I just returned from visiting the Balata Refugee Camp in Nablus with Majd, a 23 year old nursing student, and his family. I posted pictures below of Nablus and the camp. The entire experience was quite eye opening. I was so overwhelmed with information and with all the details that surrounded this place (many of which are downright depressing) that I held off on writing anything.
The Balata refugee camp was established in 1950 as nothing more than tents on the ground with the intention of being a semi-permanent arrangement with people under the impression that they would eventually be allowed to return to their homes. It is currently the largest camp in the West Bank camp in terms of inhabitants with 30,000 refugees crammed into 2 square kilometers of land making it one of the most densely populated areas on earth. Over 60% of the population is under the age of 24, classrooms are overcrowded at the very least with a one teacher to 40+ student ratio, at least 25% of the population is unemployed and of the 30% of the population that was employed in Jerusalem, only 3% are still granted access to pursue work there.
The streets and alleys of the camp where dirty, littered with garbage, and cramped with two to three feet of space between the wall of one house and the next. An unfriendly odor seemed to follow my every step; a combination of the garbage, lack of proper sanitation, and the occasional dead animal.
Majd's friends and family were extremely warm and embracing. They have next to nothing, but refused to let me pay for anything, be it a taxi or a meal and everyone went out of their way to tell me I was welcomed there. It was Arab hospitality to an extreme.
Due to their bleak situation, everyone in the Balata camp seems to take care of each other. If someone doesn't have money to pay for dinner, they will still be served food, or given a ride in a taxi, etc. There is a very strong feeling of community here.
Majd studies nursing at a school nearby, but he and his friends are really in love with art, film, and theater. They are exposed to so much ugliness and hopelessness that these outlets provide them a way to express themselves and to reach out to others in doing so. Majd and his friend Salah showed me a video they made about stones and their significance to the Palestinians that incorporated more than just the stereotypical use of stones as a weapon. The cities and homes are crafted from stone, small stones are used to play childhood games, stone is a vital tool in preparing meals, they are used to separate one property from another, and so on. They focused the film on the dream of a Palestinian girl in the refugee camp and moments of her life while she was awake, then connected her love for stones in a religious context (as they represent to her the religious monuments in which she finds solace) to all the other meanings I just listed in addition to the not so peaceful use of stones as a weapon.
When conversing with Majd's family and friends, hardly anyone I met had not been put in jail by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Hardly anyone had not been shot, had a limb amputated, or been disfigured in some way. No one I met did not have at least two to three close friends or family members who had been killed by the IDF. Majd himself has lost much feeling in his left calf and toes from a bullet that shot him in his left thy, received from the IDF when he was 16, for throwing stones. He has also lost four cousins who have now become martyrs for "defending their country." Majd himself did not appear bitter about the fact that he was shot since he acknowledges he was throwing stones. When I asked him about this act, he commented that he knew the stones would do nothing to the Israelis and that it was dangerous to do so, but that they (the Palestinians) are trapped in a situation where they have no control. They are suffocated by the reality that there is little hope of a better life and the fact that when they do retaliate when pushed, the Israelis push back again with ten times the force. When someone throws a stone, they feel like at least they are doing something instead of staying quiet and wasting away.
I recognize (and you should too), that there is no concrete method to verify the statements I collected from the people I interacted with here. I know that truth is subjective and exaggeration common. That said, these people know that I have no great power to help them. They simply want to be heard and for their suffering to be given some legitimacy. Like I said, it would be challenging for me to try to verify everything I'm told as fact, however, I can see on these people an abundance of physical injuries. When I go into homes and shops, I see the array of photos of the dead placed in such a manner to enable people to pay their respects. The physical scars on the camp itself (bullet holes, shells on the ground, etc.) and the general feeling of fear and anxiety that permeates the area leads to me to give validity in their statements.
I spent a significant amount of time in Nablus leaving me with to digest so I've written multiple posts to break up the experience. Each one has the title "Nablus" before the name of the post in order to inform the reader of where the experience is originating from.
The Balata refugee camp was established in 1950 as nothing more than tents on the ground with the intention of being a semi-permanent arrangement with people under the impression that they would eventually be allowed to return to their homes. It is currently the largest camp in the West Bank camp in terms of inhabitants with 30,000 refugees crammed into 2 square kilometers of land making it one of the most densely populated areas on earth. Over 60% of the population is under the age of 24, classrooms are overcrowded at the very least with a one teacher to 40+ student ratio, at least 25% of the population is unemployed and of the 30% of the population that was employed in Jerusalem, only 3% are still granted access to pursue work there.
The streets and alleys of the camp where dirty, littered with garbage, and cramped with two to three feet of space between the wall of one house and the next. An unfriendly odor seemed to follow my every step; a combination of the garbage, lack of proper sanitation, and the occasional dead animal.
Majd's friends and family were extremely warm and embracing. They have next to nothing, but refused to let me pay for anything, be it a taxi or a meal and everyone went out of their way to tell me I was welcomed there. It was Arab hospitality to an extreme.
Due to their bleak situation, everyone in the Balata camp seems to take care of each other. If someone doesn't have money to pay for dinner, they will still be served food, or given a ride in a taxi, etc. There is a very strong feeling of community here.
Majd studies nursing at a school nearby, but he and his friends are really in love with art, film, and theater. They are exposed to so much ugliness and hopelessness that these outlets provide them a way to express themselves and to reach out to others in doing so. Majd and his friend Salah showed me a video they made about stones and their significance to the Palestinians that incorporated more than just the stereotypical use of stones as a weapon. The cities and homes are crafted from stone, small stones are used to play childhood games, stone is a vital tool in preparing meals, they are used to separate one property from another, and so on. They focused the film on the dream of a Palestinian girl in the refugee camp and moments of her life while she was awake, then connected her love for stones in a religious context (as they represent to her the religious monuments in which she finds solace) to all the other meanings I just listed in addition to the not so peaceful use of stones as a weapon.
When conversing with Majd's family and friends, hardly anyone I met had not been put in jail by the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF). Hardly anyone had not been shot, had a limb amputated, or been disfigured in some way. No one I met did not have at least two to three close friends or family members who had been killed by the IDF. Majd himself has lost much feeling in his left calf and toes from a bullet that shot him in his left thy, received from the IDF when he was 16, for throwing stones. He has also lost four cousins who have now become martyrs for "defending their country." Majd himself did not appear bitter about the fact that he was shot since he acknowledges he was throwing stones. When I asked him about this act, he commented that he knew the stones would do nothing to the Israelis and that it was dangerous to do so, but that they (the Palestinians) are trapped in a situation where they have no control. They are suffocated by the reality that there is little hope of a better life and the fact that when they do retaliate when pushed, the Israelis push back again with ten times the force. When someone throws a stone, they feel like at least they are doing something instead of staying quiet and wasting away.
I recognize (and you should too), that there is no concrete method to verify the statements I collected from the people I interacted with here. I know that truth is subjective and exaggeration common. That said, these people know that I have no great power to help them. They simply want to be heard and for their suffering to be given some legitimacy. Like I said, it would be challenging for me to try to verify everything I'm told as fact, however, I can see on these people an abundance of physical injuries. When I go into homes and shops, I see the array of photos of the dead placed in such a manner to enable people to pay their respects. The physical scars on the camp itself (bullet holes, shells on the ground, etc.) and the general feeling of fear and anxiety that permeates the area leads to me to give validity in their statements.
I spent a significant amount of time in Nablus leaving me with to digest so I've written multiple posts to break up the experience. Each one has the title "Nablus" before the name of the post in order to inform the reader of where the experience is originating from.
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