My Last Day in Palestine... by Leyla

My Last Day..., by Leyla

[Ramallah] I travel to the Qalandia checkpoint, where, in a bad mood about leaving, I refuse to show the soldiers my passport. After all, checkpoints are illegal, so they have no right to ask it of me. With some sense I don't say this to them, just say instead that I have my visa page which I can show them. They put up with what appears to be the ignorance of a tourist, telling me simply that I should carry my passport to show at checkpoints at all times. I wonder if even they know it is illegal for them to do this?

I spend my last day in Bethlehem, with my very beautiful nurse A, from two years ago when I was wounded by Israeli soldiers. It is brilliant to see her. We meet at the hospital – she is with J's wife (he was another of the staff I made friends with.) She and J are expecting twins! They live in Deheisheh refugee camp. K, another of my nurses, is in the Ramallah mental hospital now, they tell me – then bursting out laughing, they reassure me that he is there as a nurse, not a patient!

A takes me to see Dr N, who performed my surgery, who smiles gently and enquires if everything has been ok since. I tell him it has been perfect. I would like to show him how neatly the scar came out, but I know you don't show your belly to people in this country, and I'm not sure if the rules are different when the person in question has already seen it and a lot more besides…

Then we go to Dr P, the head of the hospital. A reminds him who I am, and a look of beaming recognition sweeps over his face. He is very enthusiastic about me and my visit and the fact that I have come back to say hello to the hospital. Oh, I am glad to have met these people.

So, A takes me to the Church of the Nativity – with its new array of bullet holes from April 2002 – and to the nearby Peace Centre, which co-incidentally has a display of photos taken during the Bethlehem incursion, and of the detritus left behind by the army. Some of the photos are harrowing – dead bodies of whole families left in their houses for days.

These are the people my ISM friends were trying to help get ambulances to, while I lay in hospital. A says that, as a nurse, she has many such photos of her own from that time and others, but has never known what to do with them. She knows they are evidence, but who can she show them to? I tell her about the Indymedia pages, in case she wants to use them to tell her stories in.

Also in the Peace Centre is a display of Nativity scenes from around the world – porcelain ones from Germany, ones made from palm leaves from the south sea islands, wood-carved ones from South Africa. A loves all of them, makes sure we exclaim over every one. She gives me a tiny wooden hanging one as a gift from a hopefully open tourist shop. Bethlehem is lively today in a way I have never seen it; the Star Hotel (where we stayed in 2002) is as empty as ever but the streets are full of people buying their groceries. A says the economic situation grows worse though. I discover she is supporting her whole family – both parents (her father has alzheimers) and three siblings, one of whom is old enough to work but can't find any.

We finish the day at Dehaishah Camp itself, at its Community Centre. It is the only refugee camp to have a centre with a guest house and a restaurant; the rest is youth club space and other community resources. A is on the health committee there. Here – in fact in the whole of Bethlehem – she seems to know everyone.

She is a small woman of 26 (smaller than I realized, since I was very hunched when I last saw her!) who says "I may be short, but I have confidence!" And she has a philosophy of determined happiness. "You must choose to be happy – you must decide to be, no matter what happens to you." She is an inspiration to me, because choosing happiness under such limits, such pressure, and everyday close-up evidence of the Occupation's damage, is courageous. One of her favorite themes is the beauty of the human body (she who sees so many broken ones), particularly women's bodies. Her favorite piece of art is called something like "Woman with head of flowers" which is of a nude and garlanded woman being knelt to by a man.

I like spending time with A for many reasons, but one is that she too wears the hijab (head scarf), and her religion for her is a strength, not a limiting thing. Her way may be the way forward for Palestinian women. And, as someone suggested, I think many women here are waiting for the time when the men have some sense of self- worth and personal power again, to challenge them in a positive way, without simply crushing them.

I leave Bethlehem walking, back to Jerusalem to get my belongings together. Going home, to a world of personal safety, and mental apathy. To try and challenge some of that apathy - again.

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