Sam Taber McNeil

Snot, Spit And Tears

The sound grenade was a sure reminder this wasn’t a photoshoot.

I had my back to the Israeli soldiers and the concrete barriers lashed with barbed wire. Busy photographing the 150-strong mass of activists approach, the detonation spun me around. I dropped the lens to my hip. The seven Palestinian protesters, gas-masked or wrapped in kufeyah scarves, had stopped shouting at the Israelis.

“Why did you do that?” one asked the soldiers. “It’s Ramadan, that’s forbidden [haram].”

Black humor before the bombardment. Most chuckled.

A muffled pop followed by a low whistle jerked everyone’s necks skyward. White smoke trails arced across the blue beyond over the frontline group of protesters. People screamed... Read more...

People of Abraham

The Israelis feared the start of Ramadan.

The maddening pressure of nicotine and caffeine withdrawals, thirst and hunger have been known to provoke Muslims (and also remind them of the beggars’ plight and austerity before our modern might). Thousands of fasting people left their homes throughout the West Bank on 14 August to see the iconic Al-Aqsa Mosque, the third holiest sight in their faith. They had to pass through a formidable concrete wall. Many would be denied in by border guards.

What would the frustrated do?

I volunteered to cover the Friday prayer . Hopefully I’m not an ambulance-chaser but an abuse-deterrent. The Israelis had relaxed their regulations from last year, but basically peop... Read more...

Al Manara and Al Farsiya

Ramallah triggered patter recognition.

Bug-eyed sunglasses, tight jeans with headscarves, shaved heads with bushy beards, jabelleyas. The rough Arabic. The city’s shops wove the same mercantile texture: a repetition of shoes, stationary, kiosk grocer, coffee in shot-glasses, dress clothes and shwarma pylons.

On entrance to every city in Tunis, from Tatouine to Hammamet, the traffic circles boasted statues of civic pride. Four lions under a marbled lighthouse announced Ramallah. Called Al-Manara - a good example for seeing the Hebrew-Arabic Semitic linguistic connection, think of “menorah” - this is the city center and were I met Kieron, assistant editor for the Palestine Monitor.

We walked toge... Read more...

Epiphany To Ramallah

I woke up hoarse, eye-lids puffed, tongue dry.

“Never again," I said, coughing into the sink.

After a coffee with a friend, I plopped down and finished The Dakota Cipher , munching “The World’s Best Falafel”. Not spotting a bathroom, I looked up from the pages and nearly screwed the pooch.

I had almost asked the Israeli woman if I could use the toilet - in Arabic. With feta cheese and tomato stuck in my teeth, I stared at her as a shadow passed over my blissful infatuation with Tel Aviv. Residual terror and suspicion from airport and customs security bubbled.

Whether warranted or not, paranoia gripped me. I hustled back to the hostel, packed my bags with determination, my education beginning to th...

Tel Aviv Hot Zone

Tel Aviv was shocking, yet familiar. Beautiful, yet disgusting.

The heat singed my freckles and dried my sweat near-instantaneously. I relaxed during Ben-Gurion airport’s security, knowing El Al’s screening had been thorough. I simply answered questions from inside a small office, relaxed and resigned. An hour later, the agent even gave me advice for renewing my visa.

It was still morning when I boarded the train for Tel Aviv and then taxied near the city center’s beach. Hebrew, as alien to me as Cyrillic, mottled the street’s billboards, cafes and shops. At the corner of Allenby and HaYarkon, I checked into a tall, bustling backpackers. Argentinian, American, British, French and German ... Read more...

Getting Into Israel

At Heathrow Airport in London, I dropped my two backpacks in front of El Al Airlines check-in line. Two women in black suits stared, then started for me as I fumbled in my bag for my printed ticket.

“Why are you going to Israel?” one asked. They caught me off guard, with their suspicions and beauty. “Did you pack your bags? Sometimes things look normal but they are a bomb. Do you have friends in Israel? Are you planning to go to the territories? Where are you flying from? When did you leave the United States?”

I had prepared for Israeli questioning and security. I just hadn’t imagined them in London. My laptop and hard-drive had been cleaned in Jo’burg of reference or evidence of Al-Filastin, ... Read more...

Crossing Into Zimbabwe

Ben and I pulled up to the Zimbabwean border at Kazangula as the sun began it's lunchtime baking of the planet. We were one of seven tourist vehicles amongst a steel stream of idling cargo trucks stretching from the weigh station far into the horizon. Gathering our yellow, purple and pink, clear plastic document folders, we left the cruiser and entered the plywood and fiberglass border agency.

The air was thick, hot and stale inside. A black Namibian tour operator and a Zimbabwean talked in their common language, English, in front of us, the only other people in the tepid box. At the agent's window, we plopped the folders down with our pair of navy blue passports. The arrow and branch-clutchi...

Two American Brothers In a Sea of Algerie

The excitement of our draw with Slovenia had inspired Ben and I (Someday, you will understand America, I swear). The FIFA office was sold out of the next game, so we met a West African scalper. He had two prime seats for cheap, selling $160 tickets for $80 a pop, in our next match against Algeria. Getting out of the beginning round, proving American soccer had legs, hinged on our victory against Tunisia’s neighbors and North Africa’s sole team at the games.

So the next two days I spent trying to come up with a good sign in Arabic. I settled on: “Two Brothers From America: We Want President Obama at the World Cup! Life Liberty and the Pursuit of Victory!!!”

Obama had promised that if the US tea... Read more...

The Slovenian Draw

Ed dropped us off when traffic slowed our roll to nil.

“Well, here we go,” Ed said, waving his hand to the traffic cop and his fluorescent vest. Ben and I hopped out. We both carried American flags, the stars and stripes wrapped around my neck like an emo scarf and Ben caped like a Trojan with red, white and blue.

The road shot straight towards Ellis Park past single-story brick houses with high fences. Suburbia with teeth, lined with other fans heading towards the stadium. We slowed at a pile up of American flags, and kept going when we realized it was a food stall.

I left the main road, ducking behind the hawkers and cookers, walking in effect behind the scene. Fans of team America crowded th... Read more...

Gaborone Fantasy and Prophecy

Mark and Joy made us a very proper, big fry-up for our last meal in their wonderful home. They even packed us fresh fruit for the road - which turned out to save the day.

We bought some pastries at a local bakery before heading south by southeast from Bulawayo, heading to Botswana. Ben’s friend Jaynie had an old pal named Peggy in Gaborone who’d offered to put us up for a night. The goal was Johannesburg and it’s month of soccer. Our countdown back from Dar es Salaam had really been a countdown for The World Cup, and signs everywhere along the road reminded us of the days to go until Africa hosted the world:

“Feel it. It is here.”

The border was easy, quick and painless. Botswana is a stable co...

Snot, Spit And Tears

The sound grenade was a sure reminder this wasn’t a photoshoot.

I had my back to the Israeli soldiers and the concrete barriers lashed with barbed wire...

More:

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Crossing Into Zimbabwe

Ben and I pulled up to the Zimbabwean border at Kazangula as the sun began it's lunchtime baking of the planet. We were one of seven tourist vehicles ...

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