***image3***When somebody watches a tragic film for the first time, he feels surprised and sad, and when he watches the same film for the second time, he becomes less surprised and so on. However, the wall tragedy is a live one, its actions renewed daily, its pains and tears are real ones. In more than one and a half years watching the impacts of the wall, every time I visit a new location, or even the same location, I notice new horrible actions took place, as if I see or hear the story of the wall for the first time. On one side, the wall deteriorates the economy, environment, health, and education, and on the other side, the social state and physiology of the people. When you see the human catastrophe, and listen to peoples stories, you feel the oppression against the innocent people, the agony of their spirit, that you could not utter, you stutter, and the mind agitates.



In every location the wall passes through, there are hundreds of stories, which show peoples suffering and pain. Baqa Sharqiya is a village, which was isolated with two other communities between two walls for four months. In the past two weeks, the Israeli authorities made a decision to dismantle one of the two walls (8 kms of the fence). Now Baqa Sharqiya and the two communities are connected to the rest of the Tulkarm towns and villages. At the first opportunity, I went to visit one of the projects there that the Palestinian Hydrology Group implements. However, dramatic changes happened after the Israelis built the concrete wall. More than three hundred shops are closed out of 400 in Baqa Sharqiya. The concrete wall stopped any of the Arab- Israeli customers from entering Baqa to do shopping or to maintain their vehicles.



I continued the trip with the mayor of Baqa to visit Nazleh Issa, a village adjacent to Baqa. At the entrance to Nazleh, I saw a huge pile of remnants from the destroyed market and buildings. In that location, the wall devastated more than 200 shops and demolished 6 residential buildings. There, the driver showed exactly where was the location of his garage was. Now, all destroyed, but still in the memories of the people. There are few kids who still visit the site and climb over the masses of concrete and stacks of steel. The scene is even more painful than the day the destruction happened.



We continued to drive inside Nazleh, and in a moment we stopped in front of the 8 meters high concrete wall. It is like a bogyman in a scary film, as if I see the wall the first time; although I’ve narrated the wall story thousand times. I got out of the car, but I did not know where to start, either to take photos, or to interview people, or to release the affliction I was running to it. The scene of the houses not far from the wall more than 1.5 meters, the razor wires along the wall, the kids who play in the shadow of the wall, the course of cactus trees adjacent to the barbed wires and in front of the houses. Nothing is painful to kids who play, move and have fun in such innocence and infancy. Today, they are playing and tomorrow they will cry. They will grow with an awful shadow that wall stuff in memory. I wish they could stay kids, and to feel as I do!



In the same crypt, there is a building of three stories; and its western side is used as part of the wall. I went to the owner of that build, and asked him to let me go to the roof. He said welcome and asked if this wall will vanish one day, I told him exactly like the fence wall because both are invalid. In few seconds, I climbed to the roof and started taking photos in all sides. The view embodies the mentality for separation and opposing to natural and social continuity. Then I went to listen to the stories the people were telling of the past night and how the soldiers shot many tear gases and sound shells. How their kids wake up frightened in the middle of the night. These people have no quiet nights even to dream, or hope for tomorrow. The wall separated Nazleh from the sources of income inside the 1948 market, and families from each other. A distance less than 10 meters between Nazleh and the house in 1948 has become farther than any point to reach.



***image2***During my talk with the people, a man whose name is Basem Hussein came and lay down on wall foot and start calling somebody from the other side, then I saw bundle of green onions coming out of a hole 6" from the bottom of the wall. There are about 16 holes, which are made to drain water. I wondered what I had seen, and asked if he could explain it to me? He said, my brother and his family live on the other side, and I was calling them to bring me the onions. Then I asked him what his work is? He said "before this wall I had a vegetable shop, and I used to sell vegetables to people who are now behind the wall. I have five children, and when they built this wall, I lost my income and no market here. Therefore, I let my eldest son live there now, and everyday I buy him the vegetables, which I can pass through this hole. So that, he can sell these vegetables on a cart, and this is how we manage our life through this hole. This hole in the wall is our income now".



I was shocked, and my tongue stuttered to ask him any more questions and I asked the driver to bring me out of the village. In that moment the life become small like that hole; life became so dark that I could not see any light except the one coming out of that hole. In my way back to Jayyous, the wall and checkpoints traveled with me, for 45 kms you see destruction and sabotage. I realized that I know little about the wall and its impacts; there must be thousands of stories, all of which buried under the wall footing. The final destination is Jayyous, where the wall kneels on my chest, but today my fever is about those families, and kids in Nazleh and Baqa.


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