Nihad Wadih Haddad, better known as Fayrouz, was born on November twenty-first, 1935 in Lebanon.
She is considered to be one of the most famous Arab artists of those who are still living today.
Her love for singing and flowers was rivaled only by her love for her grandmother. Fayruz used to spend most of the summer holidays at her grandmother’s house, assisting her in the housework during the day and listening to her stories at night.
Fayrouz’s father had saved some money of his meager income for his children’s education. It was at school that her voice immediately attracted the staff’s attention for it has as a unique quality. She was a good and hard working student though she hated mathematics.
Her career began in 1952 when she first started singing for audiences. Her first large-scale concert was in 1957 and by 1960 she was known as the first lady of Lebanese singing.
Today, Fayrouz is known worldwide. The Arab world listens to her music especially in the morning.
She continues to be known as one of the most famous singers in the Arab world.
Embroidered dresses are an important part of Palestinian culture and history. Dating back to ancient history, women have been hand making beautiful dresses. Once an indicator of class and marital status, the dresses have now become a more symbolic costume to remember Palestinian culture and keep the tradition alive. In this piece, Sondos Nidal talks about this important handicraft and interviews her grandmother about the history of embroidered dresses.
I have written this piece because I want everyone to know about Ghassan Kanfani. He put something in my heart and made me feel proud about being Palestinian.
Story by Athal Al Azza
Music by Le Trio Joubran
photo accessed from http://www.bintjbeil.com/articles/2003/ar/0709_bazzi.html
Recently we posted an interview with UK-based Palestinian hip-hop artist, Shadia Mansour.
What made the piece particularly interesting was its exploration of hip-hop from a Palestinian cultural perspective. There’s a really mixed reaction here to Western or American styles of music – if you missed it and you’d like to learn more, you can catch the interview here.
Since then, we met a local 18 year old who not only is a massive fan of hip hop but a burgeoning artist himself.
Athal Azza got the details.
Photo: Mohammad Qassim
Suhaib Omar Mislat is 18 years old and lives in Beit Jala. His family are Palestinian refugees from Beit Natef village. When Suhaib was just 11 years old he started listening to hip hop and writing some rhymes.
“Hip hop is a great way to express yourself, and communicate the truth about what’s happening here in Palestine.” He explained.
“I’ve always loved the music – especially from the legendary 2Pac.”
Now, just seven years later, Radio Lajee has helped Suhaib AKA Black Shot’s Band For Changeto record his first track. We think it’s pretty awesome – let us know what you think!
A big thanks to Radio Lajee’s Layan Azza, Hesham Zakai and Asmah Abdul-Hamid for translating the lyrics into English (click ‘show transcript’ below to check them out for yourself.)
Palestine…Palestine…Palestine Palestine, Palestine, Palestine, Palestine As my love you will remain The most beautiful of all beauty Oh our blossoming flower Beautiful in shape Love during your life has become routine. **** A year and this life is still prolonged They questioned me, ‘What have you done?’ From the answer I fled I could find no answer void of reproach About the time that past, the time that left. Every day the wounds are the same In my life as I trudge the railroad track And if the number of days differed A number of dreams died, the dreams that I dreamt have become imprisoned Oppressed in an issue I carry on my back But fatigued I am not, nor am I bored. Alone I suffer the years in my prison Alone I cry, but no one hears my pain No one cares, no one tries to stand beside me. Broken lines, paralleling with my life Horizontal on the wall With the bitter years that are passing before my eyes They are like long lines of loneliness. **** Right…left I did not open, I am not moving, standing, standing, In a space not escaping, I don’t have a trick up my sleeve Other than submitting to the shouting of a voice that can be heard In the shadow of all our politics Death…hunger…poverty. *** Life is like a coffin A sector of fragmentation, In Beit Jala, my place and address is known Opposing politics is what I’m accused of Yet regretfully they’ve incarcerated me in a huge prison, Where ‘til now I’m suffering The most severe type of suffering, where most of the laws are illegal. A lively word sparks from my average tongue: “The man from whom you stole land has become a prisoner.” *** Haaaaaa My name is Sohaib Maslat My blood is in Palestine mixed between the refugee camps Inside there is no safe-haven from the Zionists surrounding us. Deprivation has come to tell you about the wall That demolished my land and disabled my freedom Was I asleep because I never asked: does the world know? Have you seen everything that you bring? That you place? That you build? And do you think that we never knew a thing? On the contrary, you are mistaken and you have not asked the people You are green with greed over our Palestine My country and the country of the martyrs and prisoners who are not free ….. Mothers are scared – chased by their younger siblings But I’m Palestinian I will stay no matter what happens, My country and the innocent martyrs are in my heart ….innocent ….innocent *** PLO, Israel – No
Those words are from yesteryear, but now They have bowed … PLO has become in the know … No to speculations, No to agreements, No to ‘negotiations’, Now we’re afflicted with hunger, forced submission, and degradation
Starving everyone from old to young The terrifying woe
Submission is a word that includes everyone, from it our dignity is being lost and Israel is rising.
Degrading us to sell our country: We have heroes in our country but don’t have a country. It has been 62 years and till now we haven’t experienced happiness and Peace be upon those who follow true guidance
Shadia Mansour is a Palestinian artist who is based in the UK. Her medium is Hip Hop and she believes that it is the next crucial phase in Palestinian resistance. Here in the West Bank we have a mixed reaction to this genre of music – many people feel that it doesn’t reflect our culture.
Radio Lajee’s Hiba Al-Azraq caught up with Shadia while she was in Bethlehem on tour. She has been visiting the West Bank since she was a little girl, her family are originally from Haifa and Nazareth.
(Opens with the sound of a woman’s voice – Shadia Mansour – singing ‘On This Earth Is What Is Worth Living’ a poem by Mahmoud Darwish.)
HIBA AL AZRAQ: As a Palestinian living abroad, how have you managed to stay true to Palestine and continue to feel Palestinian?
SHADIA MANSOUR: I’ve always felt Palestinian because it’s who I am, and it’s how my parents raised me to be. They taught me that if I don’t know where I’m from then I don’t know where I’m going. You know, I’ve always felt close to my heritage. From the music…You know, listening to music of Fairouz and Marcel Khalife and all these respected musicians and also my parents used to take me to demonstrations a lot when I was younger so I knew about the situation in Palestine from a very young age and this is what brought me into hip-hop.
HIBA AL AZRAQ: You know every artist in the world has a message to pass through their art, so as a Palestinian rapper what’s the objective behind your music?
SHADIA MANSOUR: I would say maybe being a female in hip-hop, it’s hard to try and convince more conservative Arabs that it’s OK that we can actually share our message and our outlook, our perspective on the situation. And also just express ourselves as Palestinian women. I feel that’s really, really important. Palestinian women played a very, very important role through the history of Palestine. The Palestinian woman is the lighthouse, is the strength behind the family and I think that in hip-hop that has to show – that has to come out that women are just as equal in resistance.
HIBA AL AZRAQ: But you know most Arab people think that rap is a style of music that is filled with hate and anger…Do you think that’s true somehow?
I think that they’re watching the wrong type of channels. If someone tells you to watch MTV and you only watch MTV and that’s the only thing you know, then that will only result in narrow-mindedness. But if you look hard enough and you listen to what the children are saying – to what I’m saying, to what anyone’s saying then you know, you’ll judge from what the person’s message is not from what you’ve seen on TV. You know, you have to have an open mind with these things. Arabic music for me you know, is the same. I don’t listen to the commercial Arabic music. I still listen to Mohammed Abdul Wahab, I still listen to Ess Mahad I still listen to Fairouz. And there’s a difference between many Arab artists, it depends what you like. And you can’t judge. You know, if I see a commercial video – an Arabic music video on TV for the first time, I can’t say well this is what Arabic music is. And it’s the same with hip-hop. You can’t say that the one thing you see generalises what hip-hop is.
HIBA AL AZRAQ: We all know that rap is a Western style of music and most Arabs think that it doesn’t really reflect our culture and customs as an Arab society or as a religious society. It contains a lot of swearing and people because of what they see in the Western music they think that Arab [hip-hop] is the same also…So, how do you defend this?
SHADIA MANSOUR: It doesn’t represent our culture but it can represent our culture. It depends on what you’re representing as a person. If you’re an artist who represents luxury and women and money, then you know, that’s what you do. But I don’t represent that, I represent our culture. I put my culture on the frontline of what I do. From everything I do; from the way I dress on stage, to what I’m saying in my songs and what I believe in. This is what represents me and obviously what represents me as a Palestinian. I think that we really need to start to open our minds more to Arabic hip-hop only because we are running out of options – we are running out of solutions to try and get the message across. There’s no point anymore in trying to get the message to our own people we need to get the message out globally. And, hip-hop is global. Hip-hop comes in all languages. You know, we have the right to involve the Arabic language in hip-hop. And that’s what will carry the message – our language, our struggle and us as diaspora.
HIBA AL AZRAQ: If you had something to say to the Palestinian people, what would it be?
SHADIA MANSOUR: I would say, please give us a chance and we need your support. We can’t do this on our own. One of the biggest problems we have as Arabs is not being as one. We are artists of resistance and we need support from our own people before we get support from the Western world. And that’s my message and also that we come here not for a holiday, we come here to remind ourselves who we are, to remind the people here that we know what’s going on and we carry the message with us wherever we go. And that’s a responsibility that every single Palestinian should carry.
Ahlan wa sahlan! Welcome to the first Radio Lajee program. For our first edition, 14 year old Miras Al Azzeh has prepared a special story about the traditional Palestinian dance, Dabke.
In it, he talks about what Dabke means to the Palestinian people and to him personally. He also interviews a Dabke teacher at the Centre, some of the young performers, and his own grandfather who reminisces about Dabke in the days before Occupation.
This story kicks off our podcast series which you can now subscribe to by right (or alt) clicking on the “Podcast Feed” link at the top of this page, copying the URL/Link Location, and pasting it into the subscribe-to-podcast dialog box in your favourite podcatching application eg iTunes, Juice, etc.
MIRAS AL AZZEH: I’m Miras. I’ve been dancing Dabke for 5 years. It means a lot to me, so I made this story about it. Hope you like it.
(sound of children at a Dabke dancing class)
Nasim Abu Isha is one of the Dabke teachers at the Lajee Centre. He runs classes every Thursday for 2 hours. Our troupe now has 20 dancers; 12 boys and 8 girls.
NASIM ABU ISHA: I started learning Dabke since 1998. Before [I was] ten years or eleven, I saw my friend dancing Dabke. I was surprised…[I thought] how do you do that? I can’t do that. So, I started step by step learning how to dance like him. Then I finished training and I preferred [the idea of] being a teacher so I started with [the] Lajee [Centre] teaching Dabke.
When I teach Dabke I feel like I’m free…and I try to translate this feeling into moves. Maybe the people will understand. Maybe, maybe not. But I hope that they understand my message. But, when you teach Dabke, the people who are learning…they start making a new life, especially the children. I hope to make the children [feel] free, especially while they are growing up.
MIRAS AL AZZEH: 14 year old Maysan is one of the dancers in Nasim’s class.
MAYSAN: When I dance Dabke, I feel that I’m defending Palestine. I feel that I’m like [a] mirror, showing the people our tradition and identity. Also, with each movement, I feel that I’m breaking the Israeli separation wall and the checkpoints.
MIRAS AL AZZEH: Dabke wasn’t always political. Sabreen Asad is also a member of Nasim’s class. She explains the history of Dabke before 1948.
SABREEN ASAD: Dabke is the Palestinian traditional folk dance. It can be performed by both males and females or collectively. Before Al Naqba – ‘The Catastrophe’ in 1948, Dabke was performed at weddings, harvest seasons and other celebratory occasions.
MIRAS AL AZZEH: My grandfather is now 76 years old. He was born in Beit Jibreen and he can still remember what Dabke was like back then.
GRANDFATHER, MOHAMMAD AL AZZEH: Every region had its own version of Dabke. In the north, the dance was punctuated by lots of jumping and vigorous movements; whereas in the south, the movements were softer and more routine.
In each village there were many Dabke troupes. At times of celebration, each group took part in the ceremony and would enlist a special dancer (who we called a ‘Louweir’) who would instruct and lead the other dancers. Generally, all groups would sing and play the flute (which we call, in Arabic, a ‘Shoubaba’) while they danced. Today, the children who dance Dabke, keep our tradition alive.
MIRAS AL AZZEH: When I hear my grandfather say that, it makes me feel happy and proud because I know that when I dance Dabke I’m protecting my country’s heritage.
As a Palestinian, I don’t know what the future will be, but I hope to dance Dabke forever.
Ahlan wa sahlan! Welcome to the first Radio Lajee program. For our first edition, 14 year old Miras Al Azzeh has prepared a special story about the traditional Palestinian dance,