Journeys

On our last day in Abu Dis, we discovered our return flight to London was delayed, and I was devastated. I was desperate to see my family, and the prospect of another day separated from my children seemed too much to bear. Then, when I realised that I would have to wait another day to see them, it was all I could do not to cry. And finally, when this morning, there were no tubes and the taxi I had booked failed to show, and I missed yet another train home, I cried. Unashamedly. In the middle of London Euston train station. Like a child.

But then it dawned on me. This is just a tiny glimpse into the difficulties Palestinians face every single day. In their journeys to school, to work, to the shops, to their families. Checkpoints littered across the West Bank often lead to children arriving late to school, anxious and agitated, workers arriving late to work, or friends failing to be reunited; car journeys, where direct routes prohibited for Palestinians are quick, instead are often lengthy and laborious; throughout all, danger is ever prevalent.

Journeys are governed by letters and colours. Areas are separated by A, B, C and people are divided into colours such as yellow, green or blue.  These colours determine Palestinians' journeys: where they can go, and who they are answerable to. Our children relish learning about colours and the alphabet as toddlers. The irony is clear for all to see.

And let us not forget the enforced journeys. The ones they don't choose to make. Young boys, taken from their homes in the middle of the night, transported alone in military vehicles. Held in prisons miles away from their families, their childhoods a distant memory.

And then there's the journeys some will never make. Countless refugees are unable to return, or even visit the place of their origin, prevented by a wall, and colours and letters. Jerusalem is perceived as the spiritual home of many Christians and Muslims alike, yet many will never see it; they simply aren't allowed.

So as I sit now, on a train, sipping tea, gazing out at the landscape, I remember, there are no trains in Palestine. And I am lucky. I only hope that the amazing people we have met and who have welcomed us with open arms, will one day be able to cry, but just because their taxi failed to arrive on time.