76. Pretoria, 2000 - Evacuation
In which Eleanor evacuates the mission.
Francois gets a phone call. What is happening in Ramallah? 
Francois
“Francois, we’ve had to evacuate the mission. I don’t know when we’ll be able to get back in. I’m sorry, but we don’t have secure comms. We just had to get out. I just have my home computer and the home phone.”
“Eleanor, what’s happened? The news here….it’s chaotic. We don’t have a clear sense of what’s going on.” The death of two Israeli soldiers in Ramallah is all over the news.
There’s a long silence. Then Eleanor’s voice comes slowly, softly, reluctantly.
“I—” she starts, stops. “It was—” she stumbles again. “They threw the bodies out the window, Francois. They beat them to a pulp—” her voice trails off again. “They didn’t seem human any more. Their rage, their hatred, their cheering as those poor men were—”
She goes silent again. He wants to prod for more details, he knows how the news footage distorts things. But Eleanor’s stumbling words convey enough horror that he bites his tongue.
“We knew the reprisals would come swiftly,” she resumes. “So we just got out as fast as we could. We formed a motorcade with the Canadians. The first rockets hit just as we got to Qalandia. We got out just in time.”
Her voice sounds dull, flat. Since his return to Pretoria and the Middle East desk over a year ago, he and Eleanor have maintained a productive working relationship. She has said nothing to him about his coming out publicly and leaving Bianca. Their relationship isn’t exactly warm, but it’s cordial and professional. And he’s quietly proud of her. She’s been holding her own, running the mission by herself, proving Naughton wrong in ways both small and large. Who his successor is to be is still stalled in the political maneuvering between Naughton, the Director-General and the Deputy Minister. The pipeline of other Arabic speakers like himself and Eleanor is also short—it's one of the factors they’re haggling over.
But Eleanor’s tone is markedly different from anything he’s ever heard from her. It’s strange to hear her like this. Does he need to worry about her? Is she just holding it together? Is she just in shock?
“You did the right thing, the only thing you could do, Eleanor. Keeping everyone safe,” he tries to reassure her. “What’s the situation now?”
“We saw the tanks and APCs starting to move north into Ramallah as we left. From my apartment window I’ve seen the gunships fire into Ramallah. I don’t know what’s been hit, but I can see the smoke rising.” Francois can imagine her standing in her apartment, looking north.
“I can’t get hold of Tariq in Gaza,” she continues, and now his mind goes to the office there, “but the reports are that Arafat’s headquarters have been bombed.” Francois shudders. He’s been there. “Everything is under complete closure. No-one is getting in or out—diplomats included. I don’t know when we’ll be allowed back into Ramallah. Or if the office will have sustained any damage.” He hears her take a long, shuddering breath. “I’ll call or email when I have more information. That’s all I can tell you for now.”
“I understand, Eleanor. Thank you for updating us. Please stay safe. I’m glad you all made it out to Jerusalem. Give my love to Wissam and Nagla, and Tariq when you reach him.”
“I will. Thank you.”
He sits at his desk for ten minutes after their call ends. The Deputy Minister and Director General want answers. The Embassy in Tel Aviv is pushing the narrative that Arafat has lost control. From the footage he saw, and what Eleanor has confirmed, the Palestinian police were outnumbered by a Palestinian mob turned viciously violent. How those two Israeli soldiers came to be in a Palestinian police station in Ramallah is a question he can’t answer. Some sources are saying they were undercover Shin Bet. He doubts that. But the Israeli story that they were simply two reservists who got lost is equally as hard to believe.
What is crystal clear is that this has just changed the entire dynamic of the second Intifada.
He’s both strangely sad, and strangely grateful, that he’s no longer there.
Eleanor
The sound of helicopter gunships rouses me from my torpor on the couch. I pick Tlali up off my lap and carry him with me to the windows. The two large picture windows in the lounge face straight north towards Ramallah. It’s too far away for me to see the actual rockets fire, but I see the helicopters hovering in the sky, and the smoke rising seconds later. Tears stream silently down my face. I stand there long after the gunships are gone, Tlali staying patiently in my arms. He seems to sense how much I need him and Themba.
Eventually I come back to the couch. I know I should call Mum and Dad to let them know I’m safe in Jerusalem. But I can’t bear to try to explain or talk about it. It was hard enough just to talk with Francois. I send a quick text message: “All okay. Will call later.” It won’t satisfy Mum, but it will have to do for now.
I fall asleep on the couch, cats my solace, tears my company.
The uprising has entered a new, deadlier, phase.
Difficult, dangerous, terrifying and obviously left with no choice. Your reason for being there suddenly is irrelevant. Such mental trauma, I can't imagine!