By Mahli Brindamour and Ramzy Wahhab

It was about a year ago that we, both Canadian medical students at the University of Montréal, decided to venture out into the world of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict. One of us, Ramzy W. is a Canadian born Palestinian Christian, and the other, Mahli B. is a French Quebecer. Our vision was simple: spend one summer volunteering in Palestine, give of ourselves what we can and absorb as much as we can about this part of the world. This small step turned into many and on June 7, 2005 we were both in the air on our way to somewhat uncharted territories that left a lasting mark on our lives.

Nous savions, en nous dirigeant vers la Palestine, qu’il serait dur de demeurer objectifs. Déjà, avant le départ, nos sympathies envers la Palestine et les Palestiniens étaient plutôt claires, et nous étions alors conscients que ces sentiments avaient pu influencer non seulement nos sources d’informations, mais également ce que nous voulions croire et interpréter de ce conflit si prompt à déclencher les passions et les rancoeurs. Effectivement il est toujours difficile d’accepter d’écouter des points de vue contraires à ses convictions profondes, et encore plus ardu de les comprendre sans essayer de les modifier. Aussi le but de cet article n’est-il pas un débat politique. Si celui-ci est important et nécessaire, nous laissons à d’autres le soin de s’y perdre. Nous voulons parler de ce que nous avons vu, sans souci de convaincre : il nous est impossible de parler de ce que nous ne connaissons pas. Si nous cherchions à mieux comprendre, nous n’avons pu saisir qu’un seul côté du problème. Nous avons été témoins, pour une si courte période devant une situation si complexe, de la vie de quelques Palestiniens, et ce sont ces quelques histoires que nous voulons présenter. Nous voulons dire ce qui nous a touché, ce qui nous a impressionné et donné de l’espoir, mais cela sans oublier qu’il existe, de l’autre côté d’un certain mur, de nombreuses souffrances comparables.

For the two months or so that we spent in Palestine, we volunteered in various medical clinics and rehabilitation centers in and around Ramallah, Hebron and Bethlehem. Though our work experience was greatly enriching and at times very rewarding, looking back on our trip what impacted us the most was the various people that we met. These ordinary Palestinians, unseen by the world media, are full of life and dreams. We hope to leave you with a snapshot of their lives.

It was our second to last day in Palestine and we were anxious to get back to Ramallah from a full day in Nablus visiting the family of one of Ramzy’s friends. We hopped on a taxi from the center of town and headed to the Howara check point, one of the two Israeli checkpoints controlling all access into and out of Nablus. We passed through a set of metal bars, then a metal detector, had our backpacks searched and then went through Passport control to finally reach the taxi that would take us back to Ramallah. Ten minutes after being on the road we were again stopped at the Zatara checkpoint, just outside of Nablus near the town of Zatara. Our taxi was approximately 20^th in line waiting to be checked so we were about to spend a good amount of time with the driver.

It was an especially hot day, the sun was shining, and the sky was bright blue with no hint of a cloud in sight. There we were sitting in the front seat of a Ford, the bus/taxi that is prominently featured around all Palestinian cities and villages. Making small chat with those in vehicle, the taxi driver became more and more interested in us and was excited at the possibility of sharing some of his experiences with us “westerners and sympathizers”. Looking at the long line of cars in front of him he turned to us and said: “This is nothing, I do this everyday. If they (Israeli army) make me wait, I’ll wait, if they put up a road block, I’ll go around it even if it takes me over the hills and mountains and through the bushes. He looked on with fervor and exclaimed, even if they put up the wall right here, I’ll find a way to get over it.”

This taxi driver’s comments summarized the lives of almost every Palestinian that we met. No matter how hard the situation gets, no matter how many obstacles are put in the way and no matter the humiliation, these people will find a way to flourish despite all the odds against them.

Our volunteering through the West-Bank took us to the Bethlehem Arab Rehabilitation Society (BASR) at the top of the highest hill in a small town called Beit-Jala, just north of Bethlehem. From the many people that we met there, one beautiful young girl stands out in both of our minds. Tahrir, a nine year old girl was placed in full time residence at the children’s department of the BASR.  At first glance she seemed to have partial left facial paralysis, partial left arm and leg paralysis along with contractures on the same side. After spending time with her, and watching her drawing with chalk outside on the pavement and talking with her, we became aware that she also suffered from some cognitive difficulties, had a poor memory and seemed to struggle with simple math. It was only after a discussion with one of the staff nurses that we came to understand what had happened to her. Five years earlier, at the age of four, at the beginning of the second intifada, Tahrir’s house, like many other Palestian homes, was the target of an Israeli army home invasion. The soldiers, 10 or 15 of them, with full gear and guns half their size, stormed her house in the middle of the night. Tahrir became so frightened and scared that she suffered a stroke. Five years later, she still lives with the terrible consequences and will probably live with these debilitating consequences for the rest of her life.

Nous avons pu également nous rendre compte de manière moins théorique des effets de la seconde Intifada et de l’occupation israéliennes de par quatre autres personnes que nous y avons rencontrées. Il s’agit de jeunes hommes entre 20 et 30 ans, patients externes ou résidents à l’hôpital. Enfants pendant la première Intifada, ils ont grandi trop vite et se sont retrouvés adolescents ou jeunes adultes dans la violence décuplée de l’Intifada Al Aqsa[1].

Abed était garde du corps d’Arafat et a un jour reçu une balle au niveau lombaire, résultant en une paralysie et une anesthésie complète de ses membres inférieurs. Il ne se déplace qu’en fauteuil roulant, et a dû maintes fois faire face aux humiliations infligées par des soldats aux check points, qui ne veulent pas, ou font semblant, croire qu’il ne peut pas marcher.

Amjad, étudiant en anesthésie, travaillait dans un hôpital public de la région d’Hébron, et était de garde un jour où des soldats israéliens sont entrés et ont déclenché une fusillade : après avoir reçu une balle dans la cuisse, il recommence à marcher après deux ans de physiothérapie.

Samir souffre d’ostéomyélite chronique, inopérable en Palestine, suite à l’infection d’une plaie résultant elle aussi d’une balle dans la cuisse. Il ne se déplace pas sans béquille, et peut difficilement supporter la vie quotidienne sans médication anti-douleur.

Osama a reçu pareillement une balle dans la cuisse : après plusieurs chirurgies et des mois de physiothérapie et de rééducation, il ne marche toujours pas normalement. Habitant Hébron et devant se faire traiter à l’hôpital de Beit Jala, il ne sait jamais s’il pourra se rendre d’un endroit à un autre, les check points et les soldats déterminant ses déplacements.

À l’exception d’Amjad, aucun d’entre eux ne trouve de travail, et tous rêvent de quitter la Palestine. Ils ont représenté pour nous une génération sacrifiée à la violence, une jeunesse triste et se croyant sans avenir, rêvant d’ailleurs en n’osant pas espérer mieux. Écoutant leurs aînés leur répéter que leur destin et celui de leur peuple est de se battre, il leur est difficile d’imaginer un futur fait de paix et d’entente, dans lequel ils pourraient vivre sans penser à la prochaine balle, la prochaine humiliation ou leur prochain ami emprisonné sans jugement pour durée indéterminée.

From the many stories that we heard and the many changed lives that we saw, it is the stories and experiences of the Palestinian children that were the most difficult to bear. In every conflict, children always face the hardest consequences. So innocent and unprotected, many of them grow up much faster than necessary and end up with a lost childhood.

As we finish this article, there is one picture that we would like to leave with you. It is a picture of two Palestinian boys from the small village of Wadi-Fukin. Wadi-Fukin, is a small Palestinian village surrounded by the Gush Etzion Israeli colonies bloc, a concentrated area of colonization that includes 12 separate colonies, Betar Illit and Hadar Betar being the most prominent. There in Wadi-Fukin stands five clear springs of natural water sources. The two boys were standing on the side of the spring, waiting for us to snap the picture. The first boy jumped and flipped in the air landing awkwardly in the water. Reaching for air he screams out “let me see let me see…did you get me in the picture”.  The second looks around, takes a deep breath, reaches down then springs himself upwards as far as he can go. Soaring freely in the air, he clasps his hands in front of his head just in time to make the dive. Reaching the ledge he is breathing heavily but smiling from ear to ear.

Coming back from our trip, we were on many occasions confronted with the question. Is there any hope… can there ever be a bright future in this troubles land? It is through the eyes of these young, resilient and innocent boys, who stood proudly brimming with excitement on the side of that spring, that we attempt to search for a light in this troubled land.

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[1] En effet, si la première Intifada était littéralement une « guerre des pierres » à laquelle participait plus ou moins toutes les couches de la société, la deuxième était, du côté palestinien du moins, beaucoup plus organisée au niveau armé, et donc malheureusement beaucoup plus violente et militairement ciblée.