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My Imaginary Diary. by Niv Hachlili. My Imaginary Travels to Wallland 1. Nine meters down, don't look, you might fall. Don't you look down Niv, It's mighty high. Don't say a word, Finish your food. If you don't, the army will come and Take you away. It's freedom behind those walls.
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My ImaginaryDiary by Niv Hachlili
My Imaginary Travels to Wallland 1. Nine meters down, don't look, you might fall. Don't you look down Niv, It's mighty high. Don't say a word, Finish your food. If you don't, the army will come and Take you away. It's freedom behind those walls. Freedom calls us, As wind does.
The sun rises, And clichés have No real meaning. We can laugh there on what has been done. The skyline awaits us on the right side. On what side did you wake up this morning? Latitude is gone now, But poverty is our line. Nine meters high. Don't you fall, you hear? You might just land.
Imaginary travels to Blood-land • We went out in the morning, Not knowing what the night has brought. • We did not listen to the news. • Drove peacefully to another photoday on the bank. • But peace was far away from us. • Something is wrong, I thought out loud. • The eastern streets were deserted, • No one on his way to work.
David made a phone call that cleared things up. • "We must turn back" he said, "Sheikh Ahmed Yassin was assassinated". • I turned the car around and took some Empty Street photos, while driving. • David said, "You should get a radio". • We drove quietly, tension was in the air. • Suddenly, people appeared on the hills. • Hundreds of people, walking, calling.
"Don't stop to photograph" he said, "Please". • I didn't even think of stopping. • Stones and rocks, rocks and stones, Ancient weapons still in use. • I pressed the gas paddle to its end, Flying us towards the tear gas clouds. • "shit" I said, • "shit" David said in his mother tongue. • "Faster!" he cried and whipped my car As it was a horse race.
The checkpoint was close. • On it's other side Imaginary quiet-land. • The army jeeps came down, Roaring governing, Ruling. • Imaginary Blood-land takes its toll. • The cries were everywhere, Tear gas, Plastic covered bullets, Grenades, sticks, Rocks, bottles. • We kept going, heads down, No tricks, no magic.
Let us be safe on the other side. • Let us be safe on the other side. • We are on the safe side. • Take a breath, "Were you afraid?" • "I still am" I say. • Behind us the clash is on. • Now you can keep your head down And steal some stills, Dirty, bloody, painful photos. • People pay good money for Middle Eastern pain.
* • That night my mother said – • "Enough is enough, promise me, No more West Bank this week! You must think of us too" • I promised her. • After all It makes you sick.
Imaginary Private Thoughts • It is sad that things happen, It is sad when they don't. • They just leave us here, Waiting. • The smell of fear around us. • And I can feel myself pity the ones, Who are and will be hurt.
Like I'm not a part of it, This existing reality. • I only have my own, Imaginary world left, Now, knowing now. • Watching with compassion, As the wrestle goes on. • Who will be on his knees next? • Who will cry tonight? • Who will curse the world with pain?
They have decided, Devouring us all. • Giving us death, Wrapped as a necessity. • Instead of admitting, They diminish life. • They despise life. • They thrive on our blood. • As if they have shares. • In death's stock market.
Imaginary Music part2 • The imaginary traveler goes to photograph • A special musical show in Al-Hakawati theatre In east Jerusalem. • Night before the Israeli- Palestinian land day, The place is full, packed with young people. • The show is Beautiful, The band plays amazing.
Even though it's not he's language, The imaginary traveler is touched. • At the end of the show the crowd goes wild, Sings together, Words he can't understand float in the air. • On stage, Ten Palestinian players and one Jew, Their music takes the traveler Far away, Makes him drift to dream world, Forget where he is at. • When the show is over, he walks the Empty streets, enjoying the warm weather night,
Talking to he's companions. • A police car appears from the dark, Stops right next to them, "What are you doing here ?“ • The imaginary traveler is being asked. • "Walking" he answers peacefully. • "What are you doing here?“ • Repeats the border police soldier, "Walking" insists the traveler. • "This is not legitimate." Cries the soldier, The imaginary traveler is surprised,
He's imaginary tour book doesn't say such a thing. • "Not legitimate?" he asks angrily, "Not legitimate to travel peacefully, Minding my own business, in the street?“ • "Not in these streets" answers the young soldier. • "Really? And what streets are those?“ • Wonders while raising he's voice, The long time, tired, traveler. • "He didn't mean it like that…" hurries The older cop in the car, to explain, "He meant it's not ordinary…".
"Oh, if that's what you mean, then good night“ Say's the traveler and walks away. • "We don't need to worry about you ?", Calls, asks the older cop. • "No, no need to worry at all" .
Imaginary Travels to South Hebron Hills1 • I have so much I want to say about my Imaginary Travels to The south Hebron hills, but I Just can't find my words To describe this terrible beautiful anguished place. • I can only pick up fractures of reality I've been a part of. • It's a beginning of a long journey. ** • Yusuf can't speak my language and I can't speak his, But he insists explaining everything to me
As we run from one hill to another, From a dark cave to a darker one, Wakes up the sleeping ones, gathers families, Insisting I'll see them all, And I understand there are big issues at stake. • The kids see me and burst into tears, "Settlers !" they call and can't calm down, "I'm a friend" I explain in their language But they are stroked with fear, Running to hide behind their mothers. • Every cave I go into, the kids panic. • We hurry to leave and carry on, To disturb the next family at it's turn.
** • Billal says to me, "Maybe I can't read and write, but I know how to plant and to plough, to grow, to harvest, To build my house, and feed my kids. • How to slaughter a sheep, how to make good Bread. How to live my land without hurting or killing it. • So what does it help if People on the settlement, Above us, learned all those fancy things I didn't? • All they want is to drive us away from here by violence. • I don't need to be educated to know this is wrong. My home has always been here, Just like yours, we have no where else to go.“
** • 15 minutes of walk, Down the hill, Stands the imaginary deserted Army base. • Two weeks ago the villagers woke up, To discover it vanished into air, Like it has never ever been there. • I walk down to see what is left, Meeting old acquaintances of mine, Brown training targets forgotten behind, Stuck on barbed wires, Cardboard soldiers aiming their Cardboard guns at me,
Scary souvenirs in this primeval land Of strong winds and hazy brand.
Imaginary Sailing in South Hebron • We sit at the headmaster's room In the elementary school of tuwana, South Hebron, Every sentence contains words like Wall, settlers, Fence, Borders, Gates, violence, It's crawling sneaking down to the Wild wild south, Cutting, chopping, disintegrating. • I leave the grownups talk
And run out to play with the kids. • To feel the holiday sun on my face, To drive away those worries Those fears. • Now we are all brave pirates On a red flagged ship, We fight the imaginary waves, Scream with joy, Getting wet by the fantastic water, It's a warm day. • The kids carry me along the hills with them Sailing on a cloud of dreams And childhood bliss is in the air.
