The First Day Of Ramadan

Wednesday, October 29, 2003

Jenin

In the late autumn heat, and as puffs of grey dust rise from under the feet of the people of Jenin, I sense the lethargy blanketing the town. Ramadan has started and energy levels are low. But in any case people have little to do. The Palestinian economy is dead and what money remains in Jenin is slipping away fast - much of it into Israel itself to pay for electricity, gas, water and telephones, to list just a few of the bills which have to be settled. None of the money comes back. It is hard for a large family to live on just US $10 per day and be energetic.

Since last I was here, three months ago, the shops are more pitted with pockmarks from bullets and the roads more damaged by the treads of Israeli tanks. And more Palestinians have died. Violence and death at the hands of the Israelis are no strangers to the inhabitants of Jenin.

But some aspects of life have remained the same. The women are dignified, the men hospitable and the children noisy. Little Naim's street side coffee flavoured with cardamom tastes as delicious as ever and he welcomes me still with one prickly kiss on each cheek. And although Said's girth is somewhat reduced - he had plenty to lose - his falafels have yet to be bettered. Most important of all society continues to function; families are united, the community is intact and services operate.

So is it the lethargy of Ramadan, which is eroding the inhabitants of Jenin's feistiness, or is it the poverty and the ferocity of the occupation? Or is it perhaps the apartheid wall being constructed within sight of the town - a symbol of a future without hope?

The occasional voices of international criticism of Israel and its behaviour in the Occupied Territories can barely be heard in Jenin. Like rafts on a storm tossed sea, they are hardly detectable in the maelstrom of people's lives. It seems to them that the world is averting its eyes and they do not understand why.