“In the back of the minds of everyone here is fear — from the psychiatrist to the student, a sense that something terrible is going to happen,” Sarraj said. “The drones are part of that story. They are part of the conditioning — every time we hear them, we go back to those events of violence and death.”
Entrepreneur’s challenges
Gaza is divided, not only between Fatah and Hamas, the primary political parties in the Palestinian national movement, but between fans of the European soccer giants FC Barcelona and Real Madrid.
Mohammed al-Mabrouk makes a brisk living exploiting this split. He works in the Rannoush sports bar in downtown Gaza City, where patrons pack into the low-ceilinged rooms to sip bitter coffee, smoke water pipes and root for their side in the big games.
None is bigger than “El Clasico,” the Barcelona-Real Madrid match that comes along a few times year. He charges an entrance fee for those games, shown on a handful of high-definition televisions smuggled through the tunnels along Gaza’s southern border with the Sinai. With 220 patrons paying $5 each, the occasions yield a small windfall.
But the take from the November 2010 match was wiped out by a drone, whose looping patrol blurred out much of the match. He reimbursed more than $1,000 in cover charges to a roomful of angry patrons, and since then he has added expensive subscriptions to several other satellite signals. That has done little good. But now Mabrouk can change satellites, flip through channels and show his patrons that he has done all he can. “So at least they know it won’t be better anywhere else,” he said.
His customers still make for the doors at the first telltale signs the picture is fraying, as it did during a recent Chelsea and Liverpool match. For reasons that no one can explain, only Russia Today, an English-language channel promoting Russian views, is resilient enough to survive the drone interference.
“The problem is in the sky,” said Nahed Hammad, who sells satellite dishes from his dimly lit storefront a few doors down, “not in the receiver.”
To some, proof of occupation
Hamdi Shaqqura, the human rights advocate, came downstairs one recent morning in his Gaza apartment to find a note from his daughter, Bisanne, a 22-year-old medical student. She had counted four drones overhead, and she advised her father to skip his morning run.
“But I’m all dressed and I think, ‘I can’t not do this, I can’t change because of this,’ ” Shaqqura recalled. So he set off, only to turn back in fear after about 100 yards, as several drones buzzed above.
“So I get back to my door and I say, ‘Come on, Hamdi, this is Gaza,’ ” he scolded himself, and headed back out. He got as far as he had before when he noticed that, as usual, he was dressed in an all-black track suit — the color of choice for many Palestinian militants. Once again, he headed home, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the back-and-forth. “It affects every aspect of our lives, all day long,” he said.
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