She drags her feet, lets out a wail, and starts to violently shake her head. I turn my head. The courtyard is full of young Palestinian men. Another day, another martyr, another bombing, another air strike, and another funeral procession. All around Dheisheh, life goes on.
Someone fixes a leaky roof.
Someone else finishes plastering his walls. A peddler walks around selling cheap honey-sweet pastry. Someone who was injured early on in the Intifada drives by in his car, waving at passersby who greet him and thank God for his speedy recovery. Two boys walk by arm-in arm. Women hang the laundry out to dry and hose down the alleyways.