Dear Friends,
Al-Janyeh, is a Palestinian village located 14 Km to the
west of Ramallah. One thousand Palestians live in this
village surrounded by six Israeli settlements. Ittaf
Yousef, who works as Assistant Editor of The Women's
Affairs Technical Committee biweekly newspaper "The Voice
of Women" lives inAl-Janyeh. This is a narration of a
recent incident that happened to her three days ago.This has become our
way of life in Palestine.
Suheir Azzouni
Director General
WATC
A Terrifying Blood-Stained Journey
All five children had specific and convincing reasons for attempting a journey to Ramallah that day. Leith, the youngest, needed a haircut. His brother, Hassan, and 'Issam had to visit the library to find books for their research on the "Atmosphere". 'Ismat visits a vocational school in Ramallah, and finally, Mujahid was looking forward to buying his new shoes.
They have left their school bags behind and started their long agonising trip to Ramallah. They crossed mountains, for all regular roads were bared for them. When they reached the city, all were terribly exhausted; still, they tried to achieve their goals. Yet, not all of them could, but Mujahid, at least, delightedly got his new pairs of shoes.
When they squeezed themselves into the car for the return journey, I told them that they were too many to fit in one car, one person was extra. However, they laughed and justified it by commenting on Mujahid's small body that can be easily hidden from the police.
It was a long, mountainous, curved road through which 'Issam and 'Ismat had never been. They were extremely excited and inspired by its magnificence. I nodded my head as a sign of agreement, yet added: "It is dangerous as well".
When we nearly approached the settlement of Halmeesh, Hassan prayed for God's protection and warned us of what might come. "Usually", he said, "the Halmeesh settlers, at two specific points tend to throw each Arab-passing car with stones, and rarely anyone manages to avoid their hostility. They are the same settlers who kidnapped 'Issam Joudeh, tortured him to death and mutilated his body afterwards, and made it seem as if it was an accident".
The car was racing, yet I had to slow down because of the bumps on the road. We passed the first stone throwing position safely. Ironically, we were saved by a passing military jeep, which seemingly, but unusually, held settlers from attacking us. We have only passed few meters before I heard my son Hassan telling me to drive quicker. Unfortunately, at that point the curve was too sharp to increase my speed, and thus the expected happened. Hassan was shouting, "lower your heads!" but before finishing his sentence the sound of an explosion was heard and the glass of the car scattered everywhere. I felt it hitting my head, but all that mattered for me then was to save the children physically, but also tried to save them mental tremor. I increased speed as never before. We were terrified.
"I am hurt..I am hurt!" Holy God, it's Mujahid's voice! What should I do? If I stop, we might be dashed with more stones and hurt even more! Yet, should I continue knowing that at least one is hurt? Maybe his injury is serious? I decided to drive a bit further till we finally reached a safe place and stopped to see the horror.
I looked behind and saw Mujahid's face all covered with blood. All five of them got off the car to examine what had happened. Mujahid's body was waving, his feet too weak to hold him. Some men passing by stopped and offered their help. I rushed to the first-aid kit, but stood stunned in the face of the pouring blood, which even the bandage I had seemed useless. Suddenly, he fell.
I dragged him into the car and off I drove speeding hoping to reach the nearest village in time, which was about 10 km away. When we reached the home of a physician, all four children were terrified to death with yellow faces and red blood-covered bodies. They were speechless!
The physician treated Mujahid, yet suggested to inject him with an anti-poisoning injection, which he unfortunately lacked. So, it was inevitably necessary to take him to hospital, as soon as possible and also to undergo an x-ray to ensure that no skull injuries or breaking had happened.
The night was approaching, the darkness over-shadowed the atmosphere and there we were again racing through the fearful curved roads. There were no cars around, for they were forbidden entrance by the nearby checkpoint.
When we reached the checkpoint, one of the soldiers came closer. He was surprised to see all this blood and asked what had happened. I told him about the settlers' attack, but, of course, he didn't believe me and in a sure tone emphasised that it must have been Arabs who did so! I replied, "I had no idea that the settlers of Halmeesh were Arabs!"
In the meantime, Mujahid was asleep, for he never woke up since he was shot an anaesthetic injection for the purpose of stitching the wound. The soldier attempted continuously to wake him up, yet with no avail. He started fetching the car and made a big fuss questioning me about the reason for having fruits and vegetables in my car. He was shouting and protesting demanding an explanation. I was shocked and could only answer that I guess human beings need food to survive, and I happen to be one of those beings! I was ready to get rid of the food, for the child's sake, for he needed to be hospitalised desperately.
When we reached our village, we found Mujahid' parents and relatives waiting in front of their house for his return. They were worried. I told them what happened and then immediately they took him to the hospital.
Fortunately, no skull damage has happened, yet they found that four pieces of glass had pierced his head.
This is how the journey to Ramallah ended. It started as an excursion and even an adventure for village children and transformed into a live nightmare, a terrorising, bloodstained adventure. The new pairs of shoes had had its own share of brutality and everlasting stains. Can anyone demand or even expect from those innocent children to forget?