I am a young journalist briefly based in Nablus City in the West Bank. Here I hope to document the personal stories of these forgotten people who have lived through and are still coping with war, displacement and occupation. Through a small yet determined charity, Project Hope, I will also be teaching in the Askar refugee camp, schools and the university. I hope you enjoy my ramblings!

The Nablusian people are renowned in Palestine for being kind– they have an almost overwhelming hospitality that puts any Brit to shame. So far to date, I have been given an onion (the market seller felt sorry for me after five attempts at pronouncing Basal ) a free shirt, a cup of tea in a kanafa joint and a bizarre doll handbag decoration.  They are intrigued by us Project Hopians, who hot, sweaty and dishevelled grumble our way up the hills that sandwich the city – not a bit like the immaculate local women.

For hospitality, Nablus a far cry from the Ben Gurion airport. Grilling is an understatement. At 4am when you haven’t slept all night, it’s not a nice introduction to the country.  I’m amazed anyone bothers travelling to Israel. They weren’t happy with my connections with the UAE, that I’d been to Cairo so many times, that I was travelling by myself, that I’d been to Malaysia, that I was in Israel for so long, that I hadn’t booked a youth hostel, that I wasn’t Jewish, that I had teaching books in my bag and no Israeli phrase book.

The more questions they ask, the more you sweat and slip up.  They were about to put me in detention room (which means you’re in for the long haul) when I pulled out a random name of a family who lives in Tel Aviv that a friend had given me before I left. It was a magic password. They literally dropped the interrogation right there.

I had it easy though – an American girl with an Iranian sounding surname was detained for five hours. They took away her passport, her money, her phone, her bank card, her belongings and just grilled at her… because of the sound of her name. They asked her everything, even if she liked falafel!

Bizarrely, you’d think the airport would be the least of my worries  – but the four hour trip to Nablus was a breeze in comparison. I scrambled into a Servis (big taxi thing) and met a fascinating woman, she is a blacklisted Israeli activist married to a Palestinian from Nablus and was part of the Free Gaza Movement. She was actually on the boats that sailed from Cyprus to Gaza with supplies and reporters.

As we snaked our way round the curved hills Jerusalem she did an impromptu tour. The Israelis are building a railway at the moment which links West Jerusalem with the Israeli settlements in Palestinian East Jerusalem. It is quite literally and figuratively criminal. Settlements are illegal, but the Israel still supports them – the railway is the most blatant example of this – built on Arab land it only stops at the settlements, there are no Arab stations.  A French company Velo - who are actually helping build a track from Mecca to Medina – are behind the construction. There have been so many protests it has cost them millions. Many are trying to push for the company to be taken to court

We past new Israeli settlements in Jerusalem just on the cusp of the Wall, where she told me of the Palestinian families who live there. They were displaced in ’48 to new areas and then again in ’67 to this area just on the Green Line and right now are being displaced again because the Israelis claim that the land belonged to them before the Palestinians arrived in 67, despite moving the people there themselves ! They now have no where to go but still have the keys to their homes in West Jerusalem, in hope.

The most terrifying sight is the West Bank Wall. 8 metres high, iced with barred wire, it is an approx. 500 mile long barrier dividing the West Bank from Israel (although more than 80% of it encroaches on Palestinian land). You don’t really appreciate the statistics until you are faced with miles and miles of tall blank concrete and wire with watch towers and men with guns at some points. The West Bank is like the largest concentration camp in the world.

The Israelis demolish Palestinian homes in the West Bank daily. My roommate’s boyfriend’s friends lost their home in East Jerusalem last year – because they decided to build a third storey. Arabs are not given building permits. In the middle of a wedding ceremony the soldiers came, cleared out the apartment block – literally dragging the women out by their hair and beating up the men with guns, surrounded the block in dynamite and at first light blew it up. They weren’t even allowed to take out their belongings or furniture- everything was burnt, everything. The family were then charged for the cost of clearing the demolition site and taxes on top of that. No Palestinian can afford that so the Israeli government reclaimed it as their land.

There are horror stories wherever you go. I’ve met students who have scars from being shot at checkpoints … just because they are trying to get from Nablus where they are at university to Ramallah where their families live. They need a visa for everything – Nablus was closed for eighty years – although it is open now the furthest they can travel is Ramallah, and that’s on a good day.

In the last month the Israeli army have been going into the two refugee camps (Askar and Balata I’m working in) at night and just shooting people – randomly for fun. Literally once a week, having a quick shoot up. It’s crazy.

It’s quiet in Nablus at the moment – which is good. Although the Palestinians I’ve met are nervous when the Israeli’s leave them alone. No one knows why the checkpoints have been opened, although a good thing – some people are scared to go too far for fear of heavy restrictions being put in place and families separated. The people are hugely positive at the same time.

I went to my first class this morning – observing a class teaching young women, it was so much fun – although I wasn’t officially teaching I ended up taking a group and we did adjectives. The girls were giggling and lavishing me with compliments (I’ve never been so pink in the face in my life!). At they end they insisted on taking my picture to show their mum! So much fun!

Anyway, it’s nose to the grindstone. Lesson planning it is. I’ll be back.

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