GAZA: Thousands of Palestinian travelers gathered at Gaza’s border crossing with Egypt on Thursday hoping for a brief chance to leave after Cairo temporarily opened a frontier it largely keeps closed as it battles an Islamist insurgency on the other side.
Israel also maintains tight restrictions on its border with the Gaza Strip, meaning the 2 million Palestinians who live there are rarely able to leave the densely-populated enclave in which the Hamas Islamist movement is the dominant armed force.
In a wheelchair and helped by his wife and daughter, 74-year-old Awni An-Najar said at Rafah crossing that he sought to enter Egypt for treatment of his broken hip.
“Patients must be allowed to travel freely. I want to be able to walk again,” he said.
Egypt tends to open the frontier temporarily a few times a year, usually with short notice and little explanation. The latest opening began on Wednesday with no advanced announcement at all.
The Palestinian embassy in Cairo “extended gratitude to President Abdel-Fattah El-Sisi for his care to alleviate the suffering of the Palestinian people,” it said in a statement.
The Egyptian foreign ministry did not immediately respond to a request for comment.
It was only the second time in more than a decade that the border was opened while unarmed security officers of the Western-backed Palestinian Authority (PA), rather than Hamas, guarded the Palestinian side.
A reconciliation agreement in October between Hamas and the rival Fatah movement of Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas gave the PA control of the Rafah crossing for the first time since Hamas seized control of Gaza in 2007. Egypt opened the border briefly in December.
Gazans have hoped PA control could be a step toward the permanent reopening of the frontier, ending a state of de facto blockade imposed by Israel and Egypt for security reasons, which has destroyed the territory’s economy leaving Gaza with the world’s highest unemployment rate according to the World Bank.
So far, Egyptian authorities say a permanent opening of the border depends on security on the Egyptian side, where they have been battling an increasingly violent Islamist insurgency.
Because of the lack of prior notice, only several dozen travelers arrived in time to cross on Wednesday. A far bigger crowd turned up on Thursday. Rafah will close again after nightfall on Friday.
Egypt has accused Hamas in the past of aiding the Sinai insurgents, an allegation the movement denies. In recent months, Hamas has stepped up security along the border.
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Thousands of Palestinians jam Gaza border, temporarily opened by Egypt
Thousands of Palestinians jam Gaza border, temporarily opened by Egypt
Morocco flood evacuees mark muted Ramadan away from home
- When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary. Weeks later, he broke his Ramadan fast in a tent, wondering when he would return home
KENITRA, Morocco: When floods forced Ahmed El Habachi out of his Moroccan village, he thought the displacement was temporary. Weeks later, he broke his Ramadan fast in a tent, wondering when he would return home.
During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, families traditionally gather over joyous feasts to break the daytime fast.
But the floods that battered northwestern Morocco in recent weeks have left evacuees like Habachi with little to celebrate.
“We prepare Iftar with whatever we can lay our hands on,” the 37-year-old told AFP, referring to the fast-breaking meal.
“After all, it’s not like we’re home,” he said, standing outside his blue tent marked “B190” in a makeshift camp set up by authorities near the city of Kenitra.
Just before sunset, women gathered around small stoves. They made do with no running water, and soon the smell of grilled fish wafted through the site.
The families then retreated to their tents for Iftar, with candles providing light for lack of electricity.
The heavy downpours have displaced over 180,000 people as of last week, authorities said, with at least four people killed.
- ‘Two or three months’ -
Most evacuees in the region have been allowed to return home, but that was not yet an option for Habachi and his children.
“Where would we sleep? There’s still mud up to the knees,” he said, showing cell phone videos of his home in Ouled Amer, some 35 kilometers (22 miles) away.
He said flooding from a nearby river swept away half of the walls of his house.
“We’ll need two or three months to get back to normal,” he added.
The camp managers serve each family water and a bag of rice per day.
Fatima Laaouj, 60, said this year’s Ramadan was “nothing like what we were used to.”
“We lack everything: bread, harira (traditional soup), milk... How can we buy anything when we have no money?” said Laaouj, who picks raspberries for a living.
“We don’t have work anymore. The farmland is all destroyed,” she added.
Not far from the camp, in the town of Mograne which was swamped by the neighboring Sebou River, villagers still waded through deep mud.
Several homes showed signs of flooding, with walls torn open and floors soaked.
Families had left their belongings stored on top of wardrobes out of fear the water could rise again.
- ‘Usually, there’s joy’ -
After two weeks at the camp, 42-year-old Yamna Chtata returned to find her home turned into a pool of mud, with walls threatening to collapse.
Her voice choked with sobs, she said she was forced to observe Ramadan out of her own home for the first time in the two decades she has lived there.
“We are not celebrating... I have two daughters who are unwell because of the severity of the situation,” she said.
Mansour Amrani, a 59-year-old factory security guard, was on his way to the local mosque to fetch drinking water.
That day, he planned to make couscous for his wife and three daughters to break the fast.
“Usually, there’s joy when we make couscous,” he said. “Today, it’s no longer the case. We’re afraid the house will collapse on our heads.”
Abdelmajid Lekihel, a 49-year-old street vendor, believed it would take time for things to return to normal.
“Food products are no longer available like before,” he said, adding that shortages at the local market made preparing the traditional Ramadan meals difficult.
Plus, lingering mud “prevents us from going to see a neighbor, a family member, a friend,” he said.
“We’re living one day at a time.”
During the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, families traditionally gather over joyous feasts to break the daytime fast.
But the floods that battered northwestern Morocco in recent weeks have left evacuees like Habachi with little to celebrate.
“We prepare Iftar with whatever we can lay our hands on,” the 37-year-old told AFP, referring to the fast-breaking meal.
“After all, it’s not like we’re home,” he said, standing outside his blue tent marked “B190” in a makeshift camp set up by authorities near the city of Kenitra.
Just before sunset, women gathered around small stoves. They made do with no running water, and soon the smell of grilled fish wafted through the site.
The families then retreated to their tents for Iftar, with candles providing light for lack of electricity.
The heavy downpours have displaced over 180,000 people as of last week, authorities said, with at least four people killed.
- ‘Two or three months’ -
Most evacuees in the region have been allowed to return home, but that was not yet an option for Habachi and his children.
“Where would we sleep? There’s still mud up to the knees,” he said, showing cell phone videos of his home in Ouled Amer, some 35 kilometers (22 miles) away.
He said flooding from a nearby river swept away half of the walls of his house.
“We’ll need two or three months to get back to normal,” he added.
The camp managers serve each family water and a bag of rice per day.
Fatima Laaouj, 60, said this year’s Ramadan was “nothing like what we were used to.”
“We lack everything: bread, harira (traditional soup), milk... How can we buy anything when we have no money?” said Laaouj, who picks raspberries for a living.
“We don’t have work anymore. The farmland is all destroyed,” she added.
Not far from the camp, in the town of Mograne which was swamped by the neighboring Sebou River, villagers still waded through deep mud.
Several homes showed signs of flooding, with walls torn open and floors soaked.
Families had left their belongings stored on top of wardrobes out of fear the water could rise again.
- ‘Usually, there’s joy’ -
After two weeks at the camp, 42-year-old Yamna Chtata returned to find her home turned into a pool of mud, with walls threatening to collapse.
Her voice choked with sobs, she said she was forced to observe Ramadan out of her own home for the first time in the two decades she has lived there.
“We are not celebrating... I have two daughters who are unwell because of the severity of the situation,” she said.
Mansour Amrani, a 59-year-old factory security guard, was on his way to the local mosque to fetch drinking water.
That day, he planned to make couscous for his wife and three daughters to break the fast.
“Usually, there’s joy when we make couscous,” he said. “Today, it’s no longer the case. We’re afraid the house will collapse on our heads.”
Abdelmajid Lekihel, a 49-year-old street vendor, believed it would take time for things to return to normal.
“Food products are no longer available like before,” he said, adding that shortages at the local market made preparing the traditional Ramadan meals difficult.
Plus, lingering mud “prevents us from going to see a neighbor, a family member, a friend,” he said.
“We’re living one day at a time.”
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