I have been in the small town of El Arish in northern Egypt for more than two weeks now. It was not my intention to spend my time here, but to cross into Gaza to work on several projects.
I left Kenya the first part of February after receiving information from the U.S. Embassy, the Egyptian government and press ministry that they would give me permission to cross into Gaza. I purchased a ticket for the first flight out of Nairobi and flew with a high fever that I first thought could be malaria.
Arriving in Cairo at 9:00 a.m. after a six-hour flight, I had to make it to the U.S. Embassy by 11:00 to get a waiver that basically said that I am taking my life into my own hands and do not hold the U.S. government responsible. They charge $30 for this piece of paper and it took three hours in a waiting room to have it drafted up. It's funny that I have to pay to get a letter that says that the people who gave me the letter are refusing to help me if I should get into trouble — couldn’t we just skip this step and if I do get into trouble they can just not show up?
From the embassy I had one hour to make it to the Egyptian Press Ministry, where I received special permission to cross into Gaza. At this point I had exactly 48 hours to make it to northern Egypt and cross the border before it closed indefinitely. It was a hard decision because I knew that if I did have malaria, I would have been entering a country where I wouldn’t be able to get medical care and wouldn’t be able to leave for an indefinite period of time. Having missed the second and last bus of the day, I was stuck in Cairo for the night.
I found a cheap hotel, dropped my bags and went in search of a doctor. Forty five minutes into my search, I was too weak to keep walking so I went into a pharmacy and stocked up on all the antibiotics and medications I thought I may need, returned to my hotel and passed out for 15 hours of fever-induced dreaming.
The next morning I sucked it up and made the nine-hour journey to the Egypt/Gaza border, only to find out that they had decided to close it one day early, just two hours before I arrived. Once again I stood in front of the locked gate at the Rafah crossing, with my mind churning over everything I had gone through to make it there, only to be shut out once again.
Al Arish is about a 30-minute taxi ride from the Rafah crossing and is the place where journalists and aid workers go when they can't get access to Gaza. It is a plain little town with ragged concrete buildings, garbage strewn in the streets and all of the other qualities that make it completely indescernable from most other small, poor towns in the Arabic world.
The one thing Arish has going for it is its beach, which brings tourists from Cairo during the summer months, and one or two stranded journalists during off months. The Mediterranean here is clear and shows off various shades of blues, even with its trash filled shores, it is much nicer than central Arish, where the sound of horns honking keeps you awake all night long.
I rented a two-bedroom apartment with satellite, hot water, a washing machine, full kitchen and two decks, one of which looks out onto the sea — all for a whopping $9 a night. Granted, no $9-a-day beachfront property is complete without a few quirks, like the shower only working while the toilet is being flushed, requiring me to keep my foot outside, periodically pressing the flush handle while the rest of me bathes. Trash is not picked up in this neighborhood, so it is thrown off balconies onto the beach, which does not seem to bother the locals who walk through it and play in it all day.
My days are primarily spent editing on my computer. I lie on my bed, listen to music mixed with the sound of the waves and try to catch up on the never-ending process of editing photos. I have work going back four or five years, which I still have not even looked at, so I have plenty to keep me busy. Each morning I wake up and call my contact at the border, who now laughs when he hears my voice, telling me that I am the only person who still calls him and has not given up on the border opening.
My other priority is my health, which is my most important tool for this work. I have recovered from my fever but am still a bit weak, which is not OK with me. I run on the beach twice a day and spend two hours, six days a week at the local gym. In between the editing, exercising, trekking to the Internet café and sleeping, I eat a lot of tuna fish and fruit (oranges are in season here and are excellent) trying to get myself back in shape.
I will continue to wait for the border to open for one more week, then I must head to Paris and Stockholm for some meetings and interviews, then to the United States, where I will be doing a couple weeks of lecturing and opening a new exhibition.
great story!
Posted by: sam | February 18, 2009 at 19:48
i must visit your blog daily. this is real journalism
Posted by: unxpektd | February 18, 2009 at 20:20
Amazing, man. I have been there for a moment thanks to your words. I'm happy you are not in fever anymore, that's a problem less.
Hope to have you in Gaza soon, and to see it through your blog. Maybe one day I do similar jobs, but I'll learning about you always, of course.
Thanks for the post.
Posted by: Antonio Rull | February 19, 2009 at 12:56
9 bucks sounds like a GREAT deal man. All my mind numbing 9 months in Egypt with lungs chocked by pollution and ears deafen by traffic honks I've never found a 9 bucks place!
Get well soon my friend.
Hugs,
P
Posted by: Penelope Gan | February 19, 2009 at 15:48
Happy to hear of Your recovery and awaiting more insights and Your unique perspective there.
Posted by: mark aleshnick | February 21, 2009 at 03:23
Man! 2 Hours! How frustrating this must be for you. I'm glad to hear that you're still in pursuit of what you believe in, and I hope your health improves.
Stay safe, my friend. I look forward to hearing more from you.
Posted by: Brian Auer | February 22, 2009 at 00:14
Have a googd health and hope you will be in Gaza soon. Take care !
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