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Reem Bader
‘Qalandia’ checkpoint… waiting for my friend to
pick me up, and there she comes. Excited but worried
I got into the car; I have a green ID so I am not
allowed to the city anymore, she had to take
indirect routes to Jerusalem, most of them
unrecognisable to me.
My
friend chatting, Arabic music playing, new objects
forced into the landscape, roads with Hebrew names
and we are unaware of our location...
Half
an hour later I recognize the ‘Sheikh Jarah’ hill on
the right hand side and ‘Beit Hanina’ on the left.
Ah, this is your old house right… that’s ‘El-Taleh
El-Faransieh’… now I remember this bridge… this road
takes you to Jericho …
Up the
hill joyful chill spread all over my body; I am in
Jerusalem. It has been five years. I used to work in
Jerusalem for nine years. I used to drive to work in
the early 1990s. A couple of years later checkpoints
were fixed around the city and I needed a permit for
myself and another for the car. Afterwards the
Israelis wont issue vehicle permits so I needed a
personal one but had to use the public transport of
all kinds! In 2005, I was not allowed to the city
and I was denied to have a permit! Regardless, I
went to Jerusalem.
We
stopped at the lights uttering that to my friend who
did not comment rather kept her thoughts to herself.
So did I, engaged with flashes of memories. Now I
remember the abstract sculpture on the left,
recently painted white. I’ve seen it for thousands
of times not realising how intimidating it was until
today. What its tasteless shapes and colour
signifies is nothing more than its enforcement upon
this space and place struggling to merge in its
surroundings and/or adding very little to it.
I am
in Jerusalem… The city where I spend the best years
of my life worked and grew independent as an
individual and as a woman. Some would be attached to
the city for its holiness, history, political value,
etc. but it’s not only all of that that is missed,
it’s the normality, accessibility and familiarity
with the place when it becomes part of one’s being.
Let’s
go for a night drive to Jerusalem, its so lovely at
night…‘this is my father’s house that was taken
only days before we moved in, the bathroom sets
weren’t even fixed’ my father would utter
driving down Jerusalem-Bethlehem Road and pointing
to the left hand side where the house is located…
lovely two storey house, my aunt kept the key… lets
go to the Armenian potter down Tareeq Al-Allam, I
need to buy a gift and he’s the most creative,
speaking on the phone and forcing my way through
crowded Bab El Amoud my mum would say ‘bring me
Ka’k Wa Falafel on your way back, fresh from Mosrara’,
even catching a service to Ramallah regardless to
its interior and music is normality…
The
lights turned green and we left the hideous
sculpture. My visual memory, ahead of me, directed
me to Sheikh Jarah on the left towards Salah El-Deen
Street, but I realise that we were taking another
road! I have driven down this new/old main road
leading to ‘Bab Eljdeed’ countless times. I even
remember that on many occasions I was wishful that
the service driver would take this road back to
Ramallah after a long day at work, because its
quicker. But I had no recollection of it before this
moment, neither of the bridge, the sculpture, the
police station, the hotels, or the alien palm trees
around the deserted Bab El-Amoud…
I sank
back in my seat trying to take in what refreshed my
memory! I held to my video camera looking through
its lens which was recording the whole time.
Filming, sometimes, functions as a shield,
distancing the subject from the object. It’s
comforting. Otherwise how did photographers and
cameramen managed to record during wartimes?
My
visit to the city lasted two days and I had my
camera on Rec. most times. At other times when I was
looking I was reminded with Aka, Haifa and Yafa…
it’s just been five years!!!
The
following week I went back to Jerusalem and this
time I did not film much but some research material
for my artwork...
May 2006
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