When the Israelis raided Birzeit University in March 1996 and arrested more than 280 students, I remained among only 20-some Gazan students who managed in different ways to avoid arrest. Some of us were in Ramallah during the raid, others live in houses far from the center of Bir Zeit village. After the raid, we could barely continue our studies. The ghost of the Israeli operation was still hovering over Bir Zeit. Fear kept us nervous and distracted all the time until we reached the point of wondering if we should just hand ourselves over to the Israelis. Really it was an unbearable life. Despite this we reasoned that staying in Bir Zeit and continuing our studies was the best answer to Israeli measures against Gazan students. We decided to remain here.

One day during this period, I became very ill. I went to the university doctor in the evening and he wrote me a prescription for several medications. I brought the prescription to the only pharmacy in Bir Zeit village, but did not find some of the medicines that the doctor had prescribed. I needed to go to a larger pharmacy in Ramallah, a town about 10 minutes drive away.

At that time we even worried about traveling between the village where we live and the university, and had decided not to risk travel to Ramallah at all. In this case, however, I didn’t feel like I had a choice. Either I stay in Birzeit with my fever raging and the illness intensifying, or take the risk and go to Ramallah. I chose the latter. If I were to be given the choice again I would stay with my illness in Bir Zeit.

I headed off to Ramallah with another friend from Gaza. We had purchased the medications and were on our way back when we approached a point at which the main road between Ramallah and Bir Zeit intersects with the dreaded Israeli settler bypass road. From 100 meters off, too late to do much about it, we saw an Israeli military checkpoint. We decided to jump out of the taxi to try to run back to Area A (the area under Palestinian control). It was too late. They saw us, and came directly. We thought we might still have the chance to run and headed across the mountain. They followed us screaming "Stop! Stop! I will shoot!"

I knew from my experience during the intifada that such a warning should be taken at his word. I was especially worried after I heard the soldier cock his gun. I finally decided to stop after I saw my friend collapse from fear and heard him call to me for help. For a split second, I thought about whether to continue, leaving my friend and facing the possibility of getting shot, or to stop. Of course, I knew the consequences of stopping—at best a transfer back to Gaza and the loss of the semester. I decided to stop.

The Israeli soldiers came cheerfully screaming, "We caught two new prizes!" After that they searched our bags and checked our identity cards. They tied our hands behind our backs and took us directly to the Beit El military base prison (alongside one of the largest Israeli settlements in the area).

Once there I found that I had lost most of the medicine I bought, and felt like my temperature must have reached almost 40 degrees Centigrade. My friend started screaming for help, but no one came until he started beating on the door. Finally they brought a doctor who examined me and told the responsible person to release me. He said otherwise he could not take responsibility for my well-being. The Captain who was in charge said, "We are not going to release him except at Erez Checkpoint in Gaza. We’ll do this within three days, so keep him alive that long." The doctor refused and asked them take me to the hospital. They took me to the prison clinic where they treated me.

After three days they sent me back to Gaza, and released me at the border without my papers or my books. So there I was, stuck in Gaza. It was more than six months later when I finally managed to get back to my studies.