In the days not long ago the CPT team did all their vegetable
shopping at Bab Izzawia. It was a busy bustling colorful market where people
jostled to catch the eye of the vendor, to purchase cabbages, cauliflowers,
carrots, egg-plants, potatoes, tomatoes and bundles of fresh herbs each of
which would win prizes at county fairs back home.
Last November Israeli army tanks and bulldozers flattened and burned all the
market stalls. That was 95 days ago, ever since then there has been curfew:
the stall holders have had to move four blocks further north to the Al
Manara area.
It has been more difficult to shop here; taxis, cars and buses jostle for
room between the stalls on the sidewalks and the raised median in the centre
of the road. Potential customers find themselves enveloped in the noise of
horns sounded by drivers nervous of bumping them or each other.
The Israeli army noticed that the stallholders were back in business. Two
weeks ago we were horrified to watch the demolition of this market: the
displays of vegetables under colorful tarps were driven over by tanks going
backwards and forwards until the whole was reduced to twisted metal and
mangled food. Since then the market has slowly regrown: gone are the unusual
fruits and vegetables, but piles of cucumbers and smaller heaps of
persimmons and poor quality apples have been displayed on makeshift stands
of old fridges and derelict washing machines; tomatoes, cabbages and
cauliflowers have returned. In solidarity, the CPT team has been there every
day to support their enterprise..
Until yesterday.
On this dark grey afternoon with a cold wind driving the rain down in
sheets, the water ran down the roads in shallow rivers of mud and debris.
Curfew was total for the whole central city area. Only an elderly mother and
her adult daughter, both in tears and on their way to the hospital, passed
me; a very few taxi drivers looking anxiously for signs of military presence
made their way to safer areas. A Palestinian driver called a warning to me
to avoid the Manara market area, where he had seen an Israeli army tank and
bulldozer. I felt a need to investigate and paddled down the flooded road.
I was alone in a deserted battleground. Twisted and distorted metal struts
protruded from pools of black mud while flattened fridge carcasses lay as
white patches on the roadways. Tarps flapped their tattered remnants and odd
lengths of wire tried to trip me as I passed. I felt very alone, utterly
dejected and increasingly frightened.
I stood, briefly, on the central roundabout, now scarred by tanks having
driven too close and stared around in disbelief at the devastation and
desolation. A wet rat ran to the shelter of a sheet of metal.
I crossed over to the rose garden: I have loved this little garden, made on
a small triangle of ground. It is a quiet spot in the midst of busyness. On
sunny days cats sit on the grass or lie on the warm slabs of the memorial in
the centre, looking lazily at the sparrows which flutter and twitter
teasingly.
Now, I was really shocked; the beautiful green metal railing, which protects
the area, was a contorted mess; the sidewalk had been run over by a tank and
the once handsome brickwork of the pavement was lying all over the road.
The only signs of hope in this terrible scene were the bushes of white
roses, which in the ethereal light from a storm-ridden sky, glowed in
defiance of the havoc which man has wreaked against man.
Where will our hungry neighbours buy food tomorrow?
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