"Life… which life do you mean?" Yassin, 67
February 22, 2011
“I come back from my visit to the physiotherapist; a small local organisation is paying for my treatment here. I still have problems with my hip. I was wounded in an Israeli bombardment from the sea. I can remember every detail of that day: the dead, the wounded, and the heads on the ground. We didn’t think it would be possible, that they would attack us from the sea. We knew bombs would be dropped, but we didn’t know when. Then the attack started with shells exploding. I can’t help remembering the mutilated bodies of my friends.” Yassin cries, “the blood, the smell, it’s still all there, in my head. It was in 1982. I got pieces of shrapnel in my knee, my ankle, my hip. Today I don’t work; I survive thanks to support because I was disabled. Life in this camp is like smouldering tar.
Life… which life do you mean? Everyone knows this life! Children are in the street, without work… Life is very expensive. We borrow from each other. I left Palestine when I was 11. In Palestine olives are the source of all that is good. I have a farm there; I still have the deeds for my land and my fields. I was rich… We would like to return to Palestine, even barefoot.”