Jounieh Park & Caza Cafe

Shatila camp
Sunday - May 3 - 2009

Facilitators: Lina, Rana, Nour

Sponsor: Lina

She wanted me to write “Palestine” in English on her arm. I did. I figured the task complete until she rolled up her other sleeve. She then communicated that she wanted me to write, “Lebanon” on her other arm.

I don’t know why I hesitated before drawing the “L” on her soft skin. And as I finally drew it, I noticed it certainly didn’t feel the same inside me as when I sketched the “P” on her other arm.

Lebanon is good to me for the most part. It’s the current home that I choose. I choose to be here. Life is good for me here.

But as I continued onto the “E” and then the “B,” it then dawned on me as to why I hesitated before writing this word on her arm.

I realized that it would make much more sense, actually, if she wrote “Lebanon” on my arm. Though it’s only been my home for not even 2 years, again, for the most part, it’s something good for me. This “L” word on my arm would seem okay to be there.

There was a certain uneasiness for me though – writing “Lebanon” on her arm. Factually, it makes sense. This is her home in all actuality. Lebanon is where she was born. This is where she’s spent all of her life. She’s never left. As well, Lebanon is where even her parents were born and have stayed their whole lives. It makes perfect sense for her to want me to write Lebanon on her right arm.

As I continued to write the “A,” I remembered how last week a Lebanese beach resort didn’t welcome my Palestinian kids. As I continued onto the “N” I noticed my hand shake. “There are over 70 different professions Palestinians are blocked from, and are not permitted to have here in Lebanon, “ a voice inside my head muttered.

I moved on to the “O” - my hand, trembling.

I thought about the conditions of the refugee camps, blocked access to healthcare, education, and so much more.

I was struggling, and paused after the “O.”

I wished I had asked her to write this word on my arm instead. I wish I was fast enough to think of that in the moment. This word wouldn’t give me so much grief if it were on my own arm. Though she’s lived here her whole life, and I, only 22 months, I was more welcome in this land then she. As a foreigner of 22 months, I had all my rights – all of them. This word seemed as if it would write a lot more “smoothly” on my arm, though my skin a lot more rough.

I drew the last “N.”

I realized that no matter how much blocking this country has asserted onto this girl’s family for 3 generations, and on her very own existence, though she’s currently naïve to much of it, I am comforted to know that she realizes that this is indeed her home, and that she belongs here, just as any other – even if her sense of belonging comes from a sweet innocence, and still for her, a covered up truth. She’s not privy quite yet to the different avenues of strategic blockage the word on her right arm quietly arranges for her. It will only be a matter of a few years when she is.

Though I knew it wasn’t, I tried to trick myself into believing that the reason why she wanted “Lebanon” on her right arm was because she was taking a stand - making a point - sending a message. She spent her whole life here – this is her home. And she wanted people to know it.
I wanted so much to believe this.

But, she’s just a little 9 year old girl. I knew this could never be the case.

But this is what I wanted to believe. I wanted everybody to notice that this little girl is showing us that on her left arm is where her heart is and will always be, and on her right arm, where her home and life is - and that people recognize, accept, and respect this.

I wanted these homemade tattoos to be more than cute writing on a little girl. I wanted it to mean so much more to others reading it, than what it sweetly, innocently, meant for her.