Armed Watermelons

Every morning, we jump on a yellow servees minibus, hand over our shekels and speed off towards Amari camp on the southside of Ramallah where Michael and I 'teach' every morning (see some other post for an explanation of this particular curiosity). The servees bustles along towards our destination, turning sharply at the brow of the hill and winding its way down into the valley past square, white houses and the endless olive groves, which like everything else appear to be covered in a permanent sheen of dust. The journey is not frantic, but now and again the driver overtakes a straggling auto, swinging out far across the road and making very little effort to swing back in again as we hit the next corner. Somehow, there is no cause for concern. The driving is uncannily immaculate, considering how anarchic it is. As we near Ramallah - only five minutes from home - watermelon stalls appear at the roadside, under blue and yellow tarpaulin sheets. There is also a checkpoint of sorts manned by Palestinian security personnel with machine guns, the only other obstacle a spiky looking object in the middle of the road (which looks rather superfluous), and now and again the servees pulls in briefly for a quick visual once-over before being waved on. Further up the road, with isolated soldiers multiplying as we pass Yassir Arafat's bombed out compound, there's another watermelon stall. This one always seems to have an armed guard under the canopy, watching over the tall rows of dark-green fruit. I suppose it's just a solider taking advantage of the stall's proximity to his post, but we like to think that these are especially good watermelons, worth hiring some extra muscle to protect. Even so, I hope that one day Palestine can do without his services.