Thursday night became what is know noted in my history as my Lesbian High School Musical Experience. The new lesbo from work, who has been keeping our friendly pose at a distance decided to take us with her to a lesbo-party after discovering that I hadn’t done any of the sort, despite that Tel Aviv is the homosexual capital of the middle east. It ended up being my BrazzilainAmerican (fag hag here), the Brittish woman(the real homo) mysister( we sent her home to sleep soon after we left though) the Swiss boy (the homophobe it turns out) and I.
After find out that the entrance fee to the club was 60Shek
we went to the little bar down the road instead. But sorrow now, for finally I
found that They Existed. They were Real, and There. I had wondered where the
Gay Tel Aviv reputation came from, but now, I could really see. About time too
as I was leaving the next week…
The above mentioned little bar down the road was by no means
a downgrade from the homo experience of the night. It involved a drag show,
drag queens and kings alike. We were initially a little uncomfortable, before
falling completely into the swing of things and laughing and crying along. The
drag king was exceptional, and it was great because we recognised her from our
usual Liberal Coffe Shop, but the main Drag Queen took the spotlight of our
night, first by flirting with our Swiss homophobe (not sure if he noticed
though?) and thereafter by apologizing into the microphone “sorry honey, are we
boring you to sleep?”… all the audience, and us, turn around- to my sister who was snoring
away, beer aside, eyes closed, who woke with a start. (it was at this point
that we sent her off home. She’d had a long day)
The party was over and we moved off the lesbian street, to
one of the lovely alternative corner alley bars in the ‘hood. At this point it
got a little awkward due to the complaining of the Swiss boy, but we cheered
ourselves up by stealing beer glasses, by simply walking out the bar with them,
out and away. Next we were creeped on by some hetrosexual creeper who was
drugged enough to be nauseatingly suggestive to the ladies coming out of the
lesbo-alley. Fool
And finally we went back to the club from the beginning. I watched the thousands of lesbians milling in
and out, in awe and amazement. Such a diverse array of people, who’d stayed
hidden for so long. Meanwhile, next to me but a world apart, my friends argued
homophobia, acceptance, tolerance, misconceptions and prejudgement with the
Swiss homophobic boy. We drank our beer. I then left them to it, and marched
into the club, past the bouncers, past the door, and into the fluorescent lit
space, popular music blasting, my soundtrack to my lesbian high school musical experience.
And then we went, home to sleep. (home being my usual
friends’ place in tel aviv <she has
told me since that I am her favourite roommate!! Ahh, the burdenous blessing of
homelessness!>
And Friday, did we finally sit
and chill, take a break? Not us, we went camping in the South. Our last time together, the 4 of us avid explorers.
The same group who had pulled through the disastrous trip to the North, and we
were sadly bemused that not a thing went wrong on our last trip of the season.
However, we did sing, and we did hike (hardly) and we did pee in the dessert,
one last time.
Moving. And Truly Moved. I am surrounded by a bubble of
love, and light. Not to sound wanky or anything.
I have just received a phone call from someone with whom
I’ve done minor work over my time here. But he called and said thank you for
what I’ve done (although we worked together) and called to say bye. I love the
littlest of people in my life who gradually change it.
Last night I had a bye bye partjie from my Israelis. Again I
was moved. At first I was a little upset because I had wanted my last weekend
here to be camping with them in the desert in the south, singing and praying
and laughing and cuddling. And as Israelis seem to do, at the last minute they
all bailed on me. And so it was with a sour taste in my mouth that I went to my
farewell dinner, after a 2 day camping trip (without them) and a 2hour sleep in
the back of a car waiting for my Israeli to sort out things at the airport.
But obviously the time has since come for me to feel a
little terrible about being bitter. And to try to comprehend how my friends
waited up till 1:30am in restaurant called Roza to come together one last time
with me. We didn’t get to talk much, as
the restaurant kept trying to kick us out to close down, but again I am filled
with love, and the oncommings of nostalgia to be leaving them.
However, I have begun to realise that I have drunken my fill
of Milk and Honey now. If there is a time to leave, this is it. I would love to
stay another 2 months with my NGO, and take it where I want it to go, but as
for the land I have learned and listened and fought and accepted and questioned
and tried and continued and laughed and sniffled and walked and climbed and
watched the sun set, and climbed mountains, and slipped down steps, and turned
around and around. And its good to leave before I become too much of something
I am not. Just incase.
My weekend was bursting with fullness. Even though often I
wanted to go home and sleep. Or bath maybe. But, as always, I put personal
hygiene aside in the place of adventures.
This weekend I got back to the office to find out that
refugees in the neighbourhood had been attacked by their neighbours with
Molotov Cocktails. And then the demonstration on racism and xenophobia ended
violent from all ends. And then I found out that my colleague, one of the
purest and nicest men I know had been jailed and deported when returning to the
country without a proper visa, from a conference around. And he isn’t even a
refugee. He’s an American.
But there are also the
champions. We made so many friends in the desert this weekend. We woke some travellers
up from their rest in the shade, and the provided us with council, direction(s)
and coffee on their little gas stove. And at the camping grounds, we were not
only given food, (including olive oil, nuts, and tuna) from a fantastic group
who were leaving and wanted to share, but were offered to share the fire of a
couple who came for the night with nothing but a guitar and fire.
Monday was my last day at work. The day I trained my
replacement. It was somewhat fulfilling and I was a little smug, because who
was my replacement, but the man who had undermined my job these past few
months. My boss. Because his boss, asked him to take over my duties once I
left.
That Night I had my byebye party from my work friends. We met
at the most amazing Georgian restaurant/bar and bonded and loved and laughed at
each other in ways that people who love each other can. And then we went to a Dutch
party as it was Queens Day of course. And just as it was time to go, I ran into
my colleague, the receptionist who had come to the party late… And we couldn’t not
go for one drink with him because he is certainly one of the most incredible
people in the world, something that became clear over drinks as we talked about
love, purpose, those little things. It was just me my French friend and my
Receptionist friend, but we talked for hours. Sleep time was at 3am. And Wakey
Up Time the next morning was no later than 6am.
Tuesday was the promised Field Trip with my Aunty Cousin who
I’ve been staying with. To be honest I was a little apathetic about it, but it
turned out to be a really lovely day, and my twin bunked classes for a day to
be my moral support. All in all we had a really good time, looking at the Roman
Cities, Ancient Caves, and Artist Villages, so much amazingness, and I had
thought I had seen all there was to see in this country. That afternoon, sleep
did not come until 12:00am because I busted visits to all my remaining family in
Jerusalem to bid my farewells. To be honest, I spent most of that day on public
transport in various forms, and I still had no place to spend the night. (I had
gotten a phone call from my sister who said; are you looking for somewhere to
stay tonight, because you cant sleep here. Turned out I had been busted for
staying there on her ID the last time.. I think my south african’s program
leaders are going to have a party on the day I leave)
My Israeli who counselled with me in SA came to the rescue
as she always does, causing me to increase in appreciation for those willing to
share their homes/lives/food with me in an exponential way. However, she did
only get home at midnight which is why I spent the remaining part of the night,
saying farewell to all the other people I knew in Jerusalem. Now it was really
time to go
The next day, Wednesday, was a fantastic final shopping
trip, to stock up on my Hippy Pants supply before I could face joburg. After a
good 3 pairs of pants I snuck back to work. Keep in mind that I had been out all
week, and done a whole load of shopping. I also wanted to change before going
out that night, and so I was searching through my bag when my boss walked in,
somewhat high. I was like “I told you I lived here..” which was my usual
refrain when people asked why I was working so late in the office. Har de ha.
Anyways the office that day was crazy. There was practically
no one there, no one on reception, no clients, some of the doors were still
loked, and the phone kept ringing. Over all my farewells people had kept
saying, “the office will fall apart without you, how will we survive” etc etc
and so this was like walking into an existential crisis. Also an egotistical
crisis. I’ve now been gone for a good 2 weeks, and they are thriving. But it
was touching/hella scary nonetheless.
And so after work the plan was to meet up with my ex lover
for coffee, the one who broke my heart {see post: unaccompanied minor down Rothschild
street}. Nevertheless, we met up on Rothschild Street, and chatted. And it was
the best closing ritual that I could have sought. Looking back I wondered where
our similarities lay, and how I allowed myself to get into it all. We talked,
but not deeply. I wonder whether we will speak again as friends or whether that
chapter is a closed case.
And that left me for my final night out in Jewville. My plan
was to meet up with all my most favourite people and go to the undercover, hidden
alleyway bar. It was so hidden that we couldn’t find it, and when we did it wasn’t
open. It almost looked like it didn’t exist. And so we went to a snazzy
restuarantbar next door, and were joined by the others who were coming along. And
ofcourse we talked about refugee issues, and politics, and sex, and foreign
policy, and education, and love. And so I realised where it was that I
belonged. And I couldn’t leave them. So I called my family and told them that I
wouldn’t be coming home that night, and set off with many of the people I love;
my favourite 40year old Frenchie, one of the most inspiring woman I’ve ever
met, my other, younger frenchie, my favourite American, and my new favourite
Sudanese guy, who refers to Sudan as China to the confusion of new people
entering the conversation… This time
Radio, the undercover bar was open, and my friends took one look at me, trailing
my hobo set of plastic bags, backpacks etc and each grabbed a bag before taking
out their own IDs as a cover up for mine (it was the 25+ club). And we danced
and drunk and laughed and kissed goodbye, and that was it. My last night in the
Holy Land.
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