11th December
Nablus.
On arriving at the infamous Huwwara checkpoint, the most noticeable thing are the throngs of waiting taxis. The reason that this checkpoint has such a notorious reputation is that it is the only entry or exit point for the entire city of Nablus, and is well know as one where the army treats the Palestinians badly. As Nablus is considered one of the West Bank’s most militant places, the Israeli army enter the city almost every night, on incursions to attack the militias who are based here. Also, Nablus is a town from which local youths are not easily permitted to leave, and therefore is one of the several Palestinian towns or cities that resemble open air prisons.
Surrounded by the dead - the youth of Nablus are trapped.
The drive from the checkpoint to the city centre takes around 5 minutes in a taxi, and takes you past the equally infamous Balata Refugee Camp, where we would finish our day. But first, after the one and a half hour drive from Bethlehem a coffee stop was required so we headed to the Old City, and met with a friendly restaurant owner who despite not normally selling coffee, ordered some for us from a neighbouring shop.
As we sat in his restaurant, he spoke with us about the situation in Palestine and he had many insightful views. He praised our accompanying friend, who is studying English at Bethlehem University, making the point that successful nations must cultivate their intellectuals in order to make progress in the world.
Nablus is renowned for it’s knafe – a syrupy-sweet pastry dessert similar to Baklava but made from Goat’s cheese - and just around the corner we found the shop thought of as being the best in Nablus, and therefore Palestine. We watched as they cooked the knafe in large round trays, before covering them and turning them over using their heads like a circus balancing act.
As we watched this process, a man came to us and said ‘If you want to see something, come.’ I suspected this was an attempt to sell us foreigners something and went with the words ‘No thanks’ ready on my lips. He pointed down the narrow road, to where a funeral was taking place. We arrived just as the main group of people taking part approached, chanting various slogans, including the ubiquitous ‘God is Great’, passing us by carrying the body of Sulaiman Al-Qassas, a member of the Al-Aqsa Brigades who had been killed the previous day. Not for the last time of the day, our timing was impeccable.
From the sombre and tense atmosphere of a politically charged funeral, we walked farther down the same street to visit a 700 year old Turkish bath. Unfortunately, Tuesdays are for women only so while our female companions entered the bathing area, we stayed by reception and chatted with the manager who in finest Palestinian tradition served us hot, sweet tea. Of course, it was on the house.
From the Turkish baths, we walked to the site of what I think is best described as an ancient coaching inn. This small courtyard had been under development as an area for some small shops, with a central area for putting on open-air concerts and other cultural events. This excellent initiative was being funded by the EU – until Hamas were elected and the international boycott put a stop to such projects. A city such as Nablus is in desperate need for cultural and artistic projects such as this, and the prevention of progress in this way as a result of an election result disliked by Western nations is in nobody’s interest.
We then returned to our friendly restaurateur for lunch, before visiting an olive oil soap factory. As we stood upstairs, amidst circular columns of stacked soap blocks, we heard the sound of a nearing commotion. On looking outside, we saw it was a demonstration celebrating the 40th anniversary of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine.
After negotiating some rather slippery soap-covered stone stairs, we were down on the pavement, watching as this impressive sight passed by in front of us.
We then took a taxi out of town, into the Balata Refugee Camp. This camp was established between 1950 and 1952, to accommodate the refugees from the ethnic cleansing carried out two years earlier. Initially it was designed to house 5000 to 6000 people in tents and covered 1 square kilometre. It now houses 24000 people, and still occupies the same 1sqkm of land. This makes it one of the densest concentrations of humans on the planet, with an average living space per person of 10.6 square metres. And for those of you whose maths lessons seem a distant memory, 10 square metres is a space that is for example 2 metres wide and 5 metres long – not 10×10.
Back in 1952 the accommodation in the camp was in tents, as no-one expected to be staying very long. Gradually over time the residents have put down firmer roots, beginning with single storey houses, onto which additional floors have been constructed over the years. This lack of forward planning means that the buildings throughout the camp resemble stacked boxes in a factory and with weak foundations designed for single storey houses, this is a place ripe for disaster. Should there ever be a serious earthquake here, as there was in 1927, the survival rate would be shocking. Walking between these tightly packed concrete buildings, you lose a sense of the sky above you – it seems like the upper storeys are hanging over your head.
This is one of the ‘main’ roads. The side streets are even narrower.
In addition to the physical problems of having so many people living so close together, the following figures demonstrate the problems of caring for such a community.
• Balata has three school buildings, which operate five schools using a shift system, which serve 4500 students. Class sizes average 50-55 and illiteracy has increased from 22% in 1988 to 27% in 1997.
• Balata has one UNRWA run clinic that serves all 24000 residents. UNRWA services have been declining over the years, and international funding is insufficient to keep up with the worsening conditions.
• Unemployment is estimated at 70%.
• As a result of daily military violence, since September 2000 150 refugees have been killed, over 600 detained and 1200 injured.
Perhaps, above all the very obvious problems with such a place, the aspect of Balata that is most disturbing is the culture of violence. With illiteracy and unemployment levels so high, with nightly invasions by the Israeli army, is it a surprise that some of the 24000 residents turn to violence to protest their situation? As one walks around Balata Refugee Camp, the sight of martyrs’ posters and the names of the dead on the very walls that display the holes from the bullets that killed them make an uneasy mixture. After an hour here, I confess I felt it in my stomach - how it must feel to grow up here, I cannot imagine.
