Communication has taken on a whole new meaning in my first few weeks here. Today I sat with Iad (pronounced Ee-Ad) in the restaurant of Ibdaa and "communicated" for an hour about our lives, homes, basketball, Germany and a few other things. We did this through broken English (on both sides), my limited Arabic vocabulary, hand gestures and with the help of a number of images (both from the photos stored on my computer and several images found with google as needed.) This mixture of various communication methods leaves us both curious and smiling. I call Iad the "gentle giant". Again, he is the 6'6" center for Ibdaa's basketball team, a huge man whose smile envelops you and eyes display warmth I can't quite hold on to yet. Iad is from a small village up in the Tulkarm area of the West Bank right along the border with Israel, a good four-hour trip from Ibdaa with the checkpoints. I only understand a small portion of his story and hope to learn more before he leaves for Leipzig, Germany to study basketball coaching. I also hope to visit his home and he has invited me there. Again, this sense of welcome is something that permeates all my interactions with the people here.

After we were an hour late to Ramallah because of the first roving checkpoint we passed where one of the soldiers didn't appear to be more than 14 and the fixed checkpoint Wadinaar (sp? The Container) where I watched an ambulance get stopped at its gates (and thought about the implications of this) we played Bethlehem Orthodox. The game was over before it started and the team ran out to a 22 to 6 lead after the first quarter and won by 49 points. Even with this lopsided score I was worn out by the end of the game. (Click here to see a short 30 second video of me coaching)

On the way home we again were stopped at "The Container." The soldier walked onto the Ibdaa bus and cracked a joke, the nervous laughter faded away quickly as he made his way from the front to the back down the aisle. I tried not to look at him and the hand that he kept ready on his weapon but the sound sticks in my head. The clump, clump, clump of his army issue boots slowly moving down the aisle, echoing in the eerie silence that had overcome the passengers who just minutes before were singing and laughing, his eyes scanning back and forth. I felt like I was in a horror movie where the pronounced footsteps were the only sound that a frightened innocent heard while hiding behind a closed closet door. I was lucky this time, there were several other Americans on the bus and so he glanced over us quickly and only took the Palestinians ID's. We waited for maybe 40 minutes for them to clear the bus. We arrived back at Ibdaa at 12:45am.