Jessica Ehne

Peace Through Health projects are jumping out of the earth everywhere. In Palestine, volunteering medical students are now trying toprevent children from becoming victims of endless political warfare. Danish student Jessica Ehne shares usher work experience in one of Bethlehem's project-camps from arrival onwards.

 

So there I was, standing in the middle of a small concrete building in Bethlehem surrounded by what must have been thirty, but felt like a million kids. A little girl has grabbed my hand and someone else tells me that I'll spend two weeks with her and her family. The Aida centre in which I'm volunteering is a type of club where kids can come and hang out. It is run by a doctor who has moved here with his family to stimulate positive developments. He wants to offer the local children an alternative for their current lives, giving them something to do. "As you see, this camp is not exactly filled with good alternatives for throwing stones", he says. And he is right about that. Since there are no open areas left in the camp, lack of space seems to be a cause of many problems. Due to the building of a wall which surrounds the camp, kids currently don't have any place left to play. The big field where they used to play has become inaccessible, since it's now on 'the wrong side of the wall'. The only available exercise-involved activity left for them now has become stone throwing. The doctor continues his talks about violence and hope for a while, and then asks us what we want to do during our stay. We decide to give a couple of first-aid classes besides spending the rest of the afternoons playing. Since everything is a bit overwhelming, the volunteers next to me are just as confused as I am. However, we all agree that it's going to be a great experience when we are being dragged off by happy kids to our temporary homes. 

 

 

Stone throwers elbow

Mohammed, the 13 year old son of my new family, has gotten himself a stone thrower's elbow. He explains me, not without pride that he now has to learn how to throw with his left arm. As I'm talking to him about his elbow, his older brother comes home. He overhears my conversation with Mohammed about whether or not it's ok to throw stones at Israelian soldiers. He stares at me as I'm trying to make a point of peaceful resistance. After mumbling something about stupid people, he disappears into his room. Later he tells me about his experiences with Israeli soldiers. When he was thirteen, he

was out playing on the streets with some of his friends. Suddenly, he felt a burning pain in his stomach. He says that it was like a dream and that he didn't really understand what happened, but knew that he was hurt. He had been hit by the ricochet of a bullet fired by one of the soldiers patrolling the camp. When he told me over a cup of tea, he said it with a steady voice, but his hand was shaking as he reached out to get his teacup on the living room table. He still has nightmares about it and even if he could ever forget about it, he would still have the bullet somewhere in his inguinal area to remind him. His cousin, who is one year older, has the same story to tell, only he almost lost his arm instead of his life. The same day as he got his scar, he also watched his brother bleed to death. After that day, they say, they started to hate Israel. Neither of them ever received counselling.

 

 

Soldiers attack

A couple of days later I was out walking with one of my new friends from the centre. She's a tiny twelve year old girl with big brown Pocahontas eyes. As we walked fast, faster then the others, she told me that she wanted ice cream. She was all excited about showing me her uncle's store, while holding my hand as we were chatting away. I asked what her mother does. She looks up at me; a sudden change in her eyes, her grip around my hand tightens. I repeat my question, a bit softer this time, as she tells me: "Two years ago, my mother was in the kitchen. It was during curfew.