NOVANEWS
HANI ALMADHOUN
Washington Report on Middle East Affairs, August/September 2018, pp. 11-13
Special Report
By Hani Almadhoun
“I THINK WE HAVE arrived in Guantanamo Bay,” my wife said upon arriving at the Egyptian side of the Rafah crossing this past May. Together with our two children, my wife and I had driven through an area where massive destruction had taken place: armored vehicles and tanks hovered around, firing left and right, with checkpoints so close together it would be funny if it was not so sad.
We had arrived at Cairo International Airport around 8 a.m., and were picked up by our driver by 9. We decided to drive straight to Rafah. It took us nine hours to travel the 230 miles. The delay was largely caused by the at least 20 checkpoints, where our passports and luggage were searched, as well as the ferry crossing to the Sinai peninsula. Apparently all travelers headed into the Sinai face that mistreatment. Travelers like our family must wait by the ferry for an army vehicle escort, I was told, because some of these roads belong to the military.
Our driver knew the way like the back of his hand; he also knew how to deal with various army and police officers. He was a true local and wanted us to be comfortable. He dropped us off at the Rafah crossing around 6 p.m., just as the Egyptian officers were getting ready to break their Ramadan fast.
The officers went through our luggage and credentials quickly. After grabbing two packs of cigarettes without asking for permission, they led us into the waiting area. My wife and I were very excited to have made it so far and were sure we would get into Gaza. We had reached much further than we had when we tried to enter Gaza a few months earlier (see June/July 2018 Washington Report, p. 22), when we were denied entry due to a full-blown war in the Sinai.
We were the first to arrive on the Egyptian side, as the caravan of buses and vans transporting Palestinians to the crossing had not yet arrived. Because we had a local driver, were just one family, and had comparatively less luggage, we were able to get through the checkpoints quickly. After haggling with the luggage handlers and asking them questions, I learned no one really knew how long it would take us to be processed. “Tasaheel,” they kept saying—which means, “Who the hell knows!”
By around 7 p.m., most of the buses and other cars had arrived. We were still at the crossing, in the waiting area. We were a total of about 50 people, including the children. We spoke to a Palestinian family from Sweden, another from Austin, Texas, and a young engineer who lives in Saudi Arabia. There was an elderly woman who went to Egypt to see her grandkids, and a young man on crutches—all waiting in this dark and unclear area with the dirtiest bathrooms under the baking sun. I was told that, due to the restrictions on the movement of people, even the cleaning crew cannot make it to the Egyptian crossing.
The officers had not re-appeared after leaving to break their fast. Three hours later, there was still no sign of them. At about 10 p.m., an officer finally appeared and started checking our passports. The officers were keen on seeing our Palestinian IDs in addition to our passports. Had we not had Gaza IDs, we would not have been allowed into town. They also take pictures of anybody going in or out of Gaza. Of course, they had only one working laptop, so to say they were slow is an understatement.
We could hear the Palestinians who were leaving Gaza at the other end of the building. They were waiting to be either allowed into Egypt, deported to the airport, or denied entry into Egypt and sent back to Gaza. Then, at 3 a.m., the news came that we could board the buses and head to the Palestinian side—but not before we were asked to pay 300 Egyptian pounds in fees per passenger. I did manage to be the first one in line and the officer told everyone, this guy was here first—he had seen us come in. We also boarded the bus to Gaza first, which we also paid for.
I began to tear up knowing I would finally be able to see my parents and siblings. When we arrived on the Palestinian side, we were moved by the professionalism of the officers and how they went out of their way to help travelers. We were whisked through the various official stops, then picked up our luggage and breezed through customs. Twenty minutes later, the van my family had hired to pick us up arrived. The driver turned out to be an old neighbor of ours—the first familiar face. My eyes were wet with tears and the girls were half asleep. “Let’s go to Palestine,” Zayna said before she dozed off.
As we exited the Rafah crossing into Gaza, we saw members of the local police force outside. They snagged our passports and photographed them. But we were in Gaza now, and we weren’t going to let anything ruin it for us. The van took us to the outside gateway, where anxious relatives were waiting. I was searching in the dark for my mother’s figure, as I knew she would wait all day if she had to for this moment. And then there she was, a bit older but as beautiful as I remember her.
My mother was standing on the side of the road, waiting in the dark for us. I quickly turned into mush, all tears and reddened eyes. As we embraced, I felt calmer than I have in years. She then embraced my girls, her grandkids, whom she had not yet met. We were all exhausted, but it was sweet and our emotions kept us going. Minutes later, we were on the road again, headed north where our families live.
We dropped off my wife in Gaza City to see her family and spend the night with them. After lots of kisses, hugs and smiles, we continued the trip north to Beit Lahia, where my family lives. Upon arriving around 5:30 a.m., I quickly realized much had changed, but that still it was the same familiar place. My dad was waiting at the door. He clearly had not slept and greeted me with an embrace. We stayed up for two hours chatting, and then I went to bed happy, surrounded by my family. The mixture of pride and joy in my parents’ eyes made all the trouble we had gone through worth it.
Before I went to sleep, I noticed my parents hooking wires into batteries like old pros. Because of Israeli restrictions and lack of funds, average homes in Gaza get four to six hours of electricity per day. As a result, people in Gaza must improvise. The wire-threaded batteries were one source of electricity. The use of “Lidaat,” tiny LED lights that require little energy but give ample light, is also prevalent.
The next day, around 3 p.m., my older sister, who could not wait any longer to greet me, woke me up. As soon as my mother saw me, she asked, “What would you like to have for Iftar?”—the meal we eat to break the Ramadan fast. My answer, as it always is, was seasoned rice and chicken. This would be a special meal: the first one I’d had with family in more than five years.
HOPE IN GAZA
After waking up, I wanted to spend every single minute with my mother. We did nothing except sit and talk. Shortly before sunset, I told her I wanted to visit my father at his store. I walked there and was happy to see him in his element, in the middle of the market where he owns a small grocery store. When we walked back home together I was struck by how few people were out walking. Because unemployment is so high, drivers are willing to take you from any one point to another for only a few cents.
As we walked home, I saw many young men in wheelchairs or on crutches. Too many fine young men and women who took a stand against Israel’s suffocating siege and the U.S. decision to move its embassy to Jerusalem now have scars for life, a daily reminder of these injustices. Many of those injured even had to pay for the ambulances that took them to the hospital, a sign of how the lack of basic social services is impacting society.
But not everything was doom and gloom. I witnessed, first hand, the amazing ways Palestinians are adapting to cruel and harsh conditions. They have adjusted their lives in ways that minimize the impact of destructive Israeli policies, like the electricity interruptions that last most of the day. For example, alternative energy is taking off in Gaza. Thanks to 319 days of sun, more and more homes are using solar power as a source of energy. Many institutions and schools in Gaza are also powered by the sun.
To outfit an average home in Gaza with solar panels costs between $2,000 and $5,000, depending on consumption and the size of the property. For those who cannot afford solar panels, there is a cheaper solution for about $600, an Uninterrupted Power Supply, known as UPS. This is essentially a large truck battery that can power most small home appliances (excluding refrigerators or heaters). It recharges whenever the electricity comes back on.
Most businesses, small and large, have their own large-scale power generators. Another option for power is what is known as an alternative power line. This is typically used in more upscale neighborhoods; the cost is quite high, with a kilowatt of electricity going for $1—at least seven times the price for using the regular electricity line. There are also cars running on cooking gas.
There were other encouraging signs. For example, local doctors, agronomists, and engineers have teamed up to address local problems created by the siege. Organic farming, greenhouses and vertical farming are all trending and making positive contributions to local markets. Because patients cannot be transported to hospitals in Israel and the West Bank, doctors in Gaza are undertaking more complicated procedures. As of last year, patients in Gaza have received locally performed open heart surgeries, as well as other vital operations.
On a daily basis, engineers in Gaza are working around arbitrary Israeli restrictions on building materials. I visited a water park where a local engineer has devised a way to make fake waves simulate the experience of swimming at the beach. Many Palestinians are afraid of swimming in the ocean itself because of polluted seawater. The best and cleanest part of the beach, “Sudanya,” happens to be near the border with Israel, but the road to get there is not paved. When I asked about this, the driver told me that Israel has refused to allow that part of the road to be paved for fear more traffic would enter the area.
Visitors to Gaza will notice the big presence of the government of Qatar. They undertake large projects and deliver amazing developments. They were the force that paved the entire coastal road in Gaza, except that northern part close to Israel which remains rugged and broken. They also built thousands of housing units in the south in Khan Younis, benefiting many families.
There are countless other projects which have been launched to alleviate the suffering of the people in Gaza. Such projects include theme parks, trampoline parks, swimming pools, soccer pitchers and chalets. The small-scale investors who own these spaces not only want to make a profit but also to give hope to the people.
I appreciated the improvement in Internet connectivity in Gaza, where the Israelis have limited data to 2G. Wifi services exist throughout the Strip, and tech-savvy entrepreneurs have set up local networks and hotspots in designated areas, and sell prepaid Internet cards at grocery stores. They have even found a way to deal with the power cuts, running routers, servers and extenders on batteries so that people can surf the Web in the dark. Thanks to these innovations, residents of Gaza consume many more Internet and cellular minutes than their peers in the West Bank, according to a Palestinian executive at a communication conglomerate with whom I spoke. He likened the situation to that of a prisoner who has just been given a calling card, and uses it to call any and everyone he knows.
Of course, poverty in Gaza remains oppressive. I found that people were poorer than in my previous visits. Salaries are cut more and more every year. Even those on welfare are getting smaller and smaller stipends. As a result, the local economy has crashed; many respected businessmen are sitting in jail or facing court orders because they can no longer meet their financial obligations [see p. 14]. Despite the financial situation, prices in Gaza are relatively high and comparable to other parts of the region. This situation, together with the lack of funds, has created a toxic brew. Still, the people of Gaza are not giving up. To make ends meet, many college graduates open stands selling coffee, hot drinks, corn and sweet potatoes on the beach to families. That might not be why these individuals went to school, but it puts food on the table. Other college graduates use the Internet to become free-lancers, while others are involved in digital currency trading.
ISRAEL’S LOOMING PRESENCE
This does not mean, however, that people in Gaza have resigned themselves to Israel’s occupation. While Gazans are divided over whether to support the Great March of Return, I saw young people flocking to the border fence every Friday to protest not only Israel’s actions, but also the stalemate.
Despite how hard they try to go about living their lives, Israel continuously reminds the people of Gaza that they are not free. The loud buzzing noise of Israeli drones is one tactic. Then, there is the shelling. Occasionally, the sound of the shelling was so close we frantically turned on the news to know how close it was to us. At least twice during our short stay, we were woken by bombardment: once at my family’s home in Beit Lahia, and another at our home in Gaza City. A third time, we were visiting an aunt and had to cut the visit short because the building shook and our girls were scared by the noise. We lied and told them it was fireworks.
Fear is hard to escape in Gaza. Lately, much of that fear has surrounded the Trump administration’s much publicized yet secret “deal of the century.” They fear that they might be pushed to settle in the Sinai. I have yet to meet anyone in Gaza who likes this idea, despite knowing their land is limited and real estate prices in Gaza are higher than those in Egypt. As people watch the Egyptian army clearing the Northern Sinai governate and razing houses, that prospect seems all too real. Others think that this might be preparation for an industrial zone area that offers them jobs.
Hundreds of thousands of people in Gaza are banned from leaving the Strip, by either the Israelis or the Egyptians, leaving them in a shrunken world roughly twice the size of Washington, DC. It is not surprising that many are hungry for visitors. With such limited opportunity to interact with the outside world, they long to hear about events and experiences in other places.
If you can, visit Gaza not only to show your solidarity with a people resilient in the face of Israeli occupation and repression—but to give joy to those who have been cruelly prevented, through no fault of their own, from meeting and interacting with people from around the world. The road to Gaza was especially hard and felt like an obstacle course and scavenger hunt in every sense of the word. What kept our family sane is that we had each other and we kept our eye on the prize, embracing our loved ones and telling the people of Gaza that we had really missed them.
Hani Almadhoun is director of donor development at American Near East Refugee Aid (ANERA).
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