6 Hours

Yesterday, I sent my mom a dot on WhatsApp to see if she’s online, like always. She wasn't, but I knew that she was on her way back to Ramallah after a short weekend in her hometown, Beit Ummar – a village on the outskirts of the infamous Hebron city, known for its original “ancient” leather shoes, perhaps the best Palestinian production. Naboly, since 1945, “Best leather comfort shoes." They're so good and durable that they last for generations; a son wears his father’s Naboly! The funny part is that this production is older than the state of Israel— ironic, isn’t it? Shoes, a state… anyway.

So, every weekend, my mom goes to visit my grandmother, especially after my grandfather passed away. She usually leaves Friday morning and comes back— hopefully—Saturday afternoon. But life in Palestine—specifically the West Bank— always has different plans for you! All actions we never asked for are available.

Later in the day, about 4 hours later, I checked if the message had been delivered yet, but it still hadn't. I knew that she and my brother were still on the way back, and I didn't think that anything had happened. It’s normal. So, I continued with my day here in Qatar, wasting time without realizing its value. I told myself, “Carmen, you can't be wasting time more than you already have at checkpoints in Palestine,” and ironically, this thought motivates me whenever I'm feeling down. I just think this is time from your life that was wasted, so now make something out of it.

Time passed by. I went back to my dorm after locking in at the university. And finally, after two more hours, I checked my message, and it had two checks instead of one, signalling that they’d arrived home. I called her after a while, wanting her to settle in as she had travelled across continents, and as soon as she picked up, I saw a tired face. I greeted her with a smile and joked, "You've forgotten that you have a daughter, apparently. Where have you been all day?” She responded with “ ﺳﺎﻋﺎت 6 ﺑﺎﻟطرﯾق ﻗﻌدﻧﺎ ﺑس وﻟﺷﻲ” with an irritated face, which translates to, “Nothing, we just spent 6 hours on our way back.”

You know what 6 hours could do? You know how tiring it is to drive for 6 hours? I can take a flight from Amman to Doha and back in five hours. Yet, it takes six hours for a trip that shouldn’t even take one if there were no occupation; two hours before the extensive takeover of Palestinian lands near Hebron; and four hours after the genocide, seizures, barriers, and closure of ways. 6 hours! I mean, driving through the whole of Palestine—if it weren’t occupied—should take five or six hours from north to south. And now a journey of just a few kilometers takes six hours. 

It's absurd how this has become the reality for Palestinians. Whenever I go back to the West Bank, I get so frustrated because I know—especially after living abroad—how much could be accomplished in those four-plus hours that were wasted on the checkpoint. Sometimes it’s because an Israeli soldier decided to go to the bathroom, or was distracted by personal issues, like a breakup.

What pisses me off even more is that a lot of these soldiers I encounter while travelling through Palestine are WHITE. When I went back last time, I had to go to Beit Ummar to send condolences to my grandma. Besides, waiting for an hour in the same city with no movement, we finally reached the barrier, which is like 15 footsteps away. And the soldier, who was clearly NOT from anywhere near Palestine, said, “Turn off the car and put the keys on the roof,” then proceeded to take our IDs to check if we did anything “wrong.” Moments later, he returned the IDs and asked, “Where are you going? Why?” as the land belonged to his father. Then he either permits you or not, depending on his mood. This happens every day for Palestinians moving between cities, whether it's for work, school, or a family visit.

So truly, when it comes to Palestinian struggles, I don't even know where to start. For me, coming to Qatar was a big shock because it's so different.

What do you mean you can drive for hours without a single checkpoint?

What do you mean, there are no barriers?

What do you mean it’s safe? Safe?

In Palestine, you can go to a café, and the IOF—Israeli Occupation Forces—would appear out of nowhere to arrest young men and kill a couple in the process, or just instil fear for fun.

What do you mean, you have a sovereign country? A functioning passport?

Events?? Artists, singers, actors? A World Cup, an Arab Cup??

How?

In my country, we look forward to surviving the day.

This new lifestyle broke all the rules of my Normals! What is normal?