After a week of spotty internet connections, I can blog again. These blogs, in addition to being a description of my travels, also serve as a journal---something I stopped doing a long time ago. Carrying an actual journal has become impractical.

The training in Tyre (Sour) finished last week; the second day went deeper, which is usual. The training was attended by over 20 Palestinians who work in the camps in Southern Lebanon; a few of the participants were Lebanese. I learned that the Palestinians can get an education here, but cannot work anywhere in Lebanon, other than the camps--where opportunities are almost non-existant. They described their lives as "eternally stuck" in camp life--they cannot go home, they cannot integrate into the many of the countries they reside in, they cannot work.

Still, despite a few moments where emotions related to the absence of homeland surfaced, the creative activities we explored were laced with hope, and dreams, and a positive outlook towards a more optimistic future.

The day before my trainings in Beirut began I traveled South and East to the Al Khiam prison site, on the border of what we in America call Israel--in Southern Lebanon the land is called Palestine. I had read about the prison in a guidebook, that was written prior to the Israeli's bombardment of the prison. Formerly a place where the Israeli's kept Palestinian and Lebanese prisoners, it was converted to a museum and then destroyed, by Israel, in what one of the women I trained called an attempt to "delete history". Viewing the museum/prison ruins I felt sad--sad because the donation box was empty, because its difficult to charge to visit rubble, sad because the place sitting atop a mountain seemed to once have eloquently mourned a history that is being silenced. Still, recently installed photo exhibits shared the museums history, and upon seeing a locked room, I was privileged to meet a survivor of 4 years, who unlocked a small exhibit and gift shop, showed me a hood like the one that covered his head for 4 months (and permanently damaged his eyes), shared his story, and showed me a professional and heartfelt photo exhibit and model of the prison he had carefully assembled so that others might know what happened in this border town. The gift shop was an odd collection of Lebanese and Hezbollah items, as this area is their territory. This is how the survivor made a small income. After hearing him speak, I shared my gratitude that he had survived to share his part of this history, and hoped that others would listen.

Returning to Tyre, the driver who accompanied me took me to the border, which looks out over "his people's land." He pointed to this land, and shared that he has never been there. He had assisted me to get clearance from the Lebanese army, and had checked in with Hezbollah en route to clear travel to Al Khiam. He showed me the long barbed wire fence and many check points and military posts that separates two countries, two histories, two stories. I experienced him as a generous and kind guide.

On to Beirut....