Two thousand kilometres from Denmark to Italy by bicycles, carrying a photo exhibition of Mohammed Alazza, a Palestinian refugee from the refugee camp “Aida” in Bethlehem, West Bank, a photographer who captured the difficult daily life in one of many  Palestinian refugee camps.

“The Palestinian-Israeli conflict has been going on for more than seven decades. During those years, millions of Palestinians had experienced systematic repression, discrimination, violence, children are killed, injured or jailed and the situation does not seem to see an end.

During the pandemic time, we decided to travel to some European countries and to bring with us Musa’s pictures. The mission route ran through Denmark, Germany,  Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Croatia and Italy. “During the trips, we stopped in bigger cities and public places: parks, tourist areas, and presented the exhibition.  Passers-by saw them in Hamburg, Hanover, Leipzig, Prague, Brno, Bratislava, Budapest, Zagreb and Pescara.

We decided to do so in order to create more awareness about the situation in the refugee camps and in all Palestine, we wanted to show people pictures directly from the place and to see their reactions, and perhaps to start a conversation about what we can do, while talking about BDS movement.

Many people allegedly knew about the situation in Palestine, discussed and strongly supported us for our idea. But some people we encountered tried to put us down. For example, we were using a platform called “Warmshower”, to find accommodation for one or two nights, which was very helpful until we got denied the access from the creators due to our political agenda.

We would like to thank all the people that help us in our journey and all the people who are trying to fight for the Palestinian rights and for the rights of all the marginalised people.

Here is an excerpt from Mohammad’s introduction to the gallery:

“In 2012, I started working as a photojournalist, covering Israeli incursions, clashes and other events. As a Palestinian, it is very difficult to cover Israeli abuses and clashes in the camp because we do not have the freedom to do so. Many Palestinian journalists have been shot or killed while documenting such incidents. In 2013, I was intentionally shot in the face (with a steel bullet covered with 1mm of rubber) on the balcony of
Lajee Center while taking photos of Israeli soldiers firing on youth in the camp.
Every year I think about making photography exhibitions about topics other than the occupation, but I cannot, as it affects every aspect of our lives. In Palestine we believe that existence is resistance, and in my photographs, I try to show how this concept translates into the life around me: in Aida, Bethlehem, and
Palestine more generally. The exhibition starts with a photograph of Palestinian refugees, representing the Nakba of 1948 that continues to this day, passing from generation to generation. The life for Palestinian refugees is getting harder as the years pass, making it increasingly difficult for new generations to build a future.”

FREE PALESTINE

I’m sitting on the side of the street waiting for somebody to pick me up, I do not who and I do not when but somebody will come. in the West Bank, I am experiencing a thick net of friendship and people collaborating with each other. People are calling each other to help me visit places, talk with activists, to give me a place to stay, and treat me as a part of their family.

My contact arrives, he is driving a big empty bus, he just looks at me and nods indicating I should jump in. We arrive in a small village not far from where he picked me up, he drops me at the municipality, a man called Murad comes to greet me he is a friend of my previous host. Murad works here, he kindly introduced me to the major and many other people there.

Murad is an activist, he starts to tell me a bit about the village, at first sight, it seems a normal and peaceful village but as any place in the West Bank, it has a deep story. Murad points outside the window to the settlements expanding on the hill, there are 24 ILLEGAL settlements in the area, he also points to a military base next to the settlement telling me sadly how that part was his land, which was confiscated by Israel.

He tells me also how many houses have been destroyed by the army because they do not want the Palestinians to expand, using the tactic to wait for construction to be finished before demolishing them, part of the village is area C, therefore people need a permit to build on their own land, a permit which Israel will almost never allow.

 

I see a scraper on the hill digging the land and I ask Murad:

“what is that?”

“it’s a Palestinian construction” he replies,

“do they have a permit?”

“of course not”

“but then it will be demolished?”

“maybe” he concludes

I then ask him “why do you keep building if you know that the army will demolish your house?”

with a sad smile, he tells me “What other choice do we have? There is no justice on this land!”

I would like to walk around the village but he does not let me go alone, he is worried as just last Friday 3 settlers entered the village armed, having a tour around, people are afraid of them and he fears I could be mistaken for a settler.

Murad tells me that people in the village are tired of fighting, last week Israelis jeeps drove into the village, according to him they were looking for trouble, waiting for kids to throw stones at them, to have an excuse to attack the people.

After spending some time with him I keep traveling, he gives me other contacts of other friends.

I arrived in a village in the north-west, I’m hosted by a lovely family, the owner, Fayez, an elegant man, is an activist for the Palestinian rights and a farmer. He has recently been in Ireland to meet the Irish Parliament as a representative of the Palestinian people, during which the law against the import of Israeli settlements products has passed.

It’s very hot here, I barely can do anything, the sea is just 12 km but obviously people here never seen it, I’m helping out in the farm, and straight in front of it, I see the wall of the apartheid. Fayez remembers exactly the day when they started to build it in 2003 like it was yesterday. With the construction of the wall, he lost a large part of his land.

I’m connecting the water system on the field where soon they will start to plant, every 5 minutes I raise my head to look at it, the cluster of cement, it’s always there, I’m wondering how the people feel working every day in front of it. Fayez later in the evening will tell me it feels being like a prison.

Next to the farm, I see a big construction site surrounded by cameras and a spike row, I find out it’s an Israeli chemical factory. There are 11 in total in this area. There is no limit to the exploitation of the natural resources by Israel in this land. Basically, there is a wall in front of the farm, one chemical factory on the side, and another one on the other side closing all the area for, except one side, it’s a crazy situation which I challenge anyone to experience it and to keep going. Fayez tried to fight against it with peaceful demonstration and Israel in response built walls to protect themselves. When he figured out he could not fight them he decided to improve the condition of his farm, creating (with the help of his wife) a model of sustainability, building biogas tanks that convert animal manure into energy and solar dryers to preserve fruit and vegetables, making a seed bank and aquaponic system.

Today, despite all the restrictions, they are growing sustainable food, showing local and internationals his work of AGRICULTURE and RESISTANCE.

Fayez is just another example of the many people I met during my travel who fight in a peaceful way, who will NEVER give up in front of the injustices of his oppressors.

 

The sun is hitting my neck, the backpack is heavy on my shoulders, I am surrounded by rocks and dust, no shade to get some rest, no grass no green.

I left Bethlehem area early in the morning, the place where I spent last month, I decided to travel around West bank, I do not have a clear destination, there are some villages I would like to visit but I decide to go with the flow.

I managed to hitchhike very easily as people are very nice and eager to help me just as I imagined. The second car who stopped to give me a ride is going to Ramallah, he asks me where I’m going and I answer I do not know and I ask if he has any suggestions, he then makes a phone call, he talks with a friend for a while, he hangs out and he tells me:” ok I will bring you to Farkha”.

We are now driving on the mountains, we are basically in the middle of nowhere and we passed Ramallah a long time ago. I do not know what to aspect but I have positive feelings. On the way to the village we pass by a settlement, at the entrance, there is a flying air balloon with a camera on top of it.

After a while we arrive in the small village, he dropped me in front of a house and shout something in Arabic to the people inside and wish me good luck.

The owner of the house receive me very nicely, when I arrive he is making brushes with wooden sticks, he has a friendly face, his name is Baker and he is the former mayor of the villages, where 1700 souls are living. Currently, he is working in a Palestinian agricultural community. Baker is also a farmer and a dreamer, in 2000 he began to cultivate organic olive oil trees with other 9 friends thus creating a cooperative in the village with the help of many internationals who sell the olive oil in Europe.

Today Farkha is the first Eco-village in Palestine, Baker tells me how growing their own food for Palestinian is important in fighting the occupation especially through not buying Israeli products full of chemicals. The main problem is the water, according to Baker this area is one of the richest in water resource in all of Palestine, but of course, Israel has total control selling the people their own water at a very high price. All of the water goes to the settlements.

They offer me food and a place to sleep. After a while I meet Sabina, an amazing volunteer who has been doing many different projects here for many years, today she is working on making compost in the garden, she would like to involve and teach women how to make their own compost in their households, I happily decided to join in helping her.

The view around this place is amazing, Liar after liar with the sunset behind us we work all together on the compost, kids are also helping in the job as Sabina tries to explain to them what to compost and what not to compost.

The atmosphere is lovely I’m happy I ended up in this place, a peaceful place in a hell of an occupation.

 

Struggle, survive, resist, exist.

 

My mind is a maze of different portraits

of the people that I met in this fucked up place

I need to express my anger in one way or another

what these people feel I will never catch not even with a radar

sitting by the wall of the apartheid

what I see is people in a constant fight

struggle as a part of life

with the purpose to survive

stay alive in this crazy world

military bases, checkpoints, and snipers

against slingshots, rocks, and proudness

the only thing they ask is to be free

to receive an equal treat

to sit and rest under olive trees

to be able to live with family

to be in peace without any agony

to see the end of the occupation

to give a future to the next generations.

 

 

 

Hebron is the biggest district in all West Bank and Gaza and has the most complicated situation in the area at the same time.
The situation started to get complicated after 1967 when a group of Jews moved to the city claiming to be just tourists. They managed after some time, with the help of the Israeli army, to kick the Palestinians out of their homes to build their own settlement. Today after many conflicts in the city, deaths and many controversial agreements, Hebron is totally divided into 2 parts with 27 settlements and checkpoints in the middle of the city to make the life impossible for the Palestinian people.

Abdulla, while explaining all of these facts, trembles a little bit and his eyes are red. He was born and raised here, he will be our guide around the city.
The story of Hebron is very complicated and is very hard for me to follow Abdulla, at the end of his speech he says that it is also complicated for Palestinians to understand everything.
We start the tour, we first gather in a marketplace in order to reach the old city, Abdulla tells us “from now on guys just keep smiling, there are cameras all over the place!!”
The old city is full of markets on both sides, we barely have a path to walk.
Above my head I see a metal net covering the space between buildings all the way, at some point, I see trash and rocks. People in the market decided to build the net to protect them from the settlers who are living in the buildings above as they sometimes attack the Palestinians by throwing any sort of things.

Abdulla pointed to a part of the net full of stones, a present from the soldiers
from the watchtower.

 

We arrive at a square, there is a military base which used to be a Palestinian school. We attract the attention of the guard at the watchtower, he looks like he is trying to capture what Abdulla is saying to us but there is too much noise. There are three military bases in total in the old city with 4900 soldiers for the protection of 500 settlers.

We arrive at the checkpoint, we pass through very fast, the soldier asks Abdulla who we are and he answers we are internationals from different countries so he just let us pass. For Abdulla we are a kind of  Passepartout, usually, if he is alone it takes good five minutes for him to pass through, with many questions raised from the soldiers. The checkpoint closes every day at 9 o’clock in the evening, after that, people can’t go back to their home until the next day.

We are now in the part of the old city where settlers usually walk through. We reach the mosque Ibrahim, where in 1994 a fact perturbed the life of the people changing the structure of the city of Hebron forever. A settler entered the mosque while people were praying, killing 29 people, 45 people were killed outside the mosque at the same time by Settlers and Soldiers.

We enter the mosque, I need to wear a long skirt to cover my hairy legs, and to take off my shoes. The mosque after the attack was divided into two parts, the part where I am now for the Muslims (with the exception of the Israeli soldier which can come inside whenever they want), and the other part became a synagogue.

We get out of the Mosque to reach the other part, Abdulla invites us to visit it, but he can’t come with us because Palestinian are not allowed to enter in this zone. The story does not make sense at all, the attack was committed by an Israeli killing innocent Palestinians and they even got their city and their mosque divided into two parts where they are not allowed to get inside?!? They have added insult to injury.

Before the entrance of the synagogue, there is another checkpoint, I see many young soldiers around laughing and cheering, a woman is praying outside with her hands towards the wall of the Synagogue. An Arabic guy is working repairing tiles of the path which bring the people to the turnstiles. I pass them, no problem, again I do not need to show my passport. I enter the synagogue where there is a soldier sitting at the entrance, I try not to look at him. People are praying, others are just tourists taking pictures. At the end of the sala, there is another soldier, a beautiful girl, she is also sitting, she looks bored. So much security for what?

We reunite with Abdulla, we are now in a street which once was very rich of shops but after the city was divided with the creation of checkpoints, they all had the close due to lack of customers. Abdulla walks with us for a while then he tells us to meet again at the end of the street after the checkpoint where we met earlier in the morning and he turns and starts to run.

We enter the streets, two soldiers are standing with guns, I greet them, no answer, only nodding. This part of the city is basically a ghost town, settlers have houses here but they come only during the weekend so they can go and pray. 

During 10 minutes of walking, I count 14 soldiers, sitting, standing and walking. Closing the access to Palestinian use of this road has basically made, and still is makes, life impossible for them.

We pass the checkpoint, Abdulla is already there, panting after the run. I am confused, I have so many questions for him, so much to understand. I manage to ask few, but I will feel confused for the rest of the day.

The main question I will keep inside me, and I am sure nobody can answer it, is how humankind can conceive such a cruelty.

 

 

It’s 4 o clock in the morning, I open my eyes, it takes some time to get up, I wear the first t-shirt I find, I get ready.  My friend Zayd asks me I want to drink coffee, I refuse, it’s too early to do anything, even to drink coffee. I walk in the streets of Bethlem area, it’s 4.30, the green light coming from the mosque it’s the only gleam in the dark night of Palestine. It takes 15 minutes of walking to reach my destination: the checkpoint between Bethlem area and Jerusalem East. The show I m going to assist is awful.

Already on the way to the checkpoint people next to me are running, covering all the streets, there is a queue of cars beeping. I arrive at the checkpoint next to the apartheid wall, people are pressed in a small long path, waiting to cross the checkpoint and to get to the next part of the wall, most of them are carrying a bag or plastic bag with food.

Betlemme from Jerusalem East it’s 8 km, Palestinian from this area cannot go to Jerusalem East because is occupied territory and they need a permit to cross the checkpoint, to go on the other side of the wall, to reach a city very important for them, many people from here have relatives, have a job, they want to go there to pray or just to shop but they are not allowed. People, for working reasons, can get a monthly permit.

So every day people need to wake up at this time of the night in order to arrive on time at their job’s place. At the checkpoint, they have to wait for the soldiers to check them, to check the id cards, the permits and also the fingerprint.

I climb a small wall in order to get on the other line which is for women and is closed at this time. I get almost at the end of the line and the crowd is getting squeezed, people are trying to climb everywhere, time by time people start to push and some people are shouting. Some of them climb the metals bars and walk on the wall, some of them are waiting, out of the line, the best time to climb the grate, talking with friends, others are even praying. it’s a crazy scene.

 

It’s a human flow of desperate people. The bright lights coming from the imposing apartheid wall makes everything, even more dramatic. I do not know how people can afford this every morning. It’s really humiliating. In the crowd I noticed a man carrying a kid on his shoulder, I m wondering what he is thinking about all of this.

I decide it’s enough to watch, I don’t feel good even in taking pictures, it’s inhumane. On my way back I walk next to the line and I see the people behind the bars and they look like in a jail, like animals in a cage.

It’s 6 o’clock it’s getting lighter, I sit down on a small wall, I have no words for what I just watched, they have to go through this situation every day for what?  To reach a place they have all the rights to go!

People keep coming, the flow never stopped all the time I spent here, I’m wondering how many of them have to go through all of this every day. (Zayd will tell me later around 5000 people)

I walk back home, silent is around me, the city is waking up, the daily struggle for many people in this part of the world already started a few hours ago.

A never-ending struggle.

 

 

 

Every day inside the refugee camp i pass by a small garage used as a small shop which is selling handcrafted jewelry. Inside the shop there is a kid sitting on a chair, sometimes with headphone, sometimes talking with people. I decide to stop by and to take a look, there are not many people around so i decide to talk to him.

His name is Abud, he is 15 years old, his father opened the shop in 2009, now that the school is closed he spends every day and sometimes also night, working in the small family business. He is selling a different kind of handcrafted sculpture and jewelry all related to Palestine, very suggestive and some of them very provocative.

His father is the artist, one year ago he had the idea to use the tear gas that the soldiers use against the people in the camp especially in the past. From a day to another he just started to pick up the tear gas from the streets and to transform them in bracelets, neckless, rings.

He opens a box with some of the tear gases to show me one tear gas collected by his father and points at the written MADE IN USA.

Abud is the fourth of seven kids, he is glad to help full time his father now that the school is close, he learned English mainly talking with tourist. Internationals are the only people shopping there and he is very glad to have chat with them talking about the life in the camp.

He then starts to tell me the story of how once he got stopped by the Israeli soldier because they thought he was throwing stones at them, they released him after half an hour, his father was worried. He tells me he never throws stones during the clashes in the camp, if something happens in the camp he just close the shop and goes back to his house. I ask him if he wants to study and live in Palestine, he answers yes, he wants to become an engineer like his father.

I really would like to meet his father, the artist who had the brilliant idea to transform a symbol of oppression and pain in something where to get profit from but moreover he represents for me, how people here never give up because of the situation they live in, but they fight the struggle in many different ways. I hope i will have the chance!

Now every time i pass by the shop Abud smiles and waves at me, he is just one of the many faces in the camp with an intense story which needs to be told which need to be heard.

 

 

 

 

Eight meters concrete, just a few meters from the camp, before it was built kids in the camp, they used to play soccer and pick up flowers in the land where now is impossible to enter because of the eight meters concrete. The eight meters of concrete is a part of a system of walls and fences built by Israel in West Bank, to separate people from their land, from their houses, form their family. Many time soldiers have been trowing tear gas from the eight meters concrete even to kids just playing in the streets. Many internationals painted many parts of the eight concrete walls to make it nicer. Many people here did not like it, they did not want to make it nice, they wanted it to be taken down.  The main reason why Israel built it was for a security measurement, many people are able to cross the wall every day and they do it for different reasons, they are aware that if they get caught they can be arrested, beaten up or even shot.  The eight meters concrete, it costed a lot of injured, imprisoners and struggles for the people in the camp who tried anything they could to stop the constructions of  the symbol of oppression.

 

This story was made by youths at Lajee Centre in Aida Refugee Camp

THE BOY AND THE WALL

Once there was a Palestinian boy who lived in a refugee camp. He loved to play soccer, find turtles, and pick flowers. He loved to dream in the direction of Jerusalem. One summer after the red and purple and white flowers of springtime had faded, the boy saw that a high concrete wall was being built right next to his home. With this wall came not only the roars of heavy machinery but also guards and soldiers carrying long guns and tear gas canister, wearing heavy helmets and vests, and riding in loud army colored jeeps with  antennae that waved menacingly over people s heads. The boy watched his springtime landscape disappear. He wondered where he would play soccer and pick flowers. He wondered if turtles could also live in refugee camps. He wondered if this new wall between his camp and Jerusalem would stop his dreams just as it stopped his father from going to work.
The boy thought about what he could do to help his community overcome the wall, and he said to his mother “Perhaps I will become an onion patch so that when the soldiers throw tear gas, my friends can be soothed by my onions” said the boy. “If you become an onion patch,” said his mother, “I will become the warm, rich soil in which you grow”.
“Maybe i will become a mosque, with a tall and beautiful minaret,” said the boy, “so that the people on the other side of the wall can see that we are still here”. “If you become a mosque with a tall and beautiful minaret”, said the mother, “then i will become a mu’athin with a strong and melodic voice who calls the people of the camp to come to the mosque to pray. That way, the people on the other side of the wall will be able to hear that we are still here. “i will become a kite and fly over the wall said the boy!” “If you become a kite and fly over the wall said his mother, then i will become a clever little child, the best in the neighborhood at kite-flying, and i will tie ribbons to you, and fly you high above the wall, all the way to Jerusalem!”
“Or maybe i will become a mountain so that i can be bigger than the wall, and see over it” said the boy. “If you become a mountain and become bigger than the wall,” said his mother, “i will become a farmer and plant olive trees and tend to you and live from the olives you bear.” “Maybe i will become a young man dancing at a wedding, and i will lead people outside and we will dance until our feet shake the earth and bring down the wall,” said the boy. “If you become a young man dancing at a wedding and lead people outside and shakedown wall,” said his mother, “i will become the pipe player who brings everyone together with music”. “Perhaps i will become a great fig tree in an old grove, and as i bear delicious fruit to the people of the refugee camp, my roots will grow thick, and break apart the wall.” “If you become a great fig three in an old grove and bear delicious fruit to the people of the refugee camp”, said his mother, “i will become the moon, and shine down on you with white proud light.” “I will become a book full of adventures from around the world so that the children who read me can imagine faraway cities and wide open beaches and different ways of living.” “If you become a book full of adventures from around the world i will read you to your brothers and sister, and cousins and friends, and i will read in funny voices and tickle you when i turn the pages.” “If you become a mother reading a story, then i want to be a little boy in your lap at bedtime,” said the boy. “I hope you will become whatever you want to be”, said his mother, ” but for now i am very glad that you are my little boy. Sit with me under our tree, and i will sing to you to Jerusalem.”