june 4: leaving gaza

Our protest at the border. Holding the Obama banner are Dr. Samir Nasrallah, his wife, and the mayor of Rafah, along with Monia Mazigh and Ann Wright from the delegation.

There were many goodbyes on our last day in Gaza: to the wonderful UNRWA folks, who have taken such excellent care of us and with whom many of us have become quite good friends; to the host families many of us stayed with; and to our fellow delegates, who will be scattering far and wide after we leave Gaza.

Palestine is a Petri dish for human emotion. Nearly everyone you meet is your friend within five minutes, and by the end of a day you're family. Our delegation was blessed to absorb this model of human interaction; very few of us knew each other before the trip, but many of us have become fast friends in the few days we've spent together. Some members of the delegation will be going on to Israel, to participate in the next CODEPINK trip, starting immediately after this one, which will try to put a dent in the armor of the virtually impenetrable Erez crossing on Gaza's northern border. A few more will be staying longer to complete film projects or other work, and one will be joining the International Solidarity Movement in their work in Gaza.

Our trip to Gaza wouldn't have been complete without a protest, especially since we were leaving Gaza on the day Obama was scheduled to speak in Cairo. The border guards on the Palestinian side of the Rafah crossing, affable and accomodating as always, allowed us to drive to a barren parking lot scarred by the concrete wall that seals off Gaza's southern border, where we staged a little rally with banners and flags, including one assembled seemingly by magic the previous night, calling (in English and Arabic) on Obama to visit Gaza. (He didn't take us up on the suggestion.)

We were joined by the mayor of Rafah, who assured us, as so many people have, that we all have a home in Palestine for the rest of our lives. Also with us were Dr. Samir Nasrallah and his wife, the Rafah residents whose home Rachel Corrie was trying to protect when she was killed, who both blinked away tears as they thanked us for being here. There were a handful of Americans standing with them in 2003; now there are 65 of us. It's a start.

The goodbyes could have gone on a lot longer, but we weren't sure how long the Egyptians would keep the border open, so we ended things in a terrible rush. We got one last unexpected stab in the heart as our bus rounded a corner and we saw all our UN friends waving cheerfully at us, as we cruised so easily out of the prison many of them have never left.

We passed through the border in even less time than it took us to go in; maybe the Egyptians wanted to get rid of us as quickly as possible. Then it was off to a kamikaze eight-hour ride across Sinai crammed in an un-airconditioned minibus in which we almost died about seven times. But we were entertained by Gael's stories from Iraq and Kinshasa, a complete history and theory of the hijab by Monia, and Maria's efforts to sell off the last of the CODEPINK Viva Gaza t-shirt supply, which would have put the craftiest salesmen at Khan el Khalil to shame.

You know you've adjusted to life in the Middle East when the following things don't faze you: having to make an emergency stop at a gas station in the middle of the Sinai Desert because a bus tire is on fire; eating mystery kebab (beef? lamb? goat? it's anybody's guess) from a rest stop near the Suez Canal; stopping on the shoulder of a four-lane highway to let people off to catch a ride to Taba; seeing three people riding a motorbike at top speed on through the epic highway tunnel in Cairo.

By the time we reached our hostel in Cairo around one in the morning, everyone was too exhausted to do much but fall into bed. Some of us will be sticking around for a day or two more in Egypt, so we don't have to say goodbye just yet.