notes of a non-combatant

the road to gaza; day three, gaza city

The same patterns still hold true across Palestine. Just as every city in the West Bank has a handful of unique characteristics and trademarks, cities and towns in the Gaza Strip also maintain specific trademarks despite sharing numerous similarities to other regions of Palestine. Nablus’s trademarks are fruit cocktails, konafa, olive soap, and Turkish baths. Bethlehem is famous for the story of Jesus and Mary. Hebron is notorious for its oppressive and militant reality as well as a generally reactionary mindset. The Gaza Strip is known for its beautiful beaches alongside bombed out structures, collapsed into piles of rubble like stacks of concrete pancakes on a sandy platter.

Entering the Gaza Strip suddenly became my chance to dispel the myths and legends surrounding the small parcel of land. Gaza holds a mythical status in many places, thought of as a no-man’s land, besieged and cut off from the world in all of its militant glory. Nothing was as we expected when we approached the border crossing and were informed by the Egyptian military that we could go right through. The delegation’s organizers had to constantly remind people that we were standing in a spot where most people are denied passage and end up staging protests, holding hunger strikes, and ultimately never making it across the border. We reminded ourselves of all the convoys that had “non-essential goods” such as toys and blankets stripped from them so that Egypt could maintain the siege. All of this flashed through our heads as the Egyptian military waved us to a large building for passport control, as well as claiming that they will allow passage for all of the materials that we brought on a flatbed truck in order to build three playgrounds in the Gaza Strip.

A dose of reality hit us when we were forced to leave Mai and Nadia at the gate to the border crossing, as the two Egyptian citizens were refused passage and had to return to Arish. It was difficult getting back on the bus, knowing that they were standing on the sidewalk, quietly wiping the tears that flowed out of frustration and humiliation. It would be the first of many emotional episodes, when the cameras turn off, pens go down, and we blink as though looking at the same world through new and more sensitive eyes, ramifications and consequences suddenly dawning on us, kick-starting emotions that had otherwise grown apathetic. Regardless of feelings getting stirred up, the Gaza Strip and all her border crossings are not places to let emotion take the reins of careful planning and political navigation. With a heavy heart, we left those two girls with enough money to get a hotel in Arish, and then slowly pulled our bus into the building for Egyptian passport control.

Sitting in the bus, waiting on the Egyptian side of the Rafah border crossing.

Our welcome into the Gaza Strip was surreal. After leaving the Egyptian passport control area, we were required to board a bus that drove us across the actual border. The neat Egyptian area assumed a whole new look at the actual border, with delicately designed walls becoming rough steel obstacles and barbed wire barricades. Perhaps what was most surreal was the shock brought about by the extreme differences between the West Bank and the Gaza Strip. Despite the economic situation, the Palestinian passport control area was still extremely well taken care of and even stylish, but it was the lush growth of grasses, trees, and small shrubbery that had me taken aback. Having grown so used to water being extremely scarce, I had forgotten that the Strip has an abundance of salt water and can still maintain a very lush landscape with saline-resistant species. Certainly another recurring theme was being shocked at how lush the plant life is in the Gaza Strip.

After checking in through passport control, we boarded buses and headed through Rafah, towards Khan Younis. It was only ten seconds after leaving the border patrol’s parking lot that we saw demolished buildings, structures blown out from recent attacks on the Strip. Gawking at random buildings sitting partially or entirely destroyed also became a recurring theme as our bus bounced along the road towards the United Nations Relief Works Agency (UNRWA) Training College in Khan Younis, where we spoke with John Ging, the director of the agency, and met with our security detail and some of the organizers of our trip. After a good evening of eating and dancing dabka with the UNRWA staff, we got back on the buses and rode them up the coastal road to Gaza City. Passing through Khan Younis and Dar El Balad, it was easy to see many of the problems that are faced each day in the Strip. Areas reeked of sewage from fields covered in standing sewage. A number of houses were demolished in Israel’s last aerial bombing campaign, remaining in place like stark reminders of the conflict. Refugees huddled around burning trash cans, standing near makeshift tents or shacks made of various available materials. By the time we reached the Commodore, an extremely fancy beachfront hotel in Gaza City, we had seen all stratas of Palestinian life, though we knew that the following days would take us deeper into those stratas than most of us have ever been before.

John Ging speaking with our CodePINK delegation in Khan Younis.

The night didn’t end there, however, as I decided not to stay in the hotel and opted to live in much more regular Palestinian accommodations. It was at the Commodore that Ahmed met Billy and I, and after a fifteen minute taxi ride, we were at his house in Gaza City, sitting, talking, chatting, smoking nargila, and playing on the oud. It was after a few conversations and cups of tea that we finally retired to our beds, which consisted of mattresses on the ground, that we marked the end of our entry into the Gaza Strip.

Sunset over piles of rubble in Khan Younis.