Greetings from Gaza

Friday, October 20, 2011

I went swimming in the Mediterranean today.  The water was a beautiful green-blue, just warm enough to be refreshing. Then I sat in a chair in the warm sun, my feet stuck in the soft brown sand, as I sipped a Coke.

Doesn’t sound like Gaza, does it? But that’s just one side of this crowded, frantic place. But let me start with the journey.

I got a taxi from Ramallah, heading west toward Israel, but this time to a different crossing further north from the Qalandia Crossing, one that is available only to non-Palestinians.  It was surprising how quickly we passed from the city to the countryside. The scenery was familiar; rolling hills of dry crumbly limestone. But in many places, farmers had carved terraces right into the rock to create beds that could support some plant life. More often than not, it was olive trees. I’ve been told that some of the West Bank olives have been growing since Roman times.

We wove up down and between hills, at one point passing a cluster of buildings surrounded by a tall fence topped with razor wire – an Israeli settlement. Before long we came to the crossing. There were fences, but no giant walls here. A rather hot blonde female soldier cast a bored glance into the car, took a listless look in the trunk and waved us through. We were in Israel.

The scenery began to change. The hills disappeared and we were driving across flat farmland. Tractors were harvesting cotton plants, and apple trees drooped under a heavy load of fruit almost ready for picking.  It continued this way until we pulled up at the Erez Crossing, pretty much the only way in or out of Gaza. It looks like an airport terminal, a big glass-fronted building, but with high concrete barriers either side. Not many people get into Gaza and I was prepared for problems. In the end it was much easier than getting into the West Bank. First stop was a passport check at a gate outside of the building. That took just a couple of minutes. Then I went inside. There were at least a dozen glass booths for officials to check documents, but there were only two officers; more than enough to look after the  three people going across. After a short wait, I went into one of the booths. The only questions:  Why are you going and how long will you stay? Then the officer wished me a nice day and I was through.

When you get out the other side, there’s a surprise waiting. No cars are allowed anywhere near the processing centre. So I had to walk the better part of a kilometer along a concrete walkway, totally enclosed with a roof and wire walls. In fact, the Israelis have cleared everything for two kilometers from the border, including a bunch of buildings where many people used to work.

My UNESCO driver took me to the Commodore Hotel, one of a string of nice hotels right on the seaside. It is owned by Hamas and many of the guests are former prisoners who were just released in the prisoner swap and have nowhere to go. I’m going to see if I can interview any of them.

Gaza is a bit a shock after the comforts of Ramallah. Most of the roads are in good shape, but many of the buildings are squalid. One of the first things we passed as we headed south was the Jabalia refugee camp, the target of past Israeli offensives. Like all the camps here, it’s actually permanent concrete buildings, poorly built and badly planned. At one point I could see pockmarks in the concrete and on the metal doors, signs of gunfire in some past battle.

We quickly got to Gaza City. You can quickly get anywhere in Gaza. It's only about 10 km wide and 45 km long. Virtually no one can get in or out. As my translator said, it's the world's biggest prison. A great deal of Gaza looks like the Third World cities I’ve seen in so many countries. Piles of garbage are dumped everywhere. Many  of the buildings are just bare, stained concrete. Everything is dusty. But there are some nice parts too. The downtown area where I'm teaching is quite clean and attractive, with a number of shops and restaurants. The area near the beach hotels has some very fine looking housing, as nice as anything in Amman.

After my swim, I met up with a local contact from the university and my translator and we took a tour of Gaza. We drove south on the beach highway. If you can overlook the garbage on the streets and on the beach, and ignore the decrepit looking buildings here and there, it really is a lovely drive. The beach is wonderful and runs the whole length of Gaza. And there is no shortage of very upscale beachside restaurants.  After a while we’re passing through large farm fields. This whole are was once known for its farms, orchards and forests, but that was a long time ago.

We turned inland and found a real surprise: One of two British cemeteries holding the remains of Britons who died in Palestine during the First World War. The fields all around are brown and parched. But the cemetery is an oasis; neatly clipped green grass, well-trimmed palm trees and flowers, among the hundreds of carefully aligned grave stones. I met the gardener, who is paid by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and I signed the visitor's book.

Gaza doesn’t have much to show for its long history as a major gateway to the Middle East and a key port for the spice trade. We visited the remains of a caravan stop in Khan Yunis, now a busy little town in the south. It’s also the site of the Khan Yunis camp. The older part of the camp has been absorbed by the town and many of the original buildings have been replaced of upgraded. But parts are very depressing, with the smell of burning garbage of raw sewage and piles of trash everywhere. Nonetheless, there was a carnival atmosphere. People were just headed home after a Hamas rally to celebrate the release of the prisoners

Then it was off to Rafa, the town on the border with Egypt. This is the place where they dig the smuggling tunnels. You probably think of the tunnels as tiny things dug furtively in the night, just big enough for a man to wriggle through. But tunnels here are a big business. Many of them are large enough to drive a car through, which is how most vehicles  end up on the market here. The tunnels carry gravel, cements, steel, food, clothing, shoes and just just about anything else you can name.

I got a quick lesson in tunnel economics. One of the larger car-smuggling tunnels can earn a million dollars in a short time. A used car that might cost $5,000 in Canada costs $23,000 here, with most of the extra cost going to the tunnel operators. Many people have become very wealthy from the tunnels. They’re the ones buying those fine houses near the beach hotels. The money they spend is a major part of the Gaza economy.  Hamas takes its share by taxing gasoline and cigarettes that come through.

We went within a few hundred metres of some of the tunnels. You can spot them by the large tarpaulin-walled Quonset huts that cover the entrance, and the big piles of dirt out front.  Of course everyone knows about the tunnels, including the Egyptians, but everyone pretends they don’t exist. The Egyptians don’t want to spoil a good thing. They take half of the smuggling fees and have a market to unload their goods. But they officially pretend not to allow trade with Gaza, because they don’t want to find themselves in a position of being responsible for The Strip.

Finally we drove back north to the hotel district and stopped at the best seafood restaurant in the place. It was just delicious. Palestinians love to eat and the food is fabulous.

The next course starts tomorrow. It should be a good one.

John