The van was waiting for Hannan to join us. That’s what I gathered anyway from everyone’s polite smiles and my very limited arabic. Hannan rushed over and sat next to me. She’s immaculately dressed in a crisp white shirt, jeans and a blazer. Her hair is perfectly perfect, immediately forcing me to re-examine my frizzy ponytail and the lack of grooming effort in general. I had no excuses.

Hannan firmly pressed my hand and acknowledged the other women as our van took off. We’ve settled for the 40 minute journey ahead and so I relax to observe the sites out of the window.  At 7.15 in the morning the highway speeds past, cars maneuver, beep and signal their way through. This landscape is really just the steaming asphalt and the shimmering desert beyond. The desert looks harmless during the day, toned soft beige and framed by the cloudless blue sky. I’ve seen this road at night and it’s different. Drowning in the hollow darkness the desert breathes in the coolness of the night air. Here and there, scattered Bedouin villages sprinkle the black with glowing lights. At night, I often saw these white stone grinding machines by the road. It seemed like they puffed and chewed the white stone into nothingness. I’ve come to imagine them as night monsters, chewing and puffing the white dust. White dust then lifted and flowed above the desert, like cigarette smoke. Night monsters. Nothing is out of their reach, here in the darkness. Driving through this white stone fog felt both surreal and magical…

Hannan is crying. I sense her shoulders tremble. Yes, she’s definitely crying. Shortly after, everyone else notices it too. Our attention and worried faces turn to her. Tissues are offered. We have no idea why this woman, who seems so together, is suddenly in tears. As I attempt to comfort her in the best way that I can, she’s crying, quietly with the all-giving, vulnerability of a child. Later I found out that Hannan’s beloved uncle and a prominent Palestinian journalist was gravely ill and possibly living his last hours.

Shortly after, as the van struggled up the hill towards the school Hannan wiped the last of her tears. Straightening her back she composed herself and with the confident School Principal stride exited the van, closely followed by the other teachers and me.

To be continued.