to assisting in the administrations of the center (fundraising, budget, etc.) I also am in the process of coordinating a cultural exchange program using the Internet between youth form Ibdaa's dancing group and a school in Seattle.

Meals come at various times and in various forms though almost always they include hummus and pita. The food is very heavy and sits in the stomach for a long time but its always good. When there is no basketball practice my exercise comes in the form of running up and down the four flights of stairs to one of the other offices, conference room or out to one of the other buildings that are within a few seconds of the main center.

Ziad and I usually are the last two in the restaurant, awake till 2 or 3 in the morning working on computer stuff, chatting or watching TV.

In the grand scheme of things my days don't really sound that exciting to write about until you factor in the view outside the window, the location that I am in...

But the days can take unexpected turns at any moment. Just yesterday Ziad "kidnapped" me to spend some time away from the center because he too gets cabin fever. Ziad, Chris and I along with Nasser who works for DCI (Defense of Children International, I believe) and we all picked up a bag of chicken and various types of hummus to have lunch out on some land that Nasser's family has on the opposite hill from where we had the BBQ for the basketball team the other day. We sat out on the covered stone porch on an assortment of small metal backless chairs, looking over the terraced land that expanded beneath and around us, some of the old ruins or renovated 100+-year-old Palestinian stone houses peeking out from the hillside. We shared our meal together and then brought out some cushions that smelled like the old half mildewed scent I remember from my childhood in Michigan where my community has property filled with old chairs, mattresses and other assorted garage sale purchases. While laying down for our "siesta" after eating our conversation turned to a variety of topics. Both Ziad and Nasser talked about being in the jail and some of their thoughts while there. I remembered one of the journalists who was here at Ibdaa a few weeks ago and went to visit an old prison. The photos and the descriptions of torture that she described or showed me from that trip were suffocating (you can see her pictures and read her words here.)

Ziad mentioned how when he was out of the jail and traveling around the world he would see something beautiful and his mind would flit back to the jail where he never could have imagined seeing something so beautiful. And he was thankful. Nasser pointed to the WALL off in the distance and said it would soon come all the way around his families land, cutting this property off and making it a part of Jerusalem. When that happens his family will have to apply for special permission to come and sit, just as we were doing, for a lazy summer afternoon lunch.

I have a hard time putting words to this casual interaction in a beautiful setting for a simple meal and off handed comments about suffering in prison. I tried to just breath in the fresh air swirling around us and not have these various emotions filter in but it was difficult and I drifted into an uneasy 20 minute nap on the mildew tinged cushions as the sun and the food combined to make me sleepy.