Marhaba From Palestine

An American in the West Bank

(Faraa Refugee Camp Day - 1)

Mike Mullenix(Contributing Editor)

Once again, because of the travel agenda I had, my contact and I had a lot to do.  The first was to visit Ahmed.  Ahmed is a young child and lives in the Belata refugee camp, just outside Nablus.  Ahmed was subjected to an explosion from an Israeli artillery shell and a piece of metal lodged in his left eye.  Ahmed’s sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, paid for a trip to Spain to see the best surgeons and eye specialists, in the world.  Unfortunately, the eye was damaged beyond repair.  In addition, Ahmed has developed some other issues and has been given the nickname “tsunami” because at times he is completely uncooperative, and that may not have to do with the damage to his eye, as I experienced when dealing with his family.  Without going into too much personal detail, we met with his family who was not the most cooperative.  We were informed that a doctor in Jerusalem had recommended another surgery that would improve his vision, and we would be best just to leave any money we had with the mother.  However, in reviewing the doctor’s report, it was clearly stated that no operation would improve his vision, however, eye glasses were recommended to protect his other eye and to make sure that in case of another incident, his eye would at least be behind protective lenses. 

After much discussion with his family, we took Ahmed to the optician who was a very kind gentleman.  We explained our tight schedule and he agreed to see us immediately.  We explained the situation and that we needed protective lenses that would not break, would be scratch resistant, and since Ahmed explained that the children in his school tease him because his damaged eye is discolored, I made the decision to purchase lenses that would darken when in the sunlight, in an attempt to make the damaged eye less noticeable to others.  The optician tested Ahmed’s eye and much to everyone’s delight, his right eye was perfect.  We decided to purchase a clear protective lens, we allowed him to select a set of frames and the optician said they would be ready in a couple days.  We paid for the glasses, gave a copy of the receipt to the grandfather who was accompanying us and went to the market where we could purchase some clothes, shoes, food and other items he needed.  The sponsor, with additional funds from PCWF, had been so kind to provide us with a large sum of money to spend on Ahmed, and we tried our best to spend all of it on him. 

Ahmed, the tsunami, appeared very uncomfortable and was not cooperative to say the least.  He almost seemed pained when asked to pick out items or when we asked if he liked what we were picking out for him.  My contact explained that this was due to the fact that he was used to going to a store that sold second hand clothes, because of his families financial situation, so he felt very uncomfortable, purchasing the best clothes available in Nablus.  We settled on a couple coats, shirts, pants, some underclothes (socks, t-shirts and underwear) as well as a jacket and some clothes for his sisters, who were also in desperate need of clothes.  We got stumped on a pair of shoes and no matter what style and color he wanted, they just didn’t seem to have them in his size.  Because of our tight schedule, we left money with the shoe store, asked if they would work with him, get him what he wanted and we collected all the receipts, said goodbye to Ahmed and his grandfather and we were off to the Faraa refugee camp.

The travel time, our episode with Ahmed and his family, and my experience at the Beit Eba checkpoint really shot our schedule, so we were rushed as soon as we got to Faraa.  We had a food distribution program scheduled for 3 o’clock in the afternoon, we had a number of families to see, and had to be ready to distribute in less than an hour.  We got to my contacts house and we sat down to eat a quick meal and before finishing, we received a phone call at about 2:30 explaining that the people were already lining up for the food drive.  We hurriedly finished our meal and headed off to the food drive, where the street was already filled with people.  We hastily put together a sign that said, “Thank You PCWF” as the sponsor organization of the food drive.  My contact had arranged for the 50 neediest families in the camp, who were not scheduled to receive aid money, to receive the food.  Each of these families has at least 4 and up to 9 children and conservatively, I anticipate we had a direct impact on the lives of at least 250 children in this project alone  This was made possible due to the kindness and generosity of the average person in countries all over the world, from all religious and political affiliations and all levels of income, who made a decision to make a better world by donating a couple of dollars to PCWF, either one time, or recurring weekly, monthly or annual donations.

Special tickets for the food distribution program were printed with the family names on them and one by one we distributed the food to the individuals as we crossed their names off the list.  We also took pictures of the event so that we would be able to post the pictures on the pcwf.org website, so that we could show the event sponsors that their money was being put to good use and that the children were benefiting from their kindness.  In some cases, the weight of the bags were so great, filled with rice, oil, canned goods, etc… that it took two and sometimes three children to be able to lift them and carry them off.  If the situation for the children wasn’t so desperate, I think I would have chuckled as they struggled down the street, trying to carry off their booty.  Later on, we had several families who sent their children to the house of the contact to tell us just how wonderful the food was that they received and how important it was to them to get it.  Not only did we provide them with a number of foodstuffs, but also provided some of the better items available.  This had a tremendous psychological effect on the people, knowing that not only did they receive food, but they received some of the higher quality foodstuffs we could buy.  Since it was the start of the Eid Al-Adha celebration for many of the families who received food, it was important to them that they received items, and were able to celebrate their religious holiday with some dignity.  In a community where many people are so poor, that they are unable to celebrate their religion, this was a huge boost to the morale of each of the families.

After the food distribution, we had many things to accomplish.  First was the girl that I personally sponsor through PCWF.  Her name is Nadia, and I will say with much shame and embarrassment that I have not always sent the amount that I promised, under the guise that some situation arose for me in the states, and therefore I needed the money more than she did.  After visiting her and her family in their home, I have shed many tears seeing her condition and pretending to myself that I had some selfish need that required the money more than she.  Her home consisted of three rooms.  One was a living room with no furniture, just some pads on the floor.  Another that you entered when you first came in the door was a concrete pit as such, and had waste water and other items on the floor.  You could see a dim lighted kitchen off to the side that was tiny in comparison and barely housed a stove.  As was typical, we entered the living room, sat down with her father and was offered a cup of coffee.  I will say that I was pre-warned about the situation, and had planned on giving the family 1000 shekels which is equivalent to about $250.00 US dollars.  We had placed 200 shekels in an envelope and another 800 shekels in a separate envelope.  The reason was because of the father.  Since conditions are so bad in the refugee camp, some men pick up guns, some pick up suicide belts, and others pick up a bottle.  He is one that picked up a bottle.  He was virtually incoherent when we entered the house and I was warned that any money that was given to the family, he would take and spend on alcohol.  That is the reason we split the money up.  Nadia hurriedly, behind the cover of the barely lit kitchen, put on her hijab, and she, her mother and her other 6 brothers and sisters came into the room.  My contact took pictures of me giving the 200 shekel envelope to Nadia and her family, knowing full well that it would be taken from them as soon as we left. 

Once the pictures were taken, we spoke with Nadia’s mother about her school progress.  Nadia is a 4.0 GPA student, unfortunately, with her home situation, and because of the culture, since she is 15, as soon as someone asks for her as a wife, the father will probably accept and move her on.  My contact in Faraa and also in Beit Sahour have been struggling over what we could do for her, but we have been unable to come up with a solution.  Once married, her education will end, and she will become a wife and mother.  When we left, she and her mother escorted us to the door.  As we were standing outside, we scribbled a quick note saying we had more money for the family and to meet us after noon prayer tomorrow outside the mosque.  We had several more families to meet with that evening on our schedule and two families that were not sponsored, but that needed some urgent medical attention, so we had to leave.  I will never forget those living conditions, or the look of shame on the face of Nadia and her mother as we left, having to be seen in such conditions, and having no control of what was happening in their lives.  Sometimes during these visits, I was glad it was raining so the rain and the tears were mixed and no one could see me crying.

We then traveled to the house of a friend of my contact.  The boy, Ameed, was about 2 years of age and had a disorder with the tear ducts in his eyes and upon entering the house; you could see the poor living conditions, once again, that these children are living in.  No heat, very thin children, poor clothing, no shoes, and the child was running around with his nose running and the eye with the disorder was weeping and the cheek was red and raw from the cold and the constant water dripping from his eye.  It did not take a physician to see that this child was suffering.  Since everything we do has to be documented, we required that the parent provide the doctors report requesting that an operation be performed.  The mother could not find the report but produced the prescription for eye lotion that the doctor had written that said that the child needed this medication until the operation was performed.  It was obvious that the family could not even afford the necessary medication.  Seeing the child in this condition and in this pain was more than I could take and I was willing, once again, to at least pay for the medication from my own pocket.  The family said the surgery would be about 500 shekels which is equivalent to about $125.00 US dollars.  I decided to have my contact give the doctor a call to see if we could get a copy of the report faxed to us, so we could go ahead and pay for the surgery for the child.  The doctor spoke to my contact in Arabic and even though he remembered the child, and even though he verified the surgery and the cost, he refused to fax us the report.  We asked if the mother made the request, would he do it then and he said no.  Finally, I asked if he would just confirm with me in English what he had told my contact in Arabic, and he refused to speak with me in English and ended the conversation. 

Due to the restrictions placed on me by the American government, my hands were tied and even though the surgery was obviously needed, I could do nothing.  We left asking the mother to please contact the surgeon and request a document that would verify what he had told my contact in Arabic.  Unfortunately, I only had one more day in the camp, and if we were to do something, it would have to happen in the next 24 hours.  I left feeling that even though we had done some wonderful things, I had left this poor child down.  We had many more people to see and money that sponsors had given for children, but I will say, that thinking of that child, I did not sleep well that night.  If only I had more money and more time, I could do so much more.  But with limited sponsorships, limited funds and the restrictions placed on me by my government, I, for the first time, felt that I had failed.  It was a feeling that made me sick to my stomach.  A feeling I will never forget for as long as I live.

We then met with Mohammad.  He was a very bright, smart and intelligent young child.  His father suffered from epilepsy and his condition had worsened over the years.  He was now not able to work because of the seizures, and his medication caused him to be very tired and in addition put a tremendous financial strain on the family.  Mohammad had a number of brothers and sisters and when we took a picture, we could barely fit them all in the frame.  They were all smiling and happy and if I didn’t know the story, I would swear they were just another happy family living in the states.  However, their living conditions, the clothes they wore and the condition of the children belied that assumption.  Mohammad and his brothers and sisters were in a very unique position.  His family did not own the two rooms that they lived in, and they were not able to continue to afford to live there, because of the medical costs of the father and the fact he was unable to work.  They were soon to be evicted and put out on the street.  Even the very poor people in the refugee camp had donated all they could give and with everything put together, they simply did not have enough money to buy a small place for them to live.  By the grace of God and the gift of $500 US dollars by Mohammad’s sponsor, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, they would now be able to afford to buy that place that his family and the families of the camp had hoped for.  To see the joy on the face of Mohammad’s mother and father, my contact at the camp, and friends who had gathered for the occasion, caused us all to weep with joy.  My contact had said to me that the gift was not only a gift to Mohammad and his family, but also to him and the same sentiment was reiterated by the friends who had gathered and had suffered themselves to help raise the money along with his generous sponsor and the help of PCWF, to purchase a small house for them.  Although the day had been a trial of ups and downs, goods and bads, sorrow and joy, it seemed an appropriate way to end the night, if only we could have ended there.

We then met with the father of a small child, nine months old, whose name was Reda.  This had to be one of the saddest stories that I had heard since I had arrived in Palestine.  This nine month old boy was suffering from a milk allergy.  Even though, once again, he was not sponsored, or scheduled to receive money, by the grace of PCWF and it’s kind donors, I was given some extra funds and granted a special dispensation, to identify children in need and attempt to assist them.  The father showed me a report from his doctor and a prescription in which the child was taken to the doctor in an emergency state.  He had a very high fever and had blood in his stool.  The child could not keep down any formula and was dehydrated and suffered from malnutrition.  The doctor identified the allergy, and prescribed several special vegetable milk formulas for the child.  As luck would have it, the child was also allergic to all the formulas except for the most expensive, Nutrimigen.  This formula costs 110 shekels every three days or the equivalent of about $25.00 US dollars, and was available in only one pharmacy in all of Nablus.  This cost is extravagant when considering this family makes only about 400 shekels per month, the child often did without the appropriate formula and his condition had deteriorated to the point that his life was in jeopardy. 

Once again, I was handcuffed by my own government’s restrictions and could not just give this money directly to the family.  They had one day of formula left for the child, and just 250 shekels to last them the rest of the month.  The father had to decide to feed this child, or feed the remainder of his family.  Either decision would mean that one or more of his children would die.  We asked the father if he could go to Nablus and buy 10 containers of Nurtimigen that would last them for a whole month, once again in hopes that this would buy us some time and someone will step forward and provide this family with a sponsorship, so that the child could get the necessary formula and avert the known ending.  Especially during this time of year, just a couple days after Christmas, it reminded me of “A Christmas Carol” and Tiny Tim who, in the story, most certainly would die, unless someone recognizes the severity of the situation and intervenes to save this child’s life.  The father said that he would try and on the way out the door, he called my contact back and explained that he did not even have the money to purchase the formula outright, so we could get a receipt.  I did not have the time to go to Nablus with him in the morning to buy the formula, so we had to come up with a solution.  My contact loaned him the money until he could get the formula, return with the receipt and I could then reimburse him, according to the US regulations that I have to operate under.  I left that house that night, praying that he would be successful and we could, if not save the child, we could at least postpone the inevitable, and maybe find a sponsor that believes that every child’s life is worth saving.

We then returned to my contact’s house where we sat and we talked about what we had left to do, and the time we had to do it in.  We met with a young lady at my contacts house that evening who was studying to be an engineer, but once again, as the story was told to me over and over again, this was a student who scored very high in her class, but could not afford to continue her education.  The thing that surprised me most about the education in Palestine, was not that students did not wish to study, or that the cost of education was expensive, as compared to America it was very cheap, but if you consider the average MONTHLY family salary in the Faraa refugee camp was about 400 shekels or $100.00 US dollars, even the cheapest fees were too much.  Once again, the best and the brightest students of Palestine were being left behind.  In the United States and other countries, those students who score very high are given scholarships or grants to continue their education, as we recognize that the future of our country depends on very smart, intelligent, hard working students to make our countries stay on top of the world market. 

However, with all the problems in the refugee camps, the strangulation of the government by the restrictions of money flow, and the lack of social systems, Palestine does not have the ability to educate their smartest students.  To me this is a travesty as it not only affects the future of the Palestinian people, it also affects the security and stability of the region as well as the security of Israel and the United States of America.  I hate to sound repetitive, but a smarter, more intelligent, wiser Palestine makes for a more secure world by ensuring that those who are the smartest, end up in positions in the government and in the business sector that realize that acts of terror are counter-productive for these individuals, their investments and their country.  To me an investment in their future is an investment in a safer more secure world.  Even though the sponsorship, in combination with sales of arts and crafts and other donations to PCWF, was only $300.00 US dollars, it paid for almost a full semester of schooling for this individual and breaks down to less than a $50.00 per month investment.  I believe it is a very small price to pay for a better world.

The next day was Friday and was the day of prayer for Muslims, and also the eve of Eid Al-Adha, a religious holy day for Muslims.  Which meant that if I wanted to get back to Beit Sahour, everything that was left to do, had to be completed before 11:30 the next morning.  If I did not get to the Hawara checkpoint early, which we anticipated would take some time to cross, then on to Ramallah, and then Bethlehem, I could be stuck on the road, somewhere in the West Bank, with nowhere to go and nowhere to stay and no transportation the next day.  Not an appealing thought for an American traveling alone in the West Bank.  We still had several families to meet with as well as some outstanding business, the business of the child with the need for surgery on his tear duct and the child who needed formula.  After my contact left me to sleep, I tossed and turned all night, not able to sleep for a minute, knowing all that was happening with these children, those we could make a small impact on, those we could not help at all due to funding reasons, and the ones that maybe we could help, and maybe we couldn’t.  The next morning did not come soon enough, but yet arrived too soon.