Michael Jansenwas among a small group of journalists admitted to cross into the blitzed territory of Gaza
THE WORLD press swarmed through the black wrought-iron gate, swept unbelieving along the stretch of cement before the terminal on the Egyptian side of Rafah and into the inner sanctum we had gazed at but been denied access to for so long. A scrum formed around the table where a policeman sold stamps for our exit visas. Our spirits brightened.
The scrum moved to an office at the end of the departure hall where an Egyptian official, aided by a Dutch correspondent and an Arabic-speaking German journalist, told us to organise our papers – a letter from our embassies disclaiming any responsibility for what might happen to us, a letter from the Egyptian media centre, a photocopy of the first page of our passports and a letter saying we would leave Gaza after six days, plus the exit visa with stamp affixed. We began to smile.
After days of waiting at the gates to Palestinian Rafah and all of the Gaza Strip, we seemed to be on our way. We relaxed. We began to joke and chat. Colleagues emerged from the office with piles of stamped passports, free of the sheaf of paperwork.
We were bused to the Palestinian terminal where smiling Palestinian policemen shook our hands. All the world’s press had come to Gaza.
At least 200 of us. Pencil press, and broadcast media. The blockade on truth-telling had been lifted. By Egypt. The news from Israel was that only eight journalists a day would be allowed to enter and the list is 15 pages long.
My taxi sped along the edge of dark Rafah city. The lights of the car scanned the pot-holed road and picked out shadowy figures of pedestrians. We passed donkey carts, people walking, a horse and rider, a few cars.
At Khan Younis, there were lights. A lorry carrying cooking gas backed into a compound. “The first gas from Israel,” observed my driver. A palm tree boasted a string of white fairy lights. Lights are a sign of defiance: “We are still here.”
My driver took the horror route into Gaza City. “Sixteen died here,” he stated as we passed a five-storey building pancaked into just two by an Israeli bomb.
“They hit the Islamic University [a Hamas foundation] but not al-Azhar ”. The lights are off here in Gaza City, cars raise the dust so it is impossible to see. I found my hotel by the scent of apple-and-honey tobacco smoked in the water pipes at the popular cafe downstairs. Business was booming. More defiance. “We will live like normal people.”