Playing in the shade: Life under occupation

"I like play": A child's drawing displayed on the separation wall in Bethlehem, West Bank.

I've never been to such a place which both warms and breaks my heart at every turn. There seems to be a continual discord between trauma and hope, despair and optimism. Even the landscape speaks of this surreal duality: the bus ride from Beit Jala to Jerusalem takes a scenic journey along diving valleys of olive orchards and centuries-old terraced hillsides, then, just as the spirit begins to soar, the view is obscured by the monstrous, double-height separation wall, an enormous concrete barricade along the old Hebron-Jerusalem road.

It's not just the landscape which has been interrupted by Israel; the Palestinian passengers on the 21 bus are well acquainted with interruption too. One moment the bus is full of chatting and giggling, the next it falls silent as the bus pulls into the checkpoint and is emptied of passengers who file into line and wait to be checked. Israeli soldiers inspect each person's identification before allowing them to re-board, and the bus swells again with the sound of talking and laughter as it pulls away, continuing its journey towards Jerusalem.

The wall, the checkpoints, the 45 minute journey which should be only ten, the routine humiliation and overwhelmingly unfair system, all have been absorbed into the landscape of Palestinian life. A daily commute in which an armed solider demands to see identification is not something I thought I would get used to, but for Palestinians it has all become part of the daily grind. I can't help but wonder, though, at what point an effort to live life under occupation as normally as possible becomes normalization of an occupation which must be continually challenged.

A friend recently visited Bethlehem in the occupied West Bank, and was filled with sadness and resentment at the sight of the eight-metre-high separation wall. He asked a nearby Palestinian resident how he felt about the wall which cuts through the heart of this town.

"The wall is high, but our summers are hot, and it gives the children somewhere to play in the shade," the man replied.

A life of frustration, lived in the dark shadow of occupation, yet still he was able to find the bright side of the wall. Such is the bittersweetness of life here in Palestine.