The first morning in Ramallah. I wake up and hasten to open the window.

‘What are these elegant houses, Abu Hazim?’ I asked, pointing at Jabal al-Tawil, which overlooks Ramallah and Bireh.

‘A settlement.’

Then he added: ‘Tea? Coffee? Breakfast is ready.’

What a beginning to my resumed relationship with the homeland! Politics confront me at every turn. But in Ramallah and Bireh there are things other than the settlements.

Returning to the city of your childhood and your youth after thirty years you try to coax joy to your heart as you would coax chickens to their barley. Why is it that your joy has to be coaxed and persuaded? That it will not simply manifest itself strong and clear? Is it because there is something incomplete about the whole scene? Something missing from the promise, and from what is fulfilled of the promise? Is it because you are burdened? Because you are not yet used to familiarity? Are you in the dance or sitting it out? Are your objections to the music or to the musicians?

Joy needs training and experience. You have to take the first step. Ramallah will not take it. Ramallah is content with what she is. She knows what she has lived through. The near ones are near and the far ones are far. She has gone her way, sometimes as her people willed, and more often as her enemies willed. She has suffered and she has endured. Is she waiting to rest her head on your shoulder or is it you who seeks refuge in her strength?

A confused meeting. It is unclear who is giving and who is taking. You used to say that to your woman. Love is the confusion of roles between the giver and the taker. So we are speaking of love. Very well then: here are the chickens of joy responding to the spontaneous coaxing (is there such a thing as spontaneous coaxing?). You say take me to my school, to Shari‘ al-Iza‘a, to the house ofKhali Abu Fakhri, to the Liftawi Building. Take me to the