Enjoying the good life in Gaza

In the 1970s Mamoun Khozendar was an armed member of a Palestinian militia. Now he is one of Gaza's most affluent citizens, with a late model BMW that he drives around the city's impoverished, rubble-strewn streets. He describes the journey from militant young soldier in Beirut to his place at the top of Gaza's oil industry, and shows a rarely seen side of the Gaza Strip in the process
Mamoun Khozendar
Mamoun Khozendar is intent on maintaining his quality of life despite Israel's blockade. Photograph: Toni O'Loughlin

For 800 years my family has been based here in Gaza. We came to this country from Jebil Bakr with [the 12th-century Islamic ruler] Saladin. Our ancestor was Saladin's finance minister. We came with our swords and our horses.

My father was one of the group of sheiks that made pamphlets for the Egyptians to tell them what was happening to the Palestinians. One member of this group went to Syria and founded the Brotherhood of Muslims in Syria. One went to Jordan and founded the Brotherhood in Jordan. One went to Hebron and founded it there – and Sheik Khozendar, my father, came to Gaza and founded the Brotherhood of Muslims here. They all struggled against the creation of an Israeli state and the idea of dividing the country.

Against the opinion of the Brotherhood of Muslims, my father encouraged younger members to carry weapons. With his own money he helped them to collect arms. These groups later formed the Fatah movement and the PLO (Palestine Liberation Organisation) movement, as well as other movements.

I grew up as part of a household that believed in struggle. I came to believe that neither money nor life was sacred. When my siblings and I were 12, 13 and 14 we would go to the tombs every day with my father – dealing with dead bodies became normal to me. There was blood and some very awful things that until now I have kept locked away in my mind and spirit.

In 1970 my eldest brother was killed in a clash with the Israelis. He was an engineer and a member of the Fatah movement. He's now buried in Syria. It was on that day that I decided to carry my first Kalashnikov. After one year I took my bag and went to Beirut to join the resistance, the PLO, and to begin my life as part of the struggle.

In 1974 I came to Gaza to lead a unit of 43 soldiers. Then one night the Israelis captured 16 of us. One of my friends had visited me in my home and I had given him three or four mines – explosives – and said bye-bye. I was tired that night and I went to sleep. Suddenly I found all the armies in the world in my home and hundreds of M16s in my face. They had caught me.

They put me in their five-star hotel in Gaza. I spent five years in that hotel. After my father and [Egypt's president] Anwar Sadat intervened and spoke with [Israel's prime minister] Menachem Begin, my sentence was cut from 12 to five years and I was released.

When I got out I found that my father had turned 180 degrees – he had gone from fighting to initiating peace. It was the wisdom of years.

It was a very dangerous time – there were some small gangs. I think it was the Popular Front who stabbed my father to death in 1979. Many people thought there should be revenge, but I thought, with a very cold mind: "What's the difference between me and the killer if I begin to kill? Both of us would be guilty. I shall be cleaner."

I started working in petrol and LPG (liquified petroleum gas) in 1989. It's a very active trade. Liquid things always make good money – if it's water, alcohol or petrol. At the time there were four companies and I wasn't one of them. So I began from zero beside four elephants, and I began to penetrate a little bit, a little bit, a little bit – and now I am one of those elephants.

There are now 106 people in my company. Before the crisis between Fatah and Hamas [in which Hamas seized control of Gaza, triggering Israel's blockade on the territory] my company employed around 190 people. I pay their salaries for nothing. When I calculated their salaries for the first three months of this year my profits covered only 41% of the bill – the remaining 59% was paid from our capital. Morally, I can't throw them out. Where would I send them?

I am now working with 10 doctors in the hope of making biodiesel in Gaza. At Palestine University we have a small laboratory, where we work day and night. Why not produce a little petrol for our country? I began the research this year after people started using raw green cooking oil [because the blockade has severely cut fuel supplies]. I said to them: "Hey, this is wrong. The flash point of diesel to light is 70 degrees, whereas for green oil it is 240 degrees, which means you are sending bad smells into the air and very bad cancer materials."

I went to my friend the university president and said: "Dr Yusef, bring me everyone who understands chemistry and biology: I want to produce biodiesel. It will not give out a bad smell or cancer materials. Brazil does it, America does it – why can't we succeed in doing it?" We must work out how to live. We are a very poor place now and everyone is closing their eyes. I shall not close my eyes.

We live in a fundamentalist country – my wife and daughters can't go swimming freely. I decided to give my family their life back, so I built a small club with a pool, where my wife can wear a bikini and no one will interfere. The walls are very high and they can swim, have barbecues and taste life. Gaza is my paradise. No one can break me.

I want people to give us a chance to prove ourselves, to show that we are a nation equal to others. I don't want Gaza to be persecuted and then for us to be asked: "Why are you violent and why do you kill?"

Why is everyone against us? What have we Palestinians done? Did we create the Jewish crisis? No, Europeans created it and now we are paying the price. Our land has been taken from us, now we just want to live.

Mamoun Khozendar was talking to Toni O'Loughlin.