Alastair Mitchell

Bethlehem.

Today a few friends and I took a tour round some of the towns and villages of the northern West Bank. After taking a service-taxi from Bethlehem to Ramallah, and enjoying a fresh juice at the best (and possibly only) place in Palestine to offer freshly squeezed and pressed fruit juices such as pear and ginger, or lemon, mint, and sugar cane, we met with our driver for the day. Around Palestine you often find people pressing fruits, but this shop offers very interesting and sometimes amazing combinations.
Our first stop was at the village of Bill’in, where we visited a man called Abu Waheed - a man who has seen change on his land that is quite extraordinary.

As we sat in the warm morning sun, overlooking his olive trees and drinking the sweet tea he made for us, he explained that he owns 50 square kilometres of land. Unfortunately, when the Israelis built the separation barrier they cut his land in two, and now he has 12sqkm around his home, with the remaining 38sqkm on the other side of the barrier. Notice the electric fence along the top of the above photograph. The following photograph shows the view looking back to his house from the fence.

To reach the rest of his land, he has to apply for a permit in advance, and cross the barrier at a specific time. Of course, no one can farm land in this way, and so the effect of all this is that now he has 12sqkm instead of 50.
For the last few years, every Friday and Saturday there have been demonstrations in the village, protesting this blatant injustice, and recently the case was finally taken to the courts and the village won against Israel. Abu Waheed didn’t seem encouraged by this however, The only winners from that case are the lawyers, he said, they took home a prize of $43,000. But the barrier is still here. What hope is there? It’s been done now.
As we surveyed his lands, he talked of how the Israeli army had uprooted some of his olive trees – the ones that got broken, he said, were left to rot whilst the ones that came up with the roots intact were taken away by the army to sell to the Israeli settlers. The sight of 100-year-old olive trees in settlements built in the last few years is indeed a strange one, but never before had I realised their origins. It takes many years before an olive tree bears fruit, and the wilful destruction of them can be seen only as an attempt to undermine the ability of men like Abu Waheed to continue living and working on the land on which they have done so for generations.
Periodically throughout our conversation, Abu Waheed’s granddaughter would appear from the house, but too shy of a group of strangers we didn’t manage to get anything more than a smile out of her.

We left Bill’in, and travelled first Eastward back to Ramallah then North towards Qalqilya. When we stopped in Ramallah to fill up the van with fuel, we were warned that the Bir Zeit checkpoint might be closed because yesterday the Israeli army went into Bir Zeit, a normally quiet university town in order to arrest someone. When someone threw a stone at one of their vehicles, they stopped and asked someone nearby who had thrown the stone. Not wishing to instantly become an informer in the eyes of his community, or not having seen who threw the stone, the man who was in his 40s said he didn’t know. So the Israeli soldiers beat the man to death.
From Bir Zeit, our driver then took the road through the Israeli settlement of Ariel. The settlement is protected by a checkpoint at the entrance.

Within the West Bank, to be driving past goat-herders one minute, and LA style boulevards the next is very odd indeed.

When we arrived in Qalqilya, we were told the checkpoint might also be closed, due to the shooting there of an Israeli soldier yesterday. Qalqilya is a town that has been very affected by the building of the separation barrier, because it completely encircles the town, leaving only one entry and exit point. Therefore, we were dependent on the checkpoint being open and after the soldiers discussed it for a few minutes they decided to let us pass on foot, but not to take the car. So we parked up and then got taxis to the centre of the town. Considering the extent to which the town is isolated, I had expected a very low standard of living, and in parts there was clearly poverty but the central area was surprisingly good. We all had a very good chicken kebab for lunch, before meeting with a friend of our driver. He took us to his new pharmacy and proudly showed us around. I congratulated him on starting his new business, then asked how things had gone since opening two months ago. When asked to divulge reality, instead of show-off his pride and joy, his face dropped. “You know, with the situation here, it’s very difficult. No-one can come here to buy the things they want. It is very quiet.”
After kindly providing us with Arabic coffee, he then took us in a local service-taxi and showed us some of the sights of Qalqilya. It says it all that these were the electric fence, the Wall and the sites of some houses that had been demolished by the Israeli army.
As we left, I felt bad for him. It’s one thing going to see a place like that, but imagine living there. Generously, you show around the very few people who actually come to the town, then an hour later you are back in your shop again - if you are one of the lucky ones to have work.
As we drove back home, I thought back to Abu Waheed in his olive groves. In Arabic, waheed has two meanings – it means alone and unique. As I imagined Abu Waheed sitting there going over his life once again for visiting foreigners, recalling the changes he had witnessed, and wondering what the future will hold, I couldn’t help but think that he, like so many others around here, must feel a lot more alone than unique.