Telephone Conversation

I found it on the street, just lying there on the hard stones of East Jerusalem – a cell phone with a rubber cast image of Nemo hanging from one end.  I thought, “Marlin found Nemo.”  I had a good laugh with myself over that one.  Get it?  See, Marlin was the father fish looking for Nemo, his son – never mind.

Anyway, I find a seat on a stone bench newly placed by the Israeli Municipality.  They are renovating the entire area and it is beautiful.  Come and see!  The phone is exactly like my own except that everything is in Arabic.  But the good news is that I know how this phone works and I can read enough Arabic to figure out a name or two in her contact list.  I am guessing by the Nemo thing that this phone belongs to a young girl.  I find the name Samira and I punch in a call to her.  After a few rings a young girl answers, “Hello.”

“Is this Samira?” I ask in Arabic.

“Aywa (yes),” she answers.

“My name is Abu Issa (Father of Jesus or Joshua – my Arab name.) I found this phone,” I tell her.  “Do you know whose it is?”

“Yes,” she responses, a little cautiously.  “It’s Nadia’s phone.”  She can tell by the call back name, I’m guessing, which is what I was hoping.

“Do you know where Nadia is?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.  “Nadia is with me.”  Then I hear her talk to someone else.  She speaks rapidly in Arabic, of course, and I only understand the phrase, “your telephone.”

“Where are you?” I ask.

“By Bab Al-Amoud” (Damascus Gate).

“I’m near there,” I say.  “Wait there and I’ll bring you the phone.  I’m an old man with white hair carrying a black backpack.”

“Okay,” she says.

I begin walking toward Damascus Gate.  As I near, I see heading toward me a gaggle of six or seven young girls wearing blue school uniforms and white headscarves.  They are talking and laughing and pointing at me.  As I stop, they all gather around.  It has to be a curious sight because everyone along the street slows down to rubberneck.

One of the girls steps forward.  “Nadia?” I ask.

“No,” she says.  “I’m Samira.”

“Which of you is Nadia?”  Her identical twin steps up and stands beside her.  I smile.  “Nadia?”

“Aywa.”

“Here’s your phone.”

“Thank you very much,” she says, taking the phone.

“Our father would have been angry,” says Samira.  “Nadia is always losing her phone.”  There is general agreement on this among all the girls.  Nadia doesn’t bother to defend herself, probably because she has no defense, but more likely because she doesn’t have to defend herself with this group of friends.  She just smiles.

“I understand,” I say.  “I’m a father too.”

They all laugh.

“Where are you from?” one of them asks in English.

“I’m from America,” I say in Arabic.  “But I live here in Jerusalem, close by here.”

“What do you do here?”

“I am a Christian,” I say.  I want them to know this and I love using the Arabic word for Christian - "Ana Masihi" (I'm Christian).  It carries with it the meaning “Messiah.” 

“I work at Saint George’s College,” I explain.  “I bring people to this place so they can see the beautiful places, and meet people like you girls.”

They know of Saint George’s College.  They go to Schmidt’s School for girls, which is just down the road from Saint George’s Anglican School.  Schmidt’s Girls’ School is famous in the city - one of the best schools in all of Jerusalem, as is the Anglican School for Girls.

We have to go, they tell me.  We are already late.

We part company, me walking into the Old City, and they down Nablus Road to their school.  As they get across the street, they all stop, turn around, and wave at me.  I wave back, of course, and the day moves forward for all of us.  And forward is the word I choose because this is a small step forward in breaking down barriers between people.  Today this group of teenage Muslim girls got to meet an American Christian who took the time to track them down and return a phone that he could have just as easily kept – happens all the time here.  I’ve lost one myself.  And I got to have a conversation with a group of teenage girls who are very much like any group of teenage girls anywhere in the world.

One small step forward for one small, older man and a group of teenage Palestinian Muslim girls. Nothing much more than nothing at all, and yet this will be the talk of the Schmidt Girls’ School today, and that’s something at least.