Four Years of Waiting

I share with you just one story.  This is just one story. One story, from one person. I meet people every day and hear story after story.  Every day, people who have lived through their own personal trauma.  Like yesterday, the taxi driver. He took two English girls, a German girl and I to Nablus for the day.  When we arrived, he called one of his best friends who met us at a restaurant where we all sat and ate breakfast.  I asked where they met since the taxi driver was from Bethlehem and his friend was from Nablus.  They said they met in prison and became best friends during that time.  It was chilling to know that they had both been in prison but the conversation about why or what happened didn’t continue there.  With this information in the back of my head, I sat with them and continued to eat my breakfast.  When we were all full, we followed the taxi driver and his friend (as well as his friend’s nephew) around the old city of Nablus. 

Nablus was amazing.  We walked through the suk.  We got to see a Turkish bath. We went to a famous Nablus soap factory.  We were shown how to make kanafah (the best Palestinian dessert) and of course were able to eat the delicious treat ourselves.  There were people everywhere.  There were shops everywhere.  People were out and about selling their products and buying things to take home.  An assortment of fruits and vegetables, spices and herbs, meats, jewelry and fabrics.  Men shouting out numbers and prices and bargains, trying to lure people to their shop.  It was exciting and thriving.  It was awesome to see a vibrant Palestinian city.  It gives me hope for what the future of Palestine could look like. 

After his friend, treated us to a cup of date juice which is supposedly a Palestinian treat (that none of us liked), we said good bye to the taxi driver’s friend and nephew.  The four of us jumped back in the taxi and we asked him to drive us to the top of one of the hills overlooking Nablus.  Nablus is a city in a wadi (valley) so there is a hill on each side.  We drove to the top of the hill on the east side of Nablus and parked the car near a wall.  We could sit on the walk and look down at the entire city.  The skyline was incredibly beautiful, almost…with its minarets, white stone buildings, and flush trees with the hill in the background.  But honestly the first thing I noticed wasn’t the minarets and the trees or the stone buildings.  It was the ugly, black water tanks that gave the skyline a dreary, oppressive feeling.  Hundreds of them on every building.  They covered the roof tops.  They were everywhere.  A reminder of the oppression these people live under.  It was a sight to see all of them. I had never seen so many anywhere in Palestine. 

When you drive through the West Bank, you can easily tell if the house is owned by a Palestinian or by an Israeli.  If for only one reason, and that is the presence of the water tanks.  They only appear on Palestinian buildings to ensure that the building will have running water the other four days a week.  All over the West Bank, Palestinian cities, homes, towns, buildings only are supplied fresh, running water three days a week.  The other days of the week, the Israelis cut it off.  To ensure they have running water on the other four days a week, they fill up the water tanks and put them on the roof for pressure.  Each time I take a shower, I am weary of this fact and I try my best to make my shower as quick as possible so I don’t use up all the water.

 So as we sat there on the hill, looking down on the beautiful city of Nablus (or the not so beautiful skyline of water tanks), we started talking about the conflict and what each of us thought about it and possible solutions for it.  And that is when the taxi driver told us his story about going to prison.  His story is similar and almost identical to the other prison stories I have heard.  He told us that he spent four years in prison.  The Israeli soldiers came in the middle of the night, screaming and banging on the door of his house.  They woke everyone up in the family and took the taxi driver away.  They didn't tell him why he was being taken.  They didn’t tell him his charges.  They didn’t tell him anything.  They just threw him in the truck and drove him to the big tent prison. 

After a while he found out that he was supposed to get out in six months.  So he mentally prepared himself for six months, still not knowing why he was there or why they were keeping him.  But the day before six months came, the soldiers came to his cell with papers saying he had to serve six more months.  His soul was crushed.  His mind was insane.  He had been told by other prisoners not to get his hopes up because he would probably serve more time.  Most of the prisoners in there with him didn’t know why they were there and they kept serving six months sentences, over and over again.  But he hoped this wouldn’t happen to him.  He said every six months for four years, the day before he was supposed to get out, the soldiers would come with papers saying he had to serve six more months.

  Just think about that. You’re in jail, you don't know why, you were never charged with anything, and you think you’re getting out in six months and then every six months your told you have to serve six more months.  So you have no idea when you are going to get out the entire time you are in prison.  For this taxi driver this went on for FOUR years, until one day, with no warning or reasoning, the soldiers came and let him out of prison. 

People who are in prison count down the days till they get out so imagine the psychological warfare involved in this type of treatment. I can't even imagine what he must have thought or how he controlled his mind each time the soldiers came and told him he had six more months.  For this man, this buildup and then let down, happened eight times.  How can a person live like this in prison?  Having the constant thought that you are getting out soon and then the inevitable let down of not getting out for six more months?  This is psychological warfare.  The soldiers are playing mind games.  They are just messing with people, to make life hard and unbearable.  The taxi driver was sweet enough and I never felt in danger around him but imagine the emotional trauma him and his family went through during this experience. 

I have been so focused on the emotional trauma of this prison story that I haven’t mentioned another thing this man went through while he was in prison.  Hunger strikes.  He told us that family members were allowed to visit the prison tent camp, only once a month.  There was no touching or contact.  Just speaking through a phone while looking into his wife and children’s eyes through the glass screen.  But sometimes the soldiers wouldn’t allow family visits.  No family visits were usually prompted by the political situation on the outside of the prison.  It had nothing to do with the behavior of the prisoners.  If there was craziness going on in the West Bank, like a recent killing or something, then the soldiers would cancel the monthly family visit.  For the taxi driver, this was devastating.  He was in jail for four years.  He had no idea why he was there.  He was continuously being given more time.  He had nothing to do except read books and study English.  So the only thing he had to look forward to was the eventual day he would get out and the once a month visit with his family.  Each time the Israeli soldiers took away this privilege for the prisoners, they were terribly upset and in defiance would go on a hunger strike. 

The taxi driver said the hunger strikes would be planned about a month ahead of time.  The prisoners would talk about it and spread the word.  They would choose a day and then most of the prisoners on the chosen day would stop eating.  He said the longest one he participated in was for 17 days.  He said he didn’t eat anything for  17 days.  We asked him how he felt.  He said during the hunger strike, he would pretty much lay in bed all day because he had no energy to get up and walk around.  When he tried to get up and walk around, he felt like he was going to fall down and sometimes he did on the way to the bathroom.  He said the soldiers would get so mad at the prisoners when they did this.  Sometimes they would beat them.  But eventually, the prisoners would win, because the soldiers would allow the family visits to start again.