The journey from hell...

It's only natural that one would assume I by that mean "The journey from Gaza" - otherwise know as hell to some, but I actually mean THE JOURNEY from hell. Hold on to yourselves, this should be my longest post yet.

LEAVING GAZA
Of course my relatives were very sad to see us leave. We spent the last evening in my husband's sister's house. The morning we left they all cried. Being Gazans, I'm sure they could not really understand why I left. They love their Gaza so why didn't I?

I was accompanied by a relative (my childrens cousin) and after many phonecalls to check the status of the border we sat off for Rafah, with butterflies in my stumach. Ibrahim looked out the window to see the last part of Gaza.

We finally arrived to a rainy Rafah that morning. The taxi-cars were waiting outside. We got out and had to take another taxi to the border itself. Then we arrived to a small tent were our passports were checked. There were some questions, but we got through and into the bus that drove us to the real pass port check. And there the real problems came as well.

"She cannot pass here!" End of story. The man refused my passport. We tried to explain, my relative explained and the looked at my papers... Then a european looking woman came up to me after seeing my passport and said (in swedish) "Are you Swedish??". I think I'm the only swedish woman who passed Rafah, Palestine, under the control of a swedish policewoman. She said "Let me make a few phonecalls..." and after the palestinian officers pretended it was all their doing by writing a lot of stuff on their computers, we got through. Thanks God.

Then we arrived to the new and imroved Rafah... Very much thanks God.

After spending a few hours (nothing compared to our last visit there that lasted three days...) we finally got our passports back. I remembered how difficult it was for us last time. I remebered the places, the dirty toilets, the unpolite egyptians. I recognized some of the people.

We got out and then started looking for a taxi to travel to Cairo. The taxi-drivers were dressed with old and torn winterjackets, scarfes around their heads. It was really cold. Finally somebody agreed for the price that my relative offered and we were on our way. He drove fast and sometimes I just closed my eyes in order to not have to see how fast he was going through small villages.

A FEW DAYS IN CAIRO

Late at night we finally arrived to Cairo. There my relatives were waiting for us and had prepared a big meal for us. I put my children in their pyjamas and then we slept. Lovely. This is the view from her apartment.

My relative, whom I had never met before, turned out to be just what I needed at that time. She and her sister, who had also come to meet me, were both very critical to the conservative Gazan way of life.

You know, sometimes you FEEL a lot but you just don't know how to explain it or describe it. These two women helped me to put words on many of my feelings and for that I am very grateful. It was also a great relief to hear some straight "Tell it like it is" - kinda' talk after hearing to much "Kalaam fadi" for the last six months. My relative from Gaza (who unfortunately have gone through a difficult divorce recently) had his, I'm sure first, honest opinion told him straight in the face by this woman (that I stayed at) and I enjoyed every minute of it, sitting beside them trying to understand as musch as possible. When we left the room in order to pray we did "high five" when he didn't see us!

Here's my children playing with her's in her living room.

Coming to Cairo after Gaza made me realize many things. Like that we haven't seen a shoppingcenter for a very long time (that's not a bad thing however, the world really don't need more shoppingcenters). But from time to time, it can be enjoyable. Here's me an my niqabi relative looking at hidjabs (looking is the right word, the were between 10-25 dollar each, in Gaza I paid between 1-2 dollar each).

In this place I saw the most amazing hidjab constructions I have ever seen. For example I saw one woman with a scarf around her hair and in the back tight as a rose. Oh, had I only been a little bit more brave to ask for her photo and also not had two girls in need of visiting the toilet in the same time...

Another true sign of civilisation : eating at McDonald's. Trying to eat only halal it's not that often that you have the chance to eat a burger at McD:ies.

We spent some very nice days in Cairo. We relaxed in the great care of my relative. Here we are having arabic coffea at a local place nearby her house. My arabic skills were tested and I was happy to at least be able to hold a conversation and we were able to understand each other.

LEAVING CAIRO FOR SHARM EL SHEIKH FOR FRAKFURT FOR STOCKHOLM...

Thursday morning 6.30, we woke up. Put clothes on the children. My relative came to help with the bags and to say good bye. We left 7.30. I was hoping that my children gonna sleep, but nooo... The played with each other in the back of the car. My taxi-driver was very polite and didn't seem to mind. In fact he photographed my children with his mobile.

We drove through Sinai. It was very beautiful. Mountains. Sand. Sun. Blue sky.

At 15.00 we arrived to Sharm el Sheikh Airport. My driver helped me to pack all the heavy bags on a trolley and then left us. We sat here in this place for the next hours. Boooooring. Very boring for me. Extremly boring for small children.

My 3-year old daughter took this picture of a very tired blogger. And after she took it she told me "Mama, o'odi muaddabin" - "Mama, sit politly!" See what six months in Gaza does to you.

We finally got to check in our bags and then had to wait another few hours outside the gate. My children were so tired and hungry and I had the worst headache. Just before boarding the plane my youngest had a tantrum (I watch Dr Phil) - she wanted a bottle with milk. After 15 minutes of screaming I left the queu and my children in the care of that arabic "anti-arab-but-polite" man who helped me and went with my crying "baby" of 2 ½ to search for milk. Let me tell you, hidjab and blue eyes will get you anywhere. At the airport cafe they gave me a warm bottle of milk for free ("only for you!").

Then at 20.00 we got on the plane to Frakfurt. Arrived at 01.00 something. Collected our bags. Here I really felt that we were different when my two daughters staring singing nasheeds (islamic songs), loud and clear between all the tired Germans. "Mohammed nabina, ummuho Amina, Abo Abdullah, mat marra'a, jeddo, ili robba, abu Taleb ammo..." and so on. (Mohhamed is our prophet, his mother was Amina, his father was Abdullah...).

Outside my husband was waiting for us. It had been three months since we saw him. Here he is with our daughter and all our bags, in Frankfurt Airport.

However, Frankfurt has two airports... So our next flight was from the other one (of course). We waited until 03.00 when the bus came to drive us 1½ hour to the next airport, and there we waited until 10.00 until our flight for Skavsta outside Stockholm left. We slept on uncomfortable airport chairs. Here's Amal doing just that.

The flight from Frankfurt to Skavsta took like 2½ hours. The girls slept, Ibrahim was so tired and hungry that he just cried. It was awful. We were so tired, all of us. When we arrived to Skavsta Airport my parents were waiting for us, which was a big surprise. The children were so happy. We ate and rested, then continued to my parents house... another six hours by car...

So, from Thursday morning 7.30 until Friday evening 22.00. That is 38 hours on the road.

But who cares? We were home! There was snow!

In Cairo...

We got through Rafah! At first they stopped us and I'm not sure what exactly got us through but I can tell you there was 2 swedish (EU) policemen, some phonecalls and many questions involved. We made it safely to Cairo and are now staying in a beautiful apartment with some relatives. After a few days we'll continue...

Off we go...

In Gaza things never happen they way you plan them.

We're leaving already tomorrow. Early friday morning me, my three children and a cousin (a 30-year old big policeman - good travel company!) will set for Rafah with our four big bags. You might remember my last visit in Rafah, so you know I'm not looking forward to it. Of course, now things are completely different (so they say anyway). However, this crossing is now ONLY for holders of the palestinian ID "hawyia" so actually I'm not allowed to go through. We have spoken to the egyptian embassy and they said "no problem - she will pass", I've spoken to the swedsih embassy and they said "you might pass, you might not - give it a try!", some of my friends said "surely you will pass" some said "surely you wont pass". Needless to say I cannot sleep at night.

If I don't pass I will have to rearrange the whole trip to Erez and arrange for permission to go through there...

If I pass we will continue to Cairo (which will take us the whole day) and stay at a relative's house (the sister of my husband's sisters husband) until end of december when my flight will leave from Sharm el Sheikh (also another day's trip) in the evening, arrive at midnight in Frankfurt where my husband will meet up with us. We'll take the flight to Stockholm from there a few hours later and arrive in the morning. Somehow "InshaAllah" suits very well here.

So we have a loooong trip ahead of us.

Of course I will need to blog some last impressions later on. Thank you all for this wonderful time and as soon as possible I'll continue blogging!

Rafah

Living in Gaza is difficult, but coming to Gaza is even more difficult. Al Maabar, the Border, is an Arabic word that makes Gazans shiver. Me and my husband visited Gaza in 1999, so I already had a bad experience in the back of my mind when we arrived to Rafah. However, that experience would prove to be pleasant comparing to what was expecting us. This time we arrived with three small children and 8 bags in a politically very unstable time, the end of June 2005. It was already afternoon when we entered the border. We were met by a hall full of people and was told that the border had not yet opened that day. The first thing you have to do is get a visa from the Egyptian check point. In the middle of the hall is a little room in which the Egyptians sit and write on papers and applications, the tables are full with files and folders and there is not a single computer as far as your eyes reach. There is a long queue in front of the little window to the little room and once you’ve managed to leave your passport in their hands you have to wait… and wait and wait until your patience is all gone. Then you will confront them and ask what’s taking so long with your passport. That procedure is repeated about five till six times until you finally have your passport again with their stamp in it. Then you have to wait for the bus that is going to take you to the Israeli check point. Having European passports we were escorted trough the crowd that since the morning was waiting for the bus. A woman started shouting on us and my husband answered her that this is how the Arabs treat the Arabs. Our bags were stuffed into the bus. Then we sat outside under a tree and waited. It was hot and my children were tired and hungry. When the evening came they finally said that the Israeli check point wont open today, so we had to wait until tomorrow. The young woman sitting beside with a baby and a young son said “I will die if it’s like that!”. For the carriers of Palestinian passports (which was about 99% of the people) it meant spending the night at the check point. Due to our Swedish passports we managed to have our names written in a little notebook kept at the gate after canceling our visa, a process that took us many hours. At night we were finally able to come out and took a taxi back to the nearby city of Al Arish.

The next morning we woke up early and arrived at the Border at 07.00. This time the hall was more full than the day before. People sleeping on the stone floor, old people sitting on their bags, children crying. Now we had to renew our visa, a process of a few hours. Again we had to be escorted trough the crowd which was almost impossible due to all the people and their bags in front of the exit (to the buses). Again we sat under the tree. That day we had been able to bring some food with us. We had bought a bag of dates that we passed around to the people sitting beside us. We made friends with a Palestinian couple from Canada. My children slept in the grass. Sometimes they told us that the Israeli check point had opened and we better sit in the bus, but after sitting there a while we returned to sitting under the tree again. When evening arrived we realized that we wouldn’t cross the border even that day. Again we canceled our visa. Again we returned to Al Arish, this time in the company of our Canadian friends. That evening my children actually swam in the hotel pool (a great contrast to the chaos of Rafah) and my husband went out to buy them some new clothes (all our belongings were still inside the bus in Rafah) and we ate watermelon watching the sunset by the beach.

The next morning, after a hotel breakfast, we headed for the place of chaos again. This time we were met by a queue outside the border hall. Outside the gates was a large group of people, men, woman and children and their bags. They were all angry and frustrated. We managed to reach an Egyptian guard and explained to him that our names was in the little notebook, that our bags was already inside the bus and that we should be let in before these people because of that. The entrance was of course covered by the crowd so after some begging I was allowed by an Egyptian officer to let my oldest son and my youngest daughter and myself crawl under the fence. My husband however wasn’t allowed any shortcuts (however red his Swedish passport is, he is after all still an Arab) and our Canadian friend said to me “Leave one child in the hands of your husband otherwise they will never care to let him pass”. So my husband began to “climb” over the people who pushed him back. My daughter (who is only three) got scared and started to cry. I cried from the other side of the fence, tried to call out to her that everything would be ok. I begged the officer to try to help my husband but he pretended he didn’t hear me even though I pulled his clothes. When he finally arrived at the entrance the other Egyptian officers pushed him back and I started screaming that he was with me. At that point my husband also lost his temper and said a few well chosen words, something he could get away with due to our red coloured passports. Our Canadian friends also climbed trough the crowd following my husband. Somewhat chocked we could now continue to the hall, and of course it was more full than yesterday. Another visa process. By then the officers knew me by name, although that unfortunately didn’t speed up the process very much. Being escorted trough the crowd that day was horrible. The crowd started moving, some people fell and children and women were crying. Men were shouting. The pressure eventually became so heavy that the guards had to let them out. I shouted on the guards “How can you treat them this way? Are they animals?”. But they didn’t even look at me. Again we sat under the tree. Waited and waited.

Then the rumour spread. The Israeli check point was open! We took place in the bus. First I sat in a seat with another woman and my children, but as the bus filled up we were eventually five grown up women and my three children in one seat (which holds two sit places). After we had squeezed in ourselves far past our limit the somewhat sadistic buss driver said with a little smile on his face “And now the men will come on as well!”. Jippididoda. I cannot really estimate how many we actually were on that bus, but I can tell you that there was no air condition or even fan, my children almost fainted, my youngest 2-year old had a panic attack and screamed and screamed, my leg was pressed against the back of the chair in front of me (the pain lasted for almost a week) and soon even I started to feel faint. My stomach turned inside out, my whole body became cold, tears started to fall down my face. As a miracle my husband ended up just in front of my chair so he could lift up our daughter and put her on the top of the chair. Some other woman tried to hold her to calm her down, but she kept on screaming.

The passage that this bus is supposed to take us trough is approximately 200 m, between the Egyptian check point and the Israeli check point. After having clearance to pass, the bus started out but was stopped in the middle. Our bus stood still for close to an hour. I really don’t know how we survived that. But what choice did we have? And I really cannot find any other explanation for us being stopped than that the Israeli side prefers to make the Palestinian life really difficult. In that situation a man standing beside me actually made a clever joke, saying; “Ey balad hadhi?” Which country are we in?

Finally we arrived, shaking and crying. On the Israeli side we with non-Palestinian passports were the last ones to leave. One woman traveling alone was sent back, because of id-reasons, but in the end they let her pass. We reached Gaza Strip and our family that we hadn’t seen for six years was waiting for us.