Showered, fed and caffeinated, and recuperated from our 3-hour border crossing the day before, we had our Jordanian drivers, who had become friends, drive us to the King Hussein/Allenby crossing. This is the crossing that Palestinians must take. We’d been briefed about the procedures and how to manage questions: Don’t mention Bridge #1 unless you are asked. Show your airline itinerary and the Organization’s comfort letter (a letter that describes who is sponsoring you and what your will be doing for what time period) if necessary.

The road passed through the vegetable gardens of the region with fields of plastic greenhouses—tunnels of clear tarps in fields—growing lettuce and other greens, groves of date palms, and roadside carts overflowing with tomatoes, cucumbers and radishes. The small town near the border had stores and carts overflowing with the same produce, bright splotches of color along the otherwise brown and dusty road. As we approached the border the land grew beige and sandy and the goat-haired tents of the Bedouin dotted the desert-like landscape. Our friends drove further then they should have, again the wrong taxi to take us to the building, but sent us off with positive wishes despite the hassle they might face leaving the parking lot.

Procedures here were a little different, Palestinians and visitors were separated and took different buses across the bridge and were processed in a separate buildings. Once again, our bags were scanned, we passed through metal detectors, paid our exit fees and passports were stamped. We met a couple about our ages from Missouri who carried backpacks and chatted about their adventures across the Middle East as we waited, and rode the bus to the Israel side. They’d just been to Wadi Rum, and yes the water was warm enough to swim in Aqaba. Their nonstop chatter distracted us from our worries and gave us good tidbits that we would use later when we traveled southern Jordan.The river crossing was much less dramatic, in fact we never actually saw the river, but the sandy beige setting continued all the way to the well maintained, modern Israel border building. This baggage scan (#5 in the last two days) Israeli officials were troubled by our plastic bottle filled with leftover wine and a small checkerboard in my pack. Again we showed our passports to the border police and were interviewed separately with answers typed into a computer, and then sent off to wait. The Missouri couple passed through quickly.  

After an hour a six foot four, pushing 300 pounds, ginger-haired soldier dressed in uniform called each of us up for an interview. He had a list of handwritten questions that he ran through. He had obviously done an internet search on each of us, but did not appear to have information about our experience on bridge #1. My questions included: what work was I doing, was I being paid, why didn’t I have my husband’s name, what I thought about BDS, what I thought about Israeli settlements . . . He reviewed and made copies of our airline itinerary and my comfort letter and tried to clarify if I was working or volunteering. Reed was questioned as well and then we were both sent to wait. Again, bathrooms and internet were available, but no food or drink vendors or machines were present. We passed the time calmly, reading on our iPhones, eating granola bars and drinking the water we had with us, determined to appear patient and unflustered. While we managed external appearances, dogged about not showing frustration or impatience, one couldn’t help wondering what were they doing. How long did it take to research me?

As a researcher and author, I have a presence on the internet, but not hours and hours worth! Was there a psychological purpose to all this waiting without food or drink? After two more hours the same soldier told us that I needed a volunteer visa. He was familiar with the organization I was working for and they should have secured me a volunteer visa. Later I would learn that there is no information about volunteer visas on the Israeli Ministry of Foreign Affairs website. Hmm, something about lack of transparency here? I used the internet and WhatsApp to give our colleagues a status update. Again we waited another 45 minutes, five hours of waiting now, before the same soldier brought Reed his visa and gave me a laminated card with email and phone numbers for the organization to get information about a volunteer visa. Reed made big points when he said that we would not go to Israel without me. :) :) :)

We did not show our disappointment, or impatience as waited yet again until we were escorted out of the area and were monitored by an irascible woman, who was obviously burdened by our presence, and watched us get on the bus. We were the only people on a large Mercedes bus that could hold at least 50 passengers. The driver asked us why we were returning and kept paging through our passports as if he was trying to figure out what we were guilty of. He held onto our passports and presented them to Jordanian officials, losing Reed’s visa somewhere in the process.

My heart lifted when the Jordanian official welcomed us back to Jordan, cancelled our exit visas and baggage check #6 in 48 hours caused no flags. We hailed a taxi back to Amman, the same hotel and the same great restaurant with crusty hot flatbread and babaganoush. In the taxi ride back to Amman, we began our discussion about how to manage ourselves, putting our best foot forward while the organization sorted through the visa issues. I was aware that our not crossing was yet another frustration for our Palestinian colleagues who were counting on me for help with curriculum and teaching, yet another disappointment, another event over which they had no control. I had a better understanding of why they used inshalllah, god willing or if Allah wills it, so often.

NEXT: Will the Volunteer Visa materialize?