Ramallah, Palestine

June, 2007

Daydreaming I walk toward Ramallah's central square. There life is bustling, loud, dusty, dirty and strangely familiar. In the square large stone lions keep a watchful, eye on the taxis speeding below. They have a commanding air. They preside over the square, ensuring the honesty of the hawkers and merchants. The stone lions guard the square. They own the square. It belongs to them.

A large brown hand plops down on my shoulder. “I have seen you.” I look up at the man. His smile is reassuring. The Kalashnikov hanging from his shoulder is not. Never in my life have I seen this man, a large Palestinian soldier, before. His smile is bright. “I have seen you, you were the one giving the pictures to Hamas.” The soldier insists. Never relaxing the smile, his hand gently gropes my shoulder. I flash a smile of my own. It's big, fake and surely the corners of my mouth twitch belaying my nervousness. Keep smiling I remind myself. “huh, what?” I stutter. Wow, smooth. The soldier repeats himself, “I have seen you with Hamas, you must go with me.” Now for the first time, I notice the second soldier. More compact, menacing an AK-47 is held tight across his chest, and he does not smile. Ahead my tour guide, translator, teacher is in his own world. Again I stutter and incomprehensible reply. The smaller soldier begins to crack a smile, his larger companions smile explodes into a laugh. For the sake of conformity I laugh too. Squeezing between people on the crowded side walk I hurry away, toward the imagined safety of the lion headed statues in the square and my bearded mentor.

Heart still pounding, the soldiers' mocking laughs become fainter as I slip away. Away to the imagined anonymity of crowds, away from the harassment of bored, imaginative soldiers. Towards the dust, the smell of kebabs, the heat, the veils, the keffiyehs, the life of the square. Towards anonymity. Towards the safety of the square, under the the paternal gaze of those stone lions. I smile, then laugh at the absurdity of my thoughts. For me anonymity is impossible in the tan crowd, my pasty skin shines in the sun. The bearded man is a pacifist. And as for the the lions; the lions are made of stone.