Tuesday 19th August

First we had to go to the Sharia court to "get married". This meant copying all our documents, waiting for the judge to come and stamp them, with two witnesses, and paying lots of money. The judge may or may not come, one just has to sit and wait….and hope. So it was 8.30am, in a hot room full of people, some grumpy, some not so. So we wait and wait, and wait some more.

Lucky for us, the judge decided today he would come to work. He doesn't every day, apparently. So our papers were signed, witnessed and stamped and we had to give them to some guy who would take them to another office in another town to get stamped by another judge. And then maybe they have to go to Ramallah for another judge. Maybe. Who knows.

Then we had to go to the civil court, to get a paper stamped to say that Rahel exists, that she is here, that we are her parents and that we are married. Then she can get a Palestinian birth certificate. Maybe. This took less thank half an hour, but cost more money. Rahel was very interested to see the cells where the prisoners are kept before appearing in court; they are in the main reception area.

So now we have to wait for the first lot of papers (our third wedding certificate) to come back. They do a few hours later. Unstamped. The reason? Because Rahel was born "out of wedlock". First they refuse to accept our Islamic wedding we had in the UK because I was pregnant. Second, they refuse to accept our first civil wedding, two years before Rahel was born. Third, they refuse to accept the wedding the first judge just presided over and signed for as we had been told we had to do to get Rahel registered. Jamal was getting angry.

Perhaps I should explain why we are putting ourselves through so much aggravation. Rahel is British, born in London. But her father is Palestinian, a refugee born in one of the West Bank camps. So, with the future in mind, we felt we should also ensure that she has her Palestinian identity formalised by registering her in the West Bank.

This registration is as much for the Israeli authorities as it is for the Palestinian. It will give her the right to live here should she want to in the future and is also vital should there be any future settlement for Palestinian refugees. Israel also controls who goes in and out of the Occupied Territories, and without being registered, Rahel can only ever come on a tourist visa, which are issued on the whim of Israeli border security staff. She could even be deported and be prevented from seeing her family.

Jamal's huwiyyah – an Israeli issued identity card - marks him out as a West Bank Palestinian. It offers no rights, no benefits. It just ensures that he is on the Israeli database, and is therefore subject to the control mechanism used to enforce the occupation. Rahel needs to be added to this ID card.

It is now 10pm and still no stamp and no formal recognition of our marriage and Rahel's existence. It seems to be all about the money. Nothing is done without money changing hands. We know people, people who can help, but even so we still cannot seem to get the stamp we need so that Jamal can update his documents. And without a Palestinian passport, which he needs to renew and cannot without all the other ID documents, he cannot even leave. Tomorrow we have to start this process all over again. And more hands will be waiting for more shekels to help progress our case.

When at the civil court Rahel needed the lavatory. I took her to the facilities provided and was disgusted. Three stalls, the loos all broken with no seats, and one covered in shit. No locks on the doors, no loo paper and they didn't flush. Three sinks, none with water. This is the main court for the area, part of the 'sulta' (authority) yet they couldn't even manage (or be bothered) to keep the facilities clean and working.

Sadly it sums up the state of Palestine. This is a broken society which is struggling to function in the face of external interference and internal divisions. Some of it is not the fault of the Palestinians, but some of it is. And they could change, but I fear that too few people care anymore. There are some outstanding people here, people who really deserve admiration, but their fight is truly that of David and Goliath proportions.

It is not just the wall, the settlements, the theft of land and resources by the occupier that is creating these conditions, but the people themselves. The hope of achieving an independent Palestinian state – which so many Palestinians dream of – has little chance of becoming reality in this climate.

And everyday I get up and I hear the fighter jets fly overhead……

Sunday 17th August, 2008

Arrival
As we landed I was filled with so much emotion. I always feel like I am coming home when I arrive. Everything has a comforting familiarity, despite not being able to read the Hebrew signs. But, as always, a feeling in the pit of my stomach of the anxiety I also felt. Still, we were here and that was all that mattered.

Rather surprisingly, the most hassle I had was trying to get the pushchair off the plane and getting from Ben Gurion to Bethlehem. Having spent many hours wondering what might happen with security at the airport, we were through in two minutes. Now that was really strange for me!

Our taxi was irritatingly absent (it was 3.30am when we arrived) so after a long wait I decided to catch the Nesher (service taxi) to Jerusalem. The Nesher will drop you off wherever you want to go, so I asked to go to Bethlehem checkpoint. After a moments thought the driver understood, I obviously meant Gilo. (Gilo is a settlement north of Bethlehem. The land was owned by Palestinians from Beit Jala before it was annexed to Jersualem.)

As usual, we were last to be dropped. Before getting to the checkpoint the driver had one other couple to drop off. This resulted in me having an impromptu "tour" of one of the most recent settlements to be built around Bethlehem; Har Homa.

Jebel abu Ghnaim was a beautiful spot where families, mainly from Beit Sahour, used to picnic every Sunday. The area was owned by three or four local families. It was expropriated in the late nineties and earmarked for a new settlement. Israel started construction when I was first living here. Even then there was a case being heard in the high court (Israeli) and I used to ferry documents back and forth as the families could not go to Jerusalem to see their lawyer.

The picture above (pipes in the foreground) was Jebel abu Ghnaim in 2001. Today it is a sprawling suburb of Jersualem and construction is ongoing. I was really shocked to see how much it had changed. The settlement also faces directly the town of Beit Sahour but despite being in such close proximity, the people of both towns are so far apart.

Finally we were dropped at the checkpoint. Another bizarre experience as it has changed so much. The checkpoint is part of the barrier/wall, the construction of which has left a number of families and businesses on the wrong side. This cuts them off from their work, schools and university, the hospital, and of course their community. More about this later....

Outside the checkpoint quite a few men were sitting, smoking and waiting for the service taxis to come and take them to Jerusalem, and to settlements where they work in construction. There is a terrible irony that the people whose land is being taken are also the people who are building the homes for those who have dispossessed them. But when unemployment is so high, food prices have skyrocketed and there are families to be fed, clothed and educated, there is little in the way of choices.

One taxi stopped and offered to take me through the checkpoint for 50NIS. It had just cost me 50NIS (well, 100 really as Rahel demanded her own seat) to come all the way from the airport. But again, there are few tourists to help boost income so they have to make what they can from any opportunity. Still, I am not strictly a tourist, nor am I naive, so I declined. I walked up to the terminal and was waved through the turnstile by a cheery soldier who thought it was great that I had come from London.

I keep calling it a checkpoint but it is so much more than that. It is a cattle shed, a holding pen, a vast system of control which demeans the people who have to use it. The men were desperate to get the OK to go through. Having struggled with a rucksack, a pushchair and Rahel to get through a turnstile designed for one person I went out the door, only to be confronted by another, more secure turnstile which was impossible to negotiate with any sort of luggage. I stood, confused for a brief time (I'd not slept for 24 hours and was feeling pretty crap) when a man appeared and managed to help me get everything through - him one side pulling and me the other, pushing.

I was now in what seemed to be a car park, with men sprinting and shouting across from one metal to shed to the next. These men had clearly got through their first hurdle and need to ensure their place at the next. The checkpoint gets closed with no notice, so there is a desperate urgency in these mens frantic rush. Their lives controlled at the whim of a soldier.

Another barrier confronted me which was impossible for me to get through. Further up was the roadway where vehicles pass. Two or three soldiers milled around, with not very much to do. It was the only way I could get out so of we went. All he asked was where was my husband.

Finally, after a short walk, some negotiation with a taxi driver I finally arrived at Jamal's mother's home. What a relief!! I had a drink of water, a fig that had just been picked from the tree in the garden, and went to bed feeing very relieved.