6. The Next, You're Dead
I watched as the taxi drove away, leaving me to breathe in its smoke. The taxi driver, who had said two words ('good luck') to me, had sped away before I had even closed the door. I could see why, though. I was standing in front of a desolate area, cordoned off by several wired gates. Trying to remember everything I had read about this entry point, I made my way forward to the guard box a few meters away. There was a single guard soldier behind the desk. She had dark hair and blue eyes. I gave a wide smile and placed my documents in front of her.
"Hello!" I greeted.
She didn't even glance at me. Taking my documents, she scanned my passport in and examined my press pass. I noticed a silver ring on her right thumb. There was something engraved on it but I couldn't see what. It wasn't even a very feminine ring either. Shaking my head, I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.
"Bags," the soldier said, sliding my passport and press pass to the side.
I heaved my backpack and small rolly bag onto the desk. The soldier proceeded to open them and rifle through everything.
"Do you have anything illegal in here?" she asked.
I shook my head and replied, "Not at all."
"Any weapons?"
"No."
"Alcohol?"
"No."
"Guns?"
Pretty sure that fell under weapons. "No."
"Drugs?"
"Not in the least!"
With a firm nod, she typed something into her computer, wrote something in my passport and handed everything back to me. I zipped up my bags and walked towards the electric fence. I waited for about ten minutes before my name was called out. The gate slid open and I made my way into the terminal. My heart sank when I saw the soldier on duty.
Just my bloody luck.
I gave Adon a small smile, hoping that he didn't recognise me.
"You," he said, his face expressionless.
I widened my smile. "So lovely to see you again."
Adon scowled at me and I hastily placed my documents in front of him.
"Is this your first time in Gaza?"
"It is, yes."
"Why do you want to enter Gaza?"
"I am a journalist, and I'm visiting a friend."
Adon raised his eyebrows and my stomach tightened.
Crap. Did I saw the wrong thing?
"Friend?"
"Yes, she's uh...She's my neighbours sister." I tried not to close my eyes and groan God, Julie. Neighbour's sister? That is the biggest pile of dung you've ever thought of.
Adon stared at me blankly, obviously not buying what I had just blurted.
"What company do you work for?"
"Excuse me?" I squeaked, my brain had gone blank.
"Journalist. You said you were one! What is your company name?"
"Oh," I breathed. "Spark Publishers. I write for the paper Spark."
Adon gave a quick nod. "Bags please."
"But that soldier just searched them!"
"Bags. Please."
I hurriedly placed my two bags in front of him and watched as he turned everything upside down.
"Oh, please be careful in that one. I have expensive equipment."
Adon merely glared at me before zipping the bags up, taking my passport and stamping a stamp. I noticed an identical silver ring on his right thumb too. I frowned. Maybe it was an army thing.
I took my things quickly, flashed him a smile, and hurried away before he could change his mind.
I walked through the terminal, following the signs that pointed me towards Gaza. Finally, I entered a long, concrete tunnel. After some time, I came to a turnstile, where I struggled to get through because of my bulky backpack. After a few minutes of shoving and turning different ways, I got through.
I groaned when I saw the road ahead. It was gravel and lonesome, with a metal fence on either side. The end was not even in sight. I'm sure it was at least a kilometre.
With a sigh, I began the walk. To my left and right was desolate mined land. The walk took me about half an hour. I came to a sweaty stop at another security hut. I walked inside but it was empty. I waited for about twenty minutes, but no one came, so I cautiously walked forward. When nothing shot at me, I continued forward and walked for about another kilometre.
This time there were a few people about, many giving me strange looks. I'd give myself a strange look. I was dirty and sweaty, my hair slicked back in sweat. My suitcase was red from the sand and my camera was hanging from my neck, covered slightly in dust.
Finally, I came to the last checkpoint, this one run by Hamas, the "Palestinian" army. The soldier in office gave me a slightly disgusted look, which I returned with a relieved smile.
"Hello!"
"Afternoon," the dark, black haired and hazel eyes man said. "Passport please."
I handed my things over and the man ran everything though his computer. He then searched my bags. I glanced at his right hand, but he wasn't wearing a silver ring. Given, he worked for Hamas, so even if it were an Army thing, only the Israeli army would have it.
"Don't worry to go to that hut, I have checked everything here," the soldier told me, handing my documents and bags back to me.
I gave him a nod. "Thank you! Oh yes, can you please tell me how far Aztad Road is?"
The man shook his head. "I'm afraid I do not know. There is a garage down the road from here. You can ask there."
I gave him a smile. "Thank you."
It was another fifteen-minute walk before I got to the petrol station. There was one petrol tank and the shop was empty with broken windows. Despite that, I did find a couple of taxis parked in a row. I went to the first one. It was empty. The second one had a young woman in it. I knocked on the window and she jumped. Giving her an apologetic look, I stepped back as she opened her door.
"Hello?" She was taller than I was, fair, had grey eyes, and light brown hair was poking out from under her headscarf.
"Hi. Is this a taxi service?"
"Servees, yes." She gave me a nod.
"Can you take me to this address?" I asked and showed her a piece of paper where I had written down Amna's street and suburb name.
Her eyes lit up in recognition and she gave me another nod and opened the car boot to put my bags in. "I live there."
I gave her a smile and walked to my side of the car.
"Name yours?" She asked as she got into the car.
"Julie," I answered with a smile. "Your name?"
She frowned at me before answering slowly, "Amna."
My jaw dropped. It couldn't be.
"Amna Ghazaleh?" I asked hesitantly.
She gave a nervous smile before answering, "Julie Adams?"
"Oh, my God!" I leaned over the centre console and engulfed her into a hug. "How weird!"
"You made it!" she said excitedly.
"I did!" I grinned. "Do you work for the taxi service?"
She nodded and replied, "I do, but do not get payed because I am girl."
"What? Seriously?"
"Serious."
"That's so crazy," I murmured, taking in Amna while she drove.
She had scratches over her skin and her hair was scraggly. Her clothes were torn in places and her arms and face were smudged with dirt. Despite that, though, her lips were spread into the biggest, most contagious smile imaginable.
"Julie made it," she repeated. This time slower, and a bit quieter.
I couldn't believe I was actually in Gaza, and that I had already met Amna. So far, things were looking good.
"How are you? What's been going on since we last spoke?" I asked, shifting in my seat so I could look at Amna.
I almost instantly regretted my question because Amna's smile faded. "We have no water, and there were more bombs two nights ago. Our school and hospital is ruined," she replied sadly.
My heart sunk, and the knot in my stomach that had formed days ago tightened. "That's awful. Why don't you have water?"
"Punishment because one refugee camp stood up to soldiers," she explained.
"How terrible!" I shook my head. "Do you live in a camp?"
Amna shook her head and replied, "No, I live in one of old neighbourhoods. There is only four homes left by us. The others were either shot or bombed."
I stared at her. She said it so casually, as if neighbours disappearing were a normal thing.
"Insane," I muttered, shaking my head.
We dwindled into comfortable silence. I turned to look outside. It was awful. Buildings were broken down, nothing was being rebuilt. There were hordes of people walking around, many of them children. Majority of the people had scraggly clothes on, and were deathly thin. Once again, though, the atmosphere looked very similar to Balda Hurria, Omar's camp. People were smiling and selling things.
Finally, Amna turned left into a desolate street and came to a stop outside a half standing house. She got out of the car, but I was too uncertain to get out of the car.
The building in front of me had its front part completely blown off. There was a small room that was still standing, though it had no front wall. There was a pile of rubble just in front of it, which was still slightly smoking.
Amna opened my door and gestured for me to get out.
"Welcome to my house," she said proudly.
The knot it my stomach tightened as I followed her to her single standing room.
"A bomb hit my neighbourhood last week. This is all that is left of my house," she explained, setting my bags down in the open air room. "I would invite Julie to stay with me, but now it is not possible."
I didn't know how to respond, so I just gave her a small smile.
"A lot to take in, yes?" She replied with a small smile.
I exhaled and let out a little laugh before nodding. "I was not prepared for all this," I said honestly, gingerly gesturing around. "I mean, I knew it was bad, and things were out of hand, but this? Amna, you're practically homeless!"
Amna's face fell for just a second before her smile was back in full force. "But I am alive! I have work, and I have friends. That is all that matters."
I gaped at her optimism. "You're amazing," I said.
She just flashed me another smile before walked out of her half a room.
"Come," she said. "You must meet Ahmad!"
She pulled me by my hand a dragged me next door. This house was mostly intact, though there was a gaping hole in the left wall.
Amna just walked straight into the house, and right into the kitchen, where we were greeted by a tall man with blonde hair and hazel eyes. He was lean and quite fair.
"Amna!" he greeted with a smile. He gave her a quick hug and they proceeded to have a conversation in Arabic.
I took a moment to look around. The kitchen was small but comfortable. There was a stove to my left, the fridge next to it and a few counters on the other side. There was a small booth to my right that could probably only seat two people.
The two fell silent as Amna gestured to me. "This is Julie. She is the journalist I told Ahmad about," she explained.
I held my hand out for Ahmad to shake. "Nice to meet you," I said with a smile.
"Nice to meet you too!" He replied, returning my smile. A couple of his teeth were chipped, and he too had scars on his face. He did, however, look slightly cleaner than Amna. "Have a seat." He gently led me to the booth. "Would you like some tea?"
"That would be lovely, thank you," I told him.
Amna sat down opposite me and continued talking, "Ahmad has a brother, Zayn. He is not here right now. He went away a few days ago and we haven't seen him since." Her face fell slightly.
"He's fine, habibi," Ahmad said softly, squeezing Amna's shoulder.
"I hope so," she sighed.
Ahmad walked back to the stove, where he was stirring something in a pot.
"So, Ahmad," I started. "Do you live with your parents?"
He turned back around, his face darkened and etched with a scowl.
Placing three mugs on the table, he answered, "No. They were taken hostage."
My eyes widened. "Hostage? Are they okay?"
His eyes were storming, and I knew this was a dangerous topic. He didn't give an answer, just turned around and walked back to the stove.
I glanced at Amna and she shrugged helplessly. Ahmad came back, placed the tea in front of us, and sat down.
"It's a dangerous place, this," she told me, her eyes flashing. "One minute you're there, the next, you're dead."
With that image in mind, I heard an explosion and the ground shook, knocking me to the floor.
***
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