Embracing My Debwani Identity Enaam Salem
My first trip to Palestine was with my uncle at simplicity in that experience, Deir Debwan at that the age of four. You could say I was his sidekick stage in my life did not satisfy my very American exthroughout my childhood and so when he decided pectations. to take a trip to visit my grandparents in the early On one occasion, I recall the excitement my ’90s, it only seemed natural for me to tag along. My grandfather had as he and my grandmother prefirst cognizant memories of my childhood are on the pared to take me to the Tel, which sits at one of the flight to Tel Aviv. I recall standing on the seats and highest points of the town and overlooks the entire trying to force my friendship onto everyone aboard landscape. The adult in me now would describe it as that flight. At the time, almost everyone who travabsolutely riveting and enchanting. My four-yeareled into Palestine through Tel Aviv, Arab or nonold self begged to differ. Seeing the excitement on Arab, used Tower Airlines. Now that I reflect back their faces meant only one thing: “We were probably on that moment, I am almost certain my very Palesgoing to Disneyland!” I recall the disappointment they tinian presence did not excite all those around me. felt when I threw a tantrum Upon arrival, we of course “To believe we can disarm our chilat the shock of arriving at received the “royal VIP” what seemed like an empty treatment and my four-year- dren of their American privilege at old self did not feel so wel- the gates of Palestine is truly a stretch plot of land. When we arrived at the Tel’ I was sorely comed by the condescending of the adult imagination.” disillusioned. For one thing, soldiers at the airport. we certainly had not arrived Though I did not understand the political context at in Orlando and there certainly was no Magic Kingthe time, I knew there was nothing normal about dom or Cinderella’s Castle awaiting my royal little having soldiers question my uncle and I for hours as self. What lay there was a plot of agricultural land at we tried to enter our homeland. the top of a steep hill neatly lined with rows of olive Arriving in Deir Debwan after what seemed to trees. In fact, the reaction my son had to almost eveme like a week of traveling, everything seemed so rything I was excited to show him during our most small and not as grandiose as my family had hyped recent trip in the summer of 2018 was all too familiar it to be. The streets were narrow and bumpy, the as it was almost identical to my own years ago. To houses seemed so close together, and the air seemed believe we can disarm our children of their Ameristale and dry. In short, the world around me simply can privilege at the gates of Palestine is truly a looked like it had been placed in a dryer for an overstretch of the adult imagination. Nevertheless, those extended cycle. Nevertheless, my grandparents were olive trees I had underestimated years ago were elated as they greeted us and welcomed us home what I later learned to be the source of my late along with an entourage of relatives I had never seen grandfather’s income, as he had sold olive oil or whose presence I had never registered prior and throughout Palestine to sustain his family. In short, whose stories I would eventually become all too fathose olive trees are at the very root of who we are miliar with as an adult. In an ideal world, I’d love to as a family not just in a cultural and patriotic sense describe that trip as the most remarkable but that but in every sense. The adult in me now would pass would be unjust. Almost everyone who interacted no opportunity to spend my summers sipping on a with me throughout that trip can live to tell you warm cup of tea with mint in that very same Tel what a spoiled little brat I was throughout those two overlooking towns over and catching a glimpse of weeks. While I can now look back and appreciate the the Dead Sea from aboard that mountaintop. 6
