…so Ma’an news tells us. And they’ve lifted the ban on those other dangerous substances, dates and pasta. Um, thanks Israel. Goodness knows what clean, date eating Palestinians are going to get up to as result. Sometimes you’ve got to laugh or you’d cry, huh?
I think I should warn you this final couple of weeks (if I in fact am allowed out on my first go – last time it took a month for Egypt to let me out) are going to descend into chaos, on this blog as well as in real life. I’ve got notes for a few things I want to write about for you piled up on the corner of my laptop screen, and we’re trying to get our medic course finished, and every single person I’ve ever met would like me to come for a nice Palestinian-style ten-hour-long final goodbye visit, and I am battling with the cashpoint to extract every last donation and leave it either in the hands of Gazans, or my colleague E for later distribution, and try to do all the remaining things you’ve asked me to do, plus a bunch of ambulance night shifts to get the course practical hours completed.
I hope to travel home overland if at all possible time-wise, avoiding flying for reasons of climate change and oil politics, and I’ll keep writing and posting as I spot net cafes, until I feel like I’ve told you everything I have left to say, and then I’ll introduce you to my blogging colleagues to whom you can transfer your reading loyalty. And then start to think about a UK speaking tour.
And what will I do, stuck outside working my way through a 3 year degree, if attacks start again, or if any of the many people I care about so much are injured or worse? I don’t know, and I can hardly stand to think about it. I guess I’ll come and find some of you folks, and whatever it is, we’ll do it together. Or will I come back here and karate-kick the Rafah door in?