frances
lai
blown a
wayfarer
QALANDIYA CHECKPOINT
October 7
We reached the Nablus bus port in the late morning, and I with a bit more swagger in my walk than deserved. Although I haven’t yet been able to express precisely the bus station as my destination, either due to inaccurate terminology or pronunciation, the first leg of the day’s journey would be predictable as it mirrored the one of the previous day.
We pulled into Ramallah with a non-verbal agreement on shawarma. I remembered a spot just off the city center where mini take-out boxes are given to fill with choice pickles and where the prices didn’t lighten the pocket too much. Bopping and weaving between heavy-footed pedestrians, fragrant fruit stalls, and a ceaseless orchestra of obnoxious car horns brought us to soon seek sanctuary at the first shawarma place we could spot. I knew we struck gold based on the growing crowd of eager eaters, the mouthwatering smell of roasted meat, and the vast salad and pickle bar. After paying, we were handed khubz arabiy on a plate that we topped buffet-style with fillings. Hand the momentarily vegetarian plate to a man behind the counter, and it’s returned in the form of a Mediterranean burrito, bursting with pieces of succulent, juicy meat. I would be hard-pressed to find such a satisfying and freshly flavorful meal anywhere for the price of 12 shekels.
Happy now to carry on with our bellies in check, we boarded a bus to Jerusalem. We soon reached a stretch of road with sustained views of the notorious apartheid wall, considered by those on one side as a necessary first line of defence and directly responsible for a stark decline in suicide bombings, however both reason and result have constantly been brought into question. Riding past under its looming shadow, even my eyes felt the affront to human dignity as they scaled the resentfully gray, sheer surface some eight meters high, displaying commingled works of street art and clumsy graffiti, running its course but seeking no end.
Not withholding my ignorance of the realities on the ground here once more, I hadn’t been aware until only a few weeks ago that there was an actual physical barrier separating Israel and the West Bank. Obviously among the first tracks to play on the inner thought radio was that any such structure is a rather primitive and archaic solution to threats to Israel’s security (see Great Wall of China, Wall of Westeros), not to mention a prime opportunity for the expansion of territory. Following closely on the mind loop is the wall as the most explicit symbol of segregation, alienation, exclusion, discontinuity, intolerance, hostility, surveillance, or pretty much any negative effects of human contact. As an inverted acknowledgement of the other, the act of building a wall speaks scores of its builders, and the tearing down of walls has often been met with momentous occasion (see Berlin Wall, Pink Floyd’s The Wall).
But it wasn’t until that very moment when my eyes met with the concrete, very tangible enclosure did I begin to gain, however so slightly, an understanding of its much deeper incursion on the psyche.
Long before we arrived to the city, however, we were made to disembark. Not fully understanding what I was being told to do, we followed the rest of the passengers on foot to what was soon evidently an intensely fortified checkpoint.
The intended likeness of the checkpoint to a prison was undeniable; there was no mistaking the role of occupier and occupied, civilized and projected savage, usurped control and resistance. Shoved this way and that by pushy cab drivers offering alternatives to the alleged two hour line, I was naturally skeptical of shelling out 100 shekels. Almost swindled into a cab that filled up before we could get in and having had enough of dealing with dubious cabbies, we opted to wait in line. Forced into a tight single file by vertical steel bars, we waited in a long line of Palestinians as they were let through the heavy turnstile handfuls at a time. The lack of any sense of order or an understanding of queuing made corralling in the hold that much more tense, where you should be ready with your elbows out or expect to have people edge their way in front of you, especially the elderly and those with children. I watched as a hoard of little ones waited for their go through the turnstile, and while the entire act of pushing through gates as quickly as possible resembled a game, I wondered if they understood the greater sense of their situation.
The whole process of crossing the border took maybe twenty minutes, not the two hours we were led to believe. I, of course, was barely given a second glance, probably due to my ethnic Asian features, the stark opposite of what I usually encounter in the streets of Nablus. I was sure to try and observe as much as possible without being too obvious, especially since I figured that whipping out my camera and eagerly snapping away would be handled with more aggression than I was prepared to deal with. But the amount of time I spent at the checkpoint was too little to be able to discern any discrimination per se. What I saw was the exchange to be expected at a military checkpoint and perhaps some of the desensitization that I still have yet to succumb to personally.
We found a bus on the other side with the same route number and were allowed to board without paying another fare once we brandished our old bus tickets. What began as looks of mutual perplexity and utter astonishment between Kyle and I segued into attempts to discuss our reactions further, but we figured it best to share our thoughts later in private.
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THE DEETS
Nablus to Ramallah
From Mujama' Gharbiy, the bus and taxi station downtown, less than a five minute walk from the city center. Simply stating, “Ramallah,” will result in direction toward the correct bus or servees (shared taxi). Approximately 45 minutes to an hour ride, 11 ILS bus or 17 ILS servees one-way.
Ramallah to Jerusalem
From the main bus station near the city centre to the bus station by Damascus Gate in East Jerusalem. Route 18, 1 ½ hours depending on checkpoint traffic, 8 ILS one way.
