May 15, 2004

 

[Ramallah] I travel to the Qalandia checkpoint, where, in a bad mood

about leaving, I refuse to show the soldiers my passport. After all,

checkpoints are illegal, so they have no right to ask it of me. With

some sense I don't say this to them, just say instead that I have my

visa page which I can show them. They put up with what appears to be

the ignorance of a tourist, telling me simply that I should carry my

passport to show at checkpoints at all times. I wonder if even they

know it is illegal for them to do this?

 

I spend my last day in Bethlehem, with my very beautiful nurse A,

from two years ago when I was wounded by Israeli soldiers. It is

brilliant to see her. We meet at the hospital – she is with J's wife

(he was another of the staff I made friends with.) She and J are

expecting twins! They live in Deheisheh refugee camp. K, another of

my nurses, is in the Ramallah mental hospital now, they tell me –

then bursting out laughing, they reassure me that he is there as a

nurse, not a patient!

 

A takes me to see Dr N, who performed my surgery, who smiles gently

and enquires if everything has been ok since. I tell him it has been

perfect. I would like to show him how neatly the scar came out, but

I know you don't show your belly to people in this country, and I'm

not sure if the rules are different when the person in question has

already seen it and a lot more besides…

 

Then we go to Dr P, the head of the hospital. A reminds him who I

am, and a look of beaming recognition sweeps over his face. He is

very enthusiastic about me and my visit and the fact that I have

come back to say hello to the hospital. Oh, I am glad to have met

these people.

 

So, A takes me to the Church of the Nativity – with its new array of

bullet holes from April 2002 – and to the nearby Peace Centre, which

co-incidentally has a display of photos taken during the Bethlehem

incursion, and of the detritus left behind by the army. Some of the

photos are harrowing – dead bodies of whole families left in their

houses for days.

 

These are the people my ISM friends were trying to help get

ambulances to, while I lay in hospital. A says that, as a nurse, she

has many such photos of her own from that time and others, but has

never known what to do with them. She knows they are evidence, but

who can she show them to? I tell her about the Indymedia pages, in

case she wants to use them to tell her stories in.

 

  Also in the Peace Centre is a display of Nativity scenes from

around the world – porcelain ones from Germany, ones made from palm

leaves from the south sea islands, wood-carved ones from South

Africa. A loves all of them, makes sure we exclaim over every one.

She gives me a tiny wooden hanging one as a gift from a hopefully

open tourist shop. Bethlehem is lively today in a way I have never

seen it; the Star Hotel (where we stayed in 2002) is as empty as

ever but the streets are full of people buying their groceries. A

says the economic situation grows worse though. I discover she is

supporting her whole family – both parents (her father has

alzheimers) and three siblings, one of whom is old enough to work

but can't find any.

 

We finish the day at Dehaishah Camp itself, at its Community Centre.

It is the only refugee camp to have a centre with a guest house and

a restaurant; the rest is youth club space and other community

resources. A is on the health committee there. Here – in fact in the

whole of Bethlehem – she seems to know everyone.

 

She is a small woman of 26 (smaller than I realized, since I was

very hunched when I last saw her!) who says "I may be short, but I

have confidence!" And she has a philosophy of determined

happiness. "You must choose to be happy – you must decide to be, no

matter what happens to you." She is an inspiration to me, because

choosing happiness under such limits, such pressure, and everyday

close-up evidence of the Occupation's damage, is courageous. One of

her favorite themes is the beauty of the human body (she who sees so

many broken ones), particularly women's bodies. Her favorite piece

of art is called something like "Woman with head of flowers" which

is of a nude and garlanded woman being knelt to by a man.

 

I like spending time with A for many reasons, but one is that she

too wears the hijab (head scarf), and her religion for her is a

strength, not a limiting thing. Her way may be the way forward for

Palestinian women. And, as someone suggested, I think many women

here are waiting for the time when the men have some sense of self-

worth and personal power again, to challenge them in a positive way,

without simply crushing them.

 

I leave Bethlehem walking, back to Jerusalem to get my belongings

together. Going home, to a world of personal safety, and mental

apathy. To try and challenge some of that apathy - again.