Drive

Being a passenger in the car of a new driver: that is the experience that will drive the story-telling for Amal. Reverse a centi: this new driver was not exactly new but I'm guessing this is the first time she drove this particular road for this particular trip, and Amal was a lucky tag-a-long. And I'm guessing, based on the story I was told, that this was one of the first times that she drove at all. Sitti warned me about partaking in this trip. I ended up making my own new experience as a passenger in a pickup truck that night. I'm glad I listened to Sitti.

But this blog is about Amal and about the trip that I doubt I'll stop hearing about any time soon. Ironically, I had been studying the bus drivers' book with Sameer a day earlier, learning about the signs and rules of the roads in Palestine. We debated over who had the right of way in certain situations, and we discussed the differences and similarities between the isharat in the U.S. and Palestine.

Oopsie...back to Amal...

Every time we pass a sign or area on the road, it inspires a recall of one of the instances that almost ended Amal's life. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head while telling me about a near-turn into a one-way highway entrance; a stand-off with on-coming traffic; hysterical laughing by the other passengers as if near-death was a joke. This was what she remembers most about her first road-trip to Tel Aviv.

That was the same night I took my first pickup truck road-trip to Beit La7m and El Deishe. I had an expert driver that night. He was in complete control, and I was completely trusting while he made a near U-turn onto a dirt road that lead to forgotten areas; a squeeze through the narrow alleyways that were suffocated by graffitti-ed walls and broken-down cars; a pedal-to-the-metal push up unpaved hills that would've made any hiker wish they were climbing Kilimanjaro instead. There was hysteria on this trip too, but it was in the form of grabbing through the truck's bed gates and tearing of bags filled with donated clothes as if not having much meant they should have it all now.

We each had different experiences that night--the similarities were that they each affected our lives, and we would recount them several times more.

Last night was one of those times. Amal and I shared a backseat in a new driver's car. She hadn't practiced driving in a month, and we agreed to be trial passengers. After all, this experience couldn't be any worse or life-affecting than our individual experiences from a couple nights before. We also trusted that the experienced driver (who was now seated on the passenger's side) was watching the new driver carefully. We were comfortable enough to focus on things other than the driving that was going on, although we did take our turns telling her, "id3asee 3al banzeen..yallah, yallah" and asking her, "keef 7asa 7alik hela? mrta7a wila lisa 3ala 3asabik?" We were comfortable enough to recount the other two individual road trips that were now part of our Pali histories.

This road trip was new and easy: The note about this driving experience will likely be trumped by stories about the hungry cat at Abu Kaheel's and the loz u 3asal booza at Andre's. These will more likely drive our story-telling about our joint road-trip to Yaffa.