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| Fatah March (above) Separation Wall (below) |
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| Separation Wall |
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| Another powercut |
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| Budding photographers |
Week 2 and 3
What a start to my second week, Saturday night we were ‘invaded’ by the Israelis. My host Mum received a phone call at 4am, I was half asleep and wondering why she was choosing to conduct her conversation next to my bed, when she started saying my name and then handed me the phone. It was my boss’s brother, he told me that if I wanted some excitement to get out of bed and look out the window. I did just that and, looking into the silent night I saw soldiers running up and down the street. They were fully equipped in camouflage, war paint and machine guns, ready to receive an ambush or launch an attack at any moment. They were going up the stairs into the house above me, at one point I counted 12 on the small staircase. Suddenly it was all over and we jumped for our shoes and followed them out, watching as they climbed into their armoured vehicle and left. I used the word invaded before as Bethlehem is under the complete control of the Palestinian Authority and therefore the Israeli army can be considered a foreign military. Logically this raid was an invasion of a foreign army on sovereign territory. What surprised me more than the fact that there were soldiers running about was the level of exhilaration; people gathered outside their houses afterwards, gossiping as if Santa Clause had just been spotted squeezing himself down a chimney. It reminded me of London after the bombings and the riots, how when the shit hits the fan people pull together and resist being terrorised in their own homes and communities. As refusing to be scared or feel threatened, when every other right you have has been taken away, is your only way to fight.
I went to Hebron on Tuesday. It was probably the most interesting thing I’ve done so far in the West Bank. The city is carved up into different areas, with checkpoints all over the place. We saw two official observers walk past in uniform. We wandered through the souk which is lined with tall, stone buildings, which used to be Palestinian houses, but now are mostly burnt and abandoned. Over the souk there is a wire fence, with large bricks and rubbish scattered. The settlers have been known to try and hurt (or kill, who knows) shoppers below. There is one story about acid being poured down while a watching soldier threatened to kill those injured if they made a fuss. A few of the houses have been taken by the settlers, of which there are about 500. Jutting out of the corners are the watch towers of the Israeli soldiers, of which there are about 5000. As I gazed up at one of them the soldier caught me staring, and smiled and waved. To get into the mosque you go through three checkpoints. The female soldier asked me my nationality and my religion; the question threw me, I hadn’t been warned of it, so I stumbled over my words. She squinted at me,
“Are you Jewish?”
“No, I said, I’m an atheist, I don’t believe in God.” She gave me a sceptical look…whose side is she on anyway.
The mosque is for everyone except the Jewish. There was once an attack on the Muslims who were attending morning prayers by a Jew. As he was reloading, a man managed to kill him. This Palestinian is now serving life Israel, while the genocidal Jew has been made into a hero.
Pre Palestine
Arrival in Israel didn’t live up to the hype. I was thoroughly disappointed by the lack of intimidation I received at the border and the motherly tone the woman checking my passport tool when wishing me a pleasant stay in Israel. Not all in our group (of two people) was so lucky and were kept waiting for a couple of hours. Rule 1 for not getting delayed at the border: don’t go to Lebanon. Rule 2: don’t be a journalist. Getting into the West Bank was even less of a trial and I was starting to wonder what all the drama was about. It didn’t take too long to find out. The contact at the charity sat me down, looked me straight in the eye and told me that a week ago Israeli soldiers had broken into his house last week and threatened him at gun point. He said he wasn’t trying to scare me but I imagine that was exactly what he was trying to do.
Week 1
The camp is a 20 minute walk from the centre of Bethlehem and the transition from bone fide city settlement to refugee camp is stark. You can notice everything from the tightly packed buildings to the unpaved roads. The first day is spent waiting around, but this is the Middle East, everything involves much sitting, tea drinking and discussion before action.
I’ve finally moved into my host family! Three young children; I feel this can either go one of two ways: I’ll come home hating kids and not want to be anywhere near one for the rest of my life, or I’ll be exceptionally broody. Either way I finally have a bed instead if a sofa, even if I am sharing with two little girls…hair braiding anyone?
End of week one and finally started to feel settled. Despite being constantly abused by children I still feel as if I’ve come out on top (only because they’re scared of my boss who I frequently hide behind). No day off in sight but a morning in Bethlehem 2 weeks before Christmas is reward enough.
