It is on those select days that I go to the Central Bus Station area that is not really a recommended touring spot in this city. A local will try to avoid the CBS for many reasons; its complicated design being one of them. The maze that the CBS is can only be navigated using an app. If the start-up nation did not have a start-up to create such an app, I would have been greatly disappointed. The other big concern is that one feels a tad unsafe in a place where drunk/wasted/homeless people wander about bumping into poles and people with equal probability. According O, my Hebrew coach, building the CBS inside the city was a bad idea in the first place because it is a social outcast-magnet.

The CBS is located in Tel Aviv’s poorest neighbourhoods. Asylum seekers from troubled African countries like Sudan/South Sudan/Eritrea/Ethiopia reside in areas adjoining the CBS. Years of neglect of this neighbourhood has come to define its demographics. “Everyone thinks that south Tel Aviv is very unsafe. But it is not as unsafe as they think it is. Hopefully the image of south Tel Aviv and asylum seekers will improve,” says N, a Sudanese community leader and human rights activist. Though I visit the CBS area to pick up Indian spices from Indian grocery stores that are located there; N guessed that I must be visiting the CBS for the very first time with him. It is a valid guess for one does not come here without purpose or a local guide. He was pleasantly surprised that I had visited south Tel Aviv or the grimy under belly of Tel Aviv multiple times.

I was touring south Tel Aviv with MK, another Sudanese activist, on a balmy summer evening as part of the final Hebrew class. MK and N wanted to introduce the students to Sudanese community leaders, their problems and Sudanese food.

We met at the Levinsky Park, a haven for the homeless, where we waited for the group to assemble. We left the main street and made our way into the neighbourhood of Nave Sha’anan as the sun started setting on Tel Aviv. The air was thick with pungent aromas that spilled out of nearby African grocery stores. Small apparel stores displayed colourful Eritrean wedding gowns as men and women yapped away outside the stores. Spices and clothes indigenous to African countries are brought by Eritrean asylum seekers who can go visit their country and come back to Israel unharmed. On passports of Sundanese nationals it is clearly stated that Israel is an enemy nation and that their passports are valid for all countries with the exception of Israel. “Visiting Darfur is no more an option for the Sudanese asylum seekers,” says MK. The shops are not always owned by the asylum seekers as they are not permitted to own shops. Only those with temporary residency permits can operate shops, and asylum seekers with these permits are very few. “Some friendly Israelis help us in setting up shops, but at a cost,” shares MK. That said, a sizable fraction of small businesses are run illegally by African asylum seekers and these businesses are constantly at the risk of raids by municipal authorities. Taxes are levied upon those who employ illegal asylum seekers, thus reducing job opportunities for asylum seekers on the whole.

Everyone seemed to know each other in this part of the city. The community of asylum seekers is a strong network. As we walked down these lanes, MK was greeted by at least seven people who stopped to talk to him. The conversations lasted a few minutes each and ended with MK getting dinner invitations to his friends’ homes. “If I am going out on urgent business, I take a different route to approach the main street. It takes me five minutes to walk down this road when I do not meet anyone, if I do, then I spend at least 45 minutes chatting with people,” he says wiping sweat off his forehead. Tel Aviv is a furnace these days, it is 7pm and our tour is officially yet to begin.

As we wait for more students to join, MK takes us to a local Eritrean cafe. The concept of African cafes came as a complete surprise to me. They are mostly huge rooms (like an auditorium without a stage) with rows of chairs facing one wall. This wall has at least three TVs mounted on it and each TV plays a different show. People at the cafe are hooked to their personal nargilas while their eyes flit constantly between a WWE match, a football match and a local news channel. After hydrating ourselves, we proceed to meet more community leaders. 

 
Community Centres and Holot
The first community centre we visit is managed by Z. Here adult asylum seekers are taught English and basic computer skills. The community centers also help asylum seekers fill in forms to apply for refugee status and temporary residency permits etc. “These forms have to be filled in very carefully. The officials should not find any loopholes to reject the candidature. It is a tedious job,” says O who is attending a workshop to learn how to fill these forms. The community centres are central to the survival of the asylum seekers. “We help them settle down, find a job and also in some cases asylum seekers are so traumatised and need professional help. We try to help in any way possible,” says MK.
At the second community centre English and computer classes were in progress. Asylum seekers sat diligently in stuffy rooms copying sentences from the board onto their notebooks.

Maintaining a centre like this and running it for a long period is not half as easy as one would expect it to be. The community leaders could get summons to Holot, the detention centre for asylum seekers, and NGOs and cenntres like these are shut overnight. MK’s own NGO, Friends of Darfur, was shut because his friends was summoned to report to Holot. He says, “How do we keep paying rent, housing tax and water and electricity bills if our members are imprisoned in Holot?” African asylum seekers from Tel Aviv and other Israeli cities are detained in Holot without any charges or trial. They can be detained until their asylum claims are processed or such a time when they can be deported. “This mostly means indefinitely,” says MK. Holot is a concept that came out of Israel’s Anti-Infiltration Law, a law that seeks to make Israel a less rosy for asylum seekers.

Dinner

We headed to a Sudanese joint for dinner where MK and N took charge of ordering a huge meal. The restaurant was a lot like the first one we visited, a big backyard with rows of plastic chairs facing two huge TV screens. Men enjoyed their nargilas and blew out huge puffs of smoke before dipping their pita bread into a huge bowl of Sudanese gravy. I had never tried African food, so this was a very new experience to me. Eating with my hands came naturally to me, duh. But it was the idea that everyone was dipping into the same bowl of gravy and eating the same bread that was a tad disturbing. But I got over it soon enough, for the food was tasty. I had in fact asked R to make some dinner for me, in case I returned hungry, but that was not to be the case. I mostly dug into Fu-Fu, a white sticky ball of steamed wheat dough. Fu-Fu was served with a sambar-like sticky vegetable gravy and I was super excited about how close African food is to Indian food. When we were done with dinner, we continued to talk about Swiss chocolates, Indian food, Israel’s primary education and more over mint tea.