CAIRO: As I stood in line at a checkpoint on the Israeli-Jordanian border decked out with a passport full of Syrian stamps, a book on Al Qaeda’s networks in Africa, and a camera full of pictures of Hezbollah supporters occupying downtown Beirut, I realized that crossing over as a Middle Eastern journalist could be a daunting task.
“You come on vacation or you write articles on Israel for newspaper Egypt, an 18-year-old Israeli state security interrogator asked me suspiciously after I told her what I do for a living.
Um, no. I am on vacation and am going to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. No work, I promise, I countered and offered my a big, innocent reassuring smile.
Apparently my “charm didn’t quite work.
Journalists never go on vacation. We need thorough security check on you. Please, give me your email and the telephone numbers of your family members, the security agent mumbled monotonously walking off with a gun significantly taller than her meager five-foot-three self.
And my travel partner, an unemployed Swedish physics engineer studying Arabic at an Islamic school in Cairo and carrying a book on Islam by the Egyptian Mufti, didn’t make it any easier.
It was hard to convince Israeli state security that our trip was for ‘touristic purposes’ only.
Who is this? How do you know each other? security agent number two, also a 19-year-old sporting designer sunglasses and red nail polish, barked pointing at my companion.
Eh, we study together in Egypt, I said reassuringly.
Well, he has no job. Who finances you? Where you get money from? a group of curious security agents who had noticed the ruckus, filled in.
After intense interrogation and providing and questions like which monuments I want to see in Jerusalem , why I don t work in my home country , and why I was in Syria , I believed that by now Israeli state security must be convinced that neither of us was a suicide bombers or members of Swedish Al Qaeda.
Now, we do background checks on both of you. Please, have a seat on this bench here. This process shouldn t take more than seven hours, said a third agent, a young man frenetically typing text messages on his cell phone.
We were speechless.
And if that wasn’t enough, as I craned my neck to find my luggage, I realized that the contents of my bag were going in and out of the x-ray machine to the utter joy of curious tourists and snickering security personnel.
While my book on Osama bin Laden s global networks with the conflict-ridden title of “Holy War INC, seemed to be of significant interest to border security who flipped through the book occasionally turning it upside down, the most confusing items were by far a rectangular replica of a monument I brought back from the ancient Roman city of Palmyra in Syria, and my MP3 player.
Squeezing the archeological piece and listening to the contents of my player (Swedish jazz and lessons in colloquial Arabic) the soldiers sent the items through the x-ray machine a number of times in front of irritated tourists who gave us angry looks.
We were prohibited from leaving our seats unaccompanied during the whole ordeal, so we drowned our sorrows in plenty of Jordanian beer which led to frequent trips to the cafeteria bathroom.
Nearby hordes of Philippine tourists stared quizzically at the two ‘infidels’ who sat there eating at the Israeli border.
Many hours later, when I was sure I d spend the night on the Sheikh Hussein Bridge dividing Jordan and Israel, a security officer appeared at the empty check point.
Here you go. Welcome in Israel, but hey, bring some different books next time, eh, he said as he handed our passports back.
Seven hours later we arrived in Jerusalem, only to be asked in an email from Sweden about the nice person’ who called and asked questions about me and my job.
The moral of the story?
Next time I go on vacation to Israel, I’ll carry children s books and perhaps, quit my job.
