Rafah, finally

We finally made it into Rafah. At firsy, we expected to leave at 8am and hoped to complete the 350km journey by 4pm.
While we did manage to check out of our dodgy hotel in Cairo (google Concorde Hotel, Cairo to see just how dodgy it really is!) bright and early, we were delayed in getting our letters from the Information Ministry and again when our colleagues fromTV3 needed to change their travellers' cheques.
But, the wait was a worthwhile and necessary one as we had to pass not one, not two, not even three, but TEN (!!) checkpoints on our way up north. Without those letters, we would not even have made it past the first checkpoint at the Suez Canal.
Speaking of the Canal - despite it's almost mythical reputation as a major shipping gateway and all that, it's such a disappointingly unprepossessing sight in real life. Narrow and nondescript, we were over and passed it in less than three minutes. :(
We finally reached Rafah at 9pm, only to be told that the border had closed for the night. By then, the weather had dipped to about 5 degrees Celsius and the wind was blowing quite hard as well.
Despite its ruggedness though, it was a gorgeous night - the starry kind that most of us city folk rarely, if ever, get to see.
Stars notwithstanding, we had to get to shelter and regroup for the night. SO, we decided to get to El-Arish, the nearest town and seek out digs for the nght.
Which is how I've come to be here, in a freezing motel room crunching out a blog entry at 3.40am.
Our angkasawan (yes, he's along to render his medical services too. I think he said something about missing the smell of blood and of cutting people up...) is snoring away contentedly in the next room. Maybe I should take the hint.
Good night all.

Cooling our heels

With our trip lasting only nine days in all, every minute is precious. That's why it was so annoying that our entire first day here was all but wasted tied up in red tape. We spent nearly half the day shuttling from bank to bank trying to get our travellers cheques cashed. Some places just didn't accept them, one kicked up a fuss over our pixman's cheques, because he felt the signatures didn't match (none of us could see what he was talking about!), even the Amex office had problems - they had run out of money! But, things were finally settled and we then rushed to the Malaysian Embassy, a nondescript building tucked into a residential/commercial area in Cairo. There, embassy financial controller Mohd Sharbini Zaini told us that a letter from the embassy would not even allow us access into Rafah. The only thing it would do is get us the chance to apply for another letter from the Information Ministry, which might then stand us a better chance of getting to the border town. After that, we're on our own. So, we're leaving for the ministry at 8am today, hoping to get the paperwork sorted by 9 or 10. At least we might then have a chance of completing the 370km journey to Rafah by nightfall. The main challenge, aside from the obvious problem of the distance, is that there apparently are a lot of checkpoints along the way where military personnel try to block off media from accessing the border areas. While the people of Egypt are strongly in support of the Palestinian cause, the government is more ambivalent about the whole thing. The local media believe that the obstruction of press movement to the affected area is intentionally being done by Egypt at the behest of the Israel. I don't know about all this-lah. I just want to get into the zone, one way or another. We've got oh so limited time and it's running out as we speak.

On the plane to Cairo

It only sank in when Dewan Pemuda Masjid Malaysia secretary Sahlan Saruddin asked us, during our briefing session on the day of our departure,whether we would be bringing along bulletproof vests.
Sahlan, who is familiar with the area, seemed genuinely concerned about our safety in Gaza despite the fact that a ceasefire had been declared between Hamas and the Israeli forces.
"I may actually die,"I thought to myself. It was a sobering thought.Prior to this, it had been all about bravado (false or not, I don't know!). I had playfully whined about how I was only a ceasefire correspondent and not a real war correspondent. I joked that my bosses were sending me on a one way ticket because of how I kept gloating about Man Utd's ascendancy over their beloved Liverpool and Chelsea.
But now, as the journey is beginning and I'm sitting in the plane to Cairo, the realisation is dawning, in vivid Technicolour, that this isn't a joke or a jaunt.
If I do have the misfortune of being killed, it would be just one of many lives lost in this brutal and horrifying conflict. It would be nothing remarkable or noteworthy when the countless other tragedies taking place here every day are taken into account.
But, as I reflected further, I realised that in the midst of all this terrible bloodshed, or perhaps because of it, we can also see great love in all its forms and incarnations.
Volunteers risking their lives to help total strangers. Palestinian students and workers around the globe worried sick and doing all they can to assist their families and friends back home. The millions worldwide, including Jews, who have come out in force to condemn the atrocities of this lopsided war. The many who donated their money freely, like one of my colleagues who gave up all the prize money he won for his work.
Love all around. Anger and fury at the needless violence, yes. A sense of tragedy and loss at the thousands of sacrificed lives, yes. Empathy for their suffering, yes. But, I think, all stemming from love and caring, often for nameless and faceless strangers.
I too felt loved. My Facebook page and email were flooded with friends offering sage bits of advice and admonitions to keep my head down and not try to 'be a hero'. One buddy took me aside and grilled me on the safety measures I took and should have taken. Another called me on the phone and cried as she said goodbye to me. One took time off to send me off. Another wrote me a letter, which she told me to only open when I reached Egypt (I couldn't stand the suspense, so I opened it on the plane!). My parents who, though obviously worried, tried to seem nonchalant about it all. And the many others who prayed for my safety.
Love, to quote a very corny song, is all around. It's just sad that we usually wait until the last minute (or worse, until it's too late) to show it.
I wonder if all those victims had a chance to be told that they were loved. I wonder if the Israeli soldiers killed in battle had time to tell their families that they loved them.
And I wonder why, if love is truly all around, we so readily give in to hate and fight so often...