Alumni and current students of the Jubilee School reflecting on their experiences, as the school marks 20 years, and plans the road forward in its scope of high school education in Jordan. This is the archive of the live stream. Not much image, good sound.
Event MC Batool Wahdani (Med school/Jordan University) Moderated by Mariam AbuAdas (Partner 7iber, co-founder Tatawor Association) Opening and closing by Prince Hamzah bin AlHussein.
The first group includes: Mohammed Asfour (CEO Kharabeesh), Hana Malhas (singer/songwriter, CFO Kharabeesh), Wael Attili (Creative founder Kharabeesh), Rahmeh Hammoudeh, Amr Jarajreh (12 grade), Dana Shalabi (12 grade).
Second group: Hadeel Khamash (Pilot/Royal Jordanian), Najeeb Jarrar (Global brand lead for mobile/Google), Basma Abdullah (Architect, Atelier Uraiqat), Mohammad AlAbed (Assistant Professor, Biomedical Engineering Dept/Hashemite University, Assistant Dean), Aseel Rawashdeh (11th grade), Hamza Fakhri (11th grade), Suha Jouaneh Shahin (school director).
Sincere, passionate and critical talk taking stock. Worth the hour and twenty minutes. Arabic.
As Kuwait was being ‘liberated’ in 1991, angry nationalist ghosts were hunting Palestinians and Iraqis. The United Nations went searching in police stations, though they forgot to search the basements of schools. Alongside the scores of individuals tortured and murdered during the Kuwaiti invasion and the Second Gulf War was the displacement of thousands of Palestinians. In the smallest houses rented by Palestinians in every Kuwaiti neighbourhood, cars were seen loaded with bags and possessions. Mass deportations happened not only after Kuwait’s liberation, but also during the first months of the Iraqi occupation. As a result, many decided to flee in fear of the coming war. They were never welcomed back, nor were their stories seen as deserving to be told.
She Who Tells a Story introduces the pioneering work of twelve leading women photographers from Iran and the Arab world: Jananne Al-Ani, Boushra Almutawakel, Gohar Dashti, Rana El Nemr, Lalla Essaydi, Shadi Ghadirian, Tanya Habjouqa, Rula Halawani, Nermine Hammam, Rania Matar, Shirin Neshat, and Newsha Tavakolian.
Editor’s note: Mahmud Angrini is a Syrian Medical Doctor. He originally wrote to us to say “thank you” — Mahmud’s story was not only touching but so inspiring that we asked him to share it with the community. Thank you Mahmud, for living Coursera’s mission to create a world where people can learn…
“Shades of Grey” by Lebanese artist Sari Al Khazen, is one of the exhibitions aimed to bring international emerging artists to Los Angeles, project that commenced in 2009 which is part of ADC & Building Bridges traveling exhibitions, art residencies and exchanges programs launched in 2007. In his works, Mr. …
Still from Take your place performative action #3: I dream of swimming like a mermaid dressed in a djeba (long dress with pattern) from web documentary A Summer in Algiers, 2012.
I first sat down to chat with Amina Zoubir, an up-and-coming Algerian mixed-media artist, on a blustery late March afternoon in New York where we discussed the inspiration behind her latest film series titled Take your place (Prend ta place) and the responsibility she feels in representing Algeria to the wider world. Later, while on the move between Paris and Brussels, she shared her thoughts on art, religion and the growing pains of a region in a new era.
After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.
Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?
The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.
She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,
Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.
She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.
Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.
Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.
She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.
To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.
And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.
And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,
With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.
And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.
Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.
They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.
Not everything is lost.
”—Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)