Donkey power is king on restricted West Bank

Indeed, restrictions on movement have led to a free fall in general welfare. At one point in 2002, unemployment reached 45 percent, the World Bank says. It estimates that 60 percent of Palestinians now live on less than $2.10 a day, compared with 21 percent before the conflict began.

The World Bank warns in a recent report that restrictions on movement will continue to "throttle the economy," but notes that it still functions because of donor support, strong family networks, and widespread lending and sharing.

Musbar Attrash, who lives near Halhul, a town 30 minutes north of Dhahiriyah, uses a borrowed mare along with his own donkey to get his plums to market.

Halhul and its market are cut off by a small mountain of rubble and soil heaped on the road, which means Mr. Attrash's two-mile trip has become a sweaty, nerve-racking, two-hour obstacle course of barricades and busy highway crossings.

Attrash has to hustle his steeds across Route 60, a major West Bank artery, because he's effectively barred from using it. The IDF has segregated roads in response to Palestinian drive-by shootings, so major highways are now reserved for Israeli settlers only. For many Palestinians, walking is often the only alternative.

"If I don't walk my crops in, I'll lose everything," Mr. Attrash says bitterly as he shoves his donkey off the highway and onto the shoulder. Once he gets her to the Halhul barricade he will have to pay a bus driver $12 to carry his plums the rest of the way, a deep bite into the $45 worth of crops the donkey carries in 18 tightly stacked boxes.

Attrash falls silent as he watches a car zoom down Route 60 toward Israeli settlements near Hebron. "They say there's a road map that will make our road easier," he says, referring to the US-backed peace plan now under way. "Empty promises," he scoffs. He slaps his donkey's flank, sending the burro doggedly up the steeply graded hill that separates them from Halhul. The borrowed mare follows haltingly, her long legs churning in the dust.

Traders at the Dhahiriyah animal market say that if you're looking for alternative transport, a donkey is a much better deal than a horse.

"Donkeys consume less food than a horse and take up less space," explains donkey trader Ali. "They're calm and gentle and if you need to" - he fires off a command to a small boy who scampers away and returns with a lamb, bullying it along until it's beneath the donkey - "you can keep your sheep underneath them!"

Palestinians aren't sentimental about their donkeys - they are workers, not pets, one reason why they are rarely named - but they respect the animals for their steadfast natures. Indeed, some literature use the donkey as a symbol of the Palestinian people and their resilience.

But the Dhahiriyah men have no time to talk literature. Ali, the business-suited Mr. Mohammed, and others in the crowd are too busy firing off pointers for the would-be donkey owner.

"Look at their teeth!" says one.

"No, no, much more important to look the donkey's mother," counters another. "That's how you get an idea about your donkey's size and strength."

Someone else throws out a tip about good height and long legs and then there's a sudden lull in the din.

The men turn in unison to appraise Ali's unsold, unnamed donkey, which has stood amid the crush and the noise without budging.

"I know," says Mohammed, breaking into a laugh and turning to Ali. "You can name him after [Israeli Prime Minister] Ariel Sharon." [Editor's note: The original version of this article mischaracterized an animal trader's comments.]

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