The Spirit Of Palestine

I am back home reflecting on the past two weeks. The Birzeit University International Work Camp seems one of the most rewarding things I have ever done. There was hardly any work, it was extremely disorganised and I was bitter at finding out that I couldn't re-book my flight and had to go back straight after it finished. But the entire journey was filled with an amazing spirit of humanity, it was a heart-warming, uplifting experience, affirming my belief in the oneness, a unity of peoples.

The Palestinian people, who experienced so much suffering at the hands of foreigners, who should be throwing stones at us, were always welcoming, friendly and helpful. Everybody would say 'hello' to us when just walking down the street. Once, when we were in Betlehem, three of my friends were walking past a house where a party was taking place. The people invited them in, to what turned out to be a wedding party, and took them to dance.

I learned so much about the conflict, its effect on the people, the everyday reality as well as the Palestinian politics. Almost everything of what media says about Palestine is orientalist, neo-colonialist, racist, imperialist, eurocentric rubbish. Now I feel compelled to share everything that I know with as many people as possible. To de-construct every single zionist myth and to try aid, in whatever limited way I can, the Palestinian people in acquiring the freedom and independence, which they just like any other peoples in the world, rightly and truly deserve.

Over the coming days, I will share some my experiences here, as well as attempt to write some articles so watch that space. And if you want to learn more about Palestine, a good place to start is: www.zajel.org

The Last Day In Israel/Palestine

As if getting up at 7am would ever happen. I slowly lift my carcass after nine. A nice warm (that’s a nice surprise!) shower wakes me up. I pack my things, thank Sega and give him a parting gift. It’s time for the hated goodbyes. A lot of handshakes, some e-mails are swapped. Joseph gets a big hug, we’ll surely stay in touch. I go to the main university get and take a taxi to Qalanda. A very friendly, English speaking taxi driver has a nice chat with me and even leaves me his phone number in case I need any help when I’m in Palestine again. I pass through the checkpoint without major troubles, although they ask me about the stamp, which I didn't get coming into the country.

A ‘sherut’ takes me Jerusalem and I pop into Faisal Hostel. After leaving my stuff there, I go off to eat something and get some books from the Educational Bookshop. Upon return, Sebastian, Miyuki and Takuya are also there. I have a chat with Oliver, read a guide to my rights at Ben Gurion Airport and realise how naïve I was when flying in. I call for a sherut to the airport but it turns out that there are no more taxis available for today so I decid to take a bus from Egged Station. A girl is taking a taxi to the city centre and she takes me along. She drops me off and after a 15min walk, I got to the station. I take the bus thinking that its last stop was the airport and boy am I wrong. (Ok, I move to past simple now, editing everything so that it sticks to one tense consequently is too much work ;).

I fell asleep and woke up at the Airport City. As the bus was going further on, I was wondering whether I missed the airport already. But some fellow passengers assured me that it was still around 60mins before I got there. Eventually, when the bus stopped at a station in some town, I asked a soldier whether it’s going to Ben Gurion or whether I already passed it. She answered that it’s heading for Netanyah and that I should get off here and find a bus to go back.

I got off and proceeded to find a money changer. I was extremely nervous. Thank god I left so early, otherwise I would have surely missed my plane. I changed $10 and ran back to the station. Fortunately a bus was there. I took off and this time a helpful, English-speaking bus driver promised to tell me where to get off and explained that the bus doesn’t go inside Ben Gurion, you have to change. Of this, I had no idea.

After a lot of nail-biting tension and slowly ploughing through heavy rush-hour traffic, the bus got back to Airport City and I changed to an airport bus. Miraculously I managed to get to there around 2.5 hours before the flight. A very nice security worker, who kept on smiling took me to the side to ask me a lot of questions. Where did I stay? What did I do? When I mentioned meeting politicians as one of our activities, he asked: ‘What groups? Hamas? Islamic Jihad?’ At this point, it’s rather difficult not to either burst out with laughter or say: ‘Actually I wish we met them, I would be very interested in what they have to say.’ Neither of this would be a particularly good idea and I bite my toungue.

A barrage of questions about my return details followed. Where do I live, when do I go back to London, why do I fly to Prague, why not to London, why not to Warsaw? El-Al had a special offer from Prague, I say. How much cheaper than from London, how much cheaper than from Warsaw? How will I get from Prague to Wroclaw, does my father have nothing better to do than giving me a lift? A woman is asking me the same questions. I am shaking. In my mind I have a vision of rectal exams, nasty interrogations in a separate room and missing my flight. After every set of questions, the three security workers exchange the information in Hebrew and decided what more actions to take. His vivisection.

At some point a woman comes up to me and tells me that I look very nervous. Why is that? I am a very nervous person, I say. They are surprisingly nice and understanding – and seem to comprehend that I feel like that because of my security nightmare coming in. They explain that it’s for my safety and that they’re doing that because someone might have given me something, which might be a bomb. Or that I might be a terrorist and might have put it there myself, only they don’t vocalise that. After they say that, I relax and start smiling. It really puts the pressure off and it gets to the point when I start chuckling when someone asks me for the umpteenth time where I am flying. Just waiting for me to suddenly say Berlin… ooops Prague and the cover is blown.

My luggage is ex-rayed, opened, checked thoroughly but all security workers are very nice throughout. I keep smiling. Body check goes quickly and I don’t even have to take my trousers off. No snap of latex gloves and ordering to bend over a chair. Which is a shame, actually, because the security worker assigned to me is exceptionally hot. I get a red sticker, meaning “special treatment”. The cute Jewish soldier boy becomes my personal bodyguard and walks with me everywhere until I complete the security and check-in processes. Eventually he takes me to the passport control and wishes me a nice flight. All this to ensure that I am not given any explosives in-between checking in and getting on the plane. Sadly my eville plan of becoming a martyr has to fail.

More stamp questions at passport control. I wonder why the fascist interrogator gave me neither a stamp nor an immigration card. I don’t think he forgot. I’m pretty sure that he did it on purpose, knowing that not having a visa stamp will cause me some trouble, making me less likely to visit Israel again. The less subversive individuals like myself, the better. Fortunately there were no troubles, after explaining that I didn’t get that damn stamp, the soldiers would always let me through without causing any hassle. And so it was this time again.

I walk into the duty free zone really happy that it’s all over. Well not happy that my trip is over but that the imagined horrors of security coming out did not materialise. A tedious, motion-sickness inducing flight and similar, very long drive home await. And now I am home, writing these words, thinking about everything that took place over the last two weeks, wishing to come back again, to see and live more…