Art provides many outlets for the children of Aida refugee camp, finds Amina Elbendary Palestinian children are like other children. It is, alas, necessary to begin with such a banality if only to explain why so many people were disappointed (they confided in regret) with Al-Rowwad Theatre group who visited Cairo last week. And while the opening statement might sound ridiculous it should be kept in mind whenever we approach any thing labelled "Palestinian". The fate of people like the Palestinians is that they are stamped and exceptionalised by their predicament, labels are affixed that place them on pedestals or in pits, both places they would probably much rather not be, thank you. Al-Rowwad is, simply, a community service centre at the Aida refugee camp in Bethlehem. Founded in 1998 and managed by Abdel-Fattah Abu Surour (who has a PhD from France in biological engineering) its aim is to provide services for young people in the camp. Confined children are something out of horror fiction, as anyone who's had children on their hands during an interminable heat wave or snow storm knows full well. You just want to open the doors and let them kick their energies out there. But the children of Aida are often confined by the diktats of less- than-divine powers; curfews and seiges imposed by the Israeli occupation forces make such emergencies everyday occurrences. And even when they are not confined indoors there is not much outdoors at Aida camp as several of the visiting children explained last Tuesday during an evening of testimonies. The camp is a large slum of tightly packed shacks and houses -- you can hear everything the neighbours say and do, they told us. "We don't have parks and gardens like other children," several of them repeated. "We are denied such basic rights of children." And "we live in cages, like birds," as eight-year-old Salam (literally: Peace) put it. Al-Rowwad is a two-room community centre where some 150 children can spend several hours playing. The centre offers a variety of activities -- theatre, puppet theatre, dabka, language and computer classes. For a few hours a week families know their children are safe. Playing on the streets in Aida means facing the provocation of Israeli soldiers, followed by stone throwing orgies. Hundreds of children have died over the past years following such clashes and community leaders like the Al-Rowwad want to bring the numbers down. As Abu Surour explained, they don't want their children to supplement the lists of martyrs. They want them to grow up into educated, cultured citizens of Palestine who could lead the struggle for independence. But among the many drawbacks of occupation and siege are the interruptions to regular schooling which have affected the quality of education of younger generations. Palestinian children, then, are like other children. And they are not like other children. Twenty-four kids and seven supervisors from the Al-Rowwad centre came to Cairo last week at the invitation of the American University in Cairo's Faculty for Palestine group and with support from the Canada Fund, Ford Foundation-Egypt and UNDP-Jerusalem. They presented a theatrical performance, We are the Children of the Camp, a dabka dance and puppet show. We are the Children of the Camp is a series of sketches, a potted history of Palestine in the 20th century. It starts with an idyllic view of pre-Zionist Palestine: children playing and having fun. (And indeed, Abu Surour refers to a "paradise lost and regained on stage".) With minimal props the children act out the various types of generic Palestinians. There are the families whose homes were pulled down, their villages demolished; the women giving birth on the road to refugee camps; the children denied medical care and dying at roadblocks and -- inevitably -- provocations and insults by menacing soldiers that lead to stone throwing. A screen on the side of the stage shows a home video of sorts, pasting documentary and television footage from various decades of the 20th century. On the one hand the aim of such sketches is to keep the children off the streets; if they must throw stones (and they are frustrated enough to want to do that a lot, judging by their testimonies, and despite the apparent objections of their supervisors) let them throw them on stage; if they must die young let them die -- and rise again -- on stage. On the other hand We are the Children also familiarises these children with the essential story of Palestine. In one sketch the children recite the names of villages that have been demolished by occupation forces and the Israeli towns and settlements that have risen in their stead. Every child in the camp, every refugee, traces his lineage to such a place: such rituals are necessary to keep the memory alive and strengthen the desire and hope for return. It stretches their horizons beyond the confines of a miserable refugee camp. Indeed, the performance also allows the children -- performers and audience alike -- to place themselves within that simple national narrative and to make some sense of the horrors of refugee life. And so, 10-year-old Wu'ud (literally: Promises) can tell us of how her young mother was killed, inside their home, during a wall-to-wall IDF operation targeting a neighbour. We are the Children is therefore about more -- and less -- than entertainment. Al-Rowwad's visit was postponed several times because of political and security considerations. When they finally embarked on the journey it took them three days to get to Cairo from Bethlehem. "We had to stop at roadblocks almost every 100 metres on our way to Jordan. We were thoroughly checked at every point," the children explained. And when they finally made it, it was exam time in Cairo, which is perhaps why not that many children their ages were able to attend the performances held at AUC and Hanager. The troupe have previously performed in Sweden and Denmark and are scheduled to travel to France this summer. Regardless of the outcomes of summits and roadmaps, we hope they continue to sing. Related Web site: http://alrowwad.virtualactivism.net
