Welcome to UNRWA

Salaam Aleikum,
I guess I've written a lot about the situation here, and haven't talked much about what I do on a daily basis. Right now I teach some classes and assist the english departments at two UNWRA (United Nation Works and Relief Agency) schools. The UNRWA is the division of the UN that's responsible for Palestinian refugees. I also teach a conversational english class each day to older students from An Najah university. Abdullah, a teacher who was initially very skeptical of my presence at the UNRWA schools, has become one of my best friends in Nablus. The first day we came into the school, there was an awkward and almost detrimental mis-communication. The headmaster and Abdullah thought that my colleague and I were there to tell them how to teach, or introduce some revolutionary new technique. "You have no idea the difficulties we face" they said, alsmost in unison, after our sometimes overzealous translator finished speaking. I spent a great deal of time explaining that made a serious error in communicating Project Hopes mission, and it was absolutely not the case that we were there to teach them anything. Our main mission was to expose the kids to conversational english, as they recieve a lot vocab and grammar lessons but there is virtually no speaking component.
I have to say that the UN schools, especially the one in Al Ayn camp, feel more like prisons than schools. The Al Ayn camp school is surrounded by huge concrete walls with barb wire fences on top. All the classrooms have big steel doors, metal bars on the windows, and there is a dirt yard in the middle where the kids go for break. There is a shocking level of violence in the UN schools where I work, both between the kids, and in terms of the administration punishing the children. It's difficult to talk about, and I am sort of ashamed to work at a school where corporal punishment is still the norm. I've brought the issue up at Project Hope and with teachers I know well at the UNRWA schools, and the prevailing belief is that this is the only feasible way to keep things from spiraling out of control. I refuse to hit kids and sometimes I pay the price. I have one class with 23 kids, and now that they know I won't strike them, some of them think they can do what they please. I can't kick them out of class for fear of what the disciplinarian will do to them, so it's been tough to find creative ways to make some of them behave. As one of the other veteran UNRWA teachers said, "having a class with over 50 kids is more like containing a demonstration then conducting a class." Things aren't all bad there though, the place is full of wonderful teachers and students who are desperate to learn. Thank god only two of my six daily classes at the UNRWA school have more than 45 kids. It is certainly understandable that a lot of the kids have behavioral problems and lackluster study habits. The intifadas (palestinian uprisings) were largely based out of the refugee camps where they grew up, meaning that those are also the places that the Israelis invade and raid on a daily basis. In short, they grew up and continue to live in a war zone, and experience the sharp end of the occupation.
My day usually starts at 6:15. I put on my slacks, shirt, and a tie if it's not too hot. As soon I get a little more comfortable with the administration I'm going to bring up the discipline issue in these meetings because I can't bear to watch the commonly accepted methods anymore. This weeks meetings have been especially contentious because the teachers are trying to get UNRWA to move to a 5 day work week. Last week the teachers went on a sort of strike and announced they wouldn't be showing up on Saturday, which most people have off. It seems the UNRWA administration is trying a divide and conquer strategy. The UN does some wonderful things, but it's administration seems to act like that of any bottom line driven corporation. For instance, the teachers also asked for a cost of living salary increase. The employees of the UN here have formed a union here comprised of employees from all the different divisions (health, education, sanitation...). The UN administrators figured that if the division of health employees went on strike, they would be virtually be forced to satisfy the COLA demands. They had a meeting with division of health leaders and offered them a 28% increase in pay if they abandoned their colleagues. They offered the division of education a 6% COLA increase, except for the head masters, who recieved a 12% increase in hopes that they would quell the ensuing mutiny. Anyways, it's sort of a sad state of affairs, but I'll spare you from more of the banalities that consume teachers lives here.
Right now I have 3 45 minute English classes, ranging from the 4th to 7th grade. I love my first class. There are 16 nice and fairly studious 4th graders who are very fun. Every morning when I come in they all stand up and say "Good morning uztazz." Some of them call me ustazz (teacher), but a few of them refer to me as Mr. Mike. One of the classes I assist in, a fifth grade level class is supposed to have an art component to it, so that can get interesting. Last week I made the mistake of telling them to draw their favorite things. If you haven't already guessed, many of them drew guns. One especially creative kid made an oragami gun and started pointing it as his classmates. I'm a little more specific now. When classes are over at 1:30 I usually walk home, eat lunch, and prepare to go to my next classes, depending on what day it is. Initially I taught 2 english classes to students from the local university, An Najah, but demand skyrocketed after the first week, and it's not much use having more then 20 students in a conversational english class. Now I have a 1 hour classe every night, five days a week. I usually don't get out of there until 7pm because the students want to discuss just about everything. Working long hours doing things that I wasn't trained to do, often in a foreign language, has been difficult. The students enthusiasm has kept me from losing my mind. The learning curve is steep, but I'm finally starting to get the hang of teaching.
This month has been especially hard because a few families I know desperately need help picking olives. Most of them live in what is called "zone c," which means that they need permission from the Israeli govt to go onto thier land to pick olives, and usually they only get a few days, and can't get very much done without help. There is also the issue of settlers attacking them while they're picking olives, which has been especially bad this year. If there is a foreigner there to pick with them, the settlers usually refrain from beating up the villagers because they don't want their criminal acts broadcasted to outsiders.
Last week at Bashars village was hard work. Usually I go for both friday and saturday, but didn't go this friday because it was the 7th day after the death of majeees mom, so they went to the mosque to pray for her. I showed up late on friday night, said hello to everyone, and sat in an english class that Ahmad was giving at his house. Ahmad teaches 4 groups of 4 students each night. He is a very good teacher and probably knows more than I do about the English language. When we woke up early the next morning Majee discovered that the donkey hero had run away. Apparently he'd worked very hard the day before, and had was tired of dragging carts of olives around the hills surrounding Beit Lid. I can sympathize, I've probably picked 200 kilos of olives, and I can't say that it's terribly fun anymore, but the family is so wonderful, the decision is easy. Majee said Hero went to go find his "wife." Last time I was in Beit Leit, he explained that most donkeys are sexually undiscerning and horny animals, but Hero would only "sleep with" one other donkey in town. "I think Hero is the only monogamous donkey in Palestine" Majee said with a big smile. At luch we sat under the olive tree and sang mostly american songs. Palestinian men are crazy about emotional love songs from the west. Ahmad started singing Celion Dions "My Heart Will Go On," and eventually we all let down our guard and joined him. Thinking back on that moment always makes me smile...can you picture a bunch of arab men sitting under an olive tree in rural Palestine singing the most emotional song in Titanic? I'm here to tell you, it happens.
I really appreciate all of the kind and supportive e-mails. I couldn't ask for a better family and group of friends.

Sincerely,
Mike