Rihab Charida
On September 4, my friend and I tried getting into Nablus.
"You cannot get into Nablus today — no foreigners allowed", says the blonde boy at the Israeli checkpoint.
"Why?" I persisted, as a Palestinian disguised as an Australian.
"Because the terrorists inside might kidnap you and maybe even kill you." Wow.
"But all the foreigners killed here have been killed by [Israel]."
They didn't "allow" us entry. A taxi driver working at the checkpoint invited us to stay the night with his family nearby. We felt that accepting his offer would be too heavy for his family, so we turned it down. He replied, "If we don't help each other out in situations like this, who will? This is our life." We spent the night in his family's home in the small village of Awarta, 10 minutes drive from Nablus.
It was a warm night so we sat on the rooftop. All around on almost every hilltop surrounding Awarta, we could see the bright orange lights of Israeli settlements. On one hilltop, the settlement was on the side of the mountain that faced the next village. All we could see was strong orange lights shining around the mountain like fire.
The people of Awarta now can't get into Nablus, because of the Jewish colonies (settlements) and checkpoints that separate them. Nablus has a large university, a large market place and shopping centre, five hospitals and numerous health clinics and a life and history that connects it to the smaller surrounding villages.
Still we eat, share stories, call the nephew in prison, laugh, dance on uncle's bus when he finishes his driving shift and sleep well. In the morning, we promise to meet again when nephew gets out of prison and sacrifice a sheep for his release.
We tried getting into Nablus — again. Near us was a shelter under which about 50 men, on their way to work or to seek medical care, stood and waited for the Israeli soldiers to allow them through or send them back. "Mumnooh" (not allowed), the blonde boy would say again and again — and he still don't say it right! More than half were sent back.
While we were waiting there I wondered if my dark skin, typical Arabic features and half-disguised anger gave me away. Whether it did or not they did not allow us in — again. No money in our pockets, and thirsty, we got into a taxi heading for Jenin, where the driver would stop us at a bank.
We had to take the long, unpaved, dusty road as the main roads are closed for Jewish use only. The one nice thing about that is the friends you make on the way — we shared stories, cigarettes and water. We hit a main road, and then ... an army jeep parked side-ways on the road blocking our lane.
The car stopped and we were all asked to get out and show our identity papers. He asked two of the men to join the 20 or so other men sitting under the tree on the side of the road. One of them had a medical certificate and needed treatment, and I protested. The soldier laughed, and said "They are all liars. They lie all the time."
Permanent checkpoints have heavily protected concrete structures and rows to herd the Palestinians through, metal detectors and nearby watchtowers. This checkpoint was the kind that just appears wherever and whenever the Israeli soldiers decide — the kind you could never be prepared for. The men we left sitting on the side of the road could be there for hours, left there when the Israelis decide to move on.
After spending a couple of days in Jenin, we made a third, unsuccessful attempt to get into Nablus. Then, we took a taxi to the jeeps (4-wheel drives) that take people into Nablus the back way, over the rocky mountains, avoiding the roads. For an hour-and-a-half we travelled to get to a place that we were two minutes walking distance away from three hours ago. The ride, however, was the funniest experience I have ever had.
Once you enter Nablus, you know exactly why the Israelis don't want foreigners there. In Nablus, apache helicopters and F-16 fighter planes roam around more freely than in any other West Bank area. Almost everyday, the boys of Nablus confront Israeli jeeps and tanks with stones and Molotovs to say "We're not going anywhere". And every night, without fail, Israelis enter Balata refugee camp either by air, jeep or tank. Of the 3000 Palestinians killed since the start of the latest intifada, more than 400 have been from Nablus, half of those from Balata refugee camp.
Because the soldiers at the checkpoint will question how we entered (they record the names of every foreigner who enters), we are forced to take the mountain road out as well. After leaving Nablus at 8am, the driver gets a call saying that Israelis were in the area, and had already arrested one jeep driver. When this happens, the Israelis keep the jeep — the driver loses everything and gets thrown in jail for at least six months.
After waiting on the side of the mountain for more than an hour we were driven to the furthest point that the van could get to, from where we walked over the mountain, and joined another jeep which drove us to another, and so on. It took more than five hours to get to Awarta and by that time we were dirty from head to toe, hungry, thirsty and exhausted, partly from fear.
Having spent just over two weeks in Palestine, the sense of powerlessness on the part of the Palestinians and total control on the part of the Israelis is beyond words.
From Green Left Weekly, September 22, 2004.
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