The Hour of Sunlight: One Palestinian's Journey From Prisoner to Peacemaker by Jen Marlowe & Sami al Jundi

Author:Jen Marlowe & Sami al Jundi [Marlowe, Jen & Jundi, Sami al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Arab-Israeli conflict - Influence, Israel, Palestinian Arabs - Israel, Pacifists, Prisoners, General, Prisoners - Israel, Jundi; Sami al, Biography & Autobiography, Palestinian Arabs, Biography
ISBN: 9781568584485
Publisher: Nation Books
Published: 2011-02-01T08:00:00+00:00

I was quick to learn: money was essential on the outside. I was ashamed to take pocket money from my father. I needed a source of income. The brothers in prison had assured me that all the national institutes would open their doors for me as a former prisoner.

I went optimistically to the offices of Al Sha’b newspaper in East Jerusalem. I chatted with the other employees as I sat in the reception area, one from Qalqilia, another from Jenin. After half an hour, the director was ready to meet me.

I walked into his office. We shook hands. “How can I help you?” he asked, inviting me to take a seat.

“I’m looking for a job. I can do anything—clean the offices, work as a typist. But my ten years of experience writing for the prison magazine could qualify me even as an editor.” It was my way to subtly inform him.

The director jumped up, looking startled. “The police station is right next to our office! Israeli security is crawling all over! You will be constantly checked and questioned on your way to and from work. I’m very sorry, but I cannot give you a job, knowing that it will put you at such risk.”

I stood up calmly as he showed me to the door. “Thank you anyway. I hope you are equally concerned about the safety of your employees from Qalqilia and Jenin. Their way back home must be just as dangerous as mine, as I live a mere three-minute walk from your office. Thank you again, sir, for your time.”

I left the office.

I tried not to be discouraged as I walked back to Samir’s house. A pretty young woman was sitting and chatting with Samir and his wife, Sabah, when I entered.

“Hello. I’m Sami,” I said to her.

“I know. My mother and I visited you in your home last week. My name is Fadia.”

“Oh, that’s right! I remember!” I did, vaguely. Azzam had told me that Fadia was engaged to be married, so I had not seen much point in paying attention to her.

“How did it go at Al Sha’b?” Samir asked. I recounted the story, demonstrating the director’s reaction. Samir, Sabah, and Fadia laughed.

“So what will you do now?” Fadia wanted to know.

“I have no idea. I always dreamt of being a doctor, but it’s too late for medical school.”

“Have you thought about becoming a nurse?” Fadia asked me. She was smart, this one.

The next day, I went to register at the nursing program at Al Makassed. My application was not accepted. I was twenty-eight years—too old, the director of the program told me.

“But,” the director continued, “you should talk to the head of the workers’ union. They’re currently hiring janitors.”

I found the head of the union.

“So you were a prisoner,” he said cautiously. “Which movement?”

“Fatah.”

Before I knew it, I was being ushered out the door. “There are no job openings right now, but maybe in the future. Make sure you leave your telephone number.”

I smiled at him before exiting.

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