Today was one of those days that you couldn't make up. That if you set it to do the things I've done they would never come off. After a fairly boring start, with it being the weekend and hardly anyone here, I did some work then arranged to meet a Palestinian friend that I had taught last year. After catching up on events from the past 6 months whilst wandering around the city we decided to go to Askhar to meet his friends and family. We started at Old Ashkar, where I had never been before, at a local championship football match. There we met some of his friends and there one of the strangest days of my life began.
They decided to show me a cemetery just at the other side of the football pitch where soldiers who fought in the 1948 are buried. For some reason it never struck me until that moment that it was an Arab army that had tried to stop the creation of the state of Israel and that many of those who died had travelled from other countries to fight in the war. In the case of the graves I saw many had come from Iraq. Definitely a part of history that I need to brush up on, or rather get started on.
We left the football, climbed over a fence and walked from Old Askhar to New Askhar. New Askhar still being over 50 years old and both of them being refugee camps administered by UNRWA. On the walk I found out about the growing disappointment with the seemingly ever decreasing support provided to the refugees by UNRWA with most believing that they are constantly winding down so that they can get to a point where they can leave (because they aren't actually doing anything anyway). This kind of thing I can only find out by talking with Palestinians and is why if I came here for longer I would be better coming on my own. I learned more today by being on my own than I would have done otherwise. We had intended to stay in Askhar for a while but I was asked if I would like to see a centre that had been created from an old prison. I was up for doing anything and going anywhere and only saw the importance of my visiting the place once I had got there.
In the taxi on the way there my friend told me he had been imprisoned at the prison we were visiting in 1993 when he was 16 years old. The prison closed in 2001 and has since be turned into a centre for disabled children. The place itself is in an amazing setting with hills and mountains all alround and an endless sky. It is very easy to forget that it was once a prison. Many of the children were outside when we arrived and they were clearly having a fantastic time. They are attending a camp over the next few days and had come from many different cities in the West Bank- Nablus, Jenin, Hebron, etc.
After we had been watching one of the events for a short while, and I had been trying and succeeding to commuicate with a young deaf kid, I was asked if I would like to see 'paradise', part of the centre that has remained largely as it was when it was a prison. The strangest thing about being shown around once we had gone through the locked door and into another world was the fact that my tour guide had been imprisoned there for 3 1/2 years and my friend had also been interned there. They both showed me the exact cells they were in. The best way to imagine it is as one of those places you think of in horror stories about trips abroad where in the middle of nowhere where they can do whatever they like to you and no one is any the wiser. The cells had nothing in them, they were tiny, would have contained many prisoners and they would have been subjected to torture- beatings, forced nudity, constant noise, etc. The isolation cells were claustrophobic just to look into it. I suddenly felt guilty about my comment about Amnesty International yesterday. If I had the misfortune of being in such a place I would want AI to know. Being there without the protection of a rights group or law is a truly terrifying thought. Perhaps after today I have a much better understanding of how important those letters to prisoners of conscience can be. They are a tiny bit of hope in what is effectively hell for many people. It was hard to know what to say to my tour guides as they took me around as I was looking into a nightmare.
Once the door to that part of the centre was locked and we were back into the centre it was like stepping back into normality. We took a break from the activities and went for a walk around Al'fara refugee camp. I didn't even know such a place existed. Of course my friend knew a friend (a policeman who works in Ramallah and seems to remember my face from there!) and before long we were sat in his living room talking and drinking coffee. If all else fails I am always able to talk to Palestinians about coffee! As with most houses in the refugee camps the drab exterior opened up into an impressive interior.
Back at the camp for the children we entered the indoor arena to watch the football matches. I don't think I have ever seen so many happy people having such good fun. The children were loving every minute of it. We stayed until the end and I was glad that we did. I was thinking throughout 'why can't the rest of the world see this' instead of the usual nonesense we see on TV. I've also come to believe that how people are portrayed in films and on TV is more destructive than I had first realised. For example the film 'you don't mess with the Zohan' is a comedy about the region I am now in. Fair enough it's a comedy but if this is the only input a child receives about the place then that is all they will have to form their opinions about the Palestinans. There will be nothing to even out the balance. I know this from talking to children about the region and having them refer back to me with computer games were they kill 'terrorists' and films like the Zohan. That's there starting and end point so it's difficult to change this. I need to bare this in mind when I present classes with any information about a particular place. How many of them think that people in Africa are all poor, starving and live in mud huts...
We went back to Askhar to eat at my friends house. It was nice to see where he lived and meet his family. I must admit I was a little scared when the power went off. I knew that this was around the time the camps are liable to be raided and wasn't sure if the power going off was a precursor to this. The power goes off pretty regularly though and we were soon talking again by the light of mobile phones and then candles. We talked about how my friend was arrested when he was 16. At 11.30pm soldiers came to his house (30 armed soldiers with jeeps) asking for him by name. His mother said he was asleep on the couch and he duly woke up to be greeted by the IOF. He didn't know why he was arrested and was terrified to be taken away by so many armed soldiers. It was days before he discovered why they had arrested him. The charge was absurd as an Israeli officer later pointed out so they changed it to something more believable- stone throwing and writing on walls. Had this even been the case it hardly justifies being locked in a cell with 6 others and having to do everything in that tiny little space- eat, drink, toilet, sleep. He still remembers being in the cell and hearing people being beaten outside. After 33 days he was released. Knowing the hell he must have gone through having visited the place that he is not now a 'terrorist' astounds me.
Today was a good day and has ensured my trip has been worthwhile. It wasn't planned in any way but gave me a good insight into what life in the camps is like. If I were to return to Palestine I think it would be to research or live in the camps. Though I respect the other international volunteers (most of the time) I feel like I learn much more when I am away from them and out there on my own. Trying to get a taxi at 10pm from a refugee camp that is in darkness because of a power cut makes life that little bit more interesting...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment