Where the Streets Had a Name by Randa Abdel-Fattah

Where the Streets Had a Name by Randa Abdel-Fattah

Author:Randa Abdel-Fattah
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781741983180
Publisher: Pan Macmillan Australia


Chapter THIRTEEN

The service slows down. We approach the end of another long queue of cars, taxis, mini-trucks and vans. I notice three Palestinian men crouched down on their knees on the side of the road, their eyes blindfolded, their hands tied behind their backs. Four soldiers stand some ten metres away, casually chatting among themselves.

‘Why is it called Container checkpoint?’ I ask Raghib. I’m squashed against a window, Raghib directly in front of me.

‘Because it’s shaped like a container.’

A man sandwiched beside us interrupts. ‘No, ya zalami, you’re wrong. It’s because a man who owned a merchandise container set up shop in it to sell cigarettes, chewing gum, soft drinks, ya’ni, things like this to the travellers who passed through Wadi Al-Nar.’

‘No, no, you are both wrong,’ a woman calls out in a shrill voice. ‘It is because we’re all like sardines in a container!’ She cackles at her joke and a couple of others join her.

I peer out the window. The area is studded with enormous free-standing watchtowers. Concrete blocks and boulders litter the ground and barbed wire circles the containment area. An iron gate marks the entrance. Then, a no-man’s land, where a couple of soldiers stand. The vehicles are queued ten to fifteen metres away. The iron gate opens automatically when activated by the soldier in charge. One car is allowed through at a time.

‘Can’t we get out?’ someone calls to the driver.

The heat is stifling, inducing unwelcome body odour. We’re a spectrum of ages but all equally irritable. Samy’s face is turned up in disgust. I catch a whiff of a fart. Even under occupation people still claim the right to release gas in a crowd. Maybe it’s the anonymity of a packed service cab that encourages them. People cough and splutter as the offensive odour reaches their noses. A woman cries: ‘For God’s sake ask him if we can get out as I’m ready to faint in here!’

‘I’ll speak to them,’ David says. But the driver has already taken the lead and, poking his head out of the window and motioning to a nearby soldier, calls out, ‘Can we stretch our legs?’

The soldier looks back at the driver with a bored expression. Without bothering to answer, he turns his head away.

‘Was that a yes or a no?’ the driver asks, consulting us. ‘If it was a yes, he would have at least nodded, right? If it was a no and we get out, there’ll be trouble. It’s safer to just stay in.’

‘Yes, because he has the most comfortable seat in the bus,’ a woman behind me mutters.

‘That’s not fair,’ somebody responds. ‘You can’t expect him to share the driver’s seat.’

‘Who does that soldier think he is?’ Molly says indignantly. ‘Ignoring us like that!’

It’s getting unbearably stuffy and claustrophobic. Somebody’s bag juts into my back. The summer sun is burning strongly, cooking us in the minibus like chickens in an oven. We’re all getting restless and a man soon cries out: ‘Cramps! I have cramps in my feet!’

‘Push your feet in the other direction,’ somebody flippantly suggests.



Download



Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.