Hunger and death in a besieged camp

 By Michael Matza

NABLUS, West Bank _ They eat stale bread moistened with tea if they have some water. A musty bag of potatoes is dinner for 12.

Backyard burials are common because a shoot-on-sight curfew keeps mourners at home.

Deserted streets teem with flies where blood has curdled.

Everything, everywhere, wears a coat of dust as fine as talc.

There may be worse places to live in the West Bank, but after two weeks without running water, almost no electricity, interrupted ambulance service, and Israeli army tanks charging by with machine guns blazing, residents of Askar refugee camp are feeling destroyed but also defiant against Israel and its prime minister, Ariel Sharon. "It is the most dangerous occupation there has ever been," says Ismail Abu Nadi, 36, an upholsterer in this camp of 30,000. "We are hiding in our houses like mouses."

But make no mistake, says a man in his early 20s who lost part of a thumb fighting Israeli soldiers: "We still want to shoot Sharon."

An Israeli military campaign that began March 28 with incursions into Palestinian-controlled areas to root out suspected terrorists eased slightly yesterday after some closed military zones were opened to journalists and humanitarian aid workers. Sporadic machine-gun fire at the edge of the camp, however, and the rumble of Israeli jets overhead were reminders that nothing here is back to normal.

A fresh grave in the backyard

Inside the makeshift infirmary he set up with mattresses on the floor to provide first aid, Dr. Mohammed Qraini, 45, spoke of dangerous forays he made across town or into nearby fields to treat gunshot victims who would have gone directly to hospitals had ambulances been able to move freely through Nablus. In one case, Qraini said, he stitched closed the lung of a 36-year-old woman who was wounded as she stood in her backyard. She lay at home in pain for four days, he said, before an ambulance could be cleared to pass through Israeli military checkpoints and take her to a Nablus hospital. The same round of shots killed her father, Qraini said. Unable to get to the cemetery because of the curfew, his family buried him in the garden where he fell. The fresh grave of Hafez Mahmoud Abdulkater Sabri, 63, was trimmed with cinder blocks and topped with two palm fronds.

In the community of private homes on the outskirts of Askar camp, Ali Shaar, a doctor with Save the Children, felt the frustration of not being able to save his own child. His plight is the subject of intense interest among relief agencies here. He is willing to talk about it, but shooting continued in his neighborhood yesterday. Israeli tanks barred reporters from entering. Land-line telephone service was knocked out. Cell-phone service was interrupted. Colleagues with the relief and development agency that Shaar works for told the story of his loss last Friday night, after his wife, Tahani, went into labor and delivered a baby boy, born five weeks premature.

"The baby was born about 7 p.m. and needed an incubator and a glucose IV," said Thomas Krift, director of Save the Children's West Bank/Gaza field office. "So Ali called the Palestinian Red Crescent Service for an ambulance. "Because of the military offensive in Nablus, the PRCS said they were no longer able to move after dark due to the great risk," Krift said.

Glucose injections, but to no avail

Shaar kept the baby warm and administered glucose injections from syringes that he had at home. For a time the baby seemed OK. Several hours later, when he took a turn for the worse, Shaar and his sister Alia, who also works for Save the Children, made urgent appeals to the Red Crescent, and this time the service tried to send an ambulance to the scene. Twice ambulances set out, and twice they were shot at, said Krift, whose account was supported last night by Mohammed Younis, a dispatcher for the PRCS. Neither man knew for certain who was doing the shooting, but both said they believed it was Israeli soldiers.

Asked about the matter at a news briefing Sunday, Israeli cabinet minister Dan Meridor said he was unfamiliar with the facts but offered to look into any case where emergency aid was inappropriately withheld. He noted that Palestinian ambulances had in the past been used to transport weapons and fighters, a charge the PRCS denies. Around 1 a.m. on Saturday, the baby died of respiratory distress. The next morning, the family buried him in their garden.

"The fact that the baby showed those efforts to live, if it had the proper medical care I think it would have," said Krift, adding that similar incidents were happening daily due to Israel's policy of closures and curfews.

Back in Askar camp, where U.N. relief workers were making efforts to deliver rice, cooking oil and other foodstuffs yesterday, residents anticipated another night of playing cards by candlelight, and hoped for a better future. "We want to get out of this bad situation," said Abu Nadi, the upholsterer. "We want to travel. We want life. We need a little support from the American people. Just a little. No more."

— The Philadelphia Inquirer, April 16, 2002