lørdag den 24. juli 2010

Photos from our journey in Jericho


Our troubled minibus stuck in the desert of Jericho.



Before the wide, asphalt road turned into narrow, winding paths we had the pleasure to be accompanied by to donkey-riding beduins. Their denim jeans and cell phones were a solid proof of the globalised world of today.




The monastery.













The wonderful sight of clouds casting their shadows over the hill tops of the desert. These photos make me shiver everytime I look at them. The scenery was extraordinary.






Narrow paths and deep clefts.
And finally, the story of the persistent seller:
One person must not be forgotten in this adventure; shortly after we had left our minibus a man drove up with a little tractor and started setting up a small booth with fresh orange juice. "Orange juice, Vitamin C!" he kept yelling, but to his great dissappointment we all walked past him without doing business. As persevering as can be, the seller packed together all his equipment, just to drive a few meters ahead of us, set up the booth again and cry out his sales pitch. Again, he would have to pack up without a profit, and the road was now to narrow for his tractor.
Hours later, when we had found our way out of the tangling paths of the desert, he was there again. "Orange juice, Vitamin C!" I believe this is persistence in the most true sense of the word.




Wandering Jericho Desert



Now, what do you do if you are lost in a desert and your guide cannot find the way? You keep on walking, of course!




In 2008, I went with the group for a walk in the desert of Jericho. It was the first time for me to see a desert and I expected piles and piles of sand. Jericho desert, however, is a rocky desert with steep, narrow paths that wind up around deep clefts. We went there in our minibus, passing camels and watching the landscape turning more and more dry and cracked. The minibus, though, was not quite built for such adventures and after a few nerve-racking attempts to go forward - with the result of the wheels spinning and the van sliding backwards down the steep hill - we decided to carry on by foot.




The view was spectacular. As far as your eyes could reach, the orange, dusty landscape transformed itself from hill top to hollow, then hill top again. We headed for a monastery built into the cliffs and when we arrived, we had a little rest.




When it was time to carry on, our guide steered us off the broad road we had walked so far and on to a narrow path. The path ran along the cliff and offered a breathtaking view over clefts at least 30 meters wide and God knows how deep. After a while, small holes started to appear in the path every now and again - not more than a proper stride would overcome easily, but it still allowed you a peep into the deep nothing beneath the very ground of your footsteps. It was a little scary - and amazing!




As we kept on walking, water supplies ran shorter. The sun felt hotter for every minute. Quiet murmurs of when we would reach the destination point started to occur. However, our little trip was no near to be over yet. Our path took us deeper into the rocky desert - and then it stopped! We reached a point where the path simply seemed to end, and we had to decide for ourselves if it would be best to carry on upwards or downwards. In such occations, it is a good and safe approach to have a guide with you. One, who knows his way around. Our guide, however, looked around, scratched the back of his very bald neck and exclaimed: "I do not understand this. It did not look lke this when I was last here - 22 years ago!" Apparently, rocks change too. Who would have imagined?




But we had to continue what was beginning to be an hour-long wander. So some started making their way downwards. The first, insecure steps were taken, and then there was a yelling from the other side of the cleft. A beduin was standing over there, yelling at us with one arm waving to catch our attention and the other arm pointing unmistakingly upwards. So we went up. And - maybe thanks to our new beduin friend - we eventually found our way back to the car that was waiting us with air condition and new water supplies.

Holy sites and adventurous suuq-trips in Bethlehem

The Nativity Church: A church built at the place where Jesus is said to have been born. The church houses several christian denominations, for example Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic.
Bethlehem is a fairly small, but lively town in the West Bank. The atmosphere is good, people are kind and welcoming (as they are, one will discover, pretty much everywhere in Palestine). Bethlehem is an important Christian town, as it is said to be the birthplace of Jesus. Thus, a fair number of - often Christian - tourists make their way to Bethlehem, and the trade from the many small souvenir shops keep the town a busy place, buzzing with energy. And, when you are done exploring the many shops offering you clothes, jewels, local craftswork, and wooden figures of Baby Jesus being born in the stable, the local suuq will be a good place to go. Suuq is Arabic for 'market' and here you can buy anything from fresh fruits and vegetables to meat in all sorts (except pig, of course).
The first time I went to the suuq, I was overwhelmed by the hectic atmosphere - and rather disturbed by the flies having a thrill nurturing themselves on the racks of raw meat out in the open (no, it was not kept cool, and no, I will most certainly never buy my meat at a suuq like this). All of the sudden, the whole market place seemed to be in an uproar. Arabic words were flying through the air, and after a short while of confusement I came to realise that I was causing this disturbance. A boy behind me was carrying most of a dead sheep on his back and he was quite keen on me stepping aside so he could get by and drop the beast as soon as possible. Even though I had cost him enough delay - and extra sore muscles later - I did not step to the side. The dead beast on his back was too dramatic a look for me and instinctly I kept running in front of the boy, trying to escape this dreadful scenery. If a had looked any more like a headless chicken, I am afraid I would have been sold at the market myself. It took me another few minutes before I was calm enough to let the poor boy pass and by this time, every person in the market was looking at me, amused and laughing. Or a least, so it seemed.
Having made a complete fool of myself in front of most of the local community, I do not think anybody could have blamed me if I did not go back. But I did. One afternoon, I decided to go buy some plums together with one of the girls from the group. We found are way around in the suuq (this time without scary sheep-incidents but still with the horror of the meat-feasting flies) and with every available gesticulation in the vocabulary of body language we managed to let one of sellers know that we wanted plums. So he kindly handed us one each so we could have a taste of what he had to offer. We had hardly swallowed our first bite before another seller was rushing towards us, uttering an endless stream of loud, Arabic words. He handed us a plum each as well and watched us with excitement as we tasted the difference. His plums were indeed better. Now, you are not much of a seller if you let possible customers go off to another seller, so the first one - of course - gave us a sample of yet another kind of plums. At that time, we did not care much for plums anymore, but with the whole suuq watching us we had to politely accept it and give it a try. In order to escape any more free fruit samples, we made a quick decision and bought half a kilo from each seller. This is the advantage of travelling with a big group of people: you do not have to eat all the plums yourself.



Me inside Nativity Church - this should be the exact spot where Jesus was born.




If the suuq is too much for your nerves, you can your fruit and vegetables in the street. This old woman was sitting in the street every day, and for some reason, she went straight to my heart.









View over Bethlehems streets.





Nuns in the yard of The Nativity Church.



Hebron

Hebron is situated in the West Bank. More than 150.000 Palestinians live here. Furthermore, Hebron house a group of about 500 Jewish settlers (both numbers are likely to have increased since I was there in 2008, though).
When I visited Hebron in 2008, we could not enter the new part of the city - a mobile check point had been put up and the rumours were that this was due to a house demolition carried out by the Israeli military because the people in this house were said to hide a member of Hamas. Like so many other times in this country, you will never be quite sure of what is really going on, though.
In stead, we found our way into the old city so we could see the mosque and the synoagogue that are built just beside each other.



It was a creepy experience - still today, I do not feel like going back. The streets were desolate, empty, with only a few children playing and a few people riding their donkeys. The houses stood there with their white, naked facades and I felt as if they were staring at me with their white, blind eyes.

Hebron has experienced much tension between the Jewish settlers and the Palestinian inhabitants. The city is holy within both religions, since it is said to house the grave of Ibrahim (for Arabs)/Abraham (for Jews). To muslims, Ibrahim's grave is holy because he is considered one of the first muslims. To Jews, Abraham is considered one of the great patriarchs. The clashes between Palestinians and Jews have been very fierce. In 1994, a Jewish settler entered the mosque during a prayer and killed 29 muslims and then committe suicide. Due to the tensions, the presence of Israeli military is massive.

Above: Ibrahim's/Abraham's tomb - seen from inside the mosque.
Below: Inside the mosque, inside and outside the synagogue that is just beside the mosque.




When we visited Hebron, our Palestinian friends from Bethlehem went with us. They had to show their identity papers three times before we could even enter the area, where the mosque and synagogue is. I remember the horror in the face of the young soldier as he saw us - he clearly had no idea of how to handle the situation. At the same time, I could feel our friends' anxiety everytime they had to pass over their identity papers. Not to mention the humiliation. When we were inside the mosque, a small group of 3-4 Jewish men were given a tour there. When we went to see the synagogue, the Palestinians were not allowed to enter along with us.





The photo shows a military control post (in the background).





The deserted streets of the old city in Hebron.







A painting on a house wall in Bethlehem:



The white dove of peace


- symbolicly dressed in a bullet proove vest.





A World Upside-Down


I remember watching 'Alice in Wonderland' when I was a little girl. I was freaked out by this twisted univers where nobody seemed to notice that everything was upside-down. When I think back at my first visit to Palestine, I remember being overwhelmed by the huge amount of information. Everywhere I went, I was met with yet another personal story that revealed a new side of the conflict and its many consequences. I was faced with rules, restrictions and living conditions I had never imagined could exist. Back home, I could not stop talking about it, as if I had to pass on the knowledge in order to gain relief from the shock it had given me.

Now, as I am here for my second time, I am no longer surprised by every new piece of information, but I feel more puzzled than ever. I have returned to a place where everything truly is upside-down. Checkpoints and refugee camps are a part of everyday life and speech. The control of peoples' movement is a fact. People quit good jobs that are hard to replace because the short travel of 20 kms from home to work takes them several hours. Everybody knows at least one person who has been to prison or they have been themselves. Often, they kan be held in prison for months or years without being charged for anything – the charges against them being ”classified information”. I am no longer shocked to my core with all the personal stories I hear and new facts I discover. I am deeply mooved by this information, but not surprised. All these restrictions and violations of human rights are horrible, but by and by you somehow get used to the endless ways these violations are carried out.
The screams of disbelief that filled your head at first slowly gets replaced by a silent sigh when you begin to consider the situation as normal. The sigh is a relief to the screams that threatened to burst your head, but it is nonetheless a deceitfull relief. The reality here is not normal and it must not be thought of as normal. It is an unnormality that is forced down on people as the normal state of life. To consider it normal is the first step in accepting an unacceptable situation.

Before I went to Palestine this summer, some people aksed me why I wanted to go back. I have been asked the same question by people here. My presence here will not change anything. But it lets people know that I care. That I support their fight to regain their rights and their freedom. Being here is really the only thing I can do. So – my answer is – how could I not return?

torsdag den 22. juli 2010

A morning full of excitement


The main streets of Ramallah centre are normally quite lively. Today the usual chaos of pedestrians and street traders mingling through the heavy morning traffic reached a so far unforeseen level as clusters of young people were filling up every free space in the streets. When I reached the office it was clear to me that something was going on.
Normally, the first hour or two at the office will go by in a calm pace, everybody silently agreeing on a certain level of drowsiness. To the scent of freshly brewed coffee people will get ready to launche themselves into the projects of the day and slowly the office will be buzzing with activity. But today was not the day to have a decent, humane wake-up. As soon as people met, they threw themselves over any available phone line, they chatted, cheered, clicked their tongues and clapped their hands. At first, I was lost in a state of complete, but cheerful bewilderment as the reason for the festivity remained a mystery.
It did not take too long, though, for somebody to realise that I was in need of a bit of cultural and linguistic translation. It turned out that today all the results for the graduate students' final test are made public and everybody was eager to find out if they had done well. As soon as the reason was made clear for me, the joyful atmosphere in the office had no need for further translation.

A beautiful evening





Last night, I treated myself with a warm meal for supper. On my first day in Ramallah I did a bit of grocery shopping, and among the obligatories of top-notch home cooking was pasta and tomato sauce. My culinary intentions soon came to an end, though, as I came to realise that my well-equipped kitchen did not house a stove. Day after day, the mogging of my un-cookable pasta left me with an increasing yearning for all sorts of pasta dishes, and yesterday I finally gave in. I went to Pronto's, an Italian restaurant in Ramallah, and to the sound of jazz music I enjoyed a beautiful meal while watching the sun set.

On my stroll back to home, the strong scent of jasmine flowers worked as magic dust in the cool air. You hardly notice these flowers during the day, but at night they send out their wonderful smell and you realise that they are everywhere.

To fulfil a perfect evening, I stayed up late and watched a few films with my roommate. When the early hours of the morning had finally made the street silent, it was time to go to sleep.

søndag den 18. juli 2010

A few facts about the wall

The building of it began in 2002. Some places, it is a fence topped with barbed wire. Other places, it is made of eight meter tall concrete. It is estimated to be at least 700 km long – the official, internationally recognised, border between Israel and Palestine is about 350 km long. It does not take a big mathematical brain to realise that this does not add up. In stead of following the internationally recognised border, the wall seizes big parts of the West Bank as it is build around many Israeli settlements that lie within the Palestinian territory. It cuts off farmers from their land, divides neighbourhoods in two, and leaves the biggest water resources on the Israeli side of the wall. The Internation Court of Justice in The Hague has condemned the wall illegal.
The wall - big piles of concrete turning into a barbed wired fence


The wall - in the middle of the street just outside Bethlehem

One of the many watch towers along the wall


Children's drawings on the wall: I want my ball back!









Behind the Wall

On my first trip here we (the group) had gone to Jerusalem for a few days that had turned out to be exciting, turbulent and hard. I could not wait to go back to Bethlehem that had become almost like a home to me. However, when we approached the huge checkpoint between Jerusalem and Bethlehem, my eager to go back was mixed with a distinct feeling of reluctance. I did not want to be put behind those walls. I felt undignified, as if something deep inside of me had been violated.

Another story. During the same trip – but a week or so later – I had to catch a public bus in Jerusalem along with the others from the travel group. In a split second the images of busse blwon apart ran through my head. I got nervous, wondering if the ride would be safe. Very quickly I assured myself that there was nothing to worry about – because the wall was there to keep possible attacks away.

These two feelings, both very strong, provide a good example of the complexity of the situation here. It is so important to be nuanced and I do not believe that you are truly able to decide what you think is right and wrong if you do not listen to all the contrasting feelings inside you.

Probably any person in the world can imagine the horror of a bomb attack. It is much harder to imagine what restrictions in your freedom of movement feel like.

On the one hand, the wall and its checkpoints has hardly affected me during my stay here this summer. On the other hand, its presence penetrates so many aspects of daily life. Many of my colleagues live in Jerusalem or other places outside Ramallah. They never know how long it will take them to get home. Jerusalem is only about 20 km from Ramallah, but on a bad day it can take hours getting there. Checkpoint queues.

I have been in Ramallah for more than two weeks now, but I still haven't made it to Bethlehem to see any of my friends from the last trip. Bethlehem, just like Jerusalem, is only about 20 kms away from Ramallah, but the bus ride will take about 1 ½ hours. Work ends at 5 p.m. and it is not impossible to go to Bethlehem and back in the same evening. But the idea of having to spend as much time in a bus as with my friends has kept me from going. Just the thought of all the hazzle and the extra waiting that is very likely to occur simply wears me out. I only experience the restriction in freedom of movement on a tourist level. Many Palestinians have lost their jobs due to this restriction, if they are not born in Jerusalem they must apply for permittance to go there, and they never know how long it will take them to go from one Palestinian town to another.