'Afif Ghatasha wants me to meet his family, especially his mother, so after I finish recording and photographing Hajji Fatima, he drives me to Fawar camp, beyond Hebron. It's my first sight of Hebron. It's more industrialized than I expected - we pass several factories - but Fawar camp is on a hill, and surrounded by hills, unpromisingly rocky. Yet in this camp most households have bits of garden where they grow fruit, vegetables and herbs. People are poor because there is so little employment in the Hebron area. But at least they can supplement their diet in a way that is impossible in the more crowded urban camps.

The Ghatasha family are also from Beit Jibrin. 'Afif tells me that Beit Jibrin people don't only live in the camp of that name, but are scattered in several West Bank camps, as well as in Jordan and Syria. Perhaps because of its position in central Palestine, some of its people speak with the characteristic southern dialect, using 'ch' for 'k', while others use the northern form which is closer to the Arabic spoken in Lebanon and Syria.

Umm 'Afif speaks with the 'ch'. In fact her Arabic is so different from what I am used to that I understand very little on first hearing. She is a tall powerful-looking woman, and it's easy to believe that she built up the poultry business that enabled her to give her sons a good education. She was newly married with a four-month old son ('Afif) when the Israelis attacked Beit Jibrin in 1948. Her expulsion story is one of the most unforgettable of all I have heard: the days of bombing of the village; her feeling of being torn between her husband's family who left and her own family who stayed; how her husband went back to retrieve food, and was killed by a booby-trap; how her mother-in-law took a camel to bring his body for burial; how they lived in the open for months, then in tents, then eventually built a shack on the edge of Fawar

camp. Early days in Fawar were miserable - "We went barefoot, we were hungry". Whole families would work in agricultural labour at a rate of a shilling a day (1/20 of a Jordanian dinar). She was a young widow, so there was a struggle between the two families over whom she should marry. She also told about the time when 'Afif was arrested, and she went from prison to prison searching for him. But all her ten children are educated.

Strictly speaking I should not have allowed Umm 'Afif into my sample, since she had been displaced only once, in 1948; her home in Fawar had not been demolished or threatened with demolition. But I think her expulsion story is too remarkable to be excluded.

Umm 'Afif Ghatasha speaks:
"It was the first night of Ramadan, you see. We were sitting and my mother-in-law was cooking. What happened? A plane was passing by as big as a bird. After a while it began to attack the village. When it hit, the village filled with smoke. People ran out and scattered. It went away. Then we were sleeping, and the plane came again - planes, circling around, and they bombed the village. Bombing, bombing, bombing. You see how? When they hit the village, people fled. Until the morning. We stayed in caves until the morning. In the morning we returned to the village. We stayed in our homes. Nothing had happened, they had hit two sides of the village but they hadn't hurt anyone. The next day the bombing happened again. Where did they hit? They hit a house that belonged to us. A house where there was straw for the animals. The planes hit the attic - there was a big attic, the planes aimed at it because it was next to people related to us, Dar Azzi. The planes wanted to hit them but instead they hit our house with the straw in it. They damaged it but we went and repaired it..."