It's official; Gaza is now really Hamastan

Well, I don't usually speak my mind on political stuff but this time I cannot keep it in. Hamas won. However much I have disliked the ways of Hamas, I could not have said it better than this;

I'd just been discussing the results with one of the doctoral candidates and the interesting thing is that neither of us was particularly alarmed that Hamas had won 75 of the Palestinian Parliament's 132 seats. We were actually impressed that the elections had been clean, fair and transparent; we too saw the vote not as popular support for terrorism but rather rejection of the chaos and corruption over which Fatah had presided. I'm no expert on Palestinian politics and I have no idea what the Hamas victory will bring in the long run. Like everyone else, I can only speculate. And I don't like to speculate. All I can say is that I'm not hysterical, I'm not depressed and I'm willing to wait and see what happens next before I even start to adopt an attitude beyond curiosity.

I really don't know what the outcome of their winning will be. I think that Hamas have many sides to their organistaion than just blowing themselves up (one by one or in multiples). I can only hope that now in power they admit to changing palestinian society in a positive way. Like for example making Palestine cleaner, since it is haram to throw carbage on God's creation. For some time ahead I think that it will be a unsafe and uncertain situation in every regard.

I remember a conversation between me and some relatives some time before the elections. One woman said she would definitely vote for Hamas, since they at least feared God. Her son complained on her decision naming a few bad things with their organisation to which she answered "yes, you are right, but between two bad things I chose the least bad one". Her son announced that they had different opinions while smiling towards his mother. I asked if there were no possibilty to vote blank? There wasn't.

I think to most palestinians Hamas represent a change more than anything. Perhaps some are attracted to the fact that Hamas are doers rather than just speakers. Most of all the result of the vote speak of the fact that palestinians are living in unfair circumstances for too long. I won't get more specific than that.

I just wanted to say...

... that I'm still here and I am preparing for many interesting posts about my impressions and thoughts on leaving Gaza, and on NOT living in Gaza anymore and on living in Stockholm again. Patience, people.

For the time being my children are at home (no kindergarten, no school) so it's FAMILY LIFE twentyfour seven, no time for blogging. However I'm running around with my camera (I named it Judy, he he) and it will come up soon, I promise (God willing!).

Thank you for all the comments. I'll try to answer all questions as time goes by.

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!

All safe...

Dear readers, I am now sitting in my fathers house looking at the snow outside the window. Cannot really belive it! I had a looong and interesting journey from Cairo to Sharm el Sheikh to Frankfurt to Skavsta to Uddevalla (my parent's city), wich I will tell you all about within short, but for now I just want to let you all know that we arrived safely and that there is a lot of snow in Sweden... I have some lovely photos to show you all from the journey.

A very arabic-society-culture-and-religion-hostile but polite man I met at the Sharm el Sheikh airport and discussed world politics with in arabic, english and a little bit in french while having a major headache and managing three tired children, asked me after we spent almost an hour talking outside the gate "How many days did you say you spent in Gaza?". When I answered "six MONTHS" he almost fell off the chair, looked at me to see if I was serious and then shook his head and stumbled "You are a hero!".

Having left Gaza I'm beginning to see this experience with a little bit of distance and even though it has been hard at times I now have answers to many of the questions I asked myself in the beginning. I know now what I didn't know then and I am planning to use that to my advantage.

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!

A letter...

Today is Maryam & Amal's last day at their kindergarten. The teacher of Maryam wrote her this heartfelt letter;

In the name of Allah

Dear Maryam

I love you, your face and I love to see you smiling

Everyday, every morning, every moment I love you

Hope to you happy life with your family

I will miss you tooooooo much

Yours

Maisoon

Shopping

These last days have been filled with SHOPPING! Let's hope my husband doesn't read this post... Seriously, I cannot come home without some hidjabs for my friends and some for me, some abayas (oh, I found some really beautiful ones!) and some other things that you wont find in Sweden. It was also nice, now that I manage the art of going with a taxi in Gaza, to see some more of Gaza City on my own (well, of course I had my little man with me) and let me say I've had some interesting taxi-travels. One man insisted to know the name of the area I wanted to go to and all I knew was to say "I want to go to the end of this street", so then he gave me a whole lecture of the names of all the areas and as I went out of the taxi he explained what to say when going back, very thoughtful of him! I also manage by now the art of pressing prices, an art not easily obtained by europeans, let me tell you. First you start by asking how much it is, in you very best arabic. With hidjab and all I have been able to fool a few arabs. But then some make it all complicated and answer "basita" which is like "oh, it's nothing". It actually means "it's free" but they mean sort of "it's not that much", so even though you insist to know the price they want you to try it on first (if you're for example shopping for an abaya), knowing very well that once you've tried it on and it suits, you're stuck. Even though they do try to play me because I'm "ajnabyia" (foreigner) I've also tried to play them with the same fact; "Pleeeeaaase, give me a good price, I came all the way from Sweden!" An eye for an eye... Here's me shopping hidjabs.

Some images from Gaza streets.




After some serious shopping me and my son had a nice cup of green tea at Laila's house, talking about life in Gaza and of just being a mother. So nice to finally meet her! Here's our sons playing together.

Blogotherapy: Lead her to a place...

Yesterday I went to the principal of my son's school to tell them that he's not coming back. Although it was an emotionally hard thing for me to do, because of the fact that Ibrahim did not like the school, it had to be done. Arriving in her office she started saying how very well behaved my son was compared to the other students who beat each other, and she showed me where in the face a boy had got kicked yesterday and how big of a scar he got and how much blood there had been. Then she made a face complaining about the noisy and cruel children she had in her school and told me that she wished they would all be quiet and kind like my son. Well, all I did was treat him like a little human and I didn't beat him.

Then we went to the schoolyard since the kids where having their break and Ibrahim wanted to say bye to some of his friends. Suddenly we were in the middle of fights and kicking, beating and pushing. Even though I was shocked by the EXTREME behaviour, I've learned by now that this is how children "play" here. All they ever see is violence, if not inside their family, so from TV or computergames or even just from above - airplanes in the air.

Once between all the kids, Ibrahim decided quickly that it was enough and he ran before me out the gate and stood there waiting for me (as you can see in the photo above).

For my faithful readers you know by now that the trend in my blogotherapy is music lyrics. This one describes very well how I've felt for a long time and which I'm now living by. It's by Celine Dion this time. Beautiful, beautiful.

as darkness falls each night
remind her where you are
every mother's prayer
every child knows
need to find a place
guide her with your grace
give her faith so she'll be safe
lead her to a place
guide her with your grace
to a place where she'll be safe

Go see this...

Actually I found this blog at its begining, but then my computer suffered from a virus and the favorite-tag disappeared. This blog is the story of Bob, an american man who's teaching english in the West Bank. Beautiful photos, nice stories. Just read this post on the highly unusual event that a local ask him - the american - for directions...

"It was the first time, and it may have been the last: a Palestinian asked me for directions. The other day, as I was walking home in the dark and a van pulled up beside me. The driver rolled down the window and started as most conversations start here: “As-salam alaykum,” reaching his hand through the open window to shake mine. He was either desperately lost, or actually thought I was a Palestinian. In either case, he continued. I caught enough to realize he was asking for directions, but wasn’t sure where he wanted to go. I answered that I was a foreigner – “Ana ajnabee” – but that I would try to help. I pointed to the next thoroughfare and explained that it led to Beitouniya, a neighboring village to the west. That seemed to make them happy, and they thanked me and bid me farewell. I was stunned, but pleased. It was perhaps some small benchmark of my knowledge of Arabic, and of Ramallah.

Palestinian embroidery

I couldn't leave Gaza without buying some beautiful palestinian national embroidery.

P.S. I bet this woman doesn't know she's being blogged.

Amal & Maryam's kindergarten

Today I went to bring my girls from the kindergarten and took some photos. This kindergarten holds a good standard and my girls are happily going there everyday. I also wrote about it here.

Mindblowing...

Here are some chosen parts from Laila's experience of the sleepless night;

"Just as my mother and I were chatting nonchalanatly, putting away the small plates of za'tar, olive oil, goat cheese, and persimmons, an enourmous explosion erupted following by the loud swoops of fighter jets-unlike ANYTHING I had ever heard- shaking our kitchen windows off the their hinges...the sound of Israeli fighter jets breaking the sound barrier over Gaza in a psychological war of terror.

I cannot begin to describe the sound except to say it penetrates into your very heart. Our whole building shook. I rand outside of the kitchen, fell down to the ground crying in hysterics, then screaming. My father woke up and held me tight, "its ok its ok", as my mother trying to calm me down. "what's happening, what's happening" I remember repeating hyserically. "We are being bombed, we are being bombed!"It is that feeling of uncertainty, of vulnerability and fear in the face of an unseen, seemingly formiddible force, of feeling that death is at your doorstep, that gets to you...that strikes morbid fear in your heart and soul.

I tried in vain to go to sleep after taking a benadryl. I brought Yousuf to sleep with me (who now, if asked what sound a plane makes, says "BOOM!"). Exactly at fajir call to prayer, it started again. Two more insane sonic booms. I cry now when I think of them. I can't get the near windows, I'm too afraid to be alone... I really dont' think anything I've witnessed here has had this kind of effect on me. Nothing.

I found this description by someone who has also experienced them: "You never get used to it if you're not prepared for the flypast. It's the scream of a thousand banshees which come immediately before the crash that unnerves. If you believe the aircraft is gonna attack, you're completely disorientated."

Read the posts here and here.

UPDATE: This particular night my children slept through most of the noice. When the first two hit, my daughter had just woke up and was luckily sitting in my knee. All you can do is hug her shaking little body and tell her that everything will be ok. Laila's description "it penetrates your very heart" is exactly how I have described it to my friends in Sweden. It feels like your heart is breaking.

It affects your mind (thereof the title "mindblowing"...), makes you do things totally out of character. The most scary thing is that IT MAKES YOU HATE. It makes you hate your life, you get depressed.

Laila's Yousuf now says "boom!" when asked how an airplane sounds. My 3 1/2 year old daughter asked me last time they dropped sonics on us, what it was that made that boom-sound? When I stumbled for words to explain, my 2 1/2 year old daughter filled in for me saying in arabic:

"Amal, hadha jahud!" - "Amal, it's the jews!"

Where's the hope in that?

My lovestory is all over

I may have expressed some looove for Gaza in a recent post. Here's (some of the things) what woke me up again;

1. My son, who never is allowed to go out to play (too dangerous) spent some time just outside our building playing fotball with two neighbour-kids. So I thought. Being a few years older than him it turns out they took his fotball and kept playing between themselves while my son desperately tried to be a part of the game. He came home crying after a while. Kids here simply don't learn how to be compassionate.

2. Some days later he wanted to go with one of his friends from our bulding to a nearby park (the only playground in Gaza, I repeat, the ONLY one), that is just a few minutes walk from our home. I personally didn't allow him, but my son is soooooooo bored that he begged and begged, so I asked my realtives. Here's what they answered -"Oh no, there's two families in fued right now so they are outside shooting eachother and they might pass by the playground and start shooting." Nice, really nice.

3. Having only a short time left in Gaza I romatically thought that when my husband called me from Sweden and said -"Imaan, now that you have just a short time left please please please..." the sentence would finish something like "... please spend as much time as possible with my relatives", the sentence actually finished "... please listen (read obey) carefully to what my realtives advice you (there had been a question of how my children should spend their time that I took as interference and they considered as advice).

4. Another sleepless night. From Haaretz: "The Israel Air Force shelled Gaza Strip targets Friday in response to recent rocket fire from the Strip. Before dawn, IAF planes shelled 13 ground targets in the Gaza Strip that were used either as launching sites for Qassam rockets or paths leading to the sites."

Result:
1. Too unkind
2. Too dangerous
3. Too conservative
4. Too unsafe

Note to self: Don't live in Gaza

A Jihad for Hajj

Once upon a time there was a sweet old lady,
palestinian origin but saw the world,
Kuwait and and the West.
One day she returned to the beloved homeland,
and growing old she wanted to preform the Hajj.
Seeing Mekka and Medina - oh what a joy!
They told her "yes, sure you will go!"
You will be one of the lucky ones who can go this year.
Then all of a sudden she got a "no".
Rejection.
She said "What the...! What is this?"
Are they lying to an old lady?
Disapointment. Anger. Sadness.
She took it she didn't have an important enough family name.
What has become of us?

A true story from Gaza.

PS. Jihad means effort.

Gaza images

All of these photos are taken just outside my house. In fact the photo just above shows my house.