jenintowerhamlets

It took ages just to get to the Allenby border crossing. I arrived at the King Hussein/Allenby bridge Jordanian side just after 9am. By the time I had gone through Jordanian passport control/departure tax section, waited for the bus, crossed the bridge and waited for the Israeli guards to let us drive through to the checkpoint it was about 11.30. And I had already been asked to show my passport 3 times! I handed in my case and passport (again!), the case was passed through security and kept, the passport was returned to me. I then had to join a queue for the Visitors Pasport Control (sic).

Each passport control cubicle was manned by 2 Israeli officials. These were all girls who could not have been older than 20, certainly in their teens. They all wear the same khaki uniform and same emotionless expression. There are no Israeli official men to be seen initially. Crowds of Palestinians wait at the other control booths, just returned from hajj and lugging big containers of ZamZam water. Occasionally the girls leave their cubicles taking passports into a private room. From this same room there emerges a young boy, again no more than 20 years old. He swaggers across the hall brandishing a huge gun, wearing huge sunglasses and clearly enjoying the impression he thinks this gives to the khaki girls that he is concealing something else huge.

On the way to the private room the girls will not make eye contact with anyone except each other and Little Lord Big Gun, they laugh and joke with each other but the minute they are asked a question by any non
Israeli waiting for their passport to be returned from the private room the smile disappears, the same bland expression appears and the same line "just wait please". They are like robots, programmed to recognise each other but treat all others with the bare minimum of human emotion.

Each person in our visitor queue is being questioned at great length by the Khaki robots. There are two very respectable middle aged women from the Philippines in front of me, there on business. They are totally bemused by the process particularly when they are asked for their grandfather's names and asked several times to repeat their address and phone number despite having written in down on a form. By 12pm it was my turn, the khaki robot I get is actually smiling when she sees me, but it isn't a smile that makes me feel remotely reassured, rather an insincere, superior sort of a smile that says "my day just got more interesting".

She opens my passport, "Your name is Aliya? You are a Muslim?" Here we go. I am asked my ethnic origin, where I was born in England, where I live (twice), what my phone numbers are (twice), how long I plan to stay (twice), what are the specific dates, why am i visiting Jerusalem, why did I come via Jordan, where I will stay in Jerusalem, do I have any written proof (I gave her the hotel voucher printout I had for the hotel I booked for the first night in Jerusalem), my father's name, my grandfather's name. All this information by the way was recorded twice on two forms we had to fill out on arrival (bar the reason for coming via Jordan). When she asks how long I am staying I say 3 weeks. She asks me again a few minutes later after more questions about my address. Again I say 3 weeks. "Three months!" she exclaims. "No" I say, "3 weeks".
"Oh, you said 3 months", looking at me quizzically. No, I repeat, I said 3 weeks. It occurs to me that instead of saying something like "I thought you said 3 months" she was clear that I had definitely said 3 months. Which I was clear I definitely had not. I realise this is some lame attempt to trip me up. I know it sounds daft, but it really was that pathetic and that obvious. She then asks me to write down my phone numbers in London and my address (again).

Finally, she tells me to wait in the seating area and they will run some security checks. She takes my passport to the private room.

So I wait, and wait…and wait some more. 2 hours pass. In this time all the people I had seen on the same bus from Jordan all went through - some of the visitors were Jordanian plus the two ladies from the Philippines. Also a group of four Canadians and a German guy (all white except one of the Canadians who had dark skin but not sure what ethnicity). They were going though the Palestinians returning from Hajj surprisingly quickly with the exception of some of the men. A (white) Dutch woman and a (white) American girl join me in waiting. The Dutch woman lives in Amman and her reason for going to Jerusalem is also stated as tourism, she had gone back and forth a few times and never been made to wait before. The American girl is here for the first time. Within half an hour the American girl is stamped and allowed to pass through. After an hour the Dutch woman goes through. I decide to ask one of the robots what is going on, unsurprisingly the answer is "we are waiting to hear back from the interior ministry, we don't know how long it will take, maybe one or two hours". I point out I have already been waiting over 2 hours. "Just sit down and wait please."

An hour later a policeman comes out of the private room - Where are you from? he asks. Where were you born? Where was your father born? Where was your mother born? How much money do you have with you? - there is no point telling him I've answered these questions several times before so I just answer them again.

Another hour or so later the place is empty except for me. I'm tired, have a bad headache and am thirsty and hungry. A round faced, round bellied man comes out of the private room, he looks jolly and smiley and asks me the same questions about why I am here, where I'm going and my ethnic and national background. Apparently unsatisfied with my answers he tells me to go to his office…"we can talk better there. "

Another young male Israeli tells me to follow him, We meet a female guard to take me into a curtained cubicle. I have to take off my shoes and coat and she searches me thoroughly, too close for comfort but as I expected and passes a detector over me. She takes my trainers away, returns them, and then takes them away again. Finally they are returned and I am led by the guy to the office. He tells me to take my money and leave everything else with him. The round faced jolly interrogator takes me to his office where a female official is sitting. She doesn't say anything at any point, just stays in the room the whole time.

Mr Round Face's approach is a more pseudo friendly one, a let's have a chat and get to know each other and let's see what I can get out of you kind of approach. I won't relate to you our whole conversation as it would take forever and this is already getting too long, but these are the questions he asked me:

Where were you born?
What's your father's name? your grandfather's name? What does your middle name mean? You don't know? why not?
Do you pray? How many times a day? Not five times? Aren't you supposed to pray 5 times?
Do you go to the mosque? No? Don't you know that if you pray in the mosque you get more "points"?
Where do you live?
What is the address? the phone number?

What is the nearest mosque? (I respond, "Probably East London mosque."
"What!" he exclaims, "East London mosque? Isn't it called Abu Bakr mosque or some name like that? hahaha")
Yeah, bloody hilarious (I don't say that! When he chuckles I picture him holding his wobbling round belly like a sinister version of Santa Claus. It keeps me amused. No offence to round people, you know I'm round)

Who goes to this mosque? What kind of people?
Did you study? What did you study? Where? What do you do? Who do you work for? What is london borough tower hamlets? I never heard of it. Where does your father work? Oh he is retired, where did he work? Does your mother work? How many brothers and sisters do you have? How old are they? What do they do? Do your parents mind you travelling to Jerusalem?
Why did you come via Jordan? What do you want to do in Jerusalem? Where are you going to stay? Are you really staying there or is this some hotel name you heard of and are just saying?

Why did you come to Jerusalem? Aren't you afraid of terrorism? (I tell him that we are at risk of terrorism anywhere and you can't let it control your life otherwise you'd never step out of the house).

Good answer, he says sarcastically.

Are you married? No?...not yet anyway hahaha. Why aren't you married? Is it hard to find a husband in England? What kind of girls do Muslim boys want to marry in England? Do they all want to marry British girls? Do they bring girls from India or Pakistan? Don't your parents want you to get married soon?

I ask him why I am being asked these questions? Am I the only person who has been questioned today? Why only me?

Yes, you are the only one he says. You saw that everyone else has gone. I'll tell you why. A few years ago 2 boys of your age and your characteristics came to Israel and we let them in and they blew themselves up.

What characteristics I ask?

Your age, Muslim, British, from India/Pakistan.

(That is it, blatant racism which he himself doesn't care about admitting)

Are you a friendly person? Do you make friends easily? (What the hell? I did have the urge to slap the smile off his face at this point but fortunately was so tired I didn't express impatience in my voice)
What friends do you have - are they all Indians? are they all Muslims? Do you have any Israeli friends? Tell me the types of friends you have (he means ethnicity - I have to list the ethnic origin of all my friends!!). Who do you live with? give me the name. What nationality is she? what origin? What does your flatmate do? How long have you lived together? You don't live with your parents? Why not?

(All the while he is tap tap tapping away at his computer as if seriously noting down everything I say. I watch his fingers on the keyboard to see if he is actually typing stuff or pretending to make his questions appear all official.)

Were any of your family or friends arrested after the London bombings?
Do you have family in India/Pakistan?
Have you been to India or Pakistan? Have your family from there been to England?

Tell me something to reassure me that you are not a terrorist. (What the hell??????????!!!! I am seething but keep it hidden. If everything I had said thus far didn't reassure him what would? I could only say that I abhor terrorism, that is not in my nature and that I don't approve of the people that take part in it)

He looks at my passport. So this year you have only been to Egypt. Since august 2005 you have been nowhere else? Where else have you travelled to before? Do you have your old passport? Tell me the places.

I start to list them taking care to mention non controversial places which is easy as Bosnia is the only possibly strange one. He looks bored. About halfway through I mention Istanbul. Suddenly he perks up. Istanbul? How was Istanbul? Nice I say, explaining it was just a stop over on the way to South Africa. He doesn't care to ask me questions about any other place.

He shrugs. Ok, you go and wait, we will decide. Who will decide I ask? Not me, the police. It's not my decision [bull – of course it is his decision].

How long will I have to wait?

I don't know, it's up to the police.

It turns out not long. I go to the loo and am followed by a female guard. 2 minutes later she bangs on the cubicle door - you are finished? come out.

I follow her to the waiting area by the private room. Another girl emerges. She is the first of the khaki robots I have seen with any trace of normal human kindness about her. She looks concerned. Mr Round Face interrogator comes out of the private room and passes by her, I look right at him but he refuses to make eye contact with me. All traces of the pseudo friendliness have disappeared from his face.

I'm sorry, says the girl, you must go back to Jordan.
I feel like I've been hit in the stomach. Why? I ask, clearly upset. Security reasons she says. You have to give me more that that, I exclaim, what specifically?!
To her credit the girl actually looks troubled and sympathetic. I don't know she says. You want to ask them? She points to the private room.

Yes I [bloody] want to ask them.

She takes me over to the room and opens the door, the policeman who had asked me some questions before takes one look at me and starts speaking angrily to the girl. I don't understand the words but it seems clear to me he is telling her off for bringing me there and refusing to speak to me. They don't let me in the room.

I realise immediately that they never intended to let me through. From the moment Khaki robot no. 1 took my passport at 12pm they knew there was no way I was going to get through. The wait, the search, the questioning were all some kind of bizarre game playing. Let's give her a hard enough time to make it seem we really believe she's a security threat. We haven't had any fun today, here's our chance. You might wonder why they would bother wasting their time and think I am just being paranoid. But that is the first question I asked myself. But, there is absolutely no way they actually believed I'm a security threat. I don't think they even searched my bags as everything seemed as I left it when I had the chance to check back in Amman! The smirks on their faces, the ridiculous questions, they absolutely knew I was never getting through purely because I have a Muslim name and a brown face. With the media frenzy against British Asians as well that was all the reason they needed.

The sole human khaki disappears and another robot appears. You will take a taxi back to Jordan. I don't have enough money i say, I'm not paying for it. She speaks to the driver. Ok whatever he will take you. What about back to Amman I say? I don't have enough money for a taxi from the other side of the bridge to Amman. I am visibly upset but the robot couldn't care less. She shrugs her whatever-shrug to indicate - your problem, not mine. Just go, she says, you go now.

The poor Jordanian taxi driver wonders what to do with this girl who won't stop crying all over the back of his cab. He tries to reassure me but the only word I understand is habibti. When we get to the other side of the bridge one of the Jordanian guards who first checked my passport 8 hours ago calls out, "Khan! You are you back! What happened?"

I can't answer him because I think if I open my mouth I'll start crying again. I'm annoyed with myself for being so pathetic but the tiredness, hunger and dehydration combined with fury at the arrogance, game playing and racism of the people I have had to deal with and the disappointment of not making it to Palestine, it's the only response my body seems capable of.

The taxi driver kindly calls around his friends and finds one who will come and take me back to Amman for whatever money I have left. I think he's relieved I've stopped blubbing

When I get back to the hotel I replay everything in my mind, every question and answer. Did I say the wrong thing, what better answers could I have given? I felt I could have been more forceful in my answers, I conversed quietly, giving short answers. But after 4 hours waiting, 7 hours if you include the time from the Jordan end of the bridge, I had little energy. I know now that they realize this. That's precisely why they make you wait (apart from the entertainment factor). So they reduce your ability to think straight and answer well.

I also wonder should I have given different answers, lied about my friends, my travel, not mentioned Istanbul (?!)…. But really I know that there were no right answers. They always planned to reject me, they just wanted to play their game. Even if I had claimed all I had were white friends, that I didn't care for religion and I'd only traveled to non Muslim countries they still would have rejected me for my Arabic name and muslim/asian/british heritage.

Mr Round Face demonstrated a willful ignorance in his stereotyping of muslim asian women with his disbelief at me being an independent, single, female traveler (only western – mostly white - women can possibly do that), with his assumption that all Asians only have Asian friends, that to be a Muslim you have to adhere to all the stereotypical ideas – pray at the mosque, be married before you're 25, never travel alone, live with you parents….

Then even if I had lived up to the stereotype I still would never have been let in. There was no winning.

So the racism of the state of Israel continues. The simple fact that I had to pretend to be a just tourist and not mention my other reasons for being there – to visit Palestinian friends and offer humanitarian support and friendship – demonstrates how the Palestinians are regarded as an unpeople by the Israelis. We can't acknowledge their existence in any real way or show them any friendship. My experience was short, unpleasant, emotionally tiring and stank of racism but is utterly insignificant compared to what Palestinians must have to go through on a daily basis.

To have to deal your whole life with people that regard you as beneath them, that brand you all as terrorists because of the acts of some people in your community, who obstruct your right to move freely about your land, who treat you with utter contempt…this must be soul destroying. To have experienced a miniscule fraction of this as an outsider only renews my determination to support Palestinians and to get the message to as many people as possible who may not realize it that we have a racist, apartheid state here in the 21st century that our western liberal governments support wholeheartedly. We cannot and should not stand for this.

Piczo