December 19, 2002
Elizabeth fortunately was feeling better today, and went to school, where she graded her papers and worked on finishing up grades for the semester. Marthame left school to put the final touches on the visit next month of the American student group. He and a professor from the Arab-American University made their way to Jenin to the YMCA offices there.
On the outskirts of Jenin, commuters walk over a mud pile to taxis waiting on the other side.
The jeeps were in place again this morning, and though our school bus passed through, the likelihood of a taxi being able to do the same was small. Thus began the journey through Misilye and Qabatia to the Shuhada intersection just outside Jenin. Cars were lined up, waiting at what used to be another Palestinian checkpoint now manned by Israelis. No one was passing from here, said the soldier, so we headed to the village of Burqin.
In the valley below the village's historic church, traffic was making its way up to a point, dropping passengers off, then turning around. People then made a twenty-minute walk over a steep, rocky, muddy, destroyed road to the road on the other side, where taxis were waiting, after dropping off people going the other way. It was a scene that staggered. In pouring rain, people were making their way in and out of Jenin on foot through mud that wouldn't have looked out of place on a potter's wheel. Slimy and gray, it dirtied shoes and pants and ran the risk of sending you into it.
Marthame’s mud-caked shoes.
We have been clear since we came about the need to respect life on all sides here - Palestinian respect for Israeli life seems pretty low, and the reverse is true. But part of the equation which really sank in today is the question of quality of life. Palestinians often say, "We are not living - we are like animals, surviving." Today, Marthame felt that sentiment in his bones. To make a commute like this day in and day out (or even once a week) - and to make it because an occupying army has destroyed your roads and their soldiers refuse you passage - and to remember how quick and easy and cheap the trip used to be - boggles the mind. A human being cannot feel this anger without either having an outlet or simply going numb. Needless to say, Marthame arrived late to his appointment - something that is simply assumed these days.
The meeting at the Y ran along two lines. The first, to talk about activities related to the handicapped throughout the region. The second, to see what kind of a program we can put together for the visiting group. It was a good visit, even a great visit, but to say it was worth the trip would be to downplay the utter humiliation of the commute.
Marthame also took care of some errands - trips to Jenin are few and far between - before bracing himself for the return journey. "What is this, Kandahar?" remarked another "commuter" as he sloshed through the muck. There's a strange camaraderie in places like this that keeps people going.
Marthame returned home to find a new definition of irony - it has been raining all day long, but the water cistern for our building is bone-dry. And because the fields are so muddy, it is impossible for a water truck to get to the building to fill it. So much for clean shoes today.