Today is a visit day. A lot of grandchildren of H.’s mother come to see her. They had to come walking down the path that the taxi took me from, crossing the road that functions as a wall.
The bigger boys just say hello and some of them stare at me – I guess I am this exotic woman they need to feel curious about. The smaller children ignore me and kiss their grandmother in veneration.
R kisses her grandmother, first on her cheek, then on her hand, and then she bends her head to put her forehead on that same hand that she has just kissed. Then the grandmother asks her who she is, and she answers, with her name, and the grandmother nods. The ritual is repeated by all her grandchildren that have come to see her.
In the middle of the visit, some grown up men come and stay standing, talking. I look at H. and she tells me they are also cousins of her and grandchildren of his mother. One of them look at me and say, “settlers”. I get up thinking that they are now going to guide me to wherever the local settlers are causing problems. With his basic English, he says, “no, not now, days ago”. I sit back on the floor.
The situation in Kawawis is very similar to that of Yanoun. The settlers harassed this village so badly a few years ago, the villagers just ran away, and only agreed to come back on condition that there would be internationals continuously. However because there is only one well for the whole village, and we can not wash ourselves while we are here, internationals never stay here more than three days in a row. And because no one is paid to be here, not even travelling or food expenses, it it very difficult to provide more than one international at a time.
The older woman goes to the room where we all sleet to pray five times each day. Each time, H. stays with me, and when the mother returns she goes. In such a way that they never leave me alone.
