Salamander

Last month i posted an email I recieved from my friend John Perkins, a freelance photograperh. A friend of his in Palestine was kidnapped by Israeli soldiers. He went to Nablus to see the family and see if there is anyway he could help. He sent me his diary for the few days he spent trying to accompany Fadhi to Cairo through Jordan. This was in February. Unfortuantely Fadhi was arrested by the Israelis.

John will be interviewing some people and hopefully writing a story.

Follows is his account:

17.2.07.  Jordan valley. I must be insane, but me and Fadhi are going to try to go to Cairo together. Will be a fucking long trip. I'm questioning my sanity. Been hanging out in too many smoky rooms, shaking too many hands, and drinking too many sticky sweet drinks. Fadhi saying goodbye to his friends. Be glad to be out of here. ..... I'm going to have a hard time at checkpoints because of the  visa situation. Oh well, so will Fadhi.

18.2.07. Waiting for Fadhi, somewhere between Jordan and Israel. I ought to be more worried..... Three hours later. Kicked out of Israel for waiting around, now in Jordan sitting on my ass in the rain reading Mahfouz. ..... Later: a class-A fuck-up. The border is closed, and no sign of Fadhi. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. If he's in prison it's his own stupid fault for insisting on coming. If he's sent back at the border by the Jordanians, at least he has enough money to get home. And he said he's call his father whatever. I will too, the only problem is that neither of my phone cards work in Jordan. In a taxi to Aman. Bollocks bollocks bolloocks bollocks!

Later, Aman. It doesn't get any better. Well, OK, I got some sleep and a shower. Spoke to Abu Fadhi, he has no idea where Fadhi is  either. So there goes plan B. Fuck. Back to Israel tomorrow.

19.2.07. Just been hanging out in a Jordanian cop shop. They let me in on the strength of me claiming to be a foreign journalist. They didn't even ask for credentials. Kind of funny, no computers, coloured files from floor to ceiling, girls in uniform, lots of mustaches, and recruits training in the yard outside. The good news is that the Jordanians don't have Fadhi. Later: the bad news is the Israelis have him. A girl remembers him from yesterday, and they've taken my passport off somewhere. So no doubt I'll be in the interview room soon. An hour later: I know this trick. Make the subject wait, soften them up before the hard stuff. I've finished Mahfouz, now it's down to my own imagination to keep me occupied. 

Another hour later: two questions, from 2 different people, in 2 different uniforms, blue and green. How do you know him? And who else do you know? I named Shadi, Nadi and Osama, and you could feel the beast twitch. I feel like I'm in it's belly, being slowly digested. People float past, all with stories. The woman who wants to be with her husband, but has a US passport. The teacher who may or may not get in to teach. All the Israeli counter girls are hanging out together, gossiping in Hebrew. I must be one of the last ones here. A huge prefab hall, with blue and grey floor tiles, polystyrene roof tiles, air conditioning and fluorescent lights. Some metal benches, modern, but not too comfortable. Not the kind of thing you want to sit on for 4 hours. A third question: when was the last time I was in Nablus? What I don't understand is why they didn't take him at Huwara checkpoint, or Jericho checkpoint, or one night when they knew he'd be home. Why wait till we get to the  border? Surely the Israeli communicate ons systems can't be that  awful? Oh God, another busload has arrived. Screaming babies. If  there's one thing that will wear me down, it's screaming babies.

3.15pm. I'm out, without so much as an apology. Fuckers. I know now that they've got Fadhi anyway. I'm guessing they've fed him.

John

http://www.ripserve.com/perkins/