December 28, 2008 by kaleidoscopefuzz

THE CATS AND THE WALL by Mohammad “Mousa” Waleed

18-year old Mohamad Waleed, aka Mousa, wanted to produce a story about the controversial Israeli Separation Wall, which is hardly surprising given it surrounds two sides of Aida Refugee Camp in which he lives. What is surprising however, is the way he decided to present his story; electing to write a play about a cavalier cat that likes to walk…

Although written in English for an English speaking audience, it uses a number of colloquial Arabic words and phrases. So, as an added bonus, you’ll get to learn a little of the language spoken on the street in Palestine!

(Mousa also designed and photoshopped the image at the top of this post.)

Click Here To Show Transcript

(opens with music by Raafat al Hajan)

NARRATOR: Once upon a time there was a cat called Mousa. He was a black and white coloured cat with scruffy hair. Mousa the cat liked to walk. One day, he walked down the street and bumped into Fareed- a kitten, who was sitting down in the gutter looking sad.

MOUSA: Hey Fareed, what’s happening?

FAREED: I want to play football. But, there’s no where to play here in the camp since they built the wall…And I don’t get to see my friends now.

MOUSA: Where did you play before?

FAREED: We played in the field over there. The only place to play now is on the street and my parents won’t let me because they think it’s too dangerous with all the cars.

MOUSA: Hey Fareed, don’t be sad. Every time life gets me down, I go for a walk.

(clicks fingers)

MOUSA: Walk with me.

(sound of tabla)

NARRATOR: The cats walk off together and walk past the mosque. They notice Fatima, an old lady cat struggling with her groceries.

(sound of walking and rustling shopping bags)

FATIMA: Ye sitt-tee my son, can you please help me carry the fruit and vegetables.

MOUSA: Mashi, sitt-ee. Grandmother, I am happy to help you.

(sound of shopping bags exchanging hands)

NARRATOR: On the walk to her house, Mousa notices that Fatima looks sad.

MOUSA: Sitt-ee, why are you sad?

FATIMA: W’alla el mote arr hum ye-sitt-tee. Every Friday I used to go to al-Aqsa Mosque. I am now 87 and would love to see it again (coughs) before I die. But because of the wall, (coughs) I can’t go anywhere near it.

FAREED: W’alla ye-sitt-tee, I miss the Kayk Jerusalem.

MOUSA: Ye-sitt-tee, every time life gets me down, I go for a walk. Come for a walk with us!

FATIMA: Ye-sitt-tee I am very tired, (coughs) I just want to stay in my home.

MOUSA: Marshi Sitt-tee. It’s OK. We will go now. Salaam!

FAREED: Salaam sittee

FATIMA: Ma’salaamah. Shokran. Goodbye and thank you.

(sound of tabla)

NARRATOR: Mousa and Fareed continue on their walk.

FAREED: Mousa, I’m hungry meow, meow.

MOUSA: OK. Let’s go to eat felafel. Yalla!

NARRATOR: The two cats walk to their favourite felafel shop in Bethlehem. Only to find Saleh, the owner, has already closed.

(sound of theme music)

MOUSA: Al-arf-yeh

SALEH: Allo Mousa, a Zedaq-afee

MOUSA: Why is the shop not open? It’s only early!

SALEH: Because…there’s no point anymore. I have to close. I can not afford to keep going. Actually, since The Wall was built, I’m just not getting the same level of business. No tourists come here anymore, they all stay in Jerusalem…and I have a big family to support, so it’s time – I think – to search for new work.

MOUSA: Every time life gets me down, I go for a walk. Come for a walk with us!

FAREED: But, I’m very hungry…Where can I go to eat?

MOUSA: Khallas, it’s OK. Come Fareed! Come to my home to eat. Let’s walk!

(sound of tabla)

NARRATOR: The pair walk to Mousa The Cat’s house. When they get there, Sara – Mousa’s sister, is sitting on the computer.

MOUSA: Marhabba!

SARA: Ahlain. Oh Fareed habibi, how are you?

MOUSA: Fareed today…is not good. But now I think he’s better.

SARA: Meow…Laish?

FAREED: Because I can’t see my friend anymore, he lives in Jerusalem. And now because of the wall, I can’t go and play with him, meow.

SARA: W’alla! Like me. My best friend, who used to study with me at my school lives on the other side of the wall. Meow. Now I can only chat to her on MSN Messenger and the phone. Don’t be sad Fareed. It’s normal. It’s life. You can always play with Mousa.

MOUSA: Sara Khallas. I didn’t bring Fareed here to be sad. We’re here to eat.

SARA: OK, our mother made Maqlouba, I will bring some for you.

(sound of theme music)

NARRATOR: Mousa and Fareed eat together and decide after the day they have shared to become friends.

That night, Fareed had a dream. He dreamt that the wall fell down and he was able to play football in the field next to the camp and to visit his friend.

Over the next few days, weeks and months, the pair were seen together on many a long walk.

THE END

The cast in order of appearance:

Narrator		Rowayed Nidal
Mousa		Mohamad Waleed
Fareed		Mohamad Waleed
Fatima		Linda Al Azzeh
Saleh		Nidal Al Azza
Sara		Amal Abu Srour

Glossary of Arabic words and phrases used in this radio play:

Ye sittee		A term of endearment used between the old and the young
Mashi		Sure, will do
W’alla el mote arr hum		I swear to God, this life is worse than death
Kayk Jerusalem		A delicious Palestinian sweet
Salaam		Literally means peace but used daily as a ‘hi’ and ‘bye’ greeting
Y’alla		Lets’ go / move
Al arf yeh		To your health
A Zedaq Afee		Good health to you too
Khallas		Enough / Finish / Finished
Marhabba		Hello
Ahlain		Welcome
Habibi		Sweetie / darling
Laish		Why
W’alla		I swear to God
Maqlouba		A popular Palestinian dish made with chicken, rice and vegetables

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December 17, 2008 by kaleidoscopefuzz

A DAY IN THE LIFE by Saja Ajarma

Like all teenagers, 14 year old Saja Ajarma, is concerned about how other people perceive her. Specifically the western world…She wants people to understand that she, like all of her friends, are normal kids – with the same past times, dreams and interests, as other youth living outside of the West Bank. That is why she prepared this story about a particularly average day in her life.

Click Here To Show Transcript

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December 12, 2008 by kaleidoscopefuzz

THE CAMP WAY, BACK WHEN by Layan Azza

In this edition, 18 year old Layan Azza asks her grandfather what Aida Camp was like when he arrived there as a boy 60 years ago, and was forced to live and study in makeshift tents. She then compares it with the present day camp which has become a virtual small town with houses that have electricity, satellite TV and even, in some cases, the Internet.

Click Here To Show Transcript

LAYAN AZZA: Hi, I’m Layan Azza. One of the Radio Lajee team. I’m 18 years old and have lived in Aida Refugee Camp all my life. It was established in 1950 and has changed a lot.

My grandfather, now 75 years old, was one of the first refugees to arrive here. He was 14 years old.

How long have you been living in the camp?

MOHAMAD AZZA (Layan’s Grandfather): Around 60 years.

LAYAN AZZA: Can you describe what Aida Camp looked like when you first arrived?

MOHAMAD AZZA: The camp was just a piece of land…Some trees and big rocks. And every family, they had a tent from UNRWA and they built it and they put the stones around the tent.
It was very hard for us, especially in the winter. Some nights it would snow and the tent [would] fall down on the family…on the kids and the family. And maybe some head of that family [would spend] all the night holding the tent, till the morning.

LAYAN AZZA: What did you take to camp with you from your home in Beit Jibreen?

MOHAMAD AZZA: We didn’t take anything…heavy things. We took our dress, special dresses…and some mattresses and covers…to cover us and our kids during the night when we were walking from our village to Hebron. We walked from our village to Hebron [over] 2 nights and we had some mattresses and covers only. We couldn’t carry anything heavy because we didn’t have any cars with us or anything. Because we were thinking maybe we’ll return back after 2 days, 3 days, a week…2 weeks.

LAYAN AZZA: Did you get your keys to your home?

MOHAMAD AZZA: Yes, it was with my mother and father. The key means to me that I have to return to my home, to my village, to my land…one day. I hope that.

LAYAN AZZA: How was the situation here? What sort of life did people have here in The Camp?

MOHAMAD AZZA: The situation was very, very hard for the people. There was no work. They don’t have money. They didn’t have any food – they didn’t have anything. Except what UNRWA gave them. In the first ten – fifteen years, they gave the people every month some flour, rice and sugar or something. That’s it. People were poor, they were very sad living in their tents. They can’t go out because they don’t have any anything with them.

LAYAN AZZA: You were still a kid at school when you came here, so…were there any classes or teaches in the camp?

MOHAMAD AZZA: We had teachers…but we didn’t have any chairs, any desks, any things…We sat on the earth – on the ground. Around 3 or four years [were] like this. And after that, UNRWA started to bring chairs and desks to the students and big tents.

LAYAN AZZA: That was my Grandfather, talking about The Camp when he arrived 60 years ago.

[Sound of kids playing in the school courtyard]

Now it’s different; we have 2 schools: one for the boys and one for the girls. We don’t live in tents anymore. Now we have houses and electricity. Some people have satellite TV and a few people have internet. Water? Water is still a big problem…But, it is also a big story – for another time.

When my Grandfather came here there were around 160 people…but now, we have around 5000 people living in the same space. So we are crowded!

I hate living in the camp because I know my family once had land. But now, somebody else is living on that land.

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November 26, 2008 by kaleidoscopefuzz

WHY I DANCE by Miras Al Azzeh

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.

Click Here To Show Transcript

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.

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