Jenin Jenin

We leave the coach that drove us from Nazareth, at the Al Jalama checkpoint, happy to unload our bikes. The lushness of well irrigated land is behind us, replaced by drier terracing. The roads are lined with bin liners, coke cans, broken wood and glass. Alexandra sees the high walls of the Occupation for the first time. I wonder whether she is as uncomfortable as I, beneath the roving armed eyes above us. She glances over once then ignores the IDF soldiers completely. She is so excited at the prospect of cycling again, riding round and round in circles of anticipation. It's baking hot, unseasonably humid. Our group apply sun screen and admire the thankfully flat, well tarmaced road ahead.
It is seven kilometres to Jenin.
We set off but get no further than a scorching kilometre before Palestinian police, pull us over. The Presidential convoy is about to pass, we are in its way. The edginess in the armed men is apparent, Abbas has not got unconditional support from the people (to put it mildly after delaying the official response to the Goldstone report). When pressed with a 'Marhabar' the younger ones crack and grin back, shaking their heads at the madness of foreigners on bikes, in the middle of the afternoon 'what is wrong with us?' their quizzical looks seem to say.

Eventually the black four by fours of the Abbas guard zoom by, tinted windows, lights blazing. We cycle along a tree lined road, pretty reminding me if I squeeze from my eyes of a route in the Dordogne, only with more rubbish around the tree roots. Sweat pours into my eyes, Alex has cycled far ahead at the centre of the group, i can hear her merry chitter chatter in the distance. i am ofcourse, the last in our Peace column, causing the police accompanying us to shake their heads and shout 'yalla yalla' (hurry up slow coach)

The outskirts of Jenin are surprisingly pretty, flowers of red and white along the roads, old stone walls, a pleasant, open, friendly feel coming from the higgle piggle shops and vendors themselves. Riches in this part of the world do not spell architectural attractiveness. I think of the relative wealth of Nazareth, compared to Jenin. If there is a 'romantic' Palestine to visit these days then such suburbs in some of the poorest cities are where it exists.

The Popular Committee for Services in Jenin host us witha choice of either falafel or shwarma sandwiches and blissfully icy bottles of water. They screen the film Jenin Jenin. Kevin from Dublin, wipes his eyes with a tissue more than once. Anyone wishing to know more about the 2002 invasion should see this film. The director Mohammed Bakri, a prominent Palestinian Israeli, featured a range of testimonies which suggested that a massacre had indeed occurred. After a few screenings, the film was banned by the Israeli Film Ratings Board on the premise that it was libelous and might offend the public. Bakri dedicated the film to its producer, Iyad Samoudi, who was killed by Israeli soldiers, at al-Yamun in the Jenin Governorate of the West Bank, shortly after filming ended. See it if you can.

And so - Jenin. Where to begin? Named the fourth most dangerous place in the world by the Israeli media five years ago, Alexandra and I take a walk. The camp streets are pit holed, chilldren, boys mostly, gather and stare. Unsure how far to go from the group without causing conecern to our hosts, (keen to keep us from being utterly overwhelmed by the mass of children), we loiter in front of a 'shop'. Businesses here are open rooms at pavement level with shelves lining the wall, crisps still in their boxes. Commerce utterly deprived of the showy, inviting exhibitionism of our own cities and towns. A lady with life lines on her wrinkles, in a jalabya motions to Alex to come over. Using one of our twentysomething guides, (young guys, with broad smiles, flashing eyes and pretty good English) to translate she tells Alex to help herself to anything in the shop.
'Mummy she's poor do I take anything?'Asks Alex. It is hard to see how this women makes any money from her poor wares, but she won't take no for an answer. Ignoring the plastic toys of fairground quality hanging from hooks, she takes a bag of crisps. She shows the lady and thanks her, but the woman is displeased. In fast Arabic, motioning with her hands she makes us all laugh by saying
'but the girl has two hands, the other is empty!' Alex shyly goes back in for a chocolate bar.

The Freedom Theatre, Jenin.

Jenin Camp has been rebuilt with Arabian Shekh funds, since the criminal attack on its crowded civilian apartments and hovels. Whereas in Gaza there are so many young men laid waste by despair here, there is clearly something of a cultural renaissance taking place. Old men sit and smoke on outside sofas, or sip eye poppingly strong cardamom coffee all day. The 'youth' have other maters to attend to, they have plans.
The Freedom theatre, Jenin, is one of the most inspirational success stories I have ever come across in my five years visiting Occupied Palestine. I don't ahve the time to write about it here, but follow this link for more information: http://www.thefreedomtheatre.org/. Alex and I are going to see a show there performed by local boys and girls from the refugee camp. We are both excited at the prospect.

I managed to pursuade a young volunteer to give me his Freedom theatre t-shirt. He pulled it off in the street leaving him in just a vest to the giggles of his friends. I later sent him an England number seven football shirt which he returned. Not sure whether that was an act of typical Palestinian generosity (a present in return for a gift? Never!) Or a result of the Balfour Declaration making it even now of questionable taste to praise Britain/England in a place that has suffered so long and so hard as a result of our Foreign policy for sixty years in this region..

Alex has made a friend 'Kund' a girl of eight, who claps and dances as much as she does. This morning we are all going to Kunds school where Alex will talk to the English class.
More soon.