I'm in Ramallah, but will go to Jerusalem tomorrow. I was hoping to spend a few liesurely days here, but word around town is that the Israeli army is gearing up to re-occupy it (As punishment for the Hebron attack). Generally, I'm in a wind-down mode, and don't expect much more of note before I leave. I will spend my next few days in a combination of journal updates, genuine tourism, and eating (and
Argila smoking, of course!).
I'm very relieved to get out of Nablus. Truly, I figure it was only a matter of time before I got shot, either by a stray bullet, or from my own foolishness. I'm not at all scared of being shot by an M-16, provided it isn't in the head, heart, or willy, but the tanks were shooting at everything with 50-cal rounds, which pierce concrete and remove limbs. It was an incredibly nerve wracking time.
I'm going to recap the recent days here. I'm going to give basic details. As mentioned previously, I've made extensive notes which I will incorporate into a later rewrite/edit of these journals.
Nov 11:
Made Entry into Journal, realize it's 3pm already, and I was supposed to call Mahmoud's friend Bilan, who was going to put me up for the night. I call Bilan, and meet him. He is understandably a little annoyed. I apologize profusely. He tells me that Jenin had been reoccupied for 18 days, and only today has curfew been lifted. We attempt to drive to his home, but encounter a tank blocking a road, so we must take the long way around. Bilan informs me he is an engineer with Paltel, the local telco. He tells me that the initial invasion caused a loss of service to 40% of subscribers. Repairs have been continuining constantly, but the re-occupation caused more outages, and now 10% of subscribers have no service. Aparrently the tanks have a penchant for running into power-poles.
As we drive, Bilan points to crushed momuments, crushed sidewalks, and downed poles. "What sin did this thing do?", he asks in frustration.
We arrive at his house. He's obviously fairly well-to do. I realize that there's a rough corelation between English skills and affluence, which is why I seem to end up staying with the well-off Palestinians. The well off Palestinians are roughly middle-middle class by Canadian standards.
His house is on a ridge overlooking Jenin. You can see the massive haze of dust over Jenin. Bilan mentions that this is the result of the constant tank traffic, which has dragged dirt and mud into the city streets. He said when he woke today, he thought it was raining. Aparrently this phenomenon is new to the area.
He showed me where the tanks were positioned in his neighborhood. It appears at least 4 were within close range of his own house. He estimates 100 total were throughout Jenin.
Dinner was very good, salads, combined with the traditional Palestinian rice dish called maccloubi. He is over apologetic about the lack of fresh produce, mentioning that because of the closure, only radishes and potatoes are available.
After dinner, we go to his neighbor's house, where he and his friends conduct their after-dinner ramadan prayers together. His friend, fuad, is completely rich. He lives in a Palace on a hill overlooking Bilan's house. It's massive, even by North American standards. Aparrently he made is fortune working in the gulf. He's well dressed, and well spoken. Fuad's only just got his house back. It was occupied for the last few days by the Israeli military, during which time, Fuad and his family were confined to a bedroom. They were forced to leave the door open, which made it difficult for them to sleep. When the army finally left, they were relieved to see that there was no gratuitous damage, as sometimes happens in such cases (Excrement on walls, smashed furniture). A few items had been stolen, including Jewelry and cologne, and a lot of dirt tracked through the house, but nothing worse.
We eventually go home. I ask Fuad how he will know if there is curfew tomorrow. "There'll be tanks in the street in front of our house", he replies.
The evening was punctuated by a lot of 50-cal fire from the tanks, and jets flying overhead. Fuad says the jets are ok, but it's the Apache's you have to watch out for: The appearance of one means someone's about to die very soon, and you must be very careful of who you stand beside.
All noise aside, I sleep well. It's much quieter than Rafah.
Nov 12
----------
Up 8am. No tanks outside, thus no curfew. The kids are excited, as this will be their first day to go to school in weeks. Fuad is concerned that the kids have missed much school. He is convinced that this is a calculated side-effect to hurt the education of Palestinian children.
Fuad drives me through Jenin, and I am surprised by the Random destruction throughout the city. Nothing that looks like the result of actual attacks, but what I would call military vandalism. It looks someone's blind grandma got likkered up and went for a joyride in a tank, smashing everything in sight. Houses have been backed into, porches ran over, storefronts smashed. There's random damage everywhere. I imagine this is recrimination for the resistance given in Jenin camp.
Fuad drops me off downtown, where I catch a "service" shuttle to the town of Nakura. We take teeth-shaking dirt roads for an hour. We can't go all the way to Nakura, as it has been "closed" by the military. We stop nearby, and proceed on foot. I have an incredibly heavy load by now.
In recent days, I had decided that I could afford to increase me load, as I was on the tail-end of my journey, and likely to be travelling by car. Mahmoud gave me a weighty tome of zionist propaganda (quite a lovely book actually), which he figured would look good to those doing my exit-questioning at Ben Gurious Airport. As well, in Jenin I bought the mother of all Argilas. Total weight, about 15 lbs, in addition to my already 60 lbs.
Some people offer to get me a donkey. I refused, stating "I am a donkey", which amuses them. Finally, I can't make it any farther, and stop for a break. A boy with a donkey comes along, and I realize there is a donkey-shuttle service between Nakura and Nablus. I take advantage of it. We reach Nablus. I pay boy and donkey 10 sheckels, and find a taxi to city center.
I walk, but find no hotel. I flag down a taxi. The driver has limited english, and takes me across Nablus to the most expensive hotel in town, which far exceeds my needs. Finally he takes me back to the Crystal Motel, a block away. I check in, and have tea with the manager. Aparrently the local news reports are saying that the Israeli army will be invading that night, in retaliation to the Kibbutz-murders in another region.
I take a nap, bagged from my hike. I go out at night, expecting many places to be open, but nothing is. Few people are out. A few boys accost me, and one demands money from me. I "locate" a store manage to help "translate", which defuses the situation. Being the well meaning fellow he is, he asks the boys to show me back to my hotel, to make sure I get there safely. They walk me back. I make efforts to appear at ease, but am on guard. I figure having been "tasked" by an adult, they will behave. For kicks, I take them to the convenience store beside my hotel and buy them all cokes. One trys to pay me back. He is quite insistent, and shoves 2 sheckls in my pocket. I think he is guilty for his associate's behavior.
I tell Abbed, the receptionist at the hotel that I was unable to find dinner. He cooks me a small dinner, bless him. There is one other guest at the hotel, Jamal. Jamal is a 25ish retail sales manager in town for a meeting. He is lamenting that he will be stuck if there is an invasion.
I go to sleep. No invasion had yet come.
I awake at 3:30 am to the sound of explosions. Each one consists of a blowgun like "thwup", followed by an explosion 2 seconds later. I guess that this must be tank shelling of the old city, which I guess from the sound of the explosions is several miles away. (I will find out later I was wrong on several counts).
The shelling continues for several hours, at the rate of about one explosion per minute. I guestimated about 150 explosions. I hear no return fire from Palestinians.
Nov 13:
----------
I wake up, see that Jamal and Abbed are up. It is curfew. I want to go on the roof, but Abbed is afraid I'll be shot if I do. I finally convince him to let me go outside. He opens the steel grate which sheilds the glass front doors and lets me out. There is almost no one out. A few children play close to their homes. I see no soldiers, no tanks. I walk towards the direction of the previous night's shelling.
As I pass by some windows, the people wave frantically, point up, and pantomime someone holding a gun. I realize there are Israeli snipers on the roofs. They pantomime me to go back. I acknowlege them, but continue on, wanting to see the results of the earlier night's shelling. I open my hands wide, walk slowly, and scuff my feet, so no one is surprised by me. My balls are in my throat, but I'm determined to press on. I walk walk walk, but see no fresh destruction, only buildings obviously destroyed in the previous invasion in april. I start to see more tanks. I avoid them.
I finally ask someone where the old city is: They point back to where I had come from. I realized that I had acutally walked THROUGH the old city. I am puzzled by the lack of destruction. Going back to the old city, I see many spent concussion and gas grenades on the ground. I realize at this point my mistake from the night before: The tanks hadn't been shelling the old city miles away, they had been grenading the old city, which my hotel was right on the edge of! I had thought the explosions were tank shells far away, but they were concussion grenades only 2 blocks from me!
(For more information on concussion grenades, see:
http://www.fas.org/man/dod-101/sys/land/mk3a2.htm. They are aparrently more dangerous than I had initially thought - I had confused them with stun grenades)
As I walk around, I see several tanks and APCS situated around the old city, as well as one fortified position within the old city.
The old city, I eventually determine, is an area of about 3/4 of a square kilometer of densely packed stores and apartments, sandwiched together, and build on top of each other. Narrow alleys run between the stone buildings. My hotel is right on the south edge of the old city.
I keep walking... slowly, with palms open, slowly gaining confidence. I eventually come to an office marked "Union of Palestinian Medical Relief Committees". It is a makeshift field-office for Palestinian medics. I went inside to talk to them, to see if I could help, and to get information.
Most of the medics are Palestinian, although there are two dutch girls as well. They tell me that only one building was actually burned the previous night. It had been attacked by an Apache. There are several burnt out cars in front of the building as well. I offer my help, and am told to shadow a two medics, Ayesha, and Jaril.
They tell me that there had been many home invasions the previous night, and that many families are being held hostage. In some of these situations, it is known that medical attention is required, for people who were already ill.
They take me to one house where the family is being held hostage, and we are going to try to convince the soldiers to release them. Barring that, we want the release of the father, who is dying of cancer. The dutch girls do the negotiations, and about 5 other UMPRC people are with them. A few Palestinians gather with us. We are standing directly beneath a window. They repeatedly state that they know the soldiers are there, and ask them to release the old man. No response is given.
In slow motion, just like the movies, a bright orange grenage tumbles out of the window. Before it's even halfway down, everyone scatters, like cockroaches in the light for either end of the narrow alley. It hits the ground, and a second later, we reach the end of the alley. We wait, wait, wait, but no explosion comes. A few of us approach it cautiously. As we get closer, I can see it is a concussion grenade. I wonder why it hasn't gone off. I see that although the pin has been pulled, the spring loaded lever hasn't released. Bending over to look at it, I see something incredible: The lever is TAPED to the grenade with a strip of electrical tape. All I can guess is that the soldier had used the tape to fasten it to his flak jacket, but the tape didn't come off completely when he yanked it off of himself. As I looked, a Pal of about 25 runs by, scoops up the grenade, and runs off with it. Well, it appears the Palestinian military is slowly arming itself!
We decide to leave. As we turn the corner, we hear an enormous explsion, and gunfire behind us, from the alley we were just in. Aparrently the soldier had thrown another concussion grenade into the alley and then followed up with gunfire. I don't know if the shots were intended to hurt or scare, but I do know that in the narrow alley, the concussion grenade definitely would have cause some headaches, bloody noses, and loss of hearing if it had gone off.
The UPMRCers say there's nothing I can really do to help, although they do inform me that a mass-invasion of infantry is expected in the night. I decide to go back to hotel and rejoin them in eve.
I return to hotel, Abbed makes me dinner, I shower. Nightfall comes. I havn't heard from Jaril or Ayesha, so I decide to go to the UPMRC office myself. I walk down the middle of the roads, stay in the light, and scuff my feet. My hands are open, and slightly away from my sides. I walk slowly. I eventually make it to the field hospital. J and A are not there. One of the nurses asks me if I know Jeremy from Canada. I tell him no, and proceed to ask him if he knows Mohammed from Palestine. He gets the joke, laughs heartily, and we chat. A doctor introduces himself to me. I ask what I can do to help. He tells me that presently the field hospital is overcrowded, but will call the hotel if he needs help. He proceeds to arrange for an escort back to my hotel. I tell him I don't want to waste a minute of his people's time, and that if I made it there, I can make it back. He tells me he fears for me, and wants me to call him when I arrive safely, not only to ease his mind, but also to inform him of soldier/tank sightings.
I return to hotel, having seen not a single tank or soldier. I call doctor, let him know so.
Abbed and I are alone in the hotel now. We watch TV, drink TV, and smoke from my new Argila. His English is limited, but we manage to communicate. We watch CNN. He waves his hand dismissively at the TV, and exclaims "Osama, Saddam, Osama, Saddam, Osama, Saddam!!", commenting on the monothematicness of the news.
No one calls, I go to bed early. Late in the night, there is the sound of grenades and gunfire (both 50-cal, and M-16).
Nov 14
----------
Awake with a start at 9am, to the sound of explosions outside. I jump up, get dressed, and run to the dining room window. Abbed is already there. We see a tank driving up the street, being pelted by stones from either side. It continues on, circles back for another pass. More stones, more concussion grenades. It goes, comes back again. It occurs to me it's just playing with the kids: There's no need for the tank to be in this street, and definitely no need for it to keep circling back.
As it comes close again, one of the boys throws a molotov cocktail at it. Seconds later, the tank opens fire at them with the 50-cal cannon. It sounds like a jackhammer, but louder. Trees fall, and concrete explodes. Expecting a bloodbath, I gasp and wince, but somehow, the children appear to escape ok. The tank mounted 50 cal is truly a fearsome weapon. I am outraged that it has been used against the rock-throwing kids. God knows, the .762mm (.22) would have sufficed. Truly, no retaliation was even necessary... A rock can do no more damage to a tank than a flea can to an Elephant.
I hear an ambulance coming, and see media showing up. I persuade Abbed to let me outside. Aparrently, someone WAS hit. It was a boy on the opposite side of the street raked by 50-Cal. Aparrently a tail-gunner shot him while he watched the other kids run for cover across the street. An ambulance came, but he was dead on the spot.
His name was Jalal, and he was 17. He was buried in the cemetary across the street from my hotel. Ironically, he was born, lived, was killed, had his funeral, and was buried, all within one city block.
I saw Jaril and Ayesha. They asked me to come with them to talk to some soldiers who had occupied some houses and were keeping some families hostage. We went to the first house. They wanted me to talk, as they speak little English. As I spoke, I saw a snake-camera poke out of the 3rd floor window. Other than that, we got no other response. Not even the courtesy of a concussion grenade.
We proceeded to the next building. It was an apartment building, the top two floors of which had been occupied, with an estimated 25 people hostage. Ayesha Jimmied the front door open, and motioned me to go in and speak to the soldiers. "HUH??!?!?!!". I didn't know what else to do, so I went in. I slowly climbed the stairs, shouting "I'm unarmed, I am a Canadian, and I want to speak to you". A soldier on the 3rd floor shouted "wait". He eventually produced an officer (Lt) who came out to speak to me. I called Jaril and Ayesha up. They asked how many children hostage (12 he replied), and if anyone needed immediate medical attention. He said no. They told him a doctor was en-route, and asked him to wait. He insisted that no one was going inside.
The officer was very casual in his movement around me, which was quite a contrast to the outright FEAR present in the other invading soldiers. He even walked right in front of me at one point, with his back to me. It ocurred to me that if I had a garrotte, I could have easily killed him, for what little good that would have done.
Doctor Ghassan finally came, but the officer still wouldn't let him up to see the hostages. The soldier said he could pass on any medicine necessary. Ghassan insisted that before medicine was given, he must be able to make diagnosis, but the soldier was firm. I noticed the officer looked exhausted. Ghassan gave the officer some basic cough medicines, and written instructions to take up. The officer told us he'd only be occupying the house for another 12 hours. He told us to leave, and eventually raised his gun: a sufficiently convincing arguement.
We went back down the hill, where Jalal's funeral had begun, only a hundred feet from where he was shot.
I saw his mother crying. I felt angry. I wondered why she didn't keep him inside. I wondered why the other boys parents didn't keep them inside. I wondered how the Israeli army felt justified in firing on kids with tanks.
Several times the funeral was interrupted by Tanks coming up the street, causing everyone to run for cover. This seemed a bit gratuitous, as normally there is little tank movement during the days.
As the body was lowered, I saw Ayesha suddenly dash up the hill. I ran after her. One of the tanks that had been at the funeral had gone up the hill and shot someone on the street during the funeral. I don't know the circumstances, and was unable to find out. As I saw him loaded into the ambulance, I looked down the hill and saw a fire in the old city. I left, and started to walk towards it. It appeared all hell was breaking loose.
I realized that I would have to leave Nablus soon, or risk being killed. As well, I really wasn't sure what good I was doing there. I feel very impotent against what is going on here. I only feel better when I remind myself that I am only hear to bear witness.
It's interesting to note that this whole time, I havn't heard a single instance of return gunfire, or any other kind of resistance.
I returned to the hotel just before sunset, when fast ends. Soon, the Imam's voice emanated from the Mosque, declaring end of fast. The children scurry inside for dinner, and night falls. Immediately after this, there are massive movements of armour on the streets. APC's and tanks move through the city, and take up new positions. As this is the Muslim's only meal of the day during Ramadan, there's really no better time to redeploy troops and armour. Soon after, explosions and gunfire could be heard. I assume these were the sounds of the soldiers forcibly occupying new houses, and taking new hostages.
Abbed and I had dinner, tea, and Sheesha. We seem to be developing some odd kind of roomate relationship.
All of the gunfire, the explosions, are seeming increasingly "Normal" to me. I find this very disturbing. I resolved to get out of Nablus, any which way.
