Happy boy, living a Happy life

I went to Beer Sheva, a city in southern Israel, on Friday. I had met a Norwegian / Israeli girl on my way from Prague to Tel Aviv, and I more or less invited myself to visit her town of Beer Sheva. We got to know each other when the passport guy in Prague wondered whether we were travelling together since she showed her Norwegian passport right after me, but unlike me she also held an Israeli passport, which was used by landing in Tel Aviv, and she was not on holidays or for studies in Israel, but to do her military service in Israel ..

We did not talk that much on our way to Tel Aviv, as we didn't sit next to each other, and although I was curious about her military service, I felt I couldn’t ask her too much about it. I got to know that she was stationed in Haifa and not on the West Bank, and she didn't object what so ever to the fact that I was going to the West Bank for studies. By landing in Tel Aviv I tried to keep as close to her as possible, so I'd stay out of trouble, but she disappeared in separate passport queue and was, understandably, much faster through than I was, but I had her phone number and now I wanted to visit her town and hoped to have a serious conversation about her, the military service and Israel.

I remember I thought much of this on the plane. How would a political Party in Norway, say (out of the blue) the Progress Party (Norwegian right wing party) react if I, as a Norwegian Pakistani had done my military service in Pakistan? What horror scenarios had not been drawn about me and my loyalty to Norway? Now, for my part, it would be quite unthinkable doing my military service in Pakistan, but where are the objections about loyalty when it comes to Israel and military service in Israel as a Norwegian citizen?

I tried to reflect over what makes a Norwegian citizen to do the military service in Israel? I know that this question may be biased, because I realize that not everyone sees the current conflict in the same way as I do, but how can anyone do their military service for an occupying force? And especially as a Norwegian citizen?

The original plan was to sleep at her grand parents place, but her grandmother said no to that, so I found me a cheap hotel when I arrived there around 10 pm. after a short trip to Tel Aviv, the only way to get from Jerusalem to Beer Sheva at that moment because of the Sabbath. I must admit my heart skipped a beat when the first question I was faced with, while asking some kids sitting by the main busstation for light, was whether I was a Muslim. I was quite shaken of it, but I had no choice than to confirm the fact. Obviously they had got an eye on my Mashallah necklace I bear, and in pure desperation and anxiety I quickly found my key of life (Ankh) necklace I also bear. "See, I have a cross too." They seemed a bit surprised by that, but I got away without any more problems or questions, other than the usual routine of where I was from. Well, actually, I don’t think I had anything to fear, but what do I know how they react to Muslims in Israel. I just know that I hadn't mentioned me being a Jew if I were a Jew in the West Bank.

Well, my big plan to ask all the questions didn't come out well. My friend asked me if I wanted to join her and her friends to a disco, which I did, and suddenly I found my self at a giant outside disco with several hundred youths enjoying their time. It was all pretty surreal. Not because I've never been in such a place before, but because we, the international students, had a party in Ramallah the night before. Of course, there were some Palestinians present too, and at the end of that party one Palestinian after the other (okay, there were only two of them who) collapsed into tears due to the impossible situation they find themselves in. "You do not know anything about me," said the one. "I carry this (as he slapped his green id-card on the table) with me. This makes me Palestinian, and not a human being. They take my dignity whenever they want. Every time I meet a soldier I'm degraded, humiliated and am no longer a human being. I'm even separated from my wife ..." was his last words, as he stormed out of the room with tears running from his eyes. I must add that at that moment he had consumed a qualified quantity of alcohol, and were quite sentimental.

But from this to now be on this gigantic party was a transition. Try to get me right, it was fun, and I have nothing against them living and enjoying life, but when the same lifestyle they want for themselves and their children is taken away from the Palestinians some small km. away, it all gets obnoxious. When the same kids at that party, including my friend, are part of the military force that steals the freedom from a regular Palestinian to even move freely through their own country, I get troubled enjoying my time. The peak was reached with the remix of "I'm a happy boy, living a happy life".

People ask me if I get some input from "the other side", and this trip was supposed to be an attempt of that, something I failed to take advantage of, but I'm pretty honest on this: There are, for me, not many "sides" on the situation here in the West Bank (or Gaza). To split the country in small parts through apartheid walls (450 km so far), numerous checkpoints and road blocks and over hundred illegal settlements with around 400.000 settlers has no excuse.

Chapter One: Preloge

I had a crazy day yesterday. Full of contrasts, contradictions and strong impressions, it was difficult to digest - and now to express. Many of the experiences I had are nearly indescribable and to truly grasp requires one to live them, but the hardest part is first and foremost to agree with yourself on what should be rendered and what should be left out. Each single impression in itself was not so unique or complex, but in a time frame of 7-8 hours, I can’t sum up the day as anything other than crazy. Therefore, this blog is in chapters.

It was Friday, and I had scheduled to travel to Jerusalem for Friday prayers – The Jumm’a. It’s Ramadan, and I hadn’t yet been in Jerusalem to al-Aqsa mosque for Jumm’a, so I was determined to get there. Another significant reason to go there on a Friday was to experience what happens at Qalandia checkpoint on Fridays. Qalandia, as told previously, is the checkpoint between Ramallah and Jerusalem. After the apartheid wall (or security fence as some call it) became reality 4-5 years ago, this checkpoint has been very notorious because all travel through Ramallah to Jerusalem passes through it, causing serious delays in everyday life. A journey that normally should take 20-30 minutes now takes at least 45 minutes.

I knew through stories from my fellow students that Israelis close this checkpoint on Fridays and people are queuing for hours in order to travel to the al-Aqsa mosque. Me, Dave and Debbie (my two American friends) arrived at Qalandia at around 10:45 AM with a taxi that normally would drive us all the way to Jerusalem. We were greeted by a large number of parked buses and taxis that were stopped on the Ramallah side of Qalandia, and we all had to walk on foot to the checkpoint to cross it. So we did. Approaching the checkpoint, we were soon among hundreds of people, young and old, men and women. All with the hope of crossing over to the Jerusalem side. The UN was represented by a couple of representatives who tried to facilitate and organize the people the best they could, Clustered among all the civilians were Israeli soldiers walking around with their fingers located on the trigger guards of their M16s, and looked pretty scary. Right in front of us, this young boy, in his late teens was pulled out of the crowd and zip tied his hands behind his back – to us for unknown reasons. No real drama in itself, but when three well-armed soldiers apprehend and drag a young boy for about 100-150 m. past the rest of the crowd. To me the scene suddenly became very dramatic - at least for a tender soul as mine.

Odds are most of the people present were probably on their way to al-Aqsa mosque. Al-Aqsa mosque is the third holiest place on earth for the Muslims, known to be the place where Mohammed ascended to heaven, and among the places all Muslims are encouraged to go visit. Of course, there are many other mosques in Ramallah and other nearby areas that can be used for Friday prayers. And many do use them, because then people don’t have to be lined up, humiliated and degraded in this way every Friday, but to put it differently, not all mosques are alike. There is a distinction between Masjid (small mosque) and al-Jami'a (large mosque as al-Aqsa) in Arabic.

The Masjid being the local mosques in every neighbourhood where people do their daily prayers, and al-Jami'a (from the root Jam'a – meaning many people/ or to gather) used for Friday prayers. Friday is called Jumm'a (from the same root as the last) in Arabic and is a day where Muslims gather. This said, these translations are not totally accurate, but that’s the essence. So, on Fridays people are urged to use a Jami’a for their Friday prayers, and not the local masjids. With regard to the al-Aqsa mosque’s religious significance, it is perhaps somewhat more understandable why such a large majority of people in the villages/towns around Jerusalem are using their holiday/ day off to travel to Jerusalem for Friday prayers, despite the humiliations it may cost. The holy month of Ramadan magnifies it even further, both the urge to get there and the humiliations sufferied in the process.

But now, we were soon to to start our journy across the Qalandia checkpoint.

Chapter Two: Qalandia Checkpoint.

We were soon going to experience the humiliations people go through.

Israel, not so fond of the huge wave of people coming to Jerusalem described in the preloge, and do their best to put obstacles for the peoples wanting to exercise their religious belief, in the form of closed checkpoints, a huge number of soldiers in front of the entrances and a literally random separation of those allowed through and those who are turned back. The general rule is no access for people under and over a certain age. When we asked one soldier he said no one under 50, but when we finally started flashing our passports, two of them even being American, we were let through the first stage almost immediately. But we still aren’t even there in the story. First we had to go from one roadblock which was closed to another around 50 meters further down the street.

To my great disappointment my camera was out of batteries so I can not illustrate this visually, so all I can give is a more detailed description. Thus, it is one way through the apartheid wall, known as the Qalandia checkpoint (next to the Qalandia refugee camp by the way). The actual checkpoint is an armoured watch tower, and a small "terminal", where all the control occurs. On a normal day, all (except foreigners and others holding blue id-cards) have to get off their taxis/buses on the Palestinian side of the checkpoint and enter the terminal for inspection, before they come out the Israeli controlled side and "retrieve" their buses on the other side to continue the travel. The road itself is blocked off with a normal barrier where soldiers check any private cars and the remaining passengers on buses. But today the entire area in front of Qalandia checkpoint was blocked off, on the Palestinian side, and two roadblocks 100 m. away from the checkpoint with a distance of 50 m. between them were set up as a pre-check to keep out the majority of the people.

Now, for some reason one of the occasional roadblocks was closed, and we had to move to the other, as did hundreds of others. When we got there we were shocked by the whole situation, and for the first few minutes we just stood there behind the other civilians and tried to grasp the logic. The soldiers were pushing people further and further behind, away from the pre-checkpoint, making a new point of gathering some meters away, as people desperately tried to show the soldiers their id-cards and their permissions to them. To get to Jerusalem, as a Palestinian, you need to hold a blue id-card in the first place. Some years ago Israel made a decision of not letting any random person in to Jerusalem and issued the blue id-cards. They were given to those who were in Jerusalem at that actual time. Those who were outside, for example, in connection with their studies or anything else, were not. For example students that are actually from Jerusalem, but were living outside Jerusalem at that particular time, when the blue cards were issued, still hold green cards, and no longer have the permission to travel to Jerusalem, their actual homes and families. It is possible to apply for explicit permission to travel to Jerusalem, but it is a long process, and seldom issued for any lengthy period of time.

So, there they were. Old people and young, presenting their id-cards in vain to the soldiers who just kept pushing them further and further back. Even I was pushed, but that’s just a digression. There were blue id-cards, green id-cards with special permission, and it was the id-card (magnetized cards) that shows that you have a working permit in Israel and there were even orange id-cards. The orange ones are unknown to me, but supposedly they are of old date. Once in a while the soldiers let some through, so we paved our way to the soldiers who did let people through. Keep in mind, through to the pre-checkpoint in front of the checkpoint.

Where are you going? The soldier asked us. The answer was pretty obvious. No, it is not possible. Not even for tourists? No, no one under 50, was the answer but since we were tourists we were told to wait a bit. Another soldier who continued to monitor us wondered why we didn’t take the usual route to Jerusalem. We wondered what (the hell) that was. Well, the road, from Tel Aviv. It is difficult to say anything back when you’re looking at the business end of an M16 assault rifle, plus Qalandia is a significant number of km. away from Tel Aviv, on the opposite side of Jerusalem. Anyway, the end of this was that my American friends got the permission to continue, and eventually even me, when I managed to point out that I was with them and was Norwegian. Norg? Cool. Well, up to the roadblock, Passport control, and so on through the open area that is quarantined and emptied behind the sporadic roadblock and moved on to Qalandia. At this emptied area, there were gathered a large amount of soldiers, and it was amazing to see this huge amount of firepower gathered. They were just sitting there, waiting for an eventuality that hopefully never occurred. A funny story was when some soldiers made a deal trading his tear gas cans for a pack of cigarettes, but we were asked to hurry up to the “terminal”.

Qalandia checkpoint is like any other checkpoint around the West Bank, sad, cold and difficult to describe with words. Israel wants to call it "terminals” to give it a better sound, but in reality it is prison-like corridors with blocks and fences. Here, briefly explained, people stay in queues in a, for lack of a better word, cattle shoot with fences on both sides for quite some while, before coming to a metal spin-doors, which you pass one by one, before finally coming to the metal detector and all that goes with that. A soldier in a cabin (one’s imagination plays games with you as you see a cabin reinforced with inches of ballistic glass reinforced with inch and a half industrial bolts, and think that they literally expect someone to blow themselves up which while in the narrow steal barred corridors of the shoot makes you wonder if you will survive) making people walk back and forth through the metal detector because it keeps beeping, and so on. But before you get that far, you’ve been in a queue and fought your way into the cattle shoot that leads you to the metal spin-doors. As previously told, people have been around for several hours (we heard people talking about 2 and even three hours among them). First just to get into the “terminal”, then to get into the cattle shoot, so obviously there is a lot of frustration, anger and despair in the air. People are shouting, yelling and pushing in order to move the line. Many unfortunate people, come through the spin-door, and just before the metal detector are asked to go back outside. It happened to a group ahead of us, but again of unknown causes. We are all well monitored by police and soldiers and waved us further all the time… And not surprisingly there were no others the same age as us around.

The roadblocks and the checkpoint can hardly be called an obstacle for us internationals by the people still waiting outside, it still took us over one hour to get across the checkpoint. But I was on my way to the holy al-Aqsa, and hundreds were still waiting at Qalandia.

Chapter Three: Jumma and Sabbath!

Finally on the other side of the checkpoint, and on board the mini bus that was going to drive us to Jerusalem, we discovered that it was now 10-15 minutes left before Friday prayers allegedly would start, and there were many high strung people in the bus that drove as fast it could. It took about fifteen minutes, due to traffic and some small roadblocks that were set up on the way to the bus station in East Jerusalem.

The bus stopped around one hundred meters away from the bus stop and then we (me and the rest of the Muslim passengers) started the race to the Mosque, young people running, elderly jogging and the even older walking as fast as they could, finally entering the old city of Jerusalem through the Damascus Gate, and moved on to al-Aqsa, a touristified old town where people were sprinting through the narrow streets to get to the mosque as fast as they could.

As many may know the old city in Jerusalem is crowded with small alleys and streets. Overfilled with street vendors of various kinds, and it is these alleyways that lead you to the entrance to the al-Aqsa compound. I took the first road leading to the mosque and from the beginning of this alley to the entrance of the compound/mosque there is perhaps 150 m. Already 50 m. into the alley I saw people were standing facing Mecca ready for prayer - outside the mosque compound! The people created two rows (saff), with a small passage left open for people to move towards the mosque. After a quick round of are-you-Muslim-what’s-your-name I was pushed on, and I finally entered the mosque from its back right corner. It was packed in there. People were, as I said, standing in the alleyways outside the mosque, and inside the compound there were people everywhere. On the stairs, on the grass, under the trees, on stones, in short, every inch was used to be able to stand and pray. People stood there, with shoes on, almost side by side with women and the only thing that mattered was to get a place to stand. It was packed full, and people had begun to stand up to get ready for prayer when I got in. I tried to get further ahead, basically because I was in the women's area (or there were mostly women there), and because I was totally in the back. When I eventually had to find a saff and get ready for pray, even the famous golden dome that itself is placed a few hundred meters behind the al-Aqsa mosque was ahead of me.

I have previously described Friday prayers in al-Aqsa as great, and recommended all my Muslim friends to experience this. The experience was enhanced further by having to "struggle" and jog with the Palestinians to get there giving it sense of greater accomplishment. Additionally, when you are out in the sun, with people everywhere and put your head on the ground in Sajjda (when people get down on the floor) and you feel the hard rock against your forehead, that alone is enough to make even the devil religious. How many actually were there is absolutely impossible to say. In some of my texts to friends, I said at least 15-20.000, and later increased it to about 50,000. In a report on Friday prayers during Ramadan from last year the journalist talked about estimates of 120,000. In today's newspapers the figure is 200,000! Big enough, at least.

By the way, In the al-Quds (albeit in Arabic that I understand only occasionally) it reported common Friday Prayers just outside the Qalandia checkpoint among those who couldn’t cross it. After the prayer, people got up and stormed toward the exits. I used the opportunity to get closer to mosque and the Dome of the Rock. Then, a second round of Friday Prayers were announced. I joined again, but this time it was a shorter version without the “reading” of the Qur’an. After that I walked around the Dome of the Rock, in other words, the world-famous golden dome that contains the stone Mohammed stood on when he ascended to heaven.

I took my time, perhaps half an hour before I started moving towards the exits. The time was 13.45 local time, and I was supposed to meet my American friends at the Damascus gate at 14.30 ... After standing in a queue for a ten minutes time I realized that the line was for the bathrooms (I apparently missed the W.C. sign) I finally got out of the mosque 13.55 through the so-called cotton market door. A normal walk from there to Damascus Gate usually takes 10 minutes, but not this time. It took me 45 minutes. Perhaps not so strange when 50.000-100.000 people storm into the narrow alleyways middle of the afternoon rush, with its many shops and business was as usual, all heading the same way. It went slowly. Very slowly. The walk to the Metro after a football match is nothing compared to this. On the way people shopped, argued and pushed. A lot of pushing, and the old ladies are the worst pushers. But there is nothing more that you can do, than to be patient and keep walking. Dave and Debbie had found the way into the old town, and I spotted them a few meters in front of me stuck in the same mass of people. Considering that it was around 30 degrees, and that people were fasting, this was a powerful effort of dimensions. I, not fasting, was completely exhausted when I came out at Damascus Gate.

My throat and body completely totally dehydrated, but we managed to wander the few hundred meters from Damascus gate to West Jerusalem, and suddenly we were in any Western European city with it’s cafe life, half empty streets and musicians on corners. It was surreal. After Qalandia and being squeezed among thousands of people to this street life, where there were hardly any people. There were a few hours to the Sabbath, and the shops had begun to close. Not only did the surroundings, like buildings and roads change, but you could see a different kind of people… The wealth was so obvious, and made us sick in the beginning, before we enjoyed the fruits of wealth in the form of a lot of water and a huge lunch. Then, we relaxed for a couple of hours listening to jazz music, before we started to move towards the Wailing Wall to witness the celebration of the Sabbath.

We found ourselves a place that was a reasonable distance from the wall, and just watched different groups doing there prayers in different forms; there was singing, dancing, regular praying in front of the wall and other “stuff”. It was a lot of joy, happiness and celebration in the words real meaning. People were dressed up for celebration. But, by that time, we were so overwhelmed with all the impressions we had had during the day, so we didn’t stay for long. The most odd thing, for me, was to see all the M16s in the crowd, carried by mostly soldiers but also some people in civilian clothes, while celebrating Sabbath. But I have to say, the day, with all its implications hadn’t left me in a good mood, and watching a huge platoon of soldiers, getting ready and marching in to the old city on their way to the Muslim Quarters as the crowd around them got ready for Sabbath, praying, and Muslims on the other side of the Wall for their Iftar didn’t get me in any better mood.

On our way back to Qalandia (it was still closed) I couldn’t think of anything else than how severely important it is for this Holy country to uphold their fundings from the Western world, cause they seriously need to upgrade their security systems. Some of the installations are starting to get old - at least a new paint job.

Jalazone refugee camp.

Heard in class, while talking about what we've heard, read or seen on the news lately:

Student A: Israeli soldiers shot and killed a palestinian man in the town of Nablus.
Teacher: Yes, that is true.
Student A: Apparantely, he was one of the 198 prisoners released by Israel last month.
Teacher: That is true too.
Student B: Why was he killed?
Teacher: No reason.
Student B: There has to be a reason?
Teacher: No reason at all.
Student B: But, then why was he killed?
Teacher: Israel is occupying our country. This is their way of achieving peace.
Student B: There must have been a reason?
Teacher: It's occupation. Israel has occupied Palestine.

Later the same day, in my english class. That is, the class (kids between 13-17, and one over 20) I'm teaching english.

Me: I'll ask you questions and I want you to answer in full sentences, ok?
Class: Yes!
Me: Mohannad, where do you live?
Mohannad: Ramallah.
Me: Yes, but try to say 'I live in Ramallah'.
Mohannad: Ok
Me: Where do you live?
Mohannad: Ramallah.

Seeing him having trouble understanding me: Have you learned any english before?
Mohannad: (answers in arabic)...
Class: No, this is his second time here.
Me: But haven't you learned english at school?
Mohannad: (answers in arabic) ...
Class: He was in prison for the last three years.
Me: Oh... Ok. (a bit stressed) What prison?
Mohannad: Sijan israeli... (Israeli prison).
Me: Why?
Mohannad: Because I love Palestine.
Me: Now that's a full senctence.

Mohannad is 16.

On Friday we visited Jalazone refugee camp close to BirZeit town. We were at a cultural center looking for possibilities of voluteer work. Visiting refugee camps is always depressing. Built by UN in 1948, it built one room each to every family, with no regard to the size of the family. With refugees from all over Israel, it's now home for over 14.000 palestinians. The one-room appartments developed into two and three floors appartments, on land owned by the neighbouring villages (Jifna). UNRWA and Jifna has a renting agreement for 99 years. 61 years has passed with no solution, and what would happen after 99 years is not good to know.

It's nearest neighbour is Beit Il (house of god), one of the biggest settlements in the West Bank (built in 1981/1982). Today 50 % of the inhabitants of Jalazone are under 16 years old, with unemployment rate around 60 % (out of the 50 % labour force). The refugee camp has one doctor for its population, one tiny playground (built by the French) and one UNRWA school up to ninth grade. The school is situated at the end of the refugee camp and is closest neighbour of the settlement just mentioned. This causing huge problems since the two, Jalazone refugee camp and Beit Il settlement, have had a number of clashes during the years, especially during the second intifada. This has stopped now, when Israel built a bypass road for the settlement, so the road seperating the camp and the settlement is no more a battlefield. But still, you cannot go too close to the separation fence, for if you do you're at risk of being shot.

By the way. Next time you land at Ben Gurion International Airport you should know that the owner of that land is in Jalazone refugee camp, heading the cultural center for youth owning no land of his own..

Rocks and Walls!

Alright. Since people have been all over me and wants me to write in english, ill give it a try, and we'll see how it goes.

Day 10 in Ramallah/BirZeit and still everything is under control. My arabic hasn't improved that much yet, mostly because I'm a bit confused by the different rules in Arabic Fussha (standard arabic) and Arabic Aamia (palestinan dialect). Like last night, i sat up really too late, doing homework, trying to learn present and past tense in standard arabic, but today, in Colloquial (as Aamia is called in English) class there were completely different words for the same thing. But, I must confess, I've strayed into the international student bubble as well, and have not been talking enough Arabic. It's hard to resist, but at least my English has improved.

Today I actually had my first English teaching job. I'm hopefully going to teach English to a group of Palestinian girls. That was pretty fun, and it also kind of helped me with my Arabic cause they would give me the Arabic translation for the English words that I wanted to explain to them. But, still, it has just been one week, and most likely my Arabic will improve, and hopefully I'll get a conversation partner, and the people studying with me will know more Arabic so we'll talk more Arabic to each other too.

Well, Since last time I've seen a bit more of the occupation and joined one of the weekly demonstrations at Bil'een village (north west of Ramallah). It wasn't that easy of a decision to make, whether to join the demonstration or not. You hear all the crazy stuff the Israelis do and might do, and little of what you hear is what you want to experience. Our "guide" to Bil'een, a BirZeit local, refused to take us to a place called Nil'een, where the Israelis assumably shoot with real bullets, and not only rubber bullets. But a small group decided to head off to Bil'een, a half hour drive from Ramallah.

Because of Ramadan it wasn't that huge of a demonstration but I had my first experience with tear gas. I mostly stood in the back but still some of the tear gas shells reached me, and I don't recommend anyone to stand in the middle of it. Basically it becomes very painful and difficult to breath as your throat constricts and your eyes burn and tear up often so much that it is near impossible to see. The effects last for several painful minutes the only relief available being the smell of onions handed out by more experienced demonstators. The demonstration wasn't, as i said, that big, and that was okay with me.

Even though we knew the Israeli soldiers at the other side could shoot with rubber bullets, they never did, but you are alarmed and frightened every time you hear the sound of a shot. The problem was that the Israelis weren't just in front of us, but also around us. So they could, and they did, attack us both from the front and from the flanks. Imagine hearing a bang sound, and all you see above you is a teargas shells flying at you, and you don't know where they'll land. One of my friends actually got hit by a teargas grenade, causing severe bruising and four days later still painful.

The "funniest" part with the whole demonstration was this huge truck the Israelis had. From time to time, when the soldiers didn't throw or shoot tear gas grenades at us, this truck came towards us and sprayed toilet water (!) on the demonstrators (pic. to the right). The ones getting wet by it, including a Scottish friend of mine, had their clothes colored blue and scented like shit the rest of the day. During the whole demonstration, as we've often seen on the television, the Palestinians shouted their anger at the Israelis and attacked armored Israelis trucks and soldiers with rocks.

You may say the reaction from the Israelis wasn't that bad, but think about it. For me it was an exotic tourist attraction, but for the people living there, it's hard facts. Israeli occupation forces put up their fences (and, of course, walls) wherever it suits them, call it their land, and there is nothing people actually living there can do about it. Well, except protesting, shouting, throwing rocks and hoping for more internationals to see their fight, and hopefully support them. Sadly, they dont. People like me come to Palestine, see their situation, blog about it, but the countries we're from don't bother making Israel obey their international obligations. On the contrary, they blame the Palestinians for putting up a resistance. Terrorism, is the magical word. We don't respect their fair elections, block their economy and as we all know put the Palestinian territories under further troubles. While, at the same time, we invite Israel into whatever is going on in Europe, be it EuroVision, European championship in Football and so on. That's the way we protest and punish Israel. Hmm. Go figure!

Well. That's it for this time. Other than this, I've been enjoying my days here in BirZeit with a huge birthday party at a local restaurant. So it's not just occupation and resistance. Life goes on, for me, and the Palestinians as well. To end this blog with something nice; Here's a nice picture of the birthday cake the restaurant made for me:

Rush hour in Ramallah

Så har jeg vært i Ramallah i snart 4 dager, og det var på tide med et livstegn. For de uinnvidde har jeg altså reist til Ramallah (Palestina) og begynt på arabisk og skal etter planen være her fram til jul. Lett humoristisk tituleres denne posten Rush hour in Ramallah - ikke fordi jeg har opplevd så mange av de, for selv bor jeg i BirZeit - en by 15 min. unna Ramallah, men fordi det er navnet på bandet som noen av mine med studenter skal starte... Nok om det.

Kan vel begynne med at det var unødvendig for meg å ha mageknipe og X antall søvnløse netter i en måned i frykt for ikke å slippe inn i Israel/Palestina før turen. Det var lite problematisk. Riktignok måtte jeg gjennom tre avhør, og vente i 3 timer, men de spørsmålene jeg ble møtt med ville jeg definert som "standard spørsmål". Jeg tror jeg gjorde lurt i å kjøre en ærlig linje, og ikke legge skjul på mine studieplaner på BirZeit universitet. Det var aldri noen "kritiske" spørsmål rundt det, og jeg hadde all papirarbeidet i orden. Den eneste gangen jeg følte jeg var på tynn is var når jeg på det tredje intervjuet måtte forklare at selv om jeg var på Arafats grav sist gang jeg var i Ramallah så betydde det ikke at jeg hadde et nært forhold verken til han eller hans sak, men at det var en "må-ting" når man først var i Ramallah. Den andre gangen var når jeg plutselig nevnte Palestina framfor Israel eller Ramallah, og hun (intervjueren) spurte hva mine planer var ved siden av studiene. Jeg bedyret at jeg ikke hadde tenkt å reise rundt fordi det var undervisning hver dag. Men det var aldri noe stress, og ikke i nærheten av så ille som jeg fryktet. Jeg fikk et stempel på tre måneder, med lett formaning om å møte hos innenriksministeriet for å forlenge visumet med én måned for mitt fly som går hjem i slutten av desember. Regelen er, i følge både ambassaden og de på grensen at man kun har lov til å oppholde seg i Israel i tre måneder i løpet av et kalenderår, men har allerede møtt mange som har fått flere tre måneders stempler i løpet av dette året etter et lite opphold i utlandet. Tror også det vil løse seg fint.

En litt "morsom" hendelse på venterommet før sikkerhetskontrollen var da en gammel mann, som hadde sittet i samme venterom som meg, fikk beskjed om bare å gå ut via vanlig passkø likevel, og han glemte sin pose i venterommet. Jeg forsøkte da å fortelle sikkerhetsvakten at den posen tilhørte den mannen, men møtte lite respons. Noe senere kom en annen sikkerhetsvakt, så på posen, stoppet litt, og fortsatte. kvarteret senere kom det en mann med propp i øret og kikket oppi alle søppelkassene, stusset over den posen (på det tidspunktet var det bare meg på den ene rekken av stolene, og den posen på den andre), spurte sikkerhetsvakten som skulle "passe på" venterommet om den, og han bare trakk på skuldrene, og mannen med proppen i øret bare fortsatte. Det tror jeg ikke hadde skjedd på Oslo S en gang.

Vel, jeg har nå vært her i 4 dager, og hadde min første undervisnings dag i dag. Skal ta tre kurs. Ett i standard arabisk, muntlig palestinsk dialekt og et kurs som heter "Palestinian Question". Timeplanen tilsier at det blir et pumaløp, med faktisk undervisning hver dag, mid-exams og oppgaveinnleveringer. Det eneste er at jeg føler meg for gammel for hjemmelekser, men skal man klare å lære seg et språk godt nok, må man vel gjennom det. Må si jeg er veldig stolt av å henge godt med på nivå 2 både skriftlig og muntlig.

Kurset i Palestinian Question holdes av en noe fargerik person. Sa’d Nimr, politiker i mange år og leder av "Fri Marwan Barghouti" kampanjen, skal være vår foreleser. Fargerik fordi han var tydelig på at det ikke vil være en objektiv fremstilling av problemstillingen, men palestinernes synspunkt på situasjonen. I dag ga han bare en kjapp innføring i hva kurset kommer til å handle om, og det manglet ikke på kontroverser. F.eks. kunne han meddele at det var en misforståelse eller miskommunikasjon at FNs resolusjon 181 om deling av Palestina ble godkjent av israelerne. Den ble - i følge han (foreløpig, da jeg ikke har begynt å lese pensum enda) - forkastet av araberne (palestinere) fordi de ikke kunne fatte logikken i at 33 % av befolkningen (jødiske) skulle få 56 % av landområde, og 66 % av befolkningen (arabisk - både muslimer og kristne) skulle få 42 %. Resterende var Jerusalem som skulle være under FN-kontroll. Resolusjonen ble altså også forkastet av israelerne, rett og slett fordi de ønsket mer, deriblant deler av Jordan.

En annen kontrovers var da han påstod (denne gangen som politiker) at Israel ikke ønsker å løse problemet. De håndterer (manage) problemet, men ønsker ikke en løsning. Han tegnet en tidslinje fra 1967 med fire punkter. 1967, 1993, 2000 og november 2007 fram til i dag. Han mente at dersom Israel virkelig ønsket å løse problemet, hvordan kunne det ha seg da
at det mellom 1993-2000 (under Osloprosessen, og før den andre intifadaen) var blitt bygget dobbelt så mange bosettinger som mellom 1967-1993, og hvis Annapolis runden var et ønske om fred, hvorfor hadde det da siden november 2007 fram til i dag blitt bygget 25.150 bosettingsenheter på okkupert territorium? Vel, foreløpig står alt det for hans regning, men det tyder på at det vil være en interessant forelesningsrekke å følge.

Når det kommer til den politiske situasjonen i dag er det foreløpig lite å melde. Tror den søndagen jeg ankom Tel Aviv var første dag etter sommerferie for militærrekruttene i Israel, og det var svært uvant for meg å se de fleste tog stasjonene mellom Tel Aviv og Jerusalem fylt opp med 18-22 åringer med sine M16 over skulderen (ikke alle, men mange). Et syn jeg aldri vil bli vant til, og en verden jeg håper jeg aldri må leve mitt liv i.

Utover turen innover mot Ramallah har jeg kun oppholdt meg i Ramallah (og BirZeit), og av det jeg har sett foreløpig er det vanskelig å komme med noen sterke innspill for eller mot noe. Livet her er ganske rolig, og bortsett fra Qalandia kontrollpost (beksrevet i linken) på vei til Jerusalem går livet sin vante gang. Derimot tviler jeg på at livet i Ramallah omegn er representativ for livet andre steder i Palestina. Livet i Nablus, Jenin, Qalqilia, Hebron og selv i Betlehem er en helt annen enn i Ramallah, men antar at jeg vil få rikelig med informasjon, og forhåpentligvis førstehåndserfaring med det etter hvert. Særlig Qalqilia står høyt blant mine reisemål, så får vi se når jeg får tid til det.

Det som har vært interessant er måten spørsmål rundt konflikten mellom Fatah og Hamas har blitt besvart. Public Relations mannen på universitetet svarte svært rundt og ullent på mitt spørsmål om hvordan den konflikten påvirker/hadde påvirket universitetet. "Vi har alle partier her, og eventuelle konflikter løses internt i løpet av 24 timer", var hans svar. Folk jeg har møtt har bare trukket på skulderen og med et oppgitt uttrykk i ansiktet ikke gitt noe gode svar, og foreleseren i Palestinian Question bagataliserte det hele med at det bare var et et forbigående fenomen. Palestinerne kunne ikke la dette fortsette, og at det i samtalene rett etter Ramadan (dvs. neste måned) i regi av egypterne ville løse seg. Jeg tror det ligger noe i det han sa at det hele var pinlig for palestinerne og jeg antar at de ønsker å skyve det under teppet og fokusere på det virkelige problemet - okkupasjonen - mens utelndinger som meg stadig maser om den konflikten.

Et av mine mål her på turen er å grave mer i den konflikten - uten å bli ufin, og tror ikke noen samtaler i Egypt (eller hvor de er) vil fjerne det hatet som har blitt bygget opp mellom partene de to siste årene. For å bruke samme logikk som Sa'd Nimr; dersom Hamas/Fatah er en forbigående problemstilling og hvis palestinerne ønsker å komme videre, hvorfor fengsles stadig Hamas tilhengere på Vestbredden, og motsatt på Gazastripen?

Vel, det får holde for denne gangen. Ila'l liqa.