The Palestinian culture is a culture of hospitality. It catches me off guard. It's hard for me to shake out of my self-contained, hyper-independent existence. We stayed the night in a village in the West Bank. We arrived soaking wet and cold from the rain. The women of the house spent the night finding us clothes and serving us endless cups of tea. In the morning, the oldest woman of the house, who must have been in her 70's came into our room early in the morning. She sat down at the end of my bed and tucked the end of my blankets around her, grinned at me, and patted my hand. I stared at her awkwardly, trying desperately to piece together some coherent Arabic words to say to her and coming up short.
"This is a very high honor," my colleague explained. "The oldest member of the household is the most respected, and so the most respected member of the household is coming to check on us as the first thing she does today."
I felt honored, but continued to stare inanely trying to figure out to express my thanks. I'm not really sure how to repay the hospitality I'm receiving here.
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I don't think you're meant to repay the hospitality. You just need to open your doors and be respectful of a traveler coming through your town, and the Palestinian grandmother will be happy. At least that's my theory. Heh.
ReplyDeleteLove the stories! Miss you guys.
Thanks for the reassurance! I think I'm pretty much going to have to turn my apartment into a free hostel to equal the hospitality I've received here, but it will probably make the Palestinian grandmother happy too. Thanks for checking in. Hope all is well!
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