View from a refugee camp balcony

In the early morning the balcony is warm with sunlight, but by noon is cool with shade. From below comes the sound of boys kicking a football in the alley, chickens, the crow of a cockerel, the flap of wings. Cats scrap and wail in the garbage, and the street seller and his tomato cart rumble past as he shouts his price. Occasionally a tour guide walks the street with earnest listeners in tow, eyes wide, cameras poised.

"Yes, yes, this all used to be tents."

Aida camp, between Bethlehem and Beit Jala, is one of nineteen refugee camps in the West Bank, established shortly after the nakba, the catastrophe of 1948, to house refugees from western Jerusalem and the surrounding area. Whilst the population expands, no new housing is being developed, resulting in overcrowding, water shortages and soaring unemployment.

The street below is narrow and piled high with garbage, the concrete block buildings are tall and flat-topped. A girl paces the rooftop opposite, learning lines for a play. A teenage boy pegs washing to a line. On the same rooftop, the Palestinian flag is caught around its pole, struggling to fly.

The sun begins to set, and the hum of traffic and the beep of horns drift from the distant road as the warble of the call to prayer echoes from the mosque. Beyond the rooftops, the palm trees, and the unfinished buildings stands the Israeli separation wall; one part colourful graffiti, two parts concrete grey. After heavy rain, the moisture turns the wall black. It takes two days for it to lighten again.

Night falls and the moon slowly rises. The Christmas lights still illuminate the restaurants on the old Hebron-Jerusalem road, now cut off by the wall which loops deep into Bethlehem. A television blares in a far-off house, a car engine, and then silence.

The wild dogs bark in the distance as darkness falls, the Palestinian flag caught up in the night breeze, still struggling to unfurl. Sixty years since the catastrophe, and still no solution for the ever-expanding refugee population. An entire generation has lived and died in the permanent half-life of the refugee.