Spring Team 05 Report: "First Entry"

Spring Team 05 Report: "First Entry"

April 10, 2005
by Mary
(Lansing webdesigner on MPT's spring peace team)

It is a beautiful monring in Aman. A. (my Michigan Peace Team
companion) and I step into the taxi that will take us to the Hussein Bridge -
out entry point into Palestine. The dawn reveals a verdant green landscape of
peaked hills and rounded valleys. Springing from the mountains are homes of
rough hewn rock and sparkling glass that look as though they've been pushed
through the earth's crust by a benevolent magician. Splashes of color
occasionally burst froth from a yard - - evidence of well-tended gardens and
fragrant flowers. The taxi driver points out landmarks that he thinks may
interest us: "Here is where they are building a bridge", "This are the homes
of the American Embassy", "Here is house made by very famouns architect". The car speeds along the winding roads, climbing hills and dipping back down again on waves of pavement that cut through the Spring-time mountains. The beauty is breathtaking, and I can't help but repeadtedly comment on it. The taxi driver seems pleased. As the houses fade behind us, the countryside continues with startling vistas at every bend. The driver asks if we like coffee and, when we reply with our assent, he pulls over at a roadside stand that seems to come out of nowhere. A handfull of darkly tanned men look over at us with mild
curiousity as our driver gets out of the car and approaches them. They
exchange only a few words, then the youngest man turns up the fire on a
portable gas stove and places a small, narrow saucepan over the flame. Within
moments, the driver has returned to the taxi with steaming plastic cups of
thick, sweet Turkish coffee and hands one to each of us. He seems only
slightly offended at our offer to reimburse him, waving away our mild protests,
and gently smiling at our words of appreciation. We continue down the road with its pitches and heaves and, gradually, quietly, the hills change from green and lush to brown and jagged and dry. The transition, though relatively
unassuming, is in the end quite notable. Our driver, who'd been initially
gregarious, is silent now. I cannot hide my surprise, nor the wave of
disappointment that hits me, when the first sniper tower comes into view.
Tall, barbed fences gash open the land, and ahead lies my first official
experience with a checkpoint. Beyond the gates, a bus will shuttle us across
the so-called "bridge" (for there is no water to span) to a more formal and
imposing interrogation station. The virtual smell of something ominous is in
the air, and I know now why nothing grows here. As our taxi driver pulls
away, leaving us to those who are professionally skeptical, I hear myself sigh,
bracing for the onslaught of uniformed men who cannot imagine why anyone of
non-Jewish heritage would want to enter this land. Welcome to the state of
Israel.