With the Second Gulf War looming in 2003, tension was high in the Middle East. A traveller's impressions of a trip to the Gaza Strip are described in Travel to the Gaza Strip on the Eve of Second Gulf War. This article is a continuation of that trip, and it begins with the author sitting on discarded Israeli cushions in the home of a Palestinian refugee. After the welcoming pleasantries and tea, it was time for Mohamed, the host, to vent his anger on the hopelessness of his situation, watched by his three daughters.
“Does nobody out there care?” He focused on me with greater earnestness. “Is there no hope for us? Do we sit here and die? Do we sit and wait for Israelians to kill our children? Do we do nothing? Let Israelians take our land, our water, our olives, our everything? Do Britain not care what happens here?” He was angry now, aware that he lived in the world’s biggest prison, where there was no hope of parole. He had almost graduated from university, but the Israelis had prevented him from taking his final exams. He had diabetes and some other illness and medication was intermittent. Where could he go? What could he do? Nothing, except wait. The Israelis came, they arrested some, they killed others. Perhaps his son would be next.
A Conservative Date on the Beach
I had by now gained Mohamed’s trust and friendship. Or had I? My cultural awareness was improving and I treaded carefully. I had been warned that Gaza is the most conservative part of Palestinian society. I wanted to borrow his daughter and, as she excitedly showed my name and email address to her sisters, I knew that she was keen to spend more time with me, conversationally at least.
“Mohamed, if this is not acceptable in your culture, I understand, but can I borrow Muna for two hours to come and show me Gaza with the driver? She speaks much better English.” His eyes narrowed, his suspicions aroused. “If she cannot come because of your culture, I totally understand. I just want to see as much as possible and she can translate for me.” Muna looked expectantly in the direction of her father. He reluctantly agreed to two hours only. She let out a gasp of joy and then asked me to wait, while she prayed and changed.
The three of us did Gaza, and I was not sure whether or not to be depressed or happy. Muna took delight in everything, pointing out all the beautiful buildings, the wonderful views. It is a total hole, Muna, I wanted to say, but her pride and enthusiasm made me agree with her in everything. As we approached the coast, the buildings grew more opulent, something akin to a third-rate Turkish holiday resort. Hotels, empty hotels, erected by Arafat and his cronies, using money destined for the Palestinian people.
Yes, Muna admitted, she was angry that they had kept the money for themselves. This for me is another real kick in the teeth for the average Palestinian – not only do they have to deal with the occupation, but their own leaders are totally corrupt as well, ruling by decree and terror.
The beach was as sandy and as welcoming as any I had come across. At least it would have been if it was not covered in rubbish. I smiled as we walked, a pretty young girl in black chador walking in the late afternoon on a humid, sandy beach. Young Palestinian men, clad only in shorts, ran into the water and eyed us with suspicion. Muna could not swim, she was afraid. Swimming here was good though, although the Israelis would only let the boats go out so far and sometimes their gunboats came close to the shore and opened fire.
Leaving Prison
As we drove back to the checkpoint – me to another carefree evening of beer and good food, she to her prison cell – I looked around the curiosity that is Gaza: the only place in the world where I have seen a No Entry road sign on the main street – for horses; the painted murals: Iraqi and Palestinian children – born to live; the numerous portraits of Saddam Hussein – a hero to some Palestinians, not only because he was an Arab strongman who stood up to America, but also because he had linked the withdrawal from Kuwait to an Israeli withdrawal back in 1991 (Palestinians paid heavily for that allegiance, as the Gulf States expelled all Palestinian guest workers, a vital source of income lost for good); but above all, people trying to get on with their lives in extremely difficult circumstances.
Whatever one’s feelings on the Middle Eastern conflict, the day in Gaza brought home to me how different one’s perceptions of a situation can be based on one’s own experiences. As a tourist, I was free to view the fear of terrorist attack that overshadows daily life in Israel and the desperation brought on by a prison mentality in Gaza. With extremists on both sides and a withering of trust, hope for consensus and compromise seem a distant possibility.
Paul Bradbury - Author of Hvar: An Insider's Guide to Croatia's Premier Island, and Lebanese Nuns Don't Ski
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