Qalandiya - No Man's Land of life

Beyond the eastern tip of the refugee camp, on the sides of the main road to Ramallah, a place that for some reason I never bothered to lower my gaze to, a deep hole in the ground opens, like some black hole in the middle of the universe.

In view of my great wonder, a passerby told me that the place is owned by a person who several years ago began to build a house there, but the authorities – Israeli authorities, who else? – ordered him to demolish what he had already built, so that not only his investment went down the drain, the entire area became a kind of no-man’s land.

So then someone who regarded this void as a business opportunity went and opened a workshop for fixing motorcycles at its edge.

Life is very hard in the refugee camp, said my conversant and went on his way.

The place that resembles a garbage dump more than a normative business is a reflection of the place that according to Israeli jurisdiction (who else?) belongs to the Jerusalem juridical area and in fact is the no-man’s land of life.

Adjacent to the rubble of Abdallah’s shop and source of livelihood, the rubble of his neighbor’s shop is sown as well.

There was a kiosk there, inside a non-moving bus. The man, who two years ago was released from a 7-year prison sentence for shooting in the leg a man who collaborated with the Israeli secret service, found his livelihood selling soft drinks and cigarettes and snacks.

And now what?

Now the entire place resembles an area sown with the remnants of life.

Inside all this filth and junk and despair beyond the apartheid wall, seeing children like adults managing to overcome the walls and barriers and obstacles is a delightful sight, on which the Great Priest had commented:

“There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in…”