Mohamed the Physio and meHarry called me on Thursday asking me to join and help the mobile clinic of Physicians for human rights on Saturday. He said that they were expecting around 70 'orthopedic' patients and needed some extra hands to help with the workload.
We arrived at the meeting point in Taibe, a town on the Israeli side of the 'green line'. A crowd of some thirty people arrived: doctors, nurses, pharmacists, translators, Harry the chiropractic, myself the Chinese medicine man and a crew of two doing a story for BBC world service and the 'Guardian'. There was a real buzz in the air.
Physicians for human rights send out the 'mobile clinic' (http://phr.org.il/phr/) every Saturday, to the most needy places in the West Bank, where health care provision is lacking due to travel restrictions, underfunding and poverty. A team of specialist doctors, nurses and pharmacists (with a truck load of pharmaceutical drugs) are accompanied by translators and coordinators. Salah Haj Yehye from PHR oversees the whole operation, liaising with local health officers (identifying the most acute needs) then gathering the medical and support team and deciding on which route will have the least amount of road blocks.
The journey was relatively quick and trouble free and we managed to sail through all 3 checkpoints without hassle. The winding road went through sleepy villages, the hilly terrain dotted with cultivated fields and terraces. It felt like time has stood still in this part of the world. I embarked on this journey with a mild anxiety, anxious of the unknown and the violent reputation and history of Jenin refugee camp.
We were met on the outskirts of town by Omar, the local doctor who coordinated the visit. Dozens of patients were already waiting at the clinic and we got to work as soon as the short greetings ceremony was over. Harry and I were taken next door to the disability rehabilitation center where the corridors were lined with people, waiting patiently for their appointment. Within minutes, we were treating several people simultaneously. Local medical staff were there to help with translation and keep things calm in the hot corridors, where 150 people had gathered by now. Everyone we saw had either acute or chronic pain from injury or disease.
My first patient, Abu Suleiman, a man in his late sixties, walked into the room limping, complaining of severe back and leg pain. At first it seemed like a straight forward case of 'sciatic pain', but as his story began to unfold I realized how harsh and complex life is for the people of this refugee camp. He spoke to me in English Arabic and Hebrew interchangeably to which I was grateful as I hadn't been assigned a translator yet. 'Where are you from?' he asked me. A little place near Haifa, I replied. 'I am from Haifa' he said. 'We still have a house there'. I asked him if he was able to visit Haifa, which is only 30km north west of Jenin. But for many people in this part of the world, the 30km journey is something they can only dream of. 'Inshalla one day we will be able to have coffee together in Haifa', he tells me.
As I was palpating and examining Abu Suleiman's back I asked him about the onset of his back and leg pain. He paused for a moment then started telling me his story: 'In 2002 the Israeli army came into the camp. Heavy fighting broke out, there was gunfire and missiles everywhere. Suddenly, my friend who was sitting next to me was shot dead. I was shocked and grief stricken but thought that nothing worse could happen now. I was wrong. The next day, without warning, a D-9 bulldozer leveled my house with everyone inside. We somehow managed to clear the rubble with our bare hands to create an opening for air. I was trapped in an awkward position for days before we were rescued. My back has been hurting ever since'. I mentioned that the pained expression on his face suggests this is still a very vivid memory. 'As much as I want to, I cannot forget this', he said. After the treatment I suggested that he come to Barta'a for follow-ups every Monday, as he would need a course of treatments. 'I will not get a permit to cross the checkpoint into Barta'a'(15km from Jenin). 'When are you coming back here'? he asked. We shook hands and agreed that meeting in Haifa for coffee, one day soon, will be good.
This encounter left me drained and wondering how I will manage to go through the day. Outside there were 150 people waiting for treatment. Harry and I realized there was no way we could see everyone in the 4-5 hours we had left. The three local physiotherapists who were helping with translation started treating patients as well and the room we were working in soon looked like a makeshift hospital overflowing with patients. At some point I moved into the prosthetics department where I had a bed and three chairs. I was treating 3-4 people simultaneously, with the help of Mohamed, a final year physiotherapy student interested in acupuncture.
I was asked to design and run an acupuncture course for the medical staff at the refugee camp, to use as an adjunct for the therapies already employed there. I am trying to figure out a way to do this. That would be a more effective way to help, as the impact of a single encounter is limited.
Every person I met on that day was warm and welcoming. I admire the resilience of these people.
Mohamed told me that they are exhausted and overworked, treating 200 children with cerebral palsy every week. The incidence of CP in the refugee camp is 10 times higher than other places in the western world.
The rate of academics in the refugee camp is very high. Every school leaver goes to university, and everyone I met between the ages of 21 - 40 had at least one degree. They explained that they don't have land or own property and have no status. The only thing left to them is to invest in their education. The anxiety I felt at the beginning of this inspiring day turned into a feeling of gratitude. I am grateful for having had the chance to both contribute somewhat towards alleviating the suffering of a few people and making peace with the 'enemy', external and internal. From now on, the Jenin refugee camp will no longer represent violence and hatred but a place where people with names and faces live.
