Attack of The Killer Kiddos

Being the only non-Muslim in the group, it was inevitable that I would be on "jaga beg" duty while the rest of the gang went to perform their Friday prayers.

I wasn't actually all that bothered, because I figured that it would give me a good opportunity to catch up on some of the shut eye I'd been denied since landing in Egypt so long ago (or does it just feel that way to me?).

So, as they trooped to the Mosque (which believe it or not, has a name translated into Masjid Pantai Dalam!). My Harian Metro colleague Jamil, had thoughtfully bought a huge bag of strawberries (the strawberries here are huge, sweet and cheap!) for me to chew while I waited.
So, I settled into the back seat and began munching. I was halfway to la-la-land when there appeared a little pixie face in the window next to me.

It was an angelic little boy, about 5 years old or so, staring hungrily at my fruits. SO, I wound down the window and offered him one. He shied awaybut creeped closer and closer when I smiled as benignly as I could and opened the bag for him to help himself. He timidly stuck his hand out and took one, before galloping away. Thinking I'd done my good deed for the day, I sunk back into my seat once more.

Then, there he was again, with a posse of about four other kids - three boys and a girl - in tow.
They helped themselves to the strawberries with relish and I gave myself a mental pat on the back at the amount of brownie points I was scoring with God.
I opened the doors and let them crawl into the car. Which, upon hindsight, was my first mistake.

They spied my photographer Tun's camera and asked me to take pictures of them,which I did. At this point, it was all still going pretty well. Then, one of the sharp-eyed little darlings spied a bag of chocolates our Datuk astronaut had left on the floor (he'd brought them to distribute to the children at the hospital), grabbed it and gave it to me with imploring eyes.

So, I opened the bag and gave them one each. It apparently wasn't enough. They wanted two. So, I gave them another one each. By this time, the gang had swelled to about ten kids.
They asked for four chocs (amazing how children remember their multiplication tables when it suits them!) and at this point I decided that enough was enough. After all, I didn't come all the way to Gaza to rot its children's teeth.That was their cue to multiply from 10 little angels to an army of about 60 screaming, pushing, shoving, demanding monsters.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I was getting pretty freaked out by this, so I thought I needed to get matters under control. I told them I'd come outside and give them one choc each if they all lined up in an orderly manner. Their hazel eyes stared back uncomprehendingly at me. So, I just got out with the bag in hand.

The Biblical plague of locusts was nothing compared to the swarm that surrounded me. Pushing, shoving, grabbing my t-shirt, pulling my pants, getting a hold on every available hold on my person to get to the pot of gold that was the little bag of chocolates.
It was when my ring, which dangles from a chain on my neck, went flying that I knew if I didn't give up the chocolates, tomorrow's headline would read "Malaysian journalist torn apart by hungry Palestinian children".

Datuk's chocolates went flying in one direction while I dived in another, frantically searching for my lost ring (which though a gift from a particularly un-beloved ex-girlfriend, I still liked too much to give up). Grabbing the piece of metal, I then scrambled into the car, winding up all the windows and trying to lock the doors. I should have known better. The ancient taxi looked like the last time it had a lock on the door was the neolithic period.

Once they had consumed the cursed bag of goodies, they came after me in droves again. Every time one door would open, I would scramble to close it and another would open on another side.
They tried to get everything in the car, from the driver's cigarettes, to the scarves of the passengers, to Tun's camera. I grabbed everything I could and cowered in the back seat, praying for Friday prayers to finish soon.

All the while, the little demons were banging on the windows, jumping up and down on the trunk and screaming fit to wake the dead. They asked for money, cigarettes (can you imagine what it's like to have a 6-year-old try to bum a smoke off you?), more chocolates, strawberries. It was chaos.

And when they saw that they were getting nothing more from me, they showered me with the only English phrase they knew - "F*** you". Over and over again. From a hundred different directions. Until the cavalry, in the form of the returning penitent from the mosque, rode in. Sensing that my backup had arrived, the little angels dispersed like the desert sand.

It was definitely one of the more colourful experiences of my trip to Palestine, but one I do not recommend for the garden variety tourist.

Well, at least I can now say that I was in the middle of battle in Gaza.