The rise of Hamas

And by 'quite like' I mean 'not even remotely comparable'. There were parallels, mind you. Both January's I served as election observer, presidential and parliamentary respectively. Which entailed a lot of barreling up and down the West Bank, piling in and out of vans. An A-team of suffrage, if you will. "If no one else can help you, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire ballot monitors." 

As Palestinians enthusiastically voted for an authority with scarcely more than municipal powers, the Colonel Deckers at Huwara checkpoint played nice. Apart from minor election-day campaigning the process ran smooth and fair on both occasions. 

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When Dubya came to Ramallah

It's almost noon. Outside the house nothing stirs save the occasional street cat.

Dubya is in town. That's one quiet president, lemme tell you, like he's taken off his shoes and tiptoed past the Qalandia checkpoint to share sweet tea and whispered nothings with Abu Mazen [Mahmoud Abbas].

People haven't talked about much else lately. At the bakery, the shop, cafés, hairdressers, the kids hanging out around the Clock Manara. The word "Bush" hangs in the air like the opening of a thousand cans of coke. "Pshhh. Have you heard?"

Mind you, no one but a cloistered few expects anything substantial to come of it. Some drinks offer but the mere illusion of quenching one's thirst. Too much sugar you see. Addictive, somewhat fattening, but the dryness remains. And yet there bubbles a palpable excitement, like the thrill of a school day suspended by bad weather.  

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