Why, of all things in Gaza, do I keep thinking about that stupid can of Coke I ordered in the beautiful indoor/outdoor restaurant at the Marna House hotel in Gaza City?
I don't drink Coke in the US. But when I go abroad, to places where the everyday cuisine is not so laden with white sugar as in the US, I sometimes just crave a Coke. So I ordered one and didn't think much about it, until the waiter told me the price--seven shekels, or about $1.75.
Why is a can of Coke nearly twice as expensive in Gaza as it is in New York City? Because it came through the tunnels. The tunnels, hundreds of which run under the concrete-and-steel wall that seals off the border between Gaza and Egypt, which we got to see on the day we visited Rafah. The tunnels, which are a desperately needed lifeline bringing in things far more essential than soft drinks, but at often exorbitant prices due to the risk involved.
Someone risked their life for this can of Coke, I think. Someone--quite possibly a kid half my age--braved arrest, cave-ins, suffocation and F-16 strikes to bring this can of Coke through a kilometer of unlined three-foot by three-foot tunnel to my door. What is the markup on death-defying soda? I wonder. A dollar? Seventy-five cents? That hardly seems to correlate to the risk involved.
It's just a Coke. But it's one more sign of the upside-down reality of life in Gaza.
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