What is the difference between knowledge and understanding?
Knowledge is what you may learn after reading my article. However, understanding requires going through my experience in detail. I will not need to write more after that.
If I told you that the molokhiya (mallow) dish my wife makes is tasty, you might be able to imagine its taste if you have eaten molokhiya before. If I told you that it is better than a car ride to Gaza’s northern borders, it will be a little more difficult to understand. The difficulty increases if I say that the best time for the ride is one day after an Israeli military attack on Gaza.
What if I said that the best molokhiya is that grown by farmers in Rafah to the south of Gaza? What if I have two hot green peppers with the dish? If my wife squeezes lemon on the plate, I will not eat it, but I ask her to put half a lemon beside the plate despite knowing that I will not touch it.
Are my words vague? That is how I felt when my friend tried to explain to me that the road from Gaza to Cairo could take eight to nine hours without stopping in a speeding car. Can you imagine a paved road where you can travel for more than 30 minutes without reaching your destination?
October 20, 2022 was my 37th birthday. I was riding the minibus from Gaza to Cairo. My friends jokingly sang “Happy Birthday to You”. I laughed to let the moment pass and get back to what was on my mind. How can I be ignorant of such a vast world? How do I only know about the 365 square kilometers of Gaza?
It is 12:13, past midnight. I need to sleep, but I am wide awake. I want to look out the window and see whatever my eyes light upon. I want to experience a nine-hour car ride. I thought the desert was the sand dunes I saw on TV. I never knew that there were trees and dispersed houses. The only real thing about it is that it is endless. We boarded the minibus on the Egyptian side of the Gaza border at 5:00 pm. The recurring scene of road and dispersed houses played endlessly. I thought that the darkness might be hiding large towns, only to remember that I am no longer in Gaza where we have electricity cuts.
They were an amazing twelve days. I did not imagine that I would laugh like a child when riding the metro. I never lost the fear of hearing a plane, nor the astonishment of seeing a civilian airplane when looking up. You might find it strange that I use the term “civilian airplane”. I am from Gaza after all. I think you understand.
My wife calls me a “home bird”. I am! Yet, I was never like that in Egypt. I travelled with anticipation about the theatre training and the knowledge I would bring back to my colleagues in Gaza. I never imagined that I would return a different person. I never thought that a short trip to a nearby country would change me as it did. I am no longer a person who wants to return home after eight hours of hard work. I am not depressed by the dire economic situation in Gaza or the bleak political situation in Palestine. I stopped following the news of the war in Ukraine after my trip to Egypt.
The day after my return to Gaza, I started searching for a suitable place to open a private studio and I urged fellow artists to share this interest. I decided to open the place at my own expense. In Cairo, we finished our training at 6:00 pm, then started searching for something to watch, an artist to meet, or simply to discuss art and culture. It is strange the effect people have on each other. In Gaza, you can sit with a friend and talk about anything, but the discussion will end in frustration over the living conditions, frozen projects, suppressed ambitions and withered dreams. If you tell a friend in Gaza of a problem you are facing, you will enter into a competition of sorrows. In all likelihood, your friend will not lessen your burden and most surely will not suggest a solution. Instead, he will convince you that your problem is less serious than his. At the end of the day, you will go home happy, knowing you are not the most wretched person on earth.
If you are optimistic, others will not accept your ideas. In other words, you cannot be a positive person in Gaza. Firstly, there are no solutions to suggest. If you try to be optimistic, no one will take you seriously or you will be admonished as a dreamer or arrogant philosopher.
I have never received so many positive suggestions and ideas in my life: every session, every night, in any discussion. People suggested different joint projects and shows outside Gaza. I am not sure about the practicality of their suggestions, but I did not want to tell them how difficult, distant and detached from reality their suggestions were. On the contrary, I took their ideas seriously, and swore to myself to return in less than a year.
I have lived in Gaza for thirty-six years, half of them under siege. I tried to convey this to my friends outside Gaza. I tried to convey that through my plays, but I never felt that anyone was convinced of the difficulty of life in Gaza. Maybe I do not find it so difficult in the first place. I have always lived with my poor family so more poverty will not hurt me. I was never a travelling person so travel bans did not deter me. I never knew the taste of Swiss chocolate, nor did I wear famous brands. My father did not own a factory. My mother never sought medical care abroad. My children did not grow up to think about education in Germany. How can I describe a siege whose burdens I do not feel? I always say that I love Gaza and do not wish to leave it, except in times of war and bombardment.
However, I finally began to understand the siege of Gaza. It happened as I was sitting in a café with people from different countries, but mostly Egyptian. They were chatting and laughing loudly. We were 23 people in total. Yes, I had the time to count since there was nothing else I could do. They were talking about their lives and experiences. Many talked about adventures. My Gazan friends on the other side of the table were talking among themselves. We were sitting with an exciting group of artists, actors and dancers from Egypt, France, Britain and Canada. Yet, my two friends from Gaza had their heads together in a private conversation.
I watched my friends for a while until one of them noticed me. He scanned the whole group, looked back at me, and smiled. The third Gazan noticed, and also scanned and smiled. Only the three of us understood. The siege of Gaza was not only closing borders, banning travel, and preventing fishing, imports, exports, work and medical care. It was much more. It was complete isolation. Gaza is isolated from the outside world. Many have heard about Gaza, but few have seen it.
Many of the people in the gathering had met others of different nationalities before, but none of them had ever met a Gazan. They were keen to become acquainted with us. However, the eagerness faded when they heard about our hardships; no one liked bleakness and the Gaza tragedy, despite their sympathy. Thus, I sat lonely among 23 people. I did not have anything to talk about that would not displease people and make them wish for my silence so that merriment would return.
Gaza is under siege. Gaza is isolated. Gaza is the girl in Emma Donoghue’s “Room”. When she went to Egypt, I felt like five-year old Jack.
Contrary to what happens to people a few weeks after they travel outside Gaza, I am full of optimism and positive energy. Six days of physical theatre training were as inspiring as returning from Mars with earth samples. I cannot wait to start my research and experiments.
I felt a mixture of joy, frustration and astonishment when I watched the D-CAF shows. I enjoyed the beauty of the shows and felt frustration at the quality of some of them. I was astonished at the inspiration I felt from watching artists from different cultures exhibiting different stories, pictures and ideas.
Now, I am gathering the troupe. I have established a private studio and will start the process to get the troupe legally registered. I will return abroad carrying stories from Gaza. These stories will not make the audience wish for my silence.