Life of a Palestinian Farmer: Nahed Kayed
I. A hard life without bitterness
Sprouts of waving grain bristle back and forth in the wind. Their rhythm accelerates, swaying one way and then the other. In what seems to be a matter of minutes they gradually thin out, thrashed into piles. The landscape once heightened by the tips of the wheat crop cascades into flatness. The field once overflowing with wheat is now trimmed.
Rising to collect it is a man — slim in stature, burnt — with a subtle dew of sweat quickly evaporating from his face. With a flick, he rests his razor-sharp sickle around the nape of his neck. Wheat-piercing blade perfectly ensconced round his collarbone, he relaxes, lights a cigarette and begins to bind the piles of wheat.
This is Nahed Kayed, Palestinian farmer. At 47, he works his fields to provide for his family, generating both a source of food and income. The work on the farm is taxing; sweat and dirt stain his shirt, which billows with his constant motion. In his exaltation, Nahed begins to sing a song he wrote about the beauty of his land, happily continuing the grueling work.
“They said: The olive trees at my country are very beautiful.
May God punish and give penalty for those who emigrated from it.
And May God reward those who farm its land, plowing it and trimming its trees.
My country's olive is the best and most delicious fruit ever. I eat its olives, which was studded by its stone.
Our land oil is pure like gold.”
After a day, the land and Nahed become one, sweat from his body seeping into the ground while the dirt from the land invades his skin. Ingrained in the punishing exchange is the reality, the plight of the Palestinian farmer.
Growing up the son of a farmer, Nahed has come to regard the land as an ancestor, having been home to his family for generations. He continually implements incremental improvements to his craft. Yet all the while the half-century-long Occupation has lomed, limiting his future.
But there is no malice in the farmer, who faces the political reality in the only way he can, through his family and his land. Palestinians must hedge their economic opportunities by prepping their kids for “university” and starting large families, in hopes one of the children will embrace the farm life. In an effort to help people like Nahed deal with the economic and social ramifications of the Occupation, organizations like the Near East Foundation have implemented literal grassroots politics. By “humanizing” each side they look to prepare both Palestinians and Israelis — perhaps, one day — for a peaceful coexistence, separated not by electrified barbed wire fences and 16-foot cement walls but joined by common purposes and shared knowledge.
Nahed maintains a deep connection to his community and hopes that the future will offer greater opportunities for his children. Meantime, Nahed does the grunt work and plows through the land and dreams his work will be met with a better tomorrow.
All the land he farms is in Sebastiya, the piece of Earth where he grew up and took root with his three brothers and four sisters.
II. A child on the farm
Growing up, life for the eight of them was centered on their father’s farm.
“My childhood was not as you envision,” Nahed says with the aid of an interpreter. “We didn’t have anyplace to go. We would spend the days at home only going with my father and mother to our farm, helping my father cultivate the land.”
His interest in school and out was focused on farming, but it didn’t work out.
“My school was in a single room, but the school was not stable. One year it was here, another year another place, until I finished secondary school in 1989,” he says.
He wanted to be a better farmer.
“I tried to register in college for agriculture but because of the First Intifada and my scores from secondary school being too low I was unable to enter. Even if I had the scores the university was not easy to access at the time.”
Nahed did what he could, as he always does.
“After I was unable to enter college I went to a small center in Nablus that gives you a technical skill. I started with electricity. With the simplest piece I learned how to connect wires. I learned small things to use inside the home for repairs,” he says.
He took over the farm, while the other siblings stepped into the family restaurant or further pursued their education. For many Palestinian families this is the model: The family investments are distributed over the passing generations. Some take care of the land, some a business, and others pursue an advanced education.
In the Kayed Family, Nahed and his brother Muhammad took over the family businesses – the farm and gift shop/restaurant respectively. Nahed’s sisters all had children and became teachers. His other brother Rakez became a neurologist who conducts Alzheimer’s research in Texas.
“Agriculture had always been my favorite subject in school. I have loved tractors and planting since I was a child,” Nahed says. “It has been a part of my life but I wanted to graduate as an agriculture engineer to further improve my skills.”
Even though Nahed ended up working in a field that he loves, he sometimes struggles to make ends meet because the income from a career in agriculture is not enough when compared to people who go to school to become doctors or engineers, like his brother. Sometimes he doesn’t make enough to cover his family’s expenses.
Nahed’s uncle, Mazen Kayed, just moved back to Sebastiya after retiring. He worked in the United Arab Emirates in a bank.
His nephew Nahed, in addition to plowing his own farm, helps to cultivate Mazen’s land two to three times a year. Still, while Nahed may spend his entire day in the field, sunrise to sunset, it is still difficult to make a profit.
“You can’t cultivate all the land,” Mazen says one June afternoon as he watches Nahed harvest wheat by hand. “The problem for Nahed is how much he is paid against how much he has to pay for tractors, laborers, and wheat fertilizer. After that I don’t know how much he will get at the end of the day or even if he breaks even. I think he’d be happy if he got a little more than breaking even. He’d be proud of that.”
Mazen says this is the rule, not the exception. “Almost 60% of the people here are depending on a family member working outside here, in America and other foreign countries.”
Mazen has tried to help family members by dipping into his retirement account to help with the annual losses. He’d like to open a business himself, but it’s tough identifying one that would be viable.
For all Palestinians there is a clear incentive to earning an advanced degree. If you do, you have the opportunity to stay home and have two incomes: one by being employed and the other by farming your own land.
Nahed’s income comes solely from the cultivation of his land: selling food in the market, and using his crops for his brother’s restaurant.
By having the support of his extended family unit – his brother who runs the gift shop and restaurant as well as his brother who lives in the U.S. in addition to the support from his sisters – Nahed is able to support his own children and their educational pursuits.
Salah Abu-Eisheh, who runs the Near East Foundation's West Bank operation, says its mission is to better farmers' lives, like Nahed’s. He's proud of NEF, though it's a pride tempered with realism and honesty.
“In the last four years, there's been a huge difference,” he says. “Farmers have started to see it more as a business that can provide a good part of their needs, not just a means to get by.”
He acknowledges that these programs as they are can't provide enough. Farmers must not only be more proficient, but diversified.
“Will agribusiness (alone) provide all these things?” he asks, quickly suggesting that it will not. “I don't think he is the best financial situation,” Salah says of Nahed. “His life is not easy. He needs to do more out of season. His income is limited to two months a year for the olive harvest and less than one month for the rest. His income's very limited. He needs to be proficient at other things.”
III. A farmer’s family
A farmer’s home is an extension of his work. There is no reprieve from the fickle and constant attention it requires. Farming materials are strewn throughout much of the split-level home where the family lives, and the materials are scattered about rocks on the farm.
Fruit trees adjacent to hallways are within arms-length from inside. The fruit can be plucked right from windows. On the roof: two separate coops, one for rabbits and one for chickens.
While most of the home is strewn with Nahed’s farming equipment and produce, the kitchen’s in better order. Nahed’s wife, Manal, treats it as her own plot, where she prepares olives, jams and hummus to serve throughout the day.
Home is also the preserve of pets. Beebus sleeps atop an Arabic textbook, the lazy cat resting upon knowledge Nahed’s children soak up.
The educational prospects for Nahed’s children are quite different than his own in childhood.
With six children ranging from 10 to 22, each is experiencing a different phase of education. The youngest — Maies, Ahmed and Maryam — are still completing their primary and secondary schooling and have only begun to think about what they would like to do for careers. Maybe they’ll focus on the farm, perhaps they’ll continue school for an advanced degree or maybe they will find a new way to support the family.
But three of Nahed’s children are currently in the midst of their advanced education; one son, Ashraf, was just completing his exams this June for the end of the year. He is in the middle of completing 8 separate examinations, with his scores to determine whether he can go to university.
Each exam consumes his day and Ashraf’s only reprieve is coming home at the end of the day to feed his birds and prepare for the next days exams. They will conclude at the beginning of Ramadan when Ashraf will rest and fast, waiting 20 days until his results are posted.
Omar, another son, has completed secondary school and is spending time working at his uncle’s gift shop, still considering college. For boys this can be typical. Maha, Nahed’s oldest daughter, says boys have the option of working and then going to school or doing both at the same time. But for girls the options are different.
“The girls can only go to school,” Maha said. “They do not have the option to work in-between.”
Still, some things have changed since Maha’s parents were married when her mother was 16. Now it’s more typical for a girl to marry in her 20’s and schooling for girls has become far more important.
Maha loves to learn and has enjoyed her education since an early age.
“When I was at school my cousin taught me English in third grade. He taught me language and now I just love it.”
While Maha is continuing to learn more and more abut languages and linguistics her family and friends sometimes tease her about not knowing certain words.
“My father will sometimes complain in the morning. He tells me that I should know all the words, but at the university they don't teach us all the single words. They teach us a difficult word, not the small things we have in the house. But I memorize them by myself and I will practice by myself,” she says.
Indeed, at An-Najah national university she scores better in English than she does in Arabic, her native language.
Maha lives at home with the rest of her family and makes the commute to university three days a week, a 20-minute bus ride.
“I do five hours a day at university and receive five lectures. I go to the university Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday,” she says.
Because Maha is so successful in her academics she even takes time to tutor siblings when they need help. For Maha the tutoring helps her continue her studies and encourages her to further pursue her work.
“I help them with their English and math. I am like a teacher. I teach them because I love classes like mathematics and they listen to me because in my classes I get a 99 out of 100.”
Maha hopes her dedication to academics will provide chances to see other parts of the world.
“I want to go to the U.K. or U.S. to complete my master’s degree. I hope to complete those studies in two years and then get a chance to see the world.”
Maha wants to continue learning English and is fascinated by the structure of language. She’d like to pursue an advanced degree in linguistics.
While the youth tend to focus on their academics much of the older generation works the the land, cultivating some fruits and preparing goods for the market and family.
Nahed’s aunt and mother live with the family, too.
“They come every day,” Maha said about her older relatives. “They take care of the land by planting, picking saffron. When they were young they spent their entire day on the land planting everything. “
It’s difficult for the younger girls to leave the home. And many of the older women who did not pursue an education know very few people outside the home.
“For the girls, they don’t go outside a lot. They only know their relatives,” Nahed says.
IV. Meaning of the land
Olive trees sprout where they emerged from the Earth for the first time nearly a thousand years ago or more. Silent witness to the birth of most modern religions, these trees have survived countless generations and seen the continual history of man. These fascinating historians have survived countless invasions and foreign governments; they paint the land as the specters of past generations.
During the period of time when the Turkish government controlled the area the Turks would cut down olive trees, burning the olive wood for fuel. The trees, being a sacred emblem to the Palestinian people – Nahed’s Ancestors – owned the land sought to prevent the complete devastation of olive trees.
“Before the Turkish time the land was for everyone, but after that the Turks tried to buy every tree and all the land to distribute for families. Each tree has its own name, named by the protector of this one or who takes care of that one,” Nahed says.
Pointing to a tree close to the road, Nahed says it’s over 1,000 years old. “It is from 5 JD; we call it Shekh Mahmoud,” since the man who first cared for the tree during the Turkish time was named Shekh Mahmoud.
Maintenance of these ancient trees is relatively simple.
All they require is the placement of stones, to maintain their shape and be supported. “Stones are put inside to keep it strong. We do not take a lot of care because they maintain themselves. Usually we do the plowing and take care of the land surrounding it,” Nahed says.
Nahed’s farm is expansive, spread across different parts of Sebastiya. He has tried to count all of the olive trees he has, but says he’s never been able to make an accurate, full account. Attempting to sort through the intermittently placed trunks is an tiring task that can be better calculated based on the amount of fruit production.
While much of the land is nurtured by nature that reliance on an annual return can prove to be a risky endeavor especially since nature is cyclical. Because of this there is a significant difference in production every other year.
“One year will be good and I will get 100% of olive oil. In the other year I will get maybe 10% of olive oil, meaning that I must save olive from the good year to balance the years when the trees need a break,” Nahed says.
During the good years they will save olive oil for two years, preparing for the bad year when the price of olive oil rises.
Yet this reliance on a natural cycle is incredibly risky because should a bad year repeat the consequences could be devastating.
Nahed’s farm is all-natural. He does not use pesticides and cultivates everything by hand. It’s incredibly labor-intensive.
“There is a difference between harvesting here and in places like Israel. Harvesting here comes by hand, in Israel by machine because they will not keep trees for more than 10 years,” Nahed says. You will not see old trees on farms in Israel because the machines can’t operate on an olive tree that large. With a machine it takes two to three days to harvest. Here it takes more then 10 days because collecting’s by hand.”
But because the farm do not rely on pesticides, the produce can literally be eaten off the tree or from the dirt.
It’s a natural connection to the land that’s religion to the Palestinian farmer.
“Having the land and the olive tree means as a Palestinian you are still living here. It means the life that we have comes from this land,” Nahed says.
V. The Influence of the Near East Foundation
While his pursuit of an advanced degree in agriculture was cut short, given the academic and political realities of his youth, Nahed has been able to make advances on his farm that have impressed his father and grandfather.
“The old men do not like cutting trees or the trimming. My father and grandfather didn't like to trim or take any piece from the tree.”
Over time, however, Nahed was able to convince his elders that his methods were successful and improved the output of the trees on his land.
“I did a sample by taking a few trees and did a trimming for them. At first my father and grandfather were angry about why I did trimming on the trees. The first year I did not get any fruit because it was a bad year, then the second year after trimming I got more fruit than I expected. The difference between the ones that were trimmed and the ones that weren’t impressed my father and grandfather.”
Nahed learned this trimming technique from the Near East Foundation, which focuses on improving the economy of the region and relations between Palestinians and Israelis. “I have gotten lectures and inside outside things from the agriculture engineers,” Nahed notes.
Nahed has been working with NEF for five years and has improved his farming methods through new grafting techniques and by having the opportunity to connect with other farmers on the Israeli side.
“NEF gives us something we were not able to do. To go outside this village or even to visit Israel to see another technique is something that makes me happy.”
In addition to visits to Israeli farmers, NEF has offered more instruction on how to further develop Palestinian farms.
“I get training courses and get to visit other farms where I can see the difference irrigation makes,” Nahed says. “These visits have given me the dream to do irrigation to my own farm once I am able to get the proper tools.”
Nahed fashioned an improvised irrigation system – it collects rainwater on a roof, stores it, and then utilizes a makeshift filtration device to sputter some water into his fields – but he can’t make much of it without a reliant — and more equitable — water distribution system.
“Water,” says Abu-Eisheh, of the Near East Foundation, “is like blood.”
In addition to teaching, the Near East Foundation is also distributing tools like electric saws – for trimming trees – and stainless steel tanks for olive oil storage. Still, Nahed farms with a single, rusty, 40-year-old tractor: His 1978 Massey-Ferguson.
VI. A Palestinian in Israel
For Palestinians and Israelis alike, the prospect of traveling to one another’s land is daunting. With the military zones outlined after the Second Intifada, travel between regions has become incredibly complex, making communication between farmers all the more exhausting.
Travel and visitations carry political ramifications, and with the continual tension everyday Israelis and Palestinians are generally unable to meet face to face with one another to talk about farming.
With the launch of Olive Oil Without Borders the Near East Foundation has looked to work with farmers like Nahed to help facilitate exchanges between farms located on opposite sides of the border.
Nahed has been able to visit Israeli farms like Simha Halperin and Israelis in turn have been able to visit some areas of Palestine to see how the Palestinian land is cultivated and what techniques they use in olive production.
However meetings among farmers can take some coaxing.
“The Israelis were nervous in the beginning, like when you visit it is the first time. When they enter they were afraid for their safety, then as time passed they were all just sitting together and eating hummus. When the security left they still stayed and talked without problem,” Nahed says.
As the sides continue to interact the hope is that each will see one another not just as a farmer but another person.
“The similarity between us is that we are all farmers. I love my land he loves his land. There is simplicity in our lives, that we live as farmers,” Nahed says.
But there are still stark economic differences between the two.
“When it comes to money for every 500 shekels I produce he is able to get 1,000 shekels. These farmers have more techniques and I farm by hand. He has machines and his government helps him. Mine does not help me,” Nahed says.
And while Nahed does want to earn more money he also wants to ensure that a relationship of some sort can be built between him and Israeli farmers.
“It is my dream to have a strong relationship between me and Israeli farmers because exporting his techniques and experiences helps me in my way of farming. I want to be away from politics and all of these things. I don’t want politics to control us.”
VII. Vision
For Nahed, nothing could possibly match the satisfaction he feels from farming.
“When you go to your land it starts out empty. You plant a small seedling and you see the land and the fruit from it. Seeing something grow here in my land it is something that gives me pride like doing something with my life,” he says.
The land is a connection to his spirituality and religion because it offers him something that requires care and cultivation.
“All the religions give you advice. For me I must grow or plant something and I will gain a lot from god.”
While the life of a farmer is a difficult one and the future uncertain, Nahed leaves his hopes and dreams to his religion.
“In terms of my vision for the future, we have something in Quran that says if you know the future you can convince yourself of anything, and therefore not really understand the future. I cannot express anything in the future because it is not easy. But I hope for my children to grow and get educated. My dream to live in peace and have children graduate and be safe in our life here, to live in peace.”
Nahed puts all his energy into the land in hopes of being treated like any other man, or in his case any other farmer just trying to learn — and earn — from the soil.
