In Nablus, my hometown, there are lots of taxis and the permits have always been deregulated. No one has ever staged a march in the capital to protest. My uncle had two taxis with only one permit. When he’d made a bit of money, he bought a third car, but he couldn’t find anyone honest enough to trust it to. That’s why the grey Mercedes 190 stayed put in the garage, in the hope that his eldest son would survive the occupation and be able to drive it. We don’t have meters, everything is related to the distance to be covered, and to the passenger’s age, sex and position in life. Often enough someone is driven free of charge. Normally the sixth passenger is the one who has to crouch down or almost stand up between the two seats. At times, though rarely, it happens that there is a foreign passenger, and that changes things completely: the taxi-driver, having quickly ascertained the destination and means of payment (dollar, local currency or Jordanian dinars, which are preferred because not variable like the other two), draw lots to see who will be the lucky one who gets to drive the guest around the city. Usually the choice goes to the newest car and the driver who can pronounce a few foreign words. So the car races along the narrow, dusty streets with only one passenger inside. In no case, not even for emergencies, are natives allowed to get in beside a foreigner. This is done to avoid embarrassment to the foreigner and to the local people.
In Nablus automobile insurance has been virtually abolished! There are few people privileged enough to be able to afford it; everyone else displays a fake yellow slip of paper, complete with number and annual expiry date. They’re not stupid, my fellow townspeople! If there is an accident that is their fault, they raise their hands to heaven and take you to their house to see the photos of the latest martyr and the number of family members they have to feed. You’re lucky if they don’t ask you for damages as well!
The spare parts are almost never original, and at times seem to come from another make of cars. That’s to save time and money. And that’s why the taxis never have only one colour, and no one is surprised to see multi-model and multi-colour cars driving around. Recently the exasperated taxi-drivers have affixed a notice asking passengers to hand in their weapons before getting in: “for you own safety and convenience”, written on a bilingual sign, in Arabic and Hebrew, to make it perfectly clear. There are only a few people who are suspicious and prefer going on foot, while there are many who forget to take back their pistols and sub-machine guns. The drivers have fixed a time limit of thirty days before auctioning off the forgotten arsenal, partly to make a bit of extra money and partly to stimulate the local economy, by now at its last gasp, owing to the international embargo.
And what can I say about lawyers? None of them has ever dreamed of asking to be paid a fee, or to go on strike, it’s all free! Also because it’s impossible to win a suit against the occupying forces – they’re anything but simple-minded, the people of my town! Even Perry Mason couldn’t have made it without a jury! In any case, it’s a good ‘gym’ to practise in, and there’s no lack of work.
In Nablus it’s better not to get seriously ill. If you really must, it’s preferable to catch a seasonal illness, not so much because of the expense – they’re not poor, my fellow townspeople – but because we don’t have supermarkets yet, and the sliding drawers and cabinets in the few pharmacies still open are desolately empty. Many drugs are made on the spot, following the craft: when a prescription signed by physician is presented, the chemist proceeds to combine all the necessary elements in a back room, mixing spices and miraculous powders. Each dosage is scrupulously weighed on precise, age-old scales: you never know, better to limit collateral effects in order to avoid not being able to treat them and thus losing your magical prestige. Everyone is trustful, without doubts or complaints, because they have no choice: better to die from the cure than from the illness!
In Nablus, in the old town, you can find anything you need, anything at all! There are even stalls for the retail sale of used teeth. Every customer can try on for size the various models of teeth and dentures available, choosing the sort best for his mouth and his wallet.
In Nablus everything has always been deregulated, but paradoxically people continue to have less than nothing. Nonetheless, they find a way to feel satisfied. Only one thing is lacking: the State. Maybe that’s why people don’t make useless protests, there’s no capital city to march on. What’s more, the population is perfectly aware that no democratic and liberal State would guarantee equal rights for everybody. On his electoral tour President Abu Mazen tried to explain the importance of democracy, but someone took a shot at him. They didn’t appreciate the large number of bodyguards, and they brought it home to him that you can’t speak about liberty and democracy when the right to life is not recognized yet. My townspeople are tired of the promise of better times in a not-far-off future, perhaps that’s why they often travel in cheerful multi-model, multi-coloured taxis that are the only luxury and liberty available to them. It’s a bit like travelling on the notes of Miles Davis even if you’ve never heard him!
trans. by Brenda Porster