The Request [Under Construction]

4. The Wall

4. The Wall

If I didn't know that people were being bombed and shot one border over, I would have thought that Tel Aviv was the perfect holiday destination.

If I didn't know that people were being bombed and shot one border over, I would have thought that Jerusalem was the perfect holiday destination.

If I didn't know that people were being bombed and shot one border over, I would have thought that Bethlehem was the perfect holiday destination.

If I didn't know that people were being bombed and shot one border over, I would have thought that Israel was the perfect holiday destination.

Except, I knew that people were being bombed and shot one border over.

I knew that it shouldn't even be called Israel, it should be called Palestine.

I let out a sigh as I ran my hand over the graffiti covered concrete wall. The Apartheid Wall, as some called it. It was mostly eight metres high, and was said to be up to six hundred and fifty kilometres in length once construction was complete. Most of the concrete slabs were about three metres wide.

The wall was in place to keep Palestinians in and Israelis protected.

The tall shadow loomed over me as I studied the drawings and words drawn onto the wall.

Free Palestine!

Israel above all

Danger Zone Ahead

Peace!

The word "Palestine" in the first phrase had been crossed out and replaced with Israel.

I shook my head and walked a few more paces. The wall had several layers of barbed wire hugging the top, threatening anyone who even dared look at it.

I came to a stop outside an electric gate, which was also framed in barbed wire. There was a security hut to the left of the entryway. This was today's second checkpoint. Because I travelled here by bus, we didn't stop at the first checkpoint. It was a simple grey, concrete structure with a flat roof.

I'd been in Jerusalem for a couple of days, and on my third day there, I travelled to Ramallah. I just had to cross this checkpoint and I'd be in the West Bank. Out of all Palestinian occupied lands, the West Bank was relatively simple to get into.

Many of the public buses went straight into the occupied land, without stopping at the checkpoint and having all the passengers checked. Unfortunately, I was now using a private taxi service, so I had to walk into the station and get checked. I wasn't too worried, though. I had a tourist visa and a Government Press Office pass.

The inside of the hut was simple and small. The walls were crème and there was a wooden barrier that separated the visitor from the officer on duty. There was a lazy fan going in circles on the ceiling and several papers stuck to the left wall. I smiled at the officer there and put my documents on his desk. He was handsome, with black hair and blue eyes. He was sitting back in his chair, his feet crossed at the ankles. His shirt told me that he was Adon, and that he was a Lieutenant. He didn't even bother looking at my documents, but rather stared at me challengingly, daring me to speak.

I cleared my throat and started to speak, "He-"

"Lekh' mipoh. Anach'nu lo lapatuachhayom!" he barked.

I took a step back, my eyes widening slightly. "I-I'm sorry, I don-"

"l'azuv!" His blue eyes shot icicles at me before he got up and walked around the divider. He was tall and heavily built. I had just enough to time to see a gun and thick metal rod jutting out from his belt before he took my passport and GPO pass, shoving it against my chest and pointing to the door.