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Tamar Fleishman; Translator: Tal H.

The first rain always comes as a surprise.

On my way, when a black cloud spread itself above like a blanket and rain soon turned into hailstones and then again into rain, I thought I would go along with it somehow.

But in Qalandiya, when I reached the middle of the bridge, I realized I wasn’t getting along at all, and that the place where I was headed offered no shelter.

I did something I had never done before: I turned around, turned my camerainfo-icon down to the grey wet area below, and backed away.

Down there, near the bus stop, I spoke with the cab drivers. I heard about the violent, brutal conduct of policemen, the lack of toilets, the fact that months ago a three-door portable toilet was placed there and its doors are always locked. What to do when you need to relieve yourself? Hide behind a parked car, pee and take care not to be noticed by the policemen…

Anyone caught peeing here is fined 450 NIS, but where are they supposed to go? Look at him!” Said the man and pointed at someone doing his business between a wall and a car. “He has diabetes. Where should he go?”

They also pointed at a boulder that was recently placed in order to block vehicles from approaching the bridge to pick up children going home.