*north from Gaza City, overlooking sweltering concrete slums of Beach Camp and on to border with Zionist state. The stepped-building in the right hand photo is a never-finished project begun in the 90s after Oslo
As I spoke with Emad’s father last night there was a loud blast somewhere in the distance. He is hard of hearing, asked what’s that? I told him it’s a bomb somewhere. He shrugged and walked off to the mosque to pray his evening prayers.
At night I lay rooftop, again star-gazing, listening to F-16s and other IOF warplanes roar overhead every so often, and heard a series of bombings again far off.
The noise of the wedding party in eastern Deir al Balah almost obfuscated the bombings, and as the planes didn’t do their evil work in our area I, like everyone else, shrugged and went to sleep.
The thing is, here, you never know where is being bombed, whether it is farmland or a home or a car a market the beach. And with electricity cuts (ours was out at the time of the first bombings and again this morning), there’s virtually no way of getting news, save ringing up people who might have internet access or tv. But, it is so normal to have these warplanes growling overhead, menacing with their presence and the potential of at any moment dropping a bomb anywhere on the 1.7 million caged in the 360 square kilometers that is Gaza, that you’d rack up a massive phone bill trying to find out what every bombing was. Bombing in ‘defense’, of course. continue reading