Fékk lánað blogg hjá vinkonu minni í Egyptalandi. Hún fór á spítala þar og hitti Palestínskt fólk sem hafði leitað yfir landamærin vegna sára sinna.

Words can’t really describe what I am feeling right now even if it’s been almost a week since I visited the hospital but the incessant news coverage on Al-Jazeera has now only stirred up more vividly my emotions. I feel that this needs to be written, so that these heroes’ stories will not be forgotten and that the turmoil of their lives will be felt in our hearts too, because, let’s admit it right here and now, … we are also people.

As you know the medical care provided to the victims on ground has been very limited and as soon as the borders were open to ambulances some were evacuated toward the Al-Arish hospital on the North coast of Egypt. However, there was only so much they could do there as well and a second transfer was conducted towards other hospitals in Egypt as this one in Shaykh Zayd, a small commune at the outskirts of Cairo. We went there as a group of foreign ladies who had collected few bags of clothing for the patients and their relatives, a small gesture for them who literally came with no more than the clothes on their back and the contains of their pockets. Our intention was, as Pakistani, American, British and Icelandic sisters of the world to show them our support, to show the different colors of our faces but the same concern for the Palestinians dwelling inside of us.

Two relatives of patients staying at the hospital met with us in the lobby and in a swift conversation with them, us explaining our purpose that day and them telling us how they had arrived here, we soon heard their quest for world recognition of the crisis and how they wanted to make sure we understood that the weapons that they are seeing lending on their houses were not only made in Israel but in America. One man in his thirties was describing the injuries of his relatives, how the eyes of one brother popped out of their sockets, due to chemical weapons. This man had been living this for so long and as the other we would meet, he wished for the world to see and hear what was going on. Already my American friends assured him that they knew they had a responsibility in this, that THEY were doing it to them. I stood there watching them sharing their mutual understanding but now I come to wonder and certainly accept that I should also have said the same, simply because the inaction of the foreign observers that we are should be reason of blame.

The director of the hospital informed us that at that moment 20 Palestinians were receiving medical assistance, from whom 13 men, 4 women and 3 children. These patients had received already emergency care in a Gaza hospital and needed serious operations not providable there or Al-Arish. He also explained to us that a number of Palestinians crossing the borders for medical care were pre-conflict patients, but as the casualties and injured number continued rising, hospitals within the Gaza strip had to evacuate them so that more resources would be available for the present conflict victims.

In the ICU the staff there presented us 4 Palestinian patients. Watching the news during the last 2 weeks had of course made me so furious towards the injustice and slaughtering of my bordering fellows, I cried at the scenes of overloaded hospitals and running mothers in the streets. But right there, seeing with my own eyes, my heart started pounding heavily but I was emotionally blank. You know what makes you feel this way, your body is reacting but your mind is shut down? It’s seeing an 11 year old girl contorting herself, her eyes half open, unaware of why she is here, all this probably being the consequence of having a BULLET IN HER HEAD and having lost the function of her frontal lobe. Now I re-run in my head a speech of the Israeli Foreign Minister saying “we are not against Palestinians but against Hamas”. Lady, how does a BULLET get into a girl’s head? Again, HOW DOES A BULLET GET INTO AN 11 YEAR OLD’S HEAD if this was true?? What about the 10 year old boy with NO EYES, burns on his body caused by phosphorus chemicals..? What about the quadriplegic mother of 3 deceased children, suffering from massive head injuries?… and the 27 year old engineer having his arm reconstructed and his eyes removed…? Now would be a good time for Mr. McCain to say “…today we are all Palestinians”.

I could even see the distress of the staff, their faces were simply aggravated by the flowing in and out of injured children, women and men. When I asked her, Dr. Safinaz Osmal shared with me her concerns for the future of these ICU patients. For sure they would need an entire support system and medical/rehabilitation assistance after leaving the hospital. These medical assistants were clearly all emotionally involved with their ICU patients. They were Egyptians who also wanted to share their stories and share their compassion with us. This is the closest to Gaza I will ever get, but right there I felt I was in Palestine.

I left the ICU for the recovery wing on the 7th floor, where we met with two patients boys and their fathers. We asked the father of 9 year old Diaa what had happened to him in Gaza. I was a little astonished by the expression on his face. I couldn´t quite recognized what it meant. He talked to my Scottish friend’s husband/our interpreter in a story telling and spectacular way. I used the pauses between the translations to identify this expression. Could it be that he had thought for so long that the account of his daughter’s Nadia’s death on his roof should be as detailed as possible… so that he would feel she was not just among the mass in: “today X number of Palestinians were killed by Israeli rockets” on the next news report? Nadia, one of his two daughters was playing on the roof with her siblings when a rocket was launched on them. She managed at first to stand up, already injured, but her fate was sealed the second another rocket was launched. He told us about his wife’s reaction, he thought that he would find her in deep sorrow but found her actually accepting and surrendered. I looked at my friend and we agreed that time was our gift to them really, time for them to vent out, express themselves, and anyone can do that. I then looked at Diaa, he had a piece of his ear and flesh of his neck missing, with a splint on his entire right arm and to be honest I was not sure what to say to him. He was looking at me, I could not really bear it, I felt embarrassed with myself. Here I was, a westerner coming from the most peaceful place on earth, with the best standard of life and I felt very little. I felt little because all my worries in life were meaningless against a 9 years long life filled with bombs, hunger and death but mostly with constant stress and anguish. What could I say to him? What words could I say to any of them? Who am I to say “oh things will go better” when the past decades have, until now, not showed any signs indicating they will?

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19 year old Ahmed had suffered also injuries to his abdomen and face but his father had a total different look than our previous interlocutor. He showed physical and emotional exhaustion, after sitting day and night on the chair next to his son’s bed, worrying at all times about fluctuation in his temperature and other changes in his status. I asked him what was keeping him and possibly the others going. He told me that Palestine was their land, a holy land and looking down he added in English “I have 16 children…. 2 or 3 die… this is life”. Yes, this is your life my brother, and I can´t tell you “I know what you mean”.

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I also asked him what he wished for. His eyes went down a second time and his gaze went far, he had a long sigh. I hope you, who are reading, detect this now as I did then: this man may not have wished for anything for a long time… He finally declared: “I want the Palestinians to be one, as one nation”. We are still waiting for this to happen, specially in critical times and I don´t think he was talking about the geographical gap. I told them that the reward was with them surely, not with us, we should actually be in Gaza. Then, I finally found the courage to go to Diaa, I smiled at him and asked him if he felt better in this hospital, he nodded, I then apologized for my broken Arabic and told him I came from a far country and that my people too felt with the Palestinians like him. I couldn´t even slightly comprehend what was going through his mind, what scenes were imprinted into his memory and what it would be like bringing these horrific experiences into the future but I do believe that there will be a justice done now or later.

Palestinians really know the challenge of patience in this world. They have been in the waiting room for 60 years. Truly life is a test for the Sabireen, an the reward is set by the One who has promised it. Diaa, Ahmed, their fathers and each life taken away or handicapped by the Israeli attacks will be represented in my memory album so that I may remind myself that everyday I am a Palestinian.