Tuesday’s Child Blog

Tuesday’s Child Returns to Gaza – Day 14

Sunday 19th July 2009

Last day!

It is 7.45 a.m. and we drive to the fishing port to meet some of the fishermen. We have to get papers to enter the port and after a short wait these are approved. We drive past the pier and along the water’s edge past endless small fishing boats, badly in need of maintenance. Several men come out of cottages and watch us with cautious eyes as we drive along. There are boats and boats here, all faded and chipped. No fishing trawlers in Gaza. However, it must have been very pretty in its day. A far cry though from the many thriving ports and marinas along the Mediterranean. Today’s catch has already left as the men come in at 6 a.m.

Almost at the end of the getty we stop where a group of men are gathered outside a small out-house mending their nets. They welcome us and offer me a spot among the nets and a cup of tea. Ouni passes around his cigarettes among them and we sit and talk. I open my large black moleskin notebook and make notes, just a few clean pages left. It is full with notes of many stories and testimonials from this trip. Hundreds more still untold!

The two fishermen who do most of the talking are Raafat and Yaehu. I ask if they were always fishermen. “I am a fisherman, my father was a fisherman and my grandfather was a fisherman”, Raafat explains. “When I was a little boy and out on the boat with my grandfather, learning to fish, he told me, the family were always fishermen, for years back”. Raafat is mending his nets and I notice he has part of a net curled around his toe as he works and he pulls the net through the space between his big toe and second toe. I ask Yaehu how he fared last night. “We work together, we caught hardly anything, less than 5 kilos of fish. They were shooting again last night, so we did not venture out any further”. “Yes, I heard the shooting last night”, I say.

Rafaat, a Gazan fisherman

“It is impossible to make a living here. We are only allowed to fish within 3 miles of the shore. The first mile we don’t fish because the water here is filthy with sewage. Between 1 miles and 3 miles there are only some fish, but not enough. We need to go out beyond 6 miles to get nice fish and better catches. This is where we always fished. But since the blockade, we are shot at. Still, we have to feed our families so we take a chance”. I ask if anyone has been injured or killed. He gives me a long look, “ten dead this year”, he says, “all of them my good friends , and many others injured”.

Yaehu, Gazan fisherman who works with Raafat

I ask them how many children they have. Rafaat has 7 children and Yaehu has 23 children. “We need to be able to fish to feed our families. The fish we catch is not even enough to buy milk and pampers”, Yaehu says. “Well, definitely not in your house,” I suggest to Yaehu and all the men laugh. We are joined by Mamoud and his son Ahmed. I ask Ahmed if he likes fishing and yes, he loves to go out with his father on the boat and wants to be a fisherman like his father. Dangerous, surely, for a child.

Mohammed and Ibrahim, Gazan fishermen

I ask Rafaat how many fishermen there are in Gaza. “Now there are 300 fishermen”, he says, “there used to be many more, but there is no industry here now and it is dangerous”. I ask what I can do to help “there is nothing you can do, we need to be able to fish after 6 miles, these people don’t want us to live, they want to break us, they take pleasure in persecuting even fishermen”.

“What harm are we to them, fishing for our livelihoods”, adds Yaehu, “ we have no political interest, we are not Hamas or Fatah. We just want to be able to fish and make a living”.

I like these men, they are warm and friendly and very patient with my many questions about life as a fisherman in Gaza. The scene is almost biblical and I think of Christ in Galilee with his beloved fishermen. I wonder what they smoked back then? Time to say good-bye to Peter and Paul and James and Andrew! Just as the thought hits, me, I realise that Raafat and Yaehu are brothers!

The chat here is good and I could sit here all day with these men and talk to them about life in Gaza. If I had more days left I would like to go out fishing with them and see what life is like out on the water. I think back to when I was wee and going fishing with my father in Donegal and Galway for herring and mackerel. He would bring them home and clean them and fillet them and Mum would cook them for dinner. My Dad loved fishing and he loved fish, especially when he was in Donegal. I guess that was the only time he had to fish, on holiday. The freezer at home was always full of whole salmon. He would invariably bring that home from Murlough, outside Ballycastle. However, here in Gaza, fishing is not for sport and pleasure, it is a livelihood for many and tragically the only sport here is shooting at men trying to make one.

I promise to help raise the plight of these men on my return and look at ways in which we can help their families. We say our good-byes and I wish them well. I pray that their daily catch will improve.

We drive out of the port into the morning sun. It is a far cry from Killybegs!

I return and pack my things and all of the hotel staff bid me a kind farewell. We drive across town and I join mass at the Holy Family. It is good to be here and just sit in His presence. I pray again for His intercession and I offer this mass for an end to the blockade here and freedom and justice for these people who are suffering too much.

I recognise the communion hymn, my father’s favourite. It is strange to hear Nearer My God to Thee in Arabic. It was the final hymn at my father’s requiem as they carried him from the church. I think now of all the dead of Gaza, all the coffins carried here, the many young lives taken from families in the most violent of ways. The many infants who were only starting their journey here. The many bodies buried as many parts and the as yet unfound bodies buried under the rubble. Also, even the lack of dignity here in the burials for there was not enough concrete even here to bury their dead and old family graves had to be opened and bodies buried with another corpse. I think of all the children who died, and lost their right to life and as the hymn continues, the tears flow and I sob hard. My body is racked with crying. I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Still it is good to be able to cry. After my first visit, I was in shock. After mass, I give thanks to Our Lady for making this visit possible. I am very lucky to have been in Gaza for 14 days at a time when many NGOs find it impossible to get through. I heard earlier in the week that George Galloway, the UK politician was here, but only allowed to stay for 3 hrs.

Outside, I meet the sisters, the Missionary Sisters of Charity and the Sisters of the Child Jesus and I divide the rest of the toys between the two of them. I am sure both will know plenty of children to give them to. Unfortunately, I didn’t get time to visit the Christian refugee camp on this visit. Next time. As for the huge bag of sweets, I pass these around the congregation outside the church and they are very welcome, not just by the children. I talk with some of the people. The lady from last week who gave me her letter approaches me asking if I have been able to help. I tell her again I cannot help her directly, I wish I could, but I have referred her letter on and maybe they can help her.

Ahmed and Sabah arrive to pick me up. Time to go! We stop off at Sabah’s house and say good-bye. I will miss these lovely people. Nazem breaks with Palestinian custom and embraces me and gives me a kiss on each cheek, quite a compliment indeed! “You are family now”, he explains warmly.

We drive to Erez. Sabah, Ahmed, me and Mohanned. The mood in the car is subdued, very different to the day I arrived and I am breaking my heart leaving. We stop first at the Hamas checkpoint and then I am given clearance. I say good-bye to everyone and hug Sabah and tell her to keep safe and I hope to see her again soon. I also forget custom and kiss her son Mohanned on both cheeks, then realising. “It is OK”, “Sabah says, “Mohanned is like your son too now”. And then to Ahmed, who has looked after me so well these last 2 weeks. It is an emotional farewell. God please keep these precious people safe, I pray.

I walk the quarter mile to the Erez crossing, the Palestinian steel wall all around, screaming injustice. The huge mass of Erez steel that imprisons these people approaches and I am outraged. My blood is boiling as I walk back into a land that has no decency and is a shame to the state of Israel and to Jews around the world. The Palestinian man helping with my luggage, talks away, but I am lost in thought. He tells me he has 23 children. I must give him a good tip! I turn and wave to Sabah a few times, they are still there watching me go. As I get to the gate I turn and give a final wave. I hope to return again soon. For now, I can be of more help to them at home, raising money to give more food to the people we are feeding and to try to help many more in great need. As I walk, I am acutely aware of the too many cameras and the trickle of perspiration running down my back; the heat is fierce. My phone bleeps twice, a farewell message and my cousin Fr Michael who is at Clones watching the Antrim game. I am glad of the distraction and ask him to keep me posted on the score.

Leaving Gaza

Palestinian wall surrounding the northern border

The Erez border terrain

An ambulance passes me, a patient being transferred for treatment. I notice it is an elderly woman and apart from the driver she is alone. I think it is terrible that the sick must travel like this unaccompanied.

As I wait for the first of the internal gates to open I am joined by another girl travelling alone. We start to chat. Her name is Barbara, she is a journalist with French TV. It is nice to have some company through Erez. She says she has been in Gaza for 3 days and has been sick the whole time – vomiting and diarrhoea. She has caught whatever I had then also. I ask if she is going back to Jerusalem and as I have no lift, if she would like to share a taxi. She already has one booked for 3 p.m and offers me a lift. Nice to have some company on the road back.

It takes about an hour to get through Erez. There is only Barbara, myself and one other guy, as it is about to close for the day, but it takes awhile. As per last year, we also have to go through the X-ray tube and again I wonder is this where they are going to nuke me? I resent these unnecessary full body X-rays. All above, a whole line of armed soldiers looking down. Anyone of these could zap me now I think, good to have a journalist with me! Finally, I am through the last gate and passport control. The soldier here is not friendly, she asks if I will be coming back within the 3 months of my visa. I tell her that I hope so. She says “I don’t think so” and smiles. Strange sense of humour! Where did they do their military training. In Gehenna?

Outside, I meet a group of clowns from “clowns without borders”. They have clearance for the UNRWA summer games but they are not permitted entry. I explain that the transit is closing at 3.30 p.m. today and they don’t have much time, just 20 minutes or so and to try again. They are refused entry.

We stop 10 minutes from the border where I stopped last year, for some water and a little food. There is wireless here so I check my emails and also send an email to one of the field officers in UNRWA to let them know the clowns en route to the summer games are stuck at the Erez gate. Even though we are just 10 minutes from the border, the sheer range of the menu and amount of food here rocks me. Everything is so clean, relaxed, normal, yet bizarrely abnormal and free.

I am keen to visit Eshkalon and Sdoret, two of the Israeli towns that were hit by Hamas rockets. The taxi driver Amin says he will take me to Eshkalon. We drive through, it is only 10 minutes from Gaza and we are in a different world. Nice houses, expensive cares, green suburbs, shopping malls. There is no sign of any destruction here. No sign of any hunger. No sign of any persecution. We stop a few people and ask them if they can direct us to the damage from the Hamas rockets, neither are able to, neither know anything about it. Then a man points to a building hit by a rocket where one member of staff was killed. That apart, it appears very relaxed and like any other town anywhere, contrasting starkly from the concentration camp just along the coast.

Eshkalon, a different world just 10 minutes away

Playground in Eshkalon

We drive on to Jerusalem. I talk with Barbara about her work and I tell her of mine. I show her some photos and also ask Amin about where I could go to buy a laptop (for Abd). I also ask about Ramallah and if it is possible to visit there and find out what is happening to the children there. We make an arrangement to go later and Barbara decides to come to. Once in Jerusalem, I get more money changed into shekels and then check in at my hotel. I am staying at the same place as before. I shower and change. The hot water and cleanliness of this room is so welcome after the squalor of Gaza. I stand under the shower for ages and let the hot water soothe my aching muscles. Outside, Amin is waiting for me, we pick up Barbara at Jaffa gate and drive to Ramallah.

We drive through East Jeruslem and reach Ramallah about 8 p.m. Again, the difference between the Palestinian and Israeli areas is stark. Ramallah is very busy. We stop to pick up Ibrahim, a friend of Amin’s, a Palestinian and former child prisoner. I warm to Ibrahim. He tells his story. He was imprisoned 3 times, the first time when he was 16 yrs old, for 12 months, the second time when he was 19 yrs old and again when he was 21 yrs old. He now works in promoting human rights for Palestinian children. No young person should have to experience such abuses. It has clearly shaped him into the person he is for he now works in human rights. It’s strange driving around Ramallah with 3 people I did not know, even 4 hrs ago. They are a vibrant bunch and the craic is good and I am glad of the company. It’s not good to be alone after Gaza.

Ramallah, West Bank

We stop for some ice cream and more water. I must’ve drunk about 2L of water since leaving Gaza and I am still thirsty, such is my dehydration. The computer shops are closed but a friend of Ibrahim’s works in a wholesale computer firm. Barbara is going back into Gaza in 2 weeks time and she kindly offers to bring the laptop to Abd for me. Perfect. We go to the wholesale unit and they kindly open up. After some deliberation, I choose a Hewlart Packard laptop for Abd. It’s cool. I wouldn’t mind this one myself. They load it with all the usual packages and software and it comes with a 3 yr guarantee. I opt for the standard laptop bag rather than the trendier rucksack look, it would be inappropriate to give a rucksack to a paralysed teenage. We dump the box and packing, for when Barbara carries it in, it will have to as if it is her own.

We stop in the Palestinian parliament in Ramallah. Ibrahim works here in the human rights department and he shows me around. It is an impressive building. This parliament ofcourse is Fatah not Hamas. We go into one of the large conference rooms, it is huge. On either side of the wall, pictures of Arafat and the current guy. I sit at the top in the speaker’s chair. Unfortunately, my camera charge has gone so only Ibrahim’s mobile phone. He takes a few pictures for me to send my friends in Gaza.

The Palestinian Parliament, Ramallah

The Palestinian Parliament, tired but still waiting....

We get back to the hotel at about 11 a.m. Amin will collect me later at 2.30 a.m. to take me to the airport. I want to be there early as, while my flight is not until 6.30 a.m. I know, from my last time flying out of Tel Aviv that security will keep me ages and it will not be pleasant.

In retrospect, I wish I had taken a few more days in Jerusalem before going home. I would also like to have visited Bethlehem but will have to wait until my next trip. No time even for the beautiful garden of Gethsemane. At least I walked the Via Dolorosa and visited the Holy Sepulchre church the day I arrived.

It is late when we return to the hotel. I repack my luggage and make sure nothing inappropriate that may draw the wrath of the Israeli security is in it. I secure the flash sticks with duplicate copies of all my photographs in different areas of my luggage and the original discs inside notes in my purse. With all of the embroidery from the microfinance project, my luggage will be overweight and I used most of my remaining shekels for the laptop for Abd. Still, I have my card and there is a cash point at the airport.

Day 15 Monday

I try and get a little sleep, but the images of Gaza flash though my mind. One by one, I see the faces of the children I have met these last two weeks as if on a continuous rolling film. An hour later, my lift to the airport is here. Barbara, is here too, asleep on the back seat, exhausted after her short trip in. Her husband is flying in from Prague tonight around the same time as my check-in. We drive quickly through Jerusalem and out towards Tel Aviv. The hotels, motorways and top of the range cars , a far cry from the sheer deprivation and desolation that is Gaza . How can people be at peace living here, knowing the horror that is only a few hours drive away. It is nauseating.

Tel Aviv airport approaches and I feel apprehensive as to what lies ahead after the unpleasantness of last year. Still a small price to pay and at least this time I am prepared for what to expect. The trick is, no matter how harassed and intimidated not to react.

It is as I expected and I am three hours with security. While I thought my luggage was in order, I overlooked checking an envelope left into the hotel by the director of the blind school. I assumed it was a cd of the school and their story. The cd was there, but also a hidden extra, a music cd, with Hamas gunmen depicted on the front of it and anti-Israeli slogans. I feel sick. How could I have missed this? Surely, he must have known giving me something like this would be a problem. Israeli security have a field day and the item is taken to clearly a more senior official. I explain it is not mine, but as soon as the words are out, they sound stupid. And so it starts, the cubicle search still to follow. The bit I detest. The female security guard allocated suggests that I smell her perfume. I consider it inappropriate given her closeness and the nature of the search. I decline. She also offers that some of things that children have to live with in countries such as the Congo are terrible, clearly intended to elicit a response. I say nothing. And on it goes.

The plane is due to take off in 45 minutes and I not checked in. I am 8 kg over and have to pay extra. I am escorted to excess baggage and have to wait 10 minutes, even though I am the only traveller queueing. I explain my plane is due to leave and I would be grateful for some attention. I am barked at to shut up. Temper , temper! When I am finally seen to, the excess baggage is calculated in shekels. I do not have enough and this most unpleasant of men will not accept payment in shekels and dollars only one or the other. I am referred to get all the one currency. It is suggested to me that it would be better at this stage to remove items from my luggage otherwise I will miss my plane. I am escorted to a bureau de change. I change the necessary money to shekels and return to excess baggage again. I pay the money and am told I am 60 shekels short. I show him the amount he gave me earlier, he said he must have made a mistake. I say nothing. I find another 100 shekel note, he refuses to accept it as the corner is torn. Minutes are ticking away, again I am told to remove some items from my luggage as I will miss my plane. I refuse to do so. I wonder what Bristish Midland will say about this in London - probably nothing. He screams at me that he needs 60 shekels. I tell him I don’t have it, and work out the correct excess baggage for him, confirming the 60 shekels is not needed. He takes a phone-call and after a further 5 minutes, he releases the excess baggage receipt. I return to the check in desk, they check me in. I am told by my “escort” to run as I may miss the plane. There are no boards near this area to check if the gate is closing.

Four and a half hours after my arrival in the airport I am finally in the departure lounge. When I get to the gate, the plane is 2 hrs delayed. I am exceptionally dehydrated and there are no cash points here. I find a 20 USD note in my bag and buy some water and fruit. I am frazzled by their treatment and their petty games.

It is a relief to finally be in my seat on the plane. Sleep won’t come, yet I have now been awake for 24 hrs. I notice the many Jews on the plane and I am angered by their freedom to travel while others living in this land are imprisoned and collectively punished. In front of me, father and son, both wearing scull caps. I think of Khalil Shaheen and his dream to take his son to watch a football match. I sort out my things and make some final notes. I come across the school picture of Dima her mother gave me. Such a needless loss of life. The tragedy is that there are so many stories in Gaza like Dimas.

Dima, who died from her head injuries on 3^rd March 2009

I think of all the children, the hunger, the sickness, the nightmares and the trauma of their little lives. I open Direction for Our Times and read “Children, you look to the starving areas of the world and say, ‘But look, God did not take care of those children’. I would respond to you that I arranged for their care but my more affluent children did not share their gifts. So the failure is not mine but my children’s.” And I read on...Children, with all of the wisdom of heaven, you can now see the level of darkness that settled in every growing layers upon the world. Prophets from even one hundred years ago could not have imagined such evil. They could not fathom the depravity that would be accepted by men in the future. The enemies of heaven have persuaded humanity that much of this evil is good.....You must decide. Do you serve The Light? Or will you continue in darkness? You have been warned. You have been urged. Darkness holds nothing for you. Choose light now. All has been foretold... I burst through the darkness now in all glory... God’s kingdom comes”. I pray He will burst through the darkness of Gaza and that nowhere in the world which such depravity be revisited on an imprisoned people, of whom over half are children.

Five hours later, we touch down in Heathrow. The normality of London is very welcome after the Tel Aviv experience. Duty free here seems vulgar now and the difference between the wealth here and the sheer hunger and inhumanity of Gaza stark. I bypass the sports car raffles walking on to the Belfast gate. I am still thirsty and it is only here I realise the toll the gastroenteritis has taken these last few weeks. Yet I can leave, I think of all the children struggling for survival in the hospitals and I weep as I walk.

As I sit at the gate I read “I want to share my view with you. From heaven where I monitored the fall of every leaf, I saw a world that is unbalanced. Some of my children had every possible earthly possession. Because of the abundance of possessions, My children in some parts of the world began to think in a distorted way. They thought then that they were entitled to such riches. When they could not secure the riches they admired, they began to think they were deprived. They became unhappy, much as a child who has had too many treats will get sick and feel unwell and stop laughing and smiling. My children in the more affluent areas of the world experienced this occurrence and their unhappiness and dissatisfaction led to all manner of spiritual decay. My heavenly view shifts for a moment, and I gaze upon other areas of the world, where during this time, children lay dying of starvation and disease, simply for the want of basic necessities. These are the two extremes. They are equally disturbing to Me because I neither created one group to be gluttonous or the other to live and die in misery. Children, were you the father of this group of individuals, what would you do? You would like me to say, enough, we must restructure”.  Restructure indeed, starting in the Middle East please. Demolition of the wall of steel that incarcerates Palestine would be a good start.

Beal Feirste at last, it is good to be home. I am pleased to have got out with all my photographs and film cassettes. Some sleep today and then to the media, I decide. Surely the people of Northern Ireland will want to hear the truth of the plight of the people of Gaza. Surely the newspapers here will be keen to print the truth?

I answer my emails and send a few to my friends in Gaza. I send the one from Ramallah, joking that I am here in the Parliament waiting for the Palestinian factions to come to a joint meeting, to broker unity between the respective groups and that I have asked them to bring Shilat with them. Surely, it can’t be that difficult? I look across at my framed family emblem, a white bird bearing an olive branch. Peace, it seems so simple, yet in God’s beloved Middle East has never been further from achieving it. Blessed are the peacemakers! I pledge to continue to highlight the truth of what is happening in Gaza and expose the ongoing and indeed heightened injustices of daily life there and to continue to support as many children as possible with the most basic of necessities for human existence.

If you are in a position to help any of the families we met during our time in Gaza, please contact us at info@tuesdayschild.co.uk or donate online here »