Blown apart and maimed, if not killed, and then ignored, hundreds of children in Gaza are callously cut off from vital medical help, writes Ramzy Baroud* His room is ready; the walls have fresh paint and my kids prepared a basket of chocolates and other treats to place beside his bed. They hung a poster on his door that has been decorated with coloured pens and glitter that says "Welcome Sobhi!" I have taught them that "Sobhi" actually means the "morning light", and that during his visit he will not be treated as a visitor, but as a brother. They have compiled a list of fun places to visit: parks, the beach and maybe a ferry ride. Two weeks ago, my family, after months of anticipation, were scheduled to be the host family for a very special and unusual exchange programme for kids from Gaza to visit the United States. Our host child, Sobhi, was scheduled to arrive 30 May. My family was excited and a little nervous. I noticed my wife taking every opportunity to share the news of the arrival of our special visitor. We call Sobhi's family from time to time, realising that sending a child off to a foreign land to live with a strange family can be unsettling for a parent. I think our occasional conversations are putting everyone at ease. As time has progressed, we have learned more by these calls of Sobhi's life and family in Gaza. We first thought he was 11 years old, and then learned that he is actually 15. We originally thought his family lived in the town of Khan Younis, but then learned that he is from the northern town of Beit Lahia. We thought that he was maimed when his house was demolished in the Israeli attack of January 2009, but later learned that an Israeli tank shell blew his leg off when the army opened fire on his family while they were farming their land. So, day-by-day, we are learning more about this fine young boy's tragic lot. Like Sobhi, disgracefully growing numbers of children forever maimed, dismembered and killed by Israel are not only disregarded by the world media -- and therefore the world's conscience -- but are even denied access to healthcare, adding insult to injury. Sobhi is one of many Gazan children that have been taken under the wing of the Palestinian Children's Relief Fund (PCRF), a non-profit, US based organisation that organises medical exchange programmes, sending injured children abroad for treatment when it is inaccessible in Palestine, as well as sending medical teams to Palestine for short-term medical missions. While I cannot express enough my admiration and gratefulness for the tireless work of the staff of PCRF, in anticipation of Sobhi's arrival the irony does not escape me; that of this innocent and unassuming son of a Gazan farmer whose life is forever altered by a tank shell propelled by Israel and subsidised by the US venturing alone across the world to be the recipient of another US manufactured implement -- a plastic leg. And now, as if things could get any worse, even the possibility of getting Sobhi here seems grim. Coming from Gaza, Sobhi must cross the Rafah border to begin his journey from Cairo. But Egypt is refusing to grant Sobhi entry. It is the predicament that so many Gazans face following the January massacres: hospitals lay in ruins, medicine scarce, embargoes on everything from medical equipment to medical teams that have flocked to Rafah's border in droves from all over the world. When Obama spoke in Cairo on 4 June, the closest major city east was Gaza City, from where children flooded the border, imploring the US leader to exert some pressure on Israel to open the border and end the blockade that has imprisoned the entire population for nearly two years. Children held banners with slogans like, "A light of hope for Gaza children", and "Gaza children appeal for help". Sahar Abu Foul, a nine-year- old girl who attended the rally, said the children in Gaza want Obama's help "to secure a life like all other children". But considering his rigorous schedule, Obama couldn't pencil in a visit to the border to address this young crowd. However, just before his arrival, Congress invested further money into fortifying the border area, allocating an addition $50 million to secure the Rafah border, making Sobhi's crossing all the more unlikely. So the days pass. I telephone Sobhi, who speaks with such maturity and courtesy on the phone, inquiring about my health, the health of my family, and asking that God will grant us lives of good health and other mercies. His medical charts say that he is overcoming his depression and simply wants to join his father in the fields again. He has uncomplicated aspirations and a seemingly simple request -- an artificial leg. His father, soft- spoken and a bit shy, seems resigned to the possibility of his son not coming to the US after all. I continue to encourage him, but I myself also feel that this special and unusual exchange may have been too good to be true. Sobhi says that he hopes that he will be able to help with the olive harvest this year. But sometimes having hope in a place like Gaza becomes more of a liability than a lifeline. * The writer is editor of PalestineChronicle.com and author of the forthcoming book, My Father Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza, the Untold Story.
