AP News, March 1st, 2007
It costs just over $2 a day to feed a donkey, and 20 times that to fill a gas tank.
With more and more young entrepreneurs in cash-strapped Gaza doing the math, donkey carts are everywhere. They carry old tires, fresh strawberries, giggling children and the occasional missile parts for militants.
Hassan al-Rifi, 20, couldn't afford college. So after high school, he bought a donkey cart for $700 and is now selling vegetables near Gaza City. "It doesn't make much money, but it keeps your head above water," he said.
Nabil, 22, has sold vegetables on a donkey cart since he was 11. Increasing poverty means people are buying less, and new guys like al-Rifi are driving down prices, Nabil complained.
"I haven't sold anything today," said Nabil, who asked not to give his last name _ not much prestige comes with his job. "I have to reduce my price, even if I don't make a profit."
There are about 5,000 donkeys in Gaza and about 25 more are brought in each month from Israel, according to an official involved in licensing carts. The animals sell for $140 to $700 each.
Khader Hijeh, a farmer in his 80s, said he's seen an increase in donkey cart salesmen. Gathering grass for his ragged-looking donkey in a field south of Gaza City, he said most newcomers to the business could not get permits to work in Israel.
Al-Rifi hopes for another job. "A donkey can live for 24 years, but I hope I won't stay on it for that long," he said.
_____
A woman's worth is in her dowry, money bridegrooms lavish on their fiancee's family before the wedding. Faced with the tough economic times, more and more men are delaying marriage, according to the women who run Gaza's bridal shops.
The average marrying age for a man in Gaza was 24 in 2005, the last time statistics were published. Now, said 27-year-old Rima Ayish, a saleswoman at a Gaza City bridal shop, some men are pushing 30 before marrying because they can't afford a dowry.
Muslim men are expected to hand over the money to the bride's family as a sign of esteem, from $2,100 to $4,200 _ a policeman's annual salary. Most Gazans scrape by on less than $2 a day.
Ayish said women _ and their families, who close marriage deals _ consider it a humiliation to accept less than the social norm. "A bride's worth is her dowry," she said, as she sewed the buttons on a puffy, embroidered wedding dress.
Working women demand the most: $4,200 is the starting price because they will contribute to the family income. Marrying cousins _ a common practice _ costs less because "relatives don't demand much," Ayish said. Those women are lucky if their family gets $2,100.
It's still beyond the means of Abed Abu Yehia, who's 28 and unemployed. So far, five women _ and their families _ spurned him because he couldn't afford a dowry.
"I've sworn not to marry," he sighed.
____
When women in the Jebaliya refugee camp, a fiercely Islamic stronghold, want to look pretty, they point to sultry Lebanese singer Haifa Wehbe _ even if she is known for her exposed cleavage, while they wear the neck-to-toe robes of devout Muslim woman.
"The girls ask for makeup like Haifa," said Ubayda Abu Zeid, who runs a beauty salon in a Jebaliya alleyway, referring to the singer's trademark smoky eyes and full pout. "Even if it will make her look ugly."
Most Gazans have never visited Lebanon, but scantily dressed Lebanese entertainers, beamed over satellite television, are Arab beauty standard-bearers. They are imitated everywhere _ from Gaza's plush salons, to tiny hairdressing shops in refugee camps.
Hairdresser Suzanna Ashi, at Sandra's Salon in Gaza City, said Lebanese singer Nancy Ajram is another beauty idol. Ajram openly acknowledged she underwent plastic surgery _ leading many other Lebanese entertainers to confess they'd also been under the knife.
But striving to imitate women who owe their looks to surgeons has also prompted some here to suffer anxiety. "The men point at the TV and say, 'That's a woman,'" Ashi said. "Women complain about it all the time. Their husbands want them to look like women who aren't real."
____
In Gaza, where unemployment is rampant, there's one profession that always has an opening: spokesmen for militant groups.
Because they are Israeli targets, they often wear ski masks when meeting the media, muffling their voices.
The spokesmen all have noms de guerre starting with "Abu," Arabic for father. There's Abu Obeida, Abu Qussay, Abu Mujahid, Abu Abir and many others.
They quickly master the art of text messaging the group's news. But when they hold news conferences, the venue is most likely a sidewalk to ensure a quick getaway.
Gunmen flank the spokesman, trying to look tough. He may be wanted by Israel, but the tableau seems mainly arranged for the cameras.
If a militant group has enough money, it appoints both a military and a political spokesman.
It was thus a turning point last week for a small, but violent and high-profile group, the Popular Resistance Committees, which has blown up Israeli tanks and was involved in the capture of an Israeli soldier last summer.
The spokesman, Abu Mujahid, barely out of his teens, announced at a sidewalk news conference that the group had a new spokesman, Abu Sharif, to speak on military matters.
Abu Sharif wore a ski mask, but was clearly inexperienced. His hands shook as he haltingly read from a crumpled paper. He didn't look at the cameras _ and left without giving out his cell phone number.
