Behind the Wall "(All this)For Just 30 Minutes"
 

It is clear talking to Aisha that two things stand head and shoulders above anything else in the ranks of importance in her life. One is her children, the other her village, the village her family fled during Al Nakba (the 'Catastrophe' in 1948). Her Hazel eyes have a sparkle to them, and her face a gentle, reassuring smile, but when discussing either of these two issues her eyes take on new life, her smile broadens. For a few minutes last week Aisha was able to relish both of these sentiments again, and telling her story, Aisha's energy, and deep love for both, radiates out from this face that has witnessed and shared in so much over the years.

Aisha's eldest son, Ameer, was another of Aida Camp's child prisoners, he is no longer, sadly not because he has been released, but because he 'enjoyed' his eighteenth birthday in an Occupation prison called Nakab, he entered manhood inside prison. Ameer was arrested in March 2006 from a relatives' house in Ramallah, he was 17 at the time. Since this time Aisha has seen her son just once, at his court date in September last year, on that occasion she was not allowed to speak to or touch Ameer but as he was led from the court Aisha made a dash for him, pushing soldiers aside and embracing her son before being pulled away by his captors. Her husband, Abu Ameer, has not seen his son in over twelve months now. The reason Aisha has not been able to get permission from the Israeli authorities before this trip, and the reason why Abu Ameer has never visited his son is bizarre, but also another example of Zionist lies. The authorities have claimed that neither are related to their son in any way. Abu Ameer is not Ameer's father, and his mother Aisha is not his mother according to Israel, or at least she wasn't, but she is now so they have granted her permission. As ridiculous as this may sound this excuse is not the first time I have heard of this happening. Another man in Aida Camp has a son who is serving a very long sentence, he and his wife have visited their son in prison for the last 17 years, neither of whom have had problems getting permission to visit their son. A month ago when they applied for permission it was turned down. The reason given 'You are not related'!!!

When Aisha and her daughter Amira woke at five in the morning last Tuesday their weariness from a lack of sleep was offset by the excitement of their day ahead. They knew this would be a long day; they were going to see Ameer in prison.

The two women first needed to go to the Red Cross office in Bethlehem. Prison visits can only be arranged through the Red Cross and relatives must also travel on their buses to the prisons, for which they are only charged 1NIS (about 25c US):

"There were many people at the Red Cross office, well over one hundred. Men, women and children of all ages. Everyone was excited thinking about meeting their sons and brothers again. Everybody boarded the busses and we set off about 6am."

The bus had reached Tarkumia Checkpint, near Al Khalil (Hebron), by 6.30am, it was here the travelers would cross into Israel. Everybody was made to wait on the three Red Cross buses for one and a half hours as the IOF checked everyone's ID and permission papers:

"They then took us off the busses and through the checkpoint to the Israeli side where three more buses were waiting for us. We all got on the buses but Israeli Army jeeps drove around all three buses and surrounded them, they wouldn't let us leave. They stayed there for another one and a half hours before they finally let us leave."

It was 9.30am by this time, already four and a half hours after Aisha and Amira had awoken but their spirits were still high with anticipation. The atmosphere on the bus was bubbling, everybody was talking about seeing their relatives again. Some women sang songs, food was being shared. The three busses made their way south towards the Egyptian border as the heavens opened and the rain began to pour from the skies. Nakab Prison is very close to Israel's southern border with Egypt, maybe just five or ten kilometers north of the border:

"It was 12pm by the time we reached Nakab. They took us of the buses and made us stand outside. The rain was pouring down and their were some small shelters but not enough to keep all of us dry. The gifts we had brought with us for Ameer were taken from us by the soldiers and taken away to be checked. We had taken some underwear for him."

For such gifts to be taken to the prison at all the prisoner himself must first request them in writing through the authorities and the Red Cross. The Red Cross will then pass the information onto the family members before their visit. Anything that has not been requested in writing in advance through this system is refused by the prison authorities. Amira then explains how they must also be careful what colour underwear they take for Ameer:

"They don't let us take anything blue because the prison guards wear blue. What do they think, that he will escape disguised in just blue pants!!!"

Amira and her mother both laugh at this comment, but their tone changes as Aisha describes the search procedures:

"The soldiers then took us one at a time to be searched. They took me into a very small room and I was made to take all my clothes off by a female soldier. I was totally naked. They checked all my clothes, even my shoes went through a machine (x-ray and explosives check). It all made me so angry, so mad!"

Aisha shakes her head in disgust remembering the humiliating experience. Amira, sitting next to her mother as they talk, looks down at her feet as she talks:

"Its just disgusting being made to undress like this, in front of soldierseven after this they still run a machine over our bodies."

Eventually at 4pm the two women were taken into a room, there were two chairs, one for each of them, in front of a table with a telephone and a think plate of reinforced glass. Ameer was brought to the other side of the glass where he also had a telephone. This was how they would communicate. When I ask Aisha how Ameer looked after nearly a year and a half in prison her big grin returns, and she slaps her face as she sighs:

"Oh!!! He has become even more handsome"

The two women had just thirty minutes between them to share the phone and talk to Ameer, they didn't talk about anything in particular:

"We asked how he is, if he is ok? If he needs anything else? Just stuff like this. He asked how everybody is in the Camp. And he asked about you Rich, he said Salaam."

I remember Ameer fondly from his time before prison, I miss him and all the other friends I have seen disappear during my time in Palestine, but my feelings can't come close to those of his family. Aisha explained her frustrations at being forced to see him through thick reinforced glass:

"I wanted to smash all that glass between us, but I couldn't, soldiers were watching us all the time. I just wanted to touch his face again, to hold him, to hug him like a mother should"

It was hard for the women to leave the when the time came. Their allotted thirty minutes had seemed to vanish in a matter of seconds, but they had at least seen him, and spoken with him again, it had been a long time as Amira explained:

"I was so happy to see him again, I miss him so much. I didn't want to leave him, I wanted to bring him home"

But both Aisha and her daughter knew their visit was over, and it was time to board the bus again for the long journey back to Aida Camp. The bus was full of talk again for the journey back, stories being swapped, and the last of the days pre-prepared sandwiches being finished off. But not everyone had been so 'lucky' as to see their loved ones:

"Some people had been through all this, all this traveling, this humiliation, and still hadn't seen their sons. Another man from the Camp, Mohammad, came with us to visit his son. He had been given permission by the Israelis, passed all checkpoints and passed all checks in the prison. He was stood in the queue waiting to meet his son when a soldier walked up to him and said 'Mohammad, I know you! You were in prison 23 years ago! You cannot visit your son, go, get out!' Mohammad was thrown out of the prison immediately!"

The bus journey back followed the same route but whilst nearing Tarkumia checkpoint the buses got held up in a traffic jam. Out of the bus windows Aisha saw a sight which made her heart race. There was a small sign alongside the road, it read 'Beit Jevreen'. Despite the name change both women knew where they where, but Aisha didn't need road signs to remind her. Despite the fact she had not visited her village of Beit Jibreen in almost twenty years, Aisha still recognized it as though it was yesterday:

"There was a new gas station there, an Israeli one, I hadn't seen this before. But I saw our grass, our land, our trees. I wanted to jump out off the bus and lay their on our land, amongst the cows, I didn't care, I just wanted to be there again. I wanted to smell the air of my village, and taste its fruit once again. I wanted to stay there for ever"

When the traffic cleared and the buses began to move again Aisha was banging the windows, and shouting for the bus to stop, but the IOF escort kept them moving. As she tells me the story she isn't looking directly at me, more through me, as though still picturing her beloved village

Aisha and Amira eventually arrived back in Aida Camp just after 9pm that night, they had been gone nearly sixteen hours. They were both exhausted but also full of smiles. They had succeeded in seeing Ameer, even if only for thirty minutes, and they had got an unexpected fifteen minute glimpse of Beit Jibreen. Aisha knows why it is made so difficult for them:

"They put us through all this traveling, and humiliation, to try to make us not want to go through it all again. To make us feel it is too much hassle. It makes me so angry that I have to go through all this just to see my son for thirty minutes, and I couldn't even hug him. We do all this to support the prisoners and cheer them up. We must be strong! They will never stop us seeing our children"

Aisha stops for a minute as though she has finished. Then she looks up at me, and smiles:

"and our villages!"