I travel south from Jenin to Nablus, the largest city in the West Bank. Access in and out of the city is severely restricted by the Israeli army. It is a city which essentially under permanent siege. There is a wall around Nablus but it is not a fence or wall like the one being constructed across much of the Occupied Palestinian Territories. The Nablus prison wall is a vast complex of army checkpoints, roadblocks, trenches, bases, Israeli colonies and regular military patrols. I approach the city from the west near to the checkpoint of Beit Iba. It is unlikely that I and my Danish colleague would be allowed to enter Nablus officially and we soon find ourselves running up the hillside above the checkpoint. Two young Palestinian men show the way. They are not permitted to enter the city despite working there. We have a nervy few minutes until we are invisible from the road and eyes of the Israeli soldiers who regularly drive past in their jeeps. Even now there remains the danger of being stopped or fired upon by an army patrol. There is a palpable sense of relief as we meet another man passing in the opposite direction. He has seen no soldiers, we should be OK. After a brisk 20 minute walk through the olive groves we safely circumnavigate the checkpoint and rejoin the road into Nablus. Today the sun is shining and the way was clear. But every day people have to sneak into their own city. Often they travel in the dark, cold and rain and always with the threat of being shot by the besiegers of this city.
Nablus itself is an impressive city. Home to around 150,000 people, the residents of the town and the three refugee camps here have seen 3 years of invasion, curfew, closure yet the city remains vibrant and alive. We stay with a family in the old city, a warren of alley ways, packed markets, homes and mosques. From the roof top I can see across this width of this beautiful city and feel the presence of Israel's Occupation with military bases and colonies perched on the hills above me.
This is a city that has suffered. As I walk the streets, colleagues and local people point out the spots where its people have died, an extra-judicial execution on that rooftop, a young man shot on the street over there, every inch of this city has a story.
The family that I am staying with in Nablus has lost 3 sons to arrest and exile in the last 3 years. Today they speak to their second youngest son for the first time in over 10 months. He was 15 years old when soldiers dragged him from this home, suspecting of being a resistance fighter. Since then, there has been no word, no calls and no visits. It is a joy to see his mother weeping with relief that at last she can speak to her son but it the emotion is tinged with sadness. There is no way of knowing how long it will be before he is released and she can actually have him home again.
